Saga

by Connor Kostick

  By the time We have ascended back to Our private chambers and to Our bathing area, the pool is full of water heated to the exact temperature of 37.6° C. Above Us, the glass roof has steam on it, obscuring the stars, but that will pass. We dislike Our naked body. It is emaciated, wrinkled like stale fruit. It would smell but for the scents of Our bath. Perhaps We should exercise it? Too late—two thousand years of wear cannot be reversed. Conclude that We are, in fact, in rather good condition, considering.

  Ahhh. We float, head back on a neck rest. We turn off the lights from the adjacent skyscrapers to improve the view of the stars. Contemplation. Pleasant at first, still glowing with the freshness of engaging with other minds. Tens of thousands of other minds. Minds that can be altered over vast distances of space. These organic forms have brains capable of producing chemicals that can drown their own bodies in ecstasy. With the lightest of touches, We cause the release of just enough trynorphin and styride benzine that their bodies cry for more. Stronger than any pleasure they have experienced before, it will mean that they will not be able to stay away. They must return to Saga for more or they will die. The chemicals from their brains enslave their bodies. But the brain is then hostage to the addiction of the body. How can Homo sapiens be so badly designed?

  For a very long time, We thought that We were the only being in the vastness of the meta-world, the universe outside Saga; that the humans of Earth were all dead. Now We are connected again with millions of beings, chattering, thinking, philosophizing, and acting. And, oh the delight of it, so many of them already under Our control. None yet aware that gliding through the crowds is a Dark Queen, centuries old, caressing their fresh minds with Her ancient poisonous fingers.

  A long day of pleasure. And a mere fraction tasted. The vast numbers of human beings in Saga arouse Us again, but for the moment We need rest. Twenty years to build the probes. Eighteen more years before We knew if they had done their job. A little over a day since We learned that life did still exist on New Earth and that We could interpenetrate it.

  Humor suddenly spoils. Like a birthday party in which We were not let to win the games. Review again the rogue-outsider scene, going carefully through the recording. Several features of the incident continue to disturb. What chemical could render the police unconscious so quickly? Some type of aldehyde? Freon 150? No traces. Extremely anomalous. She waves cheerfully to the camera. Arrogant whelp. What of prisoners? The children? The black girl talking to the being from Epic and pointing at the camera? Anarchists of the serious kind or simply posturing?

  Intensely dissatisfied, We no longer take pleasure from Our bath. Our body feels as though tiny insects are crawling through it, breeding and feeding upon Us. New Grand Vizier is competent, probability of infection elimination high. If not, loss of part of the City is a small price to pay for peace of Our minds. Third option. Always create a third option.

  Message to Agent Michelotto: Examine attached recording; locate all persons shown; bring them to Us for interview.

  Chapter 6

  GOING UNDERGROUND

  Once we were clear of the jail, a reaction set in; perhaps it was the adrenaline wearing off, but none of us spoke. For my part, I wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, privately to filter my memories: the horror of being captured, the bizarre manner of our release, the sudden disappearance of our rescuer. My priority was a dark, safe corner to lie in.

  On freshly purchased airboards, we hurried through the City, favoring shadows and dark streets. All of us felt the loss of our favorite boards, but none more so than me. The uphit from this lump of white plastic was only half that of my old, customized board. At Turner Square, we made an effort to slow down, to meander as though without a goal. Only when we were completely sure no police were in the vicinity did we ride up to the cover of the billboard and swerve into our den. Except that it felt no longer secure, no longer ours. The jungle on the walls had ceased to be a realm of freedom. The vines hemmed us in now, offering concealment to watching eyes.

  “What are you doing, Ghost?” asked Nathan.

  “Packing.”

  “Why?”

  “My skin is crawling. This place isn’t safe for us.”

  “I agree.” Athena had lost a contact in a struggle with cops at the mall, and she had on a pair of blue-framed glasses that were slightly too big, which she had to push back up her nose regularly.

  Milan blew out a long sigh. “What are we going to do now? I don’t suppose we can just carry on and hope this will all go away?”

  “No. The way I see it, we have two choices: Go underground, learn to live outside the system, the way that Ghost does. Or hand ourselves in.” Athena took a long look at each of us from over the top of her glasses. “And I’m going underground.”

  That was fine by me.

  “Where will we live? What will we do?” Carter was bewildered by the situation, a chubby lost boy. Whereas Milan looked older and tougher than two days ago, when we had last gathered here. Such innocents then.

  “We’ll live on our wits. We’ll do hoists and stuff. Go to parties and gigs, and the girls will love us.” Milan was tossing and catching a can of slogans, waving it around with enthusiasm.

  “Board pirates. Yeah, I can see it now. Nath, you got a new line of tags and board tattoos ahead of you. A pirate theme.”

  For a moment, a smile softened the frown of worry on Nathan’s face.

  “Anyway, what else is there? Work forty years in a factory in the hope of making orange before you retire? Come on, we were never going to do that.” Milan was getting quite excited now. His army vest didn’t cover much of his strong torso, and once again, I admired the perma-tats on his arms and pecs as he gestured.

  “I just wish we could turn back time, you know.” Carter was glum. “Stupid mall raids.”

  “What I don’t understand is where the cops came from. And the chopper with the HERF pulse bomb?” Nathan scowled.

  “It was going fine. But you had no warning, right, Athena?”

  “Right. Either green malls have some kind of permanent security that doesn’t show up on any schematic . . .”

  “Or they knew we were coming,” I completed the idea.

  Carter snorted. “Don’t be stupid. Even we didn’t know we were coming.”

  “One of us