SCENE 08-4 — A New Weapon
Location: From the Pan-American Highway to the restricted zone near the Nazca Lines
Time: 01:08:28 — 03:30 a.m. (UTC-5)
Situation: Genevieve, dozing in her seat with the book still open. The book slips from her hands and the noise wakes her.
Genevieve had fallen asleep. She was dreaming, and in the dream she still saw the soldiers at the airport coming toward her, looming, intent on killing her. That was why she jolted at the sharp sound. But it was only the book, slipped from her grasp as she slept, that had fallen at her feet. The glasses activated. A holographic message appeared:
Read it
Genevieve picked the book up again and continued reading from where she had stopped.
Iliad. To the divine arms that Tethys gave to Achilles, mighty arms for warrior heroes.
Mother, these arms are worthy of the divine smith, nor could earthly art achieve as much. I will don them now; yet a heavy fear weighs on me, lest meanwhile into Patroclus’ wounds some vile insect enter, becoming a breeder of worms, and spoil the corpse—ah, lifeless!—so that it all decays.
Meanwhile, several flies intensified their buzzing around the table, driven away in disgust by the patrons.
Lotario Sarsi resumed reading.
“Do not let such thoughts trouble you, my son,” replied the goddess Tethys. “The loathsome swarm that feeds on fallen warriors I shall keep far away. Even should he lie there for a whole year, I will ensure the body remains uncorrupted—and even more beautiful.”
Thus speaking, the goddess Tethys set the armor upon the ground before Achilles, and all the shining work rang aloud. All the Myrmidons were seized by fear; none dared to look upon it, and they trembled. But Achilles, when he saw it, felt his rage sink deeper within him, terrible beneath his brows, flashing like a flame. He rejoiced, holding in his hands the splendid gifts of the god.
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And when in his heart he had taken delight in gazing upon the wondrous work, he spoke at once winged words to his mother: these are the works of immortals, not fashioned by mortal man. I will arm myself now; yet I fear greatly that meanwhile flies may enter the open wounds cut by bronze in the strong son of Menoetius, breed worms, disfigure the body—life is gone—and all the flesh rot away.
Achilles, chief physician, speaking to himself, thought: "what was he saying, anyway? The arms of Achilles—those arms were not of human making. Oteilàs eulàs engéinontai… flies, generators of worms… This is a strange thing indeed. Everyone knows worms are worms, and flies are flies. And how can a worm become a fly? Then—he jolted—but in the dream, in the dream, I now remember: I saw the fly laying eggs… no, no, that cannot be. Unsteady from the long day, the restless night’s sleep, and the good wine. I must have drunk too much."
The company, finishing one last glass and chanting the rhythm of the hexameters, once again declaimed the verses of the Iliad they had just heard, and then dispersed.
Genevieve did not know whether to go on or return to the first page, when suddenly words appeared on the display of her glasses:
Go to the last page
She flipped through the book again and realized that the final page ended about halfway through the book’s thickness. The last pages were fake, and inside there was clearly a box. On the final sheet there was a small envelope. She opened it. Inside there was a key.
On the glasses appeared the word:
Open it
Open what? Genevieve thought. Then she noticed a tiny keyhole set into the left edge of the page, halfway up. She inserted the key; the lock clicked, and a hidden compartment opened inside the box.
Inside lay the grip of a black bow.
TAKE IT
flashed on the screen.
Genevieve took it. It was smooth to the touch; the black was glossy and deep, as if woven from night alone. She felt it respond to the pressure of her hand. From the ends the limbs of the bow unfolded, then the strings. It was so large that it could not fit entirely within her seat, and she was forced to turn it.
Her traveling companions said nothing, perceived nothing. The glasses simply prevented them from seeing what Genevieve was doing.
A black arrow nocked itself onto the bow. It too seemed made of the same material—glossy, insubstantial, and yet at once heavy and light, black and shining. Genevieve was learning to regulate the bow through the pressure applied to the grip.
She thought: “This work is not human nor mechanical. We do not possess this technology. And who am I, am I born from an egg or not?”
Iliad, Book XIX (lines 1–39)
?? ?ρα φων?σασα θε? κατ? τε?χε' ?θηκε πρ?σθεν ?χιλλ?ο?· τ? δ' ?ν?βραχε δα?δαλα π?ντα. Μυρμιδ?να? δ' ?ρα π?ντα? ?λε τρ?μο?, ο?δ? τι? ?τλη ?ντην ε?σιδ?ειν, ?λλ' ?τρεσαν. α?τ?ρ ?χιλλε?? ?? ε?δ', ?? μιν μ?λλον ?δυ χ?λο?, ?ν δ? ο? ?σσε δειν?ν ?π? βλεφ?ρων ?? ε? σ?λα? ?ξεφ?ανθεν· τ?ρπετο δ' ?ν χε?ρεσσιν ?χων θεο? ?γλα? δ?ρα. α?τ?ρ ?πε? φρεσ?ν ?σι τετ?ρπετο δα?δαλα λε?σσων α?τ?κα μητ?ρα ?ν ?πεα πτερ?εντα προση?δα· μ?τερ ?μ? τ? μ?ν ?πλα θε?? π?ρεν ο?' ?πιεικ?? ?ργ' ?μεν ?θαν?των, μ? δ? βροτ?ν ?νδρα τελ?σσαι. ν?ν δ' ?τοι μ?ν ?γ? θωρ?ξομαι· ?λλ? μ?λ' α?ν?? δε?δω
Thus speaking, the goddess set the arms upon the ground
before Achilles, and all the shining armor rang aloud.
And all the Myrmidons were seized by terror;
none dared to look upon it, and they trembled.
But Achilles, when he saw it,
felt his rage sink deeper into his eyes,
terrible beneath his brows, blazing like a flame;
and he rejoiced to hold in his hands
the splendid gifts of the god.
And when in his heart he had taken delight
in gazing upon the wondrous ornaments,
at once he spoke winged words to his mother:
“These are the works of immortals;
no mortal man has fashioned them.
I will arm myself now; yet terribly
I fear that meanwhile, into the open wounds
cut by bronze in the strong son of Menoetius,
flies may enter and breed worms,
disfiguring the body.
Life has been slain,
and all the flesh may rot away.”
, “I began to doubt whether, by chance, all the maggots in meat derived from the seed of female flies alone and not from the putrefied flesh itself.”
And Thetis, still, says to him:
“The loathsome swarms that prey upon fallen warriors
I will keep far away from him;
even though he lie there for a whole year,
his flesh shall be sound and fair.”
Francesco Redi, Experiments on the Generation of Insects (1668), original edition, available at:
