Sean Williams & Simon Brown - The Masque Of Agamemnon

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The Masque of Agamemnon

Sean Williams and Simon Brown

Not long after the Achaean fleet arrived at the periphery of the Ilium

system, its area sensors noted a phenomenon its sentient matrix could

neither accept nor explain. An owl appeared in the middle of the fleet,

circled around it three times-its wings eclipsing the distant point of

light that was Ilium's sun-then headed straight for the Over-captain's

own

ship, Mycenae. Just as it was about to smash into the ship's hull,

there

was an intense flash of blue light and the owl disappeared.

Internal sensors picked it up next: a bird the size of a human child,

dipping and soaring within Mycenae's vast internal halls and corridors.

Before any alarm could be given, the sensor matrices received a

supersede

command; the owl was a messenger from the goddess Athena, and it was

not

to be interfered with.

Seconds later, the owl reached its destination, the chamber of

Agamemnon,

Over-captain of the entire Achaean fleet. What happened therein is not

recorded, but an hour later Agamemnon announced to his crew he was

going

to hold a grand ball.

His wife, Clytemnestra, attributed the idea to his love of games and

his

penchant for petulant, almost childlike whims. She thought the idea a

foolish notion, but she did not argue against it; she loved her husband

and indulged him in all things.

Arrangements were quickly made and maser beams carried messages to all

the

other ships of the fleet, demanding their captains attend the Great

Masque

of Agamemnon.

"Your brother should spend more time worrying about the Trojans," Helen

told her husband, Menelaus.

The Captain of Sparta grimaced. He disliked anyone criticising his

older

brother, but in this instance he had to agree with his wife. Agamemnon

was

spending a large amount of the fleet's energy and time to throw his

ball;

energy and time that could have been better spent prosecuting an attack

against the Trojans' home on Ilium.

"Nevertheless, he has commanded the presence of all his captains and

their

wives, so we must go."

"But why a masque? He loves his games too much. And I suppose we will

end

up spending the whole time with Nestor."

"Nestor is the oldest among us and his words the wisest."

"The most boring, you mean. Oh, Menelaus," she pouted. "I wish we

didn't

have to go."

Although Menelaus agreed with Helen's sentiment, he would not allow

himself to say so.

Achilles had made a silver helmet for his friend Patroclus to wear to

the

ball. When Patroclus saw it he could not find the words to thank

Achilles;

it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Then Achilles

showed him the helmet he himself would be wearing, and to Patroclus'

surprise it was exactly the same as the one he had been given.

"I don't understand, Achilles. Are we going as brothers?"

Achilles laughed. "As lovers, dear Patroclus. But there is more to it

than

symbolism."

Patroclus looked blankly at his friend, which made Achilles laugh even

harder. "We are the same size and shape. With these helmets, and

wearing

the livery of my ship, no one will be able to tell us apart."

"A game?"

Achilles shrugged, gently placed one of the helmets on Patroclus' head.

leaned forward quickly and kissed his friend on the lips, then closed

the

helmet's faceplate, hiding his friend's face entirely except for his

eyes

and mouth.

"A game of sorts, I suppose, to match Agamemnon's own." Achilles put on

his own helmet, closed the faceplate. "We are, behind these disguises,

nothing but shadows of ourselves, and as shadows at the Over-captain's

masque, who knows what secrets we will learn?"

"Secrets?"

"I have heard rumours that Agamemnon has invited a surprise guest."

"A surprise guest?"

"A Trojan," Achilles said.

His real name was Bernal, but AlterEgo insisted on calling him Paris.

"Get used to it. Our hosts insist on you adopting the name for this

occasion."

"If they explained why, it would be easier," Bernal complained.

Strapped

into the gravity couch of the small ship in which he was travelling, he

had little to do except complain. AlterEgo took care of all the ship's

functions; Bernal was nothing but baggage.

"Presumably, it has something to do with the fact that all the messages

we've received from our visitors come in the name of Agamemnon."

"Over-captain of the Achaean fleet, for pity's sake."

"You can snort all you want, Paris, but we know very little else about

them, and it will probably be in your best interests to take them

seriously."

"Not to mention the best interests of the whole of Cirrus."

Bernal aligned the external telescope, the only instrument the ship

carried that used visible light and installed specifically for Bernal's

use. He could not see his planet-now more than forty billion kilometres

away-but the system's yellow dwarf sun, Anatole, was the brightest

object

in the sky, and Cirrus was somewhere within a few arc seconds of it.

"Homesick?" AlterEgo asked.

"Scared, more like," Bernal answered. "When was the last time one of my

people travelled this far from home?"

Bernal was sure he heard AlterEgo's brain hum, even though he knew the

didn't have any parts that hummed as such. He had been in the AI's

company

for too long. "Two hundred and twenty-seven years ago. Explorer and

miner

named Groenig. Last message came when her ship was forty-three billion

kilometres from home. Never heard from since."

"No one went after her?"

"What good would that have done? Even back then, when intrasystem

shipping

was much more active than now, there would not have been more than two

three ships that could have reached her last known position within six

months; far too late to do anything to help her if she was in trouble.

Most likely there was some onboard disaster, or maybe the loneliness

got

to her and she committed suicide."

The answer irritated Bernal. "What the hell did you wake me for,

anyway?"

"I did have the telescope aligned on something I thought you'd be

interested in seeing."

"Don't whinge. What was it?"

"Fortunately, I took the precaution of storing some images over a three

day period, which was just enough time to create some very interesting

holographic-"

"If you've got something to show me, get on with it," Bernal commanded.

Several small laser beams intersected about half a metre in front of

Bernal's face. At first they formed nothing but a white shell, but a

second later a 3D-image appeared. It looked like a crown of thorns.

"How

big is it?"

"Some of my sensor readings indicate the object's mass is close to

seven

million tonnes."

Bernal was surprised. Without a reference point, he had assumed the

object

was quite small. Then he remembered AlterEgo saying it had taken three

days to get a workable 3D image, which was a lot of time to work with

for

a computer of AlterEgo's capability.

"What did you say its dimensions were?"

"I didn't, but I estimate a radius of eighty or so kilometres."

"My God! Is this one of the Achaean ships?"

"I should think that if this was just one of their ships, a fleet of

them

would have been detected from Cirrus several years ago. I surmise,

therefore, that this is the fleet, its individual components joined in

some way."

Bernal peered at the holograph. "Can you make out any repetitions of

shape? Anything we could identify as a single unit?"

"Ah, I was hoping you would ask that." Bernal was sure he heard

smugness

in that voice. "Indeed, this is why I woke you."

The holographic image changed, metamorphosed into something more like a

ship. Bernal peered at it. Well, vaguely more like a ship.

"It reminds me of something I've seen before, but for the life of me I

can't figure what."

"Using some deductive logic, a little dash of intuition and a thorough

search of the Cirrus Archives, I think I've discovered something,"

AlterEgo said. "Watch what happens when I remove from the Achaean ship

the

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Sean Williams & Simon Brown - The Masque Of Agamemnon

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