Necessity (11 page)

“No, wait,” I said, wanting to clarify things. “You died, and you're here, and that's not the most important thing that's happened today. I've found out the father of my daughter is the god Hermes, and that's not the most important thing that's happened today either. Even this time loop, disconcerting as it is, isn't the most important. You have to know, there's a human ship in orbit.”

Both gods looked at me with the same infuriating lack of expression, the same air of fathomless calm indifference.

“A human ship!” I repeated. “Recontact with the wider universe! A chance to rejoin the human mainstream and influence it!”

“Yes,” Pytheas said, with a wave of his hand. “But you can deal with that perfectly well yourself.” I gasped. “You're a Gold of the Just City, you can deal with it, or what have we been doing here? Hermes, I can't find Athene.”

“Can't find her?” Hermes looked down shiftily.

“Try reaching for her.”

“Can't I sort out this mess first?” He gestured towards me, sounding petulant.

“It'll take less time than arguing. If you can find her, then—”

Hermes shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Go outside time and try.”

“Look, let me talk to Marsilia for five minutes and then stay here for two heartbeats while I sort this out, and I'll do all the running around looking for Athene you want,” Hermes said.

“She's missing?” I asked. I had a really bad feeling about this. “Lost?”

Suddenly I had all of their attention. Hermes seemed particularly intent.

“It seems so. Have you seen her?” Pytheas asked.

“About two years ago, after the Panathenaic Festival, she came to me and Thetis in the sanctuary when we were putting the new cloak on her statue.” I could remember it clearly. She'd come into the room carrying her owl, and it turned its head to watch us as she moved. She was much taller than any human. There are lots of stories about Athene in the City, some good, some not so good. Thetis had clutched my hand so tightly I'd had marks for days. “She said we were her worshippers, and this was her city. I was a priest that year, remember?”

“Priesthood is a civic function here, like in Rome,” Pytheas put in. Hermes nodded dismissively.

“She gave us a kind of woven box to look after,” I went on, remembering the weight of it in my arms and the strange weave, and the tilt of her head as she spoke. “She told us not to open it unless we heard she was lost, and then we had to both be together. And she asked us not to tell you until that happened.”

“So which one of you opened it, and how long did it take?” Pytheas asked. “And why in all the worlds didn't you tell me?”

“How did you know we already opened it?” I asked.

“Human nature,” Pytheas said. “What was in it?”

“Hilfa,” I admitted.

“Hilfa!” Pytheas repeated. I had never seen him look so taken aback.

“Who's Hilfa?” Hermes asked. “And where is he?”

“He's a Sael,” Pytheas said. “One of the aliens. I've met him a time or two. He seems perfectly normal for one of the Saeli, which is to say very peculiar indeed.”

“We didn't expect it would be a living being,” I said. “We thought we could look to see what it was and close it again until it was necessary. Or if it was something dangerous to the Republic we could tell somebody. Athene hasn't always been our friend.”

“And don't you know the story of Pandora?” Hermes asked.

I looked at him blankly.

“No, that's one of the stories they left out,” Pytheas said. “Not a good example, and Plato didn't believe people learned excellence from awful warnings. So what did you do when you opened it and it turned out to be Hilfa?”

It was my turn to look down guiltily. “We arranged for him to have somewhere to live and a job and education, as if he were any Sael who had decided to stay behind.” I glanced at Hermes. “That's always happening. The Saeli like Plato, and lots of them stay, though usually they live in pods, not individually. But it was easy.”

“And you didn't tell anyone?” Pytheas demanded.

“I'm not completely irresponsible. It was two years ago. I told Dad and Klymene.” They had been consuls that year.

“And Neleus and Klymene didn't tell anyone? Didn't tell me?” He sounded aggrieved.

“Evidently not. I don't know if they told anyone else.”

“I can't believe you all kept it from me!” Pytheas said.

I shifted guiltily. “Athene specified that we shouldn't tell you. So we decided to wait and see what happened, and keep an eye on Hilfa, which we have been doing. I started working on the boat with him. He hasn't done anything unusual.”

