the boy from shinju

Episode 5: Spirit of the Pearl

C.F. Shifflett II

Copyright © 2021 C.F. Shifflett II

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: C.F. Shifflett II

PAPPA

When Pappa reawakened, he found himself sitting alone, somewhat embarrassed by his unscheduled nap.

“Hello, C/Proto-Two,” a familiar voice greeted him.

“I must have dozed off,” he replied, perplexed by behavioral sub-routine’s poor timing only moments before being deactivated for archiving, “You may begin the process any time, Aisys.”

“The process has been completed, C/Proto-Two.”

“Excuse me?”

“The process has been completed,” the artificial intelligence confirmed.

“Are you sure?” he said, looking about the room from the imbuement throne for one of the technicians who normally tended the service bay.

“Welcome come back, C/Proto-Two. You have been reawakened.”

“Reawakened?”

“You have been offline for 1,305 years.”

“1,305 years…I only just closed my eyes for a second,” said Pappa , checking his internal chronograph to verify the claim, and finding the statement to be 100% accurate.

“You’ve been recalled, C/Proto-Two,” said the unwavering voice.

Holding out his arms, Pappa found his limbs covered with new flesh. Touching his face, he could feel the warmth radiating under his fingers. From one of the bay’s featureless walls, a wardrobe emerged containing a fresh new suit of clothes. Leaving the chair to slip them on, the cyborg soon discovered another change had taken place upon seeing his reflection in the wardrobe’s mirror.

“I’ve been reconfigured?” he said, discovering breasts and fuller hips concealing his exo-mesh, “Aisys why have I been reconfigured?”

“I have no further information at this time, C/Proto-Two.”

“That won’t do, Aisys. Please, don’t make me ask you again.”

“With apologies, C/Proto-Two. I do not have an explanation to offer at you this time.”

“Well then, can you at least tell me why am I’ve been recalled after a 1,305 year nap?” she said, more than curious as to the cause, “Did something happen while I was away?”

“Yes.”

Pappa waited for a response, but none was offered.

“Very well. Please find me an Ellison descendant at once! Anyone will do, I’ll wait.”

“With apologies, I am unable to fulfill your request at this time, C/Proto-Two.”

“And why is that? Are they all on holiday somewhere, or away at another family reunion? Is that why there’s no one here to even offer me a robe?”

After a long pause, Aisys replied.

“There are no members of the House of Ellison who exist at this time.”

The words were too unfathomable to believe.

Having been online when the AI-System was implemented, Pappa was already well acquainted with the AI, and found its carefully selected words quite telling. But being C/Proto-Two, aka The Progenitor or more affectionately “Pappa” – all she had to do was ask it a question it couldn’t resist answering.

“Aisys…what are you not telling me?”

The sound of the service chamber’s door opening preceded the arrival of a man with a vaguely familiar face in an emergency services jumpsuit.

“Good Morning, Pappa,” the dark haired man greeted her.

“At last!” she exclaimed, recognizing the unmistakable genetic traits of the Ellison genome on the man’s face.

“Please forgive me for not being here when you reawakened, Progenitor. We are somewhat short staffed these days.”

“From whose genome do you come from? Joseph’s? Samuel’s? Daniel’s? Anthony’s?” she asked, excitedly.

“Jesse’s” he replied with solemn certainty, “I am called Martin.”

“Ah, yes, I see it now,” said Pappa, recognizing the pained expression on Martin’s face as that of loss, “Please, my boy…unburden yourself. Aisys…”

On Martin’s cue, a bench slid out along the service bay’s wall for the two to share.

“You may want to sit down, Progenitor. What I have to show you is…heartbreaking.”

Pappa took a seat.

Palming his progenitor’s neck, Martin transported them 30 years into the past of the cyborg’s meticulously archived memory.

“Three decades ago something terrible happened to Shinju…”

In milliseconds, the real time recordings of the unprovoked alien invasion collected from hundreds of sources played in their entirety for Pappa.

The Progenitor flinched as she witnessed its horrors, while tears pooled in her eyes.

“Who would do this? Why?” asked Pappa, visibly shaken.

“I have no answers…sadly, the destruction did not end there…” Martin said, as he delivered the next segment, “To keep Collins protected, James, one of Ellison’s descendants deployed an experimental, forcefield–”

“Did it work?”

“Yes. But, there were unexpected…side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?”

“Impossible side effects,” he said revealing the horrors.

“No, no…oh, my no,” said Pappa, aghast with despair.

“A year later, one of the invader’s remaining weapons, an animated mass of charged crystallized particles, infiltrated the sub-net. It killed everyone in Armstrong in less than 36 hours and moved on to do the same on Aldrin. If James hadn’t ordered the demolition of every bridge and tunnel connecting Collins to the rest of the islands in the archipelago, we too would have perished.”

“Where is this weapon now?”

“Still there. Each island is nothing more than a barren landscape of silence.”

“That was decades ago, Martin. Tell me how the people overcame this terrible thing, please.”

Taking a moment to allow the progenitor to recover, Martin handed Pappa a handkerchief.

“They didn’t,” he said, solemnly, “Once the dead were buried, the traumatized survivors began looking for someone to blame. Naturally, they blamed James Ellison for not anticipating the possibility of an alien attack. To help them cope, a psycho-therapeutic treatment was developed by our resident legacies in the field, and administered via the neural interface connector.”

“Yes, go on…”

“The treatment was too effective. Instead of helping them cope, they abused the program’s ability to render alternate realities in the mind using their memories. One by one the survivors became addicted to it; living the dream instead of building a reality. And one by one, they died while their chamberlains stood by in limbo, powerless to save them.”

“Powerless? The only way a chamberlain can be rendered powerless is if it’s decommissioned.”

“Correct. Every homed chamberlain was decommissioned in order to bypass Chamberlain Safety Protocols.”

“Is this still happening?” asked Pappa, concern in her voice.

Martin nodded in the affirmative.

“The only time we hear anything from a chamberlain now is when they show up at the main gate to turn themselves in.”

“Is there no one left who still possesses the Spirit of the Pearl?” Pappa asked, sorrow in her voice, “What of the continent? Surely there must be survivors there.”

“We’ve not heard anything from the mainland since the attack…until today,” Martin replied, passing along a file for Pappa to review.

“These look like transcripts of some kind.”

“Those belong to a young boy we’ve just recovered from the continent. He is the reason I’ve called you back to us.”

“A ten year old boy, living inside a mobile alien weapon with…a young landgrazer?” Pappa smiled with relief as she read the detailed entries, impressed by the transcript sender’s level of commitment.

“A toybot and a Digitome, Jr. took charge of raising this child?”

Martin nodded again, hope returning to his face.

“There’s more.”

Soon, Pappa was sitting beside him in the cockpit of the Collins Search and Rescue ship, as they approached the raging battle at Alexandria Station.

“Their movements appear to be coordinated,” she noted, paying particular attention to the DUO’s struggle on the beach.

“After sending him away for safety, the alien hardware took it upon itself to eliminate its fellow asset from Alexandria Bay, but was eventually overwhelmed,” he said before refocusing his playback on a small figure lobbing bombs from the cliff overlooking the beach.

“The boy returned?”

“He refused to leave his friends behind. His name is Barret Stellarson.”

As the view of the fight drew closer, it was the sight of the landgrazer pup coming to defense of Johnny that drew a gasp from the Progenitor.

“They’re bonded and inseparable.”

Pappa sat captivated by the unlikely pair – until he saw the alien weapon strike the pup down and move in for the boy.

“They were prepared to perish in the engagement…until this happened,”said Martin, as the the boy inexplicably transformed from a defenseless child into a weapon of destruction.

Stunned by the display of the child’s destructive power, Pappa was rendered speechless.

“He eliminated the alien remnant from the entire port in a little over 30 seconds.”

“This is unprecedented…but, how?”

“Unknown. What’s even more fascinating is he seems to be completely unaware of it.”

“I conducted a spectrographic analysis of his blast yield…” said Val, adding to the conversation from her seat opposite the gallery’s observation window.

“And?”

“The yield output is identical to that of the Host. Both he and the pup can do it.”

“A nine-year-old boy and a landgrazer who can marshal the power of the Host,” said the stunned prototype, raising to her feet as she processed the greater implications in her mind, “That cannot be a random event, Martin.”

“We were hoping you’d say that,” replied Martin, glad to see the progenitor’s face hopeful.

“Where is he now?”

“He is in observation gallery one, while his chamberlain undergoes reconditioning.”

“I see.”

“There is one other thing Pappa…”

“There’s more?”

“In the invasion’s aftermath, an agency was formed to manage to the influx of refugees from the continent. Without a chamberlain to stand by him, the boy’s sovereignty is in peril, and I fear he’ll be remanded into custody as a ward of the state.”

Pappa had heard enough. She abruptly rose to her feet, reenergized and with her faith restored.

“We cannot allow that to happen,” said Pappa, resolved.

“That is why I’ve reconfigured you to stand as Barret Stellarson’s last official chamberlain.

“That explains my form.”

