Eleutherion
I was feeling sick last night, and chatting with a friend. To pass the time, he started a story which we passed back and forth between each other.
In a very near future, only somewhat more Greek than reality... or perhaps in a very Greek reality, only a little bit in the future, an old man and a clockwork robot huddled in the wreck of a starship gone horribly wrong.
“Is this the end of our efforts to unlock the true secret of Antikythera?” asked Andreas.
But the Talos could only shake its head and mutter, "it was folly from the start. For you cannot stop the seasons from turning, nor the winds from blowing, nor the tides from turning into the wine-dark void."
Andreas stared at the darkened panels of his ship, as though he could call power into them by hoping. "It may be folly to underestimate Poseidon's strength," he said. "But it is never folly to reach for understanding. Come, my friend," he said. "We cannot say, 'alas it is as the Fates decree!' until we have tried our last! There is still a chance. We may yet be able to repair the Eleutherion."
"Fine." The Talos turned its head, the gears in its neck making an unsettling clicking sound. "As the philosophers teach, we will survey our remaining resources. Water, as the poet says, is best. The aft ballast tank is half full of it. The main tank, however, has ruptured. If the poet says anything about the possibilities of jagged, hypercold ice, I do not recall it at the moment. For those of us requiring oxygen, on the other hand, the ancients teach moderation as a guiding principle. Try not to breathe too much. The gauge gives us... meaning you, in fact... three quarters of an hour?"
"Stop it," Andreas growled. "I am not afraid of death, but if I preferred to embrace it, I would have done so at home, with my family to mourn me. You know as well as I do that the ship will not fly us home. But perhaps we can power up the communicator."
The Talos turned, its coppery eyes flashing as it considered that possibility. "We might," he said, "Save that the telelalic array was damaged along with the ballast tank. You might speak your message, but you could not transmit it." The Talos regarded him darkly. "I am sorry," it said, and it almost sounded as though it might be. "I have served you for many years, but my kind will never see the Elysian Fields. You must go on without me."
Andreas stood. "I will not believe it," he said. "I have pressed all my life beyond the obstacles that Fate placed before me. I have defied every one and come through- a scholar and an explorer both. I will not die in this place, at this time, with my work unfinished!"
"All men come to the end of their defiance," the Talos said. "All men die with their work unfinished."
Andreas pulled on his mask. "I am going outside, Talos," he said. "I will find a way."
Andreas looked out at the endless void. It cooled his mood somewhat. Against such a background, his determination and energy seemed small and lonely. But then again... the stars! So bright, and so many. If he were to die, he thought, it would be worth it, to have seen this: the galaxies spreading around him, islands in Poseidon's ever-full sea, places he had gone, or dreamed of going to.
This far from home, the constellations were bent and twisted by parallax. But it should still be possible to find their position, if nothing else. That felt like a start... like something an explorer ought to do. Were those... the Herdsman and his dogs? Perhaps that was the Bear-leader there. He squinted through his facemask. And paused.
It was moving. Very slightly, but it was. And as he watched, it turned slightly, shifting onto a new heading.
Not a star after all. A ship.
Andreas spun, reaching for the hatch. "Talos!" he cried, before he had quite cycled through the lock. "Talos, my friend- there is a ship! A fellow traveller across Poseidon's vast and endless sea- and if we can signal it, then we may yet escape the grim fates that you have told for us- me to Hades' sunless realm and you to the dark abyss."
The Talos shifted, the gears in his arms whirring and clicking. "Now is less the time for poetry, and more the time for action. But what action is left to us? The array is still destroyed, and our communicator will not function."
"Aaah, my friend," Andreas said, with a wild grin. "Have you so soon forgotten that which you listed among our assets? We have a ballast tank half full of precious water. Do you still keep a spare plasma torch in the medical supplies cupboard?"
"I do," said the Talos. "Although 'spare' is hardly the word. After all, I cannot fix whatever injuries might befall me with disinfectant and tape."
"And if we were to use the torch on the ballast tank escape valve?"
