The Wizard from Earth (27 page)

A flurry of images flowed through Inoldia's mind.  She thought, 
Such pain it can cause, without touching.  What a wondrous thing!   

Pandora said,  "It will not kill, but it will protect.  Use only for protection.  Do you understand?"

Inoldia choked, "Yes, Mother!"

“Then you are dismissed.  Go your way, Inoldia, and be comforted with the knowledge that I continue to regard you as useful to me.”

Inoldia bowed out of the room.  She did not stop weeping until she reached ground level.  Then she asked herself why she had been weeping. 

What emotion remained strong however was the torment of conflicting thoughts.  On one hand, she could never violate the command of the Mother.  On the other, she could never allow the Mother to come to harm.

The Mother had commanded her not to kill the mutant girl.  Yet the mutant girl was a threat to the Mother and had to be killed.  How to resolve this paradox?

By my hand I cannot kill the girl
, Inoldia thought. 
But she must be killed.

How much easier it is for baselines!  They have no imperatives ruling their thoughts.  They do as they please.  How easy – and yet, how sad. 

And then she looked toward Rome and smiled.  She realized there was an answer out of her quandary.  It was Valarion.

Though still in a daze, she was walking erect by the time she reached the ship.  By the time the ship reached  Rome, her aura of determination was so strong that even the burliest of soldiers sidestepped from her path.  When she reached Valarion's residence, the guards at the gate cowered rather than demand a password.

Her slam broke the bolt on Valarion's office door.  Feet propped on desk, he examined a grape. 

"Did you ask them to stop poisoning Hadron?" Valarion calmly inquired.

Inoldia considered breaking his desk – or his neck.  But no, she needed him.

“Valarion,” she said softly.  “I have spoken with the Mother.”

Valarion frowned, lowered his feet, and sat straight.  “The Mother?  You mean, the Mother of the Sisters?  I didn't know there was such a person.”

“There is,” Inoldia replied, deciding not to expand Valarion's concept of 'person.'  “She has informed that there are two people we must locate.  One is a young woman from Britan and the other is a young man from Britan.  The woman is the witch that you have asked me about.  The man is said to be a wizard.  The woman may have had contact with Archimedes.  Can you find them?”

"Funny you should mention.  I have had spies watching the household of Archimedes, and of late he has welcomed both a young man and woman."

Don't act too eager
, Inoldia told herself.  "What of it?  Didn't you tell me that he's always taking people off the street into his home?"

"Yes, and as the numbers coming out always match those going in, it's evidently some form of charity and not cannibalism.  But these two are somewhat different than his general run of strays.  The boy is said to be a savant who can do large sums in his head without the aid of an abacus.  Perhaps that is your 'wizard.'  The girl . . . well, my spy has followed her into the marketplace and eavesdropped, and reports she has a trace of a Britanian accent.”

Inoldia shuddered.  So they were here in Rome after all! 

“Valarion,” she said softly.  “The Mother says these two are a great threat as long as they live.”

“So what does she plan to do about it?”

“Nothing, Valarion.  She has instructed me to do nothing.”

“So why are you informing me that they are threats, when we can't do anything about it?”

“I did not say we can't do anything about it.  I said I can't do anything about it.”

Valarion pondered the pattern of his Parsian rug.  “Inoldia, I often wonder how your mind works.  You do realize that in informing me of the threat these individuals pose and allowing me to act against them, you are violating the spirit of your Mother's instructions?”

Inoldia blinked.

“No,” Valarion said slowly.  “I guess you don't.  You're just the blunt instrument.  Someone else must do all the thinking for the Sisters.”

“Yes,” Inoldia said.

“You don't find that insulting?”

“I enjoy my work.”

Valarion blinked.

“Valarion, are you going to do something about them?”

Valarion popped the last grape into his mouth.  “As it turns out, I have decided it is time to take care of Archimedes.  The plan will involve your cooperation, however.”

“I am ordered not to kill the witch, or the Wizard, or Archimedes.”

“All right . . . but what about the Emperor?  Can you help me kill the Emperor?”

Inoldia raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.  “I wasn't commanded to not kill him.”

“Splendid.  Then let's kill him together!”

“I don't care if the Emperor is dead nor not.  I want the girl dead.”

“Well, you see, it's all of one piece.  We kill the Emperor, and the deaths of Archimedes, the boy, and the girl will follow.  And I'm not asking much help, really.  Just a small favor.”

“What is this favor?”

“The servant girl you have in the palace.  I know that she is poisoning Hadron.  Well, at an appointed time, I want you to have her increase the dose so that he will die within hours.”

