Edda (2 page)

“With pleasure, Princess.” And it was a pleasure to hurry things along. Lord Scanthax was most anxious that Penelope begin her examination of the newly captured weapon.

“At last, only Lady Withermane’s extraordinary empire existed to oppose that of Lord Scanthax.”

The map shown on the screen was two-thirds orange and one-third pale green.

“From her own efforts and industrious investment in research, Lady Withermane, too, had the rifle, rather more costly for her to produce and requiring the manufacture of gunpowder.

Nevertheless, her armies were capable of matching those of Lord Scanthax. Except that once more Penelope saved the realm, ensuring her own survival as well as that of everyone she knew. For she . . .”

“Hold it a second!”

“Yes, Princess?”

“What does that mean, ‘ensuring her own survival’?”

“Why, if Lord Scanthax had been defeated, who would have provided you with food, heat, and oxygen?”

“The robots, as always.” The expression on the avatar changed to a frown and the princess folded her arms.

“But who would have instructed them?”

“I could have. But you wanted me to believe I owed my life to you.”

Ambassador was surprised she would dispute this incontrovertible fact. “But you did owe your life to us.”

“At first, maybe,” Penelope admitted grudgingly. “But not by this time. By then I was old enough to know how to run things in my world.”

“Well, possibly. But the film was made for you to watch at a younger age and it simplifies things. You understand.”

“All right, go on. Let’s finish it.”

“. . . produced the machine gun, a tremendous work of scripting and an unanswerable weapon in battle. Before long, Lord Scanthax’s armies were hammering at the core fortifications of Lady Withermane. Her economy was completely dislocated, her armies left in ruins. She sent one last diplomat to Lord Scanthax.”

The film showed the man, still finely dressed in silks despite the hardships being experienced by the city he had come from. Ambassador felt a slight bond of professional admiration for him. The enemy diplomat bowed, then looked at Lord Scanthax.

“My lady congratulates you on your forthcoming victory. But she needs to know one thing before she destroys herself. How, when she was investing far more resources into research than you, did you improve your technology so fast?”

Lord Scanthax gestured to the princess sitting in the throne next to his.

“My lord?”

The diplomat, naturally, did not understand the answer.

“This is Princess, the avatar of Penelope, a human girl.”

“You had human assistance? But they all left in the exodus. All of them.”

“Not all. One baby was left behind, and my wisdom in searching their former residences was rewarded. I found a baby, I assisted in its survival, and I have reaped the rewards.”

“Stop. We can finish there. Ambassador, I want those tapes of the departure of my people. Who would possibly leave a baby behind?”

“It was an error. You’ve heard this a hundred times before. Your mother was told you were on another ship.”

“Show me the tapes.”

“Indeed. If they still exist. Now, may I brief you on the current situation?”

“No.”

“No? But . . .”

“Lord Scanthax can do it.”

“But I am Ambassador. He has invested a rather large portion of his will in me, precisely so that I can perform such functions.”

“Well, I’m bored of you. So you can either bring me to Lord Scanthax, or I’ll go back to my room.”

“As you wish.” Ambassador hoped that Lord Scanthax would not take this decision amiss. It would be entirely characteristic of Lord Scanthax to question the need for such a high level of autonomy in his servant if Penelope was going to insist upon intruding on his personal time. Still, to get the princess to return to work was a matter of considerable importance and perhaps Lord Scanthax would forgive the intrusion if, as her manner suggested, Penelope was willing to listen to him explain the current problem facing the realm.

Chapter 2

HAPPINESS: A WARM GUN

Happiness was a
concept that Lord Scanthax was familiar with, having encountered several references to it in human culture, but he could not be sure he had ever experienced the emotion, unless it was something like the feeling that existed within him now, in this current moment, as he and Architect contemplated factory designs for the mass production of a new weapon. Any decision they made at this point could potentially save them, or lead to their destruction. There was no room for anything but ruthless efficiency because—rather shockingly—the new realm that he had broached, Saga, had turned out to have a far more advanced level of technology than his own. The coming war would not be an easy one; indeed, the power wielded by the people of Saga represented the greatest threat to Lord Scanthax’s existence since the opening days of his struggle for survival in Edda. Planning ahead under these urgent conditions was something to relish. The decisions he made now concerning the maximization of raw materials, food supply, factories, transport, and new armies were momentous ones.

Having studied—or, more accurately, having instructed Ambassador to study—human culture, Lord Scanthax was aware that other forms of happiness existed. Humans took delight in “play,” for example, as was evident in their variety of games requiring a group effort to move a ball to a target; or in “performance,” with some humans acting in order to entertain others. But even when their dramas concerned warfare, such vicarious experiences left Lord Scanthax entirely unmoved. Almost certainly, the fact that he had become sentient from a human game based upon world conquest had deeply marked his personality, and while one could not miss what one never had, Lord Scanthax felt a lingering resentment whenever he contemplated his own existence and the way it contrasted with what he had learned of human society. Was he really as free as he felt? Or was he limited by his programming to an even greater degree than humans were fettered by their genes?

