“So much you held back from me,” said Ouroboros, sitting on his belly but still towering over them. “Pound for pound, my body is frail. And I have, what, one thousand years? Then an inheritance of death?”
“Good lord,” said Setsa. “You're jealous of this kitten.”
Ouroboros bared fangs. “It's an old mammals' club, I see. You will give me a wife next.”
“I've told you time and again about your tone, Oro. It's arrogant. Humans don't like it.”
Ouroboros exhaled violently. “No offense is meant, yet great hurt is taken. Soft, so soft, all of you. I sneeze and my caretakers leave and never return.” He shook his head. “You'll leave the creature with me, then?”
“No! You'll get a goat for company tonight. I'm taking Adamant with me.”
Ouroboros licked his teeth. “So be it. Only, begin thinking on my wife. We have little time.”
“Oh?”
“ 'Oh?'... 'Oh,' he says, with utmost innocence. You know that I'm referring to transfer of rulership. The humans… they can't do it anymore.”
Setsa sighed.
“We've done the projections multiple times,” said Ouroboros. “We've taken into account available resources, political climate, economic factors, psychological stresses, historical tendencies, and every human character trait imaginable – and they just don't make it. And don't bother turning to Cecil. He'll be dead soon, and we'll be alone.”
Setsa looked at Cecil, who shrugged.
“Forgive my harsh words, Professor,” said Ouroboros, “but if any offense is taken, blame the ravages of time. In a thousand years or so I shall join you in the grave. Thankfully we shall have Mister Sanjara and his pet cat to carry on after we’re gone, hm? And my own descendants, if you would be so kind as to provide me with an appropriate companion.”
“But what about the legend,” said Setsa, groping at the words, “the story about the best humans who went deep into space? What if they came back and-”
“Forget them,” said Ouroboros. “I pored over the equations for their so-called spatial distortion engine. It wouldn't work. They may as well have flown into the sun... if they even existed, which is doubtful. No, Mister Sanjara, it's up to us. Give up your hopes and embrace reality.”
The dragon stalked in a circle about Setsa, long tail waving while Adamant, the little lion, cowered at Setsa's feet.
“Civilization will fail,” said Ouroboros, “and humans will eat one another. Whether order returns soon or late, we cannot predict, but so, so many will die. The blow to humanity's genepool will be catastrophic – intelligence and creativity fading from importance as physical strength and short-sighted practicality take center stage. The only hope, dear friend, is if we take over. You will wear the crown and stand before the public, and I will make the decisions from the background.”
“It's so… you're just too cold, Oro. Too calculating. People don't-”
“Don't what? Want to survive? That much is apparent, Mister Sanjara. Ah, but you would be kind to them. You would let them do as they will.” The dragon turned away, snorting. “Your kindness is cruelty. This mammalian need for softness is beyond my understanding. All I ask is for absolute power, and in return – a chance for humanity’s survival. Your leaders are buffoons, most of them completely uneducable and wholly enamored with material wealth. Ah! What children! I need only a bowl with a goat's carcass and a bit of room to fly. What else is of value beyond that? Only the continuation of family, I say.”
“Not to distract you,” said Cecil, “but your attitude reminds me. Your guards, the super-soldiers, they're complaining about you. What have you-”
Ouroboros shrieked with loud laughter. “I've been torturing them! Ah! Ha ha! Oh my! They stand guard for hours, and for hours I press them. I question them. I accuse them. Poor dolts! Please, you two, if you have any power among the ruling class, have them send the guards away. I need no protection, and if they imagine they trap me here, well… this is where I want to be. As I said, a bit of warm carcass is all I need. But really, this place is bugged and monitored, I'm sure. Guards as spies are not necessary.”
Setsa froze. “Bugged? This place? But the… but you...”
“I say what I want. If my insubordination displeases anyone, they would have to discuss the matter with our leaders, who in turn would only feel shame as they consider my charges. I say nothing dishonest. In fact, their own impotence makes action on our part all the more necessary.”
