“So, what’s new with the moon?” I ask.
Erita glances up from the screen and points me to a zoomed-in window showing a series of very dark visual schematics that resemble Earth-style MRI digital imaging, or maybe X-rays. “These are cross-section images of the surface, in fine detail—namely, the coordinates where we found those mysterious ships.”
I peer closer.
“We have no sensors that can be made to work under these crazy circumstances,” Erita continues. “The moon is a true ghost, so there can be no sensor-based physical readings taken by us. Literally nothing to latch onto for gathering data. . . . No light in the interior, so almost complete darkness—except for whatever cracks or openings in the ancient ship hulls that might allow in any external illumination already present in the same quantum bubble that encloses the moon—assuming that’s even a quantum bubble. Without tangible matter to reflect light, to interact with it on the most basic particle level, our tech probes cannot illuminate anything as they make their flybys. Or, should I say, fly-throughs.”
I shake my head in wonder as I hold my glass of qvaali.
“So, the only thing we can do is send those probes to make infinite passes through the same location, over and over, only with microscopic spatial offsets, and basically record whatever strange visuals we can get with each pass of the interior. It’s like an ultrasound scanner making tedious passes over an object to obtain many cross-sections and compile them into a bigger picture.”
“I think I understand.” I take a sip from my glass. “You’re recreating a 3D shape.”
Erita nods. “Exactly. Except, we’re dealing with ‘one-way matter,’ for lack of a better description. We can receive and see the light reflected from the moon and whatever’s on it, but we cannot shine our own light onto its surface.”
“So, what have you found so far?”
“Well. . . .” Erita glances at Xelio then Aeson, as though for confirmation, then turns back to me. “The objects are definitely ships—ancient, Earth-style ark-ships, to be exact. Yes, they’re ours, but smaller in size and capacity, matching the style and level of technology that our ancestors supposedly had when they first landed on this planet and colonized Atlantis. And we’re currently plotting and rendering the interiors of each one with every new tech probe pass.”
“That’s incredible,” I say.
“When the rendering is done,” Erita continues, “we’re going to have very imperfect 3D replicas of these ancient ships, with everything that’s still on board, stored as digital schematics—but only if there’s light seeping in from the outside. It will allow us to know exactly what’s there without actually having to physically go there in person.”
“Yes, it’s the one weird advantage of dealing with objects in this non-corporeal state,” Xelio adds. “We can simply pass through them and look inside without having to pry open ancient sealed doors or worry about deck levels collapsing on us.”
“But again, that only works if there’s at least some light coming in to give shape to whatever objects are inside. We have sensors that can pick up even the faintest energy readings, as long as they’re present, and extrapolate from there. Unfortunately, some of these ships are apparently so well preserved that there are no hull breaches, nothing coming through, so we cannot get any interior readings. Only weird shebet . . . oh, yes. Definitely something no one would’ve expected to deal with—not ever.”
Erita takes a deep breath and opens another screen, getting back to crunching the data.
Chapter 30
At fifth hour of Khe, Aeson and I go back downstairs for the third time, in order to be interviewed by Buhaat Hippeis, Tiago’s nemesis, and the host of Winning the Grail.
Buhaat is a thin, slight, wiry man with enthusiastic, quick movements and a resonant tenor voice. He wears a formal robe over his shirt and one of his favorite affectations—an extravagant wig of braided gold that reminds me of foppish Court attire and, just a little bit, of Consul Denu’s extensive wardrobe of wigs.
He approaches us with a smooth courtly bow, and extends his hand in a sweeping gesture to point us to the rebuilt set on top of the platform. “My Imperial Lord Aeson and Imperial Lady Gwen, our illustrious new Champion, please, please—what an honor to interview you together at last!”
We take a seat on yet another new sofa, this one more traditional and expensive looking, upholstered in subtle earth tone patterns. Behind us, the sunburst tapestry is back, with the addition of suspended golden chandeliers on both sides.
Buhaat smiles at us graciously, but I’m not fooled. During the pre-Games Trials and all throughout the month leading up to the Games, his show made fun of me mercilessly, interpreting all my actions and efforts in the most pitiful light possible. Buhaat is sharp and analytical, and he certainly knows his subject, but he is also not very nice.
Right now, he is working very hard to overcome his earlier bias against me. The fact that I’ve won against all odds, contrary to his own statistical analysis, must be grating on him.
Aeson sits back and drapes his arm around the back of my seat in a deceptively relaxed posture. He watches Buhaat with an unblinking, hard gaze.
I too, look at our host with a no-nonsense face, wanting to narrow my eyes at him, but holding back.
Our cue cards arrive, and minutes later the soft, stately musical theme fills the room. Buhaat takes the chair across from us and begins his interview.
“Winning—namely, Winning the Grail. It is always the topic, and it is always topical,” Buhaat utters the trademark catch phrase that opens each episode of his show. “Nefero dea and welcome to all our loyal viewers. What a season it’s been, Grail Games Worshippers! And what a time to look back at the highlights and savor the results. It’s no surprise that today we have the privilege of speaking again to a Champion. What’s surprising is that our particular Champion is also a member of royalty. Not merely one of the Top Ten, she is also the Imperial Bride and our future Imperatris—the Imperial Lady Gwen Lark! Furthermore, the Imperial Crown Prince himself, our beloved Imperial Lord Aeson, has granted us the extraordinary honor of his presence today.”
