Artemis Invaded (34 page)

Griffin sagged back onto his bunk, remembering how after Alexander had given his command, Terrell and Bruin had both immediately answered any question put to them. At first their replies had been clipped, hardly more than “yes” or “no,” but when Alexander added the injunction that they speak fully, even that resistance had melted away. They actually seemed to enjoy briefing their enemies.

Ring had proven more of a difficulty, since his peculiar way of answering any question meant that most of his replies sounded like nonsense. He couldn't even answer most simple yes/no questions with a single word. Alexander was becoming furious—much to Siegfried's amusement—when the Old One had explained that he'd known Ring since Ring's birth and that the man really was trying to answer clearly.

I'd bet anything that Alexander tested this trick in advance. He wouldn't have risked making a fool of himself. Not our Alex. I wonder which one he tried it on? Not the Old One. If Alexander had tried his little gimmick on “Maxwell,” surely he would have known more of the Old One's secrets. The lad Seamus seems subnormal, hardly a good subject. Probably Julyan, then. That would explain a few things. From what both Bruin and Adara have said, Julyan was an arrogant type, not the sort to contentedly settle on guard duty. I wonder how complete Alexander's control of his subjects is? I wonder how far it extends? My impression was that the control sequence was meant to be a safeguard against rebellion. Surely if a few words would turn the natives of Artemis into obedient automata, then more would have died during the final attack. Yet both our legends and Artemesian lore hold that the majority of the population stood aside of the conflict.

At this, Griffin felt curiously hopeful. Maybe the situation for his friends was not as hopeless as it seemed. He hoped Bruin and Terrell had the sense to hide any free will they retained. Surely, like him, they would realize that escape would be most likely if the Dane brothers thought the prisoners were safely under control.

“The Dane Brothers,”
Griffin thought.
When did I start thinking of them as something other than my own group? Was it when I realized they'd been poaching my work or even before—when I decided to hide my efforts even from my own family?

Is there a way I can communicate with Terrell or Bruin that will not immediately be given away? All it would take was for Alexander to order “Tell me what you and Griffin were talking about,” and they'd spill everything. I suppose the safest route would be to see if Terrell and I can re-establish our mental link. Will he cooperate or will he see me as one of the enemy now? He was already distrustful. Will the arrival of my family make him even more guarded?

Griffin was still brooding when he heard the door to his cell being opened. Falkner stood without, looked tired and vaguely harassed. He held a nerve burner loosely in one hand. Griffin wondered if he'd been ill. Certainly, he didn't look as robust as usual.

“Come out, Griff. I want to talk with you about this complex, those spaveks. I've tried talking to that Ring. I figured that since he'd actually managed to operate one, he'd be the most logical person to speak with.”

Griffin forced a grin. He'd always liked Falkner, even if he found him a touch dull and mono-focused. “‘Logical' and Ring are not two concepts I would use in the same sentence,” he said, stepping out into the corridor. He knew that Falkner wasn't about to come into the cell, just in case Griffin might grab him and try to use him as a hostage. “Actually, that's not fair. Ring is logical—in his own way. However, his logic is usually impenetrable until far after the fact.”

Griffin thought about telling how poor Fred had ended up hung on a hickory tree, because it was the only way Ring could arrange factors so that the end result he wanted would develop. He decided against it. The more of a puzzle Ring remained, the better.

Falkner motioned for Griffin to follow him toward the labs. “Don't try anything, Griff. Julyan has orders to shoot you if you move wrong. I can't figure out why, but I think he'd love the excuse. Once we turn the corner, we're going to be where Siegfried can cover. Got it?”

Griffin didn't even bother to reply. War games and tactical setups had been what his family played, rather than the glow ball and aerial athletics that had been popular in other households. Although his father and mother had shifted focus by the time their last child was born, and so Griffin had been encouraged in different areas, he could not have missed how skilled his older siblings were when it came to kill or be killed.

