“Perhaps you might help us clarify Guardian’s intention,” said Tessa. “I think you should know what it’s been doing to us.”
Kartaphilos nodded and gestured for the group to tell the story of their experiences in the Citadel. They explained everything in as exacting detail as possible, even attempting to reconstruct specific illusionary experiences. When they had finished their tales, Kartaphilos shook his head, grinning slightly.
“What’s so damn funny?” asked Stoor.
“Oh, there’s nothing funny. . . . It’s just that I think I see what Guardian is doing. Interesting, under the circumstances.”
“Interesting!? I’m glad you think so!” Stoor stormed across the room, getting his blood up.
“What does it mean?” asked Tessa.
Kartaphilos rubbed his lower jaw absentmindedly, as if considering how to begin. “I’m not certain of any of this, mark you, but I think it makes sense. . . .”
“How is Guardian creating the illusions?” asked Varian.
“I do not know the specifics of the technique, but I do know that it concerns what was once a form of entertainment among the First Age people.”
“Entertainment?” asked Tessa.
“Yes, by hallucinogenic means such as chemicals and gases, the mind can be prepared to interpret sensory information in any way the manipulator desires. Audiences used to gather in large amphitheaters to experience group illusions such as the ones Guardian has employed on all of you.”
“But why?” asked Varian.
“I think Guardian is undergoing psychoanalysis.”
“What? What’s that?” asked Tessa.
“A form of self-examination that was quite popular with the First Age people. It involved the theories of many philosophers and thinkers, and a variety of techniques abounded. I think Guardian is aware of its own psychotic, or insane, condition and seeks to cure itself, to cleanse itself.”
“I don’t think we’re followin’ you,” said Stoor, obviously growing tired of all the talk. He was a man of action and decision and, having seen the power of the cyborg, wished only to blast their way free of the Citadel.
“Be patient, and I shall try to explain,” said Kartaphilos. “The illusions which you have been undergoing are simplistic examinations of humankind’s mythic past. Much of what you have told me are easily recognizable legends and myths from the beginnings of the First Age. I’m surprised that more of them have not survived to this present era.”
Stoor wheeled quickly and spoke. “Of course! That’s it! I knew I’d seen that name before. . . .”
“What name?” asked Tessa.
“Zeus! I think. He was supposed to be a god or something like that. Creator of the World and all that crap. I’ve seen that name in some of the manuscripts and stuff I’ve brought back to my employers. This stuff is old, I mean really old. Back when the First Age was young.”
“That’s right,” said Kartaphilos. “The ancients used the power of myth in many ways. Myth was the great equalizer in understanding the World. When there was no natural explanation, when there was a barrier beyond which man’s knowledge could not penetrate, there was always myth. It was always a convenient method of explaining what would otherwise be unexplainable, don’t you see?”
“Yes,” said Varian. “The sailors are still enchanted with the old tales, the poems, and the chanties which talk about stranger times.”
“Yes,” said Kartaphilos. “And the power of myth has never been forgotten, even by the men who left ignorance far in their wake. In later times, man used myth to explain the inner mysteries of the mind, as a metaphor to the substance of his desires and his fears. There is still a belief, despite the absurdity of some of the physical details of the old legends, that hard-core truths lie at the base of the stories. Truths which concerned the most elemental aspects of man’s behavior. In myth, man might learn why he is who he is, why he does what he does.”
“I think I follow you,” said Tessa, “but how does this connect with Guardian?”
“Again, I am not certain, but it seems as though Guardian, cut off so long from human contact, has lost the ability to communicate freely with its creators. The reason for this disability, I do not know. Perhaps if we can discover that answer, we shall solve the entire riddle. I think Guardian was attempting to learn something about human behavior by subjecting you to the mythic situations, by forcing you to make decisions as the ancients were forced to do. Having prior knowledge of the entire mythic system, Guardian therefore has a ‘manual,’ so to speak, of basic human behavior and is perhaps comparing your own reactions to the original mythic characters.”
“That makes sense,” said Tessa, “but it still does not explain why it’s doing it.”
Kartaphilos shrugged. “I don’t know why. I can only guess. Of this much we can be certain, the myths are only a metaphor for something far more real, something far more important to Guardian. . . .”
“What in Krell’s a metaphor?” said Stoor, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paced about the room, obviously irritated.
When no one answered him, he did not seem to care. Knowing the definition of a metaphor was not going to implement their escape from the Citadel, and so the question became less than rhetorical, but a statement of position on Stoor’s part.
“Ah, dammit, what are we sitting around talkin’ for?” he said after a short pause. “Why don’t we use that thing in your mouth to get out of here?”
Varian stepped forward. “Stoor’s right, actually. We’ve been trapped here for a long time—not much time to you, probably, but it’s been very bad for us.”
“Especially when you don’t know when you’re getting out,” said Tessa.
Kartaphilos remained silent for a moment, considering options. “I can understand your desire to leave this place,” he said finally. “But there are other considerations we can’t afford to overlook.”
“Like what!”
