Maximum Ice (26 page)

After a time, he began to pack up again, and she let him have the solitude. She needed time to absorb this tale herself. It was a tender story, but dark. So sudden, earth’s downfall. And not just historical fact, flesh-and-blood fact: Tolav, his grandmother. The oranges.

Before she packed up the radio, she hailed the ship. There was no immediate answer. Before Wolf started up the sled, she tried once more. Anatolly should hear this tale of the amulet. It resolved some questions; and it raised several new ones. Lucian Orr; the matter of the
subroutine…

But the radio leaked only static in reply

For the first time since she began her sled journey, there was no answer from Ship.

The Keep slept. The north wing lay quiescent, except for whispers of laser light, the eternal background noise of Ice.

Nit turned from her sentry post at the corridor opening. “Please hurry!” she whispered.

“Almost done…” Kellian bent closer to the keyboard to see in the dim gallery. It was a clumsy arrangement, working on a tronic computer and translating to an optical platform, but of course no one knew how to make an optical computer—except Ice.

“You’ve been saying Almost done’ for an hour now!” Nit was peering around the doorway from time to time in quick jerks.

Hilde was off on one of her midnight trysts, leaving a gap in
dormitory security. Now Kellian would by God get extra time on the node. And she needed the cloak of darkness to take her wafer and download her obo work into the tronic station.

Nit made a good, if skittish, ally. She dared more than she thought. And she was grateful to Kellian for helping her with her instruction in computer programming.

“I’m stupid,” Nit had said when Kellian helped her. “They call me Nitwit. Except they can’t, because it has two syllables.”

“You’re not stupid, you just don’t learn by rote, the way the nuns teach.”

“How do I learn?” Nit asked. Large brown eyes gazed at Kellian with open devotion.

“By doing.”

Sometimes, Kellian had let Nit try to write programming code, letting her make mistakes and fix them. A smile skittered across Nit’s face when she got the fixes right.

Now, Kellian had to concentrate on her own learning curve. The keyboard clattered under her fingers.

A sound.

Kellian stopped inputting. Around her, Ice hovered, somnolent. Against the silence, she heard a distant cry

Nit said, “A snow witch.” She looked out into the corridor as though she thought one might be lurking there. “Sometimes at night you can hear them wailing.” At Kellian’s look, Nit said, “The brothers use them for sport.”

“The nuns allow that?”

Nit shrugged. “The brothers have to discharge their aggression. It’s the best way.”

Kellian turned back to the keyboard. “They should put them out of their misery.” It was disgusting to torture the grotesque creatures. The preserves routinely euthanized the ill. Well, perhaps the brothers had more power there than she first thought.

Nit jerked back from the doorway. “Rat shit! Someone’s coming.”

Kellian toggled off the node. Grabbing Nit by the arm, she ducked behind the data console, crouching.

They waited, hardly breathing. Nit trembled at her side.

The hall was black. They stared hard, watching for the telltale deeper black of a nun’s robe, listening for the padding of feet. Had the nun seen their probe lights? Hope to God she thought the lights originated from Ice and not a wayward novice from Ancou preserve.

Kellian had always gone her own way and didn’t plan to change now. She worked on her own ideas by night and Sister Patricia Margaret’s by day. Sister’s approach was to match the signals from Ice, feeding back its own data with identical data, or slightly revised data. It was a kind of “We hear you” approach based on the theory that Ice was programmed to communicate with people. An interesting enough idea, but even Kellian thought Sister Patricia Margaret’s “signals” might be the height of wishful thinking.

A black shadow fell on the archway. The shadow passed.

After several minutes, Nit scurried to the opening. She pronounced an all clear, her voice breaking up like bad data.

Kellian pounced on the workstation, rushing to complete her data transfer: her obo program, wiped clean of knowledge, configured to adapt and learn—but in a crystal world, instead of a human one.

Nit whispered, “Hilde will kill us if she gets back and we’re not in bed.”

But Kellian wouldn’t be intimidated by Hilde, because the dormitory dictator was vulnerable. She had a lover among the brothers. So Kellian wasn’t the only one with secrets.

“Oh…” Nit said from behind her.

“Hush, can’t you?” Kellian snapped, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Oh…” Nit moaned again.

