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looked in a mirror lately, Richard? You're not exactly the way nature intended, you know.'
'This is just cosmetic,' I said. 'I still have my memories. I haven't allowed myself to become a ' I
faltered, my brain struggling with vocabulary now that so much of it had been reassigned to the task of
cracking the Spire; 'a perversion,' I finished.
'Fine.' Childe lowered his head; a posture of sadness and resignation. 'Then go back, if that's what you
want. Let me stay to finish the challenge.'
'Yes,' I said. 'I think I will. Celestine? Get us through this door and I'll come back with you. We'll leave
Childe to his bloody Spire.'
Celestine's sigh was one of heartfelt relief. 'Thank God, Richard. I didn't think I'd be able to convince
you quite that easily.'
I nodded towards the door, suggesting that she sketch out what she thought was the likely solution. It
still looked devilishly hard to me, but now that I refocused my mind on it, I thought I began to see the
faintest hint of an approach, if not a full-blooded solution.
But Childe was speaking again. 'Oh, you shouldn't sound so surprised,' he said. 'I always knew he'd turn
back as soon as the going got tough. That's always been his way. I shouldn't have deceived myself that
he'd have changed.'
I bristled. 'That isn't true.'
'Then why turn back when we've come so far?'
'Because it isn't worth it.'
'Or is it simply that the problem's become too difficult; the challenge too great?'
'Ignore him,' Celestine said. 'He's just trying to goad you into following him. That's what this has
always been about, hasn't it, Childe? You think you can solve the Spire, where eighteen previous versions
of you have failed. Where eighteen previous versions of you were butchered and flayed by the thing.' She
looked around, almost as if she expected the Spire to punish her for speaking so profanely. 'And perhaps
you're right, too. Perhaps you really have come closer than any of the others.'
Childe said nothing, perhaps unwilling to contradict her.
'But simply beating the Spire wouldn't be good enough,' Celestine said. 'For you'd have no witnesses.
No one to see how clever you'd been.'
'That isn't it at all.'
'Then why did we all have to come here? You found Trintignant useful, I'll grant you that. And I helped
you as well. But you could have done without us, ultimately. It would have been bloodier, and you might
have needed to run off a few more clones . . . but I don't doubt that you could have done it.'
'The solution, Celestine.'
By my estimate we had not much more than two minutes left in which to make our selection. And yet I
sensed that it was time enough. Magically, the problem had opened up before me where a moment ago it
had been insoluble; like one of those optical illusions which suddenly flip from one state to another. The
moment was as close to a religious experience as I cared to come.
'It's all right,' I said. 'I see it now. Have you got it?'
'Not quite. Give me a moment . . .' Childe stared at it, and I watched as the lasers from his eyes washed
over the labyrinthine engravings. The red glare skittered over the wrong solution and lingered there. It
flickered away and alighted on the correct answer, but only momentarily.
Childe flicked his tail. 'I think I've got it.'
'Good,' Celestine replied. 'I agree with you. Richard? Are you ready to make this unanimous?'
I thought I had misheard her, but I had not. She was saying that Guide's answer was the right one; that
the one I had been sure of was the wrong one . . .
'I thought . . .' I began. Then, desperately, stared at the problem again. Had I missed something? Childe
had looked to have his doubts, but Celestine was so certain of herself. And yet what I had glimpsed had
appeared beyond question. 'I don't know,' I said weakly. 'I don't know.'
'We haven't time to debate it. We've got less than a minute.'
The feeling in my belly was one of ice. Somehow, despite the layers of humanity that had been stripped
from me, I could still taste terror. It was reaching me anyway; refusing to be daunted.
I felt so certain of my choice. And yet I was outnumbered.
'Richard?' Childe said again, more insistent this time.
I looked at the two of them, helplessly. 'Press it,' I said.
Childe placed his forepaw over the solution that he and Celestine had agreed on, and pressed.
I think I knew, even before the Spire responded, that the choice had not been the correct one. And yet
when I looked at Celestine I saw nothing resembling shock or surprise in her expression. Instead, she
looked completely calm and resigned.
And then the punishment commenced.
