Saga Page 4

  Even with her face half covered, she was beautiful, long fair hair flung back as she played, allowing the pale skin of her cheeks and neck to shine with a faint orange hue from the fire. Smiling with happiness, Erik lay back on top of his sleeping bag, arms behind his head, just propped up enough to let his gaze rest on her.

  Eventually Injeborg unclipped.

  “Brrr. It’s getting cold, we should probably go inside the tent.”

  “Was anyone else on?”

  “B.E.” Injeborg got up and stretched, shaking out her hair.

  “What’s he up to?”

  “Looking for someone to assassinate. But all the missions are broken.”

  “You have missions?”

  Erik didn’t quite understand the new game, but that, he supposed, was due to the fact he had skipped the character-generation stage, because he had been offered the option of loading his previous character in Epic: Cindella Dragonslayer.

  “Ya.” Injeborg built up the fire. “We all start with red cards and you’re supposed to do missions until you get all the way up to violet. There’s like a million reds, half a million oranges, and so on, but only the one violet. If you get there, you’re the winner, I guess.”

  “Really? I don’t have a card.”

  “Yeah, but you got to keep Cindella.”

  “But, like, I can’t win.”

  Injeborg smiled at this.

  “Oh, that’s so like you. To think about winning a game that the rest of us are just playing out of curiosity.”

  “Don’t you believe it. B.E. will be trying to win, too.”

  “Anyway, you can’t. It’s all broken. None of the NPCs that you are supposed to talk to are around.”

  “It’s a strange game. A lot stranger than Epic was.”

  “Yeah.” She was suddenly contemplative. “It’s dark. A dark, sinister city.”

  “It’s a shame we can’t both go on at the same time. I’d like to hang out with your character—she sounds great, whatever a ‘neo-punk’ is.”

  Injeborg shrugged. “Are you going to clip up?”

  “In a bit; Freya said she’d be on, and I’d like to let her know we were fine up here.”

  “We certainly are.” Injeborg leaned over and kissed him.

  A while later the fire had died down, although Erik was in no hurry to move—just having Injeborg beside him filled him with contentment.

  “Look.” She suddenly sat up and pointed toward the northern mountain peaks. “That must be it, the new satellite.”

  It took Erik a moment to see what she was pointing to, but she was right. A silver dot, shining steadily rather than glittering as the stars did, had come into view above the black line that divided the stars from the mountains. The satellite was moving slowly southward across the sky.

  “Why come all this way to give us Saga, but not speak to us?” Injeborg shook her head.

  “It’s automated.”

  “But they could address us through it. Or inside Saga.”

  “True.” Erik shrugged.

  “Do you think it’s from Earth?”

  “Yeah, it has to be. It wouldn’t be able to integrate with our system otherwise.”

  “Couldn’t it be another colony, like ours, but with the technology to send out satellites?”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose that’s possible. Did you try asking around in Saga?”

  “Yeah.” Injeborg laughed. “The NPCs just treat me like I’m completely crazy. You should hear me. ‘Excuse me, are you from Earth?’ ”

  “Hah, yeah. Their NPCs are very sophisticated, aren’t they? I had to escape from prison, and I was talking to this girl, I thought she was maybe a player, but she went kind of blank when I asked her. If someone was playing her, they would have talked to me.”

  For a while they watched the sky together. Far below them were one or two beacons of light from the nearest village, tiny orange dots on a cloth of black velvet, but above them the stars had never been clearer. The universe was rich and vibrant with sparkling silver energy. Eventually Erik’s eyes began to water. He gathered up the game controls.

  “I’m going to clip up inside the tent.”

  “Good idea.” Injeborg followed him in, pulling their sleeping bags after her.

  “See you in a while.” He lifted the goggles over his eyes.

  A fall, a dizzy fall that crashed through a wall of sound and color. When he looked up he was Cindella again, and it felt good.

