Strontium-90 (15 page)

Gudrun shrieked, and she slumped as the guards released her. Then she shivered and before their astonished gaze, she dragged herself upright. From on her knees, she faced the sons. The sword had pierced her back and blood dripped to soak her dress.

Gudrun took a wheezing breath, and whispered, “Thrice damned fools of a doomed race.” Her arms trembled until she clutched the sword’s hilt. “Great spells demand blood, the greatest demand death. Do you think I only strove for Attila’s end?”

“Hiss while you can, serpent,” said Irnac, the youngest. “Soon we will drag your corpse to the kennels. The hounds will feast on your cold flesh.”

“Ardaric will feast on yours,” she whispered.

“Where is Ardaric?” Ellac asked the guards. One of the Hungvari ran from the room.

“I will tell you where,” Gudrun whispered.

The three regarded her.

She grinned, her teeth stained red. “Blood and death to power the greatest spell I know,” she whispered. “First the khan must swill from the cup and drown to death. Then one of Attila’s sons must stab me. My dying ignites the vengeance.” She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. Then she opened them and seemed to see into another place.

“The Huns destroyed great Ermanaric. They slew my mother, my sisters and most of my brothers. I vowed vengeance against the entire race. Attila gathered you into one great horde. He conquered and kept his foot on the neck of kings. By drinking from the cup, by swilling the blood of tens of thousands, he created a gigantic desire for vengeance. Now humanity will rise up and obliterate you Huns.”

Gudrun released the sword and raised a trembling hand. She pointed at Ellac. “You will die in the valley of the Netad River. Ardaric has the sword of War. He leads the Gepids and the Ostrogoths. They will shatter the Hunnish Horde. You,” she pointed at Dengisich, “lack Ellac’s courage. You will live longer but your end will be worse. In your rage and sorrow, you will march on Constantinople. You will lose and the East Romans will take your head and display it in the Hippodrome where men race chariots. And you, Irnac, will march with the last remnants to the East, back to the Scythian Steppes. There new hordes will destroy you, and the last of the Huns will perish in the swamps that first bore your ill-begotten race.”

“Words cannot harm us,” Ellac said.

“From now on,” Gudrun whispered, “people will call those they hate ‘Hun’ and all will know it means the most wicked of despoilers.”

Then Gudrun daughter of Ermanaric looked up a last time at Attila’s three sons. Blood gushed from her mouth as it had earlier from Attila’s nose. She slumped to the floor, dead, her spell complete.

She left Ellac, Dengisich and Irnac standing mute, their bitter fates fixed by her evil and their father’s vaunting greed and ambition.

The Dialogue of Kong and Socrates

In 415 B.C., during the night after Athens sent its massive armada on the ill-fated Sicilian Expedition, an invisible gorilla named Kong who wore a strange, humming helmet quietly crept into Socrates’ home.

When the gorilla finally found Socrates asleep on his mat, he unlatched from a belt several three-inch silver nails and pegged them into the floor around himself and the sleeping philosopher. Next, he pressed a stud on his belt and a hazy cone of seclusion flickered on. Then Kong turned off his invisibility shield and turned on a floating light; the flattened bulb soon hovered at the top of the cone.

Kong’s humming helmet was a bulky stainless steel affair that began in the middle of his hairy head, leaving his ears exposed but flaring backward like a large bundle of tied hair. One section in the back of the helmet was stained with soot. Every minute or so it hissed, sending up tiny wisps of gray smoke. At every hiss, Kong winced, pulling his lips back to reveal large, yellowish teeth.

“Socrates,” Kong whispered, gently touching the philosopher’s shoulder.

Socrates groaned and turned the other way while softly sweating at the huge, hairy hand.

“Socrates.”

The philosopher was snub-nosed and balding, though he had a full, brown beard. He turned toward Kong, opened his eyes, blinked several times in rapid succession, then opened his eyes very wide and sat up with a start.

“Hello, Socrates,” Kong said in his low growl. He sat, his thick, hairy legs bowed and his toes entwined together.

Socrates stood quickly and picked up the cloak he slept in, wrapping it around himself in complex folds. Noticing the light and the hazy cone, he proceeded to touch the wall and jerked his hand away as he was zapped.

“I mean no harm, Socrates.”

With a frown, the plump philosopher faced the sitting gorilla. His eyes flicked to the helmet and widened minutely as the helmet hissed and sent up a tiny wisp of gray smoke.

First clearing his throat, Kong said, “I am the avatar of men’s souls and have come from Mount Olympus, from Zeus himself.”

