by S. J. Ryan
“Carrot has been your friend for a very short time. Also, it was only through my psychological manipulation that your relationship proceeded to the romantic stage. I believe that if Carrot were to die, you would eventually recover from the trauma.“
“You stupid artificial – “ Matt squirmed and kicked, shoved and screamed. But he was as secure as if he were wrapped in Parsian rugs. Finally, he realized he wasn't getting out by brute force. Moreover, 'out' meant hundreds of meters of air followed by hard ground. He didn't need 'out.' He needed Silvanus and Galatea.
If only there was a way to convince an AI that between his life and Carrot's was an objective connection –
And suddenly, he knew what to do. He subvocaled openly so that both AIs could hear:
“Ivan, I want the following command to be irrevocable. If I am not aboard that ship in five minutes, I want you to euthanize me. Again, this command is irrevocable.”
Ivan said promptly, “I understand, Matt. To implement the command, I require authorization.”
Matt recited the code.
In a voice as calm as his host's, Ivan replied, “Five minute countdown, mark now.”
Silvanus continued to beat his wings amid the clouds.
“Matt,” Galatea said after seconds of silence. “I want you to revoke that command.”
“Ivan and I weren't pretending. The command is irrevocable.”
Matt waited. Finally, after slightly less than five minutes, Silvanus arched his wings and tilted into a dive.
They broke through the clouds, above and behind the airship again. The engines were puttering, holding ground position above the small lake.
“Galatea, land on the elevator on the right side. Ivan, go to hypermode standby.”
“In anticipation of your request,” Ivan replied, “I have already placed you in standby.”
“Good job. Galatea, as soon as you release me, I want you away.”
“But Matt, how will I be able to retrieve you?”
“I'll jump off. Silvanus can catch me in mid-fall.”
Galatea paused and Matt knew she was calculating probabilities. Finally: “It is possible.”
Silvanus splayed his wings and projected his feet. Talons touched elevator surface, skidded to a halt with a few measured flaps. Body crouched and wings folded, the dragon minimized aerodynamic drag and held fast to the airship. Matt took a deep breath, calmed his pulse, and wished he wasn't chilled in a way that Ivan couldn't help.
“Okay, Galatea. Release me and get away.”
“Good luck, Matt. I will be waiting for your call.”
The dragon's chest burst open. Bright light and frosty air flooded into the pouch. Disoriented by the loss of sensory connection to the dragon's body, Matt lost his grip and flopped onto the elevator surface. He heard scraping talons and the flutter of great wings. The fin shook as the dragon lifted away.
“Matt. I have cancelled the euthanasia countdown.”
“Good to know. Thanks.”
Matt raised himself on his hands and knees – and promptly slid. Made slick by condensation, the fin was as slippery as melting ice. Matt went flat, halting his motion to the edge.
“Ivan, can you increase my traction?”
“Yes, Matt. You will need to remove your shoes and socks.”
Matt slipped them off. He had no idea how Ivan was increasing the traction of his digits, but they adhered to the fin as if covered with microscopic suction cups.
The Roman eagle emblem glared from the upper rudder as he crawled across the elevator. He reached the airship skin, grabbed a handhold, and pulled out of his coat the survival kit. It stuck inconveniently to his fingers. “Suction off.”
Knives had been a basic component of military survival kits as long as there had been military survival kits. He slashed a hole through the skin. He heard a hiss and felt the breeze as escaping gas rushed past his face. That made him realize he had to be careful, or he would become badly burned by the explosion he was about to cause.
“Ivan, go to hypermode.”
“Commencing hypermode.”
The sky darkened and turned rose. The thrum of the engines turned throaty. Matt felt weight lift from his body. He barely felt the breeze. In the corner of his field of vision, digits clicked to 2.9.
His back to the airship skin, he moved as far away from the gash as he could, pointed the flare gun into the bleeding cell, shielded his face and pulled the trigger.
He felt the gun buck, heard the shot go off. He was still alive, and the airship was still intact.
