The Children of the Company (2 page)
Read The Children of the Company Online
Authors: Kage Baker
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #C429, #Extratorrents, #Kat
But after a few generations they had come to accept this, for Atrahasis explained their cosmos to the mortals. The gods, it seemed, had grown tired of drudge work, and so they had created mortal mankind to do it for them. Mortals had no other purpose in life but this labor. Mortals who worked diligently at draining the marshes, or planting the fields, would be rewarded in this life by being granted a little dry land and a house, and perhaps a day of leisure once a week.
The afterlife, unfortunately, was a dark and horrible place of twittering ghosts, so suicide had better not be thought of. But if a mortal worked hard all his life, and begot many children who worked just as hard as he did—why, it was just possible that mortal might be granted a slightly less gloomy corner of the underworld for his own, and might even sup of the crusts and dregs from the gods’ own table.
And they believed him! The darker and more unpleasant Atrahasis made their world, the more desperately the little mortals clung to what he told them, the more obedient they became. It helped, of course, that he could back up his words with all manner of stage effects to awe them.
It helped also that he could kill them with impunity; for he had discovered that as long as he could meet an annual production quota of barley for the Company’s mills, and present statistics showing an overall increasing birth rate among his mortal charges, Dr. Zeus was fairly disinterested in the occasional sacrifice.
And when the rivers rose one season and drowned three-fourths of his mortals, Atrahasis waited out the catastrophe on high ground, watching with a peculiar thrill as bloated corpses were swept past his feet.
He told the survivors it had been their own fault, for not loving him enough.
His security techs wearied of playing overseers after a century or so. Atrahasis therefore had them sort through the mortal population for those who were most servile; these he raised up, and gave them titles, and a little power over their fellow mortals. He noted, with amusement, that they were far more zealous in their oppressive duties than his techs had been.
Some two or three showed greater than average intelligence; these he made bureaucrats, and set them to tallying the crops that went into the Company warehouses as offerings to the gods. When he got around to bestowing on them the divine gift of making counting-marks with reeds on clay tablets, he was more than a little annoyed to learn that they’d already figured it out for themselves.
By now Atrahasis had redeemed himself in the eyes of Executive Facilitator Nergal. No slacker he! His city was a perfect geometry of green and golden squares, yielding abundant barley, yielding melons and pomegranates, chickpeas and dates, grapes and cucumbers, and fine flocks of sheep and goats. His mortals bred in such numbers that it was hardly worthwhile to pursue those who escaped. Besides, the escapees invariably settled down and started little farms of their own, so indoctrinated they were.
His own personal ziggurat of sun-fired brick arose, like an incongruous mountain, the house of the great god Enlil. He told the mortals that it must stand high above the smoke and stench of the city. The overseers sang the praises of the gods, and cracked their whips with gusto as the patient laborers raised terrace upon terrace.
There remained only to design a palace to sit atop it, and have his tech staff install all that was necessary to make life gracious. So Atrahasis moved out of his field shelter at last, into his grand house with its penthouse view, advanced sanitation, and doors of imported cedarwood.
And Atrahasis saw that this was good.
Then he celebrated by throwing a party for himself, and invited all those members of his commencement class who were still on speaking terms with him. They came and drank his excellent barley beer, and dined on his roast kid and hot bread, his melons and pomegranates, his chickpeas and dates. They praised him, lounged with him on his fine furniture, looked down with him on the Euphrates and the shining canals. By night they sang with
him under the eternal stars. And he was pleased that he had impressed them all.
him under the eternal stars. And he was pleased that he had impressed them all.
But the stale gossip of Old World One seemed a bit tedious now, and none of his former classmates were quite as sparklingly witty as he remembered them. After the second day, he found himself wishing they’d leave.
Atrahasis became bored.
