Artemis Invaded (19 page)

“Makes sense,” Terrell said. “Perhaps when the rulers knew they would fall, they made sure the technology would be lost with them—rather like how the Old One flooded his complex on Mender's Isle and the Sanctum Sanctorum, rather than let us have them.”

“One thing,” Griffin said sadly, “we seem to have in common with the Old Imperials is the petty streak of human nature.”

“How did the Imperials deal with communication if these systems were so far apart? Did they use fast ships to carry messages?”

“We're pretty sure that was how routine messages were transferred,” Griffin agreed. “However, there is evidence that, just as they had learned how to have humans augment and refine the ability to fold space, they discovered ways for minds to communicate over vast distances. This meant stationing adepts in each location and surmounting a wide variety of other difficulties but, compared to having to entrust messages to even the fastest ship, this gave the Imperials another great advantage.”

Again, Terrell seemed to have less of a problem accepting this than Griffin would have believed possible.
But then he has experience with communicating mind to mind. Perhaps I would have accepted this more easily if I had known then what I do now.

“And yet the Empire fell,” Terrell said softly. “All that power and so little wisdom. And that brings us back to the question of what they were trying to make here.”

Griffin was about to launch into his theories on that point when Leto said, “Kipper has entered the complex. He does not bring your meal, although darkness is gathering without.”

There was a disapproving note to the disembodied voice, but Griffin answered mildly. “I'm sure there's a good reason.”

He heard the soft slap of Kipper's bare feet against the polished floor of the corridor. A moment later the boy, rosy-faced from exertion, burst through the door into the lab.

“Bruin invites you to join him for dinner. He says to tell you that he's so tired of only having me and Honeychild for company that he's considering inviting Sam the Mule.”

“Only you?” Terrell asked. “Where're Adara and Sand Shadow?”

The boy shrugged. “Don't know. She's gone scouting and not come back.”

*   *   *

The three strangers recovered from their surprise quickly. After a quick consultation, they led the way to what had been the large dining and recreation area during the Old One's tenancy. The tables and benches had been so bulky that they hadn't been carried far by the surging water. The new arrivals had retrieved the furnishings and cleaned the area, which they were now using as a camping spot.

Julyan thought this was an odd choice, especially since the island surface was much more pleasant than this dank, subterranean chamber. Then he realized that the newcomers would have no idea that the Haunted Islands were prohibited, nor that any dangerous predators—barring snakes and insects—had been cleared away on the Old One's orders. Doubtless they had chosen safety and secrecy over ambiance.

On their first meeting, Julyan had been so startled by the three men's ready hands to their weapons that he had not taken in much about their attire and gear. Now, standing with his back against the wall, he made a careful inspection, as much to be prepared for future conflict as because he was interested.

All three men were dressed in a strange shoulder-to-foot garment, apparently somehow shaped from one piece of material, since Julyan couldn't see any seams. Even the fasteners were hard to detect, but since the man with the bronze curls—Alexander—had his garment open at the neck, while the other two wore theirs neatly closed, Julyan glimpsed the nearly hidden closures. The footwear was apparently part of the same material, woven more thickly to the height of an ankle boot. Most interesting of all was the color, which shifted with the surrounding environment. Currently, it was a neutral hue, somewhere between grey and brown. In the corridor, it had been the same grey as the walls and floors. Julyan wondered if outside it would shift toward green.

Julyan realized that he should have been startled and shocked, rather than feeling so analytical. But an embarrassment of miracles—from the flameless lights the men carried, to the pumps that worked with none to man them, to the enormous craft resting in the bay—had made him so numb that he was glad that, once introductions were over, he was freed from the need for speech.

The Old One, however, was his usual self. Perhaps his grey eyes were shining a bit more brightly than usual, but Julyan doubted that anyone who didn't know him well would find him other than cool, collected, and self-contained.

“You address us as ‘seegnur,'” said the tall, blond man. He had introduced himself as Siegfried and, without saying so, presented himself as the leader. “That word is unfamiliar to me.”

“I suspect it was specific to Artemis,” the Old One replied politely. “It is what we were taught to call visitors from off-planet, and so applies perfectly to you and your associates.”

“Indeed.” Siegfried looked mildly amused. “So you of Artemis have retained something of your history, even after all this time?”

“We have.”

“And you do not seem in the least surprised to see us.”

“The lore has always held that the seegnur would someday return. If there were those who questioned, I was not among them.”

“We have reason to believe,” said the darker man, Falkner, “that we are not the first—uh—seegnur to come to Artemis in recent times. Do you know of another?”

He spoke as if he expected a negative response. His green eyes widened in surprise as the Old One said matter-of-factly, “Yes. He called himself Griffin Dane. He did not tell many that he was a seegnur, but I was so informed.”

Julyan nearly gasped out loud. He had had no idea that Griffin had been a seegnur, yet, now that he thought about it, this explained much, including the Old One's interest in him, and the privileges he had granted him, even when he had been a prisoner.

“Is Griffin still alive?” asked Alexander eagerly.

“I believe so. Last I heard, he was, although he is no longer in this immediate area.”

“So Griffin took you into his confidence,” Siegfried said. “Yet it sounds as if he did not confide in everyone. Why did he choose you?”

“He wanted my help.” The Old One spoke with disarming simplicity. He waved a long-fingered hand to indicate the battered tables and benches. “This facility and one linked to it on the mainland were in my trust. Griffin hoped to find in them equipment he might reactivate and then use to contact his orbiting ship.”

The three men exchanged glances in which Julyan read surprise and concern, but no one even drew in a sharp breath. Instead, Siegfried continued as spokesman.

“Why did Griffin need to contact his orbiter? Was his machinery disabled? We have had some minor difficulties—mostly with our more delicate devices—but nothing that should have interfered with something as basic as ground-to-orbit communications.”

