Artemis Invaded (24 page)

The only puzzling thing was that Ring kept speaking of the armor as if it were complete, when segments of the arms and legs were missing. Griffin wondered if the parts were among those in the fabrication areas on the lower floor. If so, Ring would probably walk down there and pick out the ones he needed from those on the racks.

A light rain was drizzling down when they stepped outside, but the camp itself was relatively dry. Bruin had brought a large canvas tarpaulin with him and had rigged it into a sort of pavilion covering the area where they ate and socialized. Enough days had gone by that the camp had acquired all sorts of little comforts: logs as benches, stumps to serve as low tables, lanterns positioned where they best augmented the firelight.

Adara was lounging on the ground, playing marbles with Sand Shadow. From the lash of the puma's tail, it was clear she was winning, but Adara was giving her a good challenge. Bruin was busy carving slices from some sort of roast, while Kipper arranged bowls of roasted tubers and cattail shoots.

“No sign of Terrell?” Griffin asked after he had greeted Adara and promised Sand Shadow he'd join the game after they'd eaten.

“Not yet,” Bruin said. “I think we might see him as early as tonight. He didn't plan to stay in Crystalaire longer than it would take to gather up rumors and buy supplies. What's drizzle here will be a more solid rain below, and the clouds aren't moving out anytime soon. I'm guessing Terrell will take advantage of the weather to reach Maiden's Tear unseen.”

Griffin realized he was happy at the thought of his friend's return. Once he might have viewed Terrell's absence as an opportunity to see if Adara might like to take a romantic stroll down near the lake but, though she was as lovely as ever, he found himself curiously numb at the idea of getting her alone.

Maybe I'm tired of being turned down,
he thought. The excuse didn't seem quite right, so he tried another.
Maybe I'm starting to think of her more as a sister.
That didn't fit either. Griffin's three sisters—Boudicca, Jada, and Thalestris—were all older than him, and he'd never been very close to them. Boudicca had many talents, most centered around sports that emphasized individual performance, rather than teamwork. Jada was the one Griffin should have been closest to but, although she shared his quieter temperament, he had never gotten over the feeling that she viewed most people—himself included—with detached amusement. Thalestris was like their oldest brother, Siegfried, a warrior by nature and by training. True, she preferred working in small units, while he had commanded large armies, but her interests and Griffin's rarely met.

Thali would like the spaveks, though,
Griffin thought uncomfortably.
She'd like them a lot. A small unit equipped with them could give one of Siegfried's big armies a real challenge.

He was glad when conversation turned to Adara's conversations with Artemis.

“I learned a great deal,” Adara said. “Most of which makes me realize how much more there is to learn. Artemis herself doesn't remember why the seegnur felt a need for a planetary intelligence.”

“That's odd,” Griffin said. “Leto remembers all too much about her purpose. I wish she didn't remember quite so much.”

“But there's a big difference in what happened to them,” Adara reminded him. “Leto appears to have been shut down systematically, the way a gardener wraps roses against being killed over the winter. Artemis was attacked, actively disabled. She may not remember what her purpose was or what she could do, but those responsible for the slaughter of the seegnur and death of machines certainly felt they were better off with her gone. They went to great trouble to preserve both the planet and some of the facilities, so I don't think what they did to her was an accident.”

“Do you think they believed they'd killed her?” Kipper asked, his hushed voice filled with awe. While he had been perfectly prepared to accept the idea of a planetary spirit in a general sense, he'd been reluctant to accept the idea of a planet who could talk to members of their company. Once he did, his disbelief had become wonder. His opinion of Adara, already quite high, had shifted to something like awe.

“I'm not certain,” Adara admitted honestly, “and neither is Artemis. All she remembers is that she was made to serve, but what form that service was supposed to take, she is still trying to discover.”

Griffin frowned. “How complete is her coverage? Can she see into orbit?”