According to Ivan's historical data, all it had taken to destroy an airship during the Great European War was a single bullet to ignite the explosive hydrogen within the gas cells and convert a mighty war machine into flames and cinders. The flare should have been just as lethal.
“Something is wrong,” he said needlessly. “Ivan, do an analysis – “
A bolt of pain hammered his abdomen. Matt gasped and flailed. Ivan suppressed the pain, but in the process Matt's body went numb. Helpless, Matt flopped onto his back and slid across the elevator. The sky returned to blue, he felt the frigid breeze and heard the croon of the engines. Flashing red letters: HYPERMODE SUSPENDED.
“Matt,” Ivan said. “A projectile has impacted your body. I am diverting all health resources to repair.”
Matt raised his head and stared at his chest. The coat had a puncture haloed with a spreading red splotch. Judging by the exit wound, the shot must have penetrated a lung. His shortness of breath agreed. Ivan's pop-up schematic indicated severe tissue damage, high blood loss, abrasion to spinal cord, traumatic damage to liver –
“Block pain – keep conscious – “
Weakened, his body slipped closer to the edge. Galatea would catch him if he went over, he told himself. He would be rescued, flown to ground, healed by Ivan. Whatever was happening, everything would be all right. Indeed, the world was already warm and soft and fuzzy –
Fingers clamped his arms. Matt opened his eyes to the glare of men wearing uniforms of the Temple Guard of the Pandora of Rome.
They dragged him roughly toward the handholds and the upper platform. Through blotchy vision, Matt gazed at a blurred image of a tall man with a purple cape, who held a black object that looked like an inverted boot. The man's face belonged to Valarion, but the expression didn't. Nor did the tenor of the voice: “Well, Matt, you have your girlfriend to thank.”
“I . . . don't know . . . what . . . . ”
Valarion wagged the gun's smoking tip. “This is a Vashi 7 automatic pistol. Athena's favorite weapon. Somehow it ended up in the possession of your girlfriend. And so, into my hands. Good thing too, else you'd be hopping about, dodging arrows and causing mayhem. But nothing like a good old-fashioned bullet to slow a man down, eh?”
Matt struggled to parse Valarion's words. “Where is . . . she?”
“Aboard. Shall we go see her? It is rather chilly out here and I don't want to miss the show.”
The men dragged Matt to a stairwell that led to the service gallery walkway through the center of the ship's envelope. Valarion patted a gas cell.
“By the way,” he said. “We're filled with helium. An inert, nonflammable gas, in case you've forgotten your chemistry. Pandora analyzed the geological survey of Delta Pavonis Three to identify a helium source. She established an extraction facility weeks ago. We stopped on the way to change out the very dangerous hydrogen gas. Another good thing, yes? Else you'd have turned us into barbeque.”
In near delirium, Matt wondered why the Emperor of the Roman Empire referred to Ne'arth as Delta Pavonis III. And did Ne'arthian Romans have barbeques?
They descended stairs into the gondola and entered a narrow passage. Heading forward, they entered the control room. Outside the windows, tree-covered hills spread below. The interior of the compartment was crammed with temple guard, Roman soldiers, and two winged humanoid lizards.
In front and center, the Pandora of Rome rested upon a pe
destal. Stalks sprouted from its casing. One stalk turned and pointed at Matt as he was brought in. Another stalk extended through a cracked-open side window and bent downward out of sight. A third stalk's tip was blinking a light and a soldier reacted by yanking a cable that went through the deck.
A fourth stalk extended toward a body resting flat upon a table. Carrot's eyes were shut and her head was lolling. Her clothing was splattered with blood. She was not bound. There was no need. Her limbs were limp and unmoving.
“What are you doing to her?”
“She is not being harmed,” Valarion replied. “Constant connection is necessary, as she seems endowed with some sort of power to resist sedation.”
Ivan scanned and reported, “Matt, Carrot is unconscious but otherwise at high health levels.”
“How soon can you get hypermode back on line?” Matt subvocaled.
“Approximately five minutes.”