Socrates squinted and pulled at his beard. Finally, he stepped forward, bent and touched Kong on the foot. Immediately, he stepped back. “An avatar, you say? Perhaps you could explain what you mean. For as you surely must know, I am an ignorant old man.”

Kong frowned, and then winced as his helmet hissed and this time crackled. “I thought you were the wisest of men.”

Socrates frowned severely, his bushy eyebrows pulling down and his high forehead crinkling thick with wrinkles. He sat cross-legged while idly letting his finger tap the stone floor. “We are still in my house, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then you set this thing around us?” Socrates gestured at the cone.

“Yes.”

Socrates nodded. “Yet you are not from the gods.”

“Incorrect. I am the avatar of men’s souls.”

“What is an avatar?”

“Surely you know.”

“No. As I’ve told you, I’m an ignorant old man.”

“An avatar is a god who has descended to Earth in bodily form.”

Socrates let his stubby fingers play in his beard. “You are an avatar?”

“I have said so.”

“And an avatar is a human disguise for a god?”

“That is what I said.”

“Because you say that you are a god, and if you truly are, then your statements would necessarily be accurate at all times. But I have heard you claim to be a singular god, and also a combination of men’s souls. You cannot be both. Therefore, you are neither a god, since you have spoken falsely, nor do I believe a great hairy brute like you to be the cup of men’s souls. What are you then, or tonight do I dream most strangely?”

Kong averted his gaze from Socrates.

“Hm,” Socrates said. “Let me begin in another way. Why have you come to me?”

“I need help.”

“Help of what sort?”

“I’m stranded,” Kong said.

“Can you be more specific?”

“The Dictates tell me not to.”

Socrates eyebrows arched high. “The Dictates? To me that sounds like a code for living.”

Kong cocked his head to the left. “Yes. I suppose that’s true.”

“How can I help you if you will not tell me the exact nature of your problem? Or, put another way, if I were to tell you that I suffered and that I needed help, wouldn’t I first have to tell you
how
I suffered?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“Yet, if I were to say, ‘I suffer because I’ve not eaten for three days nor drunk any water,’ wouldn’t you then know how to help me?”

“Yes. I would.”

“Yes, exactly. Now then, hairy brute who talks to me at night, if I am to help you, you must tell me how you are stranded.”

Kong massaged his low forehead before saying, “I come from the future.”

Socrates sat very still and his pupils darted back and forth, as he observed Kong. “That is an imprecise statement Do you mean to say that you come from my future? That is, do you claim to come from beyond the veil of death?”

“No.”

“Then you claim to come from my future, say, when I’m seventy-two.”

A wisp of gray smoke rose from the helmet. Kong shook his huge head. “There is no future that I know of where you are seventy-two.”

Socrates sucked in his breath, saying quickly, “Please, let me remain ignorant of the manner of my death and the age of my passing.”

“Agreed.”

Nodding, Socrates said, “Then you claim to come from a future where I no longer live?”

“Yes.”

“I see. How many years in the future do you claim to have traveled from?”

Two thousand, seven hundred and two years.”

Socrates’ eyes widened. “Far indeed. Are all men shaped such as you?”

“I am not a man. I am a gorilla.”

“Your shape is manlike, though most beastly, to be true. Tell me then, how may I help?”

“I come to you, Socrates, because as I’ve recorded the Assembly debates on the Sicilian Expedition and gone at times to the gymnasium to record other arguments, I’ve heard many men say that our are the wisest thinker in Athens.”

“I have never seen you in the gymnasium nor in the Assembly.”

“Observe.” Kong pressed a stud on his belt. He became invisible, though a hazy outline like a heat wave over a hot road showed where he sat. A click, and he was visible once more. “In just such a fashion have I recorded the various debates.”

“Amazing!”

“Perhaps it is; I know no other way. In any regard, I’ve watched you and I understand why others say that you are wise. Because of my troubles and an injury to my helmet, I thought it wise to seek the best advice.”

Socrates nodded sagely.

“When I returned to my pod and pulled the lever for the return trip home, lightning struck my vehicle and a small jolt of energy struck my helmet. Although the auto-computer made repairs to the ship, because my helmet was damaged I could no longer figure correctly the coordinates to the next portal opening.” Kong withdrew a sheet of parchment from a pouch and handed it to Socrates.

Socrates examined it. When he glanced up, he said, “I do understand the markings.”

“While I do understand the markings, I cannot understand their combined or related meanings.”