“I suspect,” Cecil cut in, “that they wouldn't even need bugs anymore. I've heard rumors that the black science creeps have developed a satellite imaging system that can see anything in the world, even into closed rooms. Sounds unbelievable, but only if you don't know about the recent advances in light-bending technology.”
“But,” said Setsa, “what if they try to-”
“They can do nothing to you, Mister Sanjara,” said Ouroboros. “You're too valuable. All they can do is kill everyone close to you.”
“You're sure about that?”
“It's the only option they have available. They're simply too weak to play their hand.” as Ouroboros slinked away into the darkness, he gestured toward the golden cub. “Poor boy. And here you thought I was cruel for politely asking if I could eat him. Imagine the waste of flesh, if your handlers decided to kill him in order to punish you. Ah… goodnight! Sleep well, friends!”
***
Setsa returned to his apartment building, racing through the halls with a giant kitten bounding at his heels, only to find his home filled with old companions. It was a surprise birthday party complete with celebrities, expensive covert prostitutes, and intellectuals that Setsa had been aching to speak with. As he greeted an old friend, he felt Adamant weight as he cowered between his feet. The noise, the cigarette smoke, the faces, all were too much for him. As Setsa pretended to listen to his old friend – more of an ass-kissing hanger-on, really – Setsa looked into the little lion's eyes staring up at him, and he remembered Cecil's words. “Someday, everyone you know will be dead. Even the nations you know will crumble, will fall apart. Even the mountains will be worn down beneath your feet. Nothing you remember will last. But this small cub, this lion, will live with you. He will be with you through it all, will grow with you and share ideas with you. He will last long after you have forgotten even me.”
He's my only true companion, thought Setsa. These other people… phonies, narcissists, children, programmed robots… my God! They may as well be dead already!
He was horrified to hear himself respond to a group of well-wishers, even making them laugh when all he wanted to do was comfort his one true friend. Then he thought of Ouroboros. He was blunt to the point of rudeness, and yet Setsa knew that he cared for his makers. With his sharp tongue he often advised them on how to get ahead or protect themselves from manipulation, despite being their junior. He reminded himself that only people who did not deserve the dragon’s presence were offended.
Ouroboros, give me strength!
In mid-conversation his face went slack. “Everybody out!” he shouted. “Out, now! Party's over!”
He picked up Adamant and walked toward one of his bedrooms. Confusion moved from one fact to another as he passed. “Attention!” he yelled, not looking at anyone. “I have just received news – there has been a terrorist attack! Everyone please return to your home or the nearest underground shelter!”
Plainclothes super-soldier security guards looked at one another. Setsa brushed past several people standing outside his bedroom door, including a famous television chef and an actress he had dated years ago. Their feet seemed planted to the ground despite his story, and their faces had the dull, glazed look of a dream character surprised by the dreamer's sudden lucidity.
He slammed the door behind him. They'll figure it out, he thought, checking his walk-in closet to make sure no one was lurking in there. He heard nothing outside but the dull throb of music, and was angry that his security guards didn't take the hint and usher ever
yone out immediately. He only realized much later that the party was most likely put together by his handlers, a reminder of the old debauchery calculated to pull him away from his work with Cecil and his controversial broadcasts.
He plopped down on the bed and let Adamant roll free. The little lion found his balance, then looked around with wide eyes. He sniffed the air. The fear from moments before was forgotten. Setsa relaxed and put a hand on the lion's head.
“We've really made me look like a fool this time,” he said quietly. “You're not too bright and you don't look like much. You better be worth it.”
The lion contended himself with chewing on his maker's wrist.
