Maximum Ice (46 page)

They stood before a door at the head of the stairs.

“I don’t have much time,” Daniel said. “Solange is expecting me.”

Zoya raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I bed her. I learn things that way, though she’s careful with her words. It’s just one way we work against them.”

“To what end?”

“Freedom. What else?”

Control
, Zoya supplied in her mind. Men once controlled such a hierarchy. But it wasn’t her battle. Not for now.

Daniel opened the door, leading the way onto the roof.

Above the Keep’s ramparts, the sky rippled. Queen Ria’s lights filled the well of the night, shifting over the agitated land. From her position near the roof access door, Zoya couldn’t see the ground, but she knew the storm was upon them. Somewhere on the barrens Kellian Bourassa wandered, cold and alone. But there was no time for such thoughts.

Daniel urged her toward the Ice wall.

As they approached it, she fancied a chill wind blowing down its side, but Ice wasn’t cold in itself. It was only the looming crystal that suggested frozen water; instead it was frozen thought, frozen data. Behind her, it seemed some of that millennial thought was springing free, jumping into a blaze of rage.

Zoya drew out the experimental interface that Lieutenant Mirran had given her. Looking at the Ice wall, she gauged where she could most easily reach it.

Daniel pointed to a place along the wall where Ice was only an arm’s span away

Zoya toggled the unit on. “Will they be able to tell I’m communicating with Ice?”

The brother looked at her with high amusement. “Only if they’re up here looking for stray laser light.” He jutted his chin toward the storming lights below the Keep wall. “Your activity won’t be noticed.”

Directing Daniel to hold the small optical box against Ice, Zoya closed her eyes for a moment, summoning her wits. She had thought about how to begin. She did so, keying New English into the screen:
This is Zoya, a human who has lived over 250 years. Speak to me.

The screen jumped to life in an instant.

Come now.

Daniel’s hands began to shake. Zoya rested her hand on his arm, steadying him, lest he drop the interface into the crevasse that separated Ice from the Keep wall.

She keyed,
You must prevent Lucian Orr from invoking the program that destroys you. Your destruction will bring ruin. Can you override?

Come now. Hurry up please

She glanced at Daniel. He wasn’t looking at the screen, as she expected. He was looking up. She followed his gaze.

Lit by the strobing flashes from the barrens, a figure was rapelling down the Ice cliff. Long hair fluttered in the wind. It was the tall witch.

Daniel began to back away from the wall, staring at the apparition.

Zoya grabbed him by the arm.

“What’s going on?” Daniel whispered.

“Hold the interface,” she hissed.

He glanced at her, then the Ice wall. Then he moved back into place, his eyes fixed on the figure’s descent.

Her own hands were shaking. No time left now. She keyed:
Come where?

Come to coretext. Hurry up please

Zoya looked up at the witch’s progress. He was moving rapidly, approaching the roof. Down the plane of Ice he stalked, on long legs, like an insect’s.

But Zoya concentrated.
Where is coretext?

Latitude 47.36 n, longitude 122.20 w.

She keyed furiously:
But where is that?

The witch jumped down onto the roof.

Down the long tube from here to there

Whatever that meant, Zoya was out of time. She grabbed Daniel’s arm. “Run.”

He fumbled with the interface, finally plunging it into the knapsack.

They rushed to the access door, slipped through, and began pounding down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Daniel demanded.

“That man is pursuing me. He’s dangerous.”

“I’ll call an alarm.”

“No. Then I’ll be discovered, too. What is coretext, Daniel? How the hell am I supposed to go to coretext?” They rounded the landing, and continued their headlong rush downward. “And what long tube?”

Behind them, a clunk, like a door closing.

Zoya was not much one for prayer, but
Father, protect me
, came to her lips.

Heavy boots on the stairs above.

Down and down they scurried.

Fleeing into the darkened anteroom on ground level, the two of them raced for yet another door. Daniel was guiding her. This was his place, she must follow him. He turned, softly shutting the door, then led her down a very narrow stairway, into what had to be the basement of the Keep.

They trod as softly as they could. Silence all around.

Before a battered wooden door, Daniel turned to face her. “This is the brothers’ wing, and where the long tube is. I’ve been in it. There’s a place where Ice has built a pavilion. Solange thinks it’s the master node of Ice. That must be where Ice wants you to go.” They emerged into a long corridor formed of stone block.

