City of Slow Dreams: Chapter 9 (by Elliot Bowers)
Braving the vast deep darkness of the night-dark road, The Cloaked Man rode dashingly at the front of the party—his nuke bike's headlight blazing ahead. His cape madly flapped fiercely as he leaned forward into his rapid speed. As Van and Alia were both behind him, neither could see whatever expression The Cloaked Man sported on his face. Van's face was deadpan with concentration; Alia's face held a hint of frown.
They were not out of the darkened woods yet. Rumbling along on their nuke bikes, they sped at a somewhat worrying speed along through this night road in this forest. Worrying, as their vehicles' smooth tires had troubles dealing with the leaves and branches strewn along this road.
Very worrying. Having electromechanically powered bodies meant that crashing was itself far from bringing death. However, crashing meant coming to a stop; their rapid-dash progress through these blackened woods would be stifled. And they did not want to be stopped again. No, they had trouble enough with what they encountered once encountered. Also worrying, Alia and Van worried about random encounters in these woods because of what would happen to the emotional health of The Cloaked Man.
Alia thought on The Cloaked Man. There was the way he acted during that last random encounter—with the Woodsies—revealed more of the something about him, that something first brought out in Fusion City. The something that was more dangerously revealed back with the Woodsies, their lives now more darkened because of what The Cloaked Man did.
Van tolerated The Cloaked Man before before, his very deeply careless attitude. But The Cloaked Man's stint of murderous sadism, that was something Van's electronic mind had worry with. It showed more to the synthetic-bodied man with the cape. Maybe, The Cloaked Man was something other than a friend from Brunswick. Maybe, something else...
Still, the metal-type cyborg and the gynoid followed. Followed flyingly behind the caped madman at this mad speed. Following and flying along this asphalt path through trees in the darkness, the woods.
Alia's worries deepened as night went on—a slow fear made by two fears. She was unsure if the woods or the darkness made for more fear. Either escaping the woods or the end of night would help. But the steady brightness of the vehicles' headlights provided courage and relief, at least.
In fact, both types of relief came nearing the same time. At 0557 hours, they reached the border of these woods as sunlight reached over the border of this land's horizon. The three approached the border where the trees stopped growing, and the grass of the plains began. The plains beyond these woods were brightening with the warm light of sunrise.
With sunlight lightening the open land, three speeding nuke bikes sped on out of the woods. Alia could not stop herself from smiling with relief and renewed happiness. It was no longer dark.
Before them were miles of the open plains again. But unlike the seemingly vast infinity of the previous plains, there was a definite limit. Because over there, off in the distance, there was a low mountain range that walled off the horizon.
Those were low chunky mountains that were not in place by natural processes; War-induced tectonic disturbances upset the land and caused the mountains to form. And then the mountains far over there would be for millennia and eons. Forming a natural wall around a very important valley. The Cloaked Man knew the importance of that valley—because he could feel it.
He decelerated, maneuvered as so he no longer rode up front, but rode at the side of Alia and Van. Speaking over bike rumble, he loudly said, "You three see those mountains? The City we're after is beyond them." Both party members said nothing immediately. "You heard me right! Almost there!" he said. Because I can feel it, and you two just don't know, he thought—not quite wanting to say that aloud.
Small Alia spoke with amplified voice, also speaking above engine rumble. "Then, ride us onward. We pleasantly await journey's end." As she said this, she turned her face slightly away from The Cloaked Man—to hide a smile she could not keep down. Alia was just so very happy. Childish glee, compounded with the elation she already felt from being out of the darkened forest.
With this flat windblown highway road along the plains, they were able to speed across these plains in twenty minutes. No one looked at their speedometers as they flew, but they did go beyond any of the speed limits set when these highways were first built.
After twenty minutes more speed, they really did want to slow. Now, the three were at that once far-off mountain range. No longer a distant view, it was an immense geographical obstacle. Those immense chunky mounds rose out of the plains, with the highway curving left alongside.
They stopped along the left-leaning curve—their nuke bike engines gong quiet as The Cloaked Man soberingly regarded the gargantuan barrier. Pondering on it, he let his thoughts wander… Wander a touch more. Then he frowned a bit. All this way, and they faced sheer mountains.
"Folks, I have good and bad for you," he said, swiveling on his nuke bike's seat. "Let me give the good first, because you put up with me so far: This road probably leads through these mountains. It leads through a road through a cut-out ravine. Beyond that is, heh, heh, heh… You know!
"About the bad, though, I get the general feeling that we're going to encounter some big things, likely another settlement." Alia's light eyebrows went up: slight inquiry. The Cloaked Man spoke on. "Don't ask and inquire around and about how I begin-start to know this creep-stuff ahead of time. Closest thing to an answer is, closer I get to the City of Slow Dreams, the better I get at that sort of thing. Creepy ability of mine, but I'm starting up to be a creepy guy. More creepy than you, Alia!
