Ilium

41 Olympus Mons

After their capture, Mahnmut thought that his best shot would have been to trigger the Device—whatever it was—as soon as the blond god in the flying chariot had destroyed the balloon and begun hauling them back to Olympus Mons.

But he couldn’t get to the Device. Or to the transmitter. Or to Orphu. It took everything Mahnmut had just to hang on to the railing of the gondola as they flew at almost Mach 1 toward the Martian volcano. If the Device, transmitter, and Orphu of Io hadn’t been lashed down to the gondola platform with every meter of rope and wire Mahnmut had been able to scavenge, all three objects would have all dropped 12,000 meters and more to the high plateau between the northernmost of the Tharsis volcanoes—Ascraeus—and the Tethys Sea.

The god in the machine—still carrying these metric tons of dead weight and the added weight of the bunched cables in one hand—actually gained altitude as the chariot headed north, swung out to sea still gaining altitude, and came in toward Olympus Mons from the north. Even with his short legs dangling and his manipulators sunk deep into the gondola railing, Mahnmut had to admit it was one hell of a sight.

A near-solid mass of clouds covered most of the region between the Tharsis volcanoes and Olympus, with only the solid masses of the volcanoes rising from the cloud cover. The rising sun was small but very bright to the southeast, painting the ocean and the clouds a brilliant gold. The golden glare from the Tethys Sea was so bright that Mahnmut had to notch up his polarizing filters. Olympus itself, rising right at the edge of the Tethys ocean, was staggering in its immensity, an endless cone of icefields rising to an impossibly green summit with a series of blue lakes in its caldera.

The chariot dipped and Mahnmut could make out the 4,000-meter vertical cliffs at the very base of its northwestern quadrant, and although the cliffs were in shadow, he could also see tiny roads and structures in what looked to be a narrow strip of beach, although there were almost certainly two or three miles of coastline between the cliffs and the golden ocean. Farther north and farther out to sea, turned into an island by the terraforming, was the isle of Lycus Sulci, which resembled nothing so much as a lizard’s head raised toward Olympus Mons.

Mahnmut described all of this to Orphu, subvocalizing on the tightbeam channel. The Ionian’s only comment was, “Sounds pretty, but I wish we were taking this tour under our own steam.”

Mahnmut remembered that he wasn’t here for sightseeing when the godlike humanoid dipped the chariot toward the summit of the giant volcano. Three thousand meters above the upper snow slopes, they passed through a forcefield—Mahnmut’s sensors registered the ozone shock and voltage differentials—and then leveled out for final approach to the green and grassy summit.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see this guy in the chariot coming sooner and take some evasive action,” Mahnmut said to Orphu in the last seconds before he had to shut down comm for landing.

“It’s not your fault,” said Orphu. “These deus ex machinas have a way of sneaking up on us literary types.”

After landing, the god who’d captured them grabbed Mahnmut by the neck and carried him unceremoniously into the largest artificial space the little Moravec had ever seen. Other male gods went out to haul in Orphu, the Device, and the transmitter. Still more male gods came into the hall as Zeus listened to their chariot god describe their capture. Mahnmut was comfortable now thinking that these chariot people thought of themselves as gods, assuming now that their choice of Olympus Mons as a home was no coincidence. The holograms in niches of scores and scores more gods and goddesses reinforced his hypothesis. Then the über-god whom Mahnmut assumed to be Zeus began speaking and it was all Greek to the moravec. Mahnmut spoke a sentence or two in English. The gray-bearded gods and the younger ones frowned their incomprehension. Mahnmut cursed himself for never loading ancient or modern Greek into his language base. It hadn’t seemed all that important at the time he’d first set out in The Dark Lady to explore the subsea oceans of Europa.

Mahnmut switched to French. Then German. Then Russian. Then Japanese. He was working his way through his modest database of human languages, framing the same sentence—“I came in peace and did not mean to trespass”—when the Zeus figure held up one massive hand to silence him. The gods spoke amongst themselves and didn’t sound happy.

What’s going on? tightbeamed Orphu. The Ionian’s shell was five meters away, on the floor with the other two artifacts from the gondola. Their captors hadn’t seemed to consider the possibility that there was a sentient person in that cracked and battered form, and they treated Orphu as another captured thing. Mahnmut had anticipated this. It’s why he phrased his sentence “I came in peace . . .” rather than “we.” Whatever the gods decided to do to him, Mahnmut, there was an outside chance that they would leave Orphu alone, although how the poor Ionian might be able to escape without eyes, ears, legs, or manipulators wasn’t clear to Mahnmut.

The gods are talking, tightbeamed Mahnmut. I don’t understand them.

Repeat a few of the words they’re using.

Mahnmut did, sending them silently.

That’s a variant on classical Greek, said Orphu. It’s in my database. I can understand them.

Upload the database to me, sent Mahnmut.

On tightbeam? said Orphu. It would take an hour. Do you have an hour?

Mahnmut turned his head to watch the beautiful humanoid males barking syllables at each other. They seemed near a decision. No, he said.

Subvocalize what they say to me and I’ll translate, we’ll decide the proper answer, and I’ll send back the phonemes for your response, said the Ionian.

In real time?

Do we have a choice? said Orphu.

Their captor was speaking to the bearded figure on the gold throne. Mahnmut sent on what he heard, got the translation within a fraction of a second, consulted with Orphu, and memorized the syllables of their response in Greek. It hardly seemed efficient to the little moravec.

“. . . it is a clever little automaton and the other objects are worthless as plunder, my lord Zeus,” said the two-and-a-half-meter-tall blond god.

“Lord of the silver bow, Apollo, do not dismiss such toys as worthless until we know whence they came and why. The balloon you destroyed was no toy.”

“Nor am I a toy,” said Mahnmut. “I came in peace and did not trespass intentionally.”

The gods did a collective double take and murmured amongst themselves.

How tall are these gods? sent Orphu on the tightbeam.

Mahnmut described them quickly.

Not possible, said the Ionian. The human skeletal structure begins to be inefficient at two meters of height, and three meters would be absurd. Lower leg bones would break.

This is Martian gravity, Mahnmut reminded his friend. It’s the worst g-field I’ve ever experienced, but it’s only about a third Earth-normal.

So you think these gods are from Earth? asked Orphu. It hardly seems likely unless . . .

Excuse me, sent Mahnmut. I’m getting busy here.

Zeus chuckled and sat forward on his throne. “So the little toy person can speak the human language.”

“I can,” replied Mahnmut, getting the words from Orphu, although neither moravec knew the proper honorific for the god of all gods, the king of the gods, the lord of the universe. They’d decided not to try.

“The Healers can speak,” snapped Apollo, still addressing Zeus. “They cannot think.”

“I can speak and think,” said Mahnmut.

“Indeed?” said Zeus. “Does the speaking and thinking little person have a name?”

“I am Mahnmut the moravec,” Mahnmut said firmly. “Sailor of the frozen seas of Europa.”

Zeus chuckled, but it was a deep enough rumble to vibrate Mahnmut’s surface material. “Are you now? Who is your father, Mahnmut the moravec?”

It took Mahnmut and Orphu a full two seconds of back and forth tightbeaming to decide on the honest reply. “I have no father, Zeus.”

“You are a toy then,” said Zeus. When the god frowned, his great, white brows almost touched above his sharp nose.

“Not a toy,” said Mahnmut. “Merely a person in a different form. As is my friend here, Orphu of Io, space moravec who works the Io Torus.” He gestured toward the shell and all divine eyes turned on Orphu. It had been Orphu’s insistence to reveal his nature. He said that he wanted to share whatever Mahnmut’s fate would be.

“Another little person, but this one in the form of a broken crab?” said Zeus, not chuckling now.

“Yes,” said Mahnmut. “May I know the names of our captors?”

Zeus hesitated, Apollo remonstrated, but in the end the king of the gods gave an ironic bow and opened his hand toward each god in turn.

