Writers of the Future, Volume 28 (28 page)

The Command for Love

F
or the third time in a week, Ligish removed the locking pin from the back of his skull, opened the doors and examined his brain through an automicroscope. Maybe today he’d figure out which one of the homunculus’ slips of paper was the command for love and destroy the damn thing. The last thing he wanted was to fall in love with his master’s daughter.

A cascade of mirrors relayed images from inside Ligish’s skull to a silver screen in front of his face. Reflected in the silver was Master Gray’s homunculus sitting at an ivory desk. Ligish’s skull was empty except for the desk, the homunculus and a golden sphere the size of a grapefruit. The homunculus’ hand blurred as it dipped its quill against a hole in the desk. The nib emerged coated with black ink-blood. The homunculus wrote mysterious symbols on pieces of parchment. Once it finished each command, the homunculus pushed it through a slot in the golden sphere.

Ligish increased the magnification. Yesterday, he’d thought he’d discovered the command for love. He’d spotted the same symbol several times, but then he realized he’d seen it last month during routine self-examination. He’d only fallen in love with Anna last week.

Ligish sighed. It was hopeless. Humans had their subconscious driving their behavior in ways unknown to their rational minds, but at least it was theirs, and sometimes they could refuse its imperatives. He could not refuse his homunculus and it no longer listened to his thoughts. Worse still, it grew senile in lockstep with Master Gray.

He’d never heard of a homunculus giving instructions to fall in love before. It was utter foolishness. She was human. He was an electro-reinforced titanium war golem. Somehow, he must fall out of love with Anna. At the thought of her name, the homunculus scribbled a command and put it into the slot. The pistons in his chest compartment sped up. Ligish clutched his chest. What was the fool thing doing now
?
By God, even thinking her name made his engines malfunction. This love business needed to end. Master Gray was too senile to create a new homunculus and too poor to buy a new one, so only Ligish could find a solution.

There was no end to his worries. Love, Master Gray’s poverty, the leaking roof over the north wing and a thousand household chores. He was no closer to identifying the command today than he was on Monday, and other tasks demanded his attention. Ligish waited until his chest pistons slowed and then pushed the automicroscope controls away.

Someone knocked on the doors. “Golem,” a man said. “Open these doors.” Master Gray hadn’t left his bed or seen visitors for months. Who could it be
?
The man turned the handle and tried to enter, but Ligish had blocked the doors with a scale model of the world. The doors hit the model’s head, activating the key-wound mechanism. With a whir, the right arm lifted the sun above the chest’s vertical plane, while the left arm dropped below, imitating the cycle of day and night. “Golem, I command you to open up!”

It was tempting to ignore the visitor and continue with his research, but Miss Anna would chide him for neglecting his duties. “One moment,” he called and locked his skull. He walked to the doors, his footsteps rattling the glass beakers on the laboratory benches. He lifted the model world by the leg, careful to avoid crushing the tiny mountains, and moved it from the doorway.

A bespectacled old soldier opened the doors. He limped into the laboratory, his tan military uniform almost blending into the parquet floor. A row of medals from the Suprasternal Notch war was pinned to his chest. The gears in Ligish’s bowels rumbled. The Suprasternal Notch war was notorious for its brutality. The stars on the man’s shoulders indicated a general’s rank. Shuffling behind was a junior officer carrying a notepad and pencil.

The man leaned upon his walking stick as he surveyed the mess of glassware, scientific instruments and charts scattered around what had once been the family ballroom. “Johnson, take note,” he said. “A genuine titanium war golem from the Transpyloric Plane. I’d thought they’d all been destroyed after the treaty of Omental Bursa. It must be thousands of years old.”

Ligish knelt so they were at the same height and extended his hand. The general examined it with a cool curiosity, but did not shake. After an uncomfortable moment, Ligish dropped his hand and stood.

“It is a pleasure to have your acquaintance,” Ligish said. “I believe I’m the only verified war golem left upon the world’s upper body, though there are rumors inert bronze war golems sleep in Acetabulum’s dark forests.”

