Chapter thirty-four

The revelry of the night-before lasted far longer than any night on earth; Pipeline permitted such lingerings. Dion and I enjoyed our first and last meal on the Monmouth enthusiastically, and together we enjoyed the company of Neddy, despite what I knew about the robot’s Mesmerization malfunction. The plums were perfectly ripe; the cheese was fresh and flavorful. After dinner, we cracked open the bottle and, after more-than-a-little coaxing, we convinced little Ned to have a few shots. Apparently, Dion had originally programmed his robots to behave drunkenly when they imbibe alcohol – a behavioral protocol designed merely for entertainment.

Once everyone was good and tipsy, the two of us taught the robot how to play Gin-Rummy and Crazy Eights, as well as Pitty Pat. Though we didn’t have any money, we played a dozen or so hands of Poker – deuces wild – using some of the leftover pits from the fruit as chips. One of the highlights of our evening was showing the robot how to smoke cigarettes; though the lesson was entirely nugatory, it was hilarious to see the little man posing like a rockstar, taking it all in like young James Dean.

Just before fluorescence filled the sky again with her fake star, the other two fell prey to intoxication, and succumbed to sleep. I hadn’t had too much to drink, and I was surprised that Ned’s programming had compelled the android into such a shit-faced state. I knew what I had to do now, in the dawny twilight of that counterfeit morningstar.

When Dion finally came to, he was in quite a stupor; he was still drunk, not quite to the point of experiencing a mild, manageable morning-after. Stumbling a little, Dion traversed the expanse of the ship’s mighty deck over to where I was sitting, where an opened-up Don’t Read lay conspicuously over my uncrossed legs.

“So,” Dion started in as he approached.

“So,” I said back to him, closing up the book forcefully with one hand.

“Last night.”

“Good times,” I said.

“Never have I ever seen a robot look so cool,” Dion said, evidencing my dream with his words. He was a bit hoarse from all of our laughter the night before. I didn’t want to tell him the truth about naughty Ned; I had plan Z under control, and that was plenty enough for now. He continued: “I see you’re reading the book.”

“I’m only looking at the parts that matter,” I told him.

“When do we get this plan of yours underway?” Dion asked.

“I need to have a little pow-wow with Neddy first, and then we’re good to go.” Dion looked at me, a little suspiciously. I could tell he wanted to know what was in the book, but he didn’t want to ask me – to his conscience, that would be as bad as reading it himself. I guarded my thoughts carefully so that nothing would be revealed frivolously.

Neddy had begun to stir, hearing us speaking to one another. He seemed no worse for the wear; I guess Dion hadn’t instilled a proper hangover into its drunken programming. Dion laughed at him heartily now, so of course I had to laugh too.

“Masters,” Ned started speaking. “Last night was ever-so-delightful. May the joyful memories we created at our gathering endure beyond our capability to interpret it.” Maybe I was wrong about the protocol; his words resembled the ramblings of a hungover robot. Seizing the opportunity to maintain my footing with the secretly-traitorous robot, I spoke up first.

“I read the book. Not all of it, but I know what’s going to happen when we get to Carthago.”

“I’ll leave you and Deepthroat to yourselves,” Dion said to me, not wanting to hear what was coming next. “Enjoy your covert meeting.” Dion walked over to the other side of the ship, which of course was a goodly distance, well out of earshot. He didn’t want to participate directly, but I knew he trusted me and my plan, at least – even if it wasn’t how he had wanted things to happen.

“Master Lester, what is it you require of me?” Ned asked, knowing that this was the moment of truth.

“Neddy, I need know what you are capable of first,” I said. He cocked his head a little to the side, like dogs do from time to time. My request was too cryptic, so I explained it further: “You have experienced calypsus before, and you told me that you remember a bit of it. Is it possible that you could make it look like you are infected, without producing the normal effects of calypsus?”

“I do not understand you, sir,” Ned replied. “You are asking me to engage calypsus?”

“No, Neddy. I do not want you to engage calypsus. I want you to act like you have come down with calypsus. I want you to fake it.” His tiny little Systech brain was processing my request. I knew he would agree to do it; he said earlier that he would do whatever I asked. My only fear was that he would not be able to produce the proper effects. After a spell, the synthetic light returned to his eyes and he nodded at me.

“I believe I can reproduce the effects of calypsus harmlessly.”

“Think hard about this, Neddy,” I said. “Tell me the truth, now. If you fail in this, Dion could die; what’s worse, so could your real Master, Zyrrk. Are you sure you can pull this off?”

“I am certain, Master Lester,” Ned said. “In the time it has taken us to have this conversation, I have re-viewed thousands of examples of calypsus in other robots; all of these examples of the disease are ninety percent identical. I have reviewed my internal programming, and all of my daemon are capable of reproducing the desired effect. No people of magic will be harmed, nor will I lose my consciousness. It will appear that I am merely in the throes of calypsus to any onlooker.” That was it. Plan Z was going to work just fine, I thought to myself.

“Then, Neddy, be prepared for my signal,” I said. “I will grasp you by your head and look into your eyes, as though I am casting a spell upon you. At that precise moment, you must begin your newest protocol – Let’s call it ‘Faux calypsus.’ Your execution must be absolutely flawless. Can you do this for me, Neddy?”

“Yes,” the little man said. I waved beckoningly at Dion, in order to cue him that our conversation had ended. He was still over on the other side of the ship, resting his eyes in a bit of a daze and, looking up, he started toward the robot and me.

“One last thing, Neddy,” I quickly added, closing our meeting up tight. “Promise me that you won’t tell Dion anything at all about this, as before.” Dion was still out of range, so I hazarded a wink at my metal conspirator.

The Solomon Learned unit, stuffed with programming from a bygone era, repeated a line heard in every spy movie since the nascence of Hollywood: “We never had this conversation.”