Several brothers were in the hall, just passing. They nodded at Daniel, but eyed Zoya.

“Any nuns?” Daniel asked them.

The brothers shook their heads.

“Guard the door. Let no one through.” The men moved quickly to obey.

Then Daniel was running, Zoya by his side.

There was no time. Lucian Orr would find her, prevent her. Perhaps he knew she had just been given a chance by Ice, knew she planned to challenge him for influence over Ice. Or perhaps it was that he hated her. She remembered the look in his eyes at Error’s Rock. Yes, it was hate.

But no time, no time. It only mattered that Ice said,
come now.
She didn’t want to think how she would ultimately come to Ice—the way she must, the only way flesh merged with crystal. Oh Wolf, she thought, what am I doing?

They came to a narrow, inconspicuous door. Entering, she saw rows of shelves and musty pieces of electronics. Daniel touched a pad on the wall, and one of the shelves began swinging open, revealing that the wall was thin there. Behind it, a stairwell sank into blackness.

A cold draft blew into Zoya’s face.

“The tube?”

Daniel nodded. “It’s a train tunnel, from the time of the Ecos. Down there, below Ice, below real ground. You can’t use the train, though, only the tunnel. Only Solange uses the system. And she’ll detect any train use. The Keep is defended against this as an invasion route. You’ll have to walk.”

Zoya turned to him. “How far is it to coretext?”

“Fourteen kilometers.”

Zoya’s legs already felt used up.

“There’s somebody who’ll help you,” Daniel said.

In the corner, a movement. A figure stood up.

Daniel smiled. “She needs to get out of here as much as you do.”

Kellian came forward.

“We’re going to the land of rats,” the young woman said.

Zoya embraced her. “Safe and sound. Good.” Then she stepped back, holding Kellian by the arms. “But,
land of rats?”

“Seetol. It’s where the rats live. I don’t think they’ve invaded Lucian Orr’s lair. If they had, they’d have eaten the chained nuns.”

“Chained nuns?”

Daniel interrupted: “I have to go.” He handed over his handheld light. “Remember our plight, Zoya. When all this is over, remember our struggle.”

Zoya took his hand. “I have a long memory, Daniel. Thank you.”

She and Kellian moved to the gaping hole. There was no time to plan, or even to think. The tall witch was loose in the Keep.

They plunged down the stairs, toward the long tube.

The brown wool scratched against Swan’s face. The warmth of the corridors, combined with his runaway metabolism, turned on faucets of sweat. He longed to throw off the robe, but needed the disguise. The robe hit him rather high on the ankles. He’d taken the robe from the tallest brother he could find, but they were a damnably short breed.

Late at night as it was, he passed only a few nuns and postulants.
Just mind your own business
, he thought. Fortunately, they were trained to look at the floor, not at brothers. His hunger surged at the sight of them. He had almost harvested Lieutenant Mirran, but left his pilot bound up inside the shuttle instead.

The dwellers here walked with sodden patience. He, though, was in the most pronounced hurry. To have to walk like a sleepwalker demanded restraint.

He’d wasted a good half hour holed up waiting for a brother of a decent height. Meanwhile the gypsy had fled. Fled where? The brother he’d interrogated had said she was in a cell. That was wrong. She had just been up on the roof, and then she came down, a few steps ahead of him, and then vanished, she and her accomplice, vanished into the corridors and thousands of doors of the fortress.

The gypsy had suckered him. Not immortal. He was surprised at himself, how much he despised her. And not just for the lie. She had much to atone for. Not just the lie, but for the pits of childhood… He could afford to wait a few more minutes to complete his business in the world.

Heat built up under the brown hood, as a deep chill coated his face. He was both fire and ice. Failure and success. Evil and good. It was a terrible mixture, an intolerable one. He wasn’t worthy to live a long life.

And now he knew the truth: Nobody was. Best to begin all over again, let the world ignite. Somewhere else, far from there, let life begin again the long ascent. Maybe do a better job next time.

He stood in front of the lovely carved doors of Mother Superior’s room. Fat drops of sweat plummeted from his face, splashing darkly onto the marble floor.