The general stretched and tapped Ligish on the forehead with his walking stick, making a tiny belling sound. “At least ten feet tall and electroreinforced titanium skin,” he said to Johnson, who scribbled notes. “See the rust on the skull rivets
?
It still houses the original soul. Thousands of years of experience. Johnson, what do you think a genuine war golem under my homunculus would do for the war in Anterior Talus
?
”

“It may turn the tide, General Maul,” Johnson said.

In his head, Ligish counted to ten. He’d usher these upstart soldiers from their house calmly and coolly, like a proper servant. “General Maul,” he said. “Master Gray is in ill health and Miss Anna has need of my tutoring before her final exams. As much as I’d love to serve Arteria Carotis, I’m needed here.”

Maul spoke to Johnson. “Its homunculus is quite the conversationalist. It’ll be a pity to replace it.”

“Did you not hear me
?
” Ligish yelled. A beaker fell from a bench and shattered.

Maul removed his spectacles and stared at Ligish, his eyes like wet black stones. “You’ve no choice. Once I’m married to Miss Gray, you’re my possession.”

Ligish’s knees buckled and it was all he could do to avoid toppling in shock. “Married
?
”

“Yes,” Maul said. “You’ll be in my service.”

Anna could not be engaged to this man. She’d have told him, wouldn’t she
?
“I don’t wish to be employed by you.”

“Mr. Gray is sentimental about your generations of service to his family, but the law is the law,” Maul said. “The thinking have dominion over the nonthinking and only men are self-aware. Mr. Gray has agreed I’ll clear his debts in return for the ownership of his daughter and his goods. You’ll be my possession in a month.”

Ligish balled his fists, wanting badly to grab Maul’s head and squeeze until it popped. General Maul continued peering around the lab, picking up beakers and ruining Ligish’s experiments. “You’re dismissed,” he said. “A month is barely enough time to repair this hovel. I’d suggest you start.”

Ligish bowed and scraped out of the laboratory. Once the doors were closed, he strode toward the western wing. Hopefully his homunculus would command him to beg Master Gray to sell Ligish to a charity before the wedding. He could do good helping the poor instead of slaughtering men in the distant polar darkness of Anterior Talus.

Instead of walking to Master Gray, his homunculus made him climb the stairs to her room. There was no reason to do so. As a woman, Anna had no say over whom she married. But his homunculus compelled him to tiptoe to her room as quietly as his bulk allowed and tap on her door.

“I’m studying,” she said, and he feared the fragility underneath the calm in her voice might break him. He pushed the door open. A book was open in one hand. With her other hand, she pushed colored thumbtacks into a map of the world. After consulting a page, she pushed a blue tack into the world’s right shoulder.

“That’s incorrect,” Ligish said. “Remember, the principality of Dexter Trapezius invaded Dexter Glenohumeral last month. The laws are now the same across both shoulders and the upper chest.” Anna removed the blue thumbtack from the world’s right shoulder and replaced it with a red one.

The candle on her desk cast a thin circle of light, leaving the room half dark, but the dried tears on her cheeks were still visible. The pistons in his chest quickened at the sight of her long neck, the birdlike delicacy of her face, the ghost-pale loveliness of her skin and the shape of her body half hidden underneath her nightgown. He could not sit on her bed without breaking it, so he stood. She put her book down on the desk. “You’ve met my fiancé?” she said. Her tone was light, deliberately airy.

“He is very certain of himself.”

She smiled. “Papa’s title will be very important in Mr. Maul’s election campaign. Men take their right to vote for granted, don’t they?” And then her composure melted in tears and she hugged him around the legs. Heat extended from his chest outwards as his engine increased its work rate. He patted her on the head, wanting more than anything to take her golden hair into his hands and kiss her. But his emotion was simply a command from a senile homunculus, so all he did was comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said. “It is so unfair.” She dried her eyes. “My studies were always meaningless. I’d never be allowed to work. But now I can’t even matriculate.”

“Maul plans to send me to Anterior Talus,” he said.

Anna’s face drained. “No, he can’t.”

“Your father has always paid me generous wages,” he said. “I’m not property!” The heat with which he spoke surprised Ligish. The desires of homunculi were a mystery to all but God, but in this, at least, his commanding homunculus felt the same.

Anna disengaged and picked up the book from her desk. She flipped pages and then traced the relevant passage with her finger as she read aloud. “Only male humans possess the power of self-awareness and thus have domain over the nonthinking. The nonthinking are defined as homunculi, beasts, golems and women.” Anger flashed across her face. “He visited Papa two hours ago and now I’m married.”

