Icarus Descending w-3

by Elizabeth Hand

  “And so this is how you travel to the stars?”

  “To the stars? No. Merely to the HORUS colonies.” I turned away impatiently: we were coming upon the floating city so quickly, it seemed we might overshoot it. “Brace yourself—”

  I closed my eyes, once more feeling Kesef’s web probing for instruction. At my command the Gryphon stalled. For an instant we hung there as my mind filled with images filtered through Kesef’s optics. Beneath us shimmered an impossibly wide vista of grids, covered with the glowing geometric patterns used in guiding the elÿon during docking procedures. On the deck five or six people had gathered, shielding their eyes against the glow of the airships. I had not ordered Kesef to signal ahead of our arrival, and unexpected landings were rare at Cisneros. They stared up at us, their faces lost in the shadow of their uniform hoods; one man clutched frantically at a vocoder and shouted into it. Cisneros, at least, seemed still to be functioning as an Ascendant outpost. Suddenly Kesef dropped, a vertiginous plunge that once would have made me grin with exhilaration. Now I only braced myself and waited. A grinding noise as the Gryphon’s legs extended; a gentle bounce as we set down. We had landed.

  Outside, the air was thick with fog. Within my metal shell I could no longer smell the mingled stench of sea air and burning petrol and the elÿon’s saline odor, but I knew it was there: I could almost see it, thick as the yellowish mist that roiled in luminous columns above the landing decks. Kesef’s ladder dropped from the belly of the craft, and I disembarked. The small group that had assembled drew back in nervous silence as I climbed from the Gryphon. I knew what they were seeing: a tall figure made of metal and black plasteel, an Aviator’s crimson leathers flapping from its long limbs. But where an Aviator’s helmeted enhancer should have covered its face, nearly colorless blue eyes glared out from a mask of scarlet metal, sculpted into the hawkish visage of a man.

  “I am Margalis Tast’annin, Aviator Imperator of the Ascendant Autocracy.” My harsh voice boomed in the cool night air. “Who is the Commanding Agent here?”

  Blank faces stared back at me. A few of them gasped when they heard my name.

  Then, “Imperator!” a voice called out. “This way, sir!”

  The others turned away, seemingly relieved that someone was taking charge. The little crowd broke up. A few technicians began to service Kesef. The rest hurried toward the command tower. Only one remained to greet me, a slight woman in cracked leathers burned nearly black. As my boots clashed against the metal deckplates, she raised her hand in the Aviator’s raptor salute, her voice strong and fearless as a young girl’s. “An honor to see you here, Imperator Tast’annin.”

  I returned her salute. “I wish to speak to the Commanding Agent.” Behind me I heard the muted click of Nefertity’s feet as she climbed down the ladder. “My server will accompany us.”

  Nefertity joined me, gazing calmly at the woman. The sulferous yellow fog combined with the elÿon’s crimson glow to make it seem that we were surrounded by some silent inferno. In the dense swirling mist the nemosyne looked like a revenant, her eyes cold and glittering. The Aviator gave a curt nod and addressed me again.

  “I am Valeska Novus, Aviator Second Class. The Commanding Agent here is Caroline Shi Pei.” For the first time she seemed uneasy. “Will you—would you like to rest before seeing her, Commander?”

  “No. I want to go now. I have many questions for her. You may tell the technicians that my Gryphon is called Kesef. The server answers to Nefertity.”

  Valeska looked over at the technicians seeing to the Gryphon. “As you wish.”

  We walked with her across the deck. The yellow fog clung to everything. It was difficult to discern distances from one tower to the next save by counting the number of landing grids, like enormous bull’s-eyes shining through the mist at our feet. Shadowy figures ducked in and out of passages and from beneath squat vehicles, some looking at us with fear, others merely curious. All wore the yolk-yellow uniforms of the Ascendant Autocracy. A few had wrapped thin blue scarves over their faces, so that only their eyes showed. I recalled that the fantômes believed the fog was poisonous, like the mutagenic rains spread by the Ascendants over the Northeast. It was not—at least no more poisonous than any other air in that noisome country. Beneath our feet the deck rolled, and there was a constant undercurrent of sound, as of cables straining and water crashing through empty lockers.

