Mountain of Black Glass, Page 61

  CHAPTER 26

  Dawn at the Gates

  NETFEED/NEWS: Concerns of Cosmetic Ethicists

  (visual: young man with twelve fingers)

  VO: The World Association of Cosmetic Surgeons, meeting for their annual conference in Monte Carlo, find themselves with a bit more on their hands than usual. Cosmetic generation, an offshoot of stem-cell technology advancements, has been a fad among the rebellious young for several years, but recent advances now permit not just the generation of extra digits, but the actual addition of limbs and even nonhumanoid features such as tails.

  (visual: artist's rendition of Goggleboy with dorsal fin and horns)

  VO: Some surgeons and bioethicists worry that teenage fads are not the real problem.

  (visual: Doctor Lorelei Schneider speaking at conference)

  SCHNEIDER: ". . . We are already receiving troubling reports from some of the poorer parts of the world that manual laborers are being pressured to undergo limb-augmentation—to have not just extra digits generated, but extra hands and even arms. Those who refuse are less able to compete in a very, very tight market. . . ."

  They had come through, but things had changed. Many things had changed.

  Renie reached out to put her hand on the stone wall, as much to keep herself upright as to feel its reassuring solidity. Above the deserted garden, above the tiled paths and the empty pond, above Renie and her disoriented companions, the stars burned ferociously, as different from the dim sparks in the sky above the House as a wolf was from a lapdog. But the new stars were the least of anyone's worries.

  "I'm . . . I'm a man," Renie said. "Jesus Mercy, Martine, what happened?" She ran her hands down her body, feeling the hard muscles of the chest through her wool garment, her solid thighs, the alien something between her legs. Her hands pulled back as though they had a volition of their own, as though they did not want to reconnoiter this suddenly foreign territory. "Did you do this?"

  "Did everyone come through?" Florimel asked. She at least looked much as she had before, bandaged and bloodied, clothed in rags, although what Renie could see of her face was different. "Are we all here?"

  "God, of course. I'm sorry." Renie began counting heads, but it was hard to believe the strangers around her were truly her companions. "!Xabbu? Is . . . is that you?"

  The slender young Greek man laughed. "Somebody heard my request, it seems. It is . . . odd to stand with my back straight."

  "How did. . . ." Renie forced herself to swallow her questions. "No, let me do this first. T4b, that's you, right?" she asked a tall youth dressed in the kind of armor usually seen in museums or portrayed on ancient pottery, the only one of them who looked ready to fight in the Trojan War. When he confirmed his identity, she looked to the small shape on the ground by his feet. Emily had kept her own face, but her hair was longer and had gained a distinct curl. Her crude smock dress had been replaced by a long white gown, but although her costume had changed, the girl herself had not, if her weeping was any indication. "What's wrong?" Renie asked.

  "She's been doing this since we came here," T4b said helplessly. "Worse than ever—just, like, crying."

  "It hurts!" Emily yelped.

  "Not so loud, please." Renie kneeled and put her face close to Emily's, trying to calm her. They seemed to have the darkened garden all to themselves, but if they were really in besieged Troy, someone shouting in one of the courtyards would not go unremarked for long.

  "But it does hurt!" the girl sobbed. "Everywhere you take me, it hurts."

  "What does?"

  "I don't want to be here. I don't belong here!"

  Renie shrugged and stood up, leaving T4b to offer comfort. The last figure, sitting on the edge of the dry pond, also wore a pale dress. "Martine?"

  She took a moment to respond, as though she had been lost in her own thoughts. "Yes, it is me, Renie."

  "What's going on? Why am I a man?"

  The blind woman gave a tiny shrug. It was hard to see her face by starlight, but she seemed exhausted. "I had to make choices," was all she said.

  "Is this really Troy?"

  "As far as I can tell. You can see what people are wearing, which I cannot. Do the clothes seem correct?"

  Renie shot a sidelong glance at T4b's crested helmet. "I suppose so, yes."

  "It was not like the other time, going through," Martine said slowly. "We had to find a particular simworld this time, not just open a gateway—you remember that we were trying to find a way to access the central index for the network. We had to find the actual listings for the . . . the. . . ."

