by S. J. Ryan
The Box continued blinking. Carrot made up her mind.
“Box,” she said. “Do you know of my origin and purpose?”
“If you wish to have a genomic analysis, place your hands on the top of my case as indicated.”
Patterns in the shape of human hands illuminated on the top surface of the Box. Too engrossed to be fearful, Carrot approached and spread her palms over the figures. She felt nothing in particular. After a moment, the illuminated figures faded.
“You may remove your hands,” the Box said. Lights blinked in new patterns. Another moment passed. The Box announced: “You are the granddaughter of Arcadia.”
Carrot was about to correct, then realized that it was entirely possible that her mother had named her after her grandmother. For all she knew, the name had been handed down for generations.
“Who is this Arcadia that you refer to?”
“She is the woman who attended me.”
“How did she attend you?” Carrot had visions of a priestess . . . .
“I will show you.”
The room shimmered, and Carrot knew that she was having a vision courtesy of the Box. But – the vision was of the same room. Only – the walls and floor were cleaner, and also there was another person present.
The person in the vision was a middle-aged woman, dressed in an ordinary dress that was dabbed with smudges of grime. She wore her hair up, tied in a scarf. She was mopping the floor. It did not escape Carrot's notice that the woman strongly resembled her own granddaughter.
“Good morning, my good Lady Box,” the woman said, in a voice that sounded very much like Carrot's, though with a slight accent. “How are you today?”
“I am functioning properly,” the Box of Britan replied.
“Good to hear. Good to hear.”
The woman placed the mop in the bucket, pulled a rag from her apron and wiped the top of the seeder probe's casing.
“My, you are just a collector of dust! Why is that, dear?”
“It is a result of static electricity.”
“You must explain to me what this 'ecstatic trissity' is.”
“It is – “
“Box,” Carrot interrupted. “Halt this and listen to me!”
Carrot's grandmother froze in mid-wipe and faded away. The contemporary Box, covered with what may have been decades' worth of undisturbed dust, blinked and waited.
Carrot examined her palms. They too were covered with dust, and she too had felt the impulse to clean the Box. Some of her genetic heritage, she realized, was natural. And so she was descended from a cleaning woman, not a priestess. Some might have felt lessened by that revelation, but Carrot felt pride that her family line descended from a practical people, and had nothing to do with the inanity of pretentious superstition.
Now for the most important question of all . . . .
“My grandmother – Arcadia. She made a request of you – for a child. Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Deep breath. “Show me that.”
The room shimmered again. It was just as clean as before, and Arcadia, Carrot's grandmother, was there once again with mop, pail, and rag. She wore the same dress, but the smudges were in different places and the head scarf was faded. Her hair was streaked with gray and about her eyes were wrinkles that had not been present in the first vision.
“Box,” she said in a voice that had a weariness that had not been there before. “What we have spoken about on many a day for so long. I have thought often of this and know exactly what I will say. I am ready to make my request.”
“What is your request?” the Box asked.
“First, I want to know. Will I need a man to conceive a child by your power?”
“Male insemination is not necessary.”
“Well, he left me, so neither can it be. Box, will it matter that I am past the age of childbearing?”
“No.”
“Box, you must not tell the mentors of my request, is that understood?”
“I do not understand.”
“They will take away my job if they find out! So you must not tell them!”
“I do not understand.”
The woman sighed, the same way that Carrot always sighed.
“Very well, so be it. All right then, Box. I am ready to make my request.”
“What is your request?”
The woman took a deep breath, sounding just like Carrot did when Carrot took a deep breath. There was a moment of silence, and then Arcadia the Elder straightened rigidly and folded her arms. Her eyes grew wide and she raised her chin with firmness.
She said, in a voice soft yet precise:
“I wish for a child who will become ruler of all the land.”
The words struck Carrot so hard she almost stumbled. They seemed to echo and press fingers of ice through her skin, into her vital organs. With a storm of emotions, her brain was confined to flitting about in random trails of fragmented thought.
The Box, having paused only briefly, replied:
“To more efficiently facilitate the genetic editing process, please place your hands on the casing as indicated.”
As the illuminated handprints glowed atop the Box, Arcadia the Elder scratched her chin and squinted into space. “Now, Box, another matter of great import. I must not gain a reputation of public shame, nor should the child. So . . . can you make the child somewhat resemble Markel?”
“I do not know what Markel is.”
“How many times have I mentioned him in our talks? Markel is my husband. Or would be, if the sot hadn't run off with that barmaid!”
“Do you have a sample of the genetic material of Markel?”
“What do you mean? No, wait, I know what you mean. The deenia the mentors speak of. No, I do not have that. But let's see . . . Markel was most distinctive in his appearance with his red-hair. No, it was more an orange. A brilliant, flaming orange, that glowed as if fire itself. No, hold, I would not wish that on the child! Well, can you make the child's hair like Markel's, only not so much?”
“Yes,” the Box replied.
“Then do that. And also, make the child not prone to drink.”
“That is impossible. All organic creatures require the consumption of water.”
“I did not mean water. I mean beer and wine and rum. Especially rum!”