"Anyway, more about the good," he continued as he ignored Alia's reproaching stare, "we're almost there. So don't start asking, 'Are we there yet?' 'Are we there yet?' Because we are almost, nearly, practically, virtually, frightfully, very, very close! Yeah!" With that, The Cloaked Man started his nuke bike. Roared off with a squeal of spinning rubberoid tires. Alia and Van screeched tires to follow, keep up.
In fact, the roadway did go quite a few mile at the land bordering the mountain range. Leading to another settlement. An odd settlement. Seen from several miles away, it was a place of candy colored houses and buildings. Somewhere near the middle was a tent with a top that poked out from the building-tops.
Gort Shocko's New Carnival was a settlement with the size and setup of six city blocks put together. In coincidental fact, the carnival was actually somewhat like a part of Brunswick's residential area grafted to the bottom of the mountain. But there was just the shape of Brunswick, not the colors.
They motored ahead a bit, came within half a mile to look closer. From where his party stopped, The Cloaked Man thought that settlement looked whacked—goofy. Goofy buildings with goofy colors on them. And from here, he saw how some of those people were dressed in floppy clothes that were just as colorful. Wasn't it too early in the morning to dressed like someone on rush pills?
A smirk twisting his face, he glimpsed back to see the others' reactions. Van looked at the distant settlement with whatever robot-girls have for curiosity. Alia's big dark dollish dark eyes were even bigger, her small mouth slightly open in rapt adoration. The Cloaked Man rolled his own eyes.
How cornball, he thought. How could they like something so darned goofy looking? "How can you two like something so darned goofy looking?" he asked them, aloud. "That settlement looks like its been done by candymakers turned architects."
Alia and Van said nothing, just looked at the joyfully colored carnival-settlement. Oh, the colors. The colors! From here, it had beauty. How much more beautiful would it be close up?
The three finally rode the final distance to that multi-colored settlement next door to the mountains. Coming closer to that multi-colored settlement almost made The Cloaked Man miss Brunswick. As ghetto as it was, Brunswick's houses were not painted with vertical candy colored stripes. And, certainly, Brunswick's people were not as colorful and as varied as the people that walked along the soft-shouldered paved streets. Neat paved streets. A permanent carnival at the foot of a mountain—for who?
They slowed, gently riding along the main street. Along the sides of the streets were buildings and houses, candy-colored vertical stripes in prominent display. This scenic riding through the settlement way was the same sort of unofficial and unsaid self-introductory ritual they used with Fusion City: riding out in plain view, hoping to get friendly attention.
And then, passing two blocks of painted houses and buildings, they came to the two-story, candy-striped tent—a "big top," a term originating in the Old Days. The three parked single file, parked before the immense tent.
Outside it was a small group of carnival people: three authentic clowns with big colorful hair (not wigs!) and oversized floppy clothes. They talked and listened to the most normally dressed of their group: that six-foot man in red formal getup. A black cylindrical hat—a top hat—topped the man off and made him seem taller. He must be important.
Alia, Van and The Cloaked Man dismounted from their nuke bikes, tried to look friendly, as that red-dressed man and his clown cohorts approached. Well, well, well, off-season newcomers! Not quite strangers, as the carnival had real strange people. The red-suited man stopped at The Cloaked Man, looked left. His pale and dark-mustached face contemplative and analyzing each of them, especially the smallest.
Interesting metal-type cyborg here—very interesting. Four feet tall, waif-thin and with pale blonde hair, as he expected. Likely, her hair went to the top of her shoulders—the top of her smooth back. Facial features exactly as pert and sharp, also as expected. Yes, one of those three newcomers was actually a petite cyborg elf. From a distance, it would have looked as if she wore a form-fitting suit of metal armor from the neck down. Yet, the CarnivalMaster knew that that was not a suit of armor…
"Howdy-do," said The Cloaked Man, interrupting the man's perusal. "Not to be rude or anything, but we're new around here, and my party members—if not myself—were so darned interested in your colorful settlement that we had to stop in.
"And good morning in return, newcomers!" said the red-suited man, tipping his hat. "I'm the CarnivalMaster. And these…" He spread his arms to refer to the clowns around him, "These are clowns. Mr. Clunk, Ms. Bogus and Mr. Yojo." The three clowns bobbed their colorful heads and said Hiya, hiya. "They are but a few of many performers of this settlement: Gort Shocko's New Carnival! Welcome, one and all!"
Oh-kay, thought The Cloaked Man, a bit put off by the CarnivalMaster's big exuberance. "Let me properly introduce the individuals of my party. I'm The Cloaked Man, just so you know." He gestured to his right. "The Japanese-looking girl-woman to my right is Van, a synthetic robot-girl. Gynoid. Pretty, ain't she? Pretty realistic in every way. Yeah, and she's completely synthetic: polymers and electromechanics.
