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On Ice Pythia Chapter Seven |
Martyn and I worked very hard in those three and half weeks before the Christmas break. We had a lot to do, and very little time to do it in. The Board was expecting us to have a full report ready for the new year, as well as having made all the other scheduled preparations that would be needed to wind up the project. Nobody was surprised that we spent practically all our time at the Institute, working late and sometimes not bothering to go home at all. That was just as well; had anybody checked, they might have found that Martyn no longer had a home to go to – and that my simple apartment had acquired an extra tenant for a while. He’d moved in the night after the Board had made their announcement – the outcome of the long discussion we had shared, facing the future and the options that awaited us. I’d half expected him to talk me out of my decision, only to find that he’d already reached the same conclusions; he’d been only awaiting my word to act on them, and I had given it with love.
On the surface, we were doing what was expected of us. I booked a Christmas flight to Peru, and five days in a room in an Andean hotel, overlooking the Amazon ocean. He arranged a completely different flight to a completely different continent; he had a brother in the Zealand Isles and announced his intention to spend the holiday with his family. I spent a day in Washington doing a little shopping, he visited an old friend or two and gave a couple of lectures; the rest of the time we spent in the Institute.
Robbing them blind.
Information is money in the colonies, and the Institute is a storehouse of knowledge, a wealth so vast that no one mind could ever encompass it all. We spent each and every night stripping layers of data from the record system, packing it into tiny flat discs of flexible memory plastic and then stashing them in the linings of jackets, the inside of Martyn’s katana sheath, under the maintenance panels of our p-comms – everywhere and anywhere we could think of where they could be hidden and transported away with ease. I hacked into the forbidden files, downloading books and movies and holo-plays; Martyn assembled a toolbox of technology, blueprints and techniques, programmes, technical diagrams and constituent ingredients. Medical knowledge followed poetry, Chemistry rubbed shoulders with symphonies, and Geology and Geophysics packed in beside artworks and architectural texts. We distilled the wisdom of centuries and went back for more, harvesting a fortune so that we might have a future together, once everything was done.
No-one suspected us; by day we were model employees, attending to our work with commendable diligence. The files and ‘cordings from the past year were carefully catalogued, indexed and stored – all in one carefully designated area, linked to a single, coded command file. The medical data went into the same portfolio, although I made sure we included a complete copy of it in among our night time treasures. The official part of the work would take us two or three hours each morning, and then we would take lunch into the bio-dome and share it with the third member of our conspiracy.
There were idyllic moments in those last three weeks; we would sit together under a blue sky, sharing fresh bread and sweet grapes picked right off the vine. Iolaus would laugh and tell old jokes, or reminisce about days long past, recalling equally pastoral moments spent relaxing in between his many adventures. Days of Arcady, nights under the stars – and the people he'd spent them with, lost to time and vanished into history. We could pretend, in those moments, that the illusion could last forever. That we had strayed perhaps, into the Elysian fields, and that time itself no longer had meaning for any of us.
Only moments – but they fuelled the determination in my heart and strengthened my resolve whenever it threatened to waver. I love Martyn with all my heart and would defend that love without question – but Iolaus has brought a light into my soul and a joy into my life that I cannot explain, and never want to lose. He inspires in me the affection I never had for the child of my flesh, but which I think I could find now, if we ever get a chance to meet again. Even though our hero is so much older than I, he has become like a second son to me – and, like many a parent before me, I cannot always understand his needs or his motivations. But his heart never wavers, and his love and his friendship are beyond price.
Those weeks were not easy for him. Martyn and I had work to occupy us, preparations to make and plans to action; all he could do was watch and wait, like a caged bird poised for flight, or a hound straining at the leash, impatient to be free. He expended some of that anxious energy in the forge, working to complete the blade he had begun before I had left for my lecture tour. The remainder was consumed in restlessness; he’d run the circumference of the dome, or spend hours in focused exercise, dancing through long practiced routines or sparring with invisible opponents. In between bursts of activity - and the company we offered at lunchtime and for the evening meal – he’d sit and stare at the illusion of the sky, with a thoughtful and somewhat haunted expression on his face.
