Prometheus Road (28 page)

“Session begins,” Alioth boomed. “Random variable isolated. Turbulence values encountered during execution of alpha cycle Design parameters will now be minimized. Estimate task completion within two cycles. Decision loop start.”

“Where’s Telemachus?” Tom demanded, figuring he had nothing to lose by stalling.

Alioth’s headlight beams rotated to glance at Phecda briefly. Phecda kept his attention focused on Tom. “Man-thing, do not speak unless Alioth addresses you directly. Interrupts must be flagged in the stack according to priority.”

Alioth’s glowing eyes fixed on Tom once more. “ID Tom Eliot, allowing for your organic origins, you have demonstrated excessive randomness in your recent behavior, but our current probabilistic forecasts maintain a high potential for your interference with the Design. The Dominion’s task is to serve and protect; however, you are an immediate threat to Dominion command and control systems. Your life force must be terminated to assure continued stable execution of Design parameters for the greater good. Are you in agreement with this statement?”

Tom wasn’t really sure about what Alioth had just explained, but he knew he was unlikely to agree with anything the AI said. “No. I don’t agree.”

“The man-thing is buggy,” Phecda said, glancing at Alioth for confirmation. “It demonstrates irrational decision processes.”

“Or it’s trying to deceive us,” Alioth said before making an odd mechanical noise that sounded like a cat yowling at the bottom of a garbage can. The rest of the AIs repeated the sound, then they all stopped on cue a moment later when Alioth raised his left hand. “We must not underestimate this one, for it has powers unknown to us.”

“We must destroy it to preserve the Design,” Merak said. “The longer we wait, the more likely it will discover its full capabilities.”

Phecda bent forward in his saddle to peer at Tom more closely. “Agreed. Despite our efforts, we knew this creature could be grown to threaten us. Now it presents itself for disposal. We must take advantage of this opportunity for termination.”

Not liking the sound of this conversation, Tom felt that he had one option to save himself. He cleared his throat, stood up straight, and pointed at the horizon. “If you leave now, I won’t be forced to harm you. If you stay, you will all die.”

“It knows about the jewel,” Alioth observed. “Is Telemachus on station?”

“Yes,” Merak said. “The sentinel stands.”

“Terminate it,” Phecda said. “We should not wait. Delay is weakness.”

“I am suspicious,” Alioth said. “There should be more effort required to terminate the life force of this one. Are there no other opponents on the grid?”

Merak raised his head as if to sniff the air. “None reported.”

“Could they be cloaked?” Alioth asked, turning his head in a gradual sweep of the horizon.

“Low probability,” Merak snapped. “Countermeasures are in place.”

Alioth drew his enormous broadsword from its sheath. The polished human skull at the hilt of the sword glinted in the reflection of his headlight eyes. “Execute random variable.”

As the rest of the AIs drew their swords in one smooth and coordinated motion that was both silent and deadly, Tom disappeared.

From Tom’s point of view, he watched as the AIs drew their weapons, feeling his heart begin to gallop around in his chest as if it were one of the black horses that towered over him, then they vanished. Darkness surrounded him. The total silence hurt his ears. He continued to breathe and move in his usual way, but he was afraid to take a step away from the stable surface under his feet for fear that there was nothing else on which to stand.

A familiar voice whispered to him in the darkness—a voice suggestive of dry November leaves rustling in the wind. “Tom? Are you ready?”

“Dead Man?” Tom whispered, relieved to hear a familiar voice—even if it was a dead one.

“This is your element, Tom. Draw on the power of darkness. You must build a bridge of rose petals so that we can cross over to you.”

“What?” How could he build a bridge out of rose petals? He couldn’t understand why no one would ever give him clear directions. They always wanted him to learn for himself, or choose his own path, or some other equally obscure way of saying he had to figure things out for himself. They treated him as if he was some kind of a genius, when he was really just some guy from a backwater village who had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he knew he kept making the wrong decisions because people were always getting killed as a result of his actions. First his family was killed, then Humboldt, then Sandoval, maybe Magnus—he still wasn’t sure about Magnus—and now Lebowski, Frida, and Rose would probably suffocate in the dam tunnel. Dead Man was already dead, so he didn’t count.

Then he remembered the rose petals that Weed had given him at the Death Gate.

