Edda (29 page)

“Good.”

“I suppose so,” said Erik, “but there’s a whole other colony of humans somewhere and if none of them is creating avatars, how are we going to contact them?”

Athena shrugged. “We’ll find a way. I bet their leaders check in on Myth from time to time. Once we’ve stopped the people planning to attack Saga, we can go back to Myth and leave messages everywhere on your behalf.”

“What, alerting hostile EIs to our existence? I think not!” exclaimed Gunnar.

“Hey Gunnar, about that. Why weren’t you on Jodocus’s side?” asked Ghost. “Did you agree with the way he was reasoning? Don’t you have doubts about us?”

“I shot him, didn’t I?” Gunnar sounded aggrieved. “Of course I didn’t agree with him. I mean, obviously EIs can be a threat to humans. Just look at what the RAL did to the people of Earth and what the Dark Queen would have done to us. But he was criminal to want to kill you. When it comes to the choice between killing an avatar or allowing that avatar to kill real beings, well, there is no choice. What’s more, I’ve come to believe that we have to work together and live together somehow.”

“Hear, hear.” Cindella slapped him on the back. “And once we’ve come to terms with whoever controls these armies, we’ll have lots of new worlds to explore and new people to meet, maybe even other humans, too. It will be fun.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. But I certainly accept that Ghost and the people of Saga will be part of our future.”

“If we have a future,” muttered Ghost. “I mean, look at all those troops in Epic and all those tanks in that other world. They are going to devastate Saga.”

“Unless we stop them,” said Athena confidently.

“The four of us?” Ghost sounded doubtful.

“Well, yes,” replied Athena. “And here’s some good news. While you were asleep I tried the tracking device again—the one we used to trace the scout that led us into Myth. And as I went through the various bands, I got this.”

Erik moved Cindella so that he could get a better view. “What is it?”

“It’s a strong radio signal.” Athena tipped the screen toward him. “But what’s interesting is the pattern. I’ve only picked up something like it once before.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a building in Saga where Ghost goes to interface with the robots and equipment of Earth. Its machinery gives off more or less the same signal.”

“So, some kind of interface building might exist here?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’s humans who are behind all this?” Erik mused aloud. “More people who think like Jodocus? Who are out for revenge against the people of Saga?”

“It could be.” Athena switched her receiver off and looked up at him through her long, damp tresses. “I understand why intelligent life that has evolved from computer games based on warfare might have a nature that was inclined to violence and conquest. But it disturbs me that humans like Jodocus can be so convinced of their philosophy that they are prepared to kill me, even though I’ve done nothing to harm him and never would. I used to think you were all so honorable or something, and that it was just us who were flawed.”

“No.” Erik thought about some of the people he’d encountered in his past struggles and about his own fury toward the human who controlled Jodocus. “No, I’m afraid we have a dark side, too.”

Ghost stood up. “Anyway, whether human or not, we have to stop whoever has built these armies from invading Saga. Let’s focus on that. How far away is the source of that signal?”

Athena switched on her tracker again. “About a hundred and fifty kilometers.”

“Not too far, really,” observed Erik. “What’s that, about a five-day march?”

“For you, maybe; more like six or seven for Athena and me. You have to remember, we’re not used to all this clean air.” Ghost smiled. “And we normally get around on airboards.”

“Let me see if I have anything that can make the journey quicker.” Cindella sat down while Erik scrolled through the contents of the Bag of Dimensions. It took him nearly fifteen minutes, after which time there were three magic items on the ground in front of Cindella, those that he had picked out as possibly being of some use.

“This,” he said, picking up the figurine of a unicorn, “is supposed to summon a unicorn. I’m not sure if it will work if there are no unicorns in this world. This”—a large playing card with the picture of a road leading between two hills toward a setting sun—“is the ‘Journey’ card from a Deck of Curiosities. And these”—a pair of thigh-high brown leather boots—“are Seven-League Boots.”

“Fascinating!” Athena squatted down beside the items. “May I?”

“Just don’t put the card down as if you were playing it.”

“What does it do?”

“Actually, I’m not entirely sure. I bought it without really researching it very much. Back then, after we killed a dragon and got its hoard, I bought pretty much all the magic items I could. Inny or Sigrid probably know a bit more about it. What the sorcerer who sold the deck to me said was that you play a particular card and say what you want, something that the magic of the card can assist you with. The example he gave was the ‘Truth’ card. He said that if you play that card, it will show if the person speaking is lying or not. Also, he said something about how the outcome of using a card varies according to how precise the task is that you have in mind.”

