3001 The Final Odyssey

chapter 11 Here be Dragons
He would never have believed it possible, even with the technology of this day and age. How many terabytes - petabytes - was there a large enough word? - of information must have been accumulated over the centuries, and in what sort of storage medium? Better not think about it, and follow Indra's advice: 'Forget you're an engineer - and enjoy yourself.'

He was certainly enjoying himself now, though his pleasure was mixed with an almost overwhelming sense of nostalgia. For he was flying, or so it seemed, at an altitude of about two kilometres, above the spectacular and unforgotten landscape of his youth. Of course, the perspective was false, since the Aviary was only half a kilometre high, but the illusion was perfect.

He circled Meteor Crater, remembering how he had scrambled up its sides during his earlier astronaut training. How incredible that anyone could ever have doubted its origin, and the accuracy of its name! Yet well into the twentieth century, distinguished geologists had argued that it was volcanic: not until the coming of the Space Age was it - reluctantly - accepted that all planets were still under continual bombardment.

Poole was quite sure that his comfortable cruising speed was nearer twenty than two hundred kilometres an hour, yet he had been allowed to reach Flagstaff in less than fifteen minutes. And there were the whitely-gleaming domes of the Lowell Observatory, which he had visited so often as a boy, and whose friendly staff had undoubtedly been responsible for his choice of career. He had sometimes wondered what his profession might have been, had he not been born in Arizona, near the very spot where the most long-enduring and influential of Martian fantasies had been created. Perhaps it was imagination, but Poole thought he could just see Lowell's unique tomb, close to the great telescope, which had fuelled his dreams.

From what year, and what season, had this image been captured? He guessed it had come from the spy satellites which had watched over the world of the early twenty-first century. It could not be much later than his own time, for the layout of the city was just as he remembered. Perhaps if he went low enough he would even see himself...

But he knew that was absurd; he had already discovered that this was the nearest he could get. If he flew any closer, the image would start to breakup, revealing its basic pixels. It was better to keep his distance, and not destroy the beautiful illusion.

And there - it was incredible! - was the little park where he had played with his junior and high-school friends. The City Fathers were always arguing about its maintenance, as the water supply became more and more critical. Well, at least it had survived to this time - whenever that might be.

And then another memory brought tears to his eyes. Along those narrow paths, whenever he could get home from Houston or the Moon, he had walked with his beloved Rhodesian Ridgeback, throwing sticks for him to retrieve, as man and dog had done from time immemorial.

Poole had hoped, with all his heart, that Rikki would still be there to greet him when he returned from Jupiter, and had left him in the care of his younger brother Martin. He almost lost control, and sank several metres before regaining stability, as he once more faced the bitter truth that both Rikki and Martin had been dust for centuries.

When he could see properly again, he noticed that the dark band of the Grand Canyon was just visible on the far horizon. He was debating whether to head for it - he was growing a little tired - when he became aware that he was not alone in the sky. Something else was approaching, and it was certainly not a human flyer. Although it was difficult to judge distances here, it seemed much too large for that.

Well, he thought, I'm not particularly surprised to meet a pterodactyl here - indeed, it's just the sort of thing I'd expect. I hope it's friendly - or that I can outfly it if it isn't. Oh, no!

A pterodactyl was not a bad guess: maybe eight points out of ten. What was approaching him now, with slow flaps of its great leathery wings, was a dragon straight out of Fairyland. And, to complete the picture, there was a beautiful lady riding on its back. At least, Poole assumed she was beautiful. The traditional image was rather spoiled by one trifling detail: much of her face was concealed by a large pair of aviator's goggles that might have come straight from the open cockpit of a World War I biplane.

Poole hovered in mid-air, like a swimmer treading water, until the oncoming monster came close enough for him to hear the flapping of its great wings. Even when it was less than twenty metres away, he could not decide whether it was a machine or a bio-construct: probably both.

And then he forgot about the dragon, for the rider removed her goggles.

The trouble with cliche´s, some philosopher remarked, probably with a yawn, is that they are so boringly true.

But 'love at first sight' is never boring.

Danil could provide no information, but then Poole had not expected any from him. His ubiquitous escort - he certainly would not pass muster as a classic valet - seemed so limited in his functions that Poole sometimes wondered if he was mentally handicapped, unlikely though that seemed. He understood the functioning of all the household appliances, carried out simple orders with speed and efficiency, and knew his way about the Tower. But that was all; it was impossible to have an intelligent conversation with him, and any polite queries about his family were met with a look of blank incomprehension. Poole had even wondered if he too was a bio-robot.

Indra, however, gave him the answer he needed right away.

'Oh, you've met the Dragon Lady!'

'Is that what you call her? What's her real name - and can you get me her Ident? We were hardly in a position to touch palms.'

'Of course - no problemo.'

'Where did you pick up that?'

Indra looked uncharacteristically confused.

'I've no idea - some old book or movie. Is it a good figure of speech?'

'Not if you're over fifteen.'

'I'll try to remember. Now tell me what happened - unless you want to make me jealous.'

They were now such good friends that they could discuss any subject with perfect frankness. Indeed, they had laughingly lamented their total lack of romantic interest in each other - though Indra had once commented, 'I guess that if we were both marooned on a desert asteroid, with no hope of rescue, we could come to some arrangement.'

'First, you tell me who she is.'

'Her name's Aurora McAuley; among many other things, she's President of the Society for Creative Anachronisms. And if you thought Draco was impressive, wait until you see some of their other - ah - creations. Like Moby Dick - and a whole zooful of dinosaurs Mother Nature never thought of.'

This is too good to be true, thought Poole.

I am the biggest anachronism on Planet Earth.