Saga Page 22

  An airbike was at rest in the darkest corner of the square, and Michelotto was standing beside it, dressed, as always, in black. I could sense the cold blurry void around him, where in a normal person were signs of life: heat, breath, heartbeat.

  “Where have you moved the tank to?” He addressed us as soon as we were sufficiently close that he needn’t raise his voice.

  “Did you see Erik’s newscast?” Athena asked him in return.

  “Yes?”

  “That was us; we got them into Newscast 1. But we had to abandon it.”

  “I see.” He nodded to himself.

  “So, what’s up? Got a bead on Queenie?” Milan stepped off his board with a swagger.

  “No. I’m here to talk to Ghost, to perform a test.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Nathan interjected before we could find out more. “You know how the Dark Queen has addicted Erik’s people. Do you think you could treat them? Cure them?”

  Michelotto shrugged. “Possibly. I understand the theory but I’ve never tried it. The idea of such contact is too . . . too intimate for me.” He scowled. “There’s something slightly perverse about inserting moments of ecstasy into alien minds.”

  “Would you do it, though, or reverse the effects of whatever she has done?” Nathan looked at him earnestly.

  “It bothers you?”

  “That two million people who might otherwise be our friends may die? Of course it bothers me.”

  “That’s very empathetic of you,” Michelotto commented dryly. “Personally I don’t have such feelings, but if, in return for Ghost’s assistance in the elimination of the Dark Queen, she wished me to try, I would do my best.”

  Nathan looked at me. I nodded at Michelotto.

  “So be it,” he said. “But now to test Ghost’s skills.” From the carrier on the side of his airbike, Michelotto took out a metal tube. He opened it, holding it near the ground, allowing the parts it contained to fall to the floor. We came closer, to watch as he assembled a pulse rifle. When it was complete, Michelotto glanced around our group with a flash of his dark eyes.

  “Here.” He tossed the rifle to Milan. “You just line up the sights and pull the trigger.”

  “Cool.” As Milan admired the silver weapon, resting the thin curved stock against his right shoulder, Michelotto walked slowly toward the far wall, his footsteps ringing out across the pavement.

  He turned to face us. “Shoot me.”

  “You’re kidding?” Milan lowered the rifle.

  “No. Really, shoot me. Don’t worry; you won’t hit.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Certain.”

  “Here goes then.” With a high-pitched hiss and the smell of ozone, a shimmering bolt of ruby light shot from the gun, leaving a bright trail across our vision that couldn’t be blinked away. Michelotto was unharmed, a black mark on the wall beside him.

  “Again.”

  Hiss.

  “Again.”

  Hiss.

  “Once more.”

  Hiss. Milan shook his head in amazement and dialed down the weapon to standby. The four black marks to the side of Michelotto formed the corners of a perfect diamond.

  “How did you do that? I was aiming at your heart.”

  “That’s what I wish to teach Ghost. Come on over here, please.”

  I looked up at the mention of my name, then walked across the square. This was a trick I wanted to know.

  “When he fires, firstly you have to speed up your perceptions, so that you have time to deal with the energy. Then imagine a thread of air molecules connecting you to the bolt. Twist the thread, steer the energy of the pulse, just like you controlled the wire-guided missiles.” He stared into my eyes, to see if I understood. I shrugged.

  “Fire here.” Michelotto called out to Milan, pointing to the space between the four black marks on the wall. He turned to me and said, “Try to push it to the side.”

  Across the cold stone floor, Milan raised the rifle. “Ready, Ghost?”

  “Ready.”

  He fired. A new black mark on the wall, in the dead center of the four marks.

  “Again,” Michelotto called out.

  Another black mark. Some plaster fell away, revealing the crumbling, scorched brick underneath.

  “Again.”

  There was no trace of discontent in Michelotto’s voice, but I was getting annoyed and my vision was confused by the bright trails of the shots I had been trying to focus upon.

  “Let me try something.” I kicked up, so I was floating on my board, feeling it bob and sway slightly beneath me. This ought to have made things even harder, but by imagining I was about to perform a really challenging board trick, I felt the world settle into place all around. “Now.”

  This time the bolt of fiery energy came toward me in discrete jerks. There was time to look at it, somehow shielding my eyes from the full glare. There was a line from me to the bright sphere, a line of molecules. It was a path that I had created and was conscious of, simply by focusing upon the space between the onrushing energy and my eyes. And even though the blast of ruby fire was devouring the chain, scattering its links with every passing moment of time, I was connected. I could feel it coming. Twisting, compressing, pushing, thinning. It was suddenly easy to move the bolt from its path. I steered it wide of the target area, then, exerting myself to the utmost, I forced the bolt up the wall, around in a curve, reversing it, steering it, then letting it dissipate into the bottom of the large ♥ I had scored on the wall.