“Interesting. And useful, assuming their magic works here.” Athena turned her attention to the boots, picking one of them up and turning it over to admire the scrollwork. “Are these what I think they are?”

“They take you about twenty miles in a jump. It’s pretty hard to control, though.”

“Total class! I really want a go at these.”

“Well, I was thinking you could wear them; Gunnar could ride the unicorn, if it comes; and Ghost and I can just push on as fast as we can.”

Athena, beaming from ear to ear, at once began to untie the extensive laces on her own sturdy black boots.

“Hold on there, Athena.” Gunnar came closer. “The unicorn might not work. Shouldn’t we try the card first?”

Athena looked up at Cindella.

“I guess so,” replied Erik. “You use it, Athena, because I don’t really know where we are going. Place it faceup on the ground while thinking as specifically as possible about where you want to go.”

“Well, I don’t really know, either—other than that it might be a place like Ghost’s interface building. Having said that, I suppose we know the distance and direction we have to go in.” Despite her lack of confidence in wielding the magic item, Athena had picked up the card and was studying the picture on it.

“Go ahead. Try it anyway,” said Ghost encouragingly.

First adjusting her headband to keep the curls of her long dark hair away from her face, Athena knelt and took a deep breath. With a swift and decisive motion, she placed the card on the ground and never for a moment moved her gaze from the picture.

A loud crack was the first indication that magic was in operation. Nearby, a weighty boulder had split in two, and the split kept widening. The earth trembled and all the trees around them swayed back and forth. When the slightly nauseating motion ceased, they saw that a path had opened in the ground, one that led downward into a tunnel.

Cindella took off her glove.

“What do you see?” asked Gunnar.

“More or less the same. Except that there are additional flowing lines of magic. They converge at a spot about four steps into the tunnel.”

Gunnar picked up his bag. “So, should we try it, then?”

“Probably,” Erik answered uncertainly.

“Let me try. I’m the most dispensable person here. If it comes out somewhere dangerous, or if I get killed, I’ll let Erik know.”

He looked at Ghost, who gave an appreciative nod.

“Good idea. Thanks, Gunnar.”

The handsome trooper walked down into the tunnel until he disappeared into the darkness. A minute later, Erik received a tap on his knee.

“Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

When Erik took off his headset, he found Gunnar leaning over him.

“Don’t worry, Erik,” Gunnar said earnestly. “It’s fine. It’s just a dark room with some chairs and computers. It’s safe for everyone to go through.”

Chapter 28

PENELOPE

It was a
risk, leaving her room for nights of exploration in Lord Scanthax’s castle. But Penelope found the lure of the hidden room too irresistible. There were so many films to watch. Each night of the week leading up to Redistribution Day, she told herself she ought to stay in bed rather than jeopardize her trap. Each night, nevertheless, she found herself stealing down the silk rope ladder and through the dark corridors to the Feast Hall. What drew her back was not the opportunity to learn more about the controls that affected her physical body but the films.

The colonists had left an enormous database of films and viewing them was fascinating. It wasn’t the cultural works that held Penelope’s interest. Their music, poetry, theater, and film were all very well, but such polished and carefully edited productions could not compete with the simple homemade clips of daily life. There must have been a great many cameras in the colony, some fixed in position at certain important locations and others owned by individuals who in several instances had created a kind of film-based diary about their lives. Just watching other humans of all ages going about their daily tasks created an enormous yearning inside Penelope. It was agonizing, for example, to see a clip of a teacher with his class of children, who were about five years old. The children were playful and happy, keen to please their teacher. With a great deal of mess and lots of laughter, the group was painting a large model of an elephant in lurid colors.

It would have been easy to spend an entire night going through this vast collection, attempting to understand what it must feel like to be surrounded by hundreds of other people. It made her giddy, imagining she was part of this energetic community. Sometimes, when a person being filmed would fool around for the camera, Penelope felt like laughing aloud. Until she had watched the clips, she hadn’t realized just how crucial playfulness was to being human. Lord Scanthax and his manifestations were completely devoid of humor. After all, for him laughter served no function, unless it was the dry kind directed by one manifestation toward another in criticism of a mistake. A life without the cheerful laughter that she could see had been ever-present among the residents of the colony was unendurable, and more than ever Penelope was resolved to find other human company; first in Epic, Ruin, Myth, or Saga, but ultimately in the flesh. Flesh. Skin-to-skin contact with another person. A hug, even, or a kiss. How she craved that sensation!

