“Why does it look like my father?” Eureka whispered.
“Because it holds your father’s ghost,” Solon said. “Ovid is a ghost robot, one of nine orichalcum siblings crafted before Atlantis sank. Eight still slumber in the Sleeping World, but Ovid got away. Selene stole it before she fled the palace, and it has lived in this cave ever since. If Atlas knew his precious robot was here, he would do anything to get it back.”
For the second time Eureka considered telling Solon about her encounter with Atlas at the Tearline pond. But it felt like a betrayal of Brooks. If Solon knew Eureka had secretly met Atlas, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. And she had promised to find Brooks again soon. Their triangle was delicate—Atlas wanted Eureka’s tears, Eureka wanted Brooks back, Brooks surely wanted freedom. It was best to keep things among the three of them for now.
“I turned my back on you.” The robot spoke in Dad’s voice.
Eureka pulled back her hand, horrified. Then, slowly, she touched the robot’s cheek—supple as human flesh—and watched its face brighten with Dad’s smile.
“I have looked after Ovid for many years,” Solon said. “I always knew it was invaluable, but I could never fathom what made it run.”
Eureka circled the robot and found nothing familiar about its body. From the back, it looked like a sculpture in a fancy French Quarter antique store. Only Ovid’s face seemed possessed of Dad. She sat down facing Ovid. “How does it work?”
“Most modern robots are wired to function on a binary system,” Solon said. “Ones and zeroes. But Ovid is a trinary being, meaning it operates in threes. It’s very Atlantean. Everything is threes with them. Three seasons. Three sides to a story. Did you know they invented the love triangle?”
Eureka couldn’t take her eyes off Dad’s expression on the robot’s face.
“Ovid is a soldier,” Solon continued. “Like all things made of orichalcum, it is meant to be indentured to one master. You will find it very useful.”
Eureka glanced at Solon. “Does it know where the Marais is?”
“Yes, it does.”
“And it’s going to take me there? And help me defeat Atlas?”
“That has long been the plan.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
She got to her feet. “Tonight?”
Solon pulled her back down. “The time is almost right, but Ovid will not go prematurely. It is … special. Its orichalcum is but a shell for what—or rather, who—fills it with purpose. Today, your father became the first ghost to fill it.”
“The Filling,” Eureka said. Solon had mentioned it last night. She sensed it was something terrible. Why was Dad involved?
“The Filling is Atlas’s master plan. It is what the Seedbearers are—and the rest of the world should be—so afraid of.”
“Tell me.”
Solon walked to the wall where a bottle of prosecco rested in an ice bucket in a stone recess. He poured himself a glass, drained it, and poured himself another. Then he lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
“The world into which Atlantis rises will be a muddy, unrecognizable slop. After the flood, everything will need rebuilding. And rebuilding requires workers. But workers have been known to revolt. To avoid that, Atlas plans to use the dead to build his empire by housing ghosts from the Waking World in invincible, weaponized bodies he controls. Imagine a billion souls’ hopes and dreams and energies and visions, all of their intelligence and experience combined. This is how Atlas will conquer the world.”
Eureka stared into the waterfall. “If Atlas wants a world of ghosts, doesn’t he have to kill everyone first?”
Solon stared sadly at Eureka. “Atlas won’t have to.”
“Because I’m doing it for him,” Eureka said. “My storm is going to poison the entire Waking World? How soon?”
“Most will die before the full moon.”
“Then who am I trying to save?”
“Everyone. But you must take their lives before you save them.”
“I don’t understand.”