"And the little metal-bodied waif that has your attention," he said, gesturing to his left, "is Alia." Alia blinked in looking up at the CarnivalMaster. "She's an elfin cyborg. Or a cyborg elf. What's the official noun for you for you anyway, Alia…? Forget it. Anyway, that isn't a costume she's wearing. She's a metal-type cyborg with a synth-flesh face, polymer strands of hair in her scalp, but her brain is real. Her freaky albino-pale hair probably gave away her away for being an elf, though…"
Mr. Clunk bent over as so his big head was level with Alia's. He said to her, cyborg, "Wowee! Hi there, little girl-elf! I bet you get lots of attention because of your little metal body! Huh-huh-huh? Tell me, tell me, tell me!"
Alia felt a huge smile coming on, but she tried to keep it closed—looked down at the grass instead. "Well," she said, "attention is…gained. But it is not the pleasant attention you give me now, Mr…" Alia's cheeks dimpled in trying to keep down a giggle. "Mr. Clunk… Ha ha… Oops."
Mr. Clunk made a face, and Alia burst a giggle. Still with giggle in her voice, she said, "So wonderful! Mr. Clunk, you amuse!" Another silly face from the clown, and that did it: Alia was overriden with an attack of laughter. So overriden with the silly spasms that her mobility systems were affected; she went to her knees: a giggle-sillied little girl.
The CarnivalMaster looked at the interaction between Mr. Clunk and Alia. He said, "What I did not quite tell you is that we rarely get real-brained visitors in the off-season. So we are not too busy with shows this time of year. But from the way your friend behaves, I would think that an off-season show is in order." He looked at The Cloaked Man, the CarnivalMaster's dark eyes looking into The Cloaked Man's less-serious brown ones. "Indeed, a show put on for the benefit of your friend. If I know elves as well as I believe, I believe that the young one there needs a good dose of laughter. I will be glad to organize an exhibition for your metal-bodied elf-friend."
The Cloaked Man smirked. "Elf? Yeah, so her brain's elfin! So what! She doesn't need any freaking special treatment. Alia has plenty of fun with us. In fact, she's going to have more fun when we get over this mountain range and into The City of Slow Dreams. Right, Alia?" Alia giggled on. "Right?" asked The Cloaked Man, again.
The CarnivalMaster continued, sober-speaking. "Yes sir, the City of Slow Dreams is a pleasant place to go and live. But note, even people from there come out across the mountain to enjoy our performances. And we enjoy giving our performances. No offense to your darling gynoid-friend, but we enjoy performing for a real-brained audience.
"The 'audience' we have for practice exhibitions consists of very simple robots that are programmed to cheer and evaluate our performance—simple A.I." The red-suited man looked at Van, peering. "Hmm… Yes, we would also enjoy putting on a performance for your gynoid friend; her simulated personality seems more complex than the simple robots of our audience…"
The Cloaked Man gave a face of his own, and it was not meant to be funny. "What? Are you serious? You mean, you want us to hang around to watch your freaks at work?" A pause, and there was the background sound of Alia's happy sounds; the elfin cyborg went on giggling as Mr. Clunk and his two clown cohorts even made her chortle and guffaw yet more with their silly talk.
Seeming to ignore that, The Cloaked Man continued. "We just want to get to the City of Slow Dreams, see? You said that people from there come here seasonally. Well, I want to be there, permanently. I want to get there as soon and as wind-quick possible. I really don't have time to clown around… I want darned good…" Then Van nudged his elbow with her left.
She cut in, saying to the CarnivalMaster, "Please, ignore that for now. My buddy here is a little bit… Um, disturbed. Let me talk to him for a minute in private…" With The Cloaked Man stunned at that interruption and declaration, the synthetic Japanese teenager grasped him by the elbow. Led him five yards away from the CarnivalMaster—a bit farther away from Alia's gleeful sounds.
She looked at The Cloaked Man. As she was nearly as tall as he was, she managed to look him effectively in the eye, her own ceramic dark eyes angry. "I want to slap you!" she said in an angry whisper-voice. "Don't you care about how Alia feels?"
"Feelings? Pshaw! What—me worry?" loudly commented The Cloaked Man, shrugging. Van shushed him. More quietly, he said, "Look and listen up. All I want to care about is getting ourselves going to The City of Slow Dreams. Thought you were down with that, Van. What's up with you now?"
Van continued her anger-toned whisper-talking, "Didn't the CarnivalMaster tell you that the City is already so close that people come here on seasonal trips? We've gone with you this far and did almost everything your way. Now, will you do Alia at least this favor?"
"Hey," he answered in a similar voice, "I did you a favor by not killing off the rest of those damned Woodsies! I wanted those backwoods jackasses dead for trying to mess me up. I did a favor by catering to your cracked simulated sympathy."
