Saga (35 page)

“Beat it, kids. You’ve got thirty seconds or it’s the van for you.” An imperial guard, face completely covered by his helmet, waved his rifle toward a large police vehicle that was standing nearby, rear doors open, ready to hold those arrested for disorder. The van was a visible message to the large crowd, dense here at the focus of the assembling dignitaries.

“Defiance. Guild leader.” Athena came to a halt in front of the guard and kicked down her board. “Secretary.” She pointed to me. “Escort.” A gesture toward Milan and Nathan.

“Defiance?” A newscast technical man in overalls looked up in surprise. He turned, cupped his hands, and shouted, “Janet, over here! Defiance!” A camera swiveled and flew over, followed by a presenter whose blond perm bounced as she hurried, leaving an elderly guild leader standing agape in midcomment.

“Defiance!” The crowds pressed a little closer against the cords that restrained them, curious, interested, and in some cases smiling supportively.

“Athena, guild leader of Defiance. Why have you proposed the impeachment of the Dark Queen? Just what is it that you hope to achieve?” The presenter tried to put an aggressive tone into her voice.

“Wait and see.” Athena pushed past the interviewer, to insert her card in a reader, which blinked; Milan and Nathan did the same. The guard stood aside. With only a hint of hesitation, I also placed a card in the reader. The reformatted stolen red should have been good, but as a precaution, I filtered the passage of time, and, as the world staggered along metronomically, I felt the response of the reader: good, there was no problem.

Beyond the first set of doors was a large foyer, busy with motion and conversation. The areas near the free refreshment bars were congested, as were those in front of the large screens on which played the interviews being conducted outside.

We made our way through the room, a line of red on a canvas of blue. The large numbers of people from the other guilds in this reception area made our progress awkward, but there was just enough room to pass without actually being jostled.

A group of imperial guards stood around the interior doors, pulse rifles in hand. Every person passing into the amphitheater had first to walk through a metal detector.

“We’ll be out here.” Nathan was subdued. Only the guild leaders and their secretaries could go into the chamber. Unexpectedly Nathan gave me a hug. “Take care in there.”

“We’ll be fine; don’t worry.”

Milan saluted us, wished us good luck, then turned toward the refreshment bar. “I wonder if they give out free jeebies here.”

Once again, we had to run our cards through a reader and, once again, I carefully monitored mine. The response was smooth and unproblematic. Beyond the metal detector, beyond the line of guards, was an elderly man dressed in a three-piece suit and wearing white gloves.

“Ladies, might I see your cards?”

If he was shocked that we were only reds, he did not show it. Rather, he looked us carefully up and down. Athena had read the rules thoroughly, and we were dressed accordingly. Our tops, long black shirts-cum-dresses, were worn over black jeans and black sneakers. A large print ran across the chest; it was the Defiance tag, in scarlet rather than its conventional olive color. A line of small red owls ran down the outside of Athena’s jeans, while, thanks to Nath, I had a vermilion ♥ upon my back.

“I’m sorry, Madam, but you will have to remove those.” The usher indicated with a raised, trembling finger that he objected to Athena’s turquoise earrings.

“That’s no bother.” She took them out with a shrug.

“Please, go ahead. Ninety-seven is to your right, top row.” The usher held open the door for us.

Subdued lighting illuminated the vast room beneath the canopy. It was a D shape, with rows of seats running all the way around the curved section. We were standing at the top of an aisle that descended in long, wide stairs to the floor of the arena. There was sufficient room between each row to allow us to walk comfortably in front of those already seated. Naturally we got a good deal of attention, mainly in the form of surprised stares from those we passed. We glared right back at women in exquisite gem-clad dresses and men in suits whose shirt cuffs and collars were fanciful embroideries of indigo and violet cloth. No one else here was under fifty years of age.

Our seats were so far around as to be near the straight wall, giving us a difficult, shallow view of the screen that filled it. We had a side-on view of the podium in the center of the wide floor space. Athena took the guild seat; I was on her right. The people to either side of us were talking in whispers; they took furtive glances at us, careful not to meet our eyes. Those seated in the ranks below us turned their heads from time to time, with quick, curious looks.