  “We’re still feeling the effects of the storms from last week,” Valeska Novus explained, turning to look at me with calm hazel eyes. She was slight but strongly built. Her leathers seemed a little short in the cuff, her bare arms thick and muscular and crosshatched with deep scars. I could not guess her age: her dark hair was cut short and streaked with gray, but her voice was youthful. Her skin had that dark cast that comes from prolonged exposure to battle conditions in the Archipelago, as though one had turned one’s face too long to the poisonous sun. She was not beautiful, as Shiyung Orsina had been beautiful—there was no delicacy there, none of the artifice or cunning with which powerful women seek to enslave others if they have no great intellect. But she seemed fearless, which I thought attractive—my emotions could still be stirred by such things, though my body was not. I found myself thinking of Wendy Wanders as I had first seen her in the Engulfed Cathedral, her defiance and rage even in the face of death; and unexpectedly I laughed.

  “Imperator?” Valeska looked startled: rasas were supposed to be as devoid of emotions as the corpses they were generated from. She paused beside a recon turret, steadying herself as the deck pitched and rolled, then asked, “Did you come from Araboth, Imperator? We had heard it was destroyed by a cyclone, and there were no survivors.”

  I told her of the fall of Araboth, of the great tidal wave that had engulfed the Quincunx Domes, and how there had been no survivors save myself and my robotic aide. I did not tell her of the three we had left at the desert settlement, nor did I mention that I had murdered the margravine Shiyung Orsina.

  “And so the other Gryphons were lost?” Valeska cried despairingly. “How terrible!”

  I smiled. “No mourning for those thousands of lives, Captain Novus? Only for a handful of aircraft?”

  She shook her head. There was not a trace of embarrassment or apology on her strong features. “It’s a terrible thing—first we lost NASNA Prime last fall, and then came the rebellions. And now this. I am glad you—survived—Imperator.” She tilted her head toward Nefertity. “And your server? Is it very new? I haven’t seen one like it before.”

  “Very old,” I replied tersely. I wondered what “the rebellions” referred to; also why there seemed to be no other Aviators at Cisneros. “Are we near to finding Agent Shi Pei?”

  Valeska pointed. “That tower there.”

  It was one of the tall central towers, spiraling up from the middle of the platform like a ship’s mast and painted yolk-yellow. But the salt air had eaten away at the paint so that dull bronzy red showed beneath, the color of the previous Ascension; a grim reminder like a wound that will not heal. I thought of the last Commanding Agent I had met with here, and asked, “What became of Agent Bristol?”

  Valeska shrugged. “There was a purge after the destruction of NASNA Prime, and he was executed. He was suspected of collusion with geneslaves from one of the Wyalong platforms—they destroyed a hydrofarm off the coast of Brisbane. They are destroying outposts everywhere! Is that why you are here, Imperator? To lead us against the rebels?”

  She gazed at me questioningly, but of course from my metal face she could tell nothing. I had in fact heard none of this. The Orsinas, the corrupt siblings who had ruled Araboth, were notorious for their attention to the trivial if colorful details of familial intrigue, and their failure to keep abreast of the current political situation. Between my months in the City of Trees and my time in Araboth’s regeneration tanks, I was as guileless as a Paphian courtesan. But I only nodded and asked, “What is your most recent news, Captain Novus?”

  She stopped in fro
nt of a door in the tower and looked at me uneasily. “There is no news, Imperator. We’ve lost contact with all but two of the HORUS colonies. Our contacts tell us that it is the same with the Commonwealth and the Habilis Emirate—their stations in HORUS have either been destroyed or taken by rebel forces. These are only rumors, of course, but…”

  Nefertity had not spoken this whole time. Now when her voice rang out, Captain Novus started.

  “With all this talk of treachery, perhaps we should not be so ready to follow her, Margalis.”

  Valeska’s mouth rounded in amazement. “Your server acts as consul to you? And she calls you—she does not address you by your title?”

  “That is no business of yours, Captain.” My voice was cold, but in truth I liked her bluntness. It had been a long time since anyone had reacted to me with anything but fear. “I think we will meet no trouble here, Nefertity.”