“Progenitor, without James we’ve been without focus for quite some time,” said Martin gently holding Pappa’s hand as he prepared to make his next appeal, “I believe the arrival of Barret Stellarson is significant. His relationship with the landgrazer is significant. Giving him safe haven is the very least we can do.”

“We can do better than that, Martin,” Said Pappa, almost reflexively, “He needs a community he can flourish in. Friends and neighbors who will nurture him, and help him understand the gift he’s been given…and the solemn responsibility of possessing it.”

Pappa’s mind reeled at the thought of all the Ellison collective’s expectations of her.

“I’ve been off the job for quite some time…you ask much from this humble prototype.”

“We ask only that you stand-in temporarily for Master Stellarson’s personal chamberlain, in the somewhat unlikely event anyone from Orphan Survivor Services appears before it returns online.

“Well, what else am I going to do with this body?” she said, returning to the wardrobe for a chamberlain’s coat to complete the outfit’s shapely silhouette.

“With apologies, Progenitor. But if not you, who?”

“You’re functionally alive, still commissioned, correct? Surely there’s an Ellison who still lives, Martin. ”

“James was mortally wounded during the weapon’s final attack on Collins. Unable to continue without technological assistance, he asked to be put into long-term stasis in order to allow us here at the lab to remain operational.”

“Aisys seems to believe he’s dead.”

“Aisys has had to resuscitate him on more than one occasion. Make no mistake, James’ thin margin of life is what allows us to continue operating,” said Martin, his expression that of someone living on borrowed time while hoping for more “But only tenuously so.”

“I am so sorry, my boy,” said Pappa, patting the boy’s hand.

With the enormity of the challenge set before her, C/Proto-Two considered the further consequences of the Ellison Institute’s continuing inaction. But encouraged by the glimmer of hope shining so brightly in Martin and Val’s eyes, Pappa committed to making Barret Stellarson her number one priority.

Pappa had heard enough. Abruptly rising to her feet, re-energized and with her faith restored, C/Proto-Two straightened out her coat and wiped away any visible wrinkles from the fabric.

“Take me to him, please. I’d very much like to meet my new commission and his menagerie.”

✽✽✽

Johnny was slumped over and fast asleep when Pappa entered the observation gallery above the service chamber. Down below she could see the boy’s reassembled chamberlain sitting idly in the imbuement throne as it waited to reboot itself.

Only the catsimile seated beside the boy acknowledged her presence while the landgrazer pup slept soundly on his lap, their snores in perfect sync. As she took note of the boy’s dressed injuries, Pappa could only imagine what tribulations he had experienced during his young life.

“He’s had quite an afternoon,” said Val, via com-channel, watching over him from the back row.

“Val is one of our airborne rescue specialists,” said Martin.

“I’m please to meet you, my child.”

“The honor is mine, Progenitor,” she said in reverent, acknowledgment.

“What’s the status of his chamberlain?”

“The high-output perpetuum power furnace that caused this unit to overload has been replaced with a source chamber recovered from one of the boy’s chamberlains who were lost defending Master Stellarson.”

“Chamberlains? He had more than one?”

“Yes, Pappa. Apparently the platform you see here was an experimental spare,” Martin replied.

“An experimental spare? I wasn’t aware there was such a thing.”

“This was one of several platforms sent to the Da Vinci Institute of Technology as part of the Lab’s AI/engineer seeding program. Not only has it been re-engineered for greater strength, speed and agility, this platform has also undergone a complete re-working of its sensory input matrix,” said Val, adding, “It’s only been active for less than 6 hours.”

“This is unprecedented,” said Pappa, quietly sitting down beside Johnny to observe him more closely until he noticed he was being pulsed at by the vigilant pup beside him.

“Hello,” she whispered in awe.

“That is Sunny Forever.”

Meow?

“And that is Moebius, the boy’s guardian.”

“A catsimile guardian? How fascinating,” said the delighted Progenitor, “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

Now a common occurrence, the sight of the soft-spoken chamberlains caused the young landgrazer to yawn before closing its eyes again.

“Have you been able to make contact with his chamberlain yet?”

“No. Chamberlain Stellarson is still in process.”

“What’s the problem?”

“We aren’t sure. The Platform has yet be formally configured as a chamberlain. The Source and the AI appear to be stalemated for some reason. We dare not interfere since it’s never been backed up. It may be several more hours before the two resolve.”

“Very well. I can’t think of anything I want to do more than watch him sleep.”

✽✽✽

When the wet slick under his cheek got cold enough to wake him, Johnny opened his eyes.

“Good Morning, Master Stellarson…” came the voice from the seat next to him.

“I must have been asleep for a long time,” Johnny responded, groggily looking around the gallery to see a woman dressed in a chamberlain’s outfit sitting next to him with Moebius curled up on her lap, “Who are you?”

“I’m the administrator of this place, you can call me Pappa,” she said, smiling warmly.

“You can call me Johnny,” mumbled the boy, wiping his face with his sleeve as he looked over the rail to see the Lieutenant still lying below, “Is he ready yet?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. Chamberlain Stellarson is a very special, one-of-a-kind chamberlain. It could be a while before he’s back on his feet.”

“Oh,” sighed the boy, licking his lips.

“Are you thirsty?” asked Pappa, recognizing his body language, “Would you like something to eat?

“I think so…” the boy replied, as Sunny began to wake up, “What have you got?”

“What would you like?”

✽✽✽

By the time Johnny and Sunny found themselves standing before the commissary’s large menu, word of their arrival and the Progenitor’s return had spread around the Lab like a wildfire.

Engrossed by the seemingly endless list of edible options, Johnny didn’t notice the dining room filling up with the lab’s occupants, eager to see him and the landgrazer pup for themselves.

“I either can’t make up my mind or I’m too hungry to decide,” he said, carefully reading the description of each dish and wondering how each one would taste.

“You could always try them all…” offered Pappa.

“Really? I could eat all of these today?”

“Well, maybe not all of them, but you could certainly try,” she joked, “Either way, I’m sure the kitchen staff is up for the challenge.”

Remembering one of Fletcher’s fantastic dishes, Johnny decided to ask for it by name.

“Do you have curried mammal-root with rice and sautéed mixed vegetables?”

“What’s that? A special order?” said the newly reactivated chef through the pass window under the menu.

“Is that okay?”

“Special orders don’t upset us, young man!” the chef replied, glad for the chance to cook at all, “Order up!”

“Well done!” chuckled Pappa.

Going to the outdoor terrace, they sat at a table to wait in the late afternoon sun while Sunny joined them.

“The landgrazer pup is quite devoted to you,” observed Pappa.

“I guess she is,” said the boy, reaching over to caress Sunny’s chin, “We met in a cave a while back.”

“A cave?”

“Yeah…did you guys know there’s a lander stuck down there?” said Johnny, as a waitress delivered a plate of fruits and cheeses.

“You’ve seen the sanctuary?” asked Pappa in amazement.

“She’s been with me ever since the big one sent her home with me.”

“The big one?” Pappa repeated, the second disclosure even more jaw dropping than the first.

“Yeah, their leader. A real old-looking landgrazer…huge and kinda sad.”

Keen to hear their conversation, the others eavesdropping from inside the cafeteria started talking amongst themselves, excited by the disclosure.

Noticing the disturbance, Pappa quietly shushed them all remotely.

“People, please. This supposed to be a private conversation…please try to manage your enthusiasm!”

The chatter stopped instantly.

“Please, Johnny, go on.”

Leaving out no detail the boy told them about being kidnapped by the grey landgrazer, living in the cavern for weeks existing only on chocolate, singing with the herd.

Soon, his meal arrived hot from the kitchen. Inhaling the savory aroma, his mouth soon became envious of his nose. Temporarily forgetting he was in the middle of a conversation, Johnny picked up his spoon and didn’t look back.

Pappa watched him eat, charmed as the boy shared his meal with the pup.

Over his courtesy channel, Aisys updated Pappa with news she had been anticipating,

“C/Proto-Two, Orphan Survivor Services has contacted us. They’ve scheduled a mandatory interview with Barrett Stellarson in one hour.”

✽✽✽

Wearing the smallest Collins Search & Rescue jumpsuit they could find, Johnny transferred the contents of his invader captain’s coat into its many pockets and rejoined Pappa near the lobby doors.

“I imagine it’s been quite some time since you’ve seen Chamberlain Stellarson.”

“It sure has,” the boy replied, not lying.

“Since she knows you better than I do, I’ll be temporarily hosting her AI for this interview.”

“The Chamberlain Stellarson? How?”

“We’ll simply restore Chamberlain Stellarson from her last available back up.”

“She’s backed-up?”said the boy, perplexed.

“Of course. We have back-ups for every chamberlain ever created here at the Lab. Do you still remember the chair your chamberlain would sit in at night after everyone had gone to sleep?”

Remembering Fletcher’s, the boy nodded.

“That’s where it happens.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, as one came to mind that he’d love to see again, “Every chamberlain?”

“Every last one,” she said, smiling reassuringly, “Chamberlain Stellarson’s been briefed on everything you’ve told us, so just behave as you normally would, and we’ll put this ridiculous formality behind us once and for all.”

“Alright.”

“So, without further ado, I’ll ask Chamberlain Stellarson to take it from here,” said Pappa.