“My understanding is that Griffin experienced difficulties almost as soon as he came below the atmosphere to begin closer scouting. His shuttle came down in the mountains to the north. By good chance for him—and for me—he was found by a young huntress who was training with her demiurge away from the settlements. She rescued him and, eventually, brought him to me.”

Again the three men exchanged glances in which Julyan was certain he saw a certain degree of incredulity. He didn't blame them. The story was incredible.

“Why to you?” Siegfried said.

“I told you. I held this facility and the two on the mainland. Actually…” The Old One looked a little sly—an expression Julyan was certain was deliberate, although he expected that the three seegnur would take as a slip. “Most did not know I held this particular facility. What purpose Mender's Isle had served in the days of the seegnur had been lost except in the name. The area was protected from invasion by cleverly designed barriers and by the pervasive belief that the islands were haunted.”

“But that didn't bother you, eh?” said Alexander.

“I have long been interested in the lore regarding the seegnur,” the Old One said, a statement that clearly amused the three men, as well it should, since the Old One didn't look much older than his early twenties.

They interpret as pomposity and youthful posturing what is only truth,
Julyan thought, and was pleased. It was good knowing that the Old One had not become so excited by the return of the seegnur that he had forgotten his cunning.

The Old One continued as if he had not noticed the amusement his words had generated. “I first found a facility on the mainland, beneath where once a lighthouse had stood. I explored more carefully than any had in hundreds of years, since it had been sealed in the days of the slaughter of the seegnur and death of machines. I found the manual override that enabled me to travel underwater to Mender's Isle. With a few chosen acolytes, I cleaned the place and continued my studies. From there I entered a second facility on the mainland that proved to have been the landing facility.

“But I divert from what you wish to learn. Because I eventually came to live in this facility and served as its custodian, when Adara the Huntress sought a place where there might be intact artifacts of the seegnur, she brought her find—Griffin Dane—to me.”

“So the landing facility was intact?” Falkner sounded very eager.

“More intact than other places,” the Old One corrected. “I do not know what your legends tell of what happened here on Artemis, but the destruction was terrible and widespread. Very little of what the seegnur left remained intact and what did remain was nonfunctional. Griffin said the invaders released ‘nanobots' that stopped even functioning devices from working.”

“We know some about what happened,” Siegfried said. “Some rare histories recall both the existence of Artemis, and that many who had been important in the Old Empire were killed here. Griffin was very interested in these stories and our father encouraged him in his fancy…”

“Wait!” the Old One spoke with a trace of his usual authority, quickly masking it with an overt show of astonishment. “‘Our' father? Was your father Griffin's patron? Or perhaps are you his brother?”

Siegfried looked momentarily annoyed, although whether at his own slip or at the Old One's effrontery, Julyan could not be certain.

Alexander, however, laughed and replied, “That's right. Griffin is our brother, our youngest brother. He's a bit impulsive, but very smart. When no message came from him, we decided we'd better look for him.”

Julyan was startled. Perhaps there was some resemblance between Siegfried and Griffin—both were fair-haired and possessed strong, powerful builds—but he never would have taken Falkner for a brother to either of them. It wasn't only a matter of coloring. His features were sharper, his cheekbones high, his chin almost pointed. While he wasn't short, he certainly was not tall. His build was lean to the point of being wiry.

Alexander also did not resemble either Siegfried or Griffin. He was only of middle height, although he had a strong build. Where they were handsome in a distinctly masculine fashion, Alexander's features were so elegant that—had his build been less definitively male—he might have been mistaken for a woman. His reddish-bronze curls set him apart, as did his eyes. These were a light hazel that shifted between pale green and a brown so light as to be almost tan.

Yet in one way Julyan had no problem believing these three were brothers. A shared life was reflected in those quick glances. It was there, too, in how Alexander deliberately interrupted Siegfried, giving away what the other had tried to hold back. Julyan would have bet a substantial amount that Siegfried was the eldest, a leader not only by talent but by habit, and that Alexander both accepted this and chafed under restraints so habitual that he probably was unaware how they bound him.

“I had the impression,” the Old One said slowly, “that Griffin had not told anyone where he was going, because he wanted the finding of Artemis to be his discovery, his triumph. That was why he was so concerned about contacting his orbiter. He did not believe anyone would know where to look for him—even after sufficient time passed for anyone to become worried.”

Again, Alexander was the one who chose to answer. “I said Griffin is smart, but I suppose I should have been more accurate. Griffin is very smart, if you're talking book smarts. As a researcher, he may be even as good as I am—and I have more years of training. But as a conniver! He's not as clever as he thinks. I'm sure our father knew where Griffin was going from the start, as well as precisely when he departed.”

Something in how Siegfried now took over the conversation made Julyan certain that Siegfried wanted to be sure Alexander didn't babble further. But then the Old One wasn't telling the whole truth either—and Julyan doubted if these seegnur had any idea just how much this “helpful” local informant was omitting.

“Let us go back to the original point,” Siegfried said. “Griffin came to you because you were in charge of the landing facility and processing center. Did he have any success reactivating any of the equipment?”

“None. He stayed with me but, eventually”—the Old One made a sweeping gesture with his right hand—“there was trouble. Adara the Huntress did not mind bringing Griffin to me when she believed she would continue to influence him. He had become quite dependent on her, you must understand: his rescuer, his guide, perhaps his lover.”

“Our Griffin is a romantic,” Falkner said. “The only reason he never married is that he couldn't find a woman as captivating as his semi-mythical Artemis. So this Adara got her claws into him?”

Julyan swallowed a smile. He doubted the seegnur realized that Adara could, quite literally, get her claws into a man.