Ilium (28 page)

The bird kept running in Harman and Ada’s direction, but now its neck was twisted around, head snapping, giant red beak clacking against Odysseus’ circular shield. Every time the massive jaws struck, Odysseus was knocked backward, but his legs were tight around the bird’s body six feet above the ground, and though he bent far back, like a trick horseback rider in the turin drama, he never fell off. Then, as the Terror Bird’s head swiveled around, finding Harman with its yellow eyes, Odysseus leaned forward and pulled the sword low across the giant bird’s white-feathered neck, severing the jugular.

He jumped off, landed on his feet, and ran to Harman’s side as the Terror Bird crashed to the ground and lay still not ten feet in front of them. Blood spurted five feet in the air and then the red fountain diminished and disappeared as the huge heart stopped beating.

Panting, covered with grazer gore and Terror Bird blood and grass and mud, his bloody sword and shield still held high, Odysseus grinned through his beard and said, “I only wanted one for dinner, but we’ll carve up the second one for leftovers.”

Ada came up to Harman and touched his arm. He never looked around. His eyes were wide.

Odysseus walked to the nearest bird, cut off its huge head, and ran his skinning knife down the length of its chest, peeling flesh and skin and feathers back as easily as someone would help remove a thick coat. “I’ll need more plastic bags,” he said to Harman and Ada. “There are some in a storage locker near the aft end of the sonie. Just say ‘Open locker’ to the machine and it will open. But hurry.”

Harman had turned to walk back to the sonie but paused. “Hurry? Why?”

Odysseus wiped blood from his beard with the back of his hand and grinned whitely at them. “These birds smell blood up to ten leagues away . . . and there are hundreds of hunting pairs of Terror Birds out here on the plains at twilight.”

Harman turned and ran hard toward the sonie to get the bags.

Ada noticed that Savi and Daeman were both drunk before dinner began.

The meal was served in a glass room attached to the side of the south tower’s higher support. Savi was heating pre-prepared meals in a regular microwave bubble, but Ada was fascinated—she had never seen a meal prepared exclusively by a human being before. The absence of servitors in the Golden Gate residence areas was even more noticeable during a meal.

Odysseus was outside on the bridge’s broad support strut and had erected a clumsy stone-and-metal structure in which he was burning wood he’d brought back from the plains. It had begun to rain and Odysseus had to build the fire high to keep it burning. Flames lighted the rust and faded orange paint on the side of the tower.

Looking out through the translucent green wall, sipping from his glass of gin, Harman said, “Is that some sort of altar to his pagan gods?”

“Not quite,” said Savi. “It’s how he cooks his food.” She carried bowls and plates to the round table where the others were waiting. “Call him inside, would you?” she said to Harman. “Our food is getting cold while he’s cremating his, and there’s a lightning storm coming over the mountains. It’s not a great idea to be out on the bridge superstructure during a lightning storm.”

When they were finally seated, Odysseus setting the wooden plates of steaming meat on a nearby counter so that no one would have to stare at the fire-blackened stuff, Savi passed around a pitcher of wine. She poured her own glass last and Ada overheard the old woman whisper,
“Baruch atah adonai, eloheno melech ha olam, borai pri hagafen.”

“What is that?” Ada asked softly. Everyone else was laughing at something Daeman had said and had not seemed to notice Savi’s muttering. The only time Ada had every heard another language was in the turin drama; there the battling men spoke in gibberish, but somehow the turin translated every word so that anyone under the cloth understood the meaning without actually listening.

Savi shook her head, although whether to say that she did not know the meaning of the odd words, or that she was not disposed to tell them, Ada could not tell.

“I explored all the levels of the bridge and bubbles around the bridge,” Hannah was saying excitedly. “The metal of the bridge itself is old and rusty but . . . amazing. And there are strange shapes of metal in some of the rooms below. Just freestanding, not part of any structure. Some are in the shape of men and women.”

Savi barked a laugh. She was already refilling her glass with wine. No strange words accompanied this pouring.

“Those are statues,” said Odysseus. “Sculptures. Have you never seen such things?”

Hannah shook her head slowly. Even though the girl had spent years learning how to heat and pour metal, Ada knew, the idea of making things in the shape of human beings or other living things was shocking. Ada also found it strange.

