Kateb continues watching Brie as she speaks, and then he chuckles. “Here on Atlantis, it is very similar. Except, unless you’re a Citizen, you cannot get as filthy rich as you would otherwise. And you cannot take your invention all the way—to reach and develop its absolute potential while retaining full control over your creative right to it.”
Brie raises one brow. “Aha. So is that why you’re in this thing, Inventor? You’ve created something and now you want to take it all the way, as you say?”
Kateb takes a slow easy breath and lets it out, then stretches his arms behind him. He then grunts lightly and lies back on the stone slab next to the surveillance screen, ignoring it. His long frame stretches out all the way across the floor slab, and he puts his hands up and underneath his head to cradle it.
“Let me tell you a story,” he says, lying on the stone and watching Brie with a lazy expression in his hazel-green eyes. “It’s a very, very old story, and you might find it amusing. . . .”
“Sounds good,” Brie says with sarcasm.
But Kateb pats the stone with one hand, signaling for her to lie back also. Then he returns his hand under his head and waits for her.
“A bedtime story?” Brie lifts her brows. “Even better!” But she lies down a few feet away, and also places her hands behind her and under her head.
“Now,” Kateb says—and I realize suddenly that his voice has deepened, or become more resonant, or somehow transformed, and it is now a storyteller voice. . . . “The story is called ‘The Invention.’”
And he begins:
“A very long time ago, when the world was plain, a brilliant scientist invented a wonderful mysterious device. When touched, it inspired you.
“People from everywhere came to touch the device—and were inspired to create problems, solve all masterpieces, heal the hungry and feed the sick. Others were inspired to invent even more amazing inventions. Soon, the world filled with technological wonders.
“Because so many people touched it, the device eventually wore down and stopped working. And when the oceans rose to swallow land and rearrange the continents, everything that was left of the inspired civilization sank to the bottom.
“But the memory of inspiration remains to this day. It’s why so many of us unconsciously reach out to touch the things of the world, and why we reach out for each other.
“There’s something to be invented.”
Kateb grows silent. He breathes evenly, looking up at the stone ceiling above us.
Brie also appears to be breathing calmly, suspended in a state of rapt attention that has been created by his voice. She is definitely calm and relaxed now.
There are a few seconds of silence, and then I break the spell. “Oh, that’s a wonderful fable, Kateb! Where’s it from?”
Kateb turns his head slowly and smiles at me. “It’s one of our oldest stories that came with us when we escaped Earth all these thousands of years ago. It’s a story of the original Old Atlantis.”
Chapter 64
“Cool story—or fable, or whatever,” Brie says, also staring at the ceiling. “But you still haven’t answered my question, Inventor. What’s your story?”
“Do you really want to know? It’s not very exciting,” Kateb replies after a brief pause. His voice has lost its mesmerizing resonance, and has turned ordinary, even self-effacing. But there’s something intense and powerful in the fabric of the silence that now follows. . . . It’s as if the weight of his power voice still hangs in the air, and he tries to compensate for it by diminishing himself. . . .
The fact that Kateb can use such a profound storyteller voice lingers in my mind. Now I’m even more curious to know what his background is—and not only because knowing his motivation will help me arm myself against him, but because I’m suddenly very sure that I don’t want to. I’d much rather have Kateb as an ally, and to be honest, a friend.
“Yes, I want to know,” Brie says in the meantime. “Why did you enter the Games?”
Kateb lies on his back, hands tucked under his head. “I sometimes ask myself the same question,” he says quietly. “But then I remind myself that it’s all for love. Most things can be blamed on that, you know.” And then he chuckles again.
Brie and I remain very still as we listen.
“The woman whom I love—my kind, beautiful, wise, intelligent, talented, wonderful life mate and wife—has a shortcoming. She might be perfect in every way as far as I’m concerned, but this minor shortcoming makes her daily life very difficult.” Kateb pauses, then slowly turns his head to look at us. “She is tone-deaf and cannot sing. She can make very rudimentary musical notes, but cannot reliably replicate them. Which means, she’s unable to do even the most basic voice commands.”
“Oh. . . .” I say.
“As a result, her limited ability to work, and even perform simple household tasks, is a constant strain on her resources. In our society driven by sound technology, she’s considered disabled, and receives a negligible stipend because of her limited work options,” Kateb continues. “Fortunately, I’m a mechanical engineer. And so, I invented a medical implant device that will correct her ability to interpret and replicate sound. It’s better than any tech that’s currently available. However, my invention cannot be fully developed and implemented by me, because the competition doesn’t want me to bring my invention to market and is actively working to discredit me. Since I’m not a Citizen, I don’t have the resources to fight back, without signing away most of my legal rights of ownership of the patent.”
“Why would you have to give up your rights?” I ask.
“For so many ugly reasons,” Kateb sighs. “By Atlantean law, a non-citizen may only be a secondary rights holder in any groundbreaking new technology. At best, I can hope for ten percent ownership of a patent, and no ultimate control. If I’m lucky enough to find a Citizen to sponsor me, someone who thinks the same way I do, things can get done. . . . But over the years, my competition has either threatened or bought off any interested parties, and made it impossible for me to get the required sponsor.”
