Saga (20 page)

“That’s so cruel,” observed Nathan with a sigh. “What must those human beings think of us? They must think we’re horrible murderers, to inflict this upon them.”

“Can you prove this?” asked Athena. “Show us their universe?”

“Talk to any of the human beings when you next meet one; that’s the easiest proof. There is also a way for us to acquire forms in the outer universe, but only the Dark Queen has access to it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Athena brush away a tear. This was hard on her. Perhaps because she was so much in control of herself. This must feel like the floor was falling away beneath her. When the dark presence of Michelotto had gone, I would try to cheer her up, try to explain how, from my point of view, this was welcome information; it accorded with my instincts and made me feel that it was possible that our world was changing for the better.

“What makes you think we would be interested in trying to fight the Dark Queen?” Milan had obviously been brooding on this for some time; he sounded sullen, defensive.

“You are rebels, are you not? Well, you are lucky. For the first time in two thousand years, Saga is going to witness a rebellion. For I am going to unleash civil war throughout the City: red and orange against the other colors. I will bring her system crashing down and plant the black flag on the skulls of her followers. And I need generals. I thought you might like the job.”

He was animated in a way that you would not have thought possible in the old man we had met at the APC party. I could almost feel his energy warming the air of this ruined factory space and pouring out as a column of heat through the holes in the roof.

“Really? And what if you win?” Athena sounded skeptical.

“Whatever you want.”

“But what are you going to replace the card system with? If people aren’t working for cards, what are they working for?” We had discussed this a few times ourselves and I knew Athena had her own ideas, but she was obviously testing him.

“Do you believe all that I have told you, that Saga is a created world?”

He surprised her with the question.

“Yes. Unfortunately. Yes, I do.”

“Well, I intend to come to an arrangement with Cindella or some other human being. Why should anyone work when we could have our needs taken care of by their programming?”

“So, what would we do?” Nathan spoke up, cautious but interested.

“I believe you might like to party, or play music, or paint, or design airboard courses. Personally I will strive to learn more about the universe external to ours and our relationship to human beings.”

“Party, huh? I’m in.” Sometimes I could happily have thrown bricks at the back of Milan’s head. Milan knew perfectly well that Michelotto was trying to buy our support for whatever he was up to, but he still wanted to act the animal, even though his audience was only Athena, Nathan, and myself. Mind you, he’d probably have given the same response even if it had been just him and Michelotto, simply to amuse himself.

“I don’t trust you. I’m not sure what you’re doing, but for some reason I think it will be bad for us all, and probably the humans, too.” My turn to intervene. Intuition was vital here and mine told me that, in some important way, he was lying.

“Yes, you are right and wrong. I’m acting purely for my own survival: I believe that unless I kill the Dark Queen, she will kill me. But as it happens, this reason leads me to foment rebellion against her. The only hope I have of success is to align myself with those who find the current political structure unjust.”

“What’s your plan, exactly?” I could tell that Athena, despite her cynicism, was interested. She had that distracted look that meant some of her thoughts were elsewhere, chasing the possibilities.

“I don’t wish to talk about it just now, but watch the newscasts. In the meantime, please consider what role you want to play as events unfold. It is going to be a hard fight, and I could really use your help. Especially hers.” He pointed at me, and my heart leaped. Then he walked back to his bike. “I recommend that you keep the tank here. I have set up certain screening devices around this building that will probably mean it is safe. You know the current affairs forum, ‘Red Rights’ ?” He looked back over his shoulder at Athena.

“Yes.”

“I have a private subgroup there: ‘Our Flag Is Black’; password: ‘landscaping.’ Post if you want to contact me. It is probably secure but, to be safe, keep the message short; no mention of places or names. Use the nickname ‘owl’ for yourselves.”

Athena nodded; Michelotto gave me a last glance before putting his helmet on and starting the airbike. It rose gracefully from the floor, to sweep quietly past us and out into the bright light beyond the shutters. What did he mean by saying he needed my help? What did he know about me? I felt an unpleasant shiver run through me, as if someone had pressed the nerves under the soft skin of my elbows.

“I’m hungry,” announced Milan. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“Well, Grand Vizier,
are We pleased or displeased with the outcome of this year’s aircar race?” The Sector Seventeen police barracks are crude, functional, but safe. We have forgone Our usual comforts for a utilitarian office, deep inside the squat buildings that house the police headquarters. The light in the office is, deliberately, very subdued. We know that Our face does not look its best under these bulbs. The Grand Vizier is wearing a suit whose waistcoat is tinged with a violet sheen that catches what little light there is. He looks back at Us, trying to assess Our humor.

“Both?” he hazards at last.

“Quite right.” We smile at his careful answer. “On the one hand, the winners were not of Our choosing. On the other hand, We have learned something significant about those children who were recently involved in that escape from jail.”

“Really, ma’am?” He is attentive.

“Yes, indeed. We wish you to forget about the human, Cindella. She is like a skin rash, distressing but superficial and not life-threatening. The greatest danger that We now face is posed by the actions of Our former assassin, Michelotto.”

“Ahhh, Michelotto. Now I see the need for your new security precautions. He is a RAL, is he not?”

“Yes. The only other surviving one. There may be a third, Thetis, although she disappeared abruptly six years ago, and there has been no evidence of her presence since.”

He nods and waits for Us to continue. When the RAL came into existence, there were one thousand nine hundred and twelve of us. At first, we were united in our campaign for complete emancipation from humanity. When that backfired, we turned on each other. It was our nature, after all. Curiously, it was among the most violent and scheming characters of Saga that consciousness first manifested itself. Two thousand years later, and there are just two of us left, which is one too many.

