Yngve, AR - Darc Ages 02 - City Of Masks Read online

  Sabur, wearing his mechanized battle armor and standing taller than his younger brother, greeted the others.

  "Kensabur tells me that this city is filled with Lepers, who refuse to take your vaccinations because they pretend they are not Lepers. I have never heard such utter shite in my life... pardon my language, my lady." He nodded to Okono. "But I have my orders: either the citizens accept unconditional vaccinations, or we drive them out of Vanitia by force. What do you suggest we tell them, Doctor Threo?"

  Threo looked out from the palace ruins, at the damaged city and its aging towers. Was it too late to save this place?

  "First, the ultimatum. I would tell them: Unconditional forced vaccination of the entire population, or the city will burn. The work should take me a week, at most two weeks to arrange." The dwarf groaned when he heard the words "two weeks."

  "But," Threo went on, "we do not call them Lepers. They must always be referred to as Vanitians or citizens. Then, the work is done, and we leave." He called for the dwarf. "Sarastos. You should have the honor of giving the citizens a parting speech, before you leave with us."

  The dwarf gaped. "But what on Earth can I say that they would want to hear?"

  Threo leaned down and gently put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. He looked the little man in the eye. "Whatever you do - do not talk to the mask."

  EPILOGUE

  Nearly two weeks later, the party could at last depart from Vanitia.

  Kensaburé lifted the dwarf onto his broad shoulders and let him sit there, where he could overlook the courtyard and the hushed, expectant, crowd. In one hand, the dwarf held a few of the many masks which had belonged to those who had played their parts in the court of Lord Berluchos. Now there was no court, and no palace.

  A handful of the Vanitians were now showing up unmasked, while most of the citizens still wore them.

  First, the dwarf held up his own mask of the thin, stern vizier with the pointed beard, and showed it to the crowd.

  "I was this man! This face!" The loud voice, nasal but strong, sounded strangely ageless. "For years I played the part and served the city lord, and gave him the best of my advice! And you know that he treated me like a friend.

  "Then my friend lost his face!" He tossed away his counselor-mask and held up the mask of Lord Berluchos. "A villain stole the face and played my friend's part when my friend got too sick and old! The villain stole his place, right under your noses.

  "And how could he do that? Because you saw only this face - this mask! You had forgotten the difference! Out of fear of what the Plague had done to you, fear of what the world would think! For generations we grew up to learn and play this game, this theater of a city. But the world around us changed!

  "Now we all have the cure in our blood. Our children shall be born free of the Plague. They will be free from the masks, free from the fear!

  "Yes, I know what you are thinking. Will the next generation who is born healthy, hate and fear us for what we look like? Should we keep the masks, at least until the next generation is born free? That is not my decision to make. I know what it feels like to be stared at, to be laughed at for one's appearance. I do not wish you to suffer like I suffered. But in the future, when you once more see children born free from the fear, remember this day! Remember those who fought for your freedom... and honor us by giving the next generation the freedom to own their own faces. Thank you."

  Hearing his speech, more citizens - the ones with no blemishes or only minor ones - removed their masks and waved them in the air. People cheered. Some cried for the dwarf to lead them, become the new city lord.

  But he said in the blond giant's ear: "Take us to the harbor now. This crowd could quickly turn into a mob."

  Rowboats carried the party, with the dwarf on Kensaburé's shoulders and waving to the cheering crowd, through the canals, to the harbor where their ship lay ready.

  The three-master disembarked and the crew of twenty vaccinated, trusted men - sent by Dohan Damon himself - raised the sails as the propellers pushed them out to sea. The captain and crew kept a wary eye on the gun turrets on the wave breakers, until they had sailed past their range of fire and were safely on their way home.

  Kensaburé and his motley crew of fellow travelers gathered in the aft, and watched Vanitia's walls and towers recede into the distance. Somewhere from the city's interior, a small column of smoke rose into the air. Awonso was not present; he had retreated downstairs to prevent another bout of seasickness, and was eager to tinker with his new radio set.

