The Wizard from Earth (20 page)

Still, he wasn't going to depend just on bluff. 

As he scraped the shovel behind the men chipping their picks at the wall of the gallery, he subvocaled, "Ivan, let's review what you've got on martial arts and physical enhancement.  I especially want to cover training and conditioning for – what's it called – 'hypermax.'"

Ivan replied, "I believe you mean, the physical agility enhancement technique known as 'hypermode.'"

"Right.  I want to be able to use hypermode."

Ivan admonished, "Be aware, Matt, improper or excessive usage of hypermode can result in potentially fatal damage to the host.  As there are apparently no advanced medical facilities available on this planet, 'fatal damage' could mean under these circumstances that you would die beyond my power to resuscitate."

“But you'll still help me do hypermode, right?”

“Yes, Matt.”

"Ivan, we will be living on the edge now."

And he took care to scrape the shovel as loudly as he could. 

23.

Several days later, a sleek sloop approached Palras with five small flags fluttering from its mast.  The flags bore symbols that stood for letters, and the letters stood for a code word.  The bay tower's telescope focused on the flags, then flashed its signal mirrors at the patrol ships.  The sloop was admitted through the cordon and escorted to the dock. 

The warden, making washing motions with his hands and wearing a fixed smile on his face, waddled to greet Archimedes on shore, bowed deeply, and said, "And what brings the Chief Scientist of the Imperium to Palras?"

"I'd call it a boat." 

The washing motions stopped and the warden looked aside.  From past experience, Archimedes knew it would take time for the warden's mental gears to whir enough to recognize even the mildest trace of humor. 

So he continued,  "What do you think, I'm here for another blasted surprise inspection."  He banged his walking staff.  "I don't want to be here and you don't want me here.  Let's get this over, shall we?"

Calm down, Archie
, he told himself. 
A few more years, you'll have enough to retire.  Just think of changing out the filters.
 

They were encircled by a contingent of bodyguards larger than what Hadron brought when he walked the streets of Rome.  They trekked the slope to the walled enclosure of the Administration Center.  They entered, leaving the heaps of dirt and rock that was Palras for an interior courtyard of gardens with fountains and elaborate statuary. 

The office had a spacious vista of the garden and the open sea, a view which might have been idyllic save for the profusion of guards and naval vessels.

The warden beckoned to a shelf brimming with bottles and glasses.  "Would you like a refreshment?"

"I would not.  Show me the ledger."

The warden went to a shelf and presented an ornate book on prominent display.

"The real one."

The warden put the book back on the shelf and retrieved a less ornate one from a cabinet.

Archimedes flipped the book open and made a show of waving about his abacus and slide rule.  But his practiced eye could see from the consistency of the handwriting that the entries had been written in batches rather than piecemeal over the course of time.   

"The real real one."

The warden's smile, which had been draining all the while, flickered away entirely.  He went into another room and returned with a small, tattered, non-descript book. 

Putting on his eyeglasses, Archimedes sat, scanned, and scribbled columns of figures into his notebook.  The warden blurted inane remarks, and Archimedes ignored.

Finally, Archimedes put away his glasses and faced the warden and said, "Production has increased significantly.  Why is that?"

The smile and hand-washing were back in force.  "My new management techniques have proven quite efficient.  You see – "

"Production has increased significantly.  Why is that?"

"I've been able to economize – "

"Production has increased significantly.  Why is that?"

This time it seemed the mental gears had jammed.  Archimedes waited appropriately and said in a voice soft yet resonant:

"The Emperor would like to know."

Being only a distant cousin of Hadron by marriage, the warden cringed and murmured,  "The miners in Shaft Four have been successful in locating new veins of ore."

"Well now, they should receive a reward for that.  But that's not how it works around here, is it?"  Archimedes slammed the book shut.  "Lead us to the mines, if you can recall where they are."

"Of course I know where the mines are.  I visit there at least several times a week!"