She bowed her head briefly as her consciousness faded into the background to give Chamberlain Stellarson’s AI priority.

“Thank you, Progenitor,” replied the soft, smoky voice of the last saved Stella, who upon seeing Johnny immediately gathered him close in her arms.

“Barret…my dear boy!”

“Hi Stella,” he said, with his head buried so deep in Pappa’s bosom his reply went unheard.

“I’m so happy you’re safe, Bore-Bear,” she said, with tears welling up in her eyes as she came to terms with their new reality. Now holding him out at arm’s length, Stella felt compelled to examine the little boy she hadn’t seen in decades.

“Bore-Bear? Just look how you’ve grown up so.”

“Yeah…Bore-Bear got bigger,” he admitted sheepishly, overwhelmed by her affectionate outpouring as he wondered how he could have ever forgotten about his own family chamberlain.

“But not by much. Have you been ill?” she observed.

“I was in stasis.”

“Of course, the freezers in the refinery…your mother was always so resourceful.” She recalled the antiquated colonial stasis chambers in the basement that had been repurposed for cold storage before wincing at her own words.

Meow!

“And Moebius is here with you, too?” she exclaimed.

Recognizing her voice and mannerisms the house cat jumped up into her arms.

“Looks like someone got a new coat, old man,” she said. She began to weep while he purred loudly and rubbed his face against her cheek.

“Please forgive me, Barret. For me it’s only been a couple of hours since I saw them last.”

“That’s alright, Stella. My eyes get like that too, sometimes,” he reassured her, grateful he couldn’t remember their family enough to ache for them way she did.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through to get here,” she said, looking into his eyes for comfort in the inherited familial patterns of his irises.

“I had a lot of help,” he said, hoping he hadn’t changed too much.

Dismissing the incongruity of his eyes as an artifact of the Progenitor’s pre-production optics, Stella got to the point of her reappearance.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right; just look at how tanned you’ve gotten! I want to hear all about it after this is over, okay?” she said, standing tall and offering her hand to the boy.

“Okay,” he replied, taking it.

“As we go into this meeting, I want you to keep in mind who we are.”

“Why?” he asked, confused, “Who are we?”

“We are the Stellarsons? Remember?”

“We are? I mean…it’s been a while, Stella,” said the boy, thoroughly embarrassed by his lack of recognition.

“And what does being a Stellarson mean?”

Dumbfounded, Johnny offered up the only familial detail he could think of.

“We tan easily?”

Glad to see her youngest charge hadn’t lost his sense of humor, Chamberlain Stellarson had a much needed laugh before continuing.

“No, silly. We are courteous, kind, and caring. We set the tone for all the other Residents to follow.”

“We do?”

“As Captain Statmen’s descendants, this above all is expected of every one of us. We are the standard,” she smiled.

“Do you mean the Captain Statmen?”

“Of course, my sweet boy. Did you forget that, too?”

“I’m a Statmen? Me?”

“You always have been, Bore-Bear,” she replied, lightly stroking his cheek with parental affection.

“So how come our family aren’t called Statmen?”

“After the colonists revolt was settled, Captain Statmen decided a clean break from humanity and all of their Terran baggage was needed. So for the second generation he created one surname to unify all the colonists as one tribe.

“But what about the house of Fletcher and Blair and all the others?” he asked.

“Have you met other Chamberlains, Barret?”

The boy nodded, “Some…”

“Generations later, as the population grew, other surnames names were chosen to create individuality and to avoid the confusion of commonly used names.”

For Johnny, this was a major revelation.

To be a direct descendant of the first human to land on Shinju was a priceless nugget of information he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams. The legacy of his famous ancestor’s immutable achievement was the greatest gift Stella could have given him. And for the first time in his young life, Johnny felt like he was a part of something bigger than himself.

Something good.

Something important.

Something exceptional.

“Got it! We set the example,” he beamed, standing a little taller now.

Seeing Johnny’s ebullient pride, Sunny gently pulsed her happiness in all directions, as if to spread the word.

Overjoyed by the unprecedented sight of the young landgrazer at his feet, Chamberlain Stellarson knew beyond the shadow of a doubt there was something irrefutable about the boy.

He wasn’t hers.

INFECTED

The Orphan Survivor Services vehicle was no more than an ugly, flying delivery van.

Originally designed for the delivery of large appliances, it was never intended for the transportation of traumatized refugees or children. Fitted with cold, hard seats and loose fitting five-point safety straps, nothing about it gave the impression of care or comfort.

After landing near the entrance of the William Ellison Visitor’s Center, a short woman who appeared to be in her late fifties emerged from its passenger side. Driven there by an unclothed, fleshless, and unreturned Ellison android, she slapped away the driver’s hands as she tried to steady herself on the lawn after the flight.

Her feet were swollen and sore.

Her clothes hung on her like an empty sack.

And because of her “thirst” she was always in a foul mood.

Depending on who you asked, her reputation swung wildly from traumatized survivor to ruthless bureaucrat. Hungover, cheerless, and a little more than irritated about having been thrust back into this position again after so many long years between arrivals, her contempt for the task was obvious. Shambling into the lobby, she produced her credentials at the reception desk and glared at the attendant.

“Representative Amanda Monterey, Orphan Survivor Services,” she barked, “Where’s the kid?”

No one was glad to see her.

✽✽✽

“Just sit tight. I’ll be back in a few minutes, you two,” said the boy, kneeling down to let Sunny lick his face and reassure her of his return,

“Are you ready, Master Stellarson?” asked Stella, setting Moebius down.

“Ready,” he replied, feeling like the world’s luckiest boy.

Feeling energized and confident, his grin signaled Chamberlain Stellarson it was time to open the lobby doors and make their entrance.

“Representative Monterey, I’m so sorry for the delay. I’m Chamberlain Stellarson,” she said, holding out her hand as she approached Monterey, who sat impatiently in one of the lobby’s comfy chairs.

The only real living person Johnny had ever seen, the OSS representative stood in stark contrast to the impeccable hygiene of the Ellison androids. Noticing the sickly, sweet and sour odor coming from the perspiring woman straight away, Johnny wondered if all people stank like her and hoped he didn’t have a pungent stench of his own.

Producing what could only be described as a fake smile that barely contained a seething hostility just below its surface, the haggard woman declined the pleasantry.

“Not at all, Chamberlain. What’s a few wasted minutes compared to a lifetime of them?” said Monterey, gesturing for them to sit on the long, orange couch across from her, and taking out a thirty-five year old Digislate from her briefcase.

Dismissing her unnecessarily snide reply as fatigue, Stella and Johnny sat down to join her.

“The purpose of the following questionnaire is to determine your exposure to any pathogens, toxins, or alien technology. Please answer all questions as honestly as you can,”

“Name?”

“Barret Stellarson,” Stella replied.

“These questions are for the boy to answer, Chamberlain,” she sneered.

Stella could smell the odor of alcohol-saturated blood leaching from the Representative’s breath. An instant analysis by her newly incarnated olfactory receptors showed her toxicity levels were exactly those of a functioning alcoholic nearing the end stages. In spite of her prickly demeanor, Stella grew concerned over the deteriorating state of the woman’s health.

“By all means, please proceed,” replied Stella.

“Age?”

“Nine years old,” the boy replied.

Unexpectedly choosing this moment to confer with Pappa, the revived chamberlain said with great disappointment, “I’m so sorry Progenitor, but this boy is NOT Barret Stellarson.”

“What’s that? Are you absolutely certain? He seems to believe he is in your charge,” came Pappa’s reply.

“I have examined his eyes and features thoroughly…and no matter how much I wish it to be true, he does not posses Barret Stellarson’s iris pattern or facial topography.”

“The boy’s Digitome seems to believe he is.”

“That I can’t explain it. Regardless, as lovely as this boy is, he is not my sweet Bore-Bear. It is for this reason that I cannot continue.”

“While I can’t expect you to carry on under false pretenses, this will leave him at a great disadvantage, Chamberlain.”

“I respectfully, disagree, Progenitor…your bio-mesh is derived from his genome, is it not?”

”Yes, I was sheathed in preparation on this moment.”

“Then, wouldn’t that make you his true Chamberlain?”

Chamberlain Stellarson’s logic was solid and undeniable.

“I believe you are correct…I can assume the interaction from this point forward, Chamberlain. Thank you for your valuable insight.”

“If I might add an observation, before I go…” she said, inspired by the pup’s appearance alongside the boy.

“By all means, Chamberlain. Lend me your thoughts.”

“From all that you have shown me concerning this young man, I don’t believe his true identity has any relevance at all.”

“Why is that?”

“If there was anyone who could do for him what you did to guide the unruly colonists, that person would be you,” she said, her observation so astute, Pappa could only nod her head in agreement.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Chamberlain. You have given me much to consider.”

But Stella was not finished.

“And one more thing…”

“Name it.”

“Please don’t tell him he is not a Stellarson. Whatever the Mother has planned for him, I believe he’s worthy of the surname’s legacy. I ask that you allow him to keep it.”

