Ultima

by Stephen Baxter

  Before the meeting, Quintus Fabius gathered his people outside Pascac’s house. Mardina noticed that while Quintus and his soldiers had become accustomed to wearing the readily available ayllu garb, today he and Titus Valerius had defiantly changed back into the remains of their military costume, though of course without weapons, armor or legion insignia. Mardina supposed this was some statement of cultural defiance. Mardina herself was happy to stay in the local clothes, including her round felt hat, which she’d decided was quite fetching.

  Quintus spoke quietly, in rough camp Latin. “Do not translate, please, Collius. Let us not be overheard for once.” He gestured at the group. “So here we are. I suspect most of you would prefer not to be brought before this rather sinister woman.”

  “Sinister and with power over us all,” grumbled Titus Valerius.

  “Yes, Titus. But we are an anomaly here in Yupanquisuyu—an anomaly in this version of history . . .”

  “True,” murmured the ColU from the usual pack mounted on a nervous-looking Chu Yuen’s back. “And from the very beginning it has been this woman Inguill, of all the Inca locals, who has seemed to have perceived that most clearly.”

  “Well, she is the empire’s chief record keeper,” said Michael the medicus. “If anybody knows the history, it’s going to be her.”

  “Correct,” Quintus said. “And since, as far as I know,” and as he said this he glared at Titus, “none of us have misbehaved terribly—none of us have done anything to bring ourselves to the undue attention of the authorities here, as far as I know . . .”

  “You can rest assured about that, sir,” Titus rumbled.

  “Presumably Inguill has come here to address loftier questions. Well, I suppose I was going to have to face this at some point, but at least I don’t have to be alone. So I am bringing you into the arena with me, my friends. You, Titus, the heart of the century—and its belly. You, Michael, as the nearest to a philosopher we have. You, of course, Collius, as she has requested Chu Yuen—”

  The ColU said, “Even if she doesn’t know of my existence, yet, or my true nature.”

  “And me?” Mardina asked, baffled. “Why am I here?”

  Quintus smiled at her, reassuring. “You are here because you represent our past, Mardina. Half your blood, after all, comes from beyond two jonbar hinges. And with your youth you also represent our future—and whatever future we have depends, at least for now, on the goodwill of the Sapa Inca. I want you at my side so that Inguill sees that.” Then he surprised Mardina by clasping Chu Yuen on the shoulder. “And you, Xin. When I assigned you as the bearer of Collius it was a random choice—I was barely aware of your existence; I did not know your name, or care. Yet you have come through so much with us, and you have borne yourself and your strange burden well. I am glad you are with us today.”

  Even now, Mardina saw with a twinge of sadness, the boy could not raise his eyes to meet Quintus’s. But he said, “Thank you, Centurion.”

  Titus Valerius grunted, and he adjusted his cloak. “Well said, sir, as always. But aren’t you exaggerating a bit? You call this an arena. We aren’t gladiators going into combat.”

  “Oh, Titus, you would never have made an officer. Let me face bare-handed a dozen highly trained and fully armed gladiators, each with a personal grudge against me, than a lawyer with a single pointed question. Come now, let’s get this done.”

  • • •

  In Pascac’s house Inguill sat comfortably upright on a couch, with Ruminavi on a mat on the ground on her left-hand side, and Pascac himself standing on the other, looking grave. Inguill had a kind of leather trunk open on the floor before her. Two soldiers, heavily armed, stood at ease behind her.

  Ruminavi caught Mardina’s eye, and gave her a kind of wink. Uncomfortable, she looked away.

  Quintus sat on a couch facing Inguill, with his own advisers arrayed behind him, sitting on the floor. Michael suppressed a grumble as he made his way down to the floor; this was a custom of the Incas, that only your leader was allowed to be at eye level with the representative of the Sapa Inca.

  With everyone in place, they sat and faced each other in silence—like pieces on a game board, Mardina thought, and maybe that wasn’t an inappropriate analogy.

