Artemis Invaded (27 page)

“Be careful around the ears,” Adara advised. “Especially near the earrings. If she yowls at you, stop. And thanks for thinking of both of our comfort.”

She began peeling off her damp clothing, using the rain cloak as a tent to preserve her father and brother's modesty. Neenay's spinning wheel began humming again, followed a moment later by the woman's voice.

“Had you heard about the storm that hit Spirit Bay on a night without any clouds?”

Adara thought this must be when waves had unsettled the harbor, but she thought it would be a good idea to get another variation of the tale. She encouraged her mother to talk. Although she didn't learn much over what Terrell had already reported, what she did hear unsettled her more.

Neenay's source was one of her fellow weavers, who had the story from her own brother who had been in the harbor area at the time. The man had a good eye for detail. As Neenay had the story, whatever had caused the waves had entered the water so smoothly that had it not been so huge, it would have cut the waves like a knife.

“Orion and Willowee might know more,” Hektor suggested. “They should be back tomorrow. They went down to deliver a load of cloth to Willowee's father who is in Ridgewood port.”

“Hektor, maybe come dawn,” Akilles suggested in a manner that made it an order, “you could go down to the river and catch them before they come home. I'm sure they'll be grateful for your strong back to load those barrels of sweet syrup into the wagon. You can also make certain Willowee asks a few questions about Spirit Bay if the matter hasn't come up already.”

Hektor looked as if he might protest, saw the look on his father's face, and nodded. Then he brightened. “Can I stay in town long enough to ask the cobbler to measure me for new boots?”

“If Orion and Willowee don't mind.”

Adara smiled her thanks. “My luck is in. May I beg a bed? It's been weeks since I slept on anything other than a bedroll. I've been fantasizing about a mattress all the way here.”

*   *   *

The tunnels were enormous. Julyan hadn't registered their size during his initial glimpse. Now, as he sped through them, riding behind Alexander on one of the scooters, he admitted to his awe—if only to himself.

I thought the opening of the tunnel was a reception area of some sort, not the beginning of an underground roadway. There's not a brick or bit of stone, not even a seam. It's as if this was blown, like glass.

Just the idea made him fight trembling, lest Alexander sense his feelings.

I won't have Alexander mocking me,
Julyan thought, forcing anger to replace fear.
It was bad enough how he acted when I didn't want to get on the scooter. How was I to know that those flimsy saddles could bear the weight of a man as large as myself in comfort? Yes. I know Siegfried was already sitting on one, but he's a soldier. They'll put up with all sorts of discomfort. Catch me locking myself up in some sort of metal suit like I've heard they do farther north.

In an effort to make himself relax, Julyan leaned against the invisible back of his seat. The support felt firm but with a certain amount of give, like a tightly stuffed down pillow, without any prickle from the tips of the feathers. He knew that what he rested against was translucent, even to the point of transparency, only a faint, nacreous glow showing where the scooter projected what Alexander had called an energy field to support its passengers. A similar field, clearer than glass, for it lacked all the tiny bubbles and imperfections, protected them from the rushing air. Alexander assured Julyan that another would slow their fall or cushion them if they crashed.

“We can also activate a field for protection if we're attacked, but Falkner advises against routine activation, since that draws a lot of power and we're not sure how well the ambient recharge will work here.”

The tunnel was wide enough that the three scooters could have traveled side by side. However, Siegfried had decreed that he (and the Old One, who rode with him) take point. Falkner, with Seamus, rode behind to the right, Alexander and Julyan to the left. “Speakers” enabled them to talk with each other without shouting.

Guided by some sort of clock, Siegfried called regular rest breaks. Each scooter carried supplies of food and water. Waste was taken care of by a tidy little device that must be larger on the inside than the out, given how small it was. Julyan, worn out with miracles, did not even try to figure how any of this worked.

They encountered surprisingly few obstacles. A few times, Siegfried ordered a halt so they could examine some oddity.