Adara shook her head. “Not yet—but she has this sense that she should be able to do so. On land, she is managing very well, especially on the surface. Over water, less so. Every day, she works on growing more complete. This has made her harder to talk with. When we first met, she was much less complex. It was difficult, but not impossible, for her to ease into perceptions a human—or a puma—could share. Now … It's as if she has a host of senses I can't even imagine.”

“Does she still need you?” Kipper asked.

“I think so,” Adara said. “She may have the senses but she can't make sense of them, especially as more and more information floods in. In a way, the limited perceptions Sand Shadow and I have—and the fact that we perceive differently, not only from her, but from each other—is a help.”

Listening, Griffin decided that maybe for all Leto's indirect duplicity, maybe he didn't have it so bad. She was more like the sort of artificial intelligences he had some familiarity with—crafted to communicate with humans and limited in scope. Artemis, though, Artemis was sounding more and more like a god.

*   *   *

Julyan did not doubt that the Old One was steering the Dane brothers—he refused to think of them as “seegnur,” no matter the evidence—for his own purposes. The Danes certainly were aware that the Old One had his own agenda, but they thought it involved jockeying for local power. The Old One had not told them about his very long life, nor about the complex plans that had been ruined when Adara had raided the facility on Mender's Isle. When Siegfried had jumped to the conclusion that the Old One had been using Mender's Isle as a secret military base, and that the men whose corpses occasionally turned up had been part of his army, the Old One did not disabuse him of this notion.

Julyan felt no urge to inform any of the Danes, not even—especially not—Alexander, as to the sort of man they were dealing with in “Maxwell.” His decision was not out of particular loyalty to the Old One, although Julyan did think his future was brighter with the Old One than with Alexander. Rather, Julyan chose to keep the Old One's secrets because he was learning the limits of Alexander's control and had hopes of eventually winning free.

At first that control had seemed absolute. Julyan still blushed when he thought of the things he had done then. Now he realized that unless Alexander phrased something as a direct order, he, Julyan, had some leeway in how he could comply. Even when Alexander gave a direct order—such as the one that forbade Julyan to give away what Alexander had done to him—Julyan discovered that he had some room to resist. The less specific or longer term the command, the less tightly it held. Julyan experimented by writing a report of his degradation on the damp sand. Shaping the words was so difficult that sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped onto the sand as he wrote, but he could do it—even though Alexander had forbidden such written communication.

Most of the time Julyan did comply, no matter how humiliating the act Alexander suggested. However, the hunter's pride and self-respect were assuaged, because now he was doing Alexander's bidding to preserve his own modicum of free will. Carefully, he hid his growing anger at being treated as a combination toy and body servant, waiting for the day when Alexander would be vulnerable and Julyan could freely take his revenge.

I'll wait until he puts Adara under my command as he has promised he will do. Alexander will keep that promise, for he will see her forced to be my slave as an extention of his own power … I'll make sure Adara has no room for escape through a mere suggestion. Then, maybe when his mouth is full of her breast—for I know he will torment me by using her himself, even after she is “mine”—or he has his tongue deep in her throat, then my knife will find his heart.

As he imagined raping the woman while she lay bathed in his enemy's blood, Julyan's eyes narrowed to slits and his breath came fast.

*   *   *

Julyan was given some relief from Alexander's attentions when the Old One revealed the location of an extraordinarily well-hidden door to the Danes.

“Griffin located it,” the Old One explained, his words gentle mockery, for none of the Danes had spotted the incongruity in the placement of some machine that had been Griffin's clue. “However, try as he might, he could not get it open.”

Alexander was recruited to assist in figuring out how the door's locks might be unsealed. Julyan gathered that Alexander and Griffin's interests overlapped, especially in the areas of history. Meanwhile, Falkner used a variety of devices that could see through apparently solid materials to inspect the concealed machinery. In the end, not even access to some sort of library aboard the Dane's orbiting ship provided Alexander with enough information to figure out the lock's complexities.

“I hate having to force the door,” Siegfried said regretfully, “but so much of the Old Imperials' technology remains a mystery to us. Perhaps when it's open, we can figure it out.”