He hadn’t thought about how to get into the suite. Knock?
Solange, dear, it’s me?

Trying the door, he was surprised to find that it came open in his grasp.

A dark room. The only light came from the narrow windows spraying light from the storm.

The room was empty. He spied another door, left open. He crossed to it, pausing on the threshold, letting his eyes adjust. He heard rustlings. A window flashed violet, and in that rosy light he saw two people locked together on a bed, twisting.

He saw the sculpted muscles of a man taking his pleasure. Solange was under him, murmuring. The man’s skin was slick with sweat, like his own. He considered letting the man have his last surge of pleasure. Light fluttered again and again from the window, revealing the lovers on and off. The pace quickened. Getting there, OK.

Without warning, his eyes burned with tears. They were lost to themselves, giving in to each other. He remembered that losing, that giving, the sweetness of the present moment. Instead of present moments, he had wanted a lot of moments. Now he wanted none of them.

The man’s frenzy took hold of him. Then hers. The lovers slumped together, quiet at last.

Swan made it to the bed in a few strides. He saw Solange’s eyes light up in alarm. He pulled the brother off, slamming him against the headboard. As Solange rolled away, he lunged, hauling her back.

Swan was leaning over the bed, ready to strangle her. Over-stimulated. OK, easy now.

She recognized him with his hood thrown back. “My robe,” she said, as though in high ceremony, and not naked amid a tempest of sheets. Her eyes flicked to the nearby chair.

He relinquished her arm. “I’ll break your neck if you call for help,” he said, as she dressed. He pulled a cord off the drapes and approached Solange’s lover, who lay dazed.

“Let him be,” Solange said. “It’s me you came for.”

Swan paused over the brother. A young man. Skin clear and fine.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said. “Please, Swan.”

Yanking the bond tight, Swan pinned the man’s arms behind him. He looked again at the man’s face. Handsome, yes. Familiar.

Solange drew nearer. “I’ve been looking for you. Why did you go away?”

She still had hopes and plans. She still wanted something from him. She didn’t know. “It’s over,” he said. He wiped his mouth, where saliva collected.

“No, Swan. Not over. How can it be over?” Her face was full of life, full of the moment. “We’ve come so far. The ship does my bidding. Zoya is in disgrace. All as we planned.”

He watched her lips move, her teeth gleam, as Ice exploded outside. The world was collapsing, and she was chattering.

“Over,” he whispered.

“Something’s happened. Tell me, Swan. Let me help.”

“Help.” She thought she could fix things.

Her mouth stretched on one side. “Yes,” she said carefully, as though talking to a child, a not-very-bright one. She watched him, waiting to help him. But she didn’t know him, would never know him.

“Please, Swan.”

OK. He would tell her. “The promise was,” he said, knowing it was useless to explain, but yet wanting to explain. “The promise was, if you die once, you don’t have to again.” He wanted to say more. There was so much more. But it hurt to talk. He was a witch. He wasn’t supposed to talk.

But he wanted her to see. He wanted to be that naked brother, folded in the arms of a listening, responding woman. He wanted to take her. To be taken.

He began to talk. “I was there, when it all happened. At the Advent. It was my chance to take what was owed me. Looking Glass was growing, it was going to protect the whole earth, get so big. And the wasted part? The wasted part was what it could
know.
It was a waste to use Glass only for an umbrella. I didn’t jeopardize the data it stored. It could store every bit, everything in one square meter of itself. I used the rest of it, Solange. Gave it a mission. Set it loose to prolong human life. If it could.”

When she opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand, stopping her. “It can’t.”

He nodded, as understanding came to her eyes. “Can’t,” he repeated. His tone dropped an octave. “Now do you see why it’s over?”

“Swan… Lucian…” She hesitated, not wanting to give offense. She was afraid of him.

“Pick one,” he said. Which would she pick?

She swallowed. “Swan, then… how do you know Ice— can’t?”

“You haven’t been listening, have you? I talk to Ice. It talks to me. We talk, OK?” He was shouting. Lowered his voice. “I’ve been to Error’s Rock. It’s an information stack. It shouldn’t be there. It’s an anomaly. I figured out how to ask Ice what the damn big problem was. It’s me.”