Rediscovery (36 page)

Once again, Ysaye was surprised; it was almost the first time that she had felt

Leonie voice any concern for anything but what
she
cared about. Even the child had been an issue because Leonie felt strongly about a child of the Hastur blood.

I
know,
Leonie said, answering the thought.
You must have thought me very
selfish.

Ysaye was as touched by this as she had not been by Aurora’s casual concern.
If I
did,
she replied quietly,
it was only that young people are always a little selfish. That’s
partly a matter of survival, I suppose, if they are going to hold their own against the
stronger and stronger-willed adults. They have to think first of themselves and their own
needs and desires
—
which just might conflict with those of the adults.
She actually found herself feeling a little lightening of spirit.
As for music, I think it will be good to have
something else to think about.

Leonie seemed pleased out of all proportion for the favor.
You are so good to me

—
and I’m such a selfish little beast.
Behind the thought were others; Leonie had really been
with
Ysaye every step of the way, every moment of suffering, and what had been done with and to her had left Leonie very much aware of how privileged her own life was.

No, Leonie,
Ysaye said gently.
I
don’t think you’re selfish. Only young.

Leonie dropped out of rapport for a moment, evidently thinking about Ysaye’s

words and her reactions. When she came back, her thoughts had a shading of a new humility.
This is what my teachers have been trying to tell me. And I have been foolishly
thinking that all at once, I should be perfect and know everything.

Ysaye was oddly touched, and found herself thinking that if circumstances had

been different, she could have had a young girl much like Leonie for her daughter.

No. That was in the past, and irrevocable. Enough that this most arrogant of

young women was thinking of something other than her own wishes. And enough that she had somehow assumed a place as Leonie’s mentor. It would do neither of them any good to keep on flaying themselves with unhealthy introspection.

What music would you like, Leonie? Wagner?

Leonie’s thoughts brightened; she seemed to have a taste for
heldenmusik,
huge orchestras, with everything larger than life.
If you would be so kind,
she replied.

Ysaye could control the music played in this room from the computer terminal.

She called up the music program, and keyed in “The Ride of the Valkyries,” directing the computer to play a random selection after that.

What are “Valkyries,” Ysaye?

Warrior maidens,
Ysaye replied, giving her a mental picture of Brunnhilde in full-dress, braids, winged helm, and all.
They come from the German legends that formed the
basis for this opera.

Leonie returned a picture, of a capable, well-muscled woman with short-cropped

hair (the first indication of short hair among women that Ysaye had seen in this culture) and a short sword; dressed in something like a divided skirt and a red tunic.

Like our Renunciates,
she supplied.
Brave and dependent on no one else.

Sometimes I wish I was one of them.

Sometimes I do, too,
Ysaye replied, wistfully. Warrior maidens, untouched—

armored angels that the world could not affect.

The computer selected Berlioz, and Leonie’s pleasure showed clearly. Then came

one of the Bach chorales, as if the computer was attempting to comfort her by selecting her favorite pieces, and then the last movement of the Beethoven
Ninth,
with its “Hymn to Joy.” Prodded by Leonie’s bewilderment at the German, she supplied a modern

translation of words she herself had sung in college.

The words were trite doggerel even by Ysaye’s not-very-elevated standards, but

the magic of Beethoven’s music had endowed them in her mind with a very real

inspiration. There was a pang of loss as she recalled the young idealist who had sung those words—yet how far removed was the trite from the archetypal? There were tears on her face as the music continued into the finale. Tears she had not been able, or willing to shed, until now.

Perhaps the techs were right; perhaps the computer was aware of her in a

primitive way, and was trying to comfort her as best it could. Certainly her tears were a release she had denied herself until the music the computer had chosen had forced them on her.

She wept quietly, but no longer ashamed or afraid, for everything she had lost in the past few days—everything, in fact, from her innocence to her womanhood. And all of it gone past retrieval.

She finally regained control of herself as the music faded, leaving behind only

silence.

Silence both physical and mental.

Leonie?
she called. Surely the girl would not have left her so abruptly…without bidding farewell.

Ysaye?
the mental voice sounded faint and panicked.

Ysaye! I was following the music, I wanted to make the computer choose

something that would cheer you!

What? What on Earth could the girl mean?

Then suddenly, she realized what she meant—Leonie, evidently picking up on

Ysaye’s “personalization” of the computer, thought it had a real mind.

Somehow, she had transferred herself into the great computer.

And now, if the level of Leonie’s panic was any indication, she was trapped

within the computer!

At first Leonie had no idea what had happened to her. To Ysaye, the computer was just another sort of person; one that even seemed to be able to read her mind at times.

Leonie wanted it to stop playing music that saddened Ysaye and to choose something which would lighten her spirits. So rather than intrude on Ysaye’s grief, she had sought to touch the computer directly, mind to mind.

She had moved her “self’ toward it, as if she were entering the relays. It had

seized her, abruptly and without warning.

It
was
an intelligence, though of a kind she had never encountered before, and very powerful. Powerful enough, in fact, to terrify her. She felt like a scorpion-ant looking up at the sole of a boot.

But after a moment, she managed to control her panic, as the computer ignored

her presence even though it had pulled her in. She looked about her, finding it relatively easy to maintain herself and her sense of identity after all her training as a Keeper and her hours of practice in the relays and in the overworld.

But even for Leonie this place that
wasn’t
a place was strange and disconcerting.

It seemed to Leonie that she stood in a vast and deserted emptiness, with a sense of currents of power humming all about her, and invisible landscapes, layer upon layer of them, just out of reach.