  The meeting point that he had agreed with his mum was underneath a fountain, where paths dropped away to allow pedestrians to cross a square, untroubled by the aircars that glided swiftly along the roads above.

  She was already there, a woman dressed in black overalls, with a helmet beside her. Some kind of pilot, apparently, although she had not found the right type of vehicle for her start-up skills. In any case, Erik doubted that Freya cared much about the game; she was just using it to stay in touch.

  “Hi Mum, been here long?”

  “Hi Erik, what’s with the long coat?”

  “Oh.” Cindella looked down. She was clad in a big wrinkled raincoat. “I got into trouble with the police here the other day, so I thought I’d better cover up the swashbuckler outfit. It does stand out a bit.”

  “Yes, it does, just a bit.” The incredibly lifelike face of Freya’s avatar broke into a smile. “What’s the weather like up there—still dry, I hope?”

  “Not a cloud.” Cindella stood under a bright strip light beside the pilot. “What about you, any news from Osterfjord?” Erik asked, not that anything much happened at their village. Just the same routines of an olive-growing community, season after season, year after year. Being geological surveyors was much more fun.

  “There’s some kind of cold going around. Half of us have a bit of a fever. You’re better off up in the mountains.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “Yes. But don’t worry, it just makes you feel a bit tired, that’s all.”

  “Well, we have to start back tomorrow. Should we stay in Hope on our way back? We could work on the samples there.”

  “No, really, even if you catch it, it’s not that bad at all.”

  All around them, people were walking swiftly and purposefully through the subway.

  “Have we found out anything more about this place, why it has appeared on our computers?” There was a downside, at a time like this, to being away from everyone. Erik felt like he was missing out on all the important discussions.

  “No one knows. There’s a queen in the game; some people think we should talk to her, but no one has managed it yet. Thorstein proposed to everyone in Hope that we try to earn some credits on our cards to pay for . . .” She paused, as if searching for the right word.

  “Yes?”

  “Look, see those signs?”

  In the space where the various paths met was a tall glowing tube. Colorful pictures revolved around it with strange messages: GLIDE IN STYLE, IN A MOSVEO STARBURST, EIGHT-TIME WINNER OF AIRCAR OF THE YEAR; YOU ARE A GREEN, LET IT BE SEEN, ONO2.

  “Ahh, I see, we should pay for a message like that.” That was a good idea, thought Erik—grab the attention of whoever else was logging in to this game.

  “Apparently you can get them displayed all over the city, if you have enough credit. If we band together, maybe we can do it soon.”

  “Great, it’s exciting, isn’t it? Out there somewhere are people from a different planet.” Erik looked again at the people hurrying past, their shoes tapping out the fast rhythm on the concrete. Were they all NPCs? Or were there people from Earth behind some of them?

  “I should feel excited, but I just feel tired.”

  “Get some rest, Mum.”

  “I . . . Actually, first I think I’ll earn some credits.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “Well, I have pilot skills, for an aircopter, whatever that is. I think I’ll find out tonight and see if it is feasible for me to use my ab
ilities in return for credits.”

  “Don’t stay up too late.”

  They both chuckled at this reversal of the situation when Erik had been an avid player of Epic.

  “You go ahead and get some sleep,” she continued. “You can check in here tomorrow at the same time, if you like.”

  “There’s no real need, though, is there? We’re on our way back tomorrow.”

  “Right you are.” The pilot nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll expect you home by the end of the week.”

  “Yes, I’ll let Bjorn or B.E. know when we’re close.”

  “’Night then, Erik.”

  “’Night.” There was a lackluster tone in Freya’s voice that worried him, but as Erik unclipped, the pleasure of returning to Injeborg pushed all concerns aside.

  Chapter 5

  INFECTION

  In the highest levels of certain buildings of the City are rooms that only those with indigo and violet cards may visit. These are the residences and offices of the elite. But unknown even to them are the facilities reserved only for Us, the person that all call the Dark Queen of Saga.