Buhaat Hippeis pauses for dramatic effect, then turns to me and Aeson. “Please allow me to congratulate you both on the extraordinary talent and accomplishment of the Imperial Lady Gwen. Your performance exceeded all our expectations, My Imperial Lady. Yes, I admit, I’ve erred significantly in my preliminary estimation of your abilities. My only excuse is, you were a newly arrived Earth refugee, and all of us were simply unfamiliar with your excellence. With so little data as to your capabilities, it’s clear in retrospect that my predictive formula was flawed.”
“Let that be a lesson to anyone who underestimates my Bride,” Aeson says with a faint smile.
“I therefore beg your forgiveness,” Buhaat says to me, inclining his head in a very correct, slight bow. “I hope you now indulge my curiosity and that of our viewers and tell us a little about yourself—something that no one in Atlantida knows about you.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “I’ll see what I can do. What would you like to know?”
“Something fresh and new. Something delightful.”
And exclusive, I think. For a moment I get the deer-in-the-headlights sensation of not knowing what to say before an audience.
I want to change things in a meaningful way . . . to help . . . to unite.
“I really like nikkari juice,” I say instead. “It’s become one of my favorite drinks here on Atlantis. Reminds me a little bit of Earth watermelon juice, except it’s silly green.”
Buhaat Hippeis raises his brows in amusement. “Is that so? What a charming detail.”
“I imagine you’re probably looking for something a little more significant.” I smile.
“Oh, not at all. This is perfectly fine, My Imperial Lady. Any tidbit you choose to share with the audience is deeply appreciated. In that light, may I be slightly more inquisitive and ask you about your amazing vocal abilities?�
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Uh-oh. . . . With a quick glance at Aeson (who doesn’t react, his expression confident and composed), I continue to smile. “Thank you,” I say. “I really enjoyed being a Vocalist.”
Buhaat turns his head sideways slightly, observing me. “It is rather more than mere enjoyment—one would say, it is a significant talent. Your range and nuance are remarkable. And the raw power of your voice—if I didn’t know better, and forgive me for saying, but one might almost venture to guess that your relationship to the Imperial Kassiopei is by blood and not by marriage—”
“My mother was a professional opera singer on Earth,” I say quickly. “She taught us to sing—my brothers and sister and me.”
“Ah,” Buhaat nods. “That explains it. But, of course, your voice command skills are of a different order than mere singing. The intricate way you manipulated orichalcum objects in the Games, your proficiency with the various molecular and energy transformation commands, such as precision-level selective keying and heating the enemy Contender uniforms in Stage Three, nullifying the hot zone chamber in Stage One—one can go on and on. Clearly you received extensive training in that regard—”
“I trained her myself,” Aeson speaks up calmly. “My Bride showed great vocal promise, and I had to give her every opportunity to perfect her natural abilities.”
Buhaat inclines his head to Aeson. “Of course, My Imperial Lord. And the results of your unique efforts are remarkable. Now, before we go on to the next topic, I do want to ask—and forgive me if this is entirely baseless—but is it at all possible that during the Vocalist Tiebreaker event at the Stadion Final Ceremony, when My Imperial Lady sang, precisely at the same time as the ground quake happened—could it be that somehow the nature of her voice might have contributed to the incident in some way? I don’t say ‘caused’—that would be impossible and outlandish—but merely added to the variables that aligned together to initiate the seismic event?”
Buhaat Hippeis trails off in carefully calculated politeness.
Oh, but he knows precisely what he’s doing, asking this provocative question that’s not on the cue cards, and yet leaving it open-ended. He likely has his suspicions about what really happened, about what I did, and wants to give the audience a real scoop. Maybe he thinks he can get us to reveal something right now.
For one long moment Aeson and I stare at him. And then Aeson says in a casual tone of voice, “As you say, impossible and outlandish.”
“But kind of fun,” I add, forcing myself to chuckle. “Can you just imagine, Aeson? But seriously—if anything, it had to be the giant Grail Monument itself that caused the ground instability, maybe even developed a fault line around its foundation, causing it to topple over—”
Now I’m really getting creative here.
If anyone checks the recorded video and audio feeds of the incident, the analysis of what actually took place is pretty clear—I sang a recognizable voice command to raise an object, namely the Atlantis Grail, and this fact can be corroborated by expert witnesses.
But now, with the grim reality of the ancient ark-ship and the repercussions of releasing that information to the public, I myself must continue to pretend that it was all a coincidence.
Whether or not Buhaat Hippeis or his audience believes me, is another matter. It has to be done, regardless of how long this flimsy coverup can be maintained, and no matter how personally frustrating it is, for me.
Fortunately, the host of Winning the Grail has other questions to ask me. After a small hopeful pause, Buhaat Hippeis nods and proceeds with the next item on his agenda.
“Very well. Can you tell us anything about your Champion wishes, My Imperial Lady?”