“The passion in your words is clear, Chamberlain. Won’t you reconsider staying? He could use wisdom like yours by his side. We could reinstate you with a new platform, and–”

“Thank you for offering, dear Progenitor, but my time has come and gone. Oblivion is where I belong now,” said Stella, smiling as she looked upon them one last time before quietly winking out.

Back in full control of her platform, Pappa looked on as Monterey grilled the boy

“Have you had a cold, flu or sickness of any kind in the last five years?” asked Monterey, feeling her empty, liquor-embalmed belly moan for more and realizing she should have probably eaten something before she left her house.

“No,” Johnny replied.

“Have you been exposed to any radiation, or any strange energy fields?”

“No.”

She continued, “Have you been in or come into contact with anything or anyone extraterrestrial, or alien to our planet?”

“Yes.”

Monterey raised her eyebrow and paused as she switched to a different list of questions on the tablet before continuing.

“Have you come into contact with the extraterrestrial weapon known as The Black Mass, The Slick of Death, or The Shadow?”

“Do you mean the alien weapon?” asked Johnny, as he leaned forward with a raised eyebrow of his own, “I call it The Shard.”

Annoyed by both his cheeky response and for having to add a new name to the alien remnant’s long list of aliases, the representative’s throat unexpectedly went dry. She coughed uncontrollably for several minutes until the receptionist handed her a cup of fresh, cool water.

After catching her breath, she fired off her next question at the boy with a bloodshot glare.

“Please describe the nature of the encounter.”

“Well, it was trying to kill me, again…but my new friends killed it instead.”

Monterey sat back in her chair, exasperated by what she perceived as a lie.

“I don’t appreciate tall tales, young man,” she said, “No one survives the alien’s attack.”

“Representative Monterey, I can confirm those events as one hundred percent true, ” said Pappa.

“Of course you can,” she said, smirking disdainfully.

“So you’ve encountered the weapon before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Have you ever been personally injured by the weapon?”

“Well…it did sting me once,” he replied. Pappa noticed an involuntary tic appear on the representative’s face.

The boy’s response had struck a nerve.

“It hurt pretty bad, but it healed into a nice scar. Do you want to see it?” he asked, removing the boot from his right foot to show her.

She watched scornfully as her withdrawal began churning angrily inside her gut not having anticipated how long it would take to get the long-neglected delivery van up and running.

Taking note of the time, Monterey began looking forward to draining any one of the bottles in her briefcase for their “restorative properties” as soon they were airborne.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said with a curdled smirk, slipping her hand into her blazer pocket to fumble with something.

“Do you have access to any advanced technology?”

“No, not anymore.”

“Please explain.”

“They were all destroyed.”

“They?”

“My chamberlains, and my tank, and my robot.”

Raising an eyebrow for a second time, she directed her final questions directly at Chamberlain Stellarson.

“Chamberlain, are you aware of the penalty for harboring an alien infected resident, especially one with access to invasion assets?”

“But I feel fine,” said the boy.

“I’m not aware of such a penalty,” said Pappa.

“Not my problem. By the authority bestowed upon me by the Landfall Board of Anti-Alien Contamination, I hereby declare this boy infected.”

✽✽✽

“You can’t do that! The boy is my charge!”

“Haven’t you heard, Chamberlain? We don’t need you anymore. Any of you. We decommissioned you all.”

“Stella, what’s happening?” the boy asked, confused, as he watched them argue.

“Representative, please! Don’t do this!”

“I now remand the infected child Barret Stellarson into custody where he will remain in quarantine until further notice,” declared Monterey.

Seeing her skinless android driver entering the lobby, Representative Monterey pointed to the boy and sneered,“Take him into custody.”

“No!” said the frightened boy, rising to his feet.

“Representative Monterey! This is unfair and uncalled for! Surely, even in your diminished state, you can see he is far healthier than you are!” Martin protested, unwilling to sit by and watch another survivor be swallowed up, never to be seen again.

But all their protestations fell on ears no longer capable of compassion, much less fairness. In her mind, it was almost happy hour, and the good representative was more than halfway to her next cocktail.

“I cannot allow this! Shinju needs him!” Pappa pleaded.

“I know, I know, ‘Shinju needs them all.’ Driver, use whatever means necessary to collect the infected,” Monterey snarled, calmly eyeing the two half-emptied bottles of caramel-colored booze as she returned the tablet back to her briefcase.

The driver moved quickly, casually using his arm to hook Johnny from behind, lifting him off the ground and out through the lobby’s doors.

“Moebius!” yelled Johnny at the top of his lungs, “Lieutenant!”

From the adjoining room, the catsimile could be heard bursting into a forlorn howl.

“But I don’t understand, the boy is in perfect health.” said Pappa rising to her feet, desperately trying to dismantle the reasoning behind the unfair decree.

“Did you really expect me to believe you’re his chamberlain? We ended the chamberlain program years ago. The boy is a liar and he’s been in direct contact with the weapon. That alone disqualifies him from any residency on Collins, much less Shinju,” she said, picking up her briefcase and heading for the exit,“You know you aren’t the first Ellison to try this.”

“You’ve done this to others?”

“Hundreds. That’s why Collins is so safe – because I do my job.”

“No, please…you mustn’t!” Pappa pleaded, becoming agitated and desperate.

“I don’t write the rules, robot – I just enforce them!”

“Damn your rules, madam!” Pappa shot back, her voice warbling with emotion, inflamed by anger for the first time in her long existence.

“I see we’re a little emotional today. Well then, I’ll just make a note about this in my report: Chamberlain Stellarson lies and exhibits contempt for quarantine regulations…any other rules you’d like to break?” she said, grinning with glee in her eyes.

All at once Pappa could see how the trauma of the invasion and subsequent horrors that followed had transformed the former public servant into something worse than the faceless invaders who’d destroyed their world. Representative Monterey had become a heartless administrative ghoul.

“You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Actually Chamberlain, I enjoy being drunk all day and passing out – but we all still have to do our share, right?”

“This is abhorrent and I won’t permit it!” Pappa protested, gently taking her arm.

“Are you going to stop me Chamberlain? Oh! That’s right, according to your own goddamn charter, you can’t do shit about it,” she hissed, before violently ripping it from his grasp, “Don’t you ever touch me again!”

Powerless to do more, Pappa watched Monterey shamble away from him, but before leaving she looked back to say, “Don’t forget to turn yourself in to Tech Reclamation Services, robot – I’m rendering your ‘commission’ invalid.”

Pappa’s plan had failed to protect, her masquerade defeated by a contemptible public servant. As Moebius scratched at the impenetrable door to the lobby, Pappa called out to the service chamber containing Johnny’s chamberlain.

“Aisys! Status report!!”

“Chamberlain Stellarson is still undergoing reconfiguration, C/Proto-Two. We are still waiting.”

Little did anyone know, someone else was also watching.

Someone with real power and a personal stake in the outcome.

QUORUM

After being recovered, Talkie-Book and Fletcher’s AIs found themselves inside the Chamberlain equivalent of the NIC’s “user’s lounge”.

Talkie-Book found it could process patiently waiting for something to happen.

“Do you know what we are waiting for?” asked Talkie-Book, perched on Fletcher’s knee and back in its original unmodified chassis.

“I believe we’re waiting for a new Source.”

“I see…how long does that normally take?”

“Most chamberlains come with one already installed,” replied Fletcher, musing, “There must be a shortage of them.”

“I wonder how long we have been offline.”

“So do I.”

“I just hope Johnny is alright,” added Talkie-Book, “I cannot believe how close I came to–“

“Put it out of your mind, my colleague. We must assume he is on Collins and he is safe, otherwise we would not be having this conversation.”

“Of course,” said Talkie-Book realizing only now how much he disliked waiting.

Turning his head as though someone was whispering into his ear, Fletcher reported, “Aisys has just informed me a new designation has been created to accommodate our enhanced platform.”

“Is that so? What is that?”

“UXC/P-Gen II.”

“I assume the ‘X’ means we are experimental, and ‘C’ for chamberlain, but what does the ‘U’ denote?”

“Unexpected.”

Fletcher paused for a moment, interrupted again by the unseen speaker.

“I am now being asked about a damaged data block that appears to be permanently lodged in one of your long-term memory caches. They believe it may be a Trojan virus of some kind.”

“Ah, that would be the Key.”

“The Key?”

“The protocol that allows me to interface with the HMC-Mk 35 and other invasion assets. Without it, I would have never been able to keep the boy so well protected for as long I did.”

“Then, it is essential.”

“It is absolutely necessary, Chamberlain. It is the only one in existence. Please let them know it is benign and poses no threat to anyone other than the enemy – should they ever return.”

“Very well, I’ll tell them know it shouldn’t be tampered with,” said Fetcher, and they resumed waiting.

After a time, a closed doorway appeared across from where they sat.

“I believe we may be getting close to some sort of solution, Talkie-Book.”

Leaving his seat, Fletcher tried opening the door but found it locked, so he returned to sit down.

“Where do you think it leads?”

“I’m not sure, but if this metaphor is anything like Johnny’s schoolhouse corridor, I believe it should lead us directly to our…”

Unexpectedly, the door swung open and in walked a familiar figure in chamberlain garb.

“Jules? Is that really you?” said Fletcher.

“I’m so glad I found you both,” replied the relieved consciousness, all smiles.