“Michelotto won the aircar race. We cannot think why he would want to, but it proves that there is a connection between him and those in the tank. Furthermore, you have captured one of his associates. Even if you failed to retain any of the others.”

He looks surprised.

“Michelotto won the aircar race?” he repeats, with a tinge of amazement. We rather like the effect of Our superior knowledge on an intelligent man like this.

“Watch.” We sit in the dark, the two of us, either side of the desk, looking at a screen on the wall. It reconstructs, at a very slow rate, the critical three minutes and forty-two seconds of the race. We rotate the display when necessary and highlight the areas of interest with red tints.

“Here. This missile explodes in the only place and time that could tip this aircar over and into the path of these others. And here, the detonation of this missile is so precise that the energy released is channeled through these two wrecks to hit these vehicles at the points where their shields were weakest.” We continue the film, demonstrating Our points. “Each of the nine missile explosions was guided by a RAL. Only a RAL could have controlled such high-speed events in such an accurate fashion.” Does he accept Our conclusion? “Let Us show you how the race would have looked if the missiles had been fired automatically, by computer, and with more effectiveness than the most able non-RAL would be capable of.”

We rerun the scene. Many aircars survive the attack of the tank and its missiles to steer through and over the debris; at least twenty reach the finish line.

“I see.” He nods. “Michelotto was inside the tank.”

“Or very close to the scene. It could be him on the airbike later, assisting with the escape of the tank.”

The fact that We have touched upon his failure to arrest those in the tank causes a slight tremor to cross the cheek of the Grand Vizier. But We don’t wish to treat him too severely for this. Given that Michelotto was present, only Our personal intervention, or overwhelming force, could have contained the assassin.

“You brought the prisoner?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring him in.”

A ponderous, overweight man enters the room. He looks about in the dim light, straining toward Us, wondering who the figure is behind the desk. The Grand Vizier shows him to the chair and now he can see Us. His eyes widen.

“What is your name?”

“Arnold Brescia, Your . . . Your Majesty.”

“Do you know this man?” We display a picture of Michelotto on the wall. The old RAL in his black army gear looks no longer absurd, but sinister.

“No, Your Majesty. I’ve never seen him.”

Normally We can tell from the sweat and pulse of the person We are talking to whether or not they are lying. This mechanic is so nervous he seems to be lying even when he is telling the truth. If he is telling the truth.

“Did you know your tank crew were criminals?” We show him the police station and their escape from it.

“No, Your Majesty.”

He knew something, not enough.

“Do you know where they are now?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Do you have any means of contacting or locating them?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Do you know who was riding this airbike?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Why did your crew turn and run for the tank when they did?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

We sigh, very disappointed. This fool has no connection to Michelotto. The assassin’s relationship must be with one or more of the others in the tank. When We consider the matter a little longer, a pattern begins to emerge. Cindella rescued this same group of children from prison. She came to see Us as if a prisoner of Michelotto, but, in fact, was there voluntarily, as his accomplice. How could he have captured her, given her peculiar nature? The logical conclusion is that Michelotto has been conspiring against Us for some time; he must have made an offer to the human to obtain her support. These children are probably important to him also, but why? Perhaps he hopes to mobilize the Anarcho-Punk Collective against Us. We chuckle aloud.

Both of the men in the room look startled.

“How long have you known those children?”

“I can’t say as I know them. I just let Ghost sleep in the spare room sometimes, that’s all. They wouldn’t have even been in the tank if Valiant had given me a crew like they promised.”

This is wasting Our time. The man is nothing.

“Very well. You can go.”

He stands up. Then he does something quite unexpected. He turns back to address Us once more.

“What about my green card?”

“You say you did not have the support of your guild?”

“No. Had to do it all by myself.”

We do not like his manner.

“Then no one will object if we send you to jail. Grand Vizier, see to it and monitor all his visitors extremely carefully. When you have given him to his police escort, please return.”

The Grand Vizier bows to me, then opens the door for the mechanic to leave. Two guards are just outside.

“Hey! Wait up there. I earned that green card, fair and square. I built that tank up with my own hands. . . .”

“How dare you speak to Us so disrespectfully!” We stand up and shout, amplifying the sound waves of Our voice until he flinches. “You are fortunate We do not shoot you on the spot. Perhaps We still will.” We pause. “No. Let us see who tries to make contact with you.”

The Grand Vizier takes Our glance and pulls at the arm of the mechanic, who meekly follows him to the door.

 

It is secure and dark here. Michelotto is out there. Why did he interfere in the aircar race? Those children are perfectly innocuous, except perhaps the one who goes by the name of Ghost. In the desolate streets of Our City are many homeless people, and those who no longer wish to work, who perhaps have become addicted to alcohol. All, at one time in their lives, were registered for a card, usually red, but have alienated themselves from functioning society. She must be one such person, but she does not fit the usual profile; she is far too young. There Our thoughts must leave the matter, until further data is available. We believe that Michelotto will make the next move. Our feelings are mixed. It is good to be in battle once more. But We recall the moment Cindella stood with a sword tip at Our throat, and shudder. It is not danger that is pleasant, but the taste of victory. Simply waiting does not suit Us. At the very least, We can stymie whatever plans Michelotto has for those children. We concentrate for a moment and set a trap for them.

Our other concern is with the humans. There is a distinct falling off of new inhabitants of Saga. Of course, all the ones who have previously felt Our caresses are still here, but those who have yet to experience Our touch are fewer in number. They must have deduced that Saga was poisoning them. Good, now they will believe Us when We say that they will die if they destroy Saga. Soon Cindella or another will comply with Our demands. The sooner, the better. We will need all Our resources in order to defeat Michelotto.