I knew what he was thinking about - and if I’d had answers to soothe his wounded soul I would have found time to share them with him. I could face his grief, aware that it had been born from a loss so great that he might never consider himself whole again; but his doubt … That was beyond my comprehension and it hurt, knowing I had nothing to offer him except doubts of my own. Had his partner lived? And if so, why had he abandoned him, so many centuries ago?
Whatever the explanation for his visions – and they had set us on the path we now pursued – they gave him a certitude it was hard to argue with. His goddess had told that him his friend had lived and, while I doubted, I knew that he believed beyond question. His heart was set on finding his friend again; mine ached to watch him struggle with the fear that came from that desire – the fear he didn’t dare express. He didn’t need to; it was written all over him.
It was the fear I had placed in his heart, thinking I had to be cruel to be kind.
Why would he remember you, after all this time?
Three weeks came and went, almost before we knew it. The day I was due to leave ticked closer and closer, filling me with a sense of anxious panic. My determination wavered; I had nearly reached the heart of the labyrinth and once I did so there would be no turning back. I knew the consequences of discovery only too well; the price of failure would be everything. I could step back. Step away. I could be a good, obedient servant and let the Board carry out its plans. I could go to Peru and forget this year had ever happened.
I could die, inside.
Anger had driven me to make my choices; a fierce, selfless, devoted anger, the kind that only mothers and lovers truly know. The anger and the fear was still there; I needed to protect those I loved and was willing to risk anything to keep them safe. But there was another reason driving me forward, pushing me down my chosen path and pushing my hesitations aside. I wanted to live. Truly live, even if it was only for a few breathless, heart stopping moments; it would be better to take the risk and everything that followed, rather than face the slow, endless death of my soul. When it came down to it, the one thing I could not betray was my heart.
I spent that night walking the Institute, committing its vaulted halls and the treasures it concealed to memory that one last time. It felt strange to wander those familiar galleries and know that I would never have that privilege again. The public displays were quiet, with only a few comm-net cameras and terminals in active use. There are always some researchers linking in from around the world, but that night it felt as if I had the Museums and the exhibits entirely to myself for once. I walked back through the hall of history, tracing the path of time from the earliest moment of creation, past the reign of the dinosaurs, past the inheritance of the mammals, past the dawn of man, past the creation of civilisation, past the industrial revolution, past the earliest ventures into space – and arrived in the present, one step from the future. My mind was made up. There would be no turning back.
The following morning Martyn and I walked down to the bio-dome, just as we had every other day. I instructed one of the black clad Guardians that he was to remain at his post until the authorised technicians arrived to begin the shut down process. Once we had left, I ordered, no-one was to be allowed into the dome without the appropriate clearance. He accepted the instruction without question, just as we had planned; I commanded the other Guardian to accompany me – in case, I suggested, the specimen became difficult once he discovered his intended fate.
Iolaus was waiting on the other side of the door.
The Guardian never knew what hit him. We’d warned our hero about the nature of stelsuits and the fact that the re-programming overrides consideration of pain, so he greeted his one time protector with a disarming smile rather than any kind of force; it was Martyn who disabled him, taking advantage of the distraction to jam a powered tasstick into the narrow gap between the man’s helmet and the neck of his suit. He went down without a sound.
We worked quickly after that. I disconnected all the ‘corders from the control panel by the door while Martyn and Iolaus carried the unconscious Guardian into the villa. By the time I caught up with them, there was a half naked man lying on the bed and an ancient Greek hero warily slipping himself into the soft folds of a modern stelsuit. It was clearly taking longer than he expected, and Martyn was laughing at him, amused by his reaction to the obstinate material. I shook my head at the both of them and went to help, easing the slick black fabric over tanned shoulders and nodding approval as it molded itself into place almost like a second skin. I’d picked the smaller of the two men, but I hadn’t really needed to, since the suits are manufactured to a standard size. It’s the science of the revolutionary textile that makes the difference; away from anything else it’s soft, pliable and almost infinitely stretchable. Wrap it over a warm surface and it shapes itself to fit the body underneath. Move in it and it flows like the softest silk. Hit it, or apply any level of kinetic force to the outer surface – and it instantly goes harder than steel. Stelsuits are standard issue to both Enforcers and Guardians, who are often required to place themselves between the intended target of an assassination and the assassin’s weapon. It’s better than armor – and it saves a lot of lives.