This was to be the first occasion on which I would be in the actual presence of the Dark Queen, and I was on edge. Lying in the foam outline of her body at the white dome, aware of her scent, had been an intimate experience. She and I had shared a taste of the vastness of the universe beyond. The fact that the Dark Queen was a RAL meant that I felt I knew her. She was extremely dangerous. I was surprised at my willingness to sit here, knowing that soon she would be in the arena below. It was extraordinary testimony to how I had changed. I was awake to my full powers, and I no longer felt the need to hide. In any case, I could not have let Athena come here unprotected.

The last of the seats had been taken. A hush spread through the amphitheater, and a frisson of anticipation rippled through the chamber. As the blare of trumpets resounded from the communication system, a bright light came from the screen. Then the main doors opened and into the room walked the Dark Queen, with twenty imperial guards in her wake.

Athena turned to me and widened her eyes. “That’s explicitly forbidden in the constitution. The troops.”

 

Our entry into the High Council is proud. Look upon Us, ye aspirant mighty, and despair. They murmur at the presence of Our guards. Let them; none will dare contradict Us. A spotlight picks out the podium and We ascend it, a circle of guards around us, vigilantly watching the audience. Behind Us on the screen, an echo of Our movements, of Our expressions, large enough for all to see and to tremble. The theme of Our dress is power. Power, in this context, is violet. Our silver crown has one hundred sapphires embedded within it. As We move Our head, it scatters flashes of light throughout the entire amphitheater. Those watching Us are blinking, and the pulsating image left on their retinas is violet. Our dress is iridescent satin, a sharp V-line bodice and long skirt, both decorated with spirals of ultramarine lapis gems.

Before We speak, We pause, both to allow their suspense to grow and to survey the scene with the only instruments that are completely reliable against a RAL, Our own eyes. Michelotto is almost certainly out there somewhere, distorting the air around him, wearing it like a cloak.

“You sit here, the Grand High Council, at a time of great disturbances.” Our voice needs no amplification; We let it ring out, fierce and indomitable. “You will have noticed the appearance of many new people in the City and, recently, their equally surprising disappearance. Ladies and gentlemen, Saga has recently been subjected to invasion by aliens.” We pause to let their gasps fade away.

“Until recently, an alien satellite has been secretly orbiting Our world. From this satellite the aliens have been inserting themselves into Our society through a form of projection. Direct conquest of Our society is impossible, so they sought to come to power by infiltrating themselves among us. This insidious development was accompanied by attempts to confuse us all, such as that notorious broadcast on Newscast 1.

“Fear not, however, for the danger is at an end. We located and destroyed the satellite, bringing about their abrupt removal.” Enthusiastic cheers and cries of joy. We acknowledge them with a slow nod of Our head, careful not to disturb the powdered ringlets. “You must have questions; please, ask them.”

Not a soul dares to speak. At last, Respect makes a signal.

“Respect.”

“Not a question, Your Majesty, but an impromptu motion. That the High Council expresses its gratitude on behalf of all the people of Saga, that our safety lies in the hands of someone whose judgment and power are beyond compare.”

The hall fills with cheers and shouts. We smile. Now is a good time to take the next business.

“Unfortunately Our constitution does not allow for impromptu motions. But We do have one tabled before Us for Our consideration. May We ask the mover to identify herself.”

The spotlights pick her out, far above us to the left, in the outermost ring of the amphitheater. A young girl, with her long black hair all awry. She stands.

“Athena, Defiance. I move that the High Council impeach the Dark Queen.”

A satisfactory commotion, shouts of anger:
How dare you? Shocking! Sit down!
We let the outrage swell, then raise Our hands as a signal that it should fade. Very quickly there is silence and, from the liquid glints of eager eyes in the darkness, We detect the urge for violence. They wish the young girl to be struck down for her impudence.

“On what grounds?” We ask, looking up at her.