As Socrates handed back the parchment, he asked, “Did you understand the parchment before the lightning jolt?”

“Yes.”

“Why did the lighting striking your helmet impair your knowledge?”

Kong drew his huge black brows together. Finally, “To speak so would go against Dictates. Even to talk as I do goes against the Dictates.” He frowned thoughtfully and added, “Perhaps that is why my knowledge is impaired.”

Socrates pulled at his beard. “Who gave you these Dictates?”

“The robots who survived the war.”

“Robots? War?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me about the war, and these robots?”

“Of the war, I can only tell you that radiation and germs destroyed all mankind.” A darker wisp rose from the helmet as it crackled instead of hissed. Kong bent his head and grated through clenched teeth, “Ah. I was not to tell you such things.”

“Yet now you have aroused my curiosity, a thing that I’ll admit to being easily aroused. You must tell me more.”

“I cannot.”

Socrates blinked and then grinned slyly. “I have the answer to your problem. But to gain the answer you must first answer my questions. Agreed?”

Kong frowned and then suddenly smiled, showing his huge yellow fangs. “Yes, your logic conformed correctly with the Dictates. To gain your help, I must answer. Indeed, you are wise. Ask away.”

Socrates rubbed his hands. “What are robots?”

“Metal, manlike machines with high computer programming.”

“Hm. You speak in various riddles. Let us see if we cannot find a better answer. By metal machines, do you mean like a plow?”

“In that like a plow the robots are metal, but unlike a plow, the robots can act in an independent manner.”

“Yet isn’t it true that a man must stand behind a plow to control the oxen and steer the machine?”

“Yes,” Kong said, “from what I’ve seen of your time, that’s true.”

“But if a man took a nap, couldn’t the oxen still pull the plow?”

“Yes, the man could do that.”

“But would the plow still be correctly tilling the field, or would it rather randomly make crooked furrows?”

“I do not know. Do you?” Kong asked.

“Yes. The plow would not correctly act like a plow—as man designed and uses it—unless a man had his hands on the plow.”

“So your point is?”

“If all men are dead, as you say, how then can the robots act in the manner that men designed them for?”

“I suppose they cannot, except for the computer programming.”

“Which is?”

“Fixed data and codes that tell the robots how to act.”

Socrates’ brow drew tight as his fingers plucked at his beard. “An interesting idea. Are you saying that a computer is like a machine that could steer a galley?”

“Yes, if the programming were set up correctly?”

“But the men set the codes?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. And all the men are dead in your future world?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is the will of the dead men, through the robots, that gave you the Dictates?”

“I suppose that is logical, though my logic functions are rather low due to my helmet damage.”

“What does the helmet contain?”

“Cybernetic interfaces that link computer data chips directly to my brain.”

Socrates breathed hard, sweat beading his forehead. “Your world is most strange. Why are the links there?”

“After the war, with mankind dead, the robots grew fearful or lonely, I’m uncertain which. We, meaning the other altered gorillas, try hard to understand them. They wished to revive man, but only gorillas still lived. So the robots did the best they could. Capturing our parents, they took us as babies and interfaced computer chips with our minds, thereby giving us greater reasoning abilities. Then, because the robots were unsure how to correctly program the computer data chips in us to make us conform to
true humanity, they sent select gorillas through the just-discovered time portals to record man and his actions. The recordings would then be distilled and placed in the cybernetic data chips. The new true humans would then be served by the robots. The robots state that as their goal.”

Socrates tapped hard on the stone floor. Finally, he stirred and asked, “Why not instead take men to your future?”

“Alas, we cannot. Oh, we tried, but every time the man arrived in the future, he was dust. Future travel is impossible for all things except what started in the future.”

“Most strange,” Socrates whispered. “Let me think for a time.” He closed his eyes and sat very still. Finally, as he opened his eyes, “You cannot think fully because your computer helmet is partly damaged?”

“I think that is correct.”

“You only think? You do not know?”

“I—” Kong frowned again, his low brow furrowed. “Once I heard another gorilla whisper that if the Dictates were breached, breakers set in the helmet would impair full knowledge. It was hinted that the robots didn’t want such gorillas back in the future.”

Socrates nodded slowly and asked, “What is the greatest good?”

Kong’s eyebrows rose. “For me or for my society?”

“For you.”

“To gain more computer data chips.”

“Why?”

“I gain more reasoning ability and can think better and quicker.”

“Yet how can that be better, for you are also controlled more? Or consider it this way, as more computer chips are put in your helmet, the Dictates grow stronger and you have less freedom of thought.”