Stern turned back to the field fluctuations. They were growing stronger and clearer, the false colors shimmering on the spikes. The unstable mountain peak was now stable, protruding above the surface, taking form. 'How many are coming back?' he said. But he already knew the answer, because the mountain peak was dividing into separate ridges.
'Three,' the technician said. 'Looks like three coming back.'
00:01:44
The outermost gatehouse was closed: the heavy grill of the portcullis was down and the drawbridge had been raised. Five guards now lay sprawled on the ground, and Marek was raising the portcullis just enough so they could pass beneath it. But the drawbridge was still shut fast.
'How do we get it open?' Chris said.
Marek was looking at the chains, which ran into the gatehouse itself. 'Up there,' he said, pointing above. There was a winch mechanism on the second floor.
'You stay here,' Marek said. 'I'll do it.'
'Come right back,' Kate said.
'Don't worry. I will.'
Hobbling up a spiral staircase, Marek came into a small stone room, narrow and bare, and dominated by the iron winch that raised the drawbridge. Here he saw an elderly man, white-haired, shaking with fear as he held an iron bar in the links of the chain. This iron bar was keeping the drawbridge closed. Marek shoved the old man aside and pulled the bar free. The chain rattled; the drawbridge began to lower. Marek watched it go down. He looked at his counter, and was startled to see that it said 00:01:19.
'Andrй.' He heard Chris in his earpiece. 'Come on.'
'I'm on my way.'
Marek turned to go. Then he heard running feet, and realized that there were soldiers on the roof of the guardhouse, coming down to see why the drawbridge was being lowered. If he left the room now, they would immediately stop the drawbridge from lowering any farther.
Marek knew what this meant. He had to stay longer.
On the ground floor below, Chris watched the drawbridge as it lowered, chains clanking. Through the opening, he could see dark sky and stars. Chris said, 'Andrй, come on.'
'There's soldiers.'
'So?'
'I have to guard the chain.'
'What do you mean?' Chris said.
Marek didn't answer. Chris heard a grunt, and a scream of pain. Marek was up there, fighting. Chris watched the drawbridge continue to descend. He looked at the Professor. But the Professor's face was expressionless.
Standing by the staircase leading down from the roof, Marek held his sword high. He killed the first soldier as he came out. He killed the second one, too, kicking the bodies as they fell, keeping the floor clear. The other soldiers on the stairs paused in confusion, and he heard muttering and consternation.
The drawbridge chain still rattled. The drawbridge continued down.
'Andrй. Come on.'
Marek glanced at his counter. It said 00:01:04. Just a little more than a minute, now. Looking out the window, he saw the others had not waited until the drawbridge was entirely down; they ran to the descending edge, and jumped out onto the field beyond the castle. Now he could hardly see them in the darkness.
'Andrй.' It was Chris again. 'Andrй.'
Another soldier came down the stairs, and Marek swung his sword, which clanged against the winch, spitting sparks. The man hastily backed up, shouting and pushing the others.
'Andrй, run for it,' Chris said. 'You have time.'
Marek knew that was true. He could just make it. If he left now, the men couldn't raise the drawbridge before he had run across it and was out on the plain with the others. He knew they were out there, waiting for him. His friends. Waiting to go back.
As he turned to go down the stairs, his glance fell on the old man, still cowering in the corner. Marek wondered what it must be like to live your entire life in this world. To live and love, constantly on the edge, with disease and starvation and death and killing. To be alive in this world.
'Andrй. Are you coming?'
'There's no time,' Marek said.
'Andrй.'
He looked out on the plain and saw successive flashes of light. They were calling the machines. Getting ready to go.
The machines were there. They were all standing on their platforms. Cold vapor was drifting from the bases, curling across the dark grass.
Kate said, 'Andrй, come on.'
There was a short silence. Then: 'I'm not leaving,' Marek said. 'I'm staying here.'
'Andrй. You're not thinking right.'
'Yes, I am.'
She said, 'Are you serious?'
Kate looked at the Professor. He just nodded slowly.
'All his life, he's wanted this.'
Chris put the ceramic marker in the slot at his feet.
Marek watched from the window of the gatehouse.
'Hey, Andrй.' It was Chris.
'See you, Chris.'
'Take care of yourself.'
'Andrй.' It was Kate. 'I don't know what to say.'
'Good-bye, Kate.'
Then he heard the Professor say: 'Good-bye, Andrй.'
'Good-bye,' Marek said.
Through his earpiece, he heard a recorded voice say, 'Stand still - eyes open - deep breath - hold it… . Now!'
On the plain, he saw a brilliant flash of blue light. Then there was another, and another, diminishing in intensity, until there was nothing more.
Doniger strode back and forth across the darkened stage. In the auditorium, the three corporate executives sat silently, watching him.
'Sooner or later,' he said, 'the artifice of entertainment - constant, ceaseless entertainment - will drive people to seek authenticity. Authenticity will be the buzzword of the twenty-first century. And what is authentic? Anything that is not controlled by corporations. Anything that is not devised and structured to make a profit. Anything that exists for its own sake, that assumes its own shape. And what is the most authentic of all? The past.
'The past is a world that already existed before Disney and Murdoch and British Telecom and Nissan and Sony and IBM and all the other shapers of the present. The past was here before they were. The past rose and fell without their intrusion and molding. The past is real. It's authentic. And this will make the past unbelievably attractive. Because the past is the only alternative to the corporate present.
'What will people do? They are already doing it. The fastest-growing segment of travel today is cultural tourism. People who want to visit not other places, but other times. People who want to immerse themselves in medieval walled cities, in vast Buddhist temples, Mayan pyramid cities, Egyptian necropolises. People who want to walk and be in the world of the past. The vanished world.
'And they don't want it to be fake. They don't want it to be made pretty, or cleaned up. They want it to be authentic. Who will guarantee that authenticity? Who will become the brand name of the past? ITC.