  I smiled proudly, looking down from my board. Michelotto’s mouth fell open; he took a step backward, back to the wall, astonished and fearful. “No one, not even the Dark Queen . . .” His whisper trailed off. My friends were cheering and clapping.

  “Hey, Ghost, do something with these.” Milan raised the gun again and depressed the release button. It was now on auto-fire and the pulses of energy poured out of it.

  Again the world slowed down so that the ruby bolts appeared to be like a line of dots, growing longer by one each time the universe moved. This time, I steered them into a whirling circle, filling the square with a blaze of scarlet light. Around and around they whirled, melting the air. It was possible to make them undulate, so that the circle I had formed gained a wobble, then appeared thicker but less bright. I spread them, forming a column, before bringing the bolts together once more and sending it into the old fountain. An explosion shattered the granite sculpture, sending gray splinters flying through the darkness, causing us to cower. There was far more energy in that collection of bolts than I had realized.

  “Whoa!” Nathan ducked, flinging his arm over his eyes.

  “Oops, sorry,” I called out, and boarded over to them. “Everyone good?” They were straightening up, unharmed. A song of delight welled up inside me. I could control the blasts of a pulse rifle! What else was possible?

  “Ghost, you really are something special.” Milan switched off the rifle and gave me a thump on the shoulder.

  “That’s incredible. I would have said impossible.” Athena’s voice was hesitant. I smiled eagerly at her, wanting her to share my excitement, not to be alienated from me.

  “It’s like when I’m boarding.”

  She shook her head. “No. This is something else again. Let’s face it, Ghost, you’re a strange creature.”

  I must have looked anxious, for Nathan immediately gave me a hug. “You’re one of us, though, and wherever that talent is coming from, it’s amazing.”

  The steady footsteps of Michelotto approached. There was an expression on his face that I had never seen before: respect.

  “With an ability like that, you might be able to kill the Dark Queen on your own. Together, we can certainly destroy her.”

  “Let’s do it then,” I replied, feeling as if I could stride across half the world with a single step. There was such energy in my body.

  “Ghost, who are you really? Thetis?” Michelotto leaned in, and I shrank back from him, sudd
enly chilled, the black space in my memory spreading out to taint everything with sepia. It occurred to me that if he thought me his enemy, he would kill me at once. Perhaps I had been mistaken, reveling in my new abilities like that; perhaps he now had me marked down for execution after we had killed the Dark Queen.

  “I don’t know.” Who was this Thetis anyway? When we had first met Michelotto he had mentioned her. A RAL who had gone missing? Was I Thetis? Neither my heart nor my mind gave any response to the question.

  Chapter 27

  HUMILIATION

  Our world falls apart. Our center cannot hold. The cup holdeth but bitter dregs, and it is these that We must now drink. Oh, how We rue Our mistakes; they circle constantly in Our thoughts. It is a barren and unhelpful circuit they travel, and We understand how maudlin and self-absorbed We have become.

  The particular manner in which We used to dress, taking care with Our choice of clothes, is a pattern of behavior that belongs to the past, when the cold lethargy of disheartenment did not stifle Our enthusiasm for what now seems a triviality. This morning, We simply lace Our boots and stand upright, with hardly a glance in the mirror. Defeat is a horrid word and an even more horrible experience. But it is not death, We tell ourselves, and We must retreat to fight again.

  “Your Majesty?”

  A screen lights up to show Us Our Grand Vizier. The wary expression on his face is a harbinger of more bad news.

  “Report.”

  “A new assault.” He pauses, embarrassed to continue. We do not make matters easier for him, and stare back in silence. He clears his throat. “They are outside the Department for Internal Security.”

  She will be there, Cindella. She is always there. Nothing makes Us more furious than her impudence, but We must not allow rage and pride to prevent Us from making the correct tactical move.

  “Have the chauffeur meet Us outside Block Two.”

  “Your Majesty intends to go to Imperial Square?” He hesitates, somewhat anxious.

  “What is it?”

  “Your safety.”

  “Fear not. The only person who represents a genuine threat to Our safety is Michelotto, and We would like nothing more than to encounter him and lay upon him the anger of all Our humiliations.”

  It is a cold, gray morning, the sun still below the level of the skyline. Cindella and her people like to strike early, when the streets are less busy, out of a curious consideration for the ordinary people of Saga. Strange, this human empathy. Even with Our furs wrapped around Us, caressing Our body, We still feel a slight shiver. The car is here, though, and, a moment later, warm air fills the partitioned area in which We ride.

  “Imperial Square, Your Majesty?” The driver looks in the mirror and We nod.

  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.”