by Audrey Auden
“When it was not yet named in the height of heaven,
And yet beneath the earth, does not bear the name
And the Apsu of the ancient birth to them,
And confusion, Tiamat, the mother of them both
That water was mixed with
And the field has not been formed, no marsh was not be observed.
And without God in the time it was called into
And none bore a name, what was the fate of when established
Then I created the gods in the midst of heaven
Was called into being as a Lahmu Lahamu
Age was increased —”
Emmie stopped, bewildered. Owen laughed,
“Lost in translation.”
Emmie reread the lines several more times, shaking her head. She ran a quick text search on the few names in the gibberish — Apsu, Tiamat, Lahmu Lahamu — and saw search results that referenced a Babylonian creation myth from a text called the Enuma Elish. That simplified things somewhat. She could see that a half-dozen English translations of the Enuma Elish were in the public domain. She saved one of the translations to her smartcom and proceeded to examine some of the other files on the tablet.
There were hundreds of files to go through, many of them scanned images paired with Japanese translations. Emmie tried running a few more Japanese-to-English automated translations, but these were even more obscure than the first, and most of them had no discernible keywords to provide clues as to their origin. Attempting a direct translation from the source texts proved even less helpful, as the intricate characters of the ancient documents, many arranged in complex geometrical patterns, defied the character recognition algorithms of every program she tried.
“It would take me forever to sort through all this,” said Emmie, overwhelmed, “And I’d need, like, a graduate degree in ancient history to even understand half of it.”
Owen, looking over her shoulder, did not contradict her.
Emmie considered the problem.
“I guess I could try to use one of those human translation services. Someone already took the trouble to translate from the ancient languages to Japanese. It’s probably a lot easier to get a good translation from modern Japanese to English.”
She swiped a series of controls on her visual overlay to run a quick search for human translation recommendations from her social network. A friendly avatar in the domain of the most highly-recommended service she found explained to Emmie that a job this size would take several days to complete. Emmie decided to start the upload anyway and returned to examining the files on the tablet.
Having exhausted for now her patience with the source texts, Emmie turned to examining Tomo’s sketches.
“His sister said he wanted to be a manga artist when he was little,” she said, flipping through several landscape sketches and portraits, smiling as she recognized Tomo’s handwriting on some of them.
“He would have been great at it,” Owen said, pointing at a series of sketches of a pastoral village square. The images conveyed the passage of time from morning to evening, as well as the village’s passage from thriving enclave to industrial decay. “There’s a beautiful narrative quality to these. Surprising realism. Different from most of the manga I’ve seen. You can see the beginning of the aesthetic he brought to Kaisei, then to Temenos.”
Emmie opened an image that, when viewed at full size, turned out to be a massive round landscape painting more than thirty feet in diameter. Owen called up from the spliner floor a bench-shaped protrusion, which carried them, seated side by side, to the top of the canvas. They examined every inch of the painting as the protrusion lowered them slowly back toward the floor.
An inky blackness pressed in from the outer circumference of the painting, fading gradually into a dark ocean wrapped around an indistinct grey shore. Faint yellow plains and washed-out blue rivers drew the eye toward the center of the canvas, through rolling grass-green hills and shadowy green forests. Owen let out a low whistle.
“And it’s all just pen and ink and watercolors,” he said, shaking his head in amazement, “This must have taken him forever.”
Standing on the floor once more, Emmie pulled the canvas toward her and zoomed in on the heart of the scene. There, in a broad valley, was a dark-haired woman painted with the brightest color and finest detail on the entire canvas. She stood beside a deep blue pool, the source of the many rivers flowing out to the dark edges of the canvas. Behind her grew a gnarled tree bearing pomegranates. In her left hand she held one of the round red fruits and extended it to her companion, a man who looked, Emmie realized with some surprise, like Dom.
Across from the pool stood a second woman, clothed in snowy white, her eyes on the man and woman. Like the first woman, she was surrounded by a halo of color and sharp detail, but in her left hand she held a chalice over which hovered a small flame.
Other figures were arrayed across the landscape, but Emmie remained staring at the three characters at the center of it all.
“What do you think?” Emmie wondered aloud.
“Looks like a Japanese landscape painter’s take on Adam and Eve,” Owen offered, “It reminds me of some of the illustrations in my Sunday school books from growing up.”
“But then who’s the woman with the cup?”
“No idea,” said Owen, “Angel? Demon? She doesn’t look like the serpent, that’s for sure.”
Emmie’s gazed drifted from the center of the painting, and she pointed to the rocky mountain range off to the left.
“Hey, does that sort of remind you of —”
A soft ping accompanied by a pulsing yellow indicator on her visual overlay drew Emmie’s attention away from the painting.
“Argh,” she growled, “The file upload on the translation failed. Looks like our alternet connection cut out.”
She and Owen started trying to reconnect on their smartcoms. Suddenly, behind her, Emmie heard Dom’s voice cry out,
“Emmie!”
Emmie wheeled around in surprise and stumbled against Owen.
“What’s wrong?” he said, reaching out to steady her.