“They have no art,” Savi said brusquely to Odysseus. “No sculpture, no painting, no crafts, no photography, no holography, not even genetic manipulation. No music, no dance, no ballet, no sports, and no singing. No theater, no architecture, no Kabuki, no No plays, no nothing. They’re as creative as . . . newborn birds. No, I take that back . . . even birds know how to sing and build a nest. These latter day
eloi
are silent cuckoos, inhabiting other birds’ nests without so much as a song for payment.” Savi was beginning to slur her words slightly.

Odysseus looked at Hannah, Ada, Daeman, and Harman, and his expression was unreadable. Meanwhile, the four guests stared at Savi, wondering why her tone was so angry.

“But then,” continued Savi, looking only Odysseus in the eye, “they have no literature, either. And neither do you.”

Odysseus smiled at the woman. Ada recognized the smile from when the man was carving flesh out of the flank of the grazing animal. Odysseus had bathed before dinner, even his gray curly hair was freshly shampooed, but Ada still imagined his arms and hands and beard as they had been—streaked with blood, clotted with gore. It wasn’t any of her business, but she thought it probably unwise for Savi to goad him so.

“The preliterate, meet the postliterate,” continued Savi, opening her hand as if introducing Odysseus to the other four. Then she held up one finger. “Oh, I forgot our friend Harman here. He is the Balzac and the Shakespeare of the current litter of old-style humanity. He reads at about the level of a six-year-old from the Lost Age, don’t you, Harman
Uhr
? Lips move when you sound out the words, eh?”

“Yes,” said Harman, smiling slightly. “My lips do move when I read. I didn’t know there was any other way to do it. And it took me more than four Twenties to reach that level of proficiency.” To Ada, it appeared as if the ninety-nine-year-old knew he was being insulted, but did not care, showing only interest in what Savi would say next.

Ada cleared her throat. “What was that animal you . . . killed . . . today?” she asked Odysseus, her voice bright and brittle. “Not the Terror Birds, the other one?”

“I just think of it as the floppy-nosed grazer,” said Odysseus. “Want to try some?” He reached back to the counter and lifted the platter of fire-darkened meat, holding it in front of Ada.

Wanting to be polite, Ada took the smallest cut on the platter, handling it gingerly with utensils.

“I’ll also take some,” said Harman. The platter went around. Hannah and Daeman scowled at the meat, sniffed it, smiled politely, but didn’t take any. When the platter came to Savi, she passed it on to Odysseus without a word.

Ada nibbled the smallest bit she could slice. It was delicious—like steak, only stronger and richer. The wood smoke gave it a flavor different than any microwaved thing she had ever tasted. She cut a larger piece.

Odysseus was eating with just a short, sharp knife he had brought to the table with him, slicing thin strips and chewing them from the end of the knife. Ada tried not to stare.

“
Macrauchenia,
” said Savi between forkfuls of her salad and microwaved rice.

Ada looked up, wondering if this was more of the woman’s strange language ritual.

“Pardon me?” said Daeman.

“
Macrauchenia
. That’s the name of the animal that our Greek friend killed and our two other friends are eating like there’s no second course. They covered these South American plains a couple of million years ago but went extinct before humankind showed up in South America. They were brought back by the ARNists during the crazy years after the rubicon, before the post-humans put a stop to reintroducing extinct species helter skelter. Once they had the
Macrauchenia
back, though, some ARNist thought it would be clever to bring back
Phorusrhacos
.”

“For-us-what?” said Daeman.

“Phorusrhacos
. The Terror Birds. The ARNist geniuses forgot that those birds were the primary predator in South America for millions of years. At least until the Smilodonts wandered down from North America when the water level fell and the land bridge between the continents emerged. Did you know that the Panamanian Isthmus is underwater again? The continents separate again?” She looked around, obviously intoxicated, belligerent, and secure in the knowledge that none of them had any idea what she was talking about.

Harman sipped his wine. “Do we want to know what a
S
milodont is?”

Savi shrugged. “Just a big fucking cat with big fucking sabertooth teeth. They’d eat Terror Birds for lunch and pick their sabers with the leftover claws. The idiot ARNists did bring sabertooths back, but not here. India. Anyone here know where that is . . . was? Should be? The post-humans ripped it free of Asia and broke it into a goddamned archipelago.”