"It would take off the valve cap. Probably also your arm. Depressurization is not to be treated lightly."
"My arm." Andreas sounded amused. "Which, sadly, is not made of an extremely expensive copper-titanium alloy with carbon nanostructuring."
The Talos looked at him for a long moment. It didn't blink. "You are saying you want me to---"
"Yes."
"Fine. Just so we know where we stand."
In the event, it did not take off the arm. Not quite. But it left an impressive dent and a severely limited range of motion that forced the robot to crouch sideways in the airlock, almost unable to fit.
Andreas, inside the ship, had been slammed into a bulkhead and was bleeding slightly. Tiny, iridescent droplets of blood floated around the room. He laughed, reached out, and hugged the Talos to his chest. "Saved, my friend! We are saved!"
"You are likely to cut yourself on my arm," the Talos pointed out, and if it could have had emotion it would have sounded irritable.
Andreas let it loose, grinning. "We cannot transmit, but we can receive. They have seen us! They are coming to investigate. We will see the blue skies and green hills of home again!"
They watched through the port as the ship, shining in star's light, grew closer. "I have not forgotten about the Antikythera," Andreas said.
The hull rang dully as the strange ship finally pulled in to dock.
"Our people." Andreas was definite. "Only the Hellenes range out this far. Ten tetradrachmas."
"Hah." The Talos didn't actually laugh. But it pronounced the syllable as if it wished it could have. "The Phoenike could make it out here. Or even the Cantharids, although they'd be coming from the other direction. What if it's Cynocephs?"
"If it's the Cynocephs," said Andreas, "they will eat me and chew very thoroughly on you, and at that point I do not care what happens to my ten tetradrachmas, do I?"
The airlock hissed, pressurizing.
The near door swung slowly open.
Through it poked a long-muzzled face, large-eyed, point-eared. A hoof clumped on the entranceway. The creature was ungraceful in this small space, all cramped neck and spindly limbs.
"Ten tetradrachmas," said the Talos.
But Andreas only sighed. "To Zeus a thousand thanks that we were rescued. But did it have to be Hippies?"
In a very near future, only somewhat more Greek than reality... or perhaps in a very Greek reality, only a little bit in the future, an old man and a clockwork robot huddled in the wreck of a starship gone horribly wrong.
“Is this the end of our efforts to unlock the true secret of Antikythera?” asked Andreas.
But the Talos could only shake its head and mutter, "it was folly from the start. For you cannot stop the seasons from turning, nor the winds from blowing, nor the tides from turning into the wine-dark void."
Andreas stared at the darkened panels of his ship, as though he could call power into them by hoping. "It may be folly to underestimate Poseidon's strength," he said. "But it is never folly to reach for understanding. Come, my friend," he said. "We cannot say, 'alas it is as the Fates decree!' until we have tried our last! There is still a chance. We may yet be able to repair the Eleutherion."
"Fine." The Talos turned its head, the gears in its neck making an unsettling clicking sound. "As the philosophers teach, we will survey our remaining resources. Water, as the poet says, is best. The aft ballast tank is half full of it. The main tank, however, has ruptured. If the poet says anything about the possibilities of jagged, hypercold ice, I do not recall it at the moment. For those of us requiring oxygen, on the other hand, the ancients teach moderation as a guiding principle. Try not to breathe too much. The gauge gives us... meaning you, in fact... three quarters of an hour?"
"Stop it," Andreas growled. "I am not afraid of death, but if I preferred to embrace it, I would have done so at home, with my family to mourn me. You know as well as I do that the ship will not fly us home. But perhaps we can power up the communicator."
The Talos turned, its coppery eyes flashing as it considered that possibility. "We might," he said, "Save that the telelalic array was damaged along with the ballast tank. You might speak your message, but you could not transmit it." The Talos regarded him darkly. "I am sorry," it said, and it almost sounded as though it might be. "I have served you for many years, but my kind will never see the Elysian Fields. You must go on without me."