“Doctor Roth,” Pandora said. “The boy is communicating with his neural implant matrix.”
“That is to be expected. Conniving and contriving, no doubt.”
“He is dangerous. I recommend that he be killed immediately.”
“He could prove useful.” Valarion smiled at Matt. “Couldn't you, Matt?”
Matt blinked. “Why does she call you 'Doctor Roth?'”
“You know why.” Roth returned his gaze to the scene below. “Though you can't imagine the obstacles I've had!” He drew a deep sigh. “Your mother's template almost exposed us at the beginning. Then your mother picked up the investigation. I managed to drive her off the Project to the edge of the Solar System. But I knew the only way to keep her silent was to keep you under my control. So I had you sent here, by seeming accident, and I thought that would be the end of it. But you've gotten loose and become no end of trouble, and of course, your archival is trouble-squared. It seems your family is always afflicting me.”
“It sounds like you've been afflicting us.”
Roth rolled his eyes. “You think you know affliction? Try house arrest for decades! How often did I think to confess! But no – that would have ruined everything. So instead I faced years of miserable confinement, of isolation, of scandal, of abandonment by my colleagues – but I hoped people would come around eventually. You can't imagine the despair!”
His rant spent, Roth focused on the scene below.
Matt subvocaled, “How long?”
“Three minutes,” Ivan replied. “Matt, even with hypermode capability, your body is still in recuperation and is in no condition for strenuous activity.“
“Contact Galatea.”
“Galatea here,” her voice responded as clearly as if she too were in his head.
“Where are you?”
“Silvanus is hanging from the lower rudder at this time. We are waiting for you to jump.”
“Good.”
Except for the jumping part. Matt had jumped from heights many times, but being caught by a dragon didn't seem as safe as being caught by a drone. But it would have to do if he were to escape from the airship. The biggest question was how to bring Carrot along. The dragon was almost an aerodynamic impossibility on its own; it could safely carry only one person at a time even when it was not exhausted from flying for hours over an immense sea.
Gropingly, Matt quietly formulated a plan – or rather, a series of vague 'maybes.' The biggest 'maybe' was escaping the room in the first place, and he had no inspiration for that.
Continuing to stare through the window, Roth murmured:
“Do you know what finally broke the curse, Matt? Madness! My madness and Athena's! After those years of torment, I had a single, momentary lapse. I was drinking one night, and told my implant to leave my goddam bloodstream alone. I wanted to be drunk, for gods' sake! Well, I got drunk. I called Athena to my house, told her to cut my brain out of my skull and carry it to Delta Pavonis! Any normal fool would have known that I was raving, but she's always done what I've told her to do. I don't know if you've been told, but she's not a real person. She's artificial. I had her genetically programmed to obey me. No matter how insane my command, she has to obey me.” A scowl grew. “Or rather, to obey that thing in the basket.”
Matt pretended to pay attention. Meanwhile, he considered options. If he could get the gun, he could kill the Inoldias. Maybe. Or maybe Roth would shoot him as soon as he moved.
“Hypermode availability in one minute,” Ivan said.
Roth smiled. “You've become restive. It's about time, isn't it?”
Matt frowned. “For what?”
“Another tranquilizer pill.”
Roth shot Matt in the stomach. Matt tumbled onto the deck, his vision filled with Ivan's warning indicators.
“Matt, a projectile has impacted your body. I am diverting all health resources to repair. Hypermode availability countdown is suspended.”
Matt felt the pain fade, but so did his strength – and with that, he knew, so went his chance to escape.
Roth returned his gaze to the windows. “I feel like a scientist observing through a microscope at a petri dish! Two cultures of bacteria competing to see which survives and which becomes extinct. It's a perfect demonstration of evolution in action, don't you think?”
Crouched on the floor, Matt growled: “It's not evolution.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“It's just a bigger army beating a smaller one.”
“Ah, but why is one army bigger? Because of evolutionary factors, that's why!”
“No. Because you rigged the game.”