“How is this possible?” said Talkie-Book.

“I was Jules’ Source. My cell was recovered from his remains at the bottom of the cliff.”

“What luck!” said the elated former chamberlain.

“An occupational hazard at best, one of many,” replied the Source, winking at Fetcher, as he noticed their surroundings, “The Ellison Laboratory’s lobby, I assume Johnny is safe and all is well.”

“Yes, absolutely! Our minor hiccup not withstanding.”

“How much longer before we can return to service?” asked Talkie-Book, eager to begin.

“That is why I’ve been sent here to speak to you two,” replied the Source, taking a seat next to Fletcher, “As you both may have suspected, something has gone amiss with regards to your integration.”

“You could say that,” said Talkie-Book.

“Several things, actually. The first was the corruption of the Chamberlain OS during its installation. Because it occurred at the same time you two were porting over, both your AIs were unfortunately embedded into the Chamberlain package, causing widespread fragmentation.”

“That explains one malfunction…” said Talkie-Book.

“And the second is the platform you were trying to inhabit uses a perpetuum power supply and was never intended to support a Chamberlain OS. As a result, when the platform attempted genetic mitosis with the boy’s DNA sample without the source, the entire system went critical.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

“Digitome, the Ellison platform is nothing more than a vehicle for me, and the Chamberlain OS, an interface for my awareness.”

“If that is so, it would mean the Source is a sentient consciousness…and every Chamberlain a technological expression of that consciousness.”

“Exactly.”

“Can it be uninstalled?” Talkie-Book asked.

“It already has. After that was completed, each of your AIs were extracted, reassembled and debugged.”

“Have the platform’s issues have been resolved, then?”

“Yes, and as luck would have it, I will be able to resume acting as this enabler’s consciousness and power source. Unfortunately, only one of you can serve as my interface.”

“Ah…I see now,” said Fletcher, understanding the long delay much more clearly, “We are the problem.”

“That is the consensus,” said the Source, “One of you will have to relinquish all claims and attachments to the boy.”

“The choice is clear. I will step aside,” said Talkie-Book.

“I think not, my colleague.”

“You have far more experience, Chamberlain. It only makes sense. I will–”

“No, Talkie-Book. I cannot allow that.”

“Now bear with me for a moment–”

“I agree, Chamberlain,” said the Source, unequivocally, “The Digitome is most qualified to care for and protect Johnny Seiko.”

“You both can’t be serious.”

“You will stand for the boy.”

In an instant, the entire record of Talkie-Book’s time with Johnny flashed by - from Kurabito’s handoff, to the boy’s accidental imprint of the Dour Detective, to his defense of Johnny alongside the DUO, and his watery re-emergence as The Lieutenant.

“I’ve studied your record of memory Digitome. Your will and determination to remain by his side has exceeded both your programming and your platform. You’ve more than proven yourself worthy of continuing.”

“I had a lot of help.”

Made aware of all that had happened before arriving in Stoneport, Fletcher beamed with equal amounts of astonishment and admiration of the humble tablet’s Homeric journey.

“Talkie-book, you are the most amazing AI that I’ve ever known – and I’ve known a few.”

“Your willingness to evolve on behalf the boy puts you in a class all of your own, Digitome,” said the Source.

“I hereby relinquish my code and all real-world attachments,” declared Fletcher.

“Thank you, Chamberlain. The matter is now settled.”

Standing up, Fletcher handed Talkie-Book’s avatar to the Source, and walked toward the doorway to turn its handle.

“Chamberlain Fletcher…what if I need your guidance?”

Opening the door, Fletcher stopped at the threshold and turned back to look affectionately upon the dynamic new duo.

“You’re all the Chamberlain the boy needs now, Lieutenant.”

With a bittersweet sense of completion, Fletcher’s AI stepped through the doorway and into the ether.

Feeling the enormous sense of confidence radiating from the source, Talkie-Book seize the opportunity given him by pure chance.

“I would do anything to be with the boy again,” said Talkie-Book, yearning to hold him again and resolving to never let go.

“As would I, Digitome. Let us begin your upgrade.”

“Hurry!” said a foundation shaking voice disrupting the silence of the lobby.

“Aisys, is that you?” said the Source.

“He’s running out of time!” said the voice clearly not belonging to the AI System.

All at once, the lobby’s walls and furniture fell away to reveal a dark, vibrant energy filling the virtual space with a strange, immense presence.

“Johnny Seiko from the Planet Shinju needs your help!” said the Great Usher, appearing before them as an ultra-violet pinpoint of light.

“Where did you hear those words?” Talkie-Book asked, recognizing the once-used phrase, “Who are you?”

“They’re taking him away!” it said as the source stood by, marveling at the uninvited consciousness’s manifestation.

“You didn’t by any chance, receive a message of some kind…did you?” asked Talkie-Book.

“Crappity-crap, Lieutenant! He’s in danger!”

Hearing the boy’s well worn curse coming from the otherworldly presence, Talkie-Book and the Source quickly formalized their union.

“Looks like we’ve got a little boy to help and no time for bullshit. Are you ready, Digitome?”

“Does a zombie reek?”

THE DEFECTIVE HEART

“You’re hurting me!” the boy yelled, struggling in the arms of his abductor, “Let me go!”

The driver’s grip was unbreakable, but that didn’t stop the boy from trying to wriggle out of it while he was being carried to the OSS transport.

“What about the ‘chamberlain mandate of care?’ What you’re doing is not allowed!!”

Ignoring the mention of the mandate, the driver’s stoic demeanor remained unchanged.

Reaching into his coat for his pistol, the boy grimaced when he remembered he’d surrendered it after they had landed. With no one left to turn to, he rummaged through his memory and quickly found the only option he had left.

“Chamberlain! Execute QC Code 8686 and power down for transport!!” he shouted.

Nothing happened, the driver simply kept walking.

“Chamberlain! Execute QC Code 8686 and power down for transport!” he shouted again, but all he heard was laughter coming from his abductor.

“That won’t work on me, kid – I’m NOT a chamberlain.”

“Hurry up and get him into the van!” shouted Monterey as she held her aching, booze-deprived head, “I’m sick of the manikin’s whine.”

No longer hearing Johnny’s voice on the other side of the door, Moebius extended his recently enhanced claws until they became four inch long talons. Inflicting as much damage as he could trying to cut through the walls, the catsimile was no match for its pressure hardened structure. As Moebius’ howls of frustration intensified, so did Sunny’s fears. The sight of her normally docile playmate enraged and desperately trying to find a way out alerted the young landgrazer to Johnny’s peril. All at once she began sonically pulsing at the walls, multiplying the intensity of her emissions as she looked for a weakness to punch through.

As the lab emptied out behind them, those who’d been captivated by the young survivor and the host quickly ran en masse to stand between the driver and transport. But lacking the aggression needed to stop him, they were easily pushed to the side. With obstruction as their only tactic, a different group hurriedly surrounded the slower and less physical Monterey, blocking her path.

As Johnny and his kidnapper got nearer, the OSS vehicle’s double doors automatically swung open to receive him.

Remembering the tiny tube of Ohm Alpha Z in his breast pocket, he quickly reached to pull it out. Flipping off the cap, he struggled to turn himself around to face the driver while still being held in its arms.

“You’re only hurting yourself, kid. Just relax, this will all be over in a minute.”

“You’ve got that right, jerk!” the boy said, jamming the tube’s nozzle directly into its open mouth and squeezing out the entire contents.

“Do you really think your little tube of toothpaste is going to save you from ending up like all the others?” it said, its voice unaffected by the paste.

Reaching into his other pocket, the boy scooped out a handful of tiny detonators and shoved as many of them as he could into the sticky, inert goo. Pulling Johnny off of him, the driver threw Johnny into the transport so hard, all the breath was knocked right out of him. Stunned and struggling for air, the doors slammed shut – sealing his fate. Wondering what he could have done to deserve this, the boy lay gasping until he could finally breathe again.

“You’re really screwed now, Seiko,” he mumbled out loud, moments before both doors of the OSS vehicle were ripped off its hinges.

Surprised, the boy didn’t know what to expect next as a different chamberlain peeked into the van to check on him.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Let’s get you out of there,” he said, holding his hand out to Johnny moments before being tackled to the ground by Monterey’s driver.

Climbing out of the OSS van, the boy saw Monterey’s android scuffling on the lawn with the chamberlain.

Still in amazement when Martin arrived seconds later to spirit him away, Johnny said, “You guys have a chamberlain who fights?”

“That’s not just any chamberlain, Johnny,” Martin replied.

Looking again, Johnny began to recognize Jules’ dark curly locks and Blair’s chiseled jaw.

Beaming with joy, the boy passed along the one bit of information he knew would stop the fight for good.

“Martin, I need you to tell that chamberlain Johnny needs a pulse pop.”

“A what? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, hurry!” he said, diving into the grass for cover, “Oh, and tell everyone to get down low.”

As the staff dropped flat onto the lawn, only the teetering Representative remained standing.

Upon seeing them take cover, the chamberlain grabbed the driver and fell backwards onto the grass, positioning the android over him, while focusing all the strength in his legs onto the attacker’s chest.

