Ilium

Ada came up to Harman and touched his arm. He never looked around. His eyes were wide.

Odysseus walked to the nearest bird, cut off its huge head, and ran his ski

Harman had turned to walk back to the sonie but paused. “Hurry? Why?”

Odysseus wiped blood from his beard with the back of his hand and gri

Harman turned and ran hard toward the sonie to get the bags.

Ada noticed that Savi and Daeman were both drunk before di

The meal was served in a glass room attached to the side of the south tower’s higher support. Savi was heating pre-prepared meals in a regular microwave bubble, but Ada was fascinated—she had never seen a meal prepared exclusively by a human being before. The absence of servitors in the Golden Gate residence areas was even more noticeable during a meal.

Odysseus was outside on the bridge’s broad support strut and had erected a clumsy stone-and-metal structure in which he was burning wood he’d brought back from the plains. It had begun to rain and Odysseus had to build the fire high to keep it burning. Flames lighted the rust and faded orange paint on the side of the tower.

Looking out through the translucent green wall, sipping from his glass of gin, Harman said, “Is that some sort of altar to his pagan gods?”

“Not quite,” said Savi. “It’s how he cooks his food.” She carried bowls and plates to the round table where the others were waiting. “Call him inside, would you?” she said to Harman. “Our food is getting cold while he’s cremating his, and there’s a lightning storm coming over the mountains. It’s not a great idea to be out on the bridge superstructure during a lightning storm.”

When they were finally seated, Odysseus setting the wooden plates of steaming meat on a nearby counter so that no one would have to stare at the fire-blackened stuff, Savi passed around a pitcher of wine. She poured her own glass last and Ada overheard the old woman whisper, “Baruch atah adonai, eloheno melech ha olam, borai pri hagafen.”

“What is that?” Ada asked softly. Everyone else was laughing at something Daeman had said and had not seemed to notice Savi’s muttering. The only time Ada had every heard another language was in the turin drama; there the battling men spoke in gibberish, but somehow the turin translated every word so that anyone under the cloth understood the meaning without actually listening.

Savi shook her head, although whether to say that she did not know the meaning of the odd words, or that she was not disposed to tell them, Ada could not tell.

“I explored all the levels of the bridge and bubbles around the bridge,” Ha

Savi barked a laugh. She was already refilling her glass with wine. No strange words accompanied this pouring.

“Those are statues,” said Odysseus. “Sculptures. Have you never seen such things?”

Ha

“They have no art,” Savi said brusquely to Odysseus. “No sculpture, no painting, no crafts, no photography, no holography, not even genetic manipulation. No music, no dance, no ballet, no sports, and no singing. No theater, no architecture, no Kabuki, no No plays, no nothing. They’re as creative as . . . newborn birds. No, I take that back . . . even birds know how to sing and build a nest. These latter day eloi are silent cuckoos, inhabiting other birds’ nests without so much as a song for payment.” Savi was begi

Odysseus looked at Ha

“But then,” continued Savi, looking only Odysseus in the eye, “they have no literature, either. And neither do you.”

Odysseus smiled at the woman. Ada recognized the smile from when the man was carving flesh out of the flank of the grazing animal. Odysseus had bathed before di

“The preliterate, meet the postliterate,” continued Savi, opening her hand as if introducing Odysseus to the other four. Then she held up one finger. “Oh, I forgot our friend Harman here. He is the Balzac and the Shakespeare of the current litter of old-style humanity. He reads at about the level of a six-year-old from the Lost Age, don’t you, Harman Uhr ? Lips move when you sound out the words, eh?”

“Yes,” said Harman, smiling slightly. “My lips do move when I read. I didn’t know there was any other way to do it. And it took me more than four Twenties to reach that level of proficiency.” To Ada, it appeared as if the ninety-nine-year-old knew he was being insulted, but did not care, showing only interest in what Savi would say next.

Ada cleared her throat. “What was that animal you . . . killed . . . today?” she asked Odysseus, her voice bright and brittle. “Not the Terror Birds, the other one?”

“I just think of it as the floppy-nosed grazer,” said Odysseus. “Want to try some?” He reached back to the counter and lifted the platter of fire-darkened meat, holding it in front of Ada.

Wanting to be polite, Ada took the smallest cut on the platter, handling it gingerly with utensils.

“I’ll also take some,” said Harman. The platter went around. Ha

Ada nibbled the smallest bit she could slice. It was delicious—like steak, only stronger and richer. The wood smoke gave it a flavor different than any microwaved thing she had ever tasted. She cut a larger piece.

Odysseus was eating with just a short, sharp knife he had brought to the table with him, slicing thin strips and chewing them from the end of the knife. Ada tried not to stare.

“Macrauchenia,” said Savi between forkfuls of her salad and microwaved rice.

Ada looked up, wondering if this was more of the woman’s strange language ritual.

“Pardon me?” said Daeman.

“Macrauchenia . That’s the name of the animal that our Greek friend killed and our two other friends are eating like there’s no second course. They covered these South American plains a couple of million years ago but went extinct before humankind showed up in South America. They were brought back by the ARNists during the crazy years after the rubicon, before the post-humans put a stop to reintroducing extinct species helter skelter. Once they had the Macrauchenia back, though, some ARNist thought it would be clever to bring back Phorusrhacos .”

“For-us-what?” said Daeman.

“Phorusrhacos . The Terror Birds. The ARNist geniuses forgot that those birds were the primary predator in South America for millions of years. At least until the Smilodonts wandered down from North America when the water level fell and the land bridge between the continents emerged. Did you know that the Panamanian Isthmus is underwater again? The continents separate again?” She looked around, obviously intoxicated, belligerent, and secure in the knowledge that none of them had any idea what she was talking about.