“Your captor, as you know, is Apollo, my son. Next to him, doing much of the shouting before you joined our conversation, is Ares. The dark figure behind Ares is my brother Hades, another son of Kronos and Rhea. To my right is my wife’s son, Hephaestus. The royal god standing next to your crab-friend is my brother Poseidon, called here in honor of your arrival. Near Poseidon, with his collar of golden seaweed, is Nereus, also of the deep. Beyond noble Nereus is Hermes, guide and giant killer. There are many more gods . . . and goddesses, I see . . . coming into the Great Hall as we speak, but these seven gods and I shall be your jury.”

“Jury?” said Mahnmut. “My friend Orphu of Io and I have committed no crime against you.”

“On the contrary,” said Zeus with a laugh. He switched to English. “You’ve come in from Jupiter space, little moravec, little robot, most probably with mischief in your heart. It was my daughter Athena and I who brought down your ship and I confess I thought you all destroyed. You’re tough little abominations. But let this be the end of you today.”

“You speak this creature’s language?” Ares demanded of Zeus. “You know this barbarian tongue?”

“Your Father speaks all languages, God of War,” snapped Zeus. “Be silent.”

The massive hall and many mezzanines were filling up quickly with gods and goddesses.

“Have this little dog-man-machine and the legless crab taken away to a sealed room in this hall,” said Zeus. “I will confer with Hera and others who have my ear, and we will decide shortly what to do with them. Take the other two objects to a nearby treasure room. We shall evaluate their worth by and by.”

The gods named Apollo and Nereus approached Mahnmut. The little moravec debated fight and flight—he had a low-voltage laser on his wrist that might surprise the gods for a second or two, and he could run quickly on all fours for short distances, perhaps scurry out of this Great Hall and dive into the caldera lake to hide in its depths—but then Mahnmut glanced over at Orphu, already being lifted effortlessly by four unnamed gods, and he allowed himself to be lifted and carried out of the hall like a big metal doll.

According to Mahnmut’s internal chronometer, they waited in the windowless storage room for thirty-six minutes before their executioner arrived. It was a big space, with walls of marble six feet thick and—Mahnmut’s instruments told him—embedded forcefields that could withstand a low-yield nuclear explosion.

It’s time to trigger the Device, tightbeamed Orphu. Whatever it does, it’s preferable to letting them destroy us without a fight.

I’d trigger it if I could, said Mahnmut. It didn’t have a remote control. And I was too busy building our gondola to jury-rig one.

Lost opportunities, sent Orphu with a rumble. To hell with it. We gave it a good try.

I’m not giving up yet, said Mahnmut. He paced back and forth, feeling around the edge of the metal door through which they’d come in. It was also sealed by forcefields. Perhaps if Orphu still had his arms, he could rip the door free. Perhaps.

What does Shakespeare say about the end of things like this? asked Orphu. Did “Will the Poet” ever bid adieu to the Youth?

Not really, said Mahnmut, feeling the walls with his organic fingers. They parted on pretty sour terms. The relationship sort of petered out when they found they were having sex with the same woman.

Was that a pun? asked Orphu, his voice severe.

Mahnmut was startled into motionless. What?

Never mind.

What does Proust say about all this? asked Mahnmut.

Longtemps, je me suis couche de bonne heure, recited Orphu of Io.

Mahnmut didn’t like French—it always felt like a too-thick oil between his gears—but it was in his database and he could translate this. “A long time, I have laid me down to sleep at an early hour.”

After two minutes twenty-nine seconds, Mahnmut said over the tightbeam, The rest is silence.

The door opened and a goddess two meters tall stepped into the room, closing and sealing the door behind her. She carried a silver ovoid in both hands, its small black ports aimed at both of them. Mahnmut instinctively knew that rushing her would do no good. He backed up until he could reach out and touch Orphu’s shell, knowing full well that the Ionian couldn’t feel the contact.

In English, the goddess said, “My name is Hera and I’ve come to put you foolish, foolish moravecs out of your misery once and for all. I’ve never liked your kind.”

There was a flash and a jolt and an absolute blackness descended.