  Dressed soberly, her eyes sharp, Inguill looked strong, in control. At last she spoke. “Well. You are wondering why I have come here, why I wish to speak to you today.”

  Pascac, standing beside her, bowed from the waist. “The quipucamayoc to the Sapa Inca is always welcome—”

  “Oh, hush, man. This isn’t a time for flattery, for protocol. It’s a time for truth.” She gazed at Quintus, at Titus, at Chu Yuen with his pack on the mat-strewn floor before him. “You’ll remember my first reaction to you people when you came wandering in, riding craft, your yachts, that were obviously unsuitable for the journey you described. Your unlikely story of a lost colony of Romaoi miners on an ice moon!

  “I am a record keeper. A historian. A number counter. My job for the Sapa Inca is to reflect the order of his vast empire, and to play my part in enforcing that order. And I remember I spoke to you of a deeper underpinning for our need for order. Unlike you Romaoi, or what is known of your history anyhow, our gods are not nurturing gods who bring the rains in the spring and the sun in the summer. They are not upstart slaves like your Jesu, not gods of generosity and forgiveness. Our gods are gods of destruction and calamity—gods who lived at the summits of fire mountains, in the continent you call Valhalla Inferior. Gods who have to be approached in drug-induced trances and spirit flights, gods who need to be propitiated with sacrifices, of food, drink—and, yes, human blood.”

  As she said that she looked pointedly at Ruminavi, who dropped his eyes.

  Now Inguill leaned forward and faced Quintus. “I speak of our gods who, our theologians believe, eventually overthrew yours, in your comfortable eastern continents, and shattered your Roman Empire.” She straightened up. “The foundation of my job is maintaining order. Without order, rigidly applied, surely you can understand that the fabric of this great machine we all live in could not be maintained. As for me, I left my birth family to study at the Houses of Learning at Hurin Cuzco at the eastern hub, and then I have served the Sapa Inca in the administrative buildings of Hanan Cuzco at the western hub. I live alone. I care for my parents, my siblings, but rarely see them. For myself, order is my husband—the only one I need. He will not betray me, if I serve him well.

  “Which is why you people represent such a problem to me. You are a threat to that order, and have been since the moment you have arrived.” She pointed a finger at Quintus. “Because—you—don’t—fit.”

  Titus growled, “How fortunate we were to have you on hand when we arrived, then, quipucamayoc.”

  Quintus shot him a warning glance.

  But Inguill said, “Oh, there was no fortune involved. I look out for—anomalies. Ripples on the pond of order and calm. You could say I collect them; you could call it a passion. And when I heard the reports of your ships’ approach, I knew you were just such a ripple on my pond.”

  Quintus laughed, surprising Mardina, but she saw he was trying to lift the mood, to break up the intensity. “Ha! Never heard you described as a ripple on a pond, Titus Valerius. What is it you want to say to us, quipucamayoc?”

  She smiled. “I want to learn more of you. I have come to think I need to. And believe me, you need to learn more of me.

  “I wish to propose an exchange of gifts. I give you something; you give me something in return. Our whole society is based on this exchange, if you think about it: you fulfill your mit’a obligations to the Sapa Inca, and in return he grants you the gift of a secure life.”

  Quintus scowled. “What gift?”

  She reached into her trunk and produced a Roman military belt buckle, heavy steel and brass. “Not so much a gift as returned property, I suppose. One of your men lo
st this when passing through the hub portals.”

  Titus smacked his brow. “That fool Scorpus! I’ll tan his backside with his own belt.”

  Quintus said evenly, “Hush, Titus. What of it? This is ours, but only a buckle—purely decorative.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s true, is it? You know, Tiso Inca destroyed Rome, but after that we pursued you surviving Romaoi to your eastern heartlands, beyond your capital. There the conclusion of the campaign of conquest was less destructive . . .”

  “The provinces of Graecia and Asia Minor,” Michael said quickly.

  “Yes,” Quintus murmured. “Breadbasket of the empire. The imperial troops must have pulled back there in the face of the Inca advance, tried to establish shorter frontiers.”