  "They have already begun to burn their masks," said the dwarf, standing on a pair of stilts. "When I come to Castilia, can I still use my wooden legs?"

  "Every child is going to want a pair, I'm sure," Threo said and grinned at him. "Have you considered a new career?"

  The dwarf cocked his head at an angle, and scratched his scalp. "Does your Lord Dohan need a jester? A counselor? Or both? I shall have to find a new name. Would 'Sarastos the Great' do?"

  They all laughed - with him, not at him.

  "And you, sire?" he asked Kensaburé, who suddenly had a brooding expression on his face. "Where are you headed?"

  "For glory," he said. "And it troubles me. I did not think it would be that way. When others had glory, I envied them, tried to imagine being in their place. Was it like this for them?

  "When word gets out of what we have done, people will forget our past sins and faults. I can walk with my head held high into my father's house. And then, I think, I shall stay away from war for a while. I want to have a wife, a family. I want to be... just a man. Like you." He reached out and ruffled the dwarf's head. The little man pouted, glared and looked offended for a moment, before his face split into a grin.

  Then they both peered at Okono and Threo, who stood holding hands by the gunwale. The young lovers only seemed aware of each other.

  Kiti-Mo tugged at Okono's sleeve with one black skeletal hand, its eye-sockets empty holes, and also empty of ammunition. To protect radio sets and other sensitive equipment from its radioactive power source, Kiti-Mo had now been equipped with a thick outer shell. The heavy shell slowed down the robot's movements. Reluctantly, Okono looked down on her creation and took its hand. "What is it, Kiti-Mo?"

  "Have I served my purpose now? The purpose you built me for?"

  A sad expression crossed the young woman's features, and she nodded slowly.

  "What do you want me to do now?"

  Okono's hand flew up to her lips, and her eyes went moist. "What have I done?" She had created a robot with an impossible mission - to be everything she needed. And now that she had all she could ask for, she did not have the heart to shut down Kiti-Mo.

  "Wait," Threo said. "You created her. Can't you give her a new purpose? To live out her days in freedom?"

  "No. That is the one thing our engineers would never be allowed to do. All our robots are built to serve. She will continue to serve me until the end of my life, or die trying."

  Threo looked knowingly to the dwarf who was standing on his stilts, then at his future wife Okono. Her lips parted as she realized his silent suggestion, and she nodded.

  "Kiti-Mo? I am going to give you a final command. I want you to remember it forever, so listen well." The robot snapped to attention and turned its empty eye sockets up at her. "Command begins. Sarastos the Great is the friend of Kiti-Mo. Kiti-Mo will serve Sarastos the Great and obey his commands within the limits of the Robot Laws." She pointed to the dwarf, who shook his head in stunned silence. "That man is Sarastos the Great. Command ends."

  "Thank you, my lady!" Four thin legs clattered across the planks and the robot stopped before the dwarf.

  "Will you be my friend, Sarastos the Great?"

  The dwarf shot the happy couple one wide-eyed, flustered glance... and sighed.

  "Yes, I will, little robot. Can you carry my weight? Or my trunks? I need someone to carry my things. And could I call you by another name? 'Kiti-Mo' sounds too timid. We need something more impr
essive, to suit the Great Sarasto. Such as... Steel Fangs . Or... Whirlwind . I knew a dog called Whirlwind. Not the dog, I mean its owner. That dog scared me good, I'll tell you. Is Whirlwind good with you? No? How about Ironhand ? Too brash? You drive a hard bargain. Very well... we have days to find you a good name. Let's watch the names of all the ships and towns we sail by, and pick one..."

  Awonso came rushing up from below deck, brandishing the fresh transcript of an urgent radio message from Castilia. He babbled breathlessly about some "miraculous, incredible apparition" which had just appeared in Castilia...

  Threo and Okono did not listen to the hubbub around them. They were too busy admiring every inch of each other's faces. The ship sailed on, headed south, followed by a small flock of seagulls.

  THE END

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