“I thought you opposed having Hadron poisoned.”

“If your Mother decrees he is to be poisoned, I must bow to the inevitable.  At any rate, I am opposed only to having him poisoned slowly and anonymously, because that will only create chaos in an empire-wide struggle for secession.  But if he is poisoned in the right way, at the right time, I can strike first and swiftly, and use the opportunity to become Emperor.”

“I do not understand any of this.  If you want my help – “

“I do!  I do!  So let me explain in order.  Here is how it is to work.  Now, as it happens, Hadron has Archimedes working on a special project to build a scientific instrument –”

“The 'tel-ee-oss-kee-ohp?'”

“You've heard of it.  Anyway, according to my spies, the project is almost completed.  Being who he is, Hadron will want to see the thing for himself.  Now, just before he goes, I want your girl to administer enough poison to kill him within hours.  Not immediately, mind you, but within hours.  Hadron will then go to see Archimedes, and die either while he is there or shortly thereafter.  The obvious conclusion among the Senate and public will be that Archimedes has poisoned the Emperor.  And I will move quickly to lead the investigation, and declare a Crisis of State, and become the new Emperor.”

“So you will then kill the witch?”

“Of course, and the wizard-boy, and Archimedes as well.  After all, typically, when the leader of a successful assassination plot against the Emperor becomes the new Emperor, his first order of business is to blame his political enemies for the assassination so that he can put them to death.  We will simply follow that tradition in order to dispatch the three of them.”

“But . . . what if something goes wrong?”

“The only thing that can go wrong is that the poison fails.  Can we trust your servant girl?”

“She knows not to cross me.”

“Hmm.  Well, another problem is Archimedes may notice Hadron is sick and give him an antidote.  Also about this witch of yours – I know that Sisters can cure poisoning, so might not she too have the power to cure him?”

“I will have Hadron be given a poison for which even the Sisters have not found a cure.”

Valarion smiled.  “Then I don't see how this can fail.”

If it fails I'll use this on you,
Inoldia thought as she examined the fading scars on her palms.  But in total, she was pleased with him.  Sometimes, when dirty work had to be done, it was good to have a man around. 

30.

Matt stood to the rear of his room overlooking the courtyard from the second story of Archimedes' home.  He watched the servant women perform the day's laundry.  Carrot, who was helping, unpinned one of Archimedes' robes from the line, draped it over her arm, folded while pressing it against herself, and placed it on top of the growing stack in the basket, all the while chatting carefreely with the other women.

"She's making herself useful," Matt said. 

So far, however, she had made no move against Archimedes or his household.  But Matt had resolved that he wouldn't be caught off guard.   

"I guess we have work to do ourselves.  What did he want me to do again?"

"Complete a test matrix of various mixtures of ingredients for construction materials.  Matt, for your information, I can provide the optimal formulas by chemical simulation."

"Well, let's go through the motions of work or he won't believe the results."

Matt descended to the workshop, set out mixing cups, and poured ingredients with different quantities in each.  Despite his admonition that he wanted to do the work himself, Matt had Ivan identify and track every container, so that soon Matt's field of vision was cluttered with labels floating above the sacks and cups.  The mixing bowls were attended by Augmented-Reality timers, and the oven had an AR thermometer (real time data provided by Ivan's infrared-sensing capabilities) hovering above it.  As Matt followed the recipes in the books, Ivan located and pointed out each ingredient so that Matt never had to search.    

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" 

The bellow came from Archimedes at the doorway.  The scientist stormed into the workshop and muttered, "I expect you to perform careful experimentation, not haphazard flailing!"

"I am being careful," Matt replied, as innocuously as he could.

Archimedes grabbed a cup at random.  “All right, tell me what's in this?”

“Gypsum.”

Archimedes smacked the cup down.  “And where did you put the lime?”

Matt pointed. 

Archimedes looked about and demanded, "Where are your written records?"

Matt took paper and pencil, and copied the table of data in Ivan's virtual window onto a paper sheet in the external, material world.    Archimedes grabbed the sheet and squinted.  His frown faded. 

"Hmm, same as I got," he said, and ambled away.

When Matt finished, he passed the library on the way topside, and saw Carrot sitting at a table, paging through a book.  At first he thought she was just skimming, because she was turning the pages after intervals of only a few seconds.  But then he watched the line-by-line darting of her eyes.

She stopped reading and looked at him blankly.

"Yes, Wizard?"

"I was noticing how fast you read."

She shrugged.  "I have seen you read faster."