Therefore, even when they rounded the corner and Griffin saw that Siegfried was apparently absorbed in schematics displayed on one of Leto's projection terminals, Griffin did not make the mistake of believing he could take advantage of being out of Julyan's range to make a go for Falkner. In any case, any such plan left out that Falkner was plenty dangerous in and of himself.

As Falkner led Griffin to the arena, Griffin saw the Old One at a table to one side reviewing the drawings Terrell had made. Alexander was nowhere to be seen—a fact that didn't make Griffin in the least more relaxed. Alexander out of sight was at least as dangerous as Alexander at hand. He wondered if Siegfried and Falkner realized this. Alexander was very charismatic if he wished to be and he usually reserved his nastier side for those who wouldn't be in a position to complain.

And he's only gotten better about hiding his kinks since we've grown up,
Griffin thought.

For the next few hours, Griffin did his best to answer the questions Falkner put to him. He tried to use how he phrased his replies to send Leto the silent message that although these men were his brothers, they were not necessarily his friends. Whether or not he succeeded was impossible to judge. Leto remained mute, other than issuing warnings when someone was about to do something that might cause injury to the facility. Griffin noticed she did not seem to care whether they injured themselves.

Eventually, Falkner ran out of questions. He stood studying the blue spavek, which stood open on its squire.

“We saw Ring wearing this and using it at least well enough to move in it,” he said. “And you say you've worn it.”

“Once,” Griffin repeated for the umpteenth time, “and only with limited success.”

“Yet when I tried it on,” Falkner said, tugging at an earlobe in obvious vexation, “I had no success activating it; neither did Siegfried, nor Alexander.”

Griffin had suspected as much. His brothers were not timid. If one of them had been able to use the spavek, Griffin would not have been sitting here answering increasingly repetitious questions.

“There's no hope for it, then,” Falkner said with a huge sigh. “You're going to have to put it on again. I wouldn't trust that Ring to be able to follow orders—not even with Alexander pulling his strings.”

Griffin's heart raced as he remembered what had happened the last time he'd worn the blue spavek. He said hesitantly, “I wasn't very successful. If Ring hadn't been by to get me out…”

Falkner shook his head, dismissing the protest. “Different now. You've shown me where the emergency release is.”

“You trust me wearing that thing?” Griffin said, moving as if to undo one of the bone buttons that held his shirt closed. “It
is
armor, Falkner.”

“And we have hostages against your behaving badly.” Alexander's voice came lazily from the door. Griffin had no idea how long he'd been listening. “You've always been soft that way, Griffin. I think a promise to burn off a finger or maybe a foot from one of your friends would keep you in line. And you know we'd keep our promise.”

Falkner looked sorrowful. “We'd have to, Griffin. As you said, this armor is potentially dangerous. Although we need to test it, we need to do so with all possible safeguards.”

Griffin shrugged. “Well, then, I'd better put the damn thing on. Otherwise Alexander might get overeager. We wouldn't want that, would we?”

Alexander smiled his warmest, most winning smile. “It wouldn't be me, Griffin. It would be you. You were informed in advance of the consequences of your actions.”

Stripping off his clothes, Griffin started fitting himself into the blue spavek. Falkner moved so he could record the initial donning phase. As Griffin triggered the controls that would cause the spavek to activate, he heard Falkner saying, “Pity we can't see what's going on inside, but the shielding defies the scanners I have with me.”

As the blue spavek went through its uncomfortable period of linking Griffin's organic form to its inorganic, Griffin hardly noticed. One thing he'd held back from Falkner was how his link to Terrell had been intensified after he had worn the suit. Since Griffin had never been noted for psionic ability, Falkner was operating on the theory that Griffin's ability to use the suit had something to do with the greater amount of time he'd been on Artemis, perhaps that he'd soaked something up from the environment that permitted the biomechanical linkage. Given what Griffin had learned about Artemis and her mycelium-based nervous system, this didn't sound as outlandish as it once might have done

Of course, Griffin had been careful not to volunteer anything about either his link with Terrell or about the planetary intelligence. As far as he could tell, his brothers had no inkling of either's existence. Keeping secrets soothed Griffin's bruised ego—as well as seeming very prudent.