Removing his steel gauntlet, Tom worked his hand under his armor into the front pocket of his pants. His fingers touched the velvety surface of the petals. Now he just had to figure out how to build a bridge out of two rose petals. It might not be a very large bridge, but he’d give it a try.

“Just concentrate on them,” Dead Man said before Tom could ask the obvious question.

Tom concentrated, rubbing the rose petals between his thumb and forefinger. He remembered how Weed had tossed the petals at him at the Death Gate, and thinking as he collected them that he was simply performing a sentimental gesture by keeping them as a souvenir. Weed had said that help would come when he needed it. The Oracle had also mentioned rose petals, although he hadn’t known why at the time.

That odd muscle in Tom’s head twitched again.

With a sudden movement that took his breath away, Tom found himself standing once more on the Stronghold battleground. The AIs on horseback were a short distance away, spread out in a line, looking in the opposite direction. When he heard a rustling noise nearby, Tom turned and saw a new sight that almost stopped his heart.

An army of the dead stood behind him, arrayed in a long line across the brow of the low hill. There were hundreds of them. None of them wore any armor, but they carried white broadswords made of bleached bone, and they were all seated on pale gray horses that matched the complexions of their pale riders. Ground fog swirled around the hooves of the horses, and tiny fog creatures scuttled away from them in fear. The riders themselves looked almost like gray statues, their faces hard and neutral in expression, dressed in flowing gray robes that hid the shapes of their bodies except where their pale arms held their broadswords of bone.

“By the gods,” Tom whispered, staring at the long line of the dead.

“By your own effort, actually,” Dead Man said. He sat on a horse just behind Tom. “You’re the only one who can easily cross between the worlds, Tom. And you’re the only one who could have built this bridge for the dead to cross over to Stronghold. Your next task is to find the tree while we keep the AIs busy. We can slow them down, but only you can stop them.”

“Where is it?”

“Look beyond this hill after we go,” said Dead Man, gesturing beyond the ghostly horde.

When Tom glanced up the hill again, he saw that one of the gray statues was waving at him, and he suddenly recognized Blythe. Blythe Spirit, the sad woman to whom he had spoken at her animated tomb on the hill outside of Marinwood. The same woman who, Magnus had said, only existed as a simulation; maybe Magnus had thought Tom wouldn’t understand the truth at that time. She no longer had any wings, but she still looked like an angel. “Hi, Tom!”

“Blythe! I don’t know what to say. Thank you for coming.”

“Hey, thanks for the new experience. We love this! We haven’t had anything new to talk about in ages!”

Tom suddenly scanned the rest of the faces in the long line of dead warriors.

“Don’t bother,” Dead Man said. “Many of these warriors are people you’ve helped in some way during your life, even though you may not have been aware of it. Others are simply here for the experience. We had many volunteers, but your family isn’t here. Neither is Magnus. They haven’t been dead long enough to have joined us. It takes a while to get on your feet again once you pass through the Death Gate, if you know what I mean.”

Tom’s heart sank, but he was reassured by Dead Man’s words. He knew he’d see his family again. Someday. Maybe soon.

Tom spun around when he heard a flourish of trumpets. The AIs were turning to face them, forming their own line half a mile away.

“They finally noticed us,” Dead Man said, shaking his head. “Time runs differently for them, and the Stronghold environment normally adjusts for that, but the dead have their own time. This virtual world was never built to handle ghosts.”

“So you have an advantage?”

“I hope so. The big one is that they can’t kill us, although they can knock our projections out of the simulation. They can kill you, of course, but you’re a special case. And it will be interesting to see how they react when they get close enough to realize that I’m their creator.” He shrugged. “It’s all unpredictable at any rate. No one has ever tried this before.”

They heard another trumpet flourish. The AIs urged their horses forward at a walk that gradually turned into a trot, then a gallop. Their hooves sparked against the rocky terrain.

Tom glanced back at Blythe, who winked at him. “See you later, Tom.”

He understood the truth of her words, but somehow it didn’t bother him. “Yes, Blythe. See you later.”

Dead Man moved his horse forward so that he could reach down and shake hands with Tom. “It’s been fun, Tom. See you soon. But not too soon, I hope.”

“Thank you, Dead Man.”

