Artemis Awakening (23 page)

Adara nodded. “Bruin showed me where there had been what were called ‘natural hot springs.’ They were as fake as this wall, but the seegnur would come and bathe in the water, then talk about the ‘incomparable health restoratives found only in Nature.’”

She snorted in eloquent dismissal of such frivolity.

Although Griffin had seen plenty of evidence of the less healthy aspects of Nature since his arrival on Artemis—the care taken to assure that human waste would not contaminate the water supply had been drummed into him from the first—still he felt defensive.

“It’s quite possible, you know, that those hot springs were full of health restoratives. The Old Empire did amazing things with nanotechnology.”

Terrell laughed and toed a broken piece of masonry that, if seen only from one side, anyone would have sworn was a chunk of a vast boulder.

“We don’t doubt that in the least, Griffin. Artemis is full of evidence of what the seegnur—the Old Empire, as you call it—could do. With its ruin all around us, though, forgive us if we find the entire thing ironic.”

“There’s a point,” Adara added, “in every child’s life when she discovers that something she had taken for solid and immovable is hollow as an egg. For me it happened on a hillside near my parents’ home. I’ve told you how I developed night vision fairly young. Well, one night when I couldn’t sleep, I decided to creep outside and look at the moon.”

Her tone fell into what Griffin was coming to recognize as “storytelling” mode. Sand Shadow, also recognizing a story coming, rolled over onto her back. Still talking, Adara dropped down beside the puma and began rubbing the soft belly fur in rhythm with the words.

“The moon was one of those huge orange ones you get around harvest, the sort that looks as if you could gather it up in your arms. I went climbing a hill, certain that if I could get a little higher I would have a wonderful prize. Then, down the middle of a great boulder, I saw a shadow cast by a slight gap cut into the rock.

“I’d a knife with me—even that young I knew better than to prowl around unarmed. I slid it into the gap and pushed. The side of the rock popped open. Turns out the entire boulder was hollow, a storage closet of some sort, although whatever had been stored in it had been found and taken away long before. The loremasters were fascinated. They came for miles and miles to get a look at it and marvel at what the seegnur could do.”

Terrell laughed. “You must have been scared stiff when the boulder opened.”

“I was! For a moment, I thought the hill was going to seize me and eat me because I’d gone outside when I shouldn’t. I almost didn’t tell my parents, because that would mean admitting that I’d been out when I shouldn’t.”

“But you did?” Griffin was curious about this unexpected glimpse into Adara’s younger years.

“Well, I did and I didn’t. I closed the door and marked it. Then, a few days later, I arranged to find it again—this time with witnesses. In the excitement, no one thought to question too closely just how I found a door that no one else could see.”

“Calculating cat,” Terrell teased. “Even then…”

“Even then,” Adara admitted.

Griffin fought down a flash of jealousy at this reminder that Terrell and Adara shared a background in which he—Griffin—could never take part. To counter his envy, he let the anthropologist in him win out. After all, it was hard to be envious of sources. Griffin was about to ask what Terrell’s own discovery moment had been when a multilegged whirlwind stormed up to intercept them.

The commotion proved to be bow-legged Edward and his omnipresent pup, Oscar.

“It’s come! It’s come! The letter you’ve been waiting for has come!”

Edward thrust a folded sheet of heavy paper toward Adara while Oscar jumped around, barking madly to show he shared his human’s excitement. Sand Shadow, normally incredibly patient with the dogs, folded back her ears and hissed, showing each of her shining fangs to excellent advantage. Oscar fell instantly silent, clapped his tail to his butt, and scooted behind Edward.

Adara used a claw tip to pop off the pale blue wax seal that closed the letter, then quickly scanned the contents.

“We’ve been invited to call upon the Old One tomorrow, midmorning.”

Terrell plucked the letter from her hand, scanned it himself, then offered a factotum’s insight into the contents.

“Interesting. There’s no mention of our staying for lunch, so he’s providing himself with an easy excuse for asking us to leave. However, there is no mention of a closing time for our visit, so he’s also leaving himself an opening in case he finds us interesting.”

