Karl Schroeder - Ashes of Candesce - Book Five of Virga

"And when it is, it'll carry all of us," insisted Loll. "All of us--including the, the morphont. We need someone to go ahead of it."

Keir finally realized what the man was asking. "You want to take my ornithopter!"

Loll looked chagrined. "If there were any way to return it ... And maybe there will be. We have many friends and allies in Abyss--in my nation. If you could see it in your heart to lend it to us--this is our chance to break away from the emissary's watchful eye..."

First Maerta impounded it, and now this outsider wanted to borrow it! And Keir himself was never going to get to use the thing. "No, you can't," he said quickly--and a little loudly. "I made it, I should get to use it!"

"I understand," said Loll in a soothing tone. "But ... will they let you?"

What had he heard? Maerta must have told others about Keir's plans to leave. Suddenly she didn't seem so wise, or nearly as caring as she pretended. Keir pictured her laughing with her friends while she told them about Keir's folly.

He decided. "I get to use it first. But once I'm done, I can send it back here. It's smart enough to find its way."

The Virgan minister nodded. "And where are you going with it, if I may ask?"

Keir shrugged. "It's a ... private matter. But I do intend to start as soon as I can." He thought about the timetable for completing the new airship, and suddenly realized what he was agreeing to. "Maybe even tonight..."

Loll nodded.

Suddenly not at all sure about this, Keir stepped away, looking around at who might be in earshot or scry distance. "You know," he mumbled, "once I go, the others will, um, kick up something of a fuss. About my being gone. It's important that you stay out of their way and say nothing. I can't guarantee that they won't catch and confiscate the 'thopter when it returns, so you'll have to set a watch for it and be ready to jump in the moment it lands."

"I understand," said Loll. "It's the best we can do under the circumstances. Thank you very much for indulging me in this, Keir Chen. If there were any way we could pay you back..."

He shook his head. "Just keep this secret."

Loll laughed. "Since you've told me nothing about your destination, that should be easy."

After the Virgan walked away Keir stood for a long time staring at the ornithopter. It seemed uncomfortable under his gaze, finally shuffling around to face the other way as it stretched out its wings and landing gear. Keir barely noticed.

He was thinking about the black air beyond the city, and about what it would really mean to launch himself into it. It should have helped that he knew now of two destinations up there: the exit to the arena, at the far end of Aethyr, and, much closer by, the corresponding door to Virga. Before he'd known about that second door, the arena had been his only hope. Now he could picture himself flying to Virga instead, and yet, from what Loll had said, that door was guarded, too. When he landed there, they would ask where he came from. They would investigate, and probably send him back here.

He clenched his fists and glared at the pavement. "But you're getting shorter, " he whispered.

The ornithopter angled its sensors as though pondering how to reply, and Keir turned and began walking away--only realizing, midstep, that he was doing it because of subtle hints from his scry.

No--not his scry. One of Maerta's annoying overrides had just kicked in, shoving his own emoticons and hints into the background, making him think he should head to his room.

Why would they want him there? He raised his hands and his dragonflies fountained up and away in every direction. And now he saw it--

--Human figures running up to Leal Maspeth and her people; lumbering mechs shouldering their way out of stone niches where they'd slept ever since the Renaissance arrived here; Maerta herself, pacing down the stairs along with her double, both equally grim-faced.

The usual scry map of Complication Hall and its environs had been edited down to a small set of corridors and rooms--the kids' spaces. A cold prickling feeling washed over Keir as he realized that Gallard had called everyone together and he was using scry to herd them somewhere safe--somewhere high up .

The searchlight of Maerta's attention landed on Keir for an instant, and he gulped and started walking again. He couldn't defy her, or any of the adults. He was going to his room. That didn't mean he couldn't find out what was going on, though.

On the way to the stairs he passed one of the blocky Edisonians. The kids learned early how to make queries to these devices--to ask for things. Along with your earliest lessons in dealing with an Edisonian, the Renaissance grown-ups taught you ancient stories about mythical beings who could grant wishes. Beware what you asked for, these stories cautioned. If your request was not worded exactly right, calamity might emerge from triumph. In one such story, King Midas wished that everything he touched turn to gold, and so his food, his dog, and finally his own wife and children all became statues and sculptures.

On more than one occasion, Keir had asked an Edisonian to extend the communications range of his dragonflies, but Maerta or Gallard or someone had anticipated this, and the Edisonians invariably replied that it was forbidden.

Keir had lately discovered that he had a bit of a talent for thinking around such problems. Actually, it was kind of a big talent for asking the right question. Everybody in the Renaissance had it to one degree or another, but for Keir it seemed to come easily. So, a few weeks ago he'd done something most of his people wouldn't think to do: he'd designed a solution to the range problem.

"Form a chain," he told his dragonflies as he took the steps two at a time. "One end by me, the other end by ... by Maerta."

The dragonflies formed a whirling cloud, which suddenly unreeled in the direction the grown-ups had gone.

Now he issued a second command he'd designed. "Lip-read," he told the lead dragonfly just before it disappeared through a distant archway. Then he had to turn his attention back to his main body, because as he went up one flight of stairs, Maerta and Leal Maspeth were going down another. The confusion of directions caused him to nearly fall flat on his face when he reached the top of his own flight.

He rubbed his shin; but the pain didn't dampen his enjoyment of the moment. He'd never really had cause to use the signal-chain idea before, but it worked perfectly. It was amazing the things you could do if you chose not to use the Edisonians to solve all your problems.

Maerta and Leal Maspeth were talking, and Keir's dragonflies relayed their words back along the chain, along with full visuals.

"--showed up about ten minutes ago," said Maerta.

Maspeth was shaking her head, twisting her hands together as she half-ran down the steps. "But how did he survive? I saw him get washed away by, by a thousand tons of ice!"

"That body probably didn't survive," said Maerta. They burst into one of the chambers just below Complication Hall. This place was normally dark, being just beyond the last storage rooms the Renaissance used. Keir had only ever seen it through the night vision of his dragonflies, which was probably just as well: the place was one of the city's follies, a chamber whose walls and ceiling looked like they were in the process of toppling in on you. Its menacing stone stalactites and leaning walls were lit bright as day by hovering light globes.

The globes, and the smoldering, lightly vibrating mechs, and a few of the older members of the Renaissance, formed a half-circle around a single figure who stood in the center of the room.

Keir didn't know this lean, bald man's face, but he guessed that he'd seen his silhouette before, in the mouth of the tunnel under Brink. He'd reached out one hand and asked them to let him in, and Piero Harper had shot him, driving him into the teeth of the avalanche. Now, once again, he had one hand out in an appeal.