"I'll inform the Emperor that you venture out of your garden of delights to perform your duties, at least several times a week."

The warden tried to summon a litter, but Archimedes gave a stern gaze, and they trooped on foot up the trail that led to the ridge overlooking the valley of the mines.  At the top, Archimedes propped himself on his staff and took a deep breath, and then he looked. 

He always tried to brace himself for the scene below, and he always failed.  Lines of broken men, wordlessly bearing loads past endurance under the whips of heartless overseers.  Hadron might hesitate to stamp his profile on coins if he saw how much cruelty went into fifty grams of Palrasian silver!

Then again
, Archimedes thought,
Hadron is Patrician by birth
.  If the Emperor were here watching this, he might only inquire as to why the workers were 'dawdling.'

Today, however, the workers seemed a little faster than usual.  Archimedes inquired as to why.

"These are fresh prisoners of war captured in battle from our recent victory in Britain," the warden replied.  "They're strong but an unruly lot."

"So you've been told," Archimedes said. 

Having lived both on a farm and among legions, he knew the patterns of calluses that came from steering a plow and those that came from drill with sword and spear.  Observing the hands on these poor yokels, he doubted many of these prisoners 'captured in battle' had ever held a weapon. 

Archimedes, the warden, and their bodyguard descended into the valley.  Archimedes inspected Shafts One and Two, and found nothing different from last time.  Same shabby working conditions, same poorly maintained equipment despite his lectures to the foremen on the need to care for the machinery.  What was the old Kresidalian saying?  'In one ear and out the other.'

Onto Shaft Three, which was inactive due to being flooded up to the mouth.  Filled with dread, Archimedes asked the shaft foreman, "How many casualties?"

"None, sir," the foreman replied. 

“They all escaped in time?”

"There was a boy who was trapped in the cave-in and flood, but he was rescued."

Archimedes knew how far the gallery stretched and found the story preposterous.  Rescuers could not have reached the child without running short of breath, let alone have had time to free the victim.   

Curious, he said, "I should like to personally thank the rescuers."

"There was only one, sir.  I don't know his name.  A miner from Shaft Four."

"Can you point him out to me?"

"I, uh, really didn't get a good look at him, sir."

Sensing that the man wanted to stay as far away from the affair as possible, Archimedes went on to Shaft Four.  He gave a nod of acknowledgment to the Shaft Four foreman and began his inspection.

He yanked on a shaft pulley and heard no squeak.  The latest repair on the hose did not leak.  The lamps in the newly carved gallery were angled properly to provide maximum light.  The pump chugged so quietly that he almost overlooked it.

The shoring timbers in the galleries had been replaced with fresh timber, and Archimedes could not have done a better job of positioning them.

"Someone knows his statics," he murmured. 

He looked at the foreman.  The foreman stared blankly.  Archimedes thought, 
The only statics he knows is to slumber
.  Moreover, it was unlikely that after all these years, he had learned how to do his job properly only in the past days.

Archimedes remembered, and addressed the foreman, "I was informed that one of your miners was involved in the rescue of a miner in Shaft Three."

"I, uh, don't rightly recall the incident, sir."

Archimedes glanced over at Shaft Three.  “Did you notice that the shaft next to yours became filled with water?  It happened around that time.”

"Uh, I believe the person of which you speak has moved on."

"I . . . see."

An overseer walked past.  Archimedes slapped him on the shoulder.  The overseer looked ready to snap at the old man whose rough robe was barely a cut above that of one of the slaves, but then he saw the attending warden and guards.

"I understand that a miner here was involved in a rescue at Shaft Three," Archimedes said.

The overseer started to turn toward the foreman, but Archimedes squeezed his shoulder and said loudly, "You are addressing me."

A moment later, the overseer emerged from the shaft with a youth.  Archimedes had expected an athletic physique, but the youth looked rather scrawny.  Archimedes was amazed that the young man, who had a soft face and was barely more than a boy, had survived even a week on Palras, let alone could accomplish the physical feat being attributed to him. 

