THE BARONY OF AZKFRU, AKKAFIAN EMPIRE
Datham Hain’s massive body, now in a drugged sleep, rested in the center of the lowest floor of the Baron Azkfru’s nest. The room was filled with computer banks flashing light-signals and making clicking and whirring sounds. Four large cables were attached to Hain’s head at key points, and two smaller ones were fixed to the base of her two antennae. Two neutered Markling technicians with the symbol of the baron painted between their two huge eyes checked readings on various dials and gauges, and checked and rechecked all the connections.
Baron Azkfru’s antennae showed complete satisfaction. He had often wondered what the Imperial Household would say if they knew he had one of these devices.
There would be civil war at the very least, he thought.
The conditioner had been developed by a particularly brilliant Akkafian scientist in the imperial household almost eighty years before, when the ambassador himself was just a youngling. It ended the periodic baronial revolts, and assured the stability of the new—now old—order by making revolution next to impossible. Oh, you couldn’t condition everyone with certainty, so it was done subtly. Probably every baron dreamed of overthrowing the empire—it let the pressure and frustration out.
But none of them could do it. Because, although they could dream about it, they couldn’t disobey a direct imperial command.
But Azkfru could.
His father had duplicated the device here in the earliest days of its development. Here, slowly, methodically, key ones were deconditioned and reconditioned. Even so, he reflected, you couldn’t change the basic personality of the conditioned. That was why Ytil had to go—too dumb to keep quiet. As for Kluxm—well, it was known for some particularly strong-willed Nirlings to break free, although never with any prayer of support from the rest of the conditioned leadership.
“We are ready when you are, Highness,” called one of the Markling technicians. Azkfru signaled satisfaction and went down to the floor.
Quickly and efficiently two additional cables similar to the ones on Hain were placed on his own antennae. When he now said something, it would be placed in the machine, amplified, processed, and fed directly into the brain of Datham Hain in such a way that it would be taken as acceptable input and engraved in the other’s mind.
The baron signaled a go-ahead, and the technicians touched the last controls.
“Datham Hain!” the ambassador’s brain called out.
Hain, although unconscious, answered, “Yes?”
“Your past to this point you retain, but it is an academic past, there to call upon if needed but irrelevant to your present and future,” the baron told her. “What is important to you, what is the only thing of importance to you, is that you are a breeder Markling of the Barony of Azkfru. Your destiny is whatever the Baron of Azkfru wishes, and that is acceptable and normal to you. My will is your will, your only will. You exist to serve me alone. You would never betray me, nor allow harm to come to me. You are my own, my property, and that is all that is good and happy in your mind or life. When you serve me you are happy, and when you do not you are unhappy. That is the measure of your joy in life. I am your leader, your lord, and your only god. Your worship is normal. Do you understand this?”
“I understand, my lord,” replied Hain mechanically.
The baron signaled to the technicians to break contact, which they quickly did, then unfastened the two cables from his antennae.
“How did it take?” Azkfru asked one of the technicians.
“The subject is receptive,” replied one of the technicians, part of whose own conditioning was never to consider the idea that she might have been conditioned. “However, her psychological profile is one of extreme selfishness. That might eventually cancel the conditioning, producing mental breakdown.”
“What do you advise, then?”
“Go along with the idea,” the technician suggested. “Go back into her mind and tell her that her only avenue to wealth and power is through you and no one else. That’s something her mind can completely accept, and it will be acted upon in concert with the standard conditioning you’ve already administered. Then, after she’s awake and you are interviewing her, hold out the highest possible position a breeder Markling could attain.”
“I see,” the baron replied, and he did see. That made everything perfect. “Let us complete the conditioning,” he commanded.
Datham Hain awoke with a very strange set of feelings and yet not aware that over ten days had passed since she was first introduced to the land of the Akkafian.
A Markling with the insignia of the Baron Azkfru entered and saw that she was awake. “You must be starved,” the newcomer said pleasantly. “Follow me and we will take care of that.”
Starvation was close to what Datham Hain actually felt at that point, and she needed no further urging to follow the servant. The feeding room was filled with pens of large, white-ribbed worms that were indigenous to the soil of the land. Hain had no qualms this time about eating such prey, and found them most satisfying.
“The baron raises his own fikhfs,” the guide explained as she gorged herself. “Only the best for this household, till midnight at the Well of Souls.”
Hain suddenly stopped eating.
“What was that you just said?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s just a saying,” the other replied.
Hain forgot it for the moment and continued eating. When it was clear that her hunger had been satisfied, the guide said, “Now, follow me into reception, and you’ll meet the baron.”
Hain obediently followed down several long and particularly plush corridors to a wide anteroom covered in that downy fur with a low-volume “music” background, pleasant but not lulling as the other had been.
“Just relax for now,” the baron’s servant told her. “His Highness will call you in when he is ready.”
Relaxing was just the thing Hain felt least like doing; extremely awake and alert, she wished idly for something active to do, something to look at. A rack in one corner held a series of scrolls in that funny writing, but it was just random dots.
Not even any pictures, she thought glumly.
She paced nervously, awaiting the baron’s pleasure.
The baron was already entertaining a guest—or guests, he wasn’t sure which. Although he had communicated with a representative of whatever government this creature or creatures had, he had never met any of them and knew nothing about them. He still didn’t, he realized sourly, and he didn’t like the situation, either. The Northern Hemisphere was a place so alien to him that he felt more kinship with the most different of the Southern races compared to the closest of the North.
The object of his speculation and apprehension was floating about three meters in front of him. Yes, floating, he decided—no visible means of support or locomotion. It looked like a slightly upcurved strip of crystal from which a set of dozens of small crystal chimes hung down, the whole thing about a meter long and ending just short of the floor. On top of the crystal strip floated a creature that seemed to consist of hundreds of rapidly flashing lights. Their pattern and their regularity suggested that they existed in a transparent ball fitting in the crystal holder—but, try as he would, he couldn’t make out the ball he somehow felt was there.
The Diviner and The Rel might be looking at him in an equally odd and uneasy way, he realized, but he would never know. He would not like to be, would not ever be, in its world. But it was in his, and that gave him a small measure of comfort.