  "Nodes?" Renie prompted.

  "The individual world-nodes, yes. And when I found it at last and the gate was opening, I was suddenly given an array of choices. I suppose the Grail Brotherhood or their guests receive such a prompting each time they change simworlds, but this is the first time we have entered one through the front door, I suppose you would say. Anyway, I had to choose quickly, so I did. I was afraid to stay connected to the central system any longer than I had to—after all, our device, the lighter, was stolen from one of the Brotherhood. They may even be looking for it—I'm not sure it's safe for us to keep it near us."

  "We do not dare separate ourselves from it either," said Florimel wearily. "It is the only victory we have won so far. Should we just bury it in a hole and trust we can get back to it again?"

  "We can talk about all that later," Renie said. "You had to make choices, you said. Are we inside Troy? Inside the city itself?"

  Martine nodded. "The apparition you saw, the Lady of the Windows, said 'You must come to find the others. You must come to Priam's Walls.' Until we know otherwise, we must take it literally. Unless we are inside Troy, there is no guarantee we could ever reach the walls."

  Renie grimaced in frustration. "Look, Martine, I don't claim to know the Trojan War stuff very well, but I do remember one thing, which is a big damned wooden horse and a bunch of Greeks setting the whole city on fire. We're going to be slaughtered if we stay here!"

  "It was a ten year war, Renie," Martine replied. "We have no idea at what point we've arrived—or if it's even following the same pattern."

  "Martine had to make decisions very quickly," Florimel said, chiding her, Renie knew. And Florimel was right.

  "Look, I'm sorry. It's just all been kind of a shock. I mean, suddenly becoming a man—it's so strange. I have . . . a . . . a penis!"

  "Many people have managed to overcome that and still lead useful lives," Florimel pointed out.

  Renie laughed despite herself. "Did you have a choice about that, too, Martine?"

  "Yes, but not for very long." The blind woman sounded as though she were about to fall asleep sitting up. "I tried to make the best decisions I could, but who knows? I will tell you my thoughts. We do not know what we are doing here, or who wants us here. Perhaps if we are lucky, it is Sellars, who has found a way to enter the system and meet us. But even if so, there is no guarantee that the walls are what he actually meant as a meeting place—it could be anywhere in this Trojan simworld, including out there on the plain or in the Greek camp."

  "I'm with you so far," Renie said.

  "This is a city at war. No one is going to be allowed out of the gates except men, fighting men. I thought you might prefer to be able to accompany !Xabbu and T4b if they had to go out."

  Renie wasn't sure whether Martine meant that she knew Renie wouldn't trust anyone but herself to lead such an important expedition, or whether she meant Renie would not want to be separated from !Xabbu, although she was probably right about both things. Renie's irritation melted into shame. Martine had thought very quickly and carefully under the circumstances. "Go on."

  "Florimel is badly hurt, and I am going to be more use at finding things out in here, I think, than out in the chaos of battle. Emily is a child, or acts like one, and seems to be pregnant. She certainly should be kept inside, where she will be safe as long as possible. So for that reason I made the three of us women."

&
nbsp; "Are we supposed to be anyone in particular?" Renie asked. "Achilles or . . . Paris, or any of those folk?"

  "You and !Xabbu and T4b are not any of the truly famous heroes," Martine said. "I did not want to put you at the center of things. My memory of the Trojan War, at least from The Iliad, was of heroes fighting against each other with spears, with one of them dying almost every time. If this simulation follows Homer's poem, that is too great a risk. As ordinary fighting men, you can slay out of the melee as much as possible."

  "You have thought wisely, Martine," !Xabbu said. "We are lucky to have you with us."

  She waved her hand, too weary to bear the weight of a compliment. "The rest of us are women of the royal family. That will keep us as informed as it is possible to be, and extend our freedom a little—women were not allowed much independence in the Greek world."

  "Don't get it, me," T4b said suddenly. "We in some kind of swords and sandals army? Like one of those Hercules flicks? Who we fighting?"

