Edda (3 page)

“Possibly, my lord.”

“Well, if they do, you can certainly peruse them,” he lied.

Chapter 3

BEYOND THE AIR LOCK

“That went rather
well.” Princess threw herself onto a plush divan as soon as they had returned to her large bedchamber and Ambassador had closed the door behind them. But for the silence suggesting that the princess was awaiting a response, Ambassador would have allowed himself an indulgence. Walking into the room just now, it suddenly occurred to him, was like having the room rush upon him at near light speed. All the colors seemed to have been shifted toward the violet end of the spectrum. This was Penelope’s choice, of course, from the purple diaphanous materials that hung from the top of her huge four-poster bed to the dark blue carpet and the walls whose velvet texture was a deep shade of violet. Could such a melancholy atmosphere be achieved by a kind of visual Doppler effect?

Assuming, however, that a response was expected of him, the Ambassador did not explore the thought further; in any case, it was foolish of him to engage in such idle speculation.

“Oh, I’m glad you think so.” He took a step toward her dressing table, where Princess had seated herself and was looking at the mirror. “If you don’t mind me saying, you seemed rather upset.”

“Really? For a diplomat, you seem a little slow on the uptake. That was all negotiating posture.”

“Negotiating posture?” he repeated slowly.

“Exactly. And I got what I wanted, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose so. What did you want?”

“The promise that in return for scripting the new gun I would get to run the systems that look after my body and I would get to see the original recordings of the time I was found as a baby. Speaking of which, why don’t you go off and check the files for me while I do my exercises.”

“You are going to exercise now?” This was unexpected. Penelope hated returning to her physical body, an emotion that was quite understandable given that in Edda she had a world full of beautiful creations and perfect health. But unless she gave some attention to her human body, its muscles would atrophy and she would die. Being the most empathetic of Lord Scanthax’s incarnations, Ambassador was capable of being sorry for her. It must be dreadful to be human and have one’s consciousness depend on a very fallible body, which even under the best of circumstances would only last a hundred years or so.

“Allow me to accompany you during your exercises.” He could do so in the sense that there were several cameras monitoring her and he could speak through a number of broadcasting devices, including one that she usually kept clipped to her ear.

“No, no, it’s just routine. You’d be bored. And I’m very anxious to see those recordings.”

She was definitely up to something.

“Very well, Princess. Call me on your return.”

No sooner had Ambassador left her purple chamber than, rather uncharacteristically, he broke into a run in order to reach the Feast Hall, slide open a secret door in the walls of the fireplace, and get to the hidden basement room as soon as he possibly could. It was a long run through a whole wing of the castle, and the Ambassador was reduced to zero-boost stamina and the necessity of walking even before he came to the rungs that allowed him to enter the control room. There, the monitors showed scenes from Penelope’s human apartments, a rather austere set of three interconnected living units whose bare white walls contrasted with her sumptuously decorated chamber in Lord Scanthax’s castle. Ambassador was just in time, for Penelope had regained consciousness and was unplugging herself from the tubes that fed her body and removed the waste. Painfully, she dragged herself to her feet and began a series of bends. Her body was unaesthetic, like that of a poorly designed unit. The limbs were out of all proportion to a torso so slender you could see the ribs. It was no wonder she was shivering, because quite apart from the fact that heating energy had to be kept to a minimum, she had such low levels of fat that her body was permanently struggling with the cold.

“Whoever is watching, won’t you turn the heating up a bit?”

Exactly. This was another reason why unscheduled exercising was a most unlikely reason for her to want to return to her human body at this time; had it been a planned return, the temperature would have been raised a little for her.

“No one there? We’ll see.”

What was she doing? The angle on the main screen wasn’t too helpful, but screen three made the purpose of her actions clear. With a sense of dismay, Ambassador took a seat and bent forward to the microphone.

“Penelope, why are you putting on your survival suit?”

“Is that you, Ambassador? Didn’t you say you were going to check the old recordings for me?” There was a hint of a laugh in her voice, a scornful ring of victory.