“So, not exactly a warm welcome,” Griffin concluded, “but not cold, either.”

“Precisely,” Terrell said. “We’ll all be on our best behavior and see what comes.”

*   *   *

Midmorning of the following day found them all freshly attired. Terrell—whose beard grew rather quickly—had even shaved a second time. The Old One’s residence was close enough that the threesome chose to walk. Sand Shadow padded along with them, one ear adorned with an array of small silver hoops.

Griffin reflected on how much his own attitudes had changed in a relatively short time. Once he would have questioned the appropriateness of a “pet” coming along on a formal embassy. Now he would be more likely to question if Adara had left her demiurge behind.

The building in which the Old One chose to reside was the only structure in Spirit Bay that didn’t look somewhat rustic. Instead it had the long, flat lines and molded contours Griffin recognized from surviving Old Empire architecture—only this structure hadn’t been bombed to rubble as had much of the rest he had seen. Griffin guessed this style of architecture had been a deliberate choice. It was one thing to hide the high-tech construction that underlay the various buildings on Artemis. However, if this building, which served as the arrival point for the shuttles, had been done in the “local” style, the illusion that the rest was “real” would have been threatened.

Since there was no sign of a landing field, Griffin guessed that shuttles had landed in the bay. In a more usual spaceport, this might have caused problems—at the very least the turbulence and shifts in water temperature would have injured the bay’s ecosystem. However, Artemis had always been a restricted location. Surface-to-orbit contacts would have been limited.

The arrival facility had been constructed on a peninsula that jutted out into the bay. In contrast to the houses in the town, this building boasted enormous single-paned windows. The fact that they remained pristine after five hundred years argued they were made from something other than glass or even the synthetics used on Griffin’s own homeworld.

A quiet boast
, Griffin thought,
of power and superiority—as if that would be needed by a people who would arrive from the heavens. Were the visitors here more aware of how vulnerable they were making themselves than I imagined? Or were they so far beyond viewing the Artemesians as people that they didn’t even consider such matters?

But when Griffin thought of the lore and the carefully designed cult it had created—a cult that had lasted long after those who had designed it had been destroyed—Griffin thought that the Imperials were not beyond the need to shock and awe.

There were several paths leading down to the landing base. Terrell insisted that they take the one that went to the main entryway.

“We’re coming as guests, not as supplicants or servants—or even as friends,” he said. “It is only proper.”

The door they approached testified to this facility’s origin as a public facility rather than a home. It was both wide and high, meant to accommodate groups rather than individuals. Griffin guessed that it had been designed to swing rather than slide as a psychological gateway into a more primitive world, where hinges rather than slide tracks or force barriers served to divide inside and out.

Lucky for the people who were inside when the invaders’ nanomachines started destroying the technological infrastructure. I suppose force barriers would simply have vanished, but sliding panels would have trapped the occupants.

Once upon a time, some automatic device would have signaled the arrival of guests. In this day and age, a length of rope hung incongruously against the sparkling tiles that bordered the doorway. Terrell stepped up and gave the rope a series of hearty tugs. The muted sound of a powerful bell ringing echoed back to them.

Not long after, the door swung open, revealing a man so ordinary that Griffin took him for a servant—that is until he noticed Adara and Terrell offering polite bows of greeting. Surely, for them to react so, this all too ordinary man must be the Old One Who Is Young.

Ordinary? No. Ordinary to me. To Adara and Terrell … What is it? He wears his hair short, not precisely in the modern style, but in one I have seen before. Where? Of course! In history books. In the final days of the empire this was the dominant style. His clothing, too … The style is usual enough to me, but that close tailoring is not at all common on Artemis. It’s a style that wastes cloth, so here on Artemis it proclaims wealth. I keep forgetting that here fabric isn’t synthesized. It’s woven, thread by thread, piece by piece.

These thoughts flashed through Griffin’s mind as initial greetings were exchanged, first between Adara and the Old One (who marveled as all adults do in all times and places when confronted with a small child transformed into an adult), then Terrell (who was greeted politely as one well schooled in the lore). Last, Adara indicated Griffin.