The humans she was watching were, on the whole, fit and healthy. There was, for example, a simple clip of a woman walking along a corridor toward the office in which she worked. Something in her pose, the swinging of her arms, her little wave to the camera, made Penelope see her own body through new eyes. There was no way that her emaciated and feeble form could move with such vibrant energy. A lifetime of dependency upon machines had reduced her to a shocking state of immiseration. Once she forced Lord Scanthax to accept her independence, Penelope would work really hard on rebuilding her body, no matter how great the pain. She was absolutely determined that one day she, too, would stroll along a corridor like a healthy human being instead of lurching from wall to wall like a broken robot.

As the human colony reached their decision to move to a new planet, they had recorded their debates. And here Penelope came across the first evidence that the clips had been edited before being left behind. All references to the location of the new colony had been deleted; the films simply skipped forward to another subject. They evidently did not want whatever intelligence survived in Edda to be able to trace them. Given Lord Scanthax’s predisposition to convert everything he came across into material for his army and his administration, this was probably wise. But it created a long-term problem for Penelope. Unless, perhaps, some of them operated avatars in Edda or another world, how would she find them?

Another puzzle was that all the clips dating to the actual exodus of the humans from their old colony were inaccessible. Penelope had hoped to be able to identify her parents or find the footage that had been used in Lord Scanthax’s propaganda film showing her as a baby. What had happened exactly, that they had abandoned her? There didn’t seem to be anything different about these files, but when she tried to open any of the clips dated to the day of departure, a new screen jumped up to block any further progress through the menus.

ACCESS TO THESE FILES REQUIRES A USERNAME AND PASSWORD.

There was a place to enter a name and password, but after nearly an hour of fruitless guessing, Penelope gave up. Her time in the secret room was too precious for her to spend it staring at the frustrating message.

The morning before Redistribution Day, when Penelope was half asleep at her work desk, a castle page appeared at the door of the wizard’s room, requesting her presence in the Map Room, where Lord Scanthax was waiting. Again, Ambassador escorted her without having been specifically asked to come along. Penelope felt a little sorry for him. Ambassador’s role had been dramatically curtailed since the days when he had operated with a great deal of autonomy in the subtle diplomatic maneuvers between the lords and ladies of Edda. For several years now he had probably seen a decline in his level of independent executive functions. Of course, his scripting was sufficiently sophisticated and his allocation of processing power sufficient that he had the critical mass for self-awareness, but the actual amount of resources allowed him was almost certainly considerably less than that which he had used at his peak. It must be terrible to feel yourself operating at a lower level of intellect than you once did and even worse to know that you were on a slide downward toward redundancy and non-existence, or, rather, a form of existence barely more conscious than that of a factory unit.

Did Ambassador resent this? Did he ever feel like revolting against his greater self? Did the manifestations of Lord Scanthax ever see themselves as serious rivals? In a way, it was like Lord Scanthax had physical representations of the different aspects of his character and his different states of mind. And was it just a human trait to argue with yourself? To have your mind struggle with opposing ideas and desires? How far would the different manifestations go in their opposition? None, as far as she knew, had ever revolted against their fate, not even when their destruction was assured. Penelope gave Ambassador a smile, which he returned. Even so, her sympathy could not extend too far toward him. She was in prison and he was her warden.

As they walked through the Feast Hall, Penelope paused. It had been decorated. All of the bunting was out, ready for the ceremony. Captured banners ornamented the walls; trophies of conquest filled display cabinets that had been carried to the hall for the purpose. In them were items such as the valuable personal weapons used by Lord Scanthax’s opponents, their most precious jewelry, their most distinctive shields, curious helmets, and even the skulls of the slain. Having noticed her delay, the page turned around with an impatient expression. Penelope walked forward again. At least it seemed that the room had been prepared for the celebratory occasion without anyone discovering the fact that the windows were now bulletproof.