When Kellian turned to upbraid her, there stood Sister Patricia Margaret Logue, holding Nit by the ear.

Kellian didn’t hesitate. She pushed Enter.

Sister Patricia Margaret’s eyes were mere slits. “Stand, Kellian Bourassa.”

Kellian did so, feeling worse for the paralyzed Nit than for herself.

The sister’s free hand was on her cane. It looked like it could deliver a bad blow, but the sister needn’t deliver her own beatings when she had lesser nuns—and Hilde—to do her bidding.

Giving Nit’s ear a last twist, she turned to the girl. “I never knew you for a dolt, my girl. Was I wrong?”

“Yes, Sister,” Nit stammered.

“Then you
are
a dolt?”

“Yes, Sister.”

Sister Patricia Margaret closed her eyes in sour resignation. “Nita, go to bed.”

As Nit rushed off to obey, the old nun’s cane gave her a none-too-gentle prod in the backside. Then she slowly advanced on Kellian. The nun bent to the keyboard and clicked away, scanning the display.

She turned back to her prodigal student. “You defy me, girl.”

Kellian made herself look the old nun in the eye.

“Has my forbearance taught you to overreach your station?” Sister Patricia Margaret nodded to herself, drawing what looked like a bad conclusion.

“I pressured Nit. It’s not her fault.”

The cane came up and pointed at Kellian’s left eye. “Don’t
presume to advise me, postulant. I know where things stand with you and Nit.”

Kellian faced the cane. There could be no fleeing the woman, not here in the Keep.

The nun continued: “You think it’s a game. Sneaking out. Dumping your tawdry programs into our system. Oh yes, I know what you’ve done.” The cane came down, clanking on the floor. “You think you’re still in the preserve, where you could make a mess because no one expected better of you.”

A flare of light bloomed from the corridor. Ice’s luminous data, recorded by the tronic stations for later scanning. Sister paid no attention.

“You are
not
at the preserve. This is a far different order of things, mark me, girl. The Zoft has existed for six thousand years. It is the repository of human civilization and knowledge since the time of the Ecos. This is not your miserable preserve with its foretellers and traders.” Her eyes pinned Kellian for a moment. “If you want to go back, it’s too late.”

“No, Sister,” Kellian said truthfully. It was unthinkable to go back. She had never belonged among miners and foretellers.

The nun snorted. “Well. That spares me from turning you out into the snows.”

She eased herself into a chair, leaning on the cane. It was still dark, and Kellian couldn’t make out the nun’s expression, but her voice began in a softer tone: “I won’t prescribe a penance. You expected one, but you’re wrong again. I’m judged by the conduct of my girls. And right now, I can’t afford to expose your stupidity. We’ve lost Ice nodes, you remember? Now we have only three. Mother Superior tolerates this work only out of fondness for an old stalwart.”

Her voice dropped even further. “Your success is tied to mine, Kellian. We will sink or rise together, mark me.”

Kellian felt abashed. What began as a daring quest now seemed less righteous.

“I don’t know why I tolerate you,” the old nun said, more to herself than to Kellian. “I grow too soft. But your boldness intrigued me. We’ve become so staid.”

“I’m sorry Sister.” For the most part, she meant it.

A smile curled up one side of the nun’s mouth. “Sorry that we’re staid? So am I.” She sighed. “So, my girl, what are you up to?”

“Up to?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head toward the computer node. “What did you dump into the system?” Her voice dropped. “The truth, girl.”

Well, the truth began with how the nuns had gone wrong with Ice. “We’re getting lost in a mass of data,” Kellian said. “An overwhelming amount of encrypted codes. And even in our own group, we’re losing our way. Because the matching work is operating according to our own reasoning steps.” She was sorry to have to tell the sister that her work was all wrong, but it was so. “I redesigned my obo program, removing everything it learned about the preserve environment.”

Sister Patricia Margaret nodded. “So your dumb obo program is now even dumber.”

“Yes.” She plunged on. “It’s a plastic program that can adapt and select new search paths, depending on what it finds. To keep it from getting tangled in reasoning chains that lead nowhere, the obo program will follow the path defined by the smallest number of logical relationships, or the most elegant equations. So it has a sieve program to filter things just based on how simple they are.”