  We own a violet card of so deep a hue that in ordinary light it seems black. It is unique, and is the only key to certain extremely secret places. We wear it next to Our skin, hidden in the bodice of Our dress, attached to a delicate silver cord that circles Our neck. I say “We” because after two thousand years of existence, it is hard to maintain just one personality. In any case there is an appropriate ring to it, the royal “We.” We are in one of Our special places now: a vast luxurious bedroom that encompasses the entire top floor of one of the tallest skyscrapers in the City. It is a place We associate with pleasure. For today is a good day. When over a million new entities arrive in your world, you have to call it a good day. Only a few hours after the link was finally completed, the first of them began to arrive. We felt it, as if someone was moving a finger along a complex pattern on Our back. Each new human being entering Saga from New Earth was a pleasant sensation, not quite a tickle. Then another one, and another. Now an uncountable host . . . We pause a moment, taken aback by Our uncharac-teristically slipshod thinking. Uncountable? No. In fact, right now 835,034 of them are present.

  Naturally We wish for Our new visitors to enjoy themselves and, more importantly, to come back for more. So We dose them heavily with trynorphin and styride benzine. Oh, they will be back! How they will suffer if they do not return. We chuckle aloud. Organic matter is so pliable.

  We spend nearly five minutes at a window, watching the moon rise over the silhouettes of the City’s tallest buildings. An indulgence We feel entitled to after Our interaction with a hundred thousand of these new entities. Soon We must examine the data that Our interpenetrations have generated. What is this flickering light? Dare he interrupt Us after all We have instructed?

  “Well?” We spike Our voice waves with needles.

  “An emergency, Highness, or I would not disturb you.”

  “Details?”

  “On monitor two.”

  One of the newcomers is waving at Us, standing over the unconscious bodies of policemen. We examine the data concerning her more closely. It is a distinct packet of shining turquoise light, impenetrable, glistening with inner life. Tiny, but denser than diamond. She has not felt Our caresses, Our teasing of her neurons. But worse, there is no prospect that We can make her do so when she next enters Our realm. No styride benzine for her. She is not even clothed in a form valid for Saga. A stranger. A genuine stranger. Outsider. Other. But inside Us. The first ever. We feel violated.

  “Oh dear,” she says on the monitor.

  Oh dear indeed. We fall apart for several seconds.

  Rogue outsider. Could she introduce structural instability? Corruption can spread fast. She must be eliminated. Kill this character, and the next one created by the human being will be susceptible to Our chemicals. Possibly. Probably. Yes. Destroy her by whatever means are required.

  “Grand Vizier, attend Us in chamber seventeen.”

  “Right away, Your Highness.”

  We like his efficiency. Acknowledge he was right to interrupt what seem now to have been frivolous musings. Foolish old coquette. We briskly walk to the elevator and take it to the office below.

  He bows when he enters Our chambers. The violet tie clip is a nice touch; he holds a board in his hand to take notes. We walk back and forth while We think. Our faint reflection is visible in the luster of an oak panel. Pause a moment to uncrinkle the dress; black silk does so show lines from sitting, but what else? Straighten ruff, admire orange powder on fine aristocratic cheeks.

  “One. The report of Communication-Assassination probe Ox9B45. Rejection. Data packet not trivial. Infection has occurred. Two. Destroy districts from 91a to 31f with three tactical nuclear strikes at 9 P.M. PST.” We need time to relocate a few people.”

  “Majesty?”

  He has dropped his board.

  “Err.”

  Tie no longer straight, tut-tut.

  “My home, my children. My guild headquarters. They . . . they are inside that zone. What? Please repeat.”

  Rage instantly swells in Our breast, and We shout. We should be capable of controlling Our voice, but this infection makes us furious.

  “Destroy districts from 91a to 31f with three tactical nuclear strikes at 9 P.M. PST. Satellite Grimtooth is above the horizon at that time—but you know this. It is not the practicalities that cause your insubordination.”