Van had a quick answer. "No, that was a favor for you, Cloaked Man! My own mind isn't biologically based, but I have plenty of stored data on the psychology of real brains.
"And with that data, I saw that you were going nuts! Growing more psycho—more sadistic—with every kill. If you killed the rest of the Woodsies, you could've become worse than you already are!" Van leaned a bit back, her dark hair slightly swishing with the slight breeze. Speaking normally, "Anyway, Alia needs some real fun—the fun the CarnivalMaster offered.
"And look at her! Just look!" Van quickly grabbed the unprotesting Cloaked Man by his shoulders—made him turn to look. "Alia tries her very best to be treated like a full-grown human being. But she's still a little person. And she was never human. From analysis done by part of my thought processors, Alia's psychological state has something to do with premature body replacement.
"Yes, her permanent psychological state has something to do with how her body was replaced with a metal one before she grew up. Even though she has great relative intelligence and good skills, she is still a child. And all children need fun.
"And if you won't let Alia have real fun for once in her new life, then maybe we will have to fight." Van took a dangerous step to stand before The Cloaked Man, the gynoid's slim form stiff with real anger. "I mean that," she added, voice not whispering.
The Cloaked Man stared at the presupposing gynoid. He then leaned right to look over her shoulder, looking at Alia being kidded up by clowns. Now he saw that those clowns were trying to fit the CarnivalMaster's hat on Alia's head. The big tall hat kept slipping and covering her little elfin-girl head. She laughed and tried lifting it up, but the silly clowns kept up their deliberately foolish attempts at putting the hat on, insisting that that is how a hat should really fit.
This was silly stupid business, but he had to put up with this if he didn't want his party to break up. And, so close to the City of Slow Dreams! So close!
The same feeling that compelled him this far also compelled him to keep his party whole. And he did not want to have to eliminate the gynoid. By now, with his strength and abilities truly strengthened, he did not doubt that he could destroy her with a single attack.
That, or he could try reprogramming her with certain abilities that began to grow in his mind now, convince her to worship him. Oh yes, proximity to The City of Slow Dreams was strengthening him. That, even if it was darkening him…
He looked back into Van's ceramic eyes. "Okay, okay. But we're not going to be here past tomorrow. In fact, you don't want me staying here into the night, right?" Because I might do something.
From behind Van, a loud shriek sounded out—a shriek of sheer joy from Alia—followed by a lung-emptying attack of less-loud giggles. "Just one day, Cloaked Man," said Van to The Cloaked Man. "One day of simple happiness in Alia's life. Is that too much to ask for her?"
The Cloaked Man turned from Van and everyone, his cape swirling as he looked across the street. Thinking, Dang nabbit, I wish some people would just grow up—even if they can't. What a party: a teenage girl-robot with attitude, and a little cyborg elf-girl whose brain will never grow up.
He exhaled, audibly. Never had to baby-sit before, never. Never even wanted a hint of that ancient profession. Another audible breath from him, a breeze from his mouth. Ah well,I can put up with Alia being her regressed self—until we get to that City.
He turned back to Van, who waited with patience. Looking into her dark eyes, he spoke with a pained and tired expression on his face. "Ah well, what the Hell. Guess I can put up with a bit more kiddie mess after all the tepid madness we went through.
And then Van leapt forward to hug him. "Hey hey!" reacted The Cloaked Man, struggling in the hug. "Don't rumple the haberdashery here! Trying to punish me or something? Bad on me?"
Van smiling, The Cloaked Man less so, they went back to Alia, who was still being clowned around by the locals. The Cloaked Man accepted the CarnivalMaster's offer of a show. The caped synth-fleshed madman then reached into his left pocket, apported some cash for any admission costs. But the CarnivalMaster said that Gort Shocko's New Carnival synthesized all that they needed or received supplies from the generous City of Slow Dreams; no cash was needed this time of year. And again, the presence of living-brained audience members—out of season—was enough. With that said, The CarnivalMaster told them that the next practice performance was in fact being prepared now. With the big top already up, the CarnivalMaster only had to make a few additional preparations for a full practice exhibition.
About thirty minutes later, hand in hand, Alia and The Cloaked Man were walking into the vast two-story tent. Alia's left hand held The Cloaked Man's right, and her free hand carefully held a hollow cardboard rod covered with a fluffy candy cloud—cotton candy. Alia took a delicate mouthful of her cotton candy, then looked around. Her eyes were huge with awe.
From Alia's vantage point, this was a scene of awe. In this tent were metal and synth-wood risers on the left and right of the aisle in. Seats where the "audience" of robots sat, programmed to behave simply like a crowd—realistic chatter and clothing included. They sat around the large show ring in the middle, a ring floored with compressed dirt: compressed and packed dirt from all the off-season practice done by the people of Gort Shocko's New Carnival.
