“Do you remember the listening stations on Vellos?” Merthon just stared at Jolo, his mind still working on water properties.
“Jamis left me the key, but I am too much of a fool to see it,” said Merthon. Another reason Jolo hadn’t spoken to Merthon that much was that the old frog was constantly working on The Problem. Marco told Jolo that Merthon was working out a way to kill off the Jaylens. That there was an easy way to do it if you just knew what that easy way was. Another reason for Jolo to grab a med-box, but now he needed answers.
“Merthon!” yelled Jolo. And the Vellosian went suddenly calm, big eyes blinking. “Do you remember the listening stations on Vellos?”
“Yes,” said Merthon.
“Who put them there?”
“The black plague,” he said, meaning the BG.
“When?”
“Right before the end.”
“Why’d they put so many of them in and why were they so close?”
“I don’t know. They said it was for our safety.”
“That’s the line they’re feeding us here in Duval.”
Merthon stopped, took off his gloves and sat down. He stared at the floor for awhile. “It was spring in Arlas, where my parents had settled years before, and everything was green. Jamis and I were leading the synth production in the city, in the beautiful Vellosian facility. We created wonderful synthetic humanoids that could cook meals for little Federation families and clean Federation homes and take care of little Federation children. All without any human hangups, no pride or jealousy to get in the way, no thoughts of anything grander. They were sublime and simple. I bet the Feds secretly miss them. What synth uprising? That was the BG.”
“What about the towers?”
“I saw the first one from the upper level of the facility. A few hundred meters off. Then another. And another. And we went about our work. And then one day it was all gone and Jamis and I had been off planet so were saved. Only later did we learn it was because the BG wanted us alive so we could create for them.” Merthon looked up at Jolo. “And now they’re planting towers on Duval.”
“I think we gotta go and check out one of these towers up close,” said Jolo.
“If I came do you think I could kill one of the metal bastards?” said Merthon.
“I think you should stay here and figure out how to kill the little blond devils.”
“I’m stuck. I need something to shift my brain. I’m coming.”
“You ain’t gonna last out in the sand.”
“I’ve created a hydration suit.”
“Can you fire a gun?”
“You mean can I pull a trigger? I’m a creator, not an idiot. Let’s go now while it’s dark and cool.”
Thirty minutes later they were heading due east to a tower 300 kilometers away. Jolo woke up Katy so she could pilot Marco’s little three-seater G2 Scout so he’d be free to babysit Merthon. The small hovercraft was quiet, wouldn’t draw attention, plus it had excellent scanners.
“Is Marco gonna be pissed we stole his little boat?” said Katy.
“No. He’s gonna be pissed we ran off with his little frog,” said Jolo. Merthon sat in the rear seat wearing a thin, black hydration suit. He was holding Betsy in both hands like it was going to explode. “And Greeley’s gonna be pissed we nabbed Betsy.”
“Is there anyone we haven’t pissed off?” said Katy.
Jolo leaned into the back seat eyeing the sawed-off shotgun. “You sure you can use that?” Merthon held out the gun, left hand on the forestock, right hand easing down to the trigger guard. He held it away from his body and had it pointed right at Jolo.
“Okay. Rule number one: Don’t point that thing at me or Katy.” Merthon aimed it down, then reconsidered, and pointed it right. “Good,” said Jolo. “Now when you pull the trigger hold on tight cause Betsy’ll give you a good kick.” Jolo settled back down into his seat, then thought of one more thing. “Don’t aim for the head. Go for the sure shot: center of the chest plate. Rock that worm inside!” Jolo found himself grinning like a kid at the thought of the gangly, black-suited Vellosian wielding a sawed-off shotgun and going toe to toe with a BG warrior. But he also had decided, before they even left Marco’s, that he would take down both of the BG himself. Let the frog shoot the worm inside once Jolo takes out the head. He wasn’t going to take any undue risks with Merthon.
The Scout’s scanners picked up several towers on the way. Each listening station generated enough heat to register on the screen. They were laid out in a perfect grid, each one 100 kilometers apart. Jolo had decided to hit one a good distance from Marco’s so the BG wouldn’t come nosing around. Soon they were at the doorstep of a large tower. Katy stayed a good distance off in the Scout, Jolo and Merthon headed for the tower on foot. From a distance it didn’t look like much, but the closer they got, the larger it rose into the dark sky.
Soon the half-synth and the Vellosian were standing there at the front door staring up at a monolith. It had four smooth sides, slowly tapering down to a point high up in the night air they could not see.
“Shall we knock politely?” said Merthon. Jolo wondered if he was joking, but couldn’t think of anything else to do, so he waved him back and rapped on the smooth door with the butt of the Colt. Jolo stepped back and waited, expecting the first of two black metal warriors to emerge.
Suddenly a small door