  "You're a Trojan," Florimel told him. "This is your city, Troy. The Greeks are outside, trying to conquer it."

  "Crash," said T4b, nodding. "Gonna six me some Greeks, then."

  "Jesus Mercy," said Renie. "There have to be easier ways than this to save the world."

  Despite their fatigue, Renie and her companions had much to discuss; an hour passed quickly.

  "We still don't know why we are here," Florimel pointed out. Of all of them, she was most in need of rest—her wounds were obviously still hurting her—but she had insisted on participating anyway, a form of self-denial Renie recognized. "What if it is not Sellars trying to reach us? What if it is some fluke of the system, or even somehow a device of our enemies? Remember that Nemesis thing Martine told us about? We just have no idea who's out there looking for us and what they might want."

  "I do not think we are enough of a threat to our enemies for anyone to go to such trouble," !Xabbu pointed out. "So far, we have been like flies on an elephant—worth a flick to dislodge us, but nothing more."

  "We haven't even met our real enemies yet," said Martine. "We have met their minions, the Twins—if your Tinman and Lion were indeed them, as this Azador man claimed. And Dread we have had far too much of, God help us. But Dread's master and the others, they are still above us, beyond our reach. As Kunohara said, they are like gods."

  "So we should simply wait and hope?" demanded Florimel. "I think that is an invitation to destruction."

  "Do you have a better plan?" Renie asked. "I'm not being sarcastic. What other choice do we have? We're still trying to make sense of all this. We have the lighter, so we have a little more control than we did, but we can't use it to bring down the whole system any more than . . . than we could use a key to tear down a house."

  "I think there is more going on," !Xabbu said suddenly. "The man Kunohara said we were in a story. I do not understand his meaning, but I feel truth in what he said. Perhaps the word I am looking for is 'faith'—we need to have faith that things will become clear to us."

  Renie shook her head. "I don't see any difference between that and what Florimel is complaining about, waiting and hoping. You know I respect how you see things, !Xabbu, but I'm not you—I don't believe that the universe is going to save me, or that it even makes sense."

  He smiled sadly. "The universe has certainly never gone out of its way to save my people, Renie, whatever they may have believed." He brightened, and Renie realized she hadn't seen his human smile for quite some time; it was good to see it now. "But you yourself may have given a clue, Renie. That is why you are like the beloved Porcupine."

  T4b, largely uninvolved in the discussion, nevertheless snorted at this. Florimel, too, was puzzled. "Porcupine?"

  "Grandfather Mantis' best-loved," !Xabbu said. "The one who sees the ways forward when others do not. Renie sometimes does not even know it herself, how truly she sees."

  "Enough." Renie was embarrassed, "What are you talking about, a clue?"

  "You said we could not use the device to destroy the system any more than a key could bring down a house. But a key can bring down a house. It unlocks the door, and then others can come in, either those who will rob and ruin the house or those who will see what has been hidden there and can overcome it."

  "You mean, like the police?" She wasn't at all sure. "I suppose if we ever get out of here alive, and if we hold on to the lighter, we might be able to turn it over to someone at the UN or something. . . ." But it was hard to remember Del Ray's treachery and remain confident.

  "It is an idea only," he said. "But I wanted to point out that there might be hope after all. Whether our story has an end that is already written or not, we can only trust to our luck and do what is before us. But hope is never an unwelcome companion."

  She nodded. For the first time since they had left the House, the new sim really seemed to be the !Xabbu she knew and loved. What if we had to live like this all the time? she wondered, moving from body to body? Would it make love easier, or more complicated? Just now she felt herself physically attracted to !Xabbu in a way that had been inhibited by his baboon form—his new sim was young and reasonably attractive, and the !Xabbu-ness still showed through—but that desire was making itself felt while she was wearing a male body herself, a situation which was almost as off-putting, in a strange way, as when !Xabbu had worn the monkey sim.

  I suppose there are worse spots for one man to be in love with another man than in the Greek army, she consoled herself.

  "Who are you?" a voice called suddenly from the darkness.