  “Which is maybe why these Incas call us ‘Romaoi,’ which is the Greek term.”

  Inguill listened to this carefully, as if filing away the words on her bits of knotted string, Mardina thought. “After the surrender, your citizens became subject to the Sapa Inca of the time. But compared to Italia, these eastern Romaoi had retained much of the fabric of their civilization, the farms, the cities—and their records. You had libraries, impressive histories. So I know much about you, you see. I can even read your peculiar language, the strange symbols you use where we use our quipus, the placement of knots on strings . . .” She held up the buckle. “I know what the words and numbers on this object say.” She picked out the molding: Legio XC Victrix. “The ninetieth legion, known as the victorious. Something like that? But, you see, there have been no Romaoi legions since the third century after Yupanqui. And there were never as many as ninety. Yet here is this belt buckle, five hundred years later. Here you are, in your hovels, in your field, muttering about campaigns fought and booty won, and calling this man ‘Centurion’ when you think nobody is listening.”

  Quintus almost stood up in his anger, but controlled himself. “You have spies here?”

  “I don’t need them. Every ayllu is riddled with yanakunas, all of whom have ears and eyes and a memory, and all of whom will tell all they know to be spared a whipping. Our inspectors sample such sources on a regular basis.” She faced him. “I think you are a fragment of a Romaoi legion, half a millennium after no such legion can exist. What do you have to say to that?”

  Quintus kept a dignified silence, evidently unsure, Mardina realized, where all this was leading.

  “A gift for a gift,” Inguill said now. “That is what we agreed.”

  “That’s what you imposed on us,” Quintus growled.

  “And the gift I want is the truth. Come now,” Inguill said silkily. “I know much of it already. I know for instance that few of you have learned our language properly—this girl, Mardina, being an exception.”

  Mardina bowed her head.

  “The others of you rely on prompts. As if somebody whispers in your ears. A spirit on your shoulders, perhaps, translating from the people’s tongue to Latin and back again?” She pointed at Chu Yuen. “And all of you are more confident when this boy is close by, with the pack that never leaves his presence. We are only playing a game. You. The Xin, Chu Yuen. Show me what is in your bag. I won’t take it from you. Just show me.”

  Chu glanced at Quintus, and at Michael.

  The ColU spoke now, from a small speaker inside the pack. “Do as she says, Chu Yuen.”

  Hearing this disembodied voice, the two soldiers behind Inguill drew their weapons, short stabbing swords. Titus growled and would have got to his feet in response, had Quintus not grabbed his arm.

  Quintus called, “Collius? Are you sure?”

  “She already knows so much, Centurion. And in the end we are all trapped in this situation together, the Inca as much as us.”

  Inguill frowned. “Trapped?”

  “We are all puppets of a higher power, quipucamayoc.”

  “Show yourself!”

  “Chu Yuen, please . . .”

  Chu opened his battered backpack, gingerly lifted out the ColU, and set it on the ground before Inguill. Unwrapped from layers of soft woollen packing, it was a slab of glass-like material the size and shape of a large book, Mardina thought; a constellation of lights winked in its interior, and cables, tubes and support structures protruded at its rim, obviously meant to connect this component to a larger structure, but crudely truncated.

  Inguill stared. “What are you?”

  “I am not human. I was made by humans. I am a device.”

  “Not by artisans of the Inca.”

  “No—”

  “And nor by Romaoi.”

  “No, quipucamayoc. A discussion of my origin will reveal much. I am a ColU. The Romans call me Collius. Once I was part of a much larger engine. My task was to farm, to dig the soil of other worlds.”

  Inguill was evidently trying to master her fear, Mardina saw. “You fit into no category of thing I have seen before.”

  “You are shocked, and it is understandable,” the ColU said. “Believe me, I am merely a made thing. I am like a quipu. I am a device for storing and manipulating information. I am more sophisticated—that’s all. I have machines to enable me to speak, and others that enable me to hear, through devices carried by the boy, Chu Yuen. Who serves me faithfully, by the way.”