This was nothing like the overworld. The overworld was to this place as a travel shelter was to Castle Hastur.

She tried to visualize herself moving. In the overworld, she would have seen

where she was and where she was going. She felt as if she
were
moving, but she seemed to be moving through grayness with no visual clues at all. And she had no control over her speed, either; she slowed and speeded up with no warning. That made her feel even more disoriented and a little sick. She tried to will herself to stop, and it seemed to work, but she had no idea where she had begun nor where she had landed.

Darkness smothered her; there was no way to get her bearings.

Clearly, this was not even like being within a matrix.

She took hold of herself, and quelled her panic; she tried to center her mind and project a very clear picture of herself—Leonie Hastur, what she wanted and where she wanted to go. Which was, obviously,
out of here.

Wherever “here” was.

She told herself that there was no reason to panic, this was no more than a very unpleasant experience. She was, after all, not here bodily; her body was safely behind the Veil at Arilinn, and the only thing here was her consciousness, her awareness. No matter how unpleasant it was, she had only to wait, and eventually she would return—or be returned—to her body.

Wouldn’t she?

If this computer was an intelligence, as she had thought, perhaps she ought to deal with it as an intelligence. She should be able to communicate with it.

She marshaled all of her will, and formed her thought into a very specific

question.

Who are you?

After a long time, out of the grayness, an answer arrived.

TE Model S14C, Multi-purpose Multitasker.

The answer made no sense, but at least it had answered her.
Help me!
she demanded.

State nature of problem,
it droned.

Nature of the problem?
I
want to get out of here!
Leonie replied.

Request not properly formulated.

Well, that was getting her nowhere! She looked around again; in the dimness she

thought she saw glimmering lines and having nothing better to lead her, she decided to follow one of them.

Perhaps it would guide her out.

No sooner had she thought of doing so, then she was traveling at some

tremendous speed along one of the lines. Then, she felt herself slammed—there was no other word for it— into an enormous grid.

It felt metallic, somehow; cold and hot at the same time, and it threw her back off of the track she had been following. She had once gotten an overflow of energy from the relays; she had felt then as she felt now, tingling, with every hair on end, and briefly dazed.

And what sounded like the same voice, a characterless buzz, repeated tonelessly,
State nature of problem.

That again? Leonie repeated, with a growing sense of helplessness,
I
said I
wanted to get out of here! Please, show me the way out!

There was a buzzing sound this time, but the voice repeated,
Request not

formulated properly.

Then, out of the darkness, far in the distance, a sense that someone was looking for her. Ysaye!

Panicked, she called out to her friend, and the voice in the darkness strengthened.

Leonie? Leonie? Where are you?
The voice was nearer now.

Ysaye was trying to help her! Leonie formed all her frustration into a single cry.

Ysaye! Help me! I’m lost, I want to get out of here!

Even though she had not addressed it, the ruler of this place—whatever it was—

cut between Leonie and Ysaye like a great wall.

State nature of problem,
it droned.

Go away!
she shouted at it.
I’m lost, I need to find a way out of here!

Request not formulated properly,
came the instant answer.

In fury and frustration, Leonie cried out for her friend.
Ysaye! I’m here in the
computer and I can’t find the way out!

Once again, she had a sense of rapidly traveling along some invisible line and

ramming with sufficient impact to make her dizzy, against something that felt for all intents and purposes like a wall. As Leonie rebounded off it, stunned and shocked, and without the strength to formulate her thoughts, again that droning passionless voice, completely emotionless, imposed itself between her and Ysaye.

State nature of request.

At this point Leonie had lost any sense of adventure, and the last of her bravery.

Help!
she screamed in a state of complete panic.
Help me! Ysaye! Anybody! Help
me out of here, I’m lost! Please! Get me out of here!

And once again:
Request not properly formulated.

Leonie felt a great surge of fury and despair, and through it, she heard Ysaye’s mental voice again.

Leonie, ask it who you are.

That made no sense.
But I know who I am,
she protested,
and it knows. I’ve told it
a dozen times!

Leonie, it doesn’t understand, or rather, it sees you in a different way than you see
yourself,
Ysaye said patiently.
Ask it who it thinks you are.

It made no sense, but Ysaye knew this thing; she must know something that

prompted the strange order.

All right, then,
thought Leonie in exhaustion. She turned all of her attention to the gray formlessness around her, trying to personify it so that she could address it.

Call it, “computer,”
Ysaye prompted.
Say “Computer, who am I?”

Computer?
Leonie said, hesitantly, feeling frustrated and helpless.
Computer, who
am I?

The answer was prompt and made no more sense than the identity it had given

itself.
Process 392397642.

Leonie only felt despair and hopelessness at this jumble of letters and numbers, but Ysaye exclaimed with jubilation.

Wonderful! Got it. Hang on, Leonie!

Something flashed past; something that had a flavor of Ysaye about it, mingled

with the grayness of the computer.
Delete Process 392397642.

Process deleted,
replied the computer.

Abruptly, Leonie found herself flung free of the machine— and back into her

prone body at Arilinn.

She opened her eyes, aching all over, and terrified. Her head pounded, hard

enough to explode, and her stomach churned.

Dimly, distantly, she felt Ysaye’s pleasure that all was well, and far more

distantly, she felt Lorill—confused, knowing that something had threatened his twin, and wondering what in the world—any world—had happened.

She shivered and cried a little, feeling that if she moved or spoke she might start screaming and never stop. Finally both fear and reaction gave way to complete