Free Maximum Ice by Kay Kenyon Page B

began.
    The other waved her off. “I’m too tired to argue. I’ve been at this all day, Sister. We’ll take her. If worse comes to worst, she’s strong and can work in the kitchen.” The old nun stood, smoothing her black robes around her.
    Kellian thought, Thank God. Unfortunately, she also said it out loud. A spike of stomach acid greeted her mistake. The nuns were devout atheists.
    “Don’t thank God, young lady,” the sister said, “thank
me.
God has nothing to do with it.”
    Kellian could not bring herself to say,
Yes, Sister.
She remained silent.
    Narrowing her eyes, Sister Patricia Margaret said, “We will expect obedience, Kellian Bourassa.” As she swept past her, heading for the door, she added, “If you come with us, please leave your
gods
behind.”
    I’ll take you
, the nun had said. She was in. Kellian grinned atthe younger sister as Sister Patricia Margaret left the room. She was in, but she’d have to watch her step. She had no intention of abandoning her faith, but she’d keep it to herself. The sisters were touchy about God.
—2—
    Palm to Ice, Swan called for light.
    Cloaked in shadows, he had followed an icy arterial. Ice was quiescent here. But he summoned a flow of data, and this was enough to lighten the tunnel. He trudged on.
    Stronger now, Swan roamed farther from his little den in the Heart of Ice. It was remarkable, these elaborations Ice had made to coretext in his absence. Originally, they had called the place coretext. But that was engineers for you. Swan preferred Heart of Ice, with its ring of strength and poetry.
    Hunger bubbled in his stomach. While exploring, he was on the lookout for a cache of food. He’d exhausted what little he had. Perhaps he would find a pantry stuffed with canned goods, or a meat locker. OK, maybe the meat locker was a remote possibility, but the engineers
did
work here at one time and might have left provisions—freeze-dried meals, candy bars, dried fruit, cans of tuna, sardines, peaches, beans, that sort of thing. Some might still be edible.
    He was in dreadful shape, but he resolved to be patient. After ten thousand years of suspended life, one did not become— animated—in four days. Aside from his general weakness, he’d noticed that he entirely lacked a sense of smell. Ice would have to fix that. Because of the arrival of the ship, Ice had awakened him early, not quite ready. Bad timing indeed. What was the ship called?
Star Road.
An odd name. And they had wasted no time in coming to the surface, sending a crew member to one of the major preserves. From the radio transmissions, it was awoman. Solange had a delegation at that preserve.
Leave the woman to me
, she’d said.
    So he would, for the moment. A familiar euphoria came upon him, a giddy yet simple happiness. He was alive. Alive, when so many had died. He had escaped the bad death of his associates, poor bastards, and the great death on the surface.
    His stride grew longer as he passed side tunnels where Ice, itself giddy with what it could do, exuded its body
    The whole of coretext was a grand construct, a palace. It had its own brand of symmetrical beauty, one that pulsed with infusions of light, depending on the logic sequences of Ice. Not even the designers could have said what Ice was now, or how much it had accomplished. Ice knew many things, yet it didn’t know that it knew them, so it couldn’t quite convey the whole of itself. It responded to queries. So he must think of the right questions. OK. All in good time.
    Swan stopped to gaze into a side gallery. Something odd about the place.
    Entering, he stopped to get his bearings. Around the perimeter of the trapezoidal cavern something was buried in the wall, behind a flat plane of Ice. Perhaps it was a cache from the time before. He walked forward and knelt in front of the nearest window. Inside, was an oblong form of black. Hand on the ice bulging overhead, he brought light to the place.
    Lying inside was a woman. Around