“I'm pretty sure this was originally a chameleon mine,” Falkner said, examining a squat heap of something in the middle of the tunnel floor. “It was probably activated by vibration or heat—possibly both. When the nanobots spread to this point, the chameleon field would have failed. The explosives might still be live, so take care.”

“What good would these defenses be,” Alexander asked, a slight sneer to his voice, “if their own nanobots would disable it?”

Falkner, who'd been squatting to wave various devices over the thing, eased back onto his heels. “A couple possibilities. This could have been in place since the tunnel was built. Or it this might have been set by the invaded, not the invaders. If it was set by the invaders, then they probably did have it sealed against their own nanobots. However, even the best seals break down over time.”

Siegfried added, “It's long been a mystery why the invaders didn't destroy Artemis. Most people think this is because it was a prize they wanted for themselves.”

“Although why the planet would be a prize,” Alexander said slyly, “has been debated.”

“Indeed,” Siegfried said, shooting a warning glance to remind his brother that the Old One and Julyan were present. Julyan, who was hunkered against a wall, as far as was prudently possible from this potentially explosive thing, pretended not to notice. The Old One looked blankly attentive as always. Siegfried continued, “But we must consider, how many years did the invaders think would pass before they returned? Twenty years? Fifty? A hundred at the outside. I doubt they anticipated the extent of the destruction and fragmentation that happened once the war they triggered here spread through the empire.”

“I agree,” Falkner said. “Another bit of evidence that they intended to return relatively quickly is that they did not design the nanobots they released here to mutate into a neutral form. We have evidence that they employed automatic deactivation elsewhere, so I take this to mean that they thought they would return within a relatively short framework and could employ an antivirus at their convenience.”

“Or the lack of deactivation could be evidence that they were being very careful for some other reason,” Alexander said. This time the glare Siegfried sent him was far from subtle. Alexander must have realized he'd overstepped some invisible boundary, because he quickly added, “Or perhaps they wanted to make certain the planet stayed an undeveloped paradise. It would have been a pity to preserve Artemis for her wilderness wonders only to return to a planet in in the midst of a full-blown, pollution-filled industrial revolution.”

“Sounds good to me,” Falkner agreed. “Shall we get going? At the rate we're traveling, we're going to need to camp down here at least one night.”

“At least,” Julyan said, “we don't need to worry about getting soaked. It gets rainy in the mountains this time of year.”

The three Danes looked at him blankly. Belatedly, Julyan realized that the energy fields on the scooters probably kept the rain out, too.

But they wouldn't keep the ground dry,
he thought with a flare of anger.
I'm fed up with being treated as if I'm only a little brighter than Seamus.

When Julyan glanced at the Old One, hoping for who knew what reassurance, those cool grey eyes only said,
“So, then, keep your mouth shut.”

*   *   *

The next several days were almost too much fun to be called work. Ring insisted on trying the flight and float capacities of the spavek. He bounced off the walls and ceiling as he learned how to control velocity and arc, but soon was managing the suit with uncanny skill.

Leto had reactivated the simulated firing range, so Ring explored the various elements of the blue spavek's weapons systems. Eventually, they planned to move to live fire, but not until Ring was scoring at least ninety percent in simulation. The spavek could generate beams of various kinds, some intended for fine work like cutting, others with no other use than as very destructive weapons.

Griffin was reminded of the ruined military installation Adara had shown him on his second day on Artemis. The entire side of a mountain had been sheared off, the rock not just exploded, but melted. It would have been an astonishing show of force anywhere, but on pastoral Artemis—well, Griffin had had no problem understanding why, five hundred years later, stories were still told about the single armored figure who had caused all of that destruction.

Although the spavek could fire small missiles and some were stored in racks nearby, Griffin suggested they avoid using projectiles except in simulation. “The charges might have broken down over five centuries. Even the damper and containment fields built into the range might have trouble dealing with some random recombination of elements.”