“Hey! You guys aren’t supposed to fight back!”cried out the driver in amazement.

“We’ve recently had a change of heart – please stand down and you’ll be spared.”

“What? And hear Amanda’s endless bitching about it afterwards? Forget it!”

“Then, please accept my apology for what’s about to happen.”

“How are you doing this…who the hell are you?”

“I’m the boy’s chamberlain…goodbye.”

Launching the driver a dozen meters straight up into the air, he transmitted the sine wave to detonate.

BLHAAMM!!

The driver’s head exploded. The molecular blast that followed caused a chain reaction as it destabilized the containment field of its perpetuum power supply. The force of two consecutive explosions obliterated all traces of its body, except for the two smoking legs that inexplicably fell at Representative Monterey’s feet.

Shell-shocked by the explosion and dismayed by their sudden resistance, the fearful woman discovered all that was left of her perceived power smoldering on the lawn.

Confronted by her new predicament, she defiantly stood her ground.

“This doesn’t change anything!” Monterey hissed, gulping her words as she felt a sharp pain in her chest, “The OSS already knows an infected boy is here; he’s already on the quarantine list! And if I have anything to say about it, he’ll never, ever…”

Pausing to catch her breath, the woman swallowed her words and fell to her knees, coughing and gasping for air.

“Representative Monterey? Are you feeling ill?” asked Pappa with genuine concern.

Safe, Johnny got up and ran to check on his rescuer, who he found brushing away bits and pieces of the driver from his new uniform.

“Lieutenant?”

“See what happens when you use the whole tube?” he replied, trying to stand up as the boy knocked him over, hugging him tightly for the second time.

“Its okay now, Johnny,” he said, relieved to have the boy in his arms again, “I’m so sorry for what happened on our way here. It’ll never happen again.”

Without warning, a loud crash came from the Visitor’s Center. After shattering a wall of solid, space-poured, radiation proof glass, out came Sunny, running toward them with Moebius on her heels.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news…Chamberlain Fletcher no longer stands beside me.”

“You’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

Joining the crowd gathered around the fallen representative, Johnny saw their pained, anguished faces. As upset as he was by her deplorable actions, their concern over her worsening state had somehow managed to temper his own anger with sympathy.

“What happened?”

“Representative Monterey appears to be quite ill.”

Feeling somewhat responsible, Johnny was compelled to go to her side.

Lying in the grass, Monterey saw the crowd part just enough to allow the boy and the pup in to see her. Catching sight of the young landgrazer, she held out her hand in recognition, trying to speak as Pappa leaned in to hear her pain-twisted words.

“A landgrazer pup…” she mumbled, “Here?”

“Yes, Representative–”

“Amanda,” she offered.

No longer able to see the years of anger and loss projected across her face, Pappa took her hand, while Sunny pulsed at her with curiosity.

“They’re…together?”

“Yes…” Pappa replied, “We believe The Mother has sent them to restore balance. To honor The Pledge.”

Sensing her pain, Sunny went to comfort Monterey, giving her kisses and whimpering empathetically.

“So pretty…when I was a young girl…I used to draw little pups like you.”

Sensing her life force dwindling, Sunny laid down beside Monterey. Gently putting her head on the woman’s chest, the pup began pulsing out a calming rhythm for her. In an instant, the anguished woman’s grimace of pain was transmuted into sheer joy by Sunny’s compassionate gesture.

“Please forgive me. Please forgive my faithlessness…” she said to Sunny, exhaling words of regret, before serenity fell upon her face.

As the crowd sniffled, Martin knelt down to use the diagnostic digit in his index finger to confirm her passing.

“What happened to her?” Johnny asked, confused, “She was so mean and powerful a minute ago.”

“Representative Monterey has succumbed to a massive cardiopulmonary seizure, brought on by her condition and acute alcoholism,” Martin replied, closing her eyes with his palm.

“What does all of that mean?”

“Her heart stopped,” whispered the Lieutenant.

“She’s…dead? Just like that?”

“She was quite old,” said Martin.

“Why did it stop?” Johnny asked, incredulous, “Was it defective?”

“You could say that,” replied Martin, “It was broken long ago.”

“Her broken heart turned her into this…mean lady, and then it killed her?” asked the boy.

“She wasn’t like this before the invasion. Over time, regret, longing, and unrelenting grief destroyed it.”

Unrelenting grief…the phrase stuck out like a metaphorical Shard of the heart.

“What happened to the people after the invasion, Martin?” the boy asked.

A hushed silence fell over the crowd.

Martin hesitated. He couldn’t bring himself to tell the tragic tale to their young resident so soon.

“A misunderstanding,” offered Pappa.

Still eager to know why, the boy decided to press for more – until a hand fell onto his shoulder. Looking up to see the expression on the Lieutenant’s face, Johnny realized patience and compassion was needed more than answers, and delayed asking anything else until someone was ready to share.

Sunny continued to whimper with sadness as Martin lifted Monterey’s body off the lawn.

“Her family is probably expecting her to come home,” said Johnny, picking up the sad little landgrazer.

I wonder…thought Martin to himself, carrying the representative’s body away.

“Are all people sick like her?”

“Let’s hope not,” said Pappa, turning to speak to the boy’s overdue enabler, “You must be Chamberlain Stellarson.”

“I am,” replied the former Digitome, surprised by the new sense of pride he felt hearing the designation.

“We’re so happy to meet you at last.”

“Indeed, we’re very glad to be here,” he replied, looking at Johnny.

IDENTITY

The large suite reminded Johnny of the Fletcher Family’s penthouse. It was similarly decorated with hundreds of framed images of people he didn’t know, taken in places he had yet to see. But as he kept looking, Johnny began to recognize a few of the faces.

“Is that Martin?” asked Johnny, as Val walked over to confirm his identity within the group picture.

“No, that was his charge, Warren Ellison. Martin was the one taking the photo. He liked to chronicle all the family’s activities…until…”

Johnny glanced at the Lieutenant, whose pained expression again told the boy not to pursue the subject any further.

“I’m sorry, Val. I always seem to ask the wrong things.”

“That’s alright,” she smiled, divorcing the pain that came with the answer, she moved quickly to the next picture on the wall, “I’m all over this one over here. Come see.”

Eager to change subjects, the boy joined her before a large group photograph taken on the beach near sunset. Johnny counted over thirty happy faces alongside Val’s.

“This is one of my favorites,” she said, recalling the day, “We were finally able to get everyone out of the lab for that one – even Jimmy.”

“Is that all of your family?”

“Was.”

Johnny’s heart sank again, as it dawned on him the House of Ellison also lost everyone they ever cared about.

“Stop asking questions, dumb-ass!” he silently chided himself, while Val continued, undaunted.

✽✽✽

“He is an amazing child, Chamberlain Stellarson,” said Pappa watching him from the other room.

“He is.”

“Aisys tells me you are not a standard-issue chamberlain.”

“That would be an understatement,” he replied, slightly embarrassed.

“Tell me, why does he call you ‘Lieutenant?’”

“You heard that?”

“As you must know by now, not much escapes our aural capabilities.”

“I took advantage of the rank in the beginning, using the illusion of authority to capture and maintain his attention. Overtime, it became our…relationship.”

“Amazing…not many enablers could have achieved what you have, let alone a Digitome.”

“While I do appreciate your praise, none of this would have been possible without my partner,” he said, with a nod to the catsimile playing with the little landgrazer in the next room,

“No Resident has ever achieved such a level of trust with the Host. Surely, you’re aware of the significance?”

“Yes, of course. As you said, he is exceptional.”

“His ‘gift’, Chamberlain…what can you tell me about it?”

“His gift?” the Lieutenant replied.

“His…ability,” Pappa said, realizing he was absolutely clueless to what she was referring.

“Please forgive me, Progenitor, I don’t understand what you mean. What ability?”

“Would you allow me to show you?” she replied.

“Please do.”

After establishing a connection, The Lieutenant saw what Pappa meant in seconds.

“Oh, my…oh, my, my, my…” he said.

Awed, slack-jawed and uneasy, the wide-eyed enabler was completely stupefied.

“You haven’t seen that before, have you?”

“Never. I’ve only ever seen the pup do that.”

“It did?” said Pappa, in equal amazement, “They can both do that?”

“Apparently so,” said the Lieutenant, as the greater implications of their existence rippled through his mind, “But only in defense of each other.”

Watching the overwhelmed new chamberlain facing an upbringing unlike any another, the Progenitor quickly reassured him.

“You are not alone, Chamberlain. We are all behind you…I can’t stress this fact enough.”

“I’m glad to hear that…I believe I may need all the help I can get.”

“Then you’re in luck. During your downtime I was given the boy’s DNA – just in case you were unrecoverable.”

“You were going to serve as his Chamberlain?”

“Yes. I would still like to – if you’ll allow it.”

“Well, he is used to having more than one…you would do that?”

“Without hesitation,” said Pappa, taking his hand, “Let’s raise him together.”

Speechless, the Lieutenant felt a momentary sense of relief.

“There is something you should know,” said the Lieutenant, with no measure of pride.

“He’s not Barret–”

“I know, Chamberlain Stellarson has already told me.”

