Kleopatra nodded and smiled. "That you dropped from the sky, chased by a furious star, and that you were not born on this Gaia."
"And that I brought with me. . . ?" Patrikia prompted, for all the world like one of Kleopatra's tutors. The queen didn't mind; she enjoyed tutoring and learning. Indeed, she had spent most of her life in classrooms, learning the qualities and extent of her realm, and the languages, as well.
"You brought marvelous instruments, for which there are no exact equivalents in our world. Yes, yes, these stories are well known."
"Then I now tell you things known only to myself," Patrikia said. She glanced around the court and then returned her extraordinary gaze to the young queen. Kleopatra understood and nodded.
"This will be a private audience. We will adjourn and meet in my chambers."
The court was quickly cleared, and Kleopatra unceremoniously dropped her heavy robes and gathered a light cloak of byssos around her shoulders. With only two guards and the sophē's sons accompanying them, they strolled to the queen's chambers. Trays of quail and crystal goblets of wines from Cos awaited them, and the sophē ate with the queen, a very rare privilege.
When they were done, the sons ate, and Kleopatra and Patrikia made themselves comfortable on pillows in a corner. Chamberlains drew curtains around them for privacy.
Then and only then did Patrikia open the lid of the wooden case. There, in thick Tyrian purple felt—the felt from Pridden and the dye from Ioudeia—rested a silver-and-glass, palm-sized flat object, a second slightly smaller object and something saddle-shaped with protruding handles.
These objects were almost as famous as the Cache of General Ptolemaios Sōtēr, especially among scholars and philosophers. Few had ever seen them, not even her mother and fathers.
Kleopatra regarded them with unabashed curiosity. "Tell me, please," she said.
"With this," and Patrikia pointed to the smaller flat object, "I can measure the qualities of space and time. Years ago, when I took refuge in the Hypateion, after the death of my husband, the tekhnai there made me new batteries, and these devices function again."
"I must commend them," Kleopatra said. Patrikia smiled and waved her hand as if at trivial matters.
"The philosophy and tekhnos of your world is not so advanced as mine in some respects, though very nearly. But you have wonderful mathematicians, wonderful astronomers. My work has progressed."
"Yes?"
"And. . .” Patrikia lifted the object with handles from the case. "This instrument tells me when others are trying to open passages to our world, this Gaia. It senses their workings, and it tells me."
"Does it have any other purpose?" Kleopatra asked, aware she was already out of her depth.
"No. Not now, not here."
To her astonishment, the queen realized that the old priestess had tears in her eyes. "I have never given up my dream," Patrikia said. "And I have never given up my hope. But I am growing old, my Imperial Hypsēlotēs, and my senses are not so keen. . . .” She lifted herself up in her seat and resettled, with a deep sigh. "Still, I am certain now. I have been given the proper signs by this device."
"Signs of what?"
"I do not know why, or where, my queen, but a passageway has been opened on our world. This device in its presence, and so do I. Somewhere on Gaia, my queen. Before I die, wish to find this passage, and see if perhaps there is some slight chance I might fulfill my dream. . . .”
"A passage? What do you mean?"
"A gate to the place from which I came. They have reopened my gate, perhaps. Or—someone has created an entirely new road to the stars."
Kleopatra was suddenly troubled. The instincts of a hundred and twenty generations of the Makedonian Dynastic Succession were not idle in her blood. "Are those in your world people of peace and goodwill?" she asked.
The priestess's eyes became momentarily distant and cloudy. "I do not know. Probably they are. But I ask the queen to locate this passage, this gate, with all the means at her disposal. . .”
Kleopatra frowned and bent forward to see the priestess's face from a better perspective. Then she took one of the sophē's withered hands in hers.
"Would our lands benefit from this passage, this gate?"
"Almost certainly," Patrikia said. "I am a very minor example of the wonders that could lie beyond such an opening."
Kleopatra frowned and pondered this for a moment. The Oikoumenē was beset with many problems, some of them, her counselors assured her, insurmountable, the problems of an elderly civilization on the wane. She did not believe this—not entirely—but the thought frightened her. Even in an age of airplanes and radio, there had to be other things, other marvels, which would rescue them from their plight.
"This is a shortcut to distant territories, places where we might extend our trade, and learn new things?"
Patrikia smiled. "Your understanding is quick, my queen."
"Then we will search. I will decree that all our allied states and empires will search as well."
"It may be hidden, very small," the priestess warned. "Perhaps only a test gate, as wide across as a man's arm is long."
"Our searchers will be thorough," Kleopatra said. "With your guidance, they will find this gate."
Patrikia squinted at her with almost insolent suspicion. "I have long been regarded as a crazy old woman, despite these marvels," she said, resting her hand on the case. "Do you believe me?"
"Yes, upon my heritage as a Queen of Alexandros's Egypt and the Makedonian Dynasty," Kleopatra said. She wanted to believe the priestess. Life in the court had been very dull the past few years. And the queen did indeed exercise some powers, chiefly in matters involving the political spirit and aims of the state. She could fit this quest into those territories nicely.
"Thank you," Patrikia said. "My husband never truly believed me. He was a fine man, a farmer of fish. . . . But he worried about me and said I should live this life only, and not dream of others. . . .”
"I hate limitations," Kleopatra said vehemently. "What will you do if we find this passage?"
Patrikia's eyes widened.
"I will go home," she said. "Finally, however futile it may be, I will go home."
"Not before you have finished your work for us, I presume."
"No. That will be my first priority."
"Good. So be it, then."
Kleopatra called in her counselors, warned them sternly this was an Imperial decree not subject to dissension, and issued a command that the search begin.
"Thank you, my Imperial Hypsēlotēs," the priestess said as they strolled back to the court. Kleopatra watched Patrikia leave through the Theotokopolos door, on her way back to the Hypateion until such time as the search would begin. Then the queen closed her eyes and tried to imagine. . .
The old woman's home. Where would such a woman have come from? A place of gleaming towers and mighty fortresses, where people might be more like gods or devils than the men and women she knew. Only such a place could have produced this small, intense sophē.
"How strange," Kleopatra murmured, resuming her throne. The heavy robes were wrapped around her shoulders again. She felt a shuddering thrill. "How wonderful. . .”
"Unless you know where you are, you don't know who you are."
—Wendell Barry
Acknowledgements
A book as complicated as this one cannot be written alone, and thank God for those willing, even eager, to help. My deepest appreciation to (in no particular order) Rick Sternbach; Ralph Cooper; John S. Lewis; Louis A. D'Amario; David Brin; Anthony and Tina Chong; Craig Kaston; LCDR Patrick Garrett, USN; LCDR Dale F. Bear, USN RET.; the Citizen's Advisory Council on National Space Policy; and of course Astrid.
Errors and misconceptions no doubt remain, and are my own.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, w
ithout the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1985 by Greg Bear
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-0742-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
Greg Bear, Eon (Eon, 2)
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