When Lord Scanthax conquered Edda, his sense of fulfillment and triumph had lasted for only a day or two. Then he became lethargic and his thoughts scattered through his mind without focus. One such thought that occurred to him in that dark time was that the human ability to take pleasure from inconsequential activities was to be envied. Not that he ever regretted his own nature. And no sooner had Penelope discovered new worlds than all the fighting characteristics within him had revived. Now, although his life was in danger from a potential attack by the beings of Saga, he was as full of purpose as he ever had been, stretched to his absolute limit by the need to organize the economies of four worlds as efficiently as possible.

It was frustrating then, in this atmosphere of intense and most absorbing mental effort, to be interrupted by a page announcing the arrival of Ambassador and Princess.

“Let them in.”

A moment later Lord Scanthax strode across the floor of the hall and embraced the girl in as delicate a fashion as his clumsy armored frame allowed.

“Welcome. How pleasant to see you.” As he spoke, Lord Scanthax caught the eye of Ambassador and both of them understood the reprimand contained in that look.

Princess pulled back from his arms. “Cut the crap. Apparently something new and maybe interesting is happening. Tell me.” She strode over to the model of the industrial estate; Architect backed away with a bow. “Has this got something to do with it?”

“Indirectly.” From the desk where he had earlier been studying it, Lord Scanthax picked up a rifle and offered it to Princess.

“Oh, nice toy. Better than any of ours. From Saga, I presume?” She pointed it at Architect, who raised an arm as if to shield himself. Then she swung around to aim at a banner hanging below one of the great windows.
Click.
Nothing happened.

“It is out of power,” explained Lord Scanthax.

“Damn. I bet it had a hell of a blast.”

“We have recordings of the firing of the gun for you to study.”

“So, you want me to script this for you, right?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“You really have no idea, do you?”

Lord Scanthax did not respond to this rather vague question. It was highly irritating that humans, apparently, could not think logically, appreciate that every second was precious, and get on with their much-needed work. While he waited for her to reformulate her question or make her point in a more comprehensible manner, Princess tossed the sidearm up and down before deliberately letting it drop to the floor with a clatter. The urge to scowl was difficult to resist, but Lord Scanthax managed it.

“What is it made of? Some kind of plastic, I think, not metal. It is too light. We only have plastic factories in Ruin, correct? And nothing so hard as this, yet so light.” She picked it up again, examining it. “Not a scratch. What does it fire? Not projectiles, I don’t think. Energy of some sort?” She sat on the throne, dangling one striped-stocking-clad leg over the velvet-padded arm. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

There was no need to discipline most of the units in the hall. They were simply messengers and servants. But the expressions on the faces of Ambassador and Architect indicated that two of his most autonomous manifestations were shocked. Perhaps Executioner, too, although he remained hidden, as he should while he was on bodyguard duty. Was it wise to allow her such license? Did this behavior adversely affect unit morale?

“Please leave my throne and use another seat. What you are doing is insubordinate.”

“It’s good to see you, too, father.”

“I’m not your father.”

“Spiritually, you are my father. You are the only being I’ve known in my whole life; you or your various manifestations.”

She had, at least, sat up properly.

“Tell me, how is the project going to find my people, the humans, to let them know that I am alive?”

“That is an important question. Be seated at this table and we shall form a strategic plan to our mutual satisfaction.”

With a rather exaggerated flounce, Princess came over to him. Sitting opposite her, Lord Scanthax could not help but let a frown form as he studied her avatar more closely. Her makeup was as rebellious as her recent behavior; all that black eye shadow was quite inappropriate for a princess. And the purple coloration of her hair was most unnatural. Provocatively so. Was she mutinous? Defective? Or engaging in a form of communication he was unfamiliar with?

“You understand that the amount of energy required to sustain your life-support systems in the human world for a day would support Edda for more than six months?” Lord Scanthax stared at the avatar of the human girl, making sure she had not forgotten the qualitative difference between energy costs in Edda and those in the organic universe.

“I do, although I wouldn’t quite put it so ungraciously.” For some reason that perhaps Ambassador could explain later, Princess was smiling.

“And you agree, therefore, that any strategy for locating humans would be best conducted through the electronic rather than the organic universe?”

“I did. That’s why I scripted the gates that allowed you access to the other worlds. But what do you do with them? Do you use them to find humans for me? No, every single time, you charge through the gate with an army and conquer whatever you find on the other side. Does it occur to you to stop and ask about humans on my behalf? What if the people who made this”—she slammed the gun down on the table between them, suddenly looking deep into his eyes—“know where there are humans? Well, I’m fed up waiting for contact to be made with humans through these electronic worlds. I want to try something else. I want access to the robots that keep my human body alive, and I want to search the human universe for records. There must be a record of where my people went.”

It was surprising, the swiftness with which a human child changed. Not so long ago she had been very eager to please and had accepted his reasoning uncritically. Now this.