  Inguill pursed her lips. “What do you think, tocrico apu?”

  Ruminavi looked just as scared as she was, but more cunning, Mardina thought. “I think that that would be a fine trophy to present to the Sapa Inca and his court. A talking jewel! And if it can sing or recite poetry—can you tell fortunes, Collius?”

  “I can do far more than that, Inguill, as I think you know.”

  She stared at the device. “Can you restore the order that has been lost?”

  “That is my goal, quipucamayoc,” the ColU said softly. “Mardina Eden Jones Guthfrithson is a descendant of those I was created to serve.”

  Mardina was startled to be brought into this, and blushed.

  “I can understand that,” Inguill said. “Everybody needs someone to protect. To give purpose to one’s life, one’s work. For me it is the Sapa Inca, who personifies the Tawantinsuyu and the billions under his protection . . .”

  “And billions yet unborn,” said the ColU.

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right. Oh, put that thing away, boy, put it back where it’s safe.”

  Chu picked up the processor unit reverently, and stowed it away in its layers of packing in his bag.

  Quintus grinned. Evidently, Mardina thought, with Inguill disconcerted by the vision of the ColU, he felt more confident, more in control. “So, quipucamayoc. We are exchanging gifts. Your turn again, I think . . .”

  “Well, let me overwhelm you.” Now she lifted a heavy frame out of the trunk; Titus had to help her lower it to the ground. Mardina studied this curiously. It was a frame of ornate wood within which fine wires ran, up, down, side to side, front to back, with knots of some kind of thread in a multitude of colors resting on the wires. Mardina saw that the positions of the wires, the knots, could be adjusted with the use of levers and switches.

  Inguill saw her looking. “What do you think of this, child?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Inguill smiled. “It is. Most well-designed devices are. But what do you think it’s for?”

  “It looks like a kind of quipu. I’ve only seen simple ones before, like the ones used by the inspectors when they come to assess the mit’a obligation of the ayllu. They reminded me of abacuses. This is more complex.”

  “You will have to show me an abacus. But you are right, child—that’s surprisingly perceptive.”

  “Thanks,” Mardina said drily.

  “This is a quipu, a kind of quipu, capable of storing a large amount of information. And it can be interrogated by means of these controls.” She looked around at them. “You should not overestimate this. In Cuzc
o, the Great Quipu Repository is a building of four mighty towers, with jars full of quipus stacked floor to ceiling. That is our record store; this can only be a digest. Nevertheless—ColU, can you read a quipu? Could you read this?”

  “With some instruction, and with the help of Chu Yuen—yes. But what will I learn?”

  “It is our history,” Inguill said. “A kind of compendium, by many authors. It depicts what we know of the ages before our own history began with Yupanqui, eight centuries ago. And it tells of our glorious campaign of global conquest, including the subjugation of the Romaoi and the Xin. And finally our expansion to the planets, and even the stars, with the use of the energies of the warak’a.”

  “I will study it closely,” the ColU said, “and instruct these others.”

  Mardina felt unreasonably excited by this, by the gift of a history book. “We might be able to figure out the jonbar hinge—”

  “Hush, child. Not yet.”

  Inguill, of course, missed none of this exchange.

  Titus snorted. “Well, I for one am always ready for a history lesson. Why, I remember once on campaign—”

  “Be polite, Titus Valerius,” Quintus said now, watching Inguill, evidently intrigued. “I suspect it’s no accident that the quipucamayoc has given us a history text, for history is what this meeting is all about, isn’t it? History—or histories?”

  Inguill nodded. “I have the feeling I know a good deal less than you do, at this moment. On the other hand I have the power to do a lot more about it. Rather than press you for a response—I have one last gift.” Again she dug into the trunk.

  This time she produced a scrap of white fabric, grimy with rust-colored dust, torn from a garment, perhaps—and stained by what looked like brown, dried blood. She smoothed this out on the lid of the trunk.