"This amazes," commented Alia, her voice low. Small pert face smiling, she looked up at The Cloaked Man. "Is this with amazement for you?" In her enthusiasm and adoration, she didn't quite see the pain-tinted expression he had on his face.
But forcing a smile and looking down at her, he said, "Oh, yeah! It's really…something. In fact, I don't hate this as much as I expected!" He looked to the high-riser seating at the left. "Now, let's see if there is any space in this synthetic audience for real-brained people."
They went to get seats. His face somewhat blank and ears somewhat hearing the passive simulated chatter of the "audience," The Cloaked Man passively led smiling Alia toward the tall risers along the left. Some members in the second-to-last row here actually moved over to allow The Cloaked Man and Alia good seats. Shoot, they were simple robots; they had better move aside for The Cloaked Man.
They found seats, and they found some attention, too. The elfin cyborg-girl was more than content to eat her cotton candy and look at the ring in the minutes before showtime. Her bigger companion looked left and glimpsed at a group of glassy staring eyes, before those eyes looked away.
What the heck? Never saw a cape before? thought The Cloaked Man. He whipped his curly head right, caught the indirect stare of a chubby android-boy before he-it looked away again. Then he noticed that the last semi-covert stare was at Alia, not him. He revised his last unspoken comment. What the heck? Never saw a metal-bodied elf-girl before? All the while, Alia did not notice those stares.
The Cloaked Man decided to be a bit crafty. He slowly turned his head to feint a look at the ring. Then, breeze-quick, he whipped his face left to look at the brown-suited fake android-man to his right—an android with a plain man's face and plain brown hair. "Pardon my request for pardoning," he said to the android-man, "but there is a possible possibility that you have interested interest in my cyborg. I question for an answer, pardon my begging your pardon."
The android put on a face of complete confusion: right eyebrow went up; left eyebrow down, mouth forming a small "o." Apparently, the synthetic man was much more simple-minded than the more-advanced robot Van—less acclimated to The Cloaked Man's convoluted and meandering talk. "Sir," began the brown-suited android-man, "Please restate the request more simply. I could not process the previous remarks."
"Eh? What's the matter with you?" responded The Cloaked Man. Slowly nodding his curly haired head, he said, "Oh, you're a simple robot. The CarnivalMaster said that you audience-bots were pretty low-tech. Okay, let me try again." He stopped nodding his head. "Now, why the staring?" He leaned a bit toward the android-man. "Is that simple enough for you, Simple Simon?"
The brown-suited android-man answered. "Question: You ask why I stare. Answer: I stare because your companion is often a fervent performer of Gort Shocko's New Carnival. Additional information is as follows: Your companion never actually sat to watch an exhibition before. She does so now, which draws stares. Additional information: She randomly retreats to rest and recover. She never before did so in the stands."
Now, it was The Cloaked Man's face wearing discombobulation. "What in tarnation? No, seriously. Alia has never been in any sort of carnival-like or circusy sort of thing. I found her on the streets. And she's a War antique. So, between being a stasis-locked War antique, a rusting street-lush and a current member of my adventuring and traveling party, where would she find time to be some sort of performer?"
The plain android man in brown suit leaned back slightly on his seat. He was either listening to the din of the crowd around or was having difficulty processing The Cloaked Man's ranting talk.
The android-man answered. "The lattter questioning is impossible to process. My ability to process speech and direct conversation is quite limited. Would you please rephrase the question in a more simple manner?"
This made for The Cloaked Man becoming annoyed. "No, I will not rephrase my question in a more simple silly way. If you ain't comprehended the statement, then don't expect furthermore from me. Put that in your low-budget processors and smoke it. Get me? Or, don't you get me? You don't get me."
Apparently, the brown-suited android-man did not get The Cloaked Man's meanings. He-it was just a simple-minded robot, after all. And after all, he-it was primarily programmed to react to the practice performances. More an aesthetics-evaluating A.I., not quote powerful enough to have a full and decent human personality.
With all this, The Cloaked Man did not get the answer he wanted. He looked right, at the little cyborg who ate her cotton candy and waited for the show to begin. "Hey, Alia? Were you ever a fervent carnival performer?"
"Hmm?" Alia broke off her stare at the ring, then swallowed her current mouthful of cotton candy before talking. "Carnival performer?" she gently asked, faint sweet candy smell. "Cloaked Man, that is beyond my own training or experience. Entertainment is for me to enjoy, not quite to attempt to create."
He squinted at her. "Are you sure you were never in any sort of carnival? You were in stasis for so long, maybe your brain still has trouble with memory. Don't you have even an inkling of memory about performing with carnie-people?"
Alia looked serious for a moment, her dark eyes taking on a far-off look. Light eyebrows bent slightly. She gave a slight shake of her head. "No memories at all, Cloaked Man. Absolute absence, not even hints of memory." She brought around her right arm, metal hand holding colorful cotton candy. "A bit of this?"