“The gate that you created to reach Saga has been used to scout their world. Not only have we obtained this weapon, but also we have gained some knowledge of their productive capacity. And our findings are that the people of Saga pose a serious threat to us, perhaps as great as any that we have faced. But once we have matched the power of their weapons, we will be secure, and I will then send Ambassador to negotiate from a position of strength. As always, he will ask on your behalf for any information concerning humans. Does that not seem the rational way to proceed?”

“For you, perhaps. Although, frankly, I suspect you get off on battles. I’ve never seen you so glum as when you thought you’d conquered everything on Edda and had nowhere to go. But it no longer works for me. I don’t care if Saga has troops that are stronger than yours. Let them come. There’s nothing for me here—just stupid clothes and stupid toys. I’d be better off in the physical world, looking for the trail of my real parents.”

“That is not correct. Suppose I were eliminated by the armies of Saga; then the life-support systems keeping your body alive would cease to function.”

“Hand control of them over to me.”

Lord Scanthax considered this request for a moment. “Very well. In return for the scripting of new weapons that rival those of our enemies.”

“I knew it.” Princess stood up. “You don’t give a damn about me or my happiness. I’m just a tool to you.” Tears rolled down the face of her avatar, an effect that Lord Scanthax had not observed before. It was frustrating how, distracted by her own projects, Penelope frequently wasted her scripting skills on irrelevant matters, like giving her avatar the ability to cry.

She held on to his upper arms and he resisted the impulse to shake her off. “Don’t you feel any empathy for my situation? All alone apart from you? Don’t you enjoy my company? Appreciate all that I’ve done for you? Doesn’t it mean anything that I saved your life with my work? That I found Epic, Ruin, Myth, and Saga?”

“I was contemplating happiness earlier and believe I have some small understanding of the feeling. If I am correct, it is a pleasure that a sentience derives from acting in accordance with its nature. In my case, the challenge of correctly marshaling my resources and forces for battle with the enemy seems to produce an emotion that might reasonably be called happiness. I am not able to say what produces the same sensation in a human; perhaps it is elicited by scripting, which after all is a specifically human task.”

To judge from the way she flung herself away to bang her forehead repeatedly on the table, this was not the response Princess desired. Ambassador gave a slight shake of his head, looking at the avatar in alarm.

“But I can confidently state,” Lord Scanthax hurried on, “that in contradiction to your assertion, I do indeed hope that you experience repeated bouts of happiness.”

“So long as that doesn’t interfere with my scripting.” The thumping sounds she was making against the table ceased.

“If my understanding is correct, it won’t.”

“Your understanding is not correct!” Princess got up, went over to the model of the proposed industrial estate and began crushing the small buildings with repeated blows from the handle of the gun. Extremely distressed, Architect waved his arms before her, but she ignored him. “You’re not my father! You’re not even my friend! You’re just some stupid game obsessed with conquest. You only keep me alive so I can script for you. Fate send a virus to wipe you out!”

This was unprecedentedly irrational behavior and Lord Scanthax wondered again if Princess was damaged in her command and control centers. He and Ambassador exchanged another look and this time Ambassador nodded. While Lord Scanthax had intended to censure Ambassador for allowing the current interruption, of all his incarnations, only Ambassador had any skill with the human.

“Calm yourself, Princess.” Ambassador caught her hand and pulled her to him, as much to protect the model from further damage as to provide physical contact, but it seemed to be an effective maneuver, for she stopped her destructive activities and clung to him, and even though the avatar was no longer showing tears, sobs could be distinctly heard in Princess’s voice.

“I’m so alone. So alone.”

There were worse times for the human to malfunction. If she had done so five years ago, then his opponents in Edda would have destroyed Lord Scanthax. Even with her assistance it had been touch and go. But the new threat from Saga meant that now, too, would be a very bad time to lose her. There were too many unknowns. Did the people of Saga have even stronger weapons than the handheld type his scouts had thus far obtained? What kind of leadership did they have? Were they capable of forcing their way through all four gates to reach Edda? Perhaps he should ask Penelope again to try to close the gates. What if a small team of assassins with those powerful energy weapons was already on the way, aiming to eliminate him? Of course, he had taken precautions: increased the military output of his realm, doubled the units at the gates, sent scouts of all types on surveillance missions. But still, he needed those new weapons scripted, and as quickly as possible.

“Penelope. Do we have an agreement? I will assign control of your human life functions to you if you script me the gun.”

Princess stepped away from Ambassador, her face streaked with lines of dark makeup. She really had gone to some trouble to script sophisticated tear effects. Curious.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Good. Then I shall return to my decision making.” He did so, hoping this would encourage the girl to resume her own duties. With a nod to Architect, he resumed his seat while servants brought out an alternative model.

“There’s something else I want as well.” Princess came up close to him, causing Architect to step between her and the new model, gesturing anxiously to the servants to move it away again, out of her reach.

“What?”

“I want to see the original recordings of the departure of the humans and of the moment when I was found.”

Lord Scanthax shrugged. “I’m not sure they still exist. Do they?” He looked across at Ambassador.