Ligish bowed his head. It was his fault. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in finding a solution to his love problems, then he’d have received General Maul. He might have refused him entry or at least been with Master Gray while they negotiated the wedding contract.

“The courts must overturn your engagement,” he said. “Forgive me, Miss Anna, but your father is not of a sound mind. Yesterday, he mistook me for your deceased Aunt Joan.”

Anna parted the curtains and pointed out the window. Two men in Arteria Carotis army uniforms stood outside the entrance. One smoked a cigarette. The other rested upon the stock of his ghost-fist rifle.

“Now I’m engaged, I’m no longer a girl,” she said. “Outside the home, women must be accompanied by two guards to protect their virtue.” She shut the curtains. “There’s a guard at the kitchen door. A pair patrol the outer grounds. All because I’m a valuable possession. There’s a man outside Papa’s room to protect him in his fragile health.” She sat on the bed and buried her head in her hands.

Ligish knelt, the floorboards creaking, and took her hands. “Miss Gray, do not despair. We’ll find a way to petition the court.”

“I must attend in person to annul a marriage.” She rubbed her eyes. “Liggy, can you please guard my door until Maul retires?”

A cog in his chest slipped off its belt for a moment, before sliding back into place. “He wouldn’t dare defile you.”

“I feel safe with you,” she said. “It’s a request, Liggy, not a command. Please.”

He stood and bowed. “I’ll do whatever you ask for eternity. I’ll always be your servant, no matter who my master is.”

She hugged him. At her touch, his engines heated and Anna flinched and gasped. “Liggy, have you been trying to dig a well again?” she said. “You know you shouldn’t dig through granite. Your engine is overheating. I can feel your armor softening. What happens if you run out of power?”

He smiled. “I’d wait until I recharged. All I need is time.” His engine cooled. He kissed her on the forehead and then left, taking her law book with him.

The corridor was dark, but he needed very little light to read. The more he read, the less likely it seemed the marriage contract could be annulled. She must have known her chances of success were minimal, though it wouldn’t stop her from trying.

Ligish surveyed the house’s security every year, knew every single possible exit. Anna hadn’t yet thought of climbing through her window onto the roof, but she would. The roof was wet with moss, and it was a long fall to the pavement. Ice water surged over his compression cylinder at the idea of her falling. There must be some other way of saving her that didn’t involve smuggling her from the house to the court.

The scrape and flare of a match being struck caught Ligish’s attention. General Maul lit a pipe, puffed a plume of smoke before the match died. He limped toward Ligish.

“Each time I see you, I realize how remarkable you are,” he said, the embers in his pipe glowing. “You must have some influence over your homunculus if you came here instead of obeying my commands. I should have expected that from such an ancient soul. Are you guarding her virtue?”

Ligish wanted to snap an insult, but his homunculus kept his mouth shut. Instead, it fanned out his arm blades and fire slings. Maul touched a blade and withdrew, blood trickling down his finger. His expression didn’t change. “By God, if we’d had you in Suprasternal Notch, the war would have finished before it began . . .” For a moment, his eyes moistened with nostalgia. “Which side did you fight upon in the Transpyloric Plane War?”

“For the Empire.”

“On the wrong side. Let us hope history doesn’t repeat in Anterior Talus.” Maul tapped out the ash from his pipe and then ground it into the rug underfoot. “Tell her I prefer my women dark of skin, meek of mouth and experienced in sensual pleasures. I’ll refrain from exercising my conjugal rights until the wedding if she refrains from a legal challenge and does not leave the house.”

Maul limped away. His talk of the Transpyloric Plane War stirred old memories. Ligish hadn’t wanted to serve the Empire. His homunculus had been created by the Emperor and it wrote merciless commands. He’d been under water, guarding the western border from the rebel’s navy, when a little granite golem had passed a carved stone message stating the Emperor had been poisoned by his own guard. His homunculus had commanded him to walk to land and wait for the Emperor, and hence itself, to die. He’d woken up three hundred years later when Master Gray’s grandfather had discovered him under jungle creepers and inserted a new homunculus into his skull.