by C L Corona
"Liar." Judakael smiled as he said it. "It's a fool's errand, and more than that, a sick one." He waited as Ursa served the first course—a pale, milky soup flavoured with mushrooms and herbs. "Here you are, given a gift unlike any other, and instead of making the most of it, you want to find a way to destroy it."
"I’m not the only one with the gift." Elian took a spoonful. It was tasteless, or nearly so. or, she could no longer appreciate the subtleties of good food. Another piece of humanity lost. "Or don't you count?"
"Did you ever wonder how different it would have been if we'd given Aleksia a dose?"
Elian stiffened, and lowered her spoon carefully, her mouth filled with ash. "You were the one who told me not to give her, to destroy all the vials."
"I did. And I have wondered ever since if I made a terrible mistake." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, watching her over his fingertips, calmly assessing. "You could have fought me on that, but you didn't."
"You're making this my fault now?"
"Not at all. Merely...contemplating." He sighed deeply. "Her death was an accident—a tragedy we could never have seen coming. The whole universe seemed within our grasp. And when I realized that things were going to stay the way they were, for a very long time, that I would do something good with my extra time. It made me feel hopeful. Even when every other human emotion was slipping through my fingers, I held onto hope."
"So did I," Elian said softly. "The difference is you built an empire out of hope, and I ran away with my hope, kept it close."
There was a long silence, then Judakael nodded. "We embraced our godhood in different ways."
"We're not gods, Jude. Not even now."
"But perhaps one day. And when that happens, I would like to know that I am a saviour, rather than destroyer." He smiled like some kindly uncle explaining to a child that the Bonelady and her black coach, her six white horses, only came for the evil and the disobedient. "Now, let us get to the meat of the matter. You never respond to my invitations. You only accepted this time because you want something."
Elian let go of the cold empty feeling of failure, pushed it aside to concentrate. "The chimera. The murder," she said simply. "It's impossible." She eyed him through her lashes, contemplating. "Unless one has a lock-and-key code."
"Unless one had an override code," Judakael agreed. "Which would never happen. The language used is my own, there is no way to access the code of a chimera unit, and all our paperwork has been destroyed. And I never made a lock-and-key."
It was possible that Judakael told the truth. There'd been no reason to create a lock-and-key. After all, it was Judakael who had insisted the chimeras should never have the opportunity to override human control and commit murder. It would have been too easy for them to have been turned into weapons.
Strike the override, then. Judakael had always been a pacifist. "So someone very clever found a way to trick the chimera—to stun it, perhaps—is that possible? They are alchemical, they might react unexpectedly to an unknown compound—perhaps be made to see something that's not there." She tapped her fingers along the table, frowning. "Cameras are easily fooled, I did it myself. How much easier to do so when you control the cameras and the footage. And I listen, Jude. There were whispers about how Tomas wanted to channel the company finances in a different direction to his father."
Judakael waved dismissively. "Children always want to do things differently to their parents. It doesn't hold that they will murder over it."
"I disagree. All I've seen and heard points to Francis' son being the murderer, and I merely need someone who would corroborate that fact, who could prove that the chimera was incapable of murder."
"You plan to make an enemy of Tomas Olsten?" Judakael crooked a finger at Ursa. "I think another bottle of the Hawfinch 1752, dear." They waited in silence as Ursa poured more wine, before Judakael continued. "Consider your fights carefully. Taking on Tomas and the full might of his money and power—that is a supremely unwise idea, even for a god-"
"Jude."
He twitched one corner of his mouth into a defeated smile. "A demi-god, then. But Tomas is nothing like his father. Where Francis was a man I could admire—a man almost like myself, a philanthropist, a visionary, a man who wanted the best for humanity—his son is a perversion of that."
"You've proof?"
"No one has any proof on Tomas Olsten. But no one would be so stupid as to think that means anything. He is supremely clever, supremely ambitious, and he has his father's wealth. You would best step carefully around such an enemy." He took a sip of his wine, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Turn Ulixes in, let it die, and forget this."