No one—not even Ring, who was showing quite a bit of assertiveness these days—argued with Griffin on this point. Ring was less cooperative when Griffin suggested that he, Griffin, might activate another spavek, so they could try some sparring.

“Not you,” Ring said, “nor Terrell. The bear might fly in orange arms, and the fish, eventually, in yellow or pink, but, until you embrace the dark paths, neither you nor Terrell will spread wings of purple and green.”

Griffin was offended. He was getting tired of Ring's refusal to speak plainly, though some part of him accepted that Ring was probably being as clear as he could be. What really ticked him off was that Ring clearly didn't think Griffin could operate one of the spaveks.

“May I remind you,” he countered tartly, “that I am probably the only person on this planet who has ever operated a flying craft? Why can't I operate the spavek? Take it off and let me have a try.”

“If you insist, seegnur.”

The readiness with which Ring floated down made Griffin think he was destined to fail. From the impish grin Terrell quickly squashed, Griffin knew his friend thought so, too. Ring backed the blue spavek into one of the convenient squires set around the arena, did something to snap open releases, then stepped out. Meanwhile, Griffin methodically stripped down.

I'm a skilled small ship pilot. I've worn battle armor before. Why am I suddenly scared?

He knew why, even if he denied it to himself. Watching the ease with which Ring had adapted to the rig, Griffin suspected that there had to be some sort of symbiotic linkage. Nothing else explained a primitive who could barely sit a horse managing power armor with such ease. The horror stories of Kyley had been full of intelligent machines that started running their owners' lives.

The anthropologist in Griffin whispered,
Now you have a very good idea where those stories originated. How many of the Old Empire's tools survived their makers and were found by those innocent of their power?

The skeptic in him countered,
Yes. But could those tools use just anyone? Ring was created to synchronize with the old technology. Maybe Castor might manage, but you? You're safe. Stop being a wuss. Back on in, fasten the snaps. Nothing's going to happen.

At least you've got to try,
said another voice, bossy, like his sister Jada.
What sort of scientist is afraid of experimentation?

“A live one,” Griffin said aloud as he stepped into the suit's embrace. He felt the squire hum. Remotes closed the panels, pressed the helmet down over his head. Starting at his extremities, the hum of electric current ran through Griffin's nerves, surged along his limbs, intermeshed at his core, causing his muscles to spasm then release, spasm then release. Griffin would have screamed, but the helmet had possessed his head.

Linkages of spiked energy pricked against the rims of his eyes, swarmed up his nostrils, probed into his ears. Something larger, thicker, pressed between his lips, forcing them open. He refused to think about what the suit was doing lower down, but a very bad memory, something to do with his brother Alexander, flashed into Griffin's mind, then vanished instantly to wherever he had kept it suppressed.

There was no pain, no pleasure, just a practicality that was somehow more horrible than either would have been. Griffin wanted to use the suit. The suit was doing what was necessary to find out if this was possible. This violation was Griffin's own choice. Again, he tried to scream, and this time he heard a sound that might have been his own voice.

Terrell spoke, his voice tight and anxious. “Griffin? Griffin? Are you all right? The telltales on both the squire and the spavek are showing activation is complete. The squire has lowered you to the ground. You're just standing there.”

Power armor,
Griffin told himself.
All this is is some weird form of power armor. Try to raise an arm. Your right arm.

After a tremendous effort, his right arm lifted. He heard Terrell cheering. Griffin moved his left arm. Then he raised and lowered each leg, managing a few steps. Each action required a tremendous amount of effort. He wondered why the Old Imperial technology—supposedly so much better than that of his own people—should be so hard to operate.

The buzzing through his nervous system, which had fallen to a numbing hum, intensified once more. It moved deeper, penetrating from the peripherals into Griffin's core, vibrating along his spinal column. Prickling touched the inside of his brain. He knew he couldn't really feel what was going on—didn't the brain have minimal sensory nerves?—but Griffin would have sworn he could feel every ripple and convolution outlined in a painless but remorseless lightning.