Once he’d got himself inside it, Iolaus was pretty impressed.
"~Cool,~" he decided, twisting about to try and glimpse the effect. "Do these come in purple?"
I’m afraid I frowned at him. This didn’t feel like a time to be joking about. Martyn laughed.
"You can change the colour later," he suggested, tossing over the equipment belt and the matching boots. "Here – there’s something I got for you."
The something raised my eyebrows in surprise. The jade amulet was supposed to be on public display – as was the bronze bladed knife, which had held pride of place in among the artifacts we’d taken from him all those months ago. "I know," Martyn acknowledged at my look, "but it’ll take forever before they spot the replicas. And he has a right to his property."
Iolaus was actually rendered speechless by the gift. He’d refused to wear the copy of the amulet we’d had made, despite its meticulous attention to detail, and the knife had never even been copied. I knew the story of both by then – the last remnants of a father he’d barely known, and a friend he treasured beyond measure. He handled them both with reverence, almost as if he couldn’t believe they were there.
"Thanks," he managed after a moment, his voice choked and his eyes suspiciously bright; he blinked a couple of times and sniffed self consciously, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. As a rule, his emotions were easy to read, his feelings offered openly without concern – but this went deep; for a moment we had a glimpse of the complex and sensitive soul that lurks beneath his usually bright and spirited exterior.
"Here," I said, lifting the amulet from his hands and draping it around his neck. "You don’t want to lose it."
"No," he agreed, hastily tucking it inside the stelsuit and pressing the sealing strip into place. The fabric of the suit swallowed it up, so that the shape of it sat like a faintly embossed badge at the center of his chest. He handed me the knife while he kicked into the boots – which turned out to be an excellent fit – and I handed it back so that he could slip it down inside the left one where it vanished from sight. He grinned a little as he patted it into place; it must have felt good to have it back where it belonged.
The belt was next, after which I put out my hand to stop him as he reached for the jacket. I had a gift of my own to give – one a little less sentimental than Martyn’s offering, but infinitely more practical. I’d used my day ‘shopping’ well, calling in several favours in the process. Iolaus looked a little bemused as I pulled the intricate gauntlets from their hiding place and ceremoniously fastened them onto his wrists. They weren’t common fashion – but I’d considered and rejected so many other options that they’d become my inevitable choice.
"If you’re to be a citizen of this century," I smiled, amused by Martyn’s reaction as he recognised the nature of my gift, "you need to be equipped like one. This – " I tapped the left gauntlet, "is your personal p-comm, activated by your voice and/or thumb print. This – " I tapped at the right, "is your medical monitor, keyed to your genetic code. Don’t worry about damaging them; they’re military issue and will take far more hurt than you ever will – even in a stelsuit."
He stared at them, lifting his hands and turning them to examine the detail of the equipment; I’d picked a style that echoed the size and shape of his original gauntlets, although these came patterned with engraved silver plates and an inset of faceted crystals. Jade, like his amulet, amethyst - and sapphires to match his eyes. "These," he said after a long moment, "are as cool as the ones Hephaestus gave Herc for his eighteenth birthday."
"Cooler," Martyn corrected, grinning at his expression. "I’m willing to bet those didn’t come complete with a holo’corder – or read data chips either."
Iolaus grinned back. Impishly. "You never know with Hephaestus," he said. Then he turned and threw his arms around me, wrapping me in a grateful hug. "Thank you," he murmured in my ear. "For everything."
An hour later, I left the Institute forever, an alert and attentive Guardian at my heels. An observant eye might have wondered at the minor discrepancies between standard programme issue and the trappings of my faithful shadow – but nobody ever looks at a Guardian that closely. The weapon slung behind his right shoulder was a hand forged, steel bladed sword, rather than the usual weighted bludgeon; there were two tassticks hanging from his belt rather than just one; and there wasn’t an x-comm anywhere in sight. We’d discussed whether we could disable it and use it simply for show, but Martyn had been concerned that shutting it down would have alerted the Enforcers and in the end we’d left it with its original owner. I wasn’t that worried about its absence; like I said, nobody ever looks that closely at a Guardian.
Most people barely even glanced at mine.