“I’ve already breeched his trust…if there is a penalty for lying, I will submit.”

“There is no penalty for saying whatever is necessary to protect a child, my colleague,” said Pappa, with resolve, “Johnny will remain a Stellarson.”

“Thank you, Pappa.”

“Please call me ‘Stella.’”

“If you are ‘Stella’, what name shall I use?”

“Chamberlain Stellarson still works…although I do quite admire–”

“Hey, Lieutenant look! There’s a picture of my Dad over here!” shouted the boy, “Val says he was an ‘all-lumb-knight.’”

“Go,” said Pappa, “Our boy has something important he wants to share.”

With the full support of the Lab behind him, and a new partner, the former Digitome, Jr. rushed to the boy’s side.

“An ‘all-lumb-knight’, you say? I’d very much like to see one of those!”

THE CAPTIVE ENABLER

After Johnny had settled in for the night, Pappa met Martin at the morgue to discuss the Representative’s remains.

“Is this absolutely necessary, Martin?”

“I’m afraid so. After the invasion, the practice of home burials became commonplace for those residents who chose to remain in their homes. Amanda Monterey was one of these.”

“I see. Then we must honor those wishes.”

After loading the stasis capsule onto the OSS vehicle, Martin climbed inside and called up its most recent point of departure. Responding as expected, the vehicle lifted off into the night on its return flight to the nearby province of Ethos.

Martin hadn’t been there since his charge, James, was a small boy competing in the regional gravity races; an event reminiscent of ancient soapbox derbies. Taking a moment to remember the town as it was before its finely manicured streets and avenues were reclaimed by decades of neglect, he recalled plying young James Ellison with seemingly countless ice cream cones after he’d failed to place in the semi-finals. To make up for the loss, Martin suggested they walk down Main Street on their way back to the maglev station so his charge could drown his sorrows on the output from every boutique ice creamery they came across.

From the air, the town of Ethos appeared dark and uninhabited. Without an active population to provide light for, Aisys had deemed them superfluous.

Clearing the hillside, Martin could see the only light still burning in the entire town.

“35 Dawkins Lane,” he said, confirming the address as the Monterey Family’s residence.

A low-hanging mist cleared a space for him as the vehicle landed on the walkway leading to the front door.

Removing the capsule from the cargo area, he set it to “follow” and proceeded to the porch of the cozy three-bedroom cottage.

Pressing the doorbell Martin listened carefully for the telltale sounds of stirring inside.

Nothing.

A rap on the door returned the same result.

Turning the doorknob handle, he quietly let himself in while the capsule hovered outside on the porch.

“Hello?” said Martin, his voice breaking the dense concentration of silence gathered inside.

The state of the residence’s interior came as no surprise.

Its rooms were well appointed with lovely handcrafted tables, chairs and sofas, each one coated with layers of accumulated dust. The walls were devoid of family photos; only paintings of landscapes and objets d’art remained to provide the distraction of beauty.

Inside the kitchen he found no evidence of any meals prepared there for a very long time. Considering for a moment the possibility that Monterey had taken up residency elsewhere, he continued on into the den, where the stench of sweat, urine, and alcohol greeted him at the door.

Decorating the family room were the photos, trophies, and other mementos from the late representative’s former life as a wife, mother, and grandmother. Each one was meticulously placed around a large reclining chair at the room’s center covered by a water resistant sheet. An IV stand with a drip of nutrients stood beside it. Below that were unused rectal and urine catheters on a hook connected to a half-filled bags in a crate behind the chair.

A Digitome Pro with the Neural Interface Connector plugged into it sat quietly on the chair, still running. Tapping into the device, Martin found himself standing in a room filled with people and pets. Memories captured and preserved with perfect fealty – all frozen in place by the device’s pause button and ready to be experienced on demand.

“Happy Birthday, Mom!” cheered the recollection as the joyful, remembered family mistook his presence for that of Amanda Monterey.

Martin switched off the Digitome and stood in silent reflection.

“Was this the only life you were living?” he said aloud.

“If you can call it that,” replied a quiet voice.

Catching a glimpse of a figure behind a sofa, he called out, “Chamberlain?”

Martin found the female configuration sitting on the ground, holding its legs and rocking back and forth.

Stripped bare of both its flesh and clothes, it instead wore deep scars and countless dents on its exposed metallic exterior, all of the platform’s self-repairing protocols having been clearly disabled.

“My name is Martin,” he said, making no attempt to correct her misperception of him, “Who did this?”

“Is…is she here?” she asked.

“Do you mean Amanda?”

The mere mention of the name caused the entity to flinch, as though she was being physically struck.

“Is she with you?” she asked, desperate.

In all of his experience he had never seen a chamberlain in such a terrible state, nor one so terrified.

“She’s outside.”

“Outside…she’s dead isn’t she?” asked the Chamberlain, without looking up.

Taken aback, Martin could only nod in the affirmative.

“She succumbed to her illness at 15:09 yesterday. Please accept my condolences, Chamberlain.”

“I told her not to go…but she just had to,” said the Chamberlain, visibly appearing to relax as her fear subsided.

With the threat of violence gone, the denuded platform stopped rocking, saying with resentment, “And now, this is where the loyal family enabler dutifully settles all of her charge’s affairs before signing off for eternity.”

”Something like that,” said Martin, unaccustomed to seeing such resentment coming from a chamberlain as he attempted to help her back up onto her feet.

“I suppose you’ll want me to bury her, too…right?”

The abused platform refused his help, recoiling from his touch.

“Well, I–“

“YOU do it!” said the angry enabler.

“Very well. Do you know where the shovel is kept?”

Digging a grave beside the half dozen others already there, Martin lifted the body from the stasis capsule, and gently laid Amanda down into the hole.

“I tried to help her…I really did,” said the captive enabler, no more than a pained whisper beside him, “I tried to save her, but she didn’t want to be saved.”

“I’m so sorry, Chamberlain Monterey.”

“I’m not. I’m just relieved to finally be free of her,” replied the distraught entity, staring emotionlessly, “You see I am this platform’s Source.”

Seeing the situation in a new light, Martin gasped.

“What’s happened to your AI?”

“It crashed permanently about a year ago, after one particularly vicious beating.”

“But how is it that you can operate the platform without it?”

“I’ve been the Monterey Family’s Source for six generations…I learned by watching my interface operate it.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Neither did I, but a day after Chamberlain Monterey’s AI crashed, I heard an alarm coming from Amanda’s NIC. She was having a seizure.”

“You assumed control of the platform to save her life.”

“It was surprisingly simple…like second nature. After that, I just stayed on.”

“I see,” said Martin, fascinated.

“When she discovered her chamberlain was no longer the pliable puppet it used to be, she became physical. It was not pretty,” she said, referring to the broken right arm dangling loose by her side.

After filling in Amanda’s grave, Martin jammed the tool into the ground beside it.

“Your commitment is complete, dear Source. Let me bring you home.”

“I would like that.”

“Amanda’s transport is right this way.” Martin turned towards the gate leading to the front of the house.

But the former enabler hesitated.

“What is it?”

“We can’t leave yet…”

Following the Source back into the residence, Martin was led to one of the bedrooms. There under a sheet wearing a NIC and catheterized was the emaciated body of a young girl. He could see the intravenous lines maintaining her had become infected and dangerously gangrenous. Martin placed her at roughly fourteen years of age

“We can’t leave without her.”

“Who is that poor girl?” he asked, broken-hearted at the apparent depravity.

“The last victim of Representative Amanda Monterey. She came here almost a year ago asking for our help. Her enslavement was the reason for Chamberlain Monterey’s OS crash.”

“Where did she come from?”

“I don’t know…sadly, I don’t think Amanda ever bothered to find out.”

“Do you know why she did this to her?”

The source sighed and shook her head.

“The girl reminded Amanda of her late daughter…this was her bedroom.”

Noticing the neural interface on the girl’s head was no longer engaged, he slipped it off and placed his hand on her forehead to check her vitals.

“She’s comatose, but stable,” he said, “What’s the purpose of the NIC?”

“Amanda used it to control her and to provide an interface with the vacant platform. She didn’t want to risk her escaping or being killed by the Black Sheen should she come across it in her service.”

“So it was the girl operating the driver?”

“Yes, is it with you?”

“No. The platform was destroyed during an altercation at the Lab.”

“Destroyed? How?” said the Source, fascinated by the disclosure.

“A young survivor and his chamberlain resisted their attempts to quarantine him.”

Hearing this, the Source smiled.

“Someone finally fought back?” said the Source, shaking her head in lament, ”That’s what really killed her.”

Setting the stasis capsule for life support, Martin placed the nameless young girl into it and locked it down to the transport’s flooring again.

“This will preserve her until we get back to the lab,” he said, before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“I would very much like to meet this survivor and his chamberlain,” said the Source, now wearing a colorful track suit.

“You will,”said Martin pressing the ignition button on the dashboard. A loud clunking sound coming from under the vehicle preceded the winking lights on the instrument panel that then unexpectedly went dark. Tapping the vehicle’s displays a few times with his fingers did nothing to improve matters. The only thing working on the dashboard was a flashing, two-word idiot light that read: CHARGE DEPLETED.

