“Well if we can just get Nordhausen on board and shut this whole thing down we won’t need a wakeup call from your cute little Golem program.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about any of us changing the continuum again, but you forget Mr. Graves and company.”
Now Maeve finally settled on the heart of Kelly’s plan. She gave him a long look, her eyes reflecting the conclusion that was obvious to her now, but one she had resisted in her thinking all along. “You think they’re still using the Arch technology to change things?”
“You know what a temptation that kind of power is, Maeve. Hell, look what Nordhausen pulled here! Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m willing to bet that if something starts to slip; if things start to change on us here, I damn well want to know about it when it’s happening so I have the chance to do something about it—just like that night last May. We were all set to go watch a Shakespeare play, then things changed. We were just lucky we had the Arch on standby that night with Jen and Tom on duty here. The point is this: we had six hours to do something, and I want that chance again if anything goes terribly wrong.”
Maeve gave him a long, forlorn look. Outcomes and Consequences, that was what he was talking about now. He wanted to keep a firm grasp on the life he was living now; wanted solid ground under foot—some sense of certainty in the face of this awful new technology they had spawned. He understood the same yawning doubt that sat in her chest now. He had to.
“Good for you, Kelly. I think it’s a great idea.” She leaned over and embraced him, a long warm hug that conveyed her relief and approval at the same time. It’s not just me, she thought. He feels the same way I do about all of this. “I can imagine your cell phone gives you a bit of a start every time it rings now, doesn’t it? People are calling you on that damn thing all the time.”
“You mean this?” Kelly reached in his pocket and pulled out his slim light green Nokia cell phone. “Oh, I don’t use this account for the alert calls.”
There was a muted sound and he felt Maeve tense up in his arms as she looked about the room to see what it was. Kelly’s eyes widened with surprise. “I use the red phone in my briefcase…”
Maeve had located the noise and the look on her face spoke volumes. Kelly edged away from her and the sound continued. He stood up and started across the room to his briefcase.
It was singing out its third ring now and, one by one, the system monitors began sputtering to life, consoles lighting up and computers beeping as they began to boot their operating software routines. Far below them, deep in the bowels of the Berkeley Hills, the massive titanium wheels of the main power generator began to slowly spin with a low thrum.
The Arch was growling to life.
Part VI
Dark Designs
16
The Sami was pleased with all he had done this night. Soon, he knew, the plan would unfold, and the matter between him and the Kadi would be decided once and for all. It was already wakening while he waited in the Tower of Sinan, his thin hands tracing a path over the strange figures that were drawn on the scroll. Messages, he thought. Messages from Egypt. How the Kadi doted over them, afraid to speak any thought or render any judgment without consulting the scrolls. What were they that he should revere them so? They were no more substantial than the parchment they were traced upon—something to be crumbled in his hand, or put to the flame. He teased the fire of a candle with the edge of the scroll, watching as the fiber burned and charred at the edge, sending a thin trail of smoke up into the still air.
Words… Why should they matter so? The thought that any real thing could ever be written was folly to him. A man could make his way in the world by knowing, and by action. What was behind the heavy wooden door to this very chamber? He could only know by looking. And so tonight he would look. He would open his eyes and see what the mettle of the Kadi truly was.
In the dark hour, just before the setting of the moon, his guards came to the chamber of maids. The women were lounging in a hot steam bath, the smoke from the smoldering coals scenting the air and adding to the misty haze of the room. The Sami smiled to imagine their fear and surprise when his men set upon them. They were sent to find the harlot, Samirah, and drag her away to the tower. When the hour came he listened for the shrill cries echoing from the vaulted chambers of the castle. It was done, and he went to the tower where the woman was held, to work his persuasion upon her, and set his will in motion.
The light from a single torch painted the bare walls in hues of ruddy orange and sable. The guards turned with a milky fear in their eyes, then fell to their knees as they recognized the Sami when he entered, their heads bowed in supplication.
“Withdraw,” he told them, and his command was obeyed at once. The dry, scraping echo of the bolt on the door soon faded to silence, chased by the fleeing footsteps of the retreating guards. The harlot, Samirah, stared at him shaking with fear and the chill of the cold wall at her back.
He could see, behind the fear, the glimmer of recognition in her eyes. He saw how her breath came fast, for she had no doubt heard the tales describing the fate of those who were taken from the harem. They were bound in cold chains, tortured, the skin flailed from their bodies, and then cast about with black sorcery to be made witches and concubines of demons. The Sami laughed inwardly to think how he had long cultivated such rumors, feeding them as one might lay fresh wood on a fire. Once the fear had taken hold it would burn on its own, and he could see that the flame was well kindled in the eyes of the woman when he came to her. The Sami remembered how she struggled to turn her head away when he approached, but his eyes caught and fixed her gaze, as though she was already benumbed by some unspoken charm.
Yet, he did nothing. It was enough for him to simply hold the woman’s eyes with his own, until the unblinking strength of his will surrounded her like an icy fog. He could feel her fear, and knew that the longer he waited the more she would dwell upon the inner dread that consumed her with each passing moment. He would do nothing. Her own fear would be enough to suit his purpose.
When the moment came he recognized it at once. Her eyes grew glassy with tears and she gave a last sigh of resignation, broken to the terror that she conjured from within. At last he spoke to her, though his voice was soft and measured, his words carefully chosen.
"There are those who would sooner die than defile themselves by consorting with our enemies. It seems that you are not so pure as your face and form might show.”
Again the silence and the waiting, where each second became a dark space that Samirah filled with a thousand demons of her own making. Her breath came fast, yet she remained frozen, paralyzed by the unbending regard of the Sami. His eyes were like blue fire, scoring her, shaming her, promising just punishment.
“Hear me,” he said at last. “You will do a thing now that may yet redeem your soul from the blackness I perceive. You will gain atonement for your sin."