Saga Page 15

  Even before I had finished speaking, the helicopter had exploded spectacularly, molten debris screaming past us and also thumping into the back of the tank. The dark airbike was ahead of us already, steering through the wreckage, its helmeted driver gesturing with his arm for me to follow him.

  “Well, that solves that.” I spoke into a stunned silence, so relieved that I didn’t care that the occupants of the vehicle must have died in the explosion.

  “How?” Eventually Milan managed one word.

  “The bike. A missile from underneath,” explained Athena.

  “Should we follow him?” I asked.

  No one answered, so I did.

  Whoever it was knew the City. We turned off the road at the first opportunity, and he led us through the warehouses and factories of the spaceport district, as fast as our squealing tracks would take us. There was no sign of pursuit, or of any people on the street. This area tended to be deserted outside working days. But still, a red-and-black tank is not very inconspicuous; sooner or later, a security guard at a factory or someone working unusual shifts would call in a sighting to the police. The airbike came to an old set of raised barriers where a disused railway track crossed the road. He turned left, off the road, his cushion of anti-gravity allowing him to drive smoothly along the track. We, however, jolted along to the accompaniment of a strumming sound like the noise you get when you run a stick along a railing. The disused railway cutting went between two high banks, overgrown with thorny weeds and full of discarded containers that we were crushing under our tank tracks. Back behind us was a trail of flattened bushes and squashed metal drums.

  The cutting led us to an abandoned shoe factory, whose faded paintwork read: “Sutton’s Footwear.” Our escort drove straight under a large open shutter and into darkness. I went in after the airbike without hesitation, glad to be under cover. We were in a vast space, nearly empty but for rubble and bare steel girders that rose toward a jagged roof. I switched off our engine. The silence and stillness that followed were much needed. We all appreciated them and said nothing for a while. The others probably felt like me, that what with the race and the escape from the police, life was getting a little stressful.

  “I guess we should see who’s on this bike.” Milan eventually stirred and threw open a hatch. The rest of us followed him out onto the top of the tank.

  The dark rider was waiting for us, standing near the front of the tank, helmet in hand, looking a lot less frail than when I had last seen him.

  “Michelotto,” Athena greeted him.

  He nodded.

  “Congratulations on your win. It was a truly remarkable achievement. Might I ask who was in charge of the missiles?”

  “That would be me.” I stayed on the tank near my hatch. There was something very comforting about the vehicle; I was evidently a tortoise by nature, and this was my shell.

  “A particularly impressive performance.”

  “Did you have to destroy that helicopter?” asked Nathan with as much as an aggrieved tone as I had ever heard in his voice.

  “I saved you from capture.”

  “Why?” Milan stood up close so he could look the old man in the eyes. Milan was a tiger, or at least he wanted to be.

  “Because I need allies against the Dark Queen.”

  “Did the Dark Queen kill Cindella, then?” I felt slightly sorry for her; the magic she had brought into the world had given me hope.

  “I don’t believe so. But when Cindella had the Dark Queen at her mercy, she chose not to strike.”

  “Why?” Athena asked with genuine interest.

  Cindella was still alive then? Good.

  “To answer fully would require me to embark on a lengthy explanation.”

  “We’re in no hurry.” Athena sat down, legs hanging over the side of the tank. It was strange: she looked so young there, hair in two plaits, wearing her new tank top with the Defiance tag. Yet when it came to dealing with this ancient crocodile, she was every inch his equal.

  Michelotto looked steadily back at her, then his posture relaxed slightly and his voice became warmer.

  “Very well. This universe we inhabit is not the only one? Would you be willing to accept?”

  “Of course,” Nathan answered him eagerly. “We figured that out for ourselves. What with the way that people are appearing and disappearing.”

  “Good. That, indeed, is the main evidence for my statement.” Michelotto nodded with an approving smile, but I thought that he was dissembling; not that he was lying, but that he was cold inside, perhaps bored, and that for some reason he felt it necessary to ingratiate himself with us.

  “You might not, however, have been able to deduce the relationship between our world and theirs.” He waited to see if we would respond, but none of us had any answers. “The curious fact is that our universe is curled up inside theirs, theirs being closer to the fundamental organic physical nature of the universe and ours being derived from artificial laws, albeit laws based on those of the outer universe.”

  “I don’t follow you.” Milan still had a belligerent posture. “Artificial? Ours is the artificial universe?”

  “In the sense that ours was created a little over two thousand years ago, yes. Of course, we were created by people, human beings, who themselves inhabit a universe that, as far as anyone knows, is not artificial, so there is a sense in which ours can be considered natural, too.”

  “We are a game, aren’t we?” Athena was glum.

  “No, but you are correct in two respects. Our universe was created as a game, called Saga by its creators. Secondly, the recent arrivals in our universe believed they were entering a game. What they found, however, was that we have evolved since our creation. That we are living people, not mindless ciphers.”

  There was a long silence. Michelotto was waiting for us. What did I think? Straightaway, I believed him. Our world had seams. You didn’t ordinarily perceive them, but when I was boarding close to the limits of my abilities, I felt them, like the frames between the scenes on a piece of video film. But did the others?

  Milan picked up a stone the size of his fist; he threw it at the nearest girder. The metal groaned. Then came a louder crash as the stone fell back to the floor, sending up a small cloud of dust.

  “See that?” He brushed his hands on his combats. “That’s real.”

  “Yes?” Michelotto appeared to be studying him patiently.

  “Kick this tank and your toe is going to hurt. Our world is real; what you’re saying is nonsense.”

  “Yes, we are real, but we are subordinate to the outer universe. If some human being wished it, they could rewrite the laws of Saga in a way that would not be possible in their own universe. Your rock could have been made to fly out of the roof. The tank could turn to jelly. Almost anything is possible here. At the moment, our environment seems to obey very set physical laws. But, in fact, these could be changed.”

  “It’s horrible.” Athena put her head in her hands. “It’s a nightmare.”

  “I can see why you might think so.” Michelotto tried to smile sympathetically, but I figured he was out of practice; he looked more sinister than ever.

  “So, why didn’t Cindella kill the Dark Queen?” I asked, genuinely wanting to hear more from him. For all that I hated the slippery presence of this man, what he was telling us was exciting. I felt that I was finally getting answers after six years of questions and hopeless uncertainty. Might he even know something about me? A part of me shivered at the thought of asking him; Stay hidden, stay hidden, stay hidden,cried the beat of my heart. I listened to it, and resolved not to tell him anything about my own past.

  “The Dark Queen wants to reprogram our world to make her future offspring immortal and give them the powers of gods. She has gone insane, corrupted by her genuine powers and the sycophancy that surrounds her from people who need to flatter her constantly to stay alive. To make such reprogramming, she has contacted a distant colony of human beings. First of all, she
opened Saga to them; then, after they had created personas in our world, she addicted some two million of the humans, to make them hostages. Once the truth of their situation has been fully clarified, she will allow them access to the programming of our world, confident that they will not destroy Saga, because should they do so, they will suffer two million deaths. Cindella attacked the Dark Queen and defeated her, but decided not to kill her for the sake of those two million lives. In my view, she miscalculated. It would have been better to have taken those losses now; it can only get worse. The Dark Queen has no intention of lifting the addiction after any reprogramming.”

  “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?”

  Chapter 18

  THE SETTING OF A TRAP

  “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.