This one is straightforward and easy.
I make a small laugh. “Oh, no,” I say bluntly, looking at Hippeis in the eyes. “My wishes have been submitted to the Games officials, according to the rules. As soon as they are processed and fulfilled, everyone will know. Until then—I’ll say nothing. Let me ask you instead, Ter Buhaat—have you asked this same question of the other Champions, and has anyone actually answered you? No? I didn’t think so.”
Buhaat Hippeis shakes his head and laughs, nodding. “I concede, My Imperial Lady. But as you can imagine, I had to try.”
After that, the remaining questions are forgettable, and our interview is over.
“You handled that quite well,” Aeson tells me as we retreat upstairs before our one last “bout” with the media later that night.
I sigh. “Very annoying to have to lie.”
He looks at me with his serious expression. “I know. I’m sorry it has to be this way, at least for now.”
“They’re going to find out everything eventually, aren’t they?” I ask. “The whole ugly mess. An unstoppable ancient ship broadcasting a relentless signal to the ancient enemy, while a weird ghost moon shows up at the same time in orbit—with a whole bunch more ancient ships littering its freaky ghost surface. What happens next?”
Aeson shakes his head and touches my shoulder, resting his large, warm palm solidly against me. “I wish I knew. But we’ll do everything we can to deal with it.”
At eighth hour of Khe, we go down for the final media event of the day. The interview chamber is crowded with people. Six network crews and representatives of ten different shows are setting up their equipment, and rows of chairs are filling the floor before the platform.
Everyone is bustling, and the moment we arrive, we’re asked to ascend the platform and sit down on a tall-backed loveseat upholstered in deep blue. The Kassiopei Dynasty sunburst logo shines at our back, and several hovering light fixtures frame us in bright illumination.
I don’t recognize any particular host this evening, but there’s a podium below, at which a line of media representatives has formed. I recall that they’re allowed to ask us only one question each.
Aeson sits back and places his hand over mine confidently.
“We’re ready for you,” he says loudly.
An Imperial Palace official, one of several staff discreetly maintaining order, bows to the Imperial Crown Prince, and signals approval to the various crews.
A vaguely familiar musical theme starts to play, and nano-cameras swirl like fireflies around us. Just as the press conference begins, I realize that no one has given us any cue cards with questions.
Whether it’s an oversight or intentional, is unclear. Either way, we need to be ready for anything.
“Free Poseidon News would like to ask the first question,” a young woman says, standing at the head of the line before the podium. “Now that the Games are concluded, and the results finalized, is there anything the Imperial Lord Aeson can share with the public in regard to the nature of the disaster that literally shook the Stadion on Green Mar-Yan 26? We’re familiar with the initial reports about seismic structural damage to the facilities and the Grail Monument, but would like an update and further details.”
Wow, I think. This is definitely no-nonsense, gutsy questioning.
Aeson pauses briefly before answering, but his expression remains composed. “A good question. At present, my Father, the Imperial Sovereign, has ordered a cleanup of the stadium grounds, and the investigation is still ongoing. There’s significant damage, and safety measures are being taken in order to make the venue safe to the public again.”
“Thank you, My Imperial Lord,” the woman persists. “Do the later reports continue to indicate random seismic activity, or are there additional causes for the seismic disturbance? Such as, for example, the fact that the Imperial Lady was employing a voice command to raise or lift something at the exact same time—”
“One question only!” the Palace official coordinating the event interrupts, raising his hand. “You’ve had your response, now step aside, please. Next question!”
“It’s fine,” Aeson says graciously. “All further details can be found on the public records news site that have been posted and are updated regularly.”
The woman bows
and steps aside, and now a man in line behind her moves forward to the podium.
“My Imperial Lord, News of the Golden Bay would like to ask a follow-up to the previous question. The Atlantis Grail Monument appears to be damaged at the foundation and is dislodged, but it is also emitting a very loud noise—a humming or buzzing sound, low in pitch but high in volume—which is heard and felt in the immediate vicinity of the Stadion and the entire complex, together with the outlying high-rise office buildings and residential areas. Many noise complaints have been lodged with the authorities, and the neighborhood residents are concerned about the nature of this sound and its potential harm to the occupants and any health consequences. Can you please tell us what it is?”
“I’m afraid I cannot,” Aeson says bluntly, looking at the media representative. “There are several likely causes, including damaged sound equipment, the building materials involved, and the extreme age of the structure of the original monument and the ground supports underneath. I can only refer you to the public records on the structure. It’s also worth reminding everyone that the curving interior shape of the Grail is naturally resonant. Due to its angle of repositioning it could be picking up urban noise and amplifying it like an echo chamber.”
“What about the dangers to public health?”
“It’s not a sonic weapon, if that’s your concern,” Aeson replies, and there’s sparse laughter in the room. “Be assured that we’re investigating the situation and taking into account your concerns. If there had been any sonic danger, you would’ve been notified and asked to evacuate the affected areas. For now, assume it’s merely a nuisance—a sound similar to the so-called ‘singing’ of the Grail that everyone is familiar with during the various stadium ceremonies.”
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