"What makes you think I have the chimera?" Elian said.
Judakael settled his glass down and stared at the remaining red wine, as though divining some truth in its depths. "Once, before Theudor was born, you still believed you could save him, find an alchemy that would remake him in the womb and give him a life."
"That has nothing to-"
Judakael continued talking over her, "But you failed, mostly, and Theudor...well, he was what he was." He looked at her squarely. "Did you ever stop trying to find the cure?"
Elian shook her head. It was too late for her grandson, but there were others born with Romero's Syndrome, their lives eclipsed, their bodies twisted and frail. One day...perhaps. That's why the bats. After all, she wasn't that interested in flying mammals that she'd devote half her lab space to the beasts. "You know I didn't."
"That is why I know you have the chimera, Ellie. There's still enough human left in that body to believe in a better future, in innocence, and the cause of right."
"I'm not you." Elian stood. "It's been lovely, Jude, but I'm done here. If you can help, contact me. Otherwise," she gestured with one hand, taking in the city lights, "carry on saving humanity from themselves."
"So you're determined to pursue Tomas?" Judakael raised one brow. "I dare say you're chasing shadows, Ellie, but that was always your way." He rose, mirroring her across the table. "Whatever my personal views on Tomas Olsten, I believe that in this particular case you are wrong, and that you're making an enemy of someone you should keep on your side. However, you do rather like to take your scraps and run with them. It's always been your way."
"Thanks, I don't think."
"How about a small wager?"
"A what?"
"A bet. I shall place, say a hundred thousand decs on Tomas' innocence."
"A small wager, my gilded and diamond-studded arse."
Judakael extended his hand. "If you're so sure of it, then what have you to lose?"
"Fine. The man is guilty, he reeks of it, and I'll prove it to you." Elian felt his hand, warm in hers, slightly damp. "At the very least, you know the chimera is innocent." She gripped harder, and smiled grimly. "And you'll testify in a court, if I need you to."
"Will I?"
"You owe me, Jude." Elian let him go. "For immortality. Without me, you'd be a doddering old man, looking through cine-albums of former glories. This way, you get to play king of the tower with all the time in the world."
"There is that."
"So I'll need one other small favour from you, and I am quite certain you can set it up."
"Set what up, exactly?"
Elian looked down at the table, and decided to take one last sip of wine. Not exactly for courage, but it had been a particularly expensive vintage, and she supposed that probably made it decent. She set the emptied glass down. "All I ask is fifteen minutes, alone. With him."
A Web of Others
"How did your dinner date go?" Martyn said from the darkness of the lounge.
Elian flipped the light switch to find her assistant sprawled on the cream leather couch, still dressed, though looking scruffier and more rumpled than usual. His eyes were bloodshot, but whatever it was he'd mixed up and taken while she'd been out, at least the boy wasn't sprouting horns, or growing gills and extra eyes. "Were you waiting up for
me?"
He lifted one shoulder lazily. "Had to make sure you got home safely. Big date night with the old flame, never know what could happen."
It was almost jealousy, Elian thought. She hung up her coat. "How do you know who I had dinner with?"
"The list wasn't long. You won't see Theu or your daughter, and all your friends are dead."
"Except one."
"Except one," Martyn echoed softly. "So, did he help you?"
"In a manner of speaking." She collapsed on the seat next to him and glanced over. "It's time to put Ulixes back together. I need to have a few words."
◆◆◆
It was well past midnight by the time Martyn and Elian had Ulixes back in working order. Although the chimera seemed to have suffered no apparent damage despite being in small pieces for the better part of a day, there was something intangibly off about its movements, Elian thought. Or, you're overtired and paranoid.
"You spoke with the Other," Ulixes, blank-faced and unmoving.
Elian narrowed her eyes. "Yes, I spoke with Judakael—did you hear me talking about it from the bedroom?"