Working with tools so delicate that Julyan wondered at their strength, Falkner probed and pried, eventually doing something that caused the panel—formerly nearly invisible, so carefully did it mesh with its surroundings—to hiss and sigh. Falkner rose, stepping back to catch the panel as it fell toward him.

“Give me a hand, Sig,” he said. “The damn thing's astonishingly heavy. Bulkhead grade, maybe even hull grade. What in the name of Donin's crossed eyes were they keeping here?”

Siegfried joined his brother. In the end, it took Alexander and Julyan as well to move the panel to one side.

“I think,” Falkner said, “now that's it's loose, I can figure out how to rehang it. It probably won't be as well hidden, but we won't need to wrestle it—or leave it open so that just anyone can go in there.”

“Or,” said the Old One, shining one of the Danes' amazingly bright lights down the newly revealed tunnel, “so that anything can come out.”

*   *   *

Terrell did not make it back the night following Adara's return, but Sand Shadow brought him into camp as the next afternoon was shifting into evening. The factotum's long hair was so soaked the brown looked black. He'd let his usual dark shadow grow into a short, full beard, and his back was bent under a heavy pack.

“You look,” Adara said, “like something the cat dragged in.”

Sand Shadow gave a whistling “whee-ow” of laughter and butted Terrell with her head. Terrell reached down and affectionately slapped the puma on one shoulder, then set down his burden.

“She pretty much did drag me in,” he admitted. “I lost the trail—it's faint enough at the best of times—in the clouds and if Sand Shadow hadn't come along to guide me, I'd have had to hunker down and wait for morning. It would have been,” he added thoughtfully, holding his hands over the fire, “a miserable night. I'm chilled to the bone, summer weather or not.”

“Dry off,” Adara suggested, holding out a towel. “Change your clothes. I'll get you something hot to drink.”

“I don't suppose,” Terrell said, his brown eyes large and wistful, “you could help me get these wet things off? My fingers are so stiff.”

“Fingers, eh?” Adara chuckled. “Is that all? Kipper, help the factotum. I'll get him something to warm him up.”

“You could…” Terrell began, but his grin was playful. He did accept Kipper's help with the fastenings on his shirt, so Adara guessed his complaints hadn't been completely flirtation.

She put three heavy dollops of honey into Terrell's tea, giving him the blend Bruin made himself that included sour cherry and a spicy powder made from tiny, fiery chiles. It was good for chasing away colds before they happened and tasted very nice, too.

Bruin lumbered in shortly thereafter. He and Honeychild had been gathering honeycomb, gently smoking the already drowsy bees, before breaking loose chucks of the sticky stuff. After giving Terrell an approving pat, he went to help Adara unpack the supplies.

“No wonder,” he said, lifting a skin of wine, “the pack was so heavy. I'll be glad for this. I've missed my mead and beer.”

“No mead or beer,” Terrell said. “The wine's the thick, fortified stuff. I figured we could thin it with water and it would be less of a burden to carry. Still, the last bit of the trail, I was regretting the indulgence. Where's Griffin?”

Kipper jumped to his feet. “I forgot to go fetch him and Ring! Can you do without me, Terrell?”

Terrell winked at him. “I think so. Maybe Adara will take mercy on me if you're gone.”

The boy laughed and scampered off. Bare-chested but in dry trousers, Terrell returned to tousling his hair dry. His voice emerged somewhat muffled.

“So Griff is back to being overly focused?”

Bruin answered. “He comes out nicely enough for dinner and usually to sleep, but he has to be reminded. By dawn he's grabbing a mouthful of whatever is left from the night before and gone. I send in food when Ring goes to join him later. Ring makes sure he eats. He's nearly as determined about that as he is about getting that spavek ready for a trial.”

Terrell shrugged into a shirt and started doing up the buttons. “Astonishing how cold you can get in a cloud, even with midsummer gone by. It's the wet and no sunlight.” His voice dropped, as if he spoke mostly to himself. “I thought Griff was pushing himself. His dreams…”