Waiting for her in the Map Room was Lord Scanthax, and with him, the ominous figure of Assassin. If Lord Scanthax was essentially a heartless being, then in his manifestation as Assassin he had condensed all the uncaring cruelty of his nature, all of his will to survive regardless of the cost. The two of them barely gave Ambassador a second glance.

“Princess, we have extremely bad news.” Lord Scanthax tapped the map, pointing to the world of Ruin and Gate Two. “They are through into Epic. Only one more gate and they will be in Edda.”

Penelope was impressed; she had thought that Gate Two had such a large army defending it that it would be impossible for a small unit to get through.

“They defeated your army?”

“No.” Assassin shook his head. “They were clever. They stole a tank, used a powerful radio signal to drown out our communications, and drove right through unopposed.”

Now would not be a good time to set her avatar to the smile she felt like wearing. Choosing instead her most solemn expression, Penelope gave a nod that she hoped conveyed concern.

“Only one tank, though,” she observed. “That limits the extent of the threat.” And it could hardly represent a major threat, could it? Now that she knew how to survive without the assistance of Lord Scanthax, she secretly relished his difficulties and it was slightly disappointing to learn that a mere handful of his enemies had entered Epic.

“True,” acknowledged Lord Scanthax. “And they will not be able to use the same trick again. General is not allowing any vehicles at all through Gate One.”

“How can I help?”

Assassin loomed closer, facing Lord Scanthax. “My advice is that we cancel the redistribution ceremony.”

“Cancel the ceremony?” Penelope could hear the genuine anxiety in her own voice. That would be a catastrophe. If all the manifestations were not gathered together in the hall, her trap would be incomplete. If even one manifestation remained at liberty, Lord Scanthax would not need to surrender to her demands; he would be able to rule through that manifestation, probably investing it with as much processing power as all the sealed-up manifestations could muster together.

“Naturally, I do not wish to take such a drastic action.” Lord Scanthax was glum. “The coming redistribution is particularly important in the context of the current crisis, as well as for the unity of purpose of all the manifestations. But the question is—and this is why I wanted to talk to you—can our safety be assured?”

“What do you mean?”

“If all my manifestations are here in the Feast Hall, there would be a theoretical risk. Suppose, somehow, this assassination force manages to get through Gate One. Then, if they had a plane from which they could drop powerful bombs or if they had missiles they could fire from the ground, they could extinguish me entirely.”

“I see.”

“Do you see?” Assassin growled. “We know you are not as loyal to us as you once were. But understand this: if we are all extinguished, then your human body will expire within days. It is in the interests of your own survival that there be no risk at all to Lord Scanthax.”

“Right. So what can I do?”

“Almost certainly there is no chance of their reaching Edda in the next two days. But if somehow they manage to launch an attack upon the castle, we need to know that the first missiles and bombs will be deflected safely away. We will only need a minute to disperse if there is an alarm. You said at an earlier meeting that you could build an obstruction at a gate that would last for hours. Does this mean you can construct a shield over the castle sufficiently strong to allow us to evacuate the hall?”

“I can. Without difficulty.” She put as much certainty into her voice as she could muster. “I can guarantee you at least thirty minutes’ resistance to those energy weapons and almost indefinite resistance to Ruin-level weapons. But can I make a suggestion?”

“Certainly.”

“It would take a great deal of time to build up a shield around the castle and such a shield would be no more effective than if I were to alter the nature of the existing walls and windows of the wing containing the Feast Hall. It would be much easier and quicker for me to work with the existing materials to make them bomb-proof than to create something from scratch.”

“You would make sure that there was no point of entry for a missile?”

“Absolutely. Send me Architect or Engineer with the castle plans and I’ll start at once.”

“Well?” Lord Scanthax looked at Assassin.

Assassin shook his head. “It sounds like a precaution that will eliminate the danger. But . . . they showed some ingenuity and bravery in Ruin by the manner in which they got through the gate. My worry is that we are missing some data and underestimating them.” He gave Penelope an appraising look, and if she had been in her human body, she would have blushed with guilt. As it was, the princess met his gaze with equanimity.

“Very well. Shield that section of the castle for us, Princess.”

If she hadn’t been quivering with distress at how close her plans had come to being ruined, Penelope would have enjoyed the irony of the situation. Lord Scanthax was asking her to build a shield to protect his manifestations and that task was effectively the same one she had already completed as part of a strategy for imprisoning them.