The nun tapped on the golden carving of the cane. “So you think we’re contaminated by what we know….” Her voice trailed off.

“Yes,” Kellian said, “and I think it strengthens the encryption to attack it directly.”

“Perhaps.” Sister Patricia Margaret gazed at the plane of Ice in front of her, into its endless body of crystal. “Perhaps it does.” Her hand tapped on the cane’s gilded crown. “But you might have asked me, first.”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Very well, then, Kellian Bourassa. I’ll admit to being interested. And I will sanction some time on your obo scheme.” She held up her hand to quell any display of gratitude. “But you will still work with my group on the main project. I’ll find some time on the nodes for you—but no more midnight raids, you hear?”

Kellian didn’t try to conceal her sense of triumph. “Thank you, Sister.”

“I’m an old fool,” the nun muttered. “I was like you once. Full of fire, eager to make my mark. We’re alike in more ways than you might think, Kellian. You’re going to make a bad politician, like me. If I were going to give you advice, I’d tell you that the paths of our order will demand more agility than the logic paths of Ice. But you won’t listen any more than I did.”

There was an awkward silence. Kellian could not imagine anyone more unlike her than this old nun. But she felt emboldened to ask a question that had been fomenting for some time.

“Sister, why do you think Ice is trying to communicate?”

The cane twirled in the sister’s hand. After a time she said, “My belief is that it’s trying to achieve a program goal. Communication—with us—is necessary to fulfill that goal.”

“But if it’s necessary, why does Ice communicate so badly?”

“Now that’s the real question, isn’t it?” Sister Patricia Margaret rose slowly from her chair. “I might say that Ice is an expert system with complex knowledge but lacking in common
sense. Common sense of the sort required for discourse with an outside entity.”

Kellian said, “Or maybe it has a goal conflict. One that defeats its communication activity.”

The sister turned to go. “All very interesting, Kellian, but it’s late, and unlike you, I need a good night’s sleep.”

Kellian followed her to the corridor. “But what if it did?”

The old nun was walking away. She waved her hand tiredly “Let it go, postulant. It’s late.”

Kellian hurried to catch up. “But mightn’t that explain why Ice is failing to interface with us?”

The sister’s voice trailed back. “We’ve never thought in terms of
Ice failing. We’ve always thought we’ve
failed.”

“So you agree?” Kellian persisted.

Sister Patricia Margaret mumbled, “No such thing. You’re not the first newcomer to think she had everything figured out. And harebrained theories are best entertained in the sober light of day.”

The sister paused at the great doors guarding the wing. “By the way, how are you getting along with Hilde?”

“Well enough.”

The sister’s mouth curled a little. “Very politic.” The smile faded. “I’ve decided to elevate you to the white robe, my dear Your talents don’t belong in dun colors.” When Kellian gaped, the sister continued: “You’ll share dormitory supervision with Hilde.”

“Yes, Sister,” Kellian managed to say. White robe… that was two steps up, skipping gray robes entirely

Sister Patricia Margaret nodded, slipping through the door. As she left, she murmured, “That ought to shake things up a little.”

Kellian watched her go, aware she had just glimpsed a bit of nunnery politics.

Knowing Hilde, she figured there would be more to come.

Wolf was crouched next to the sled, using his knife to poke through the scat. He flicked out a lump of something that looked like wadded hair. It tumbled away, driven by the wind. Wolf still wore his amulet, she noted. The English words
read me
had been displayed on his chest all this time. The stone released its story when Wolf finally trusted her enough to allow her to pay him for the privilege of listening. The rules of his world were both odd and familiar. She was getting to know the man.

A few, large flakes of snow, riding the stiff breeze, caught in Wolf’s beard. This was real snow, from the lowering clouds. In this arid land it was rare to see snow, according to Wolf. It collected on the plain of Ice, rippling in the wind like the coat of some polar animal.

Wolf sat back, cleaning his knife on an edge of a protruding crystal. Gazing into the distance, he said, “Snow Angel is heading to the preserve.” He nodded northwest. According to Wolf, it was the preserve the doomed caravan had fled just days before.

Through a gauze of snow, Zoya could just make out a headland looming a couple kilometers away. Vancouver Island. The former island.