  “My apologies.” Valeska bowed stiffly, held the door open for Nefertity and me. Inside, a spiral staircase twisted above us. One could see at a glance how it had suffered from years of neglect—it listed dangerously to one side, and there were risers missing and yellow paint peeling everywhere. Windows no wider than a finger let in air and dull blades of hazy yellow light. For the rest, the darkened tower was lit only by silicon panels, their ruddy glow coarsened by time to an angry blackish red like smoldering embers.

  The stairs rang as we climbed, the whole place vibrating as though the tower were only a bamboo pole thrust into damp sand. The windows afforded no view whatsoever, and Valeska wrinkled her nose and coughed at the stale air. Finally we reached the top, a narrow platform scarcely large enough to hold all three of us. Valeska stepped around me and reached for a metal door, pressed her hand against a scanner, and waited while the ancient mechanism whirred and clicked. Finally the door slid open, and we stepped inside.

  Up here one could feel how the tower really did sway and shudder as the wind gnawed at it. The small round room seemed expansive after the stairwell. The walls were of clear plasteel, so that we could look out onto the whole of Cisneros spread beneath us. Old electrical boards and monitors lined the transparent walls, and cables were strung haphazardly across the floor. A single swivel chair was pushed close to the window, and here sat the tower’s solitary inhabitant. I recognized the soiled yolk-yellow uniform, with the coded blue lumens that indicated its wearer was a rehabilitated criminal, a political prisoner whose mind had been broken and reshaped by the Autocracy.

  “Agent Shi Pei.” Valeska spoke respectfully but without deference—Aviators submit to no one save Imperators and Supreme Ascendant Governors. “It’s Captain Valeska. The Aviator Imperator Margalis Tast’annin has come to see you.”

  A long silence. Valeska glanced at me and repeated, “The Aviator Impera—”

  Before she could finish, the chair whirled about. A low voice greeted me.

  “Imperator Tast’annin. Forgive me for not meeting you earlier on deck. I just learned of your arrival.”

  The Commanding Agent made no move to stand, only smiled furtively and stared at a point somewhere past where we stood. She spoke in the high nasal accent of the Asian provinces. A dark-skinned woman with the fragile features of the Commonwealth’s eastern mountains, she held a slender porcelain carafe in one hand and a thimble-sized cup in the other. The bridge of her nose was tattooed with the butterfly ideogram that means spy. The floor beneath her chair was littered with broken candicaine pipettes. An empty carafe rolled across the room when she kicked it.

  “Agent Shi Pei. Your predecessor showed more civility toward me when I last visited Cisneros.”

  Agent Shi Pei sighed deeply, poured herself a thimble of whatever the carafe held—syrupy rice brandy, I would guess—and drank it quickly. When she raised her eyes to mine, I saw that one was dark brown. The other was a prosthetic of marbled blue and violet, chased with flickers of gold: a keek, a cerebral/optical monitor. Coupled with her obvious drunkenness, it gave her a slightly deranged appearance.

  “Ah! but things have changed since then. My predecessor is dead now and I am not, Rasa Imperator Tast’annin.” She pronounced the word rasa with a faint teasing disdain, smiled broadly, and gave a slight hiccuping laugh. I began to think she was mad as well as drunk, but that might make it easier for me to hide my ignorance of whatever had befallen the Autocracy during the last few months.

  “Agent Shi Pei! I demand a full report of your activities since Agent Bristol’s execution. Where are the other Aviators assigned to this post? What has become of the HORUS colonies?”

  Agent Shi Pei raised a delicate eyebrow above the prosthetic keek. “You don’t know?”

  I hesitated. If she learned of my ignorance, of how vulnerable I was, she might lie to me. I did not fear harm from her; I could kill her in an instant. But then it might be impossible to learn about the rebellions. I decided to tell her the truth.

  “I have heard nothing. I spent most of the last year in the City of Trees and a regeneration chamber in Araboth. I barely escaped the Quincunx Domes before they were destroyed. I know nothing of what has happened, save that NASNA Prime was destroyed last winter. Last night I saw the sky for the first time in many months. The pattern of HORUS has changed.”

  Agent Shi Pei’s other eyebrow rose, and something like dismay tugged at her mouth. “This is the first you learned of it?”