"This one was not-awake until now." The chimera did not shake its head.
It was another disconcerting thing, Elian realised. She'd never thought about it before, but the chimeras had no unconscious tells, no subtle indications that not all was well. She'd never really considered that if it were possible for a chimera to lie, there would be no way of knowing it via gestures or tiny slip-ups. "So what exactly are you referring to?"
"This one means you spoke with its Other-Self."
Elian stared, her mind whirring. "Say that again," she said slowly. "And perhaps elaborate your explanation just a tad."
"This one knows you spoke with the Other, the one who is with Judakael Seren." There was a pause, as though Ulixes ruminated further. "And one more, though that impression is weak, hard to interpret."
"What's she going on about?" Martyn leaned forward, his eyes intent behind the hazy glass of his spectacles. "Do you know?"
Here was something unplanned, and utterly unexpected. "You are in contact with Ursa, and to a lesser extent with the other chimeras," Elian said. "Why does no-one—why do I not know about this?"
"It is not communication," Ulixes said. "It is only knowing."
"Impossible." Elian narrowed her eyes. "Would another chimera know what you know?"
"Only a similar model," said Ulixes. "Other models would have only fleeting impressions of what this one knows."
This was better news than Elian could have ever expected, even if it was the smallest bit worrisome that the chimeras were developing new methods of inter-model communication. While it was true that technically the chimeras had been created to be autonomous, the Three had never meant for the biochanicals to be quite as autonomous as that. Next thing they'd be inventing religions and starting holy wars. "This could be useful." Elian stretched. "I want everyone rested. Tomorrow, I have a meeting, and I'll need to be sprightly as your average ninety-year-old can be."
"A meeting with who, and what exactly are you thinking?" Martyn asked.
"I've been going about this the wrong way. I'm not one for subterfuge and pretence-"
Martyn made a choking noise, but otherwise didn't contradict his employer.
"And," Elian said, raising her voice, "I don't like these roundabout methods, sneaking and trying to piece together facts from half-lies." She was old, even if it didn't show, and she was tired right down to the hollow spaces of her bones.
Judakael had put on a good face, but she had known he felt it, that thinning of self. It was impossible to explain to someone who had not drank her elixir, but the long years and the paucity of the experiences she felt made her life grey and stretched out and dusty as the cobwebs left in the forgotten corners of abandoned buildings.
"I don't have the time to waste on this stupid dance. I want to cut through the guff and go straight to the heart."
"You have all the time in the world," Martyn said softly. "It's the rest of us who have to grab each minute and hold it fast."
Elian stared flatly at him, knowing that he was both right, and wrong. In the way mortals always were. "I have a meeting set up with Tomas Olsten. On my own turf."
◆◆◆
The dawn sun rise bright and clean. A sudden hard squall in the early hours had left the air feeling scrubbed, the pavements and concrete buildings lacing the city with the scent of petrichor, the grass in the myriad city parks sweet and green and poison.
Elian sat at the antique writing desk in the suite lounge, her clothes stiff and grey and fussy, her veil pinned carefully into place. She looked like a relic from a previous era, and she knew it. All to plan, all to make Tomas dismiss her as no threat at all.
Ulixes was in the next room, waiting, following instructions to record all conversations between Tomas and Elian. Perhaps someone had managed to tamper with Ulixes. And if they had, Elian would find out by comparing her memory of events with what Ulixes recorded.
Martyn was pacing, his fingers laced behind his back. Occasionally he would pause, glance at the door, then at Elian, before shaking his head and starting his circumnavigation of the room again.
"Do sit," Elian snapped. "I'm sure it's wonderful exercise, but it's giving me a mother of a headache."
"Aren't you the least bit worried?" Martyn’s eyes blinked rapidly behind his spectacles. He looked washed out, black circles under his eyes, jawline rough with stubble. "If you're right and this man murdered his own father, what possible good can come of inviting him in here and revealing your hand?"