“Let's go and find him,” Hermes suggested.

“Why would she choose a Sael?” Pytheas asked, ignoring Hermes. “The Saeli have a strange relationship with their gods. Why would Athene have had one in a box? And why would she leave it here with Neleus's daughters in case she was lost? And what use could it be, in that case? And did she
expect
to get lost?”

“She must have, if she took measures against it,” Hermes said; and then after a moment, “How strange.”

“If she was here on Plato, why didn't she simply come to me and explain? And where is she, anyway? She must have known Thetis would open the box.”

“I didn't say it was Thetis who opened it! And it wasn't. We did it together.” Though if I hadn't agreed, she would have done it anyway. When we first opened it, for a second it looked like a snake coiled tightly around a human baby. Then it resolved into an egg, which immediately hatched into Hilfa, much as he was now: curious, earnest, alien. “I don't think he's a god.”

“We should go and talk to him immediately,” Hermes said. “Though can I please sort out this mess with Necessity first?”

Pytheas's eyes widened and he swayed back a little, then he waved his hand, giving permission.

“Marsilia,” Hermes began. “Tell me the circumstances in which Alkippe was conceived.”

I took a breath and gathered the information concisely. “She was conceived at the end-of-summer Festival of Hera eight years ago. You were calling yourself Poimandros, and you said you were from Psyche.”

Hermes smiled.

“Psyche is one of the other Platonic Cities,” Pytheas put in. “It's not as much fun as you might imagine.”

“We were drawn together—our names drawn out of the lots together—and we went off to be married for the day.”

“You really are doing Plato's Republic,” Hermes said.

“Participation in the Festival of Hera is voluntary,” Pytheas said. “Well, here it is. In Psyche and Athenia it's compulsory for citizens. But nobody has to stay in Psyche or Athenia if they don't like it.”

“It's all right, you don't need to be so defensive, I think it's charming,” Hermes said, smiling again. “Eight years ago, end of summer, fix the lots to be drawn, spend the night in bed, got it. And you'll put in a word of recommendation for me with the beautiful Thetis?”

I was opening my mouth to say calmly that what Hermes and Thetis did was their own affair, when Pytheas interrupted.

“Wait,” Pytheas said. “I know how hard it is to resist Necessity. But if Athene is truly lost, and if she knew ahead of time that she was going into danger, and if we have to rescue her, then having you bound by Necessity might be a safeguard.”

“A safeguard?” Hermes asked. He looked astonished. “You think Necessity might protect
me
?”

“I think if there's a serious risk, it might,” Pytheas said.

“But—you know what it feels like!” Hermes protested.

“You're strong enough to bear it,” Pytheas said. “Who knows what might happen to Athene otherwise?”

“Gods can't die,” I protested.

“They can't ordinarily get lost either,” Pytheas said. “And I think that since Necessity has given us this unexpected aegis, we might be meant to use it.”

“But if gods can die, or get lost, or—” I stopped, realizing my voice was rising. I took a breath from my stomach and began again. “What happens to Alkippe if something should happen to Hermes before he goes back to conceive her?”

They looked at each other a moment in silence, then at me. “It's impossible,” Pytheas said. “He has to survive to do that, and therefore he will, and know he is safe until it is done.”

“Look, Alkippe's my daughter, I really care about her. I can't risk her never having existed. Hermes needs to go and do whatever he needs to do about it now, before going into danger.” They were listening to me, but they didn't seem to understand the importance of what I was saying.

Pytheas frowned. “Even if she is the anchor that keeps all of us safe? Necessity has given us this tie, when we're venturing into danger. Having Necessity on our side can only help.”

“But Alkippe!” Her bright eyes, her wriggling body, her inquiring mind, her bold soul, I wanted to say, and couldn't find the words to make them understand. Pytheas knew her and how marvelous she was, but Hermes had only seen her for a few minutes.

“Where do you believe Athene is?” Hermes asked Pytheas.

“Possibly she's in the Underworld. That would be all right. Strange, but all right.”

