Heirs of Empire

“The day thy self-doubt ceaseth will be the day thou becomest less than thy best self, Colin,” she said gently.

He smiled, changed the subject to something more comfortable, and let ’Ta

“Excuse me, Colin,” a mellow voice injected into a break in their conversation, “but Coha

“Thanks.” Colin sighed and set the moment aside, feeling the universe intruding upon them once more but revitalized by the temporary escape. “Tell them we’re in the study.”

“I have already done so. They will arrive momentarily.”

“Fine. And hang around yourself. We may need your input.”

“Of course,” Dahak agreed. Colin knew a tiny bit of the computer’s attention always followed him about, ready to respond to questions or advise him of new developments, but Dahak had designed a special subroutine to monitor his Emperor’s whereabouts and needs without bringing them to the front of his attention unless certain critical parameters were crossed. It was his way of assuring Colin’s privacy, a concept he didn’t entirely understand but whose importance to his human friends he recognized.

The study door opened, and Coha

Jiltanith stood to embrace her while Coha

They looked, Colin thought, like fireplugs on legs. Tinker Bell’s pups had been sired by a pedigreed rottweiler, and the lab side of their heritage was scarcely noticeable. They had a solid, squared-off appearance, with powerful muzzles, and the biggest must have massed almost sixty kilos.

He studied them for signs of the changes Coha

“All right, Colin.” Coha

He looked up quickly, but her expression gave him pause. He was accustomed to her testiness, but her dark eyes were fierce. This, he realized with a sinking sensation, was no bloodless project for her.

“Sit down, ’Ha

“ ’Ha

“Then they’re idiots!” Coha

“All right,” she said finally, her voice low. “Maybe I was an idiot. I still maintain—” her eyes flashed “—that they’re superstitious savages, but, damn it, Colin, I can’t understand how their minds work! These dogs represent no more danger to them than another enhanced human would!”

“I know you think they don’t, ’Ha

“I don’t ‘think’ anything, Colin—I know! And so will you if you take the time to get to know them.”

“That,” he admitted, “is what I’m more than half afraid of.” He turned back to the dogs, and the big male he’d touched returned his gaze levelly. “This is Galahad?” he asked Coha

“Yes,” a mechanically produced voice said, and Colin’s eyes widened as he saw the small vocoder on the dog’s collar. A shiver ran down his spine as a “dumb animal” spoke, but it vanished in an instant. Wonder replaced it, and a strange delight he tried hard to suppress, and he drew a deep breath.

“Well, Galahad,” he said quietly, “has Coha

“Yes,” the dog replied. His ears moved, and Colin realized it was a deliberate gesture—an expression intended to convey meaning. “But we do not understand why others fear us.” The words came slowly but without hesitation.

“Excuse me a moment, Galahad,” Colin said, feeling only a slight sense of unreality at extending human-style courtesies to a dog. He looked back up at Coha

“There’s some enhancement,” the doctor admitted. “They tend to forget definite articles, and their sentence structure’s very simple. They never use the past tense, either, but the software is limited to ‘filling in the holes.’ It doesn’t provide any expansion of their meaning.”

“Galahad,” Colin turned back to the dog, “you don’t frighten me—or anyone else in this room—but some people will find you … u

“Why?” Galahad asked.

“I wish I could explain why,” Colin sighed.

“Danger is cause for fear,” the dog said, “but we are no danger. We wish only to be. We are not evil.”

Colin blinked. A word like “evil” implied an ability to manipulate concepts light-years in advance of anything Tinker Bell had ever managed.

“Galahad,” he asked carefully, “what do you think ‘evil’ is?”

“Evil,” the mechanically-generated voice replied, “is danger. Evil is hurting when not hurt or when hurting is not needed.”

Colin winced, for Galahad had cut to the heart of his own definition of evil. And whether he’d meant to or not, he’d thrown Colin’s decision about his own fate into stark focus.

Colin MacIntyre stared into his own soul and disliked what he saw. How could he explain that much of humanity was incapable of understanding what Galahad saw so clearly, or why he felt so ashamed that it was so?

“Colin-human,” Colin looked up as Galahad spoke again, “I try to understand, for understanding is good, but I ca

Colin bit his lip. He turned to Jiltanith, and when her eyes—the black, subtly alien eyes of a full Imperial—met his, they, too, shone with tears.

“He hath the right of it, my Colin,” she said quietly. “Should we decree their deaths, ’twill be fear that moveth us—fear that maketh us do what we know full well is wrong. Nay, more than wrong.” She knelt beside him, touching a slender hand to Galahad’s heavy head. “E’en as Galahad hath said, ’twould evil be to hurt where hurting need not be.”