“Griffin,” Falkner called, raising his voice slightly, as if wearing the spavek would deaden Griffin's ability to hear. In reality, as far as Griffin could tell, his hearing was improved. “Let's start simple. Detach yourself from the squire and move each of your limbs on my command.”

As Griffin followed Falkner's commands—raising his right arm, then his left, flexing the elbow joints, and so on—he concentrated on finding the emotional pulse that was Terrell. Perhaps because this was his second time wearing the suit and he knew a bit more of what to expect, Griffin did not feel nearly as disoriented. He wondered if the suit had somehow stored information from their earlier contact and was now using it to adapt to another wearer.

That would make sense,
Griffin thought.
If it connected to me expecting the oddity that is Ring, no wonder I got the willies. From how Ring spoke, I had been thinking of the suits as one-person items, but that doesn't make sense. The organic component would be very vulnerable. Perhaps there are more or less ideal wearers but, as long as certain basics are met, the suits can adapt.

He was slowly jogging around the chamber, taking care to occasionally slip or weave erratically, so Falkner wouldn't realize that he was actually adapting better, when his searching mind found the pulse he had been seeking. This contact was not like the first contact, when he had been a prisoner. Those had begun as peculiar dreams and evolved into a sort of communication via image. Nor was it like the time he'd felt Terrell's emotions.

Perhaps because of the suit's enhancement, Griffin felt both Terrell's thoughts and his emotions. Astonishment, discomfort, then a raw joy that made Griffin stumble as he was caught in its intensity, so that he went down onto both armored knees and barely caught himself on his hands. Griffin felt washed in a shout of golden brilliance twisted through with earthy brown. He knew without knowing why that this was the equivalent of his name in the mental space that was Terrell.

Griffin didn't know what Terrell “saw” in return when Griffin shaped the other man's name in his head, but knew that each recognized the other without doubt or question.

Uncertain how much time they had, Griffin shaped his thoughts as cascades of images, hoping that his meaning would come across to Terrell. He showed himself in the blue spavek, Falkner and Alexander standing by. He sent the revelation that something to do with the spavek permitted this stronger, more solid communication.

Terrell sent back a patchwork wash of thoughts and reactions. Pleasure that they could communicate. A summary of his own activities since they were imprisoned. He'd been questioned by both Alexander and the Old One. From this Griffin learned that Terrell could indeed resist Alexander's commands, at least to the extent of not volunteering more than he was asked. Resisting even to this extent was painful. Cooperation, by contrast, resulted in a wash of contentment and satisfaction more seductive than mere pleasure.

There was something else there, something Terrell was quick to hide, but if hatred had a taste, Terrell hated Alexander.

Terrell's initial report was followed by images of Griffin tearing through the complex, releasing Terrell and Bruin. (And, incidentally, stomping on Julyan in the process.) This part was colored with a pale green that made it into a question. More questions. Did Griffin know where Adara was? Kipper?

Griffin sent images of how Terrell and Bruin would be used if he employed the spavek to resist. He felt Terrell's instinctive fear, followed by his assertion of willingness to risk injury if taking such a risk would win them their freedom. Griffin accepted this, but knew Terrell would also feel Griffin's reluctance to take such a risk unless he was fairly certain of success.

As to the fates of Adara and Kipper, Griffin could only send a blank.

Even with whatever enhancement the spavek was offering, Griffin found continuing his communication with Terrell while operating the spavek difficult. Vaguely, he became aware that he was crashing into the walls, levitating a few feet, then falling flat. He heard Alexander's laughter, Falkner's shouts of alarm—although something cynical in Griffin knew those shouts were more for fear the artifact would be damaged than for Griffin himself. At last he felt a slap in the vicinity of his chest, a mustard yellow shock that felt like cold water wrapping around his heart. Then the sense of Terrell in his head dimmed to a wash of sensation, waves lapping a distant shore. The spavek went into standby mode and Griffin was left hanging, his torso suspended by the joint covers, his head held upright by the edges of the helmet.