The Cloaked Man bit some of the sugary cloud off of the top, and it dissolved into light sweetness. Thinking, this situation is an odd one. He wanted answers. Then Alia tugged at his right sleeve and pointed with her cotton candy: The CarnivalMaster and some clowns had entered the ring before them.
This show was beginning. He was glad that Alia still retained enough of her ordinarily calm bearing to not hop up and down. Glad for her not acting too much like the young elfin-type person she really was inside.
Van had one thousand two-hundred and forty-three dollars from The Cloaked Man. Cash in her right pocket, the gynoid was now free to wander around this carnival-style settlement. Wandering, walking the long neat streets sided by vertically striped houses and buildings. The Cloaked Man gave her the money in his typical fashion: in random denominations.
Actually, there was nothing for her to spend money on. Her wandering along the streets brought her near the end of Main Street—the commercial part of this settlement—and past all the businesses. There were some stores, but they primarily sold general goods for humans and synth-flesh cyborgs: Clothes, foods, nanobot-based home-maintenance items, the like. Some of the silly painted stores sold frivolities, like portable electronics.
Van had money but did not have want of anything. Also, she had no real needs. How could a gynoid like herself—a robot, a possession—own anything? Regardless of how realistic she looked, deep in the crystal-matrix processors of her electronic mind was the invincible truth of what she was. Van took out the sheath of dollars from her right slacks pocket, the essentially useless money. Then, The Cloaked Man's granted spending money could be interpreted as a prank.
The solitary place of interest along Main Street, among the buildings, was the library. It was a place of data to take in. Van went there, went to two-story and rectangular white structure at the middle of the lane, simply labeled with foot-high letters above the front entrance: MAIN LIBRARY. Van opened the double doors at the front, then went inside.
This was a library of books—shelves and more shelves of books filling this space. Of course, there was a desk up front: a rectangular front desk with two tall male librarians, both brown-haired, wearing slacks and white shirts with ties. Further back and on the second floor, there were tables for reading. Otherwise, this was a two-story indoor lake of shelved books.
According to historical data loaded into Van's mind, libraries were heavily book-based since the Old Days: The days of and after the War meant so much disruption that fancier formats—electronics, data disks, and the like—were often destroyed. In fact, book-stored knowledge became critical to building human cities from settlements after the War. Books stored the knowledge of technology and much more.
Then, the technology that went into making Van herself was stored on pages. Thinking this, the gynoid walked past the front desk. She would find something to read for the next hour.
One librarian looked up when the slender dark-haired "girl" passed, then went back to checking the late-morning inventory. Newcomers, always welcome. If she needed help, she could always come to the front desk. Could ask for help until she was as acclimated to library usage as everyone else—like Alia…
In fact, Van turned around and came back to the desk. This library used an esoteric letter-based system to classify its works. Van had data on the Dewey Decimal system, not the system used here. Over here, she asked vaguely, "Excuse me, where is your historical data?" She got a look. "Sorry, your history books?"
The left librarian thought, Odd interest for a young person. "History is on the second floor, ma'am. Up the stairs on the east side, near the center tables. Check section
O-HT." Van nodded a thanks, then went up the stairs.
Came to the second floor. There were tables here where she could sit and read books from the many shelves around. Not that she ever needed to relax her synthetic body when reading, but sitting at a stable surface—like a table—allowed more efficient scanning. Several people were already here: some scattered children with various hair colors, three middle-aged adults with gray hair.
Van found the two shelves marked O-HT. Yes, there were plenty of texts. She picked one: Ethnicity, Nationality and Old-Time Stupidity by Thom Highlander Erick. A thin volume of just about two hundred pages.
Van took the book to a table. Then she began reading the words, storing the information in her electronic brain. She "read" the first page slowly to get the format and spacing of the text. From there, she took in a page a second. Like human eyes, her ceramic eyes had to focus; her eyes raced along typed lines.
In five minutes, She had took in all the book's data. Not that Van's artificial mind was too capable of deeply analyzing the text, but she at least had a flawless copy of the book's data now in her memory, ready for any possible future use. All knowledge likely has use at some time.
Finally, she stood up from her seat—and then her eyes then snapped to look on a petite female at another table. From where Van was, she could see the shoulder-length blonde hair against a slim back—pale hair in contrast to her long-sleeved black shirt. The hair was combed straight, and upper tips of slightly pointed ears poked out from the sides. Elfin, that girl was elfin…
Van quickly returned the library book to the bottom returner-shelf of its section, then walked back to the tables. She sat at the first table to watch the elfin being very quietly read. Other than turning pages, no sounds came from her. This was a chance to observe and analyze.