Yes
, Matt thought,
but I wasn't reading.  Ivan was photographing.  What are you doing, mutant?

He noticed that the table behind her was strewn with tiny objects.  He lit the wall lamp and examined the tabletop.  It was covered with miniature models of rocks, trees, and brush, among which miniature models of soldiers, horses, and catapults were arrayed in battle.  Matt knelt and scrutinized.

“Where did you get these?” Matt asked.

“Archimedes has a cabinet full of them.  He uses them to study plans of battle.”

He frowned at the layout.  “They seem to be fighting over a bridge.”

Without looking at him, she turned a page, slowly.  "It was something that Archimedes was working on."

Matt recalled that Archimedes had said that he had little to do anymore with the legions.  Suspicions, aroused, he subvocaled, "Scan for prints." 

Ivan had already collected a complete set of fingerprints for every person in the household.  Carrot's prints, he reported, were all over the figurines.

Matt examined the stack of books by her elbow.  "So what do you think of Sun-Tzu?"

"His advice seems obvious, but perhaps that is the point."

There were papers on the table as well, scrawled with numbers, diagrams, and equations.  "You're learning trigonometry?"

"I asked Archimedes to teach me.  It's useful."

Matt subvocaled,  "For what?  Sweeping the floor at just the right angle?"

"That is unlikely," Ivan said.  "The formulas are for ballistic trajectories."

“She has an inordinate interest in catapults.”

Carrot closed her book and gazed at Matt.  "May I make a personal remark?"

"Uh . . . yeah."

"Do others find your intrusiveness to be annoying?"

Matt shrugged.  "Just asking questions, that's how you get to know people."

"Then I have a question for you.  You have given Archimedes the impression that you come from a city called Seattle, which you have led him to believe is located on the western coast of the island of Britan.  I have never been to the west coast of Britan, but I've spoken to travelers who have, and they all tell that it is sparsely populated with no cities at all.”

“Seattle is a new city.”

Her calm gaze had turned into a penetrating stare.  “New on Ne'arth, or on Aereoth?”

Matt stared back.

Carrot said levelly,  “You told the people of West Britan that you came from Aereoth, and now you tell your host here in Rome that you come from Britan.  One or the other is a lie, and either way that would make you a liar.”

Matt said quietly:  “Sometimes lying is necessary.  It's a question of motive.”

“I find that in every case, the motive for lying is deception.”

“So you have never lied?”

“Is that your moral rationalization?  To throw the question back at me?”

“Matt,” Ivan said.  “Your pulse and breathing rate have increased significantly, as has the adrenalin level in your bloodstream.  Do you wish me to regulate?”

Matt didn't answer either of them.  His expression glazed, he ascended to the courtyard and stalked as he fumed.  

“Every time I tell her the truth, she thinks I'm a fraud.  What am I supposed to do here, tell Archimedes the truth and have him decide to fire me because I'm crazy?  I believe in telling the truth, but sometimes you have to lie in order to survive.”

Ivan didn't say anything, but Matt had the impression that if Ivan had a tongue, something would have been on the tip of it. 

Archimedes wasn't around, so Matt went for a walk.  The winding side streets were ominously deserted, the main thoroughfares were unsanitary and jammed.  Street performers, vendors, beggars – everyone wanted money, and wasn't shy about asking.  The woo seekers of Seattle had none of the desperation that Matt encountered around every corner of Rome.

"She just me feel so – " he said.  "I wish I knew what it was."

Ivan asked, "Do you wish me to conduct an analysis of your biometric telemetry to identify the nature of your emotional reaction to her presence?"

"You can do that?  Uh . . . okay."

Ivan was quiet for a moment, then answered, "She is causing you to feel exasperated."

Matt laughed.  "You actually have a biometric definition of exasperation."

"Bio-metrical correspondence with emotional states is not an exact science."

"Well, I already knew I was exasperated.  I was hoping you could tell me why."

Ivan pondered and said, "Your exasperation with her is caused by her behavior toward you and your interpretation of such behavior as provocation intended to stimulate exasperation."

"Hmm, I think you're being tautological."

"I will take that into consideration.  However, please consider that sometimes the contemplation of tautologies can yield useful insights."

Who programmed that into you?
Matt thought. 

The cut of his now-professionally-tailored clothing allowed him to enter Victory Square without being challenged by the ubiquitous constables.  He wandered past marble-faced upscale business establishments:  restaurants, theaters, baths, and – most upscale of all – bordellos. 