"I'm not revealing anything." Elian tugged gently at her veil. "But I need to look into this man's eyes when he lies to me, and I need to collect the data from Ulixes' response to his lies." Martyn was thinking in small, immediate terms—saw failure right now as the end, but Elian was thinking from a place where time splayed out in all directions. A vantage point that mean she could play her moves and sacrifice her pieces in order to win. As it was, she doubted Tomas would do much. Even if she was right about him, he wouldn’t care. She was an old woman, and old woman could be destroyed with a whisper, a rumour of dwindling mental faculties or ill health.
So let him denounce her as a senile old bat to the papers, it was unimportant. This was about her reputation as a scientist and as a creator, and about her creations. The truth was what mattered, and she was going to prove the chimeras incorruptible, even if it took her decades. She had the time, and Tomas, young as he was now, didn't.
She looked down at the gently ticking chronometer on her wrist, almost as old as she was and still going. The muffled tread of footsteps sounded in the hallway and Elian drew in a composing breath. A moment later the chime rang, and Elian let the breath out gently. She stood, and went to let the lion into her fox hole.
The man framed in the doorway was lean, handsome, and dead-eyed. Tomas Olsten was no longer the grieving son. The act he'd been playing for his father's funeral had been swept away
Standing behind him were two men who played their role of bodyguard bully-boys with impeccable nuance. Both were squat and powerful, muscles wrapped in dark suits. A fourth person stood nervously a few feet back. He was smaller than the others, and he wore a standard uniform marking him to be a member of the Leeburg metro guard.
So much for coming alone. Elian narrowed her eyes, and gestured for Tomas and his retinue to enter. "Thank you for accepting my invitation."
Tomas didn't acknowledge her, merely stepped into the room and looked around, frowning only slightly when he spotted Martyn sitting on the couch. "The chimera," he said. "Where is it?"
"Who said we were here to discuss chimeras, Master Olsten?" Elian cocked her head slightly, keeping hidden behind her net veil. "I wanted to speak privately to you because I would like to support your late father's work, but I thought it in poor taste to bring this up at his funeral."
"And you think it shows better taste to contact me the day after?"
"I know as well as anyone else that the public has no time for grief. You may continue to wallow privately, but your father's assets and workers and business partners will prefer to see action. It's a fragile time for a company." She waved a hand toward the lounge area with its plush couches and armchairs, the low polished wood of the curved coffee-table. "Please take a seat, you and your friends, and I shall ring for refreshments."
Tomas Olsten settled on a high-winged armchair, leaning back with his arms resting on the wings; a king surveying peasants. His men took their places behind his chair, still standing, watchful. The metro guard seemed a little more uncertain of his place, and Elian cleared her throat.
"Officer? I confess I am not quite certain as to why you are here, but you are welcome to sit down, and have tea." There, little old lady tricks. Ply your enemies with tea and biscuits. If you were especially canny, you could knit them jumpers. They never knew how to respond to hot drinks and woollens.
Of course, in Elian's case, the tea and cake and biscuits came courtesy of room service. She might have been a splendid alchemist, but, as Martyn had pointed out to her, the art of brewing a good cup had never seemed to be part of her skill set.
"Ma'am." The officer nodded, and took a seat, but he stayed rabbity and nervous, as though a gun had just gone off and he was certain the next bullet was meant for him.
He even lurched in his seat when a knock sounded at the door and a hotel employee brought in a wheeled cart filled with pots of coffee and tea, jugs of milk and cream, revolving stands of petit-fours, biscuits, cakes, and other sweets.
No one minded little old ladies fussing over tea and confectionery and handing out floral-decorated porcelain filled with sweet milky tea, or little plates heaped with cakes. And if you were the kind of little old lady who knew what she was doing, it was also easy to gently swipe the inside of a cup handle or the edge of a saucer with imperceptible quantities of drugs you were now quite immune to.
