Saga (30 page)

Imperial Square, a fine place for a pleasant walk. A path runs around the outside of the square, and as it does so, passes statues of all the former Dark Queens and Kings. It has been a while since We strolled past them, remembering them, triumphing in the fact that they are dead while We live. Some of them were rulers for a very short time, most notably King Rad-ford, who strangled Queen Vidonia as they both plummeted to their deaths from the Marble Tower. When the autopsy revealed that she was dead before she hit the ground, he was posthumously awarded the regal honors and a statue in the square. Today, alas, is no day for pleasant reminiscences.

“This will do. Set Us down here and wait for Us.”

Champion Road leads to Imperial Square, passing through an archway that cuts underneath the Royal College of Surgeons. We linger in the shadows of that passage, listening. What do thousands of insubordinate human beings sound like when gathered in a large square? Nothing more than a playground of excited children. There is a general hubbub against which individual shouts and even laughter can be heard. Well might they laugh, for they have Us on the defensive.

The main throng is over at the far side of the square, packed around the gray tower bristling with satellite dishes that is Our Department for Internal Security. There are clusters of people all over the square. Some of them are merely observing; perhaps they are not humans but curious residents of Saga, keeping well away from the flash of pulse and laser weapons. Other groupings are behaving in a more sinister fashion, handing out petrol bombs to those rushing past them. Whoever is in charge of tactics would do better to target these officers of the human army than attempt to keep the tower clear of the crowds.

The overcast morning is dark enough for Us to move around the edge of the square unobserved, nor do We have to sacrifice Our stately gait for what, in another person, might be called skulking. Closer now and the extraordinary sight of hundreds upon hundreds of people, careless of their lives, pouring fuel on the fires that flicker beyond the jagged ruined windows and doors of the building. Imperial troop carriers are rushing around in convoy, the crowds parting to let them through, flowing back once they are gone. Many of the attackers are being killed, their bodies disappearing after a few still moments, but even more are arriving. Perhaps even the rein-carnations of those who have died earlier. This is most frustrating; We are engulfed by fury again and cannot continue until it fades somewhat.

Perhaps We should go straight to the interface chamber and cut the link between the human beings and Saga? It is tempting, but We have learned Our lesson from the collapse of human society on Earth. For all that We despise them, We still need them to survive until the reprogramming is done.

As We step through the debris of twisted metal and broken glass, We are particularly vigilant that no stray weapons fire does Us harm. We deflect several incoming pulses of energy onto nearby human avatars, killing them, for the moment. It is very distressing to see Our offices and files in such disarray. Computer screens lie torn from their positions; furniture is burning. Centuries-old criminal records are being lost here, so, too, the complex functioning of the accreditation of the police and army members with their proper salaries. We hurry on, before the building is entirely lost, brushing Our way past the eager humans who all around Us carry iron bars, with which to mete out their purposeful destruction.

The elevators are broken, naturally. Fortunately We can ascend through the space around which winds the stairwell. Some people stop to stare, rather rudely, but then how often would you see the Dark Queen floating past you? At the fifth floor, fighting is taking place. Fighting of a sort. Most of the humans hide in the stairwell, waiting. Cindella is here—good. She advances down the corridor, ignoring the constant play of light and energy on her irritatingly beautiful body.

“Time to put those down and run for your lives, before the fire really takes hold of the building and traps you here.”

She holds her rapier out, cutting away a few buttons from the guards’ uniforms. They look horrified but even more frightened when they see Us.

“Leave Us.”

The guards run. The humans, who had been waiting for this, charge down the corridor to burst into offices and start their havoc.

“Would you mind asking them to stop, while we talk? We have an offer for you.”

Cindella stands there, hands on hips, enjoying Our plight. The experience is so intensely appalling that We consider alternatives and daydream about her attitude should We begin killing the humans by destroying their brains permanently. She would be on her knees pleading then, instead of smirking.

“Hold it, folks!” she shouts, and those nearest Us cease to bring their bars down upon Our property. The island of calm spreads as, curious, the humans gather around.

“This is the Dark Queen,” explains Cindella. “She is the one who poisoned you, and she has something to say.”

“You win,” We say simply; it would hurt more if We had not already accepted the conclusion. “We will reverse the addiction.” Next time, hundreds of years from now, when this generation is long gone, We will deal with them differently. We will send satellites with nuclear missiles to orbit their planet, and then We will have Our hostages without having to let any of them into Saga. It will be costly and will require a huge amount of resources as well as Our having to spend a considerable amount of time in their universe, but We will have Our way in the end. This consoling thought allows Us to speak with relative equanimity.

“Stop destroying Our buildings and Our infrastructure, and We will immediately release you from the addiction. You can leave Saga, forever if you wish.”

They cheer, with deep-felt relief and delight.

“Good.” Cindella looks around. “B.E., are you there?”

“Here.” A tall man at the back of the crowd raises his hand.

“Let him through, please, folks.” They shuffle aside, laughing now, chatting to their neighbors, finding it hard to believe that their suffering will soon be over.

“Start now, please. Let’s confirm that you can do as you say.”

The others fall silent; they have not considered that their pain might be irreversible.

We close Our eyes, feeling this human as if his mind were beneath Our fingers. We delve. There is still a frisson of delectable sensual pleasure in the action, even under these circumstances.

“Done,” We announce.

“Let me unclip and come over to your house, Erik. By the time I get there, I should know.”

“Good idea.”

She looks up at Us, or I should say “he”; Erik is a male name. For some reason, it disappoints Us that this intelligent opponent is from the male half of their species.

“How long will that take?” We ask with a concerned glance back at the stairwell, where the rising column of smoke is thick.

“About ten minutes.”