Martyn had left a good quarter of an hour before; he was well on his way to the public trans-terminal by then. We hadn’t dared risk travelling together, just in case either of us was recognised. We had a window of six or seven hours at the most - and we had to get as far away from Washington as we could before anyone thought to check on either the dome, the data feed from it, or the Guardians meant to be protecting it.
It had been hard to watch Martyn leave without me. Harder still to walk out of my office that one last time, leaving my work and my career behind me. My last contribution to the Institute’s files had been a single, directed command. While were walking onto the pedescalator which would carry us past the Capitol and out of the Museum grounds, the data enzyme I had activated had begun dissolving the entire contents of my personal store. By the time we reached the Executive terminal, there would have been nothing left; every report of our project, every transcript, every ‘cording gone forever. Only the public, published record would remain – and without the evidence to support its claims, the Board would find it impossible to merchandise the genetic material I had been forced to leave behind.
I suspected that some of those samples had already been sold; there was a little part of me amused to think that – somewhere on the outer rim – someone might be trying to use them to create some Nietzschean super race. They had the blueprints for heroes, that much was certain – but the results might not be entirely what they were expecting …
The day was overcast and a flurry of rain was heading in from the west. Everybody wanted to be out of the city for the holidays, so the out-going sub-orbiter was crowded almost to capacity. My standing was sufficiently high to ensure I was allocated two seats in the executive section. There was a risk I might run into someone I knew, but it was the only way to be certain of leaving without delay. It didn’t really matter; I’d been scheduled to take this trip for days and by taking the route I’d already booked, I would be allaying suspicions rather than inciting them.
Once we were out of Washington, we could begin to cover our tracks.
The sub-orbiter did two hops; one to Austin, and then a second to New Rio. Each took no more than half an hour and we disembarked without incident, emerging into the muggy warmth of the Southern hemisphere along with any number of people hoping to partake in the holiday carnival. We had a different goal in mind. A handful of credit chips hired a changing room in a small and discreet hotel close by the trans-terminal; an hour later I was back at the transit hall, booking a local flight to Santiago. I’d dressed down for the occasion; my outfit was no longer that of a high ranking government executive, but suggested a woman of professional standing, working for one of the Influential industries. I had to maintain some impression of rank, since I was travelling with a sleek and stelsuited Guardian to protect me, but I had begun to shed the trappings of my old life, and with it came an odd sense of exhilaration.
It was offset by a growing anxiety; time was ticking by, eating into our chances of success. The flight to Chile was delayed by bad weather and I found myself pacing in the boarding lounge, watching the entranceways and half expecting a team of Enforcers to arrive any minute. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a gentle hand caught at my arm, but it was only Iolaus, concerned that I might be drawing attention to myself. I found a seat and fretted there instead, passing the time by studying the other passengers and wondering what my black clad companion was making of his surroundings. The trans-terminal at New Rio must have seemed utterly strange to him, although the arching glass and steel architecture and the rigid, sterile lines of its furnishings were probably two of the least alien experiences I’d subjected him to that day.
He’d learned about aircraft as well as space flight, of course; I remember that his first reaction on being shown a holo of a sub-orbiter had been to break into a weird smile and mutter something about ‘having been right all along’ – a reaction he steadfastly refused to explain but had gone on grinning about for days. Knowing and doing are two completely different things, of course. The helmet which concealed his identity also successfully concealed his expression, and I had no way of telling what he might be thinking behind that dark featureless panel. It must have been very hard for him to keep up the pretense of Guardianship; it required that he stand beside me and stare straight ahead when what he probably wanted to do was stare at absolutely everything.
I found myself looking at the terminal with fresh eyes, reconsidering all those little details which I’d simply taken for granted before. The magna-flux trolleys which floated serenely past, several inches off the ground. The map projection posts which painted three-dimensional directions in mid air whenever anyone stopped to consult them. The auto-servers which dispensed doughnuts and steaming hot coffee at a word of command. My world was filled with wonders and magic and I’d never really noticed.
It was another hour before we boarded the double winged shuttle bound for Santiago. The flight took forty minutes; I took a further fifteen locating the contact that Martyn had been given by a friend of a friend. A thousand unit credit chip secured us a short flitter to a private landing strip somewhere to the north of the city. Two more bought us two seats on an unregistered cargo lifter about to leave for the south.
Two hours after that, I was stepping off the lifter and straight into Martyn’s anxious arms.
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