“That really blows,” Brie says.
“But—that’s ridiculous!” I say. “Doesn’t society want this great new tech? Seems like it can help so many people who have trouble with music perception! If it’s so groundbreaking, wouldn’t they want to use it and develop it themselves? Maybe you can just sell it to them—”
“I tried.” Kateb’s expression darkens. “It was the first thing I did. I was willing to do anything for this device to be made, and it didn’t have to be by me—as long as someone developed it, and the woman I care about could benefit from it. . . .”
“And?”
“The competition offered to buy my invention. But I found out that their plan was not to develop it, but to bury it, since it disrupts and undermines their current economic interests.”
“That, right there, is a great example of why I hate legal crap,” Brie says. “Your case illustrates it. Sorry that your people are just as screwed up as Earth when it comes to these things. Humans—as a species, we suck hard.”
I shake my head sadly.
“Meanwhile,” Kateb continues, “I’ve been trying for years to get my schematics to be seen by various individuals in the industry. And yes, I’ve applied for an original creator patent, and it’s been filed properly, to the extent that it can be. But it sits, neither here nor there, stuck in a legal vacuum. The only good of it is, no one else can steal my design or methodology and proceed with its development until my patent is resolved . . . but then, neither can I.”
There’s a pause, as we all grow thoughtful.
“So I made my decision,” Kateb resumes. “I trained for the Games for two years. And now, here we are. I’ll either win and become a Citizen, or I die and my invention dies, and my wife continues to live a difficult, painfully limited life.”
“Is it worth it—for her?” I say. “I mean, is she willing to have you sacrifice yourself in these Games, just s
o that she can have this medical device?”
“It is not her choice, but mine,” Kateb says coldly.
“Yes, I get that. But, how will she feel if you die, while trying to give her all this? Will it really make her happy, or even able to live with herself, knowing that she’s the reason you’re risking your life, and that she’ll very likely lose you?”
Kateb pauses before answering. “She doesn’t know,” he says, and his voice is strange and numb. “Or, she didn’t know . . . until this moment.”
“Oh . . .” I say. “Oh, no!”
“What? I don’t get it,” Brie says, staring at him. “She doesn’t know what? That you have this invention, or that you love her?”
“She doesn’t know that Kateb’s doing it for her,” I say.
The Inventor nods at me. “I’ve explained my reasons for entering the Games as personal frustration at the system. She thinks that, for the sake of my own sanity, I need to go through with all this, so that I can get creative ownership at last, and ultimately receive career accolades, not to mention financial compensation. It all makes logical sense and business sense. She’s seen me struggle for years, going from organization to organization, person to person. She’s seen me angry and desperate, and sleepless, and out of my mind. . . . She just didn’t know the real reason why. She doesn’t know that I, in turn, have seen her constant daily struggle—seen her in pain, overwhelmed, feeling inadequate, doubting herself—and it’s killing me to see her like that.”
“Maybe—if we survive all this,” I say suddenly, “maybe I’ll ask Aeson—the Imperial Crown Prince Aeson, to see if there’s something that can be done for—your invention.”
Kateb looks up at me suddenly. “I’d really appreciate it, my Imperial Lady Gwen,” he says, with a new light in his eyes. “It’s quite possible I won’t make it through the Games. But I’ll do my best so that you will. And afterwards . . . if my wife can get the benefit of the implant, it would mean everything—”
I nod. “I promise. In fact, if my Bridegroom can hear me now, he is now informed. . . .”
Kateb’s expression as he looks at me is a complex mixture of hopeful emotion.
There’s another thoughtful pause between us.
Brie continues to lie on her back. But Kateb sits up, with a small grunt, and goes back to scrolling the surveillance.
“Must be nice,” Brie says to me after a few silent seconds.
“What?” I glance at her.
“Nice to have the Imperial Prince at your beck and call.”
“Huh?” I say with a frown.
Brie turns her head to stare at the ceiling, then looks at me again. “You know what I mean. Your royal loverboy will do anything for you. How’d you get so lucky anyway, skinny know-it-all nerd with a big mouth from rural Vermont, to land an Atlantean hotshot prince? And before that—”
“What?” I say, my pulse starting to speed up with anger.
“Nothing.” And Brie looks up at the ceiling again.
I’m angry enough at this point that I look away also, back to the note-taking gadget I’ve been working on. I stare at the symbols I’ve drawn, try to remember what I’ve been doing, but my mind is still seething at Brie Walton’s obnoxious attitude. I take a few deep breaths. . . .
“So what’s the deal with you and Sangre?” Brie says, just as I’ve regained my concentration.
I blink and immediately stare at her with acute attention. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, I know about you two.” Brie is staring back at me with an insolent, sarcastic expression. “We were all in the same Pilot Training class, before the incident, remember? Plus, I’ve seen you around the ark-ship, and the two of you were definitely a sweet thing. Again, how’d that happen, don’t ask me, I’ve no clue in hell. . . . How did the two of you end up together? You’re not even in the same league. You’re a sort of pretty, good little nerd girl. And he’s popular, slick, hardcore . . . an alpha jock with an edge. End of the world must’ve scrambled his brains to make you seem apocalyptic-hot, maybe? I’ll give him that. . . .”