It was brutal, and once it would have killed us. Even with the augmentations Trintignant had given us,
the damage inflicted was considerable as a scythe-tipped, triple-jointed pendulum descended from the
ceiling and began swinging in viciously widening arcs. Our minds might have been able to compute the
future position of a simpler pendulum, steering our bodies out of its harmful path. But the trajectory of a
jointed pendulum was ferociously difficult to predict: a nightmarish demonstration of the mathematics of
chaos.
But we survived, as we had survived the previous attacks. Even Celestine made it through, the flashing
arc snipping off only one of her arms. I lost an arm and leg on one side, and watched - half in horror, half
in fascination - as the room claimed these parts for itself; tendrils whipped out from the wall to salvage
those useful conglomerations of metal and plastic. There was pain, of a sort, for Trintignant had wired
those limbs into our nervous systems, so that we could feel heat and cold. But the pain abated quickly,
replaced by digital numbness.
Childe got the worst of it, though.
The blade had sliced him through the middle, just below what had once been his ribcage, spilling steel
and plastic guts, bone, viscera, blood and noxious lubricants onto the floor. The tendrils squirmed out and
captured the twitching prize of his detached rear end, flicking tail and all.
With the hand that she still had, Celestine pressed the correct symbol. The punishment ceased and the
door opened.
In the comparative calm that followed, Childe looked down at his severed trunk.
'I seem to be quite badly damaged', he said.
But already various valves and gaskets were stemming the fluid loss; clicking shut with neat precision.
Trintignant, I saw, had done very well. He had equipped Childe to survive the most extreme injuries.
'You'll live,' Celestine said, with what struck me as less than total sympathy.
'What happened?' I asked. 'Why didn't you press that one first?'
She looked at me. 'Because I knew what had to be done.'
Despite her injuries she helped us on the retreat.
I was able to stumble from room to room, balancing myself against the wall and hopping on my good
leg. I had lost no great quantity of blood, for while I had suffered one or two gashes from close
approaches of the pendulum, my limbs had been detached below the points where they were anchored to
flesh and bone. But I still felt the shivering onset of shock, and all I wanted to do was make it out of the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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looked in a mirror lately, Richard? You're not exactly the way nature intended, you know.'
'This is just cosmetic,' I said. 'I still have my memories. I haven't allowed myself to become a ' I
faltered, my brain struggling with vocabulary now that so much of it had been reassigned to the task of
cracking the Spire; 'a perversion,' I finished.
'Fine.' Childe lowered his head; a posture of sadness and resignation. 'Then go back, if that's what you
want. Let me stay to finish the challenge.'
'Yes,' I said. 'I think I will. Celestine? Get us through this door and I'll come back with you. We'll leave
Childe to his bloody Spire.'
Celestine's sigh was one of heartfelt relief. 'Thank God, Richard. I didn't think I'd be able to convince
you quite that easily.'
I nodded towards the door, suggesting that she sketch out what she thought was the likely solution. It
still looked devilishly hard to me, but now that I refocused my mind on it, I thought I began to see the
faintest hint of an approach, if not a full-blooded solution.
But Childe was speaking again. 'Oh, you shouldn't sound so surprised,' he said. 'I always knew he'd turn
back as soon as the going got tough. That's always been his way. I shouldn't have deceived myself that
he'd have changed.'
I bristled. 'That isn't true.'
'Then why turn back when we've come so far?'
'Because it isn't worth it.'
'Or is it simply that the problem's become too difficult; the challenge too great?'
'Ignore him,' Celestine said. 'He's just trying to goad you into following him. That's what this has
always been about, hasn't it, Childe? You think you can solve the Spire, where eighteen previous versions
of you have failed. Where eighteen previous versions of you were butchered and flayed by the thing.' She
looked around, almost as if she expected the Spire to punish her for speaking so profanely. 'And perhaps
you're right, too. Perhaps you really have come closer than any of the others.'
Childe said nothing, perhaps unwilling to contradict her.
'But simply beating the Spire wouldn't be good enough,' Celestine said. 'For you'd have no witnesses.
No one to see how clever you'd been.'
'That isn't it at all.'