Could Van have correctly identified that person? Logic dictated otherwise. That could not be her. She would spend an hour watching and analyzing. With something to occupy her thought processors, this would be what she did.
Sixty minutes later, Van decided to approach. Walked along and up behind the small elfin girl. The girl was reading a book, quiet and content. When she sensed someone behind her, she quietly looked up from her book—her posture stiff and with a familiar air.
"Alia?" asked Van. "I thought you were with The Cloaked Man. Where did he go?" A pause. "Oh great, don't tell me he's out causing trouble with locals. We'll have to talk to that guy again, won't we?"
There was a space of silence as the girl thought. "The Cloaked Man? The name-title lacks familiarity. I give an apology. Also, please allow apology for my inattentiveness, but reading is much." The elf then went back to reading her big book.
Van began to worry. She went to the other side of the table and sat down opposite Alia. Then she more fully saw the clothes that Ala wore now. In addition to the black top visible above the table, Alia wore white gloves over her small fine hands. "Uh, why are you wearing those gloves? Why are you wearing human clothes, anyway? I thought you didn't like the way clothes prevented air circulation over your metal body."
That led to a quick and worried look from Alia. Also noticeable were the odd stares from the other patrons on this floor. Returning her stare to Van, Alia spoke in an angered—and hurt—whisper. "Madam, need you talk of such in this place? My body is my solitary business. Especially with conversation to strangers. Is there explanation for your odd behavior?"
Returning the courtesy of speaking in a whisper, Van said, "What's wrong with you? We're this close to the City of SlowDreams, and you you're this way? Did The Cloaked Man say something to you that you didn't like?" Van then reached forward to brush a few loose strands of Alia's hair, as she did when Alia was dosed by the Woodsies' sedation gas. "Hmm? Was it him, The Cloaked Man?"
Alia flinched back from the gynoid's close touch. The gynoid's hand stopped, then pulled back. The clothed elfin being whispered, "Then, you presume and assume I know of this Cloaked Man. That goes because you believe me a part of your circle of friends?"
Van said, "Alia, you're more than just a friend. You're a part of our traveling group. You know, a party member. After all this, you suddenly forget about your allies?"
Alia's dark eyes widened, her mouth forming a small "o" of surprise. Then a vague hint of smile came to her small mouth. "Truly, this Cloaked Man and you are curiosities. Allow finishing of this chapter of reading. Next will be me accompanying you. Introduction to the rest of your, ah, party." Then, the blonde being tilted her pretty head forward, consiprationally. "You have my name, but do I have yours?" Van gave her name, then waited as Alia read and finished the chapter.
Fifteen minutes later, Van and Alia walked out of the library, side by side. And they began walking in the direction of the big top. It was an oddly familiar contrast, the tall "girl" and the elfin cyborg. But something was unfamiliar. Something in parts of Van's logic processors refused to believe this; parts of her electronic mind kept to thinking that Alia was supposed to be with The Cloaked Man.
They approached the big top. Alia glimpsed left and up at Van, then looked ahead again, looking at the familiar building-sized tent. "May we stop for quick preliminary conversation?" she asked the gynoid. "I need hints more of introductory." Van stopped, Alia stopped right at her side—both now facing down the colorful house-lined street.
The petite cyborg paused, seeking to carefully word her questioning. "To begin on this, tell of the rest of your party. Are the members as accessibly friendly as yourself? Or, are there any traces of instability?"
Van answered. "Well, Alia—the other Alia—is a nice person. Very nice, but I worry about her. Because of all the things she's been through. But she's very easy to get along with! Really! And both of you act very alike.
"The Cloaked Man, though… Well, you have to listen to him very carefully. I mean, his words are all over the place. If it weren't for all the data I've had from experience with humans, I would not be able to process what he says sometimes."
Data? Process? Alia looked up at Van, inquiry. "Please do explain. Why reference to knowledge stated as data? Wording of that sort only comes with being a robot."
A plain-voiced answer from Van. "I am a robot." A pause, a skyborne breeze across this street. "You didn't know, Alia? It's just that my body is synth-flesh, with my hair made of polymer strands and my eyes just ceramics. Inside me, there are electromechanics. My brain is primarily electronics, with crystal-matrix processors." Whispered, "I'm not real…"
Van felt Alia's touch: two small gloved hands holding Van's right. The feeling of metal beneath those white gloves. She said, wind-soft, "Your voice sounds with hurt in saying such. A hurt that holds truth—too much truth for you." She released the hand. "Most all robots I have encountered are simple-minded. You are above most robots in sophistication; I failed to seriously see you as a gynoid."
Van looked into the apologizing eyes of the elfin cyborg: large and dark eyes set in a round and delicate-featured face. She just had to forgive someone so close to being Alia—so close that the elfin cyborg may as well be the Alia of their party.