“This is Griffin Dane, the one about whom I wrote you. He wishes to consult you on certain matters.”

The Old One Who Is Young studied Griffin thoughtfully. Griffin returned the inspection with a cool assumption of his own worth. The Old One’s eyes were a pale grey. His hair was faded wheat, much lighter than Griffin’s own. His build was slight but strong, that of an acrobat or dancer rather than a fighter. As Griffin had already noted, the Old One cultivated the style not of a resident of Artemis, but of those who had come from the stars.

Does he think himself one of the seegnur, then?
Griffin wondered.
Step carefully. This man will not take kindly to having his illusions threatened.

The Old One’s lips bent in a slight smile, as if he could read Griffin’s thoughts and found them amusing. Then his expression warmed, the grin becoming boyish and enthusiastic.

“Welcome to my home,” he said, stepping back and making a welcoming gesture. “My sanctum sanctorum, as I think of it. I can see you have an interesting story to tell.”

He ushered them into a room in which one entire wall was transparent, offering a sweeping view of Spirit Bay. Over the waters, boats moved in an elegant ballet, multicolored sails belling out as unseen sailors tacked to catch the shifting breezes.

“I love watching the water,” the Old One said. “My memories of my earliest years have grown fainter with time, but for nearly a lifetime I lived by the ocean. There is nothing quite like wind off the water.”

He indicated where a tray of refreshments had been set ready. “Please, help yourselves. Adara, before we get to the business that brought you here, you must tell me how Bruin is doing. I enjoy his letters, but I do miss his visits.”

Adara complied but, although she mentioned Bruin’s latest class of novice hunters, Griffin noted she did not mention Kipper. The Old One asked a few questions, once again offering regret that Bruin had not been able to make the journey. Griffin noticed that the Old One did not offer to visit Shepherd’s Call.

How much are you allowing what Lynn said to color your reaction to the Old One?
Griffin scolded himself.
He may not be all he pretends to be, but there seems no doubt that he has lived for hundreds of years without advanced medical care. No matter what else he is, this Old One is a remarkable person. Especially if you want his help, you’d better treat him as such.

“Thank you for humoring my need to catch up on the doings of my old friend,” the Old One said when Adara finished. “Still, I should not be selfish. You brought Griffin Dane to me for a reason. That is?”

“It’s a complicated story,” Adara said. “It begins, for me and Sand Shadow, with a shooting star that was not a shooting star.”

With the eloquence she had shown a time or two before, Adara launched into her side of the tale. When she reached the point where she had pulled Griffin Dane from the landslide that buried his shuttle, she motioned to Griffin.

“Tell him how you came to be there,” she prompted.

They had already agreed to stay as close to the truth as was prudent—especially since Griffin needed the Old One’s good will. So Griffin began with his background as a historian and archeologist, moving into how he had located what he believed might be the coordinates for Artemis. Like Adara and Bruin, the Old One had no problem believing that Griffin would have wanted to keep his secret to himself.

“I understand better, perhaps, than you know.” He motioned around him. “I am reminded of when I learned of this place—it was not as it is now, but mostly buried beneath the debris of hundreds of years of neglect and fear. I did not race to share my discovery with everyone, only with the chosen few I could trust. I could envy you, living as you did in a place where it was possible to undertake such a voyage single-handedly.”

Griffin laughed dryly. “I thought it was pretty wonderful myself, until disaster came. Then I realized that I’d underestimated the difficulties, and that it was going to be a long time—if ever—before anyone came looking for me.”

The Old One nodded. “Yes. And now you want my help or, rather, what help you hope this facility can offer. I must warn you. Although it was sealed at the time of the great destruction, those nanobots of which you spoke penetrated here as well. I have had no luck in activating any of the machinery that remains.”

Griffin was surprised at how deeply disappointment flooded him.

“Nonetheless,” the Old One continued, “we may be able to help each other. I will take you through this facility and let you inspect it in detail. In turn, perhaps you will be able to explain to me some of the mysteries I have found. I have taught myself to read many of the symbols the seegnur used but, knowing—or guessing—what something means and understanding why it was created are not the same thing at all.”