Over Owen’s shoulder, Emmie saw a series of grey ripples extruding from the spliner floor, spreading toward them from the western wall. Owen followed her gaze and asked nervously,
“Are you doing that?”
Emmie tapped her fingers in a rapid sequence on her hip to shut down the extrusion subsystems, but the ripples continued moving toward them.
“No. And I’m not getting any subsystem responses. The local wireless is out, too.”
“We’d better get out of here,” Owen said, tugging her hand, “I don’t want to be standing in here if the mechanics are glitching.”
Emmie nodded and quickly shut down her visual display. The painting and the documents that had been hovering before her vanished. She and Owen were now surrounded by nothing but blank grey walls.
The ripples behind them were gaining speed. They hurried to the east wall. Owen palmed the exit door. He waited for a moment, and when it did not open, he palmed it again more slowly, glancing over his shoulder.
“Quickly!” Dom’s voice urged from somewhere behind her.
“Here, let me try,” said Emmie impatiently, edging Owen to the side and palming the door. When it still did not open, she turned back to face the approaching disturbance.
“We need to call security,” she said slowly.
“Right,” said Owen, taking a few quick jabs at the air in front of him, “Let me just …” he trailed off, then said slowly, “No radio, either. The building is shielded.”
The ripples now reached them, and they both struggled to keep their footing on the shifting surface, which grew steadily more turbulent and was joined by a low mechanical droning sound. Emmie swore and said,
“This is my fault. We’re always supposed to have an operator in the control room in case we need a manual override.”
“I’ve never heard of the door palm system breaking
down,” Owen said, “And, anyway, the doors should open automatically if there’s any kind of system failure.”
“Agh,” Emmie cried out in pain, having tripped over a two-foot wave and fallen to her knees. The same wave knocked Owen onto his backside next to her.
“I guess we’d better stay on the ground in case this gets any rougher,” he said, flipping onto his hands and knees with agility.
“Dom!” Emmie called out in a sudden burst of inspiration, “Can you call security? You still have alternet access!”
“Did you find a live channel?” Owen said hopefully.
“I am sorry, Emmie. I cannot,” Dom’s voice replied.
“Why not?” she cried, “There must be something you can do!”
“Is that security?” said Owen, “Tell them to send someone to the control room.”
The treadwheel engine beneath the floor whirred to life, and the floor began to move westward, away from the door. Emmie glanced at Owen in alarm. Owen’s tanned face looked strangely pale in the flat ambient light. He seized her hand, and they scrambled over the roiling floor toward the exit.
A broad spike protruded suddenly from the floor between them, knocking Emmie to the ground and separating her from Owen. The floor before her shot up into another extrusion, this one a huge grey tentacle, which quivered in midair before whipping down violently toward her. Emmie slammed her feet against the side of the extrusion just in time to push herself into a trough between two waves. The waves stopped the crashing tentacle inches from her nose.
Over the churning mechanical sounds of the floor came a piercing siren, followed shortly afterwards by pounding and muffled shouting.
“Someone hit the alarm!” Emmie called toward Owen, relieved.
Owen popped suddenly into view from behind another wave, crawling toward her. He looped Emmie’s arm around his neck and heaved them both to their feet.
“Come on! Let’s get to the door!” he shouted over the noise, seizing her hand and running as best he could from one level patch of floor to the next, heading for the east door.
From the wall to their left, another extrusion shot out just as a wave rolled up under Emmie’s feet. She jumped away, but not before the extrusion dealt her a heavy blow to the shoulder and knocked her to the floor.
“Emmie!” cried Owen, kneeling beside her.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” said Emmie, wincing.
Another tentacle rose up before them, this one much larger than the others. Emmie regained her feet, gasping at the pain in her shoulder, just as a wave knocked Owen backwards. She scrambled toward him. He tried to get up, but another wave rolled by and knocked him down again. Emmie worked frantically with her good arm to haul him to his feet, but she could only manage to bring him up to his knees.
“Behind you!” Emmie heard Dom shout.
Emmie turned just in time to see the massive tentacle whipping toward them. There was no time for her to dodge it, and the extrusion crashed into her chest, laying her out flat. Tomo’s tablet crumbled from her pulverized immerger belt onto the undulating floor in a shower of glittering emerald ceramic and dull grey storage medium.
Then the deafening mechanical mayhem spun down, and the floor melted back to a level plane, lowering Emmie several feet. The east door slid open, and a dozen people burst into the room. Emmie rolled over and pushed herself up on her hands and knees, curling her injured arm around the agony in her ribs and struggling for breath.
When at last she managed a ragged inhalation, Emmie rocked back onto her heels, and her eyes fell on a crimson stream wending its way slowly across the floor toward her. A wordless scream filled her ears. Before her, Owen lay sprawled on his back, his head soaked in blood.
CHAPTER 12
Lost and Found
Emmie looked up to see Ollie pushing through the curtains around her hospital bed. Ollie dropped her briefcase on the floor and leaned over Emmie, her eyes quickly taking in the livid bruises on her arms and shoulders, her bandaged ribs, palms, and elbows.
“Oh, Emmie,” Ollie whispered.
Emmie shifted in an attempt to sit up, then winced and fell back against the pillows.