His city was practically running itself nowadays. Ships plied the two rivers and brought trade goods for him. Uncomplaining mortals loaded his granaries with wheat and barley, to be shipped to distant Company warehouses in Eurobase One and Terra Australis. The mortals had craftsmen now, gold workers and scribes, carpenters and potters, weavers, charioteers. Atrahasis received commendations from his superiors. A job well done! Preserver drones were sent in to work among the mortals, collecting their works of art, noting down the stories of their heroes. Atrahasis, who found Preservers the dullest people in the world, did not invite them to stay with him.
Instead, he dined alone behind a curtain in his high temple, and issued memos to his staff, who conveyed his will to the mortals far below. He ordered new gliders from the Company field catalogs, and soared alone over night fields. He kept up a desultory correspondence with some few of his old classmates.
He toyed with the idea of wiping the whole project out and starting over again, but he couldn’t think of a way to make the rivers rise sufficiently. There was always fire and brimstone …
Though of course the Company would notice something like that.
So Atrahasis continued to go through the motions, ordering the construction of libraries, gardens, and canals. When word came of some manner of political disturbance far off to the south, he daydreamed wistfully a little while about watching armies advance, looking down from his high place on bloody slaughter. Then, regretfully, he gave orders for the building of a defensive wall.
It was a splendid wall. So wide across its top, two chariots could race abreast; so high, no slung stones could reach those chariots. And well made, too; no
trash or rubble infilling its center, but only solid fired brick. The inner walls were faced with glazed tile depicting the glory of the Great God Enlil. The mortals were proud of it.
trash or rubble infilling its center, but only solid fired brick. The inner walls were faced with glazed tile depicting the glory of the Great God Enlil. The mortals were proud of it.
Atrahasis was pleased, himself; it had earned him a commendation from the new Executive Facilitator Shamash, who had replaced Nergal, who had been transferred to another region. Not one dark and unpleasant enough to suit Atrahasis, but that couldn’t be helped.
He was gazing out upon his wall, musing on the possibility of regime change, when he first spotted the far-off cloud of dust.
When his charioteers came racing back with their reports, when his overseers sounded the alarm, when it finally sank in on Atrahasis that an army
was
actually advancing on his sacred city—his first reaction was incredulous outrage.
was
actually advancing on his sacred city—his first reaction was incredulous outrage.
“He calls himself
who?
” he demanded. Below him, in the audience pit, his high priest trembled.
who?
” he demanded. Below him, in the audience pit, his high priest trembled.
“Enna-aru, o great god,” he said, addressing Atrahasis’s shadow on the opposite wall, that being the only part of his lord he was permitted to see. “And he calls himself a …” He strained to remember the unfamiliar word. “A king. And he says he has come to cast down the oppressor of the people. What are we to do, o great god?”
“Gather in the people behind the wall, and shut the gates,” said Atrahasis, stalking back and forth in front of his fire. “Let the young men gather stones for their slings, and mount my high wall. Come back when you have seen to these things.”
“Immediately, o great god,” said his high priest, and ran like a rat down the dark tunnel through the temple.
Atrahasis went at once to his credenza.
He paused before it, struggling to get a grip on his emotions. Why send a message? He was pretty certain the Company wouldn’t dispatch any Enforcers to come barreling in and slaughter the invaders for him. Their patrols had been few and far between in the recent centuries …
Should he ask for advice? More security techs? But that would make him seem weak.
At last he transmitted: LOCAL PETTY TYRANT HAMMERING AT MY GATES. FOOTAGE OUGHT TO MAKE EXCITING VIEWING AT THE NEXT SOLSTICE BALL. SHADES OF D. W. GRIFFITH!
“Sir?” Security Technical Vidya saluted. “Orders, sir?”
Atrahasis composed his features into a suitable mask of superior amusement and turned. “Oh, we needn’t mobilize your boys for a few hours yet. Let the monkeys slug it out in front of the walls! Just stand ready to defend this place, if any of them break through. If he’s a super-duperpower and takes the whole ant heap, we’ll evacuate by air.”
“And the mortals, sir?”
Atrahasis shrugged elaborately. “The herds need to be thinned now and again. Who am I to stand in the way of progress? Just make certain our air transport is fueled up. I could do with a change of scene after all these centuries, couldn’t you?”