  “Oh, please don’t consider me insubordinate, ma’am.”

  He bows.

  “I’m concerned for the reaction of my guild if this strike occurs. And the waste. It’s a huge loss of lives, and resources.”

  “The reaction of your guild?”

  He said “if.” He is questioning Us. Moreover, We recall with a scowl that his guild has become pompous and irritating in recent months. We are incensed by the arrival of this dangerous anomaly and angry at the hesitation of the person who should be Our unswerving support. It is time in any case to purge Ancient Honor from the High Council. We shoot him through the head.

  “High Constable, attend us in chamber seventeen.”

  “Right away, Your Majesty.”

  This one will do better. A fop but no fool.

  “Majesty?”

  “On Our desk is a violet card in your name. Take it and enjoy the privileges that come with your promotion to Grand Vizier.”

  He steps over the body.

  “Your Majesty is too kind.”

  “Ready? We are in a hurry.”

  “Oh, I have been ready for this moment for ten years.”

  “One. The report of Communication-Assassination probe Ox9B45. Rejection. Data packet not trivial. Infection has occurred. Two. The death of Our former Grand Vizier will cause unrest among his guild, Ancient Honor. Disband them and execute their leaders for treason.” Best to strike first, always. “Three. Destroy . . .” Former Vizier did make two good points. Wasteful, not efficient. “Three. Appraise yourself of the infection problem. Offer advice. You have three minutes.”

  View of the City is less impressive from here than from Our suite. Nevertheless We would regret turning part of it into a nuclear waste and hope that new Grand Vizier has a better solution. Two minutes and forty-four seconds later, he speaks.

  “Somehow the human being has an independent and illegitimate form, a survival of a data packet from its previous computer host, Epic. So kill it. The replacement form created by the human almost certainly would not be anomalous as it would be a fresh creation and not the legacy of Epic.”

  We sigh, a slight tinge of disappointment in Our voice. “Continue.”

  “It strikes me that her appearance and vivacity are extraordinary. She is probably the most beautiful of all the human beings who have arrived here.”

  We examine the data as he speaks. He is correct.

  “I have no knowledge of human psychology, but if it bears any relationship to their legends, a young woman of
such striking looks would be drawn to a large social event of her peers like Narcissus to his reflection.”

  “You have Our interest. Please continue.”

  “Well, to be candid, Your Highness, I’ve nearly reached the limit of my thought. I merely add this for your consideration. A large-scale, anonymous mass extinction might fail due to her not being present in our environment at the correct moment. Whereas if an assassin were able to confront her individually, at an event at which we have anticipated her presence, we could be sure our goal had been achieved.”

  “We are pleased.”

  He bows, a faint smile on his eager lips.

  “With this proviso,” We continue, “an uncontrolled, fully autonomous outsider cannot be tolerated for any length of time. There is enough instability in the world as it is. Additionally she represents a personal violation. We feel as though Our body is crawling with lice. You have a week.”

  “Understood.”

  We contemplate him, and he looks back, proud and only a little afraid.

  “Will that be all, Majesty?”

  “Yes. No. One more thing. Have that body removed.”

  He bows again and leaves.

  We like him; perhaps We should have promoted him earlier.

  Leaning back in Our seat, We peruse the new data arising from Our hundreds of thousands of interactions. Satisfactory, if spoiled by the knowledge of the rogue anomaly. In the distance, We feel hundreds more of the new human beings arriving by the minute. Their lure is too attractive. We interact, caress them with chemical feedback, reward their involvement in Our world, the world of Saga. There is a fierce, sensual, and succulent intimacy to be enjoyed by running your fingers through the glial and nerve cells of another mind. We cackle as We play, flitting randomly from one human to the next as Our impulses take us. It feels as though Our body is wrapped in living gray jelly.

  Later. Fifty-two thousand, five hundred, and twelve delicious seconds later, We get up from Our seat.

  “Bath.”