“I’ll be fine,” she rasped. She took Ollie’s hand and said, “How is Owen? No one here will tell me anything.”
Ollie looked away, her eyes glistening. Emmie’s face froze in shock, her fingers falling limp. She started shivering and moaned at the stabbing pain that followed. Ollie called for a nurse, who hurried in a moment later. The nurse gave Emmie two pills to swallow and held a cup of water to her mouth. She settled another blanket over her and said,
“Just hit the button if the pain gets worse, honey.”
∞
A few hours later, Emmie sat dazed in a wheelchair with a paper bag of pain medications in her lap. Her father pushed her through the front lobby of the hospital while her mother and Ollie walked alongside. Uncle Frank trailed behind, his face a sickly shade of grey.
At the entry doors, Dad gave her a hand, and Emmie rose stiffly to her feet. The five of them walked slowly together to their cars. Ollie, Mom, Dad, and Uncle Frank had all driven to the hospital separately when they had received the call. Mom and Ollie settled Emmie gently into the front seat of Dad’s car.
“We’ll be right behind you.”
Dad sat down heavily in the driver’s seat, ashen-faced. He hit the button to turn on the car but did not put it into gear. He pressed the palms of his shaking hands together and bowed his head.
“Are you okay to drive?” said Emmie.
“I just need a minute,” he said, his voice breaking.
Emmie put her hand on his knee, her eyes gleaming, her voice thick with emotion.
“I’m so sorry, Dad.”
He grabbed her hand, loosening his grip when she winced.
“What do you have to be sorry about? I’m just thankful you weren’t more badly hurt. And I’m furious,” he said, the muscles in his neck growing taut with the effort to remain calm, “Some idiot made a terrible mistake with that machine. And now you — And Owen …”
His jaw worked, and he stared into the rapidly darkening parking lot. Ollie beeped her car horn softly, and Dad waved at her and put the car in reverse.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Em.”
As the car climbed the winding road up into the hills, Emmie drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
∞
She awoke in her bed and heard the sounds of her family shuffling around in the kitchen. The sweet smell of frying onions drifted through her bedroom, and she started to sit up, then gave a small, sharp cry. Ollie appeared at the bedside instantly and leaned over her.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she gasped, trying not to breathe, “It hurts, though.”
“Take it easy. Let me get you another dose of those painkillers.”
Ollie came back with a glass of water and a couple of white pills, which Emmie swallowed.
“What time is it?” Emmie said hoarsely.
“Time for you to eat,” Ollie said, forcing a smile, “You’ve been asleep for,” she glanced at her wristwatch, “Almost fourteen hours.”
Emmie’s head swam. There was a flash of red in her mind’s eye, but she pushed it away, inhaling sharply through her nose to clear her head. She let out a small cry at the pain in her ribs.
“Remember what the doctor said,” said Ollie, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pressing her hand to Emmie’s arm, “Try not to breathe too deeply.”
“Uncle Frank came by again this morning,” Ollie continued, “Nanna and Grandpa were here too. They told us to call as soon as you’re up.”
“I think I need a little quiet time before all that starts,” said Emmie, closing her eyes.
“Mom cooked breakfast. Do you want me to bring you some food?”
“I’d rather get up. Can you give me some help?”
Ollie hesitated.
“Come on,” said Emmie, “I
f you don’t, you know I’m going to do it myself.”
Ollie smiled a little and shook her head. She put her arm gently behind Emmie’s shoulders, raising her into a sitting position. Emmie swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and Ollie helped lift her to her feet.
“Okay,” Emmie said, grabbing the nightstand to steady herself and trying not to breathe, “Okay. It’s not so bad once I’m up.” Ollie accompanied her down the hall and to the sofa in the living room, where she helped her sit down.
Dad sat on the ottoman rubbing Emmie’s feet while Mom talked quietly with Ollie in the kitchen. A few minutes later, they returned with four plates. Everyone stared at the omelettes and toast getting cold on the coffee table before them. The eggs looked grey to Emmie. Everything looked grey. She felt nauseated.
Mom and Ollie kept glancing at each other, until at last Emmie said,
“Okay. What’s going on?”
Mom stood up and moved next to Emmie on the sofa.
“We got a call from Ty Monaghan this morning, Emmie. He told us that what happened to you and Owen in the spliner wasn’t an accident.”
Emmie shuddered, then grimaced at the pain it caused.
“How do they know?” she whispered.
“Your CTO, Ahmet, spent all night poring over system logs with the Augur IT security team to figure out the source of the malfunction and to make sure there were no other security breaches. Ty told me that so far they’ve found only one anomaly, but it’s definitely the cause of the accident.
“From what Ahmet’s put together so far, someone installed an unauthorized server daemon on each of the Augur network servers some time in the last week. The daemon was programmed to activate a trojan in any part of the network where someone connected an external device containing a specific combination of characters in the file contents. Ahmet says the program mimics a sophisticated information security technique that Augur uses itself, but the trigger in this case seems totally random. They’re not even sure what you might have done to trigger it, since the virus wiped out the system logs in the entire spliner subnetwork. They’re worried the program might have been part of an attempt to wipe out Augur’s domain content library.