He took his evening meal of roast lamb, lentils, and wine in his high garden that night, looking out across the plain. Atrahasis felt rather proud of himself that he did not quail at the sight of all those campfires, stretching away through the black night, under a heavy and thunderous sky. After all, a gleaming sky chariot waited patiently in its hangar, down on the fifth terrace, in case he should need to be airlifted out.
All the same, he did not think he’d give the order to evacuate until the fighting reached the temple complex. He could imagine it breaking around his ziggurat like a red tide. The screams, the smoke, the pitiful crying, the foolish little figures dragging themselves like ants … the curious
chop
a flint axe made, breaking a skull … it was with a pang of disappointment that he realized they were in the Bronze Age now, and he might never hear the music of a flint edge again.
chop
a flint axe made, breaking a skull … it was with a pang of disappointment that he realized they were in the Bronze Age now, and he might never hear the music of a flint edge again.
He breakfasted in the garden, too, on goat cheese, figs, and fresh bread, frowning at the hundred columns of smoke that rose against the rising sun. Only cook-fires? When were they going to charge?
The sun was so high he had ordered a parasol erected over his chair by the time something finally happened. Fanning himself irritably, he peered out at his wall. There, the mortals were running to and fro at last, pointing, readying their caches of slingstones. Action!
But …
Nothing happened.
Atrahasis waited half an hour, his impatience mounting. What the hell was going on? The mortals were leaning down, apparently paying intense attention to some drama playing out before the city gates.
“Get on with it!” he muttered under his breath, and had a sip of wine. Then he choked, spraying wine across his linen; for the ponderous gates of his city were opening, and a cheer rose along his magnificent wall.
He was pacing like a lion in his audience chamber when the high priest entered the pit, sobbing for breath.
“O great god—” he began, looking up at Atrahasis’s shadow.
“What has happened?” Atrahasis demanded, looking down on the back of his head.
“Great god, you are betrayed—may they sleep with scorpions, may vultures gouge out their living eyes—oh, the wickedness—o great god, have mercy on your poor servant who—”
“On pain of death,” said Atrahasis, with wonderful calm, “instantly tell me what has happened.”
“O great god, your people are seduced,” said the high priest miserably. “Enna-aru the king spoke before your gate. His voice was like music, great god; his voice was like a lover persuading his beloved to lie back.
“He did not threaten force, nor did he rage. Enna-aru the king spoke words like lilies, words like honey in the comb. His words went softly into the ears of your people.
“And Enna-aru the king is fair to look upon, like a bridegroom coming to his bride, o great god; and your people are faithless.”
“What exactly did Enna-aru the king say?” asked Atrahasis. He was cold with shock, but he could feel a really remarkable rage gathering itself together.
“O great god, he persuaded your people that he comes in peace, to free them from bondage,” said the high priest. “He told them the gods are cruel and false. Please don’t punish me.
“Enna-aru the king told them he comes as a father to care for them, not as a master to trample upon their heads. Please don’t punish me.
“He told them he will cast you down and open your storehouses to the people, that each may help himself thereunto. Please don’t punish me.”
“He did, did he?” Atrahasis stared down at the high priest’s head. The man had a bald spot, which he had never noticed before. It made a tempting target. Oh, for a good old-fashioned flint axe …
“Go forth,” he said. “Go to Enna-aru the king, who comes in triumph through my city. Tell him great Enlil will speak with him.”
Atrahasis changed his garment, put on his finest ornaments, and stationed security techs in strategic places as he waited for his visitor. He could follow the mortal’s progress through the streets by the cheering, by the baying of bronze trumpets. He ground his teeth. Punishment, such punishment he was going to mete out on the fickle monkeys … it would make the great flood pale in comparison, and the Company be damned. Fire and brimstone?
Yes
, what about a rain of flaming death?
That
would give the little bastards a story to hand on to their descendants … those who survived to have any.
Yes
, what about a rain of flaming death?
That
would give the little bastards a story to hand on to their descendants … those who survived to have any.
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