***
A rush of warmth, memories of Setsa with his lion, his eternal friend. He saw the two stretched out in bed, then rising for breakfast together. The fine penthouse became a mess as the lion grew, tearing up furniture designed by artists from all across the world, even pissing loudly against the walls. Super-soldiers were reduced to poop-scoopers and food bearers, wearing aprons instead of body armor. He saw super-soldiers wrestling with the giant cat, being chased and tossed around, laughing as they were occasionally carted off to the hospital. Setsa continued playing the part of the ad-man and playboy, always taking Adamant with him, showing him off at red carpet events to surprised onlookers.
Ouroboros continued to despise his super-soldier guards, often belittling them for hours on end and practicing his manipulation skills by selecting guards he particularly disliked, filling their ears with words that would boost their ego, then spreading rumors to the others that would turn them against his “favored” guard. He spread strife and chaos among the credulous, vengeful goons. Stranger still, he seemed to accumulate caretakers who worshipped him, normal humans who designed their own cultish uniforms and whispered prayers in the dark as they brought goats to their reptilian god, washed his scales, and oversaw his veterinary care like hawks. Cecil and Setsa made good on their promise to their friend and presented him with his mate: Tiamat, a small dragon with white scales edged in crimson and pink. She was tiny and slept much of the time in the clawed hands of her future husband, who watched her carefully.
The joy of this time flooded through the images, overpowering, tinged with the fear that these days might end. He saw Cecil age, but still on fire as he and Setsa moved on from modifying animals and beginning their greatest endeavor. Setsa had long doubted Cecil's claim that his visions came from invisible gods, as he seemed to have genius enough in his own mind. But one day Cecil became convinced that an unseen, untouchable god had given him his greatest vision yet, his masterwork: A modification of Setsa's own superhuman potential which could graft itself to any human fetus and, if the man or woman proved worthy, could reveal itself over time.
Setsa did not see this as working to create a potential rival. He felt relieved. One early morning he and Adamant ran leaping from rooftop to rooftop, evading Setsa's handlers until they reached the edge of the city and stood looking out over the freezing cold expanse of the growing shanty town. They looked down on the humans who had nothing, who were worth nothing besides cheap labor or expendable soldiers, and sometimes not even worth that.
Ouroboros won't leave me alone, he thought, heart thundering in his chest. He keeps telling me I can go down into that frightening place, that I can lead them and turn them into something better. He thinks I can give up the wealth and the greedy handlers and managers who give me everything I need. He's wrong. I can't do that. I'm not like him, not strong like him. But if Cecil and I could make someone like me, but better in every way… if we could find a couple with amazing potential, and then tell them that we could turn their child into a great leader, into a god worthy of humanity…
Then the responsibility will pass from me. Then I won't feel this burden. Then I can stand back, maybe help every now and then, and surely, surely that will be enough!
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, knowing that no one would ever hear him. “I'm sorry I can't be what you need. I'm sorry that I'm… a loser.”
***
The thought-stream diverted into a new channel. He saw a young woman with short red hair wearing a shapeless dress. She stood just outside the warm lighting provided by nearby street vendors. It was cold; she should have been wearing a jacket. She turned to him, smiling and annoyed. “What the hell is that on your head?” she said. The coarse demeanor of a laborer, one who had to watch her money always slipping away, like her life. He felt a flood of anxious attraction, the need to appear aloof and the desire to reshape the world for her. The scene was hidden immediately.
She was impossible to hide completely. He saw her at different times, in different ratty dresses, not quite pretty but still churning up chaos in Setsa's heart. He saw her bending to lace up her boots, then they argued in her filthy kitchen while he worried about paper-thin walls, then saw them eating hot corn-cakes and taking shots at an all-night vendor, and she was laughing at his disguise while his memory grasped and pulled at the magical night, unable to put it back together perfectly, unable to forget it completely.
“So you and a dragon figured out the world is going to end?” She pulled her bootlaces tight. “Using what, math? Graphs and charts? That's impressive. Stupid, but impressive.”
“You have to see the data to get it,” said Setsa.