Roth's smile faded. “You just don't see the big picture, of how humanity must evolve – ”
“This was never about evolution!” Matt wheezed. “This was about you and your ego! All the suffering, the slavery and wars and poverty – just to give you a world to rule, to make yourself feel important! But you're not important! You're the most useless, worthless, pointless – “
“That's enough,” Roth said firmly. “Mattimeo, I may have been too optimistic. I had hopes to mentor you, but I suspect that you'll always be looking for a way to back-stab me. I can't tolerate that.”
“Kill him now, Doctor Roth,” Pandora chimed. “He is too dangerous.”
“'Pathetic' is the word, dear. And you know, Mattimeo, I've always thought that about you. A typical sheltered teenager – pathetic and whiney.”
“I lost my family,” Matt said stonily.
“I'm sorry – what's your point?”
“I lost my family. I was marooned on an alien planet. I was a slave at a silver mine. I was beaten to death and was brought back to life. I was put on trial and sentenced to death and fought in an arena. I fought a flying lizard monster. I've been subjected to mind control and I've flown through storms and dodged arrows and bullets and now I've been shot by you twice.”
“And these things you're telling me are supposed to be – what? Achievements?”
“They prove that I'm not pathetic and whiney. I've endured a lot and I've survived. What suffering and trials have you experienced that gives you the right to call me pathetic and whiney?”
“I've founded a project dedicated to interstellar exploration. I've created an entire planet's civilization.”
“Those are achievements, but they don't have anything to do with how tough you are. You've never made a real personal sacrifice. You've never risked your own life. You've never endured real pain. You're a glorified fund raiser. You talk big but other people do all the work and take all the risks and all you do is take the credit.”
Roth chuckled. “Why, Mattimeo. It's as if you're trying to goad me into a duel!”
“You don't even have the courage to travel between the stars. I did that while I was a 'whiney' teenager. You stayed with your feet planted on Earth for centuries and had to be drunk before you could make the decision to star travel. And it wasn't a voluntary decision – you needed to escape the mess you made.”
Roth's smile faded. “I think I've heard enough.”
“You don't even have the will to have a real person as your friend, because a real person might disagree with you, and you can't bear that. So you surround yourself with yes-people, and create a synthetic slave as your lover – “
“ENOUGH!”
Staring blankly, Roth aimed the barrel of Athena's gun at Matt's forehead. Matt stared back, unblinking.
“I have one kind of courage that I know you lack,” Roth said. “The courage to make hard decisions. And I'm about to make one right now.”
“How is this decision hard for you?” Matt demanded. “You're always killing people. Killing people is easy for you because you don't care about people.”
“You know, Mattimeo, I can't entirely disagree. Sometimes it isn't hard to kill. Now, for example.”
Roth pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. Roth stared in puzzlement. Matt lunged, but Roth jumped out of the way. For a moment, the expression on Roth's face had changed to shock. Then the fake smile returned.
“No wonder you talked so boldly,” Roth said. “Your implant must have told you the gun was out of bullets. But there's another way to do this. Perhaps a better way. Surely a more poetic way.” Roth turned to a Roman officer. “Go to my cabin and bring the staff.”
Staff? Matt's puzzlement was answered in seconds, when the officer returned, bearing the staff of Archimedes.
“Where did you get that?” Matt demanded.
“You keep asking questions for which you know the answers.” Roth examined the triggers on the staff. “Valarion couldn't make it fire, but I believe the problem was a safety lock . . . ah, this pin.” Removing a metal tab, Roth swung the top of the staff to point at the center of Matt's forehead. “How ironic to use his weapon against you! And doubly ironic, it will be aimed right through your cerebrum!”
Matt contemplated the three holes on the top of the staff. Hadn't Archimedes already fired the gun three times? Yet Ravencall had a blacksmith shop which could easily make lead balls. Archimedes could cobble the recipe for gunpowder in his sleep. Knowing the kind of person Archimedes was, Matt knew the staff had been reloaded.
If he was going to avoid a bullet in his head, he had to come up with something fast.