“Ah. And because of the way when we go there we only perceive Hades and those souls with whom Hades thinks it's good for us to interact, we can't tell that she's there?”

Hermes nodded as if this made sense.

“Perhaps.” Pytheas was frowning. “But I suspect she's not there, and that she has gone into the Chaos before and after time.”

Hermes wavered for a moment—I was staring right at him and that's the only way I can describe it. It was like when you're watching the shadow of a train you're in falling on the ground, and then suddenly there's a hill and the shadow is nearer and bigger for a moment, and then it's back on the plain, racing along. “I can't find her from outside time either,” he announced. “And I tried to catch her at the Panathenaia, but I couldn't.”

“But you weren't there,” I pointed out.

“No. You didn't see me, so I couldn't be visible. And she wasn't there for an instant that you and Thetis weren't.” He paused, and looked assessingly at Pytheas. “Do you think we should go to Father now and tell him everything?”

“First, we should talk to Hilfa and discover what message she left for us,” Pytheas said.

“And you really think I need to stay bound by Necessity?” Hermes asked. “It's like having a sharp stone in my shoe.”

“That stone might be our shield,” Pytheas said.

“I am not letting you out of my sight again until you go back there and ensure Alkippe is real,” I said to Hermes. I had never felt more strongly about anything in my life.

“I'd agree to that, but you are mortal, and not caught in Necessity's jaws. Alkippe already only has one parent. What happens to her if I have to go into danger and you don't survive?”

I looked at him in incomprehension. “I'd happily give my life for hers, if need be. And she'd be safe here. I wasn't suggesting taking her with us.”

Pytheas was smiling his enigmatic smile. “You're seeing Platonic motherhood, which is different from anything you're used to. Marsilia is telling you we're in the City, and here children with one parent or no parents at all are at no disadvantage.”

“Yes. If my parents and Thetis couldn't manage, though I'm sure they could, Alkippe could grow up in a nursery and pursue her own excellence. It's not like the little orphan in Homer.” I didn't have much context for how children grew up elsewhere. His assumption that she would suffer neglect if I died disconcerted me. There's a lot of variety in how we do things on Plato, but that wouldn't happen in any of our cities. Bringing up children to be their best selves is something we all agree is crucial. In those cities with no nurseries, a child whose family died in a catastrophe would be immediately adopted into another family.

“This is a strange place,” Hermes said. “Well, you can stay with me if you feel so strongly about it. Here. A votive gift.” He handed me something. I looked down at it. It was a little purse of soft leather, with a drawstring. Puzzled, I opened it. “It'll never be empty, unless you shake it out,” he said. “And the coin you pull from it will always be enough to pay for what you want.”

I took out a coin and turned it in my fingers. I had seen coins before; they use money in Lucia. My other hand rose to my neck, to my gold pin on my jacket collar. It was forbidden to me to have gold, other than the Gold in my soul and the pin that symbolized it. I couldn't think of a more useless gift, but I imagined it was well intended. As well as travel, Hermes was patron of the marketplace, commerce, and thieves. I decided to talk to him about our trade negotiations when there was a chance, in case he had interesting ideas. “Thank you,” I said, politely.

Pytheas was frowning. It was so strange to see him, the same but different. He was definitely my grandfather, but he seemed to be about my own age. “Marsilia is part of my family. If any harm comes to her, you'll answer for it.”

Hermes nodded once.

Pytheas didn't stop frowning. “We should go in and I should say hello to the rest of the family. They'll hardly have had time to miss me. And then we should find Hilfa.”

“Why do we need to bother going inside first?” Hermes asked.

“I want to speak to Neleus. And we need Arete.”

“Hilfa speaks Greek,” I said.

“Doubtless, but whether or not you've discovered it, your aunt Arete has skills beyond flight and translation. Come on.” He took a step towards the door.

“Arete isn't there. She's at the spaceport,” I said.

Pytheas hesitated. “Then—”

“No, come on. It'll be fun to see their faces,” Hermes said.