“I did, and perhaps I still will, once you have satisfied me as to your actions.”

“I’m just going for a stroll. Don’t mind me.”

But he did mind. Very much.

“You understand that there are many dangers outside the air lock? We cannot protect you there.”

She did not respond, but resolutely zipped up the inner jacket.

“Oh, do be careful, Penelope. A mistake out there will kill you.”

Her decision to leave her chambers was probably further evidence that her rational functions were deteriorating. There was nothing for her outside of her living quarters, just an abandoned city that no longer had the atmosphere to support human life.

It was extravagant and probably wasteful, but Ambassador took the precaution of activating one of the robots near Penelope’s apartments. Her boots were on. Now the helmet. Lastly, her thin fingers were encased in gloves that slotted home with a twist into the arms of the suit. Had she done everything correctly?

“Penelope, if you must open the air lock, do please run a systems check first. It has been a long time since you used the suit.”

“It’s all green.” Her voice was labored; she was breathing heavily just from the effort of moving with the extra weight of the suit.

“And have you sufficient oxygen for your purpose?”

“A little over . . . four hours.” She stepped over the lip of the air lock. “Freedom!” Her attempt at jauntiness did nothing to reassure Ambassador. What would it mean if she were to die now? Only Lord Scanthax would understand the full implications of such a loss, but Ambassador knew enough to worry for them all. Without Penelope’s ability to script, the armies of Saga, with their high-technology weapons, could counterattack and perhaps even bring to ruination all that Lord Scanthax had achieved, as well as eliminate him and all his manifestations. Even if such a scenario did not come about, on a personal level the death of the human might well mean the end of his own individuality. Ambassador’s only function in recent years had been to act as intermediary with Penelope, and with her gone it was quite likely he would be downgraded to a diplomatic unit of zero autonomy at the next redistribution ceremony.

Such gloomy speculation filled Ambassador’s thoughts as he watched Penelope step into the air lock and seal it behind her. He could no longer see her, but was attentive to the sound of her ragged breathing. His gaze strayed to screen four and the image of a stretch of corridor, seen from the camera in the robot’s eye. It was moving as rapidly as it could in the direction of the air lock but had to cease rolling from time to time in order to shift recent debris from its path, rocks that had spilled from cracks in the wall made by the planet’s occasional shudders.

Penelope was out and moving, albeit with frequent rests, during which she leaned one arm against a corridor wall. Ambassador watched from a camera some distance away as she walked eastward.

“Where are you going, Princess?”

“Library,” she wheezed.

“But you can see a view of the library from the screens in your rooms. A robot can fetch whatever you want.”

“I don’t know . . . what I want . . . need to look around.”

“But it’s nearly a kilometer away; you are in no condition.” It was surprising how high a pitch his voice reached when he was under strain. This screech was rather undiplomatic in its effect, and Ambassador fought to steady himself.

This was an extremely anxious moment. The effort involved in the journey was clearly too great for Penelope, given the frail condition of her human body. Ambassador had another concern now—to add to the many involving mechanical accidents, suit failure, and so forth—which was that perhaps her body might wear out in some way. Was it possible for the human heart or brain to stop functioning in times of stress? Doctor would know, but contacting him would alert Lord Scanthax, and while a full report of these events would have to be given in due course, for some reason Ambassador wanted to defer that unpleasant moment, at least until Penelope was safely back in her room. Right now, though, she turned a corner and because the nearest camera was defective, he could not see her progress. The robot was moving well but was still some way from the library.

“Penelope, can you provide me with an explanation for your actions?”

“Later . . . hard to talk . . . just now.” She was indeed panting heavily.

It was a curious feature of the human body that the same organs required to obtain oxygen from the air pumped the exhalations through their vocal cords to produce sound. In a way it was rather elegant, but the disadvantage of the design was evident now. If her voice were synthesized and the synthesizer were on its own circuit, she would be able to converse in steady and regular tones instead of these gasps.

“Damn!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Some spillage.”