Andreas stood. "I will not believe it," he said. "I have pressed all my life beyond the obstacles that Fate placed before me. I have defied every one and come through- a scholar and an explorer both. I will not die in this place, at this time, with my work unfinished!"
"All men come to the end of their defiance," the Talos said. "All men die with their work unfinished."
Andreas pulled on his mask. "I am going outside, Talos," he said. "I will find a way."
Andreas looked out at the endless void. It cooled his mood somewhat. Against such a background, his determination and energy seemed small and lonely. But then again... the stars! So bright, and so many. If he were to die, he thought, it would be worth it, to have seen this: the galaxies spreading around him, islands in Poseidon's ever-full sea, places he had gone, or dreamed of going to.
This far from home, the constellations were bent and twisted by parallax. But it should still be possible to find their position, if nothing else. That felt like a start... like something an explorer ought to do. Were those... the Herdsman and his dogs? Perhaps that was the Bear-leader there. He squinted through his facemask. And paused.
It was moving. Very slightly, but it was. And as he watched, it turned slightly, shifting onto a new heading.
Not a star after all. A ship.
Andreas spun, reaching for the hatch. "Talos!" he cried, before he had quite cycled through the lock. "Talos, my friend- there is a ship! A fellow traveller across Poseidon's vast and endless sea- and if we can signal it, then we may yet escape the grim fates that you have told for us- me to Hades' sunless realm and you to the dark abyss."
The Talos shifted, the gears in his arms whirring and clicking. "Now is less the time for poetry, and more the time for action. But what action is left to us? The array is still destroyed, and our communicator will not function."
"Aaah, my friend," Andreas said, with a wild grin. "Have you so soon forgotten that which you listed among our assets? We have a ballast tank half full of precious water. Do you still keep a spare plasma torch in the medical supplies cupboard?"
"I do," said the Talos. "Although 'spare' is hardly the word. After all, I cannot fix whatever injuries might befall me with disinfectant and tape."
"And if we were to use the torch on the ballast tank escape valve?"
"It would take off the valve cap. Probably also your arm. Depressurization is not to be treated lightly."
"My arm." Andreas sounded amused. "Which, sadly, is not made of an extremely expensive copper-titanium alloy with carbon nanostructuring."
The Talos looked at him for a long moment. It didn't blink. "You are saying you want me to---"
"Yes."
"Fine. Just so we know where we stand."
In the event, it did not take off the arm. Not quite. But it left an impressive dent and a severely limited range of motion that forced the robot to crouch sideways in the airlock, almost unable to fit.
Andreas, inside the ship, had been slammed into a bulkhead and was bleeding slightly. Tiny, iridescent droplets of blood floated around the room. He laughed, reached out, and hugged the Talos to his chest. "Saved, my friend! We are saved!"
"You are likely to cut yourself on my arm," the Talos pointed out, and if it could have had emotion it would have sounded irritable.
Andreas let it loose, grinning. "We cannot transmit, but we can receive. They have seen us! They are coming to investigate. We will see the blue skies and green hills of home again!"
They watched through the port as the ship, shining in star's light, grew closer. "I have not forgotten about the Antikythera," Andreas said.
The hull rang dully as the strange ship finally pulled in to dock.
"Our people." Andreas was definite. "Only the Hellenes range out this far. Ten tetradrachmas."
"Hah." The Talos didn't actually laugh. But it pronounced the syllable as if it wished it could have. "The Phoenike could make it out here. Or even the Cantharids, although they'd be coming from the other direction. What if it's Cynocephs?"
"If it's the Cynocephs," said Andreas, "they will eat me and chew very thoroughly on you, and at that point I do not care what happens to my ten tetradrachmas, do I?"
The airlock hissed, pressurizing.
The near door swung slowly open.
Through it poked a long-muzzled face, large-eyed, point-eared. A hoof clumped on the entranceway. The creature was ungraceful in this small space, all cramped neck and spindly limbs.
"Ten tetradrachmas," said the Talos.
But Andreas only sighed. "To Zeus a thousand thanks that we were rescued. But did it have to be Hippies?"