  Renie jumped, startled, and clambered to her feet, cursing their complacency—she and the others had almost forgotten they were in a strange place, a city at war. But the man walking toward them from the shadows at the edge of the garden was so tall and broad-shouldered that for a moment she was positive she was seeing a familiar barbarian sim.

  "Orlando? Is that you?"

  The man stopped, just visible in the starlight. "I do not know that name, but since I see noble Glaucus there among you, as well as my sister, you must know mine. Cassandra, what are you doing away from the women's chambers? Our mother Hecuba is full of worry."

  To Renie's surprise, Martine stood up. "This . . . this girl was frightened by a nightmare, brother," she said, then pointed to Emily, who sat huddled on the tile path. "She ran away and we went in search of her. These soldiers helped us find her."

  The newcomer swiveled his glance across Renie and her companions. He did not seem entirely to believe the story. "My family owes you thanks, Glaucus," he said at last to T4b, who stayed nervously silent. "You Lycians are the noblest of men, it is true, and the most redoubtable of allies. But now I can take these women back, soothing their fears, and you can return to the rest of your company by the Skaian Gate." He looked sternly at Renie and !Xabbu. "Do not dally, you men. Soon it will be time to put your armor on—bloody deeds will be done when the sun rises, and great honor won."

  Renie felt her heart sinking. Battle! And they had barely been an hour inside Troy.

  "Great . . . Hector," said Martine, hesitating as though she were not sure she had guessed the right name, "are the Greeks so close to the walls, then? Is there no chance for even a few days' peace?"

  She had evidently guessed his identity correctly. "The Greeks still sleep by their well-benched ships," he said, "but the gods have spoken and told us that godlike Achilles has fallen out with Agamemnon and will not fight. Now is the time for us to bring great force against them and drive them back into the sea, while their greatest warrior is sulking beside his black ships. But I have said enough. It is not right that I should speak too much of war to you women, which will only deepen your worry."

  Martine and Florimel helped Emily onto her feet. "I don't belong here!" the girl said, but she seemed so feeble and disconnected she might have been talking to herself.

  "We are none of us protected against the will of the changeable gods," Hector told her, his commanding tone softened. "Come, girl. I will
at least see you safely back to the women's quarters." As he stepped forward, the starlight picked out his features in greater detail, his pale brow and long straight nose beneath jet black hair.

  One of the male leads, Renie could not help thinking. Handsome bastard, at least in this version. But I think he gets killed in the end, so what good is it to him?

  As he led the women across the garden toward the arched door that led back into the palace, Hector turned and called to T4b, "Glaucus, tell noble Sarpedon I will be at the gates an hour before the sun rises. If your men are lacking anything of weapons or armor, take them to the armory near the Skaian Gate and tell the men there I said to give them what is needed. Every man now within Troy's walls must be ready when we face the Greeks and their bold spears."

  Renie was still watching long moments after they had disappeared.

  "What are you thinking?" !Xabbu asked her.

  "I'm just wondering about this system again—it's so astonishing!" She sighed. "I could spend years studying this network. But we'd better get moving if we're going to find some armor. If the Greeks are anything like Hector, I want to be well-protected even if we're going to spend most of our time running away and hiding."

  Renie had been worried about finding their way through the Trojan citadel in the dark, but other armed men were moving down to the gates as well, and Renie, !Xabbu, and T4b fell into the flow.

  "See, what I'm trying to figure out is how much hard-coding there is in this thing." She spoke quietly even though the small group of levied soldiers just ahead of them were singing, with the aggressive tone of those who want to prove they are not frightened, a drunken song about the slopes of Mount Ida. "You saw Hector—he had doubts about Martine's story, even though he had no doubts that she was his sister. So these Puppets have to be very flexible, have to incorporate changes. I suppose what I'm wondering is how quantum-mechanical this whole thing is. That is, if there were no outsiders, like us or the Grail Brotherhood, would the same story just play out over and over again like clockwork? Is it only having real people in the mix that alters things? Or is it a turbulent system—so complicated that it can never do the same thing twice, even if there aren't any real people involved?"