“The preliterate, meet the postliterate,” continued Savi, opening her hand as if introducing Odysseus to the other four. Then she held up one finger. “Oh, I forgot our friend Harman here. He is the Balzac and the Shakespeare of the current litter of old-style humanity. He reads at about the level of a six-year-old from the Lost Age, don’t you, Harman Uhr ? Lips move when you sound out the words, eh?”
“Yes,” said Harman, smiling slightly. “My lips do move when I read. I didn’t know there was any other way to do it. And it took me more than four Twenties to reach that level of proficiency.” To Ada, it appeared as if the ninety-nine-year-old knew he was being insulted, but did not care, showing only interest in what Savi would say next.
Ada cleared her throat. “What was that animal you . . . killed . . . today?” she asked Odysseus, her voice bright and brittle. “Not the Terror Birds, the other one?”
“I just think of it as the floppy-nosed grazer,” said Odysseus. “Want to try some?” He reached back to the counter and lifted the platter of fire-darkened meat, holding it in front of Ada.
Wanting to be polite, Ada took the smallest cut on the platter, handling it gingerly with utensils.
“I’ll also take some,” said Harman. The platter went around. Hannah and Daeman scowled at the meat, sniffed it, smiled politely, but didn’t take any. When the platter came to Savi, she passed it on to Odysseus without a word.
Ada nibbled the smallest bit she could slice. It was delicious—like steak, only stronger and richer. The wood smoke gave it a flavor different than any microwaved thing she had ever tasted. She cut a larger piece.
Odysseus was eating with just a short, sharp knife he had brought to the table with him, slicing thin strips and chewing them from the end of the knife. Ada tried not to stare.
“Macrauchenia,” said Savi between forkfuls of her salad and microwaved rice.
Ada looked up, wondering if this was more of the woman’s strange language ritual.
“Pardon me?” said Daeman.
“Macrauchenia . That’s the name of the animal that our Greek friend killed and our two other friends are eating like there’s no second course. They covered these South American plains a couple of million years ago but went extinct before humankind showed up in South America. They were brought back by the ARNists during the crazy years after the rubicon, before the post-humans put a stop to reintroducing extinct species helter skelter. Once they had the Macrauchenia back, though, some ARNist thought it would be clever to bring back Phorusrhacos .”
“For-us-what?” said Daeman.
“Phorusrhacos . The Terror Birds. The ARNist geniuses forgot that those birds were the primary predator in South America for millions of years. At least until the Smilodonts wandered down from North America when the water level fell and the land bridge between the continents emerged. Did you know that the Panamanian Isthmus is underwater again? The continents separate again?” She looked around, obviously intoxicated, belligerent, and secure in the knowledge that none of them had any idea what she was talking about.
Harman sipped his wine. “Do we want to know what a Smilodont is?”
Savi shrugged. “Just a big fucking cat with big fucking sabertooth teeth. They’d eat Terror Birds for lunch and pick their sabers with the leftover claws. The idiot ARNists did bring sabertooths back, but not here. India. Anyone here know where that is . . . was? Should be? The post-humans ripped it free of Asia and broke it into a goddamned archipelago.”
The five looked at her.
“Thank you for reminding me,” said Odysseus with his stilted accent, and stood and went to the counter. “Next course, Terror Bird.” He carried the big platter back to the table. “I’ve been waiting to taste this delicacy for quite a while, but never had the time to hunt one until today. Who will join me?”
Everyone but Daeman and Savi volunteered to try a slice. They all poured more wine for themselves. Outside, the thunderstorm had arrived with a vengeance and flashes of lightning streaked around the bridge structure, illuminating the saddle and ruins far below as well as the clouds and jagged peaks on either side.
Ada, Harman, and Hannah each tried a bite of the pale meat and then drank copious water and wine. Odysseus bit off slice after slice from the point of his knife.
“It reminds me of . . . chicken,” Ada said into the silence.
“Yes,” said Hannah, “definitely chicken.”
“Chicken with a strange, strong, bitter taste,” said Harman.
“Vulture,” said Odysseus. “It reminds me of vulture.” He took another large bite, swallowed, and grinned. “If I cook Terror Bird again, I’ll use lots of sauce.”
Five of them ate their microwaved rice in silence while Odysseus enjoyed more helpings of his Terror Bird and Macrauchenia, washed down with huge draughts of wine. The conversational silence might have been uncomfortable if it had not been for the storm. The wind had come up, lightning was almost continuous—illuminating the softly lit dining bubble in blasts of white light—and the thunder would have drowned out most conversation anyway. The green dining bubble seemed to sway ever so slightly when the wind howled and the four guests glanced at each other with barely concealed anxiety.
“It’s all right,” said Savi, no longer sounding angry or all that intoxicated, as if her earlier harsh words had vented some of the pressure from her bitterness. “The pariglas does not conduct electricity and we’re firmly attached—as long as the bridge stands, we won’t fall.” Savi sipped the last of her wine and smiled without humor. “Of course, the bridge is older than God’s teeth, so I can’t guarantee it will remain standing.”
When the worst of the storm passed and Savi was offering coffee and chai heated in odd-looking glass containers, Hannah said, “You promised to tell us how you got here, Odysseus Uhr .”
“You want me to sing to you of all my twists and turns, driven time and again off course, in the days since my comrades and I plundered the hallowed heights of Pergamus?” he replied, voice soft.
“Yes,” said Hannah.
“I shall,” said Odysseus. “But first, I think, Savi Uhr has some business to discuss with all of you.”
They looked at the old woman and waited.
“I need your help,” said Savi. “For centuries I’ve avoided exposure to your world—-to the voynix and the other watchers who wish me ill—but Odysseus is here for a reason, and his ends serve my own. I ask if you would take him back—to one of your homes, where others can visit him—and allow him to meet and speak with your friends.”
Ada, Harman, Daeman, and Hannah exchanged glances.
“Why doesn’t he just fax wherever he wants?” asked Daeman.
Savi shook her head. “Odysseus can no more fax than I can.”
“That’s silly,” said Daeman. “Anyone can fax.”
Savi sighed and poured the last of the wine into her glass. “Boy,” she said, “do you know what faxing is?”
Daeman laughed. “Of course. It’s how you go from where you are to where you want to be.”
“But how does it work?” asked Savi.
Daeman shook his head at the old woman’s obtuseness. “What do you mean, ‘How does it work?’ It just works. Like servitors or running water. You use a fax portal to go from one place to another, one faxnode to the next.”
Harman held up his hand. “I think what Savi Uhr means is how does the machinery work that allows us to fax, Daeman Uhr .”
“I wondered that myself a few times,” said Hannah. “I understand how to build a furnace hearth than can melt metal. But how does one build a fax portal that sends us from here to there without having to . . . go in between?”