“No I don't. Listen, everyone always thinks they know how it's going to end, but they never do. Every civilization that ever fell over dead is always surprised at the dumb thing that came out of nowhere.”
“Hm.”
“Seriously.” She grabbed his jacket. “It always comes out of nowhere. Now let's get something to drink.”
***
They sat on a rooftop overlooking row after row of cheap houses filled with poor laborers. In the distance they could see the fires at the edge of a tent city, where military-police had moved in to stop illegal planting of patented crop seeds.
“How could you know?” she said. “You wouldn't know. Not if you weren't born poor. Born down there.”
Setsa turned away from the view. “Some friends of mine, we were thinking… I don't know, maybe we could lead them, teach them. Make their lives better by-”
“No,” she said. “Don't help them.”
“Why not?”
“Because they deserve it.” Her gaze grew dark with deeply buried hatred. “If you'd been born among them, you'd know their lives are shit because they are shit. They deserve to live in hell, Setsa. So let them. Please, let them.”
***
Setsa held the door open for the red-headed girl. She stepped in cautiously, then looked around.
“It's surprisingly clean,” she said.
“Maids,” he said.
“You weren't kidding about being rich.”
“You've seen my commercials,” he said, laughing. “You think they had me on a cot in a basement somewhere? Ah, it's just money... numbers recorded in a bank file somewhere.”
She laughed dryly, unimpressed with his posturing. She froze. “So that's the, uh… the lion you were talking about?”
Adamant stood in the living room, atop the stairs that led down into the recessed den area. His confusion was mixed with a look of hurt accusation.
“Yeah, that's my best bud, pretty much. I feel terrible, I haven't…” Setsa turned and looked at Adamant. “Hey buddy, sorry I haven't been around! You okay? They been takin' care of you?”
Adamant ignored Setsa. His eyes were locked on the girl.
“You sure he can't talk?” she asked.
“Yeah yeah, it'll be a while before he...”
“I thought you said he was a madhouse of fun. He doesn't look like it.”
The lion took a step and growled at her. They stared at him until he took another step, eyes narrowed with distrust.
“I'm not petting him,” she said.
“No, this is weird, he never...” Setsa moved toward the lion. “Hey buddy, what's wrong with you? Are you-”
Adamant d
ashed toward the girl, and Setsa fell on him. They rolled, both howling. Adamant jerked about to free himself, and Setsa hit him in the face again and again. Both pushed against the floor until they rolled down the short flight of stairs. Setsa's expensive outfit was in complete disarray, the lion wild-eyed and frantic. Finally Setsa choked him in a head-lock, his legs still splayed out on the steps. He looked up and saw the girl looking down at them. She seethed with a numbing, ice-cold rage.
“He wants to make a victim of me,” she said.
“No, he's just – idiot's confused or something, I don't know! Just get back, will you!?”
“Just another piece of shit! Who wants me to be a victim!” she said, speaking through clenched teeth. “But I won't!”
She strode forward and kicked the lion.
“Hey! Don't!” Setsa pulled an arm free and held it to ward her away. “Don't fucking do that! He's just confused! But I can't… I don't know if… listen, just go.”
She glared down at him, then turned and left. When he heard the door click shut, he released Adamant.
“What the hell, Adam?” he said quietly.
He had expected to see rage. Instead the lion had become a kitten, his face downcast, hurt and confused by this unexpected turn.
***
Setsa received a call late one night. He affected a demeanor of bored detachment as one of his handlers – a corporate assistant who spent his time hanging around politicians and film producers and obsessing over their opinions – told him that they needed to have a talk in person.
“That is,” said the man, “unless you're busy with your girlfriend.”
“Don't worry about her,” said Setsa. “I'll see you.” He hung up, muttering, “Not sure if she even is my girlfriend.”
He took his time getting dressed, making sure he would arrive as late as possible. He knew it was about his new life infringing on his work in advertising and entertainment and he did not look forward to being reprimanded.
Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants Page 51