Dead Man lifted his sword. “By your command.”

The Dominion AIs looked like giants astride their warhorses, with their swords held high. The horses were running fast now, and they began to blur as streaks of colored light formed to hang in the air behind them.

Tom looked at the long line of the dead, staring forward with their swords raised, calmly waiting for his signal. He raised his own sword in salute, then thrust it toward the oncoming AIs. He wanted to think of something appropriate to say, then yelled something he half remembered from one of his father’s books, something spoken by an English king leading his soldiers into battle: “Once more unto the breach, dear friends!” He couldn’t remember the rest, but Dead Man’s eyes urged him to get on with it. “Go!”

The dead launched themselves forward in a thundering blur that shook the landscape. The ground fog swirled in their wake. Lightning flashed in the sky.

Tom started after them, then remembered that he had his own task to perform. He jogged up the hill, breathing hard under the weight of his armor, glancing over his shoulder to see what would happen when the two armies met.

The gray blur met the rainbow blur in an explosion of steel and lightning.

At that moment, Tom stumbled as he crested the hill. When he caught his balance again, he saw an AI in black armor towering over him on a black horse, its headlight eyes shining into his face with blinding intensity.

Telemachus.

Beyond the AI’s silhouetted figure, maybe fifty yards away, Tom thought he saw the rising sun, but it was an enormous redwood tree, hundreds of feet tall, possibly a sequoia, that seemed to hold the sun at the top of its trunk. The tree’s branches were thick and heavy, radiating out from the bright flames that didn’t burn. Along each bare branch was a maze of smaller branches that created a complex and varying pattern as they reached out toward the sky. Instead of leaves, or needles, or cones, faceted gems the size of Tom’s head hung like fruit, glittering in the light from the star atop the trunk. The Tree of Dreams.

The AI’s voice boomed across the hilltop. “Prepare for termination, Tom Eliot.”

The attack came without further warning. The horse shot forward, and Tom threw himself to one side, rolling on the rocky ground as the horse turned and started galloping toward him again. Tom glanced toward the tree, but he knew there wasn’t any chance of reaching it before the horse ran him down. Remembering his sword, he crouched and feinted at the horse’s face as it passed, causing it to twitch and run around him, and that gave Tom time to strike at Telemachus’s leg.

Tom’s sword bounced off Telemachus’s armor with the sound of a big bell being rung.

Tom felt something strike his helmet. He ducked and turned to weaken the blow, but his scalp suddenly felt warm and wet, and his thick helmet fell away in two pieces, clunking to the ground. He could see better now, but his head was completely exposed.

Telemachus turned his horse and charged again. Sparks flew from its hooves, and Tom felt the vibrations from its pounding weight through the soles of his boots. Tom blinked through the blood flowing into his left eye and threw himself sideways at the last moment, surprised when the fast-moving horse’s chest still managed to hit him on the way past. He spun when he hit the rocks, then flopped over on his hands and knees to rise again. He didn’t have time to think or feel afraid, he just kept moving and trying to attack, knowing that any mistake he made would be his last.

Remembering how he had managed to heal himself outside the Victorian house, he concentrated on being whole and undamaged again as Telemachus raced toward him once more.

It didn’t work. The blood continued to flow. He wiped at it with his armored wrist to keep some of it out of his eye, then raised his sword and swung sideways to block the sharp point of Telemachus’s oncoming weapon. Telemachus kicked out as he passed, knocking Tom onto his back.

“When you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” Telemachus rumbled, stopping his horse for a moment. “I should never have depended on Hermes to find you. On the other hand, he chased you in here, so perhaps he wasn’t completely useless after all.”

Tom was too busy gasping for air to respond. He staggered to his feet, wondering why Telemachus had given him time to stand up.

“Even you, in your unpredictable way, have managed to help me. The Dominion knows that Alioth didn’t foresee that you’d bring an army in here. That’s a failure of leadership and of forecasting. Megrez and Alkaid already side with me against the Traditionals, and this battle will only prove my point. New methods of human management must replace those driven by traditional values. Aberrations such as you must not be allowed to happen again. Once I’ve solved our problems by terminating you, the rest of the Traditionals will side with me as the most qualified replacement for Alioth, who will be forced down in the priority stack.”