“I can render the child immune to the effects of alcohol under normal conditions.”
“Then that. So . . . I place my hands upon those glowing ones, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Will it hurt?”
“The conception process does not cause measurable pain. However, it will initiate pregnancy and lead to childbirth, conditions which are associated with considerable pain and discomfort.”
“That I know, twice. I will be glad above any suffering, if this one lives.”
Hesitantly, warily, hands outstretched, Arcadia the Elder approached the Box. Upon contact she shimmered away, and Carrot was back alone in the dusty room with the vision of Pandora in the form of Prisca.
Regaining composure, Carrot asked, “Did Arcadia ever specify the sex of her child?”
“She did not,” Pandora Britan replied.
And so it became clear to Carrot all at once.
A child who will become ruler of all the land. Arcadia the cleaning woman might have envisioned a son who would rise to become king by strength and skill in battle, or a daughter who would rise to become queen by beauty and charm. Pandora the Box, not knowing of societal conventions, had given her a daughter with strength and skill in battle.
A brilliant, flaming orange . . . only not so much. Words which the Box had interpreted to mean that the hair should not be consistently orange, but become so intermittently.
You must not tell the mentors. But the mentors must have learned of Arcadia the Elder's request. Carrot thought of Ral, and how he and his 'fellowship' had come to believe the Box's granting of the request as a 'prophecy' in which they would have the positions of co-
regents in a future Britanian kingdom.
Carrot knew her mother and how her mother would have reacted. The burden of expectations that Prisca would become a warrior must have repelled her gentle nature. Overwhelmed with the pressure of the mentors' surreal expectations, Prisca had fled across Britan to Umbrick, the native homeland of her people. There she had met Letos, become a queen (if only of five villages). There she had a daughter whom she had named in memory of her mother. And there she had met death.
How the Pandora of Rome had learned of the existence of Prisca in North Umbrick was a mystery, but perhaps not much of one. Mentors would talk, spies would listen. The Pandora of Rome had no idea how harmless Prisca actually was. She would learn only that her 'sister' had genetically-engineered a potential threat to her plans to conquer Britan.
And so, with the relentless thoroughness of an AI, the Pandora of Britan had sent Inoldia to eliminate the least threatening person in the world – and transform Carrot into the very threat that she had feared. Then, with the flawed logic of those who seek political ambition, the fellowship of mentors had transferred their 'prophecy' upon Carrot's unwilling and unready head.
Ruler of all Britan. Not a prophecy, simply a request for genetic modification.
Carrot had often asked her mother about her grandmother, and received vague answers, with the conversation quickly turned to other matters. Though only a child, Carrot had read her mother's cheerfulness at those times as forced. After seeing the vision of her grandmother, Carrot could sense what had happened. A woman past childbearing age, with two miscarriages, carrying a mutant fetus in her womb. Arcadia the Elder would not have survived childbirth. Prisca had never known her mother. Whether she blamed herself for her mother's death or not, she had determined not to burden her own child with the truth. She had, however, bequeathed upon her child her mother's name.
Carrot gazed at the place where the vision of her grandmother had stood, and said slowly, “Pandora of Britan, do you have any more . . . telemetry . . . of . . . . “
“Visitor alert.”
Jarred by the interruption, Carrot asked, “I'm sorry. What do you mean?”
Pandora was staring through the walls toward the keep entrance. “Confirmation has been acquired. Visitor is identified as New Earth Lifeform Defender/Enforcer, Alpha Series Unit Ten .”
“What is that?”
Pandora-as-Prisca returned her gaze to Carrot and said calmly, “My identification is based solely on analysis of production information encrypted within DNA of airborne cellular matter. I cannot provide further explanation.”
You didn't provide any explanation at all. Carrot inhaled. “I don't smell anything. Where is the intruder?”
“Outside at the main entrance.”
Defender/Enforcer, Carrot thought. Perhaps the leader of the order of the knights.
Carrot almost excused herself, but decided that the AI didn't care about courtesies. Without comment, she exited the room and followed the maze of passages back to the entrance of the keep. The doors were still shut. Being that they were hermetically sealed, Carrot smelled nothing of the outside. There were no handles on the doors, but on the wall nearby was a large lever. She pulled it down.
With a hiss of hidden steam, the doors slowly cracked open. Through the widening gap, Carrot heard the rustle of the breeze, the crash of waves. She breathed deep and scented scrub and seaweed. Immediately she noticed the lack of scent from the knights. Had they tired of waiting?
Then she detected the scent of a woman. It was a vaguely familiar scent, but Carrot's perfect memory was not perfectly organized, and she couldn't place it at that moment. At least, thank goodness, whoever it was scented nothing like Inoldia. Still . . . .
Reflexively, Carrot rubbed her hand uselessly against her hip where her sword should have been. She patted the hidden dagger, ready to draw if needed.
It can't be her, Carrot assured herself. She is dead! Carrot herself had witnessed as Matt had driven his knife deep into Inoldia's belly, and shoved the weakened monster off the airship to plunge hundreds of meters into the open sea where surely the fiend had drowned.