'Then why did we all have to come here? You found Trintignant useful, I'll grant you that. And I helped
you as well. But you could have done without us, ultimately. It would have been bloodier, and you might
have needed to run off a few more clones . . . but I don't doubt that you could have done it.'
'The solution, Celestine.'
By my estimate we had not much more than two minutes left in which to make our selection. And yet I
sensed that it was time enough. Magically, the problem had opened up before me where a moment ago it
had been insoluble; like one of those optical illusions which suddenly flip from one state to another. The
moment was as close to a religious experience as I cared to come.
'It's all right,' I said. 'I see it now. Have you got it?'
'Not quite. Give me a moment . . .' Childe stared at it, and I watched as the lasers from his eyes washed
over the labyrinthine engravings. The red glare skittered over the wrong solution and lingered there. It
flickered away and alighted on the correct answer, but only momentarily.
Childe flicked his tail. 'I think I've got it.'
'Good,' Celestine replied. 'I agree with you. Richard? Are you ready to make this unanimous?'
I thought I had misheard her, but I had not. She was saying that Guide's answer was the right one; that
the one I had been sure of was the wrong one . . .
'I thought . . .' I began. Then, desperately, stared at the problem again. Had I missed something? Childe
had looked to have his doubts, but Celestine was so certain of herself. And yet what I had glimpsed had
appeared beyond question. 'I don't know,' I said weakly. 'I don't know.'
'We haven't time to debate it. We've got less than a minute.'
The feeling in my belly was one of ice. Somehow, despite the layers of humanity that had been stripped
from me, I could still taste terror. It was reaching me anyway; refusing to be daunted.
I felt so certain of my choice. And yet I was outnumbered.
'Richard?' Childe said again, more insistent this time.
I looked at the two of them, helplessly. 'Press it,' I said.
Childe placed his forepaw over the solution that he and Celestine had agreed on, and pressed.
I think I knew, even before the Spire responded, that the choice had not been the correct one. And yet
when I looked at Celestine I saw nothing resembling shock or surprise in her expression. Instead, she
looked completely calm and resigned.
And then the punishment commenced.
It was brutal, and once it would have killed us. Even with the augmentations Trintignant had given us,
the damage inflicted was considerable as a scythe-tipped, triple-jointed pendulum descended from the
ceiling and began swinging in viciously widening arcs. Our minds might have been able to compute the
future position of a simpler pendulum, steering our bodies out of its harmful path. But the trajectory of a
jointed pendulum was ferociously difficult to predict: a nightmarish demonstration of the mathematics of
chaos.
But we survived, as we had survived the previous attacks. Even Celestine made it through, the flashing
arc snipping off only one of her arms. I lost an arm and leg on one side, and watched - half in horror, half
in fascination - as the room claimed these parts for itself; tendrils whipped out from the wall to salvage
those useful conglomerations of metal and plastic. There was pain, of a sort, for Trintignant had wired
those limbs into our nervous systems, so that we could feel heat and cold. But the pain abated quickly,
replaced by digital numbness.
Childe got the worst of it, though.
The blade had sliced him through the middle, just below what had once been his ribcage, spilling steel
and plastic guts, bone, viscera, blood and noxious lubricants onto the floor. The tendrils squirmed out and
captured the twitching prize of his detached rear end, flicking tail and all.
With the hand that she still had, Celestine pressed the correct symbol. The punishment ceased and the
door opened.
In the comparative calm that followed, Childe looked down at his severed trunk.
'I seem to be quite badly damaged', he said.
But already various valves and gaskets were stemming the fluid loss; clicking shut with neat precision.
Trintignant, I saw, had done very well. He had equipped Childe to survive the most extreme injuries.
'You'll live,' Celestine said, with what struck me as less than total sympathy.
'What happened?' I asked. 'Why didn't you press that one first?'
She looked at me. 'Because I knew what had to be done.'
Despite her injuries she helped us on the retreat.
I was able to stumble from room to room, balancing myself against the wall and hopping on my good
leg. I had lost no great quantity of blood, for while I had suffered one or two gashes from close
approaches of the pendulum, my limbs had been detached below the points where they were anchored to
flesh and bone. But I still felt the shivering onset of shock, and all I wanted to do was make it out of the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]