As a former resident of Seattle, Matt impulsively stopped at an open-air cafe and ordered a cup of cappuccino which – praise the mentors – tasted just like the ones in Seattle.  The only difference was the cup, which was hand-made from clay and had an emblem of a naked woman riding a dolphin while holding a harpoon above her head. 

He watched the throng pass as he sipped, but his thoughts were still in the basement library. 

"She just – hey, Ivan, take a picture of that guy!"

Ivan took a close-up snapshot before the passerby vanished into the crowd.  He showed it to Matt.

“Now compare it against all the faces recorded in your video telemetry archives.  I'm sure I've seen him before.”

It took a while even for Ivan, but he did come up with a match.

Matt read the caption that Ivan provided.  “'Wilson Lang, Star Seed Project Pod Prep Supervisor.'  Now I remember.  He was one of the last people I saw on Earth just before they sealed me into my pod.  No wonder he looked familiar.”

“Matt,” Ivan said.  “I was briefly in contact with the implant of Wilson Lang at the time you were loaded into the star pod.  The person who passed us moments ago does not have an implant.”

“Because it's not Wilson Lang.  It has to be his great great great – well, it's a descendant.  But not really a descendent either, because they probably just copied his DNA without his knowledge and loaded it into the seeder probe.”

“By 'they' you mean the leaders of the secret project to create life on Delta Pavonis III.”

“Yeah.  The secret project to irresponsibly create human life.”  He paused.  “No wonder that girl back at Fish Lake looked so much like Mom.  They may have copied the genomes of everyone in the Star Seed Project medical data base and loaded the files into the seeder probe.  I suppose then we'll be meeting other likenesses of people we knew on the Project – whether they were part of the conspiracy or not.”

“Use of person-specific genomes to create clones or other forms of progeny without consent is illegal.”

“Another reason they did it two hundred trillion kilometers from Earth.” 

“Again, by 'they' you mean – “

“Yes, same 'they.'  This whole planet is their experimental genetics playground.”  Matt downed the rest of his cappuccino in a gulp.  “I'll bet that mutant back at the house knows more about it than she's letting on.”

Matt slammed his cup.  He got up and left Victory Square, and strode rapidly through the streets, back to the House of Archimedes.  Inside the courtyard he found Jaros watering the roses. 

"Where's Carrot?" Matt asked.

"Buying wood for the stove," Jaros replied.  "She does it every day.  Carries the bundles all by herself.  Isn't she amazing?  So helpful and strong!"

The normally dour-faced head servant was gushing.  Matt suppressed an eye-roll.  He'd suspected psycho-manipulative chemicals at work in altering the perceptions of the household toward their mutant invader, but Ivan's scans turned up nothing of the sort.  Apparently Carrot charmed simply by being respectful, cheerful, and helpful.  Except toward Matt.

"Yeah," Matt replied to Jaros.  "So strong."

He stomped up the steps to his room and drew the door curtain to block sight from the hallway.  He picked up a candle stick from the nightstand.

"All right," he said.  "We need to practice hypermode a lot more than we've been doing.  So right now, I'm going to toss this across the room, and then be over there in time to catch it."

"Matt, while your training progress has been satisfactory, I don't think you're ready yet for an intermediate level hypermode exercise."

"We may not have that much more time before we have to use hypermode.  Ivan, please initiate hypermode warm-up now."

"Very well.  Suspending automatic pain management functions for hypermode standby.  Please remember that you must give verbal command to re-initiate automatic pain management."

"Yeah, I know the routine.”

After what seemed like an eternal wait, Ivan said, “Hypermode in standby mode.”

“Okay, here goes.  Get ready to activate.  One, two, three –"  Matt tossed the candle stick and shouted,  "Hypermode!" 

The sunlight filtering through the window grew red and dim.  The breeze rustling the tree leaves stilled.  A sparrow's chirping dropped to baritone.  Matt felt as if kilos were lifted from his frame.  He grinned.  He was getting the hang of this! 

The candle stick, still hurling from his toss, seemed to hover at the top of its arc.  Ivan supplied a countdown timer at the corner of Matt's field of vision.  It started at three point zero seconds, and went to two point nine, two point eight . . . each tenth of a second seemed to Matt to last a full second.  The candle stick lazily entered the descent portion of its trajectory. 

Matt coiled his legs.  Two point seven.  He lunged.  Two point six.  He flew past the candle stick.  Two point five.  He slammed against the wall.

The counter aborted to zero.  The sun turned to yellow and bright, the chirping and breeze to normal rates.  Matt felt his full weight, and then some.  He collapsed.