Had she stopped? Her breathing was settling down to a more healthy rhythm.

“There are rocks here, and the roof doesn’t look too secure.”

“Please wait, Penelope.” Immediately, her words had summoned up an image of her poor human body broken underneath great stones. It was a terrible image, one of personal failure and also one of reckless waste, after fifteen years of enormous investment. “I have a robot on its way, coming to assist you. It will be there in approximately twelve minutes.”

“I’m fine. There’s enough of a gap.”

“Oh please be careful. Don’t tear the suit.”

Listening intently to the audio feed, Ambassador became even more distressed. Each breath of the human was labored and hard-drawn, now and then accompanied by rustling sounds and grunts. One snag on a sharp rock and her suit would leak heat and oxygen. Given how slow she was moving, it would almost be impossible for her to make it back to the air lock. No matter how often Ambassador glanced at screen four, the robot was not going to be able to reach Penelope in the next few minutes.

“Go me,” she gasped.

“But why? Why can’t a robot serve you? We can spare you all this.”

“I . . . don’t . . . trust . . . you.”

Ambassador did not respond. Irresponsible and reckless as Penelope’s actions were, it was true that certain data had been encrypted and hidden from the human, as it was deemed likely to lower her morale to zero. Not that she would find the truth in the old library, but her intuition that the stories she had been told from the age of nine were not entirely free from bias was correct. It was a delicate matter, and not even he had access to all the records concerned. Because Lord Scanthax had constructed no other manifestations at the time, his was the only living memory of those early days when the human baby had been discovered. But whatever the validity of her suspicions, Penelope’s current behavior was quite inexcusable.

“Let us negotiate like civilized beings. Do not risk destroying yourself. We can find a mutually satisfactory solution to all your concerns.”

There was no response. Nor were there any more of those deep ragged breaths. Instead, if he suspended all motion and listened carefully, he could just make out a very light movement of air back and forth over the microphone.

“Oh Penelope, answer me! Oh, what have you done?”

Clasping his hands together in fear, Ambassador watched stretches of corridor roll by on screen four. It was impossible to contemplate the consequences of her being dead and equally impossible not to imagine the worst. At last, the robot arrived at the rockfall and there was something to relieve Ambassador’s mind from its feverish circling. Systematically, the robot widened the path the girl had made, so that it could continue on past the blockage. It was burning through several power packs of energy, but that didn’t seem important now.

The body was a gray lump on the ground a short distance from the doors of the old library. It did not seem that the suit was leaking, for as the robot drew near, Ambassador could see that the limbs were still pressurized rather than deflated as he had feared. This robot had hands that were modeled on those of a human, with four fingers and an opposable thumb, although they were much larger and more powerful. It swiveled its hands above the body, then very carefully clasped the suit behind the human’s neck and at the small of her back. Through the girl’s microphone, Ambassador could hear the whirring of the robot’s engine as it raised her a few inches. She was hanging facedown, limbs still trailing on the ground, looking like a forlorn kitten in the mouth of her mother.

“What?” Penelope muttered.

“Oh joy, you live. Just relax. The robot has you. It is bringing you home.”

“Library.” Her voice was slurred.

“Not now. We’ll talk about that when you are safe again.”

Having executed a three-point turn, the robot began the journey back with its precious load, struggling to keep its balance. It took a very long time to get the girl through the rockfall area, because it could not risk dragging her limbs over the stones, for fear of tearing the suit. Instead, the robot found the best solution was to move her torso a short distance, then, one at a time, move her legs and arms, then her torso again. Ambassador did not offer any alternative instruction to the robot. Slow but safe was the correct approach. For the robot, the minutes consumed in these patient maneuvers would have meant nothing, but Ambassador suffered a painful continuation of his state of anxiety. It was a very long time until he could begin to relax, when at last the body had been placed in the air lock and was therefore accessible to one of the domestic robots inside. But even after Penelope’s suit had been removed and she was lying once more on her bed, drips inserted, Ambassador could not be fully certain that no harm had been done to her.