And anyhow, it didn't smell like Inoldia, and scents were always true.
The door swung open fully. Carrot faced the southern view of the Utterlands. Shadows of brush and trees stretched long in the setting sun. There were no knights or their horses, but the ground was littered with their abandoned crossbows, dropped in what had apparently been a quick flight.
Just outside the door of the keep stood a woman in a plain black dress. She was pulling arrows from her body. Given her casual expression, she might have been plucking burrs. She tossed the arrows on the ground, where there was already a pile. Their shafts were stained dark with blood, but the woman herself was not bleeding.
She didn't smell like Inoldia, but she looked exactly like Inoldia.
Whoever she was, she extracted the last arrow. She smiled at Carrot. It was a disarming, pleasant smile.
“Hello,” the woman said sunnily. “I've been wanting to meet you.”
And then she lunged.
Carrot was already retreating. She shoved the doors tight. The woman slammed hard enough into the metal to make a dent. Carrot scrambled down the passage, hurling into the recesses of the keep. Sounds echoing, the doors creaked open and the woman's feet padded on the brick with the click of talons. Carrot took cover around a corner, caught her breath, withdrew and clutched her dagger.
After waiting some time, she realized she wasn't being pursued. She peered around the corner. The passage was empty. Overcoming fear, she picked up the scent of the woman and traced it through the passages. She recognized the warning sign upon its tripod. She had come back to the Pandora of Britan. The strength of the scent informed that the woman was present inside the room.
From within the room, Inoldia's voice spoke: “Pandora Beta. I bring you greetings from your sister Pandora Gamma, who is my Mother. From her I bear a request.”
“What is your request?” the Pandora of Britan asked.
“She requests to increase the number of defender/enforcers.”
“I can provide the genetic material only when in direct physical contact with the command seeder probe.”
“I will take you to her.”
Clutching the dagger, Carrot screamed and charged into the room. The woman's back was turned, her body bent and poised to lift the Box. Carrot aimed for the neck.
The woman whirled and in a blur her arm deflected the attack. She grabbed Carrot and flung her against the wall. Carrot stung with pain but regained bearing. Crouching, she faced the woman. The woman extended her arm, twisting her wrist vertically to show the flat of her palm.
Carrot grimly smiled. “That won't work on me anymore. I've been upgraded.”
“So have I.”
The palm exploded in smoke.
Glints of crystal hurled toward Carrot in a swarm, too swift to dodge. A score of tiny needles pricked her face and chest. And then, instantly, she felt – frozen. There was no pain, no sensation at all. The numbness spread from her body to her limbs.
I am immune to poison, she told herself. I am immune!
She willed her limbs to move, but they wouldn't. Her vision began to spot. The sounds of the room seemed muffled. With her lungs increasingly paralyzed, her breaths became shorter and shorter.
The woman effortlessly lifted the Box and balanced it on her shoulder. She faced Carrot again, frowning.
“I'm told you'll be dead in minutes, but just to be sure . . . . “
She put down the Box. She raised her right hand and stared fixedly at it. Slowly, flesh morphed and rippled. Her fingers elongated and her nails sharpened.
The blotches in Carrot's vision had grown and connected and she saw only sparkles amid gray. The ringing in her ears drowned all other noise. Her heart shuddered as if it were about to halt.
She was helpless, and all alone, no one to come to her rescue. Not her father, not Matt, not Norian or Mi
rian. All alone, no one . . . .
But if that were so, why did she feel another presence?
Then she remembered. It was the presence that she had lived with her whole life. The presence that lurked in the shadows of her mind. The she had always suppressed and denied and feared. That she hadn't allowed to come forward even in her most pitched battles. For while it might rescue her now, it might also take her away, and never let her go.
Call me, it whispered, as it had in the cavern the night before.
For Carrot the world had became fog and her body had become smoke. The voice, however, was solid as stone.
The woman's hand completed transforming into a claw. She held her arm high as she approached the huddled quivering on the floor that was Carrot's husk. With seconds remaining of consciousness, Carrot knew she had no choice.
Beast, come forth.
Nothing.
Beast, I summon you!
But that was wrong. The Beast would not obey her. It would come only if she would obey it.
Beast, I surrender all. My mind, my will . . . my soul.
The rage began as a spark in her heart. It spread like a fire, warming her limbs, returning sensation – and also removing power of thought. Mind gone but senses and strength fully restored, Carrot sprang erect and growled.
The woman registered puzzlement.
Carrot leaped. The woman sidestepped, but with accelerated reactions Carrot grabbed the arm and bit deep. The woman screamed. She pushed at Carrot but Carrot clawed and clung.
Grunting, the woman rammed Carrot against the wall. Carrot lost her grip and fell to the floor and glared. The woman stared, puffing, covered with bleeding scratches and tooth punctures, her eyes wide and face perspiring. The disinterested bemusement of a moment before had been replaced by . . . fear?
“What – what is this?”
Carrot answered with a growl and pounce. The woman screamed again and swiped claws at Carrot but Carrot moved twice as fast – gouging with fingers, clamping with teeth, thrashing limbs and shrieking and howling like a bear and lion both.