The five looked at her.

“Thank you for reminding me,” said Odysseus with his stilted accent, and stood and went to the counter. “Next course, Terror Bird.” He carried the big platter back to the table. “I’ve been waiting to taste this delicacy for quite a while, but never had the time to hunt one until today. Who will join me?”

Everyone but Daeman and Savi volunteered to try a slice. They all poured more wine for themselves. Outside, the thunderstorm had arrived with a vengeance and flashes of lightning streaked around the bridge structure, illuminating the saddle and ruins far below as well as the clouds and jagged peaks on either side.

Ada, Harman, and Hannah each tried a bite of the pale meat and then drank copious water and wine. Odysseus bit off slice after slice from the point of his knife.

“It reminds me of . . . chicken,” Ada said into the silence.

“Yes,” said Hannah, “definitely chicken.”

“Chicken with a strange, strong, bitter taste,” said Harman.

“Vulture,” said Odysseus. “It reminds me of vulture.” He took another large bite, swallowed, and grinned. “If I cook Terror Bird again, I’ll use lots of sauce.”

Five of them ate their microwaved rice in silence while Odysseus enjoyed more helpings of his Terror Bird and
Macrauchenia,
washed down with huge draughts of wine. The conversational silence might have been uncomfortable if it had not been for the storm. The wind had come up, lightning was almost continuous—illuminating the softly lit dining bubble in blasts of white light—and the thunder would have drowned out most conversation anyway. The green dining bubble seemed to sway ever so slightly when the wind howled and the four guests glanced at each other with barely concealed anxiety.

“It’s all right,” said Savi, no longer sounding angry or all that intoxicated, as if her earlier harsh words had vented some of the pressure from her bitterness. “The pariglas does not conduct electricity and we’re firmly attached—as long as the bridge stands, we won’t fall.” Savi sipped the last of her wine and smiled without humor. “Of course, the bridge is older than God’s teeth, so I can’t guarantee it will remain standing.”

When the worst of the storm passed and Savi was offering coffee and chai heated in odd-looking glass containers, Hannah said, “You promised to tell us how you got here, Odysseus
Uhr
.”

“You want me to sing to you of all my twists and turns, driven time and again off course, in the days since my comrades and I plundered the hallowed heights of Pergamus?” he replied, voice soft.

“Yes,” said Hannah.

“I shall,” said Odysseus. “But first, I think, Savi
Uhr
has some business to discuss with all of you.”

They looked at the old woman and waited.

“I need your help,” said Savi. “For centuries I’ve avoided exposure to your world—-to the voynix and the other watchers who wish me ill—but Odysseus is here for a reason, and his ends serve my own. I ask if you would take him back—to one of your homes, where others can visit him—and allow him to meet and speak with your friends.”

Ada, Harman, Daeman, and Hannah exchanged glances.

“Why doesn’t he just fax wherever he wants?” asked Daeman.

Savi shook her head. “Odysseus can no more fax than I can.”

“That’s silly,” said Daeman. “Anyone can fax.”

Savi sighed and poured the last of the wine into her glass. “Boy,” she said, “do you know what faxing
is
?”

Daeman laughed. “Of course. It’s how you go from where you are to where you want to be.”

“But how does it
work
?” asked Savi.

Daeman shook his head at the old woman’s obtuseness. “What do you mean, ‘How does it work?’ It just works. Like servitors or running water. You use a fax portal to go from one place to another, one faxnode to the next.”

Harman held up his hand. “I think what Savi
Uhr
means is how does the machinery work that allows us to fax, Daeman
Uhr
.”

“I wondered that myself a few times,” said Hannah. “I understand how to build a furnace hearth than can melt metal. But how does one build a fax portal that sends us from here to there without having to . . . go in between?”

Savi laughed. “It doesn’t, gentle children. Your fax portals don’t send you anywhere. They destroy you. Rip you atom from atom. They don’t even send the atoms anywhere, just store them until they’re needed by the next person faxing in. You don’t
go
anywhere when you’re faxed. You just die and allow another you to be built somewhere else.”