Smiling, Van said to the cyborg, "That's okay. You just didn't know. Anyway, I think the exhibition should be over soon. The Cloaked Man and the other Alia should be coming out." She nodded her dark-haired head to the left, in the direction of the big top. "Come on. Let's go wait for them outside."
They walked the rest of the way down the street, approaching the big top. Actually, the exhibition was already over. Van approached the open-flap entrance—just saw clowns milling around inside.
Alia tugged the right sleeve of Van's blouse. "I see myself," said the little cyborg. "It seems, I am here and over there—with the CarnivalMaster." And then Van looked in the direction of Alia's indication, seeing The Cloaked Man and the other Alia talking with the CarnivalMaster.
Alia and Van approached Alia and The Cloaked Man. Both of the other two still talked to the red-suited CarnivalMaster after the show—until the Cloaked Man glimpsed left. He glimpsed, hen he more fully looked. What in tarnation?
He saw Van approaching with an elf-girl that looked exactly like Alia—was Alia. Was Alia? But an Alia dressed up in jeans and black sweater, with white gloves and white sneakers to compliment her light face and pale hair. That was who he though it was, or was it someone else?
Approaching, Alia looked at Alia. Alia smiled, crossed her arms. In response, Alia tilted her head to the side. To both Alia and Alia, both of them, this was immense amusement. Beyond just interesting.
The Cloaked Man looked down, looked at Alia before looking over at Alia. He looked at Alia again, then back at that other Alia—the elfin cyborg who didn't wear clothes over her armor-solid body. As he did this, his face began to take on surprising contortions. Finally, his shout came out and over everyone nearby: "O-oh, SHOOT!"
The CarnivalMaster patted The Cloaked Man on the right shoulder, then put hands on hips in looking down both at both Alias. "And so, my fine friend," said the CarnivalMaster, "you found out the real reason for my interest in your elfin companion. I hoped to find out how you came to an exact replica of Alia."
The Cloaked Man took a jerking step back. "Replica?" A shake of his head. "Uh, no. Don't think so! I got myself the real Alia from the streets of Brunswick, not from a carnival-style settlement." He looked down at the bare metal Alia, her elfin face and titanium figure totally familiar. And he looked at the clothed elfin girl—who had the same face and body as Alia.
"Anyway," continued the man in the cape, "for all I know, that's a real-bodied elf-girl. Or, at least, a synth-flesh gynoid phony. My Alia is a metal-type cyborg. Can't know what you're talking about, CarnivalMaster-man."
The CarnivalMaster thought on and around what The Cloaked Man said, then came to an answer. Looking at clothed Alia, he said, "The caped gentleman here believes that you are not yourself. He thinks you're an imposter." Turning to the caped gentleman-in-question, the CarnivalMaster said, "Then, sir, if you believe to know the difference between the so-called true Alia and the so-called phony, then let us try a simple test. Turn around, both you and your other traveling companion."
Both Van and The Cloaked Man did as told. They turned their backs, vaguely wondering about the test. There were exchanged whispers, whispers between thee two Alias and the CarnivalMaster. Slight soft rustling sounds. Some light footfalls, light steps.
"Please, will the audience turn. And regard," commanded the CarnivalMaster. Both Van and Thee Cloaked Man did so. Van smirked, then the smirk spread into a smile. The Cloaked Man's mouth showed open-mouth shock.
"What the heck?" he managed to say. Both Alias, without clothing, showed armored bodies that were exactly like. Both had the same small-round elfin-girl faces, the pale shoulder-length hair, the petite and slim-proportioned frames. Exactly, they were exactly alike. The Cloaked Man shook his head. "I can't believe what I don't believe. Guess I'll have to, though. Right?"
The CarnivalMaster, holding the clothes worn by Alia, answered. "Guess no longer, because you must believe," he said. "Also, Alia—my Alia—told me that she would like to join your party. She is interested in your party and your plans in the City. Do you and your other party member agree to another Alia joining up?"
"Van nodded. "Yeah, I want her to come. Two Alias have to be better than just one Alia. Since we're so close to the City, I think we're safer with more of us. Right, Cloaked Man?"
The Cloaked Man shrugged so emphatically that his cape rippled. "What the heck! Let's do it. Could always use the spare party member--even if she is a duplicate for dupes."
"Then that is excellent," said the left Alia. "Now we will wait here while the new member's nuke bike is brought from its original place of rest and storage." The left Alia nodded. "Indeed, there is even an additional nuke bike—also adjusted for one of my same size."
The CarnivalMaster called some plain-clothed workers--synth-flesh cyborgs originally from the City—to bring by all four nuke bikes. The workers did, using a flat-backed transport to bring the vehicles. In half an hour, after giving goodbyes, the party of
four motored away from the carnival-style settlement--Gort Shocko's New Carnival and had for the nearby mountain road. This was clearly the way through the mountains--and finally into the city seen in The Cloaked Man's dreams.