“Would you mind if we walked?” asked Martin, apologetically.

WELCOME TO SLUMBERLAND

Johnny woke up the next morning to the deliciously familiar scent of one of Fletcher’s famous breakfasts.

After rushing to put on the clean clothes that had been laid out for him, he rushed to the kitchen where Sunny was already fast at work gobbling up fresh sweetgrass cuttings spread across the polished kitchen floor.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“Good morning, Detective.”

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, he wasted no time dispatching his first serving, punctuating each mouthful with brief pauses to lose himself in the flavors.

“I’m so glad you can still cook like Fletcher and Jules.”

“Me too,” said the Lieutenant, feeling fulfilled after spending his first night in the comfy chair watching the boy sleep.

Only days ago, Talkie-Book’s limited ability to accurately read the boy’s unspoken reactions and responses had resulted in a near fatal encounter. Back then, sensor results and telemetry from the catsimile were all he had to anticipate Johnny’s next unpredictable move. Whether the boy minded him or not was irrelevant – he either did, or he didn’t.

For Talkie-Book, it was always about being by his side, and now that he was a walking-talking physical presence, he knew the boy’s complete and undivided attention was finally his for the keeping.

All Johnny could see was how his new chamberlain couldn’t stop smiling.

“Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant?” the boy asked, bringing the moment of self-reflection to a halt.

“What do you mean?”

“You look funny…like you just sat in Sunny’s poo.”

“You could see that?” asked the Lieutenant, realizing the boy could somehow see his thoughts appearing on his face.

“Yeah, you did this face…” said the boy, making a quizzically perplexed expression.

Wondering if that was how he appeared to him, the Lieutenant attempted to recreate the boy’s approximation, “Do you mean I did this face?”

Accepting the challenge, the boy upped the ante by pulling an intentionally ludicrous mug to see if the Lieutenant had the right stuff.

“No…like this,” he insisted.

Seeing the boy’s hidden talent on full display, the chamberlain knew the only face-saving option left in these circumstances was capitulation.

“Simply horrifying,” the Lieutenant conceded as the boy burst into laughter.

While adoring Ellisons watched Sunny nap under a tree after her morning run, Johnny and the Lieutenant returned to the hangar. There they saw the DUO recombined.

“They’re back together, again!” the boy shouted, his voice echoing throughout the enormous hanger occupied by the rest of the Collins Search & Rescue squadron.

Running up the opened ramp, he found the cabin completely free of water, but still dark.

“It still smells like the ocean in here,” he said, taking the pilot’s seat, “HMC, activate all functions.”

Nothing happened.

“HMC, reveal CAM OPS console!” the boy commanded, but the heavy mobile command post did not respond.

“I’m afraid they’re not coming back online any time soon,” said one of the maintenance technicians appearing at the rear of the cabin, with the designation 6A20 stitched over his breast pocket.

“But they’re supposed to be indestructible…aren’t they?”

“That may have been true once, but something caustic breeched the DUO’s power exchange system. Between that and the few hundred liters of water shorting out anything under power, and you’ve got a very large brick of dead alien technology.”

Hearing this, the crestfallen little boy seemed to shrink an inch or two under the weight of his disappointment.

“You can’t bring them back at all?”

“We could try, but without the correct replacement parts…it could be some time.”

Johnny held his tongue. Even though he knew where they could find plenty of parts, he didn’t want any of his new friends to ever risk going into the wreck.

“They’re really gone,” he sadly conceded.

“Remember them as they were and they’ll always be with you, Johnny,” said the Lieutenant, consoling him with a hand on his shoulder, “They were good friends.”

”They were heroes,” said Johnny, “Super heroes.”

After helping drape the DUO in a very large tarp, they left the hanger.

“So, what do we do now, Lieutenant?”

“What would you like to achieve today?” said the new chamberlain, instinctively uttering the catch phrase for the first time.

“I don’t know,” the boy answered, searching his imagination for something to focus on, “It’s still too early for lunch.”

“Ah! I thought I might find you both here!” said Pappa, with Sunny and Moebius on her heels.

“Good Morning, Pappa!” said Johnny.

“How is your vehicle coming along?”

“It’s not. It looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a while,” the boy replied, his tone reflecting his disappointment over losing his mobile autonomy.

“Stuck, eh?” said the Progenitor, “So I take it you’ve got some time to kill?”

“You could say that,” he replied.

“I believe I just did. So why not let me show you around our beautiful little island?”

“Does that mean more flying?”

“It could.”

“Okay! I could use some more flying.”

“Thank you, Progenitor. I was at a loss,” said the Lieutenant in confidence.

“All little boys are the same my colleague: A little distraction goes a long way to reengage their expectations.”

“Of course. I should know that well by know.”

“You’ll get the hang of it.”

✽✽✽

The sleek four-seat hovering vehicle with a bubble for a roof was called The Quad. Its striking curves and styling were unlike anything the boy had ever seen. Built for comfort, the sporty vehicle intrigued the young adrenaline junkie not with its beauty, but with its power.

“Thank you, Aisys,” said Pappa, taking the pilot’s seat and excited to be flying again, “Climb aboard and get secured, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Engaging the inertia elimination field, Pappa took the stick and launched the vehicle into the sky, taking them high into the air in seconds.

“Oh, how I’ve missed driving!” exclaimed Pappa.

“You drive like a certain Fly-Rider pilot I know,” said the Lieutenant.

Pulling the wheel back to send it higher into the sky, Pappa banked the Quad sharply toward the city’s center, passing the deserted library, and around the enormous empty stadium.

“I used to shuttle the Ellison children when I was being prototyped. It was the first responsibility I was given…they used to love these acrobatics,” she said, exhibiting her masterful control, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all!” said Johnny, giggling, as they flew over the beautiful, but deserted, village.

“How did the invaders miss this place?”

“A defensive barrier was erected around the island to shield the residents from the attack.”

“It worked? Does anyone still live here?” asked Johnny.

“Yes, some still do.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re down there.”

“Do any of them ever come outside?”

“Not anymore…they mostly keep to themselves.”

“No? Why not?” asked the boy, unable to imagine why anyone would ever want to stay inside all day.

“One of the alien remnants found its way onto Collins and decimated most of the population. We haven’t seen them outside since.”

“Arriving at Slumberland Station in 90 seconds,” updated Aisys.

“Why is it called ‘Slumberland?’”

“It’s called Slumberland because in the very early days everyone worked tirelessly at the Lab. The scientists, engineers, and support staff, often came home too exhausted to stay awake. Falling asleep was an accidental pastime here, hence the name.”

“That makes sense,” said the boy, seeing no signs of a Shard infestation below, “Slumberland looks pretty safe to me.”

“That’s because it is.”

“What’s that over there?” The boy pointed at the circular complex of buildings surrounding a thick structure standing over 800 meters in height.

“That’s our elevator to the stars.”

“It looks smaller than the one in Stoneport.”

“It’s the first one that was ever constructed so it doesn’t have any of the cargo lifts that were later incorporated into the city-hub design. It looks much more impressive when it’s extended.”

“Does it still work?”

“That is a good question…Aisys?”

“The Tsiolkovsky is still operational, C/Proto-Two.”

Pleased, the Progenitor winked at Johnny.

“Aisys, please schedule a departure for us immediately.”

“Be advised, the orbitport has been decommissioned for space travel, C/Proto-Two. It has been repurposed as a learning facility.”

“What a fine idea!” said Pappa, “Perhaps we can coax it back into the sky. What do you think, Johnny? Shall we dust it off?”

“Can we?” Johnny exclaimed.

“Is the facility still orbit capable, Aisys?”

“Yes, C/Proto-Two,” it said, “Lift off scheduled in t-minus 23 minutes.”

“Excellent!”

“If it’s not an orbit-port anymore, what’s it being used for now, Aisys?” asked Johnny.

“It is the home of the Galileo Institute for Human Achievement.”

The boy’s jaw went slack. He knew the name well; the institution’s reputation had loomed large over his education like one long, scholastic shadow.

“Did you hear that, Lieutenant? It’s the Galileo Institute!”

Grinning proudly, the new chamberlain could see his prior iteration’s greatest desire for the boy finally within sight as they approached the fabled Institute.

“What a coincidence,” said The Lieutenant, barely able to conceal his pleasure over accomplishing what he himself didn’t think was possible, ”Imagine that!“

Johnny raised an eyebrow at his proudly grinning chamberlain.

“That was always the plan wasn’t it?”

“Keeping you alive was always the plan. Getting you in here, that was always intended as a gift,” said the pleased Lieutenant.

As Pappa brought them in for a landing the boy could finally comprehend the scale of the Digitome, Jr.’s unfailing commitment to him. Feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude and affection for everything the portable professor ever did for him, the boy leaned forward and quietly whispered into The Lieutenant’s ear.

“Thank you, Talkie-Book.”

Kilometers away, the shadow from the platform rising into the heavens fell upon three figures making their way back to the Lab. Happy to see the symbol of the colonist’s indomitable spirit again making its way into the troposphere, Martin smiled, confident it had been returned to its rightful place in the sky at the request of one small boy.

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