Then he noticed the blood still caking the boy's hair.  It looked as if the boy had received quite a beating.  But there were no lumps, bruises, or scars.  He had walked without a limp.  The alert eyes told of no interior damage to his mind. 

Then, modesty permitting, Archimedes observed the boy's attire.  The boy's shirt and shorts were little more than white undergarments, but Archimedes had never seen such finely made clothing.  As he was watching, the dirt from the mine began to slip off the garment, leaving it so immaculate that even the launderers at the Emperor's palace could not have matched its cleanliness.  And where were the seams?

Archimedes became aware of being watched by the prisoners and guards, and realized what they were thinking of his scrutiny of the boy's frame.  He refrained from explaining himself.  The more he explained himself, the more they would be convinced they were right. 

Archimedes cleared his throat, but then he heard:

"Who are you?"

The young man had spoken without being spoken to, which is something that prisoners on Palras learn not to do after the first day.  And he was looking directly at Archimedes. 
Direct eye contact too!

Archimedes replied,  "I am Archimedes, Chief Scientist of Rome."

"You!  You're Archimedes?"

The boy, unfazed by the horrors of Palras, was staring at Archimedes with wide eyes. 

"Don't look at me that way.  Someone has to be him.  And who are you?"

"I'm Matt."

Archimedes nodded.  For all he knew, every other male in Britan was named after the Star Child.

"Well, Matt, thank you for your life-saving rescue."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Archimedes was not surprised at the boy's puzzled expression.  Gratitude was a sentiment seldom seen on Palras.   

The rescue in Shaft Three and the improvements in Shaft Four might have seemed unrelated, but (despite Hadron's misinterpretation of what he had been taught) Archimedes had long ago learned to investigate a common source for anomalies that coincided in time and locality.   

"I see someone has been making physical improvements to the infrastructure around here.  Eh, would you know what the word 'infrastructure' means?"

"Yes."

That in itself was astounding.  "So, would you have anything to do with the improvements of, say, the lamps or the operation of the pump?"

Matt shrugged.  "I gave some advice, mainly."

Archimedes mused that it would have been quite an accomplishment just to get the foreman to listen, let alone go along with advice from a prisoner. 

"Matt of Britan, tell me, are you some sort of engineer by training?"

“I was going to be.”

Archimedes refrained from bouncing with eagerness.  Not that the Empire lacked youths of intellect, but one whose aptitude went to practical science rather than political scheming!  Could the ideal candidate for an apprentice come from a barbarian land?  Archimedes reminded himself that Rome also thought of Kresidala as barbarian. 

“Tell me, Matt.  What kind of engineering does one do where you come from?”

Matt shrugged.  “We make machines.”

“Like what?”

“Well, machines for making things.”

“Like what?”

Another shrug.  “Cups, chairs, boats, whatever you want.”

Archimedes chuckled.  “A machine that could make such things would need a mind of its own!”

“Sometimes.”

Archimedes was taken aback by the direct gaze.  If the boy was serious, then he was also mad.  But what if he were merely testing Archimedes, as Archimedes intended to test him?

“Well, Matt.  I can certainly understand that you might have windmills and irrigation canals where you come from, but I have it on good authority from a respected public figure who's been there that Britan is a benighted land where naked mobs run barefoot and scream while brandishing clubs and sticks, and it is only the honest hard-working Roman landholders who produce enough food to eat.”

“I wonder why the Britanian mobs didn't starve to death before the Romans came to feed them.”

Archimedes cracked a smile.  “Yes, there does seem to be a plot hole in the imperial narrative.”

The boy was sharp, and his spirit was certainly intact (a little too intact, Archimedes was beginning to suspect), but if he was to be considered apprentice material, he would have to pass a test.  Archimedes resolved that despite his sympathy at the boy's plight, he would not hold back.  It would have to be a riddle so complex, so confounding, that it would truly separate the Gifted from Not.