  I nodded, and she let out a low whistle. “ Tell me ,” I said.

  Agent Shi Pei sighed. “Last October NASNA Prime was destroyed. A strike by the Commonwealth, we thought at the time. But then we received an SOS from one of the Commonwealth stations—an incomplete transmission, something about an insurrection. When a peacekeeping force reached the station, we found no one left alive but seven energumens. They attacked the boarding party but were overcome by our soldiers. But within a week all members of the original force who remained were dead. Some kind of plague, either engineered by the rebels or else accidentally loosed by the janissaries.”

  “And the energumens?”

  Agent Shi Pei avoided my eyes as she reached for her rice brandy. “They survived,” she said drily. “We received a transmission from them informing us of the death of the janissaries.”

  “I see.”

  I turned to stare out the window. Below us I could see small figures moving to and fro, a cluster of uniformed figures crawling over and beneath Kesef like so many yellow jackets. “Where are the Aviators assigned to Cisneros?”

  “Most have been called into combat by the interim government at Vancouver. Captain Novus and two others remain, to provide me with some protection.”

  “What of the other HORUS stations? Helena Aulis? MacArthur?”

  Agent Shi Pei took a long sip of her brandy before replying. “We don’t know,” she said at last. “Or rather, I don’t know. Occasionally we receive word that someone—one of your Aviators, usually—has picked up some kind of strange transmission in flight. The talk is all of treachery, of overthrowing the Autocracy; but as far as we know here on Cisneros, the Autocracy has already been overthrown.”

  “Who commands this elÿon fleet, then?”

  “I do.”

  “And who commands you?”

  “No one.”

  I looked back and caught Valeska Novus staring at me grimly. “No one?”

  Agent Shi Pei shook her head. “As far as I know, this is the largest remaining fleet that has not been seized by rebel forces. The last relay I received from the Autocracy was in April. That was over two months ago. Since then there have been scattered relays—one from Jhabvala 6, another from the Vancouver bunkers. Oh, yes—and several transmissions that claim to be from the energumens on MacArthur. They say that they have overthrown HORUS and are launching an attack on Earth.” She coughed and took another sip of brandy.

  “That is all?” I tried to keep my voice from betraying fear and rage. “An insurrection in the Autocracy, and you can speak of it so calmly? Why was nobody informed?”

  Agent Shi
Pei laughed shrilly, the marbled keek rolling wildly in its socket. “Who is there to inform? The HORUS colonies are in the hands of rebels. We have heard they have formed an Alliance throughout HORUS and the other stations; that they intend to bring this Alliance to Earth and declare war upon us. Some of my people think it has already begun. They hear things, they tell me—messages, rumors…”

  Shi Pei snorted. “Rumors! New ones every day—stray radio transmissions, ’files sent from unidentified sources. Last month we even had a replicant arrive to tell us of an explosion at the Port Lavaca refinery—the replicant had no human escort, no point-of-origin program, nothing. In the middle of the night files appear in my bedroom with messages for me. The Autocracy is slain or scattered, HORUS is gone completely; HORUS has been retaken, the Autocracy is saved. What can I believe? The only thing I know for certain is that there was a coup on the Helena Aulis station. The energumens there rioted and murdered the entire station colony, and from ’files that were broadcast to neighboring stations, it appears that the victims were cannibalized. A single aviette escaped with Livia Marconi and her advisers aboard and landed at Vancouver three months ago, but I have heard nothing since then. And the city of Araboth is fallen, but you knew that.”

  Suddenly Shi Pei’s face seemed immeasurably aged, as though the mere recitation of these horrors had been enough to exhaust her. She ran a hand across her forehead and sighed. “I’ve tried contacting my former superiors at the embassy at Kirliash in the Commonwealth, but so far there’s been no response. Two Aviators flew to the old capital, where you were last year; my last message from them was that the entire city was in revolt against the janissaries. There are other strange things, too. Six weeks ago I received a disturbing report from the Chief Architect at the Hotei station.”

  She paused, ducking her head in the manner people of her country employed when embarrassed for another. “He said—well, he claimed to have seen that eidolon your people talk about.”