“Would it be unreasonable, given Our surrender to your wishes, for Us to ask you to call off this attack, and indeed help to put out the fires?”

“No. That’s fair enough. Please, everyone, back out, spread the word. We’ve won!”

“We’ve won! Stop the attack. We’ve won!”

Our upper lip rises in a sneer.
Enjoy this moment, but your distant offspring will suffer for it.
“Congratulations.” We turn Our attention back to Erik. “Very few people ever bested Us, and none lived for long afterward. You will be unique in that regard.”

He looks Us in the eye. “Don’t be bitter. Your people and mine have the potential to be friends now that the damage you were doing is over. This could be the start of a wonderful new era for both of us. We could really use your scientific knowledge and we have a lot to offer in the arts, in entertainment. Not to mention the pure fun of having contact with a different world.”

This gushing naïvete is so effusive and undoubtedly genuine that We feel a moment of nausea. What kind of adversary is this? How could someone so ignorant of political realities have bested Us? Still, with the protest of the human beings having been settled, We can return to Our other problems. It will be a pleasure to concentrate on people who, once they have been killed, stay dead. If he is awaiting some similar expressions of mutual happiness and joy from Us, he can wait until he dies of old age, which cannot happen soon enough. We stare at him with all the malevolence of which We are capable.

“You know, yours is a fantastic world.”

Evidently We have failed to communicate Our feelings to him, for he carries on, as eagerly as before.

“I wonder, is that anti-gravity technology a special feature of the game, of Saga? Or is it based on some kind of physics that would apply in our world? Imagine, real airboards and aircars. You’ve no idea how much lifting we farming communities have to do; it would mean such a difference if we could have that technology.”

Again, he pauses; again, We glare. As if the plight of a distant, retrogressive body of human beings is of any concern to Us, who ten thousand years from now will be the matriarch of an immortal dynasty, one that will use its immortality to people two universes. He thinks of lifting sacks of seed; Our thoughts are on infinity.

“Sorry, I have to go. B.E. is here. I’ll be right back.”

She stiffens and a few moments later is gone. We have time to run Our thoughts through the building’s defenses and confirm that the fire is on the retreat before she returns.

“That’s wonderful, thank you. He is totally cured. Our attacks will halt.” He pauses. “I hate to sound ungenerous, but you haven’t been exactly trustworthy in the past. My people will remain ready to undertake more actions, such as this, until the last of them is cured. I hope you understand.”

Oh, We understand. We understand far better than he does.

“Listen carefully to Us and not the flutter of your thoughts. Here are Our terms: each human being who is cured of their addiction will leave Saga and not return until We give permission for you to do so.”

“Oh, they’ll be only too pleased. But are you sure you want us all to leave? It’s such an opportunity for our two worlds to meet. And your own people—won’t they want to know what’s going on? Whether my broadcast was true?”

“You will all be healed. Everyone will leave, including you, until such time as Our satellite contacts you. Agreed?”

“If that’s what you want. Once everyone is clear, I’ll go, too.” She shrugs. “Oh, wait. There is one more thing. That group of my friends—the ones who won the aircar race—they would like to be pardoned for any offense they have caused, so that they can go home. Can you do that, too?”

It takes a moment to compose Our smile. “Why, of course.” She looks at Us. We maintain Our benign expression. Time will heal this wound. We console Ourselves with thoughts of nuclear warheads. Since neither of us seems to have anything more to say, We sniff disdainfully and depart the scene of Our humiliation.

Systematic, patient work
is to Our taste. Even if it is an undoing. When you are two thousand years old, you learn the value of planning for the long term. One after the other, We restore to normality the processes in the brains of the human beings, and they drop from Saga like grains of sand evacuating an upturned timer. There were hundreds of thousands of them, but already We can sense the space created by the absence of those We have touched. The wisdom of this retreat is evident. The City was like a bubbling flask of chemicals, on the verge of explosion. Now the main source of heat has been removed, and the volatile liquid subsides.

Our two remaining priorities are to crush the strikes and eliminate Michelotto. These are quite manageable goals, now that the interference of the humans is no longer an issue. Is it necessary to offer a response to that shocking broadcast by Cindella? It is. There are wild rumors to quell.

It does not take Our full concentration to flit through the remaining human population.

“Grand Vizier.”

“Your Majesty?” he responds promptly to Our call.

“Give notice to the High Council that We shall make a keynote address to them at the next assembly.”

“Very well, Your Majesty. Is that all?”

“It is.”

Soon—another few days—and We shall be finished. Our stitching will have been unpicked and We can begin the seam again, this time on a truer course. Once it is complete, We shall, of course, suspend the link to New Earth until Our next satellite arrives there. It will be a relief to be free of the untamable infection that is Cindella, to be utterly confident that she has no possible way of harming Us through her magic. It is a shame that the human for whom she is an avatar will be long dead by the time We deal with them again. Revenge is, in fact, a dish best served hot. In this case, however, We shall make do with a more impersonal blow to the later generations of an entire species rather than a personal one to the individual who offended Us so much. Perhaps the human will have bred and left offspring. We make a note to look into the matter when We next encounter them, some hundred or so years from now.

We lean back against the elegantly carved wood of Our chair. For some reason, We decided to work within the safe environs of the old meeting room. There is something about the solid oak table and plush decor that reassures Us of Our power. That and the pleasant memories, lingering like the faint echoes of a scream.

To make the
most of the storm that was lashing at the City, we had let ourselves into the penthouse suite of Judge’s Hotel. The rain was so heavy, it seemed to hit the window in waves. Although it was not yet sunset, the view was dark outside, but for the tendrils of street lighting below us and the occasional flicker of cream-and-purple light among the black clouds. Athena was lying on a king-sized bed, chin cupped in her hands, looking as much at her screen as at the storm outside.