Carl Sargent - Black Madonna

The eighth corp was trying to figure out how the frag they could possibly manage to justify such a transfer of funds to the shareholders. Two of their best researchers had been dragged out of bed, piled into a plane, and despatched to Ahvaz. Within an hour of their arrival they’d agreed with Michael that twenty billion was a pittance.

“We can call it a sponsored R amp;D lab, write it off against taxes as profit reinvestment and retooling.” was the best the accountants and marketing people could come up with.

“And who’s going to be in charge of it?” came the obvious reply.

“This elf who calls himself Leonardo. Barking mad but he’s a fragging genius according to our to computer guys, and we pay them enough to know shit from salami on rye. Anyway, he says he can do it anytime he likes. Bust our systems, that is.”

“What’s he offering for twenty billion?”

“The deck. Training for some of our top people. Priority access to research findings. Look, our military guy got a peek at a defensive laser system he had in there. Said it was awesome. Not only that, nobody but nobody picked it up on sat. He’s got to be good. Think about what we could do with this kind of stuff.”

Management thought about what it could do with it all, and a lot of them fantasized about screwing the frag out of everyone else on the block.

They began to talk about payment in installments.

Back in London, a group of recent arrivals were trying to shake off an all-encompassing exhaustion and put the pieces together for themselves. Much of what had happened was still taking its time sinking in.

“Renraku looks like they could buy into it,” Michael told them. “Pay the guy hefty doses and get the research works. He says it’s all toys to him anyway. It’s that Great Work he’s really into.”

They’d had an hour or so with Leonardo after the arrival of the Renraku squad, and then the elf asked them to leave and think over his offers. There was so much to do, he said, and too much urgency to spend longer with them.

“They may come next week, or it may be ten years from now,” he’d told them, though his words were mostly for Serrin, “but come they will, unless the work is done in time.”

“I wonder, I really do,” Michael mused. “I mean, that deck. It was incredible just hitching. The chance to study it… and Renraku would pick up the tab. They’re talking about building him a huge lab out there. They’d love him in Chiba, obviously, but he won’t go. He wont leave the people of Ahvaz. And I don’t think Renraku will try to kidnap him, and they’ll sure as hell go to extreme lengths to make sure no one else does.”

“It was funny hearing him talk about Venice,” Kristen recalled. She had a smile on her face nearly all the time these last few days.

“Yeah. Just something he wanted to do, get rid of all of the drek in the canals. “Couldn’t bear to see it like that, so filthy.”

“I wished we’d had more time with him,” she said wistfully.

“Do we really believe it?” Geraint was still turning the impossibility of it all over and over in his mind. “Do we really say to ourselves, this is Leonardo in the flesh, alive after half a millennium?”

“I don’t know and it troubles me,” Serrin said. But he already had something else in mind, and was eager to find a pretext to take himself off.

“Not to mention all that slot about John and Isis and what not. What on earth is anyone going to make of that?”

“The Vatican took it seriously enough to try and nuke him,” Streak pointed out. “It was their missile, no question. I just sent him the full ID. Got some dosh back too. Working for two masters these days, boss.”

Geraint grinned back at him.

“I’not sure whether what he was saying was true.” Michael said slowly. “I know he believed every word of it, of course. But, even if it’s true, I reckon that religious belief and reason are sworn enemies. He may have the evidence, he may have alleged firsthand accounts, but I reckon blind faith won’t bow to that. Many still believe in the Shroud, even long after science has proved it a fake. I think he overestimates the reasonableness of people.”

“He’s got a good precedent for that,” Streak chipped in. “Let’s hope nobody nails this bloke to a tree for doing it.”

“Yeah,” Geraint said. “But do we believe it?” There was a long silence. Michael broke it.

“We were there.”

“Sure.”

“And we got it from the horse’s mouth.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I think I believe him,” Michael said, as though weighing every word. “And if that means that I think history is a lie and a lot of people have suffered and been deceived for two thousand years because of that, then I think… I think I believe that too. But don’t quote me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Geraint gave a small, surprised laugh. “I reckon, however that I just might agree with you.”

Serrin got away with Kristen in the early afternoon and began to drive westward. He didn’t know if he’d be expected, but when he arrived at the end of one of those English early-summer afternoons of real beauty and pleasantness, the cat, at least, was waiting for them. He’d known it would be.

“Hello, puss,” Serrin said. “I have the same gift for you as before, but this time I shall retreat at once so that you can enjoy it without being embarrassed.” He knelt down and placed the catnip-stuffed cloth mouse before the cat’s front paws, got up, and walked away without looking back. The cat dragged the mouse off under a lavender bush and began to savage it.

Merlin opened the door and looked out uncertainly, even slightly fearful, his eyes darting from one of them to the other.

“Are you all right?’

“I think so,” Serrin said, patting him on the shoulder. It might have seemed odd to him once; this was not a being of flesh and blood, but the spirit had a naive kindness rarely found in beings so made. The old elf was at the foot of the stairs, about to ascend them, and he turned at the sound of visitors. When he saw Serrin and Kristen, he smiled faintly and waved them in.

“He was telling the truth, wasn’t he?” Serrin asked, hardly waiting to be seated before beginning his questions. History records him as Leonardo. I have no idea what other names and faces he may have worn.”

“He has had many but, unlike some of us, he’s always been very careful about that,” Hessler agreed. “Often he has lived very quietly, especially when the mana was low, but he always becomes restless after a time, it’s been hard for him to disguise himself. He is known among us for his brilliance. It is reflected in his true name, but I could hardly tell you that.” The old elf smiled at the appropriateness of his expression. Reflection was the ideal word.

“I’d begun to wonder, for some time now, about how some of our people have beliefs about the return of spirits and the paths and the wheel of existences,” Serrin said. “And it has somehow never seemed quite right to me.”

“It is a belief carefully fostered,” Hessler said deliberately.

“It is not that we return to other lives. Some of the People live very long lives indeed,” Serrin said quietly. “Once or twice I have heard whispers, less than rumors really. I did not take them seriously at the time. They seemed, well, so wild.”

Hessler smiled. “I am glad to hear it.”

“You are one such,” Serrin said. it was a statement rather than a query.

“I am,” the elf affirmed. “But, of course, I trust that you will never mention this to anyone. I have seriously misjudged you if you do.”

“Of course not,” Serrin protested. “I just needed to know. For myself.”