Don’t let her get to you, just don’t . . . I tell myself. She’s playing some kind of game.
“Yes, we were together at that time,” I say, keeping my voice as bland and even as I can.
“I bet.” Brie snorts. “And then you dumped him the moment something better came along. Such as an Imperial Crown Prince.”
I bite my lip. “Actually, no. He was the one who dumped me.”
Brie raises one brow.
“Logan broke up with me many months ago,” I say softly. “Looking back, it was the right thing to do, and neither one of us was in the same mental or emotional place as we were at first.”
“Well . . . Sangre is even smarter than I thought,” Brie says softly. “Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a calculating bastard. Has to be, to get where he’s now.”
I look directly into Brie’s eyes. “Whatever you might think of him now, after all the—questioning he’s done with you, Logan Sangre’s a good guy. Earth Union or not, he’s got integrity. Which is something more than I can say about you, Walton. I know crap about you, really. Why did you do the things you did? What’s your plan here? Are you going to try to kill me as soon as it’s the right time in your personal end game schedule?”
Brie rises slowly, to rest on her elbows. She continues to look at me with a suddenly unreadable expression. And then she sits up all the way. “I’ve had a million opportunities to kill you, Lark. Do you really think that’s my ‘game?’”
“You tell me,” I say in a blank voice, trying to match her.
“Now’s not the time or place,” she replies. “But the one thing I can tell you is that my word is good. I keep my promises. And that’s as much as you need to know.”
We spend the rest of the painful hour quietly. I occupy myself with my note-taking gadget, Brie lies down again and keeps her eyes closed, occasionally staring at the ceiling, while Kateb handles the surveillance screens. And when the bells ring to announce the thirteenth hour, we drop all pretense of doing anything and pause anxiously, waiting for the pyramid to move. Will it free us?
For once, the familiar grinding noise of stones is the most welcome sound. And as soon as we see the overhead blocks start rising apart, and the adjacent ones moving off to create badly needed openings, we breathe in relief. . . . Our prison is gone, and we’re free to move about again.
Not to mention, the cold wind is back, circulating freely in our space. It returns with a dull roar, punctuated by ghostly howls that sound almost human, or like wild alien wails of unknown animals—a bizarre noise combination of moving air enhanced by the distant rumble of the audience up on the cliffs.
“Thank God,” Brie mutters without looking at me.
The rest of our teammates join us shortly, and we tell them our suspicions about the nature of the pyramid “punishment” and how it’s likely the result of us interfering with the Games programming of the stones.
“Team Irtiu’s Safe Base has opened up again too,” Kateb observes.
Chihar nods. “Interesting. We should pay attention to the other stones out there which we heated up, while you were inside the Safe Base.”
Meanwhile, I ask them about the new symbols they’ve discovered.
“Here are mine, and what the others found,” Lolu tells me, offering up her own gadget where she’s drawn careful notes. “They look very ornate, very ornamental. I don’t see any connections yet.”
I’m keeping a master list, so I transfer her data over. Then we pass around the list and stare at the swirling symbols to find some kind of meaningful pattern. By the time thirteenth hour ends, it’s Midnight Ghost Time, and we’re tired, frustrated, and ready to give up.
“We should sleep and deal with this in the morning,” I say, as the Games choir sings the hymn to indicate the end of the day and the Games cleanup crew.
Everyone’s in agreement. Zaap and Lolu take the first shift on the surveill
ance, while the rest of us lie down the best we can, and try to sleep. The cold wind continues to sweep through the pyramid, and it brings teeth-chattering discomfort for all of us. . . . But we don’t dare heat up another stone, in case the pyramid program responds with something else unusual with which to punish us.
I open my eyes near dawn on the third day of Stage Two, because I hear Tuar cursing at the surveillance screen.
“What?” I exclaim in a thick voice, as my heartbeat goes into overdrive. I sit up on my elbows, then wince in pain from my shoulder where the bludgeon injury from two days ago is now a deep bruise. . . . Ugh.
Others are awake also.
At the same time, there’s a surge of audience noise from the direction of the cliffs.
“Are we under attack?” Chihar says, sitting up stiffly.
“No, sorry,” Tuar replies. “I’m watching the pyramid summit. Team Naat is up there, doing something to the Blue Grail cradle stone. The Technician, Ujaste Naat, is deploying his crazy gadgets. There was a huge explosion just now—”
“Screw it, then.” Brie grunts and lies back down again. “As long as it’s not coming this way. . . .”
But Avaneh, who’s also on surveillance, turns to me. “Imperial Lady Gwen, you might want to see this.”
I nod and make my way past people’s feet to the surveillance area, then sit down to watch.
Tuar zooms in on the view of the pyramid from directly above, where, in the grey light of dawn, a billowing cloud of blue-green smoke covers the top summit stones. It clears in moments, thanks to strong wind, and we can see a group of seven Contenders, one of them the celebrity Technician himself, Ujaste Naat, a bland-looking man of average build and height, with short gilded hair, standing at as much distance as possible from the center stone.
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