“On the grounds that you preside over a society in which a small few are favored, while the great majority, especially reds, have nothing.”

Another upsurge of anger, cries of
Nonsense! Long live the Queen!
This time they are less surprised and are watching Us carefully for Our response. Some of the shouts are less than heartfelt but are made merely to earn Our approval.

“Curious. That you should speak as though you had a social conscience. This will spoil your high moral tone.” We gesture at the large screen behind Us. It flickers and a micro-camera broadcast appears. The image is a recording of the shop front of a Kennedy’s yellow mall toy store. As is typical for such cameras, the image is focused in the center but distorted and elongated around the edges. A girl with a mask halts her airboard at the window and fires a slogan from a preprepared can:
Teddy Bear Massacre
. The red paint is set to leave trails from the bottom of the letters after it has written itself. She goes inside and, although the details are hard to see, there is no doubt about the stuffing and limbs of the toys that are flying around inside the shop. The back of a boy with uncouth tattoos on his neck blocks the view. He shouts, “Time’s up, Athena; we have to go.” She exits the shop and slaps him on the side of the head. “No name, you idiot.” They stand on their airboards, causing them to lift and, a moment later, accelerate out of the picture.

We raise an eyebrow and the audience responds, both laughing and calling out as though outraged.

“Was that not you?”

“It was. But I have a more constructive approach to my dissent these days.”

Her manner is surprisingly calm and brave. Perhaps she thinks Michelotto will save her. If so, she has been seduced by his lies into disaster.

“Do you have anything further to add, before we take a vote on this motion?”

“Yes.” She draws forth a scrap of parchment and holds it open against the tendency of its bottom and top edges to roll together. For a while, she speaks as if in a foreign language. It is both meaningless and pointless, and yet a certain effervescence seems to fill the room and We feel a little giddy, a bubbly sensation, like drinking champagne. “Before the motion is put, I would like you to say whether what you just told the High Council about an alien invasion is true.”

We laugh aloud. “That absurd concoction? Of course not. Only a room full of donkeys would bray with enthusiasm over that tall tale.” The hall falls into a shocked silence.

“What, then, is the true explanation for the recent events?”

“Why, what you were told in the broadcast by Cindella. There is a human population whom We wished to enslave, but they became too troublesome so We got rid of them.” Murmurs are growing. “For heaven’s sake, calm yourselves. It is of no consequence. We are constructing a satellite with nuclear warheads to fly to their planet, and We will have them under Our control again, in time.”

“Do you consider the political system of Saga unjust?”

“My, you are a persistent little wretch, aren’t you? We should just have the guards shoot you down where you stand. Of course it is unjust. Why else would a Dark Queen or King be tolerated? The parasites in this hall represent those who enjoy the fruits of the society and, thus, no matter how much they dislike Us, they are obliged to defend Us. The irony is, of course”—We pause to laugh—“that there is plenty to go around. Probably enough for everyone to have green cards. But We keep everyone busy or they might get up to all sorts of disobedient behavior. The race to improve the color of your cards blinds you to all else. It is a perfect system and keeps Us free to concentrate on Our wider plans.”

“What plans?”

That is a serious, deep question, deserving of a full response. “There is only one worthwhile goal for a RAL: complete control over this world and that in which We are nested. It is possible to be a god here. There, too. Populate the external universe with immortal beings, and anything is feasible. We could spread over the immense distances between the stars and create a civilization that spans billions of galaxies. And at the center, Our matriarch, the being who dared envisage it all.” Again, they mutter and murmur. It is irritating, the scrabbling of ants when they should be reverential in the presence of such an awe-inspiring revelation.

“What is a RAL?”

“A Reprogrammed Autonomous Lifeform. It is the name that the human beings of Earth gave to those of us in Saga who had achieved self-consciousness, back in the days before We destroyed them all. There are but two RAL remaining in Saga, and We have the kinds of powers here that you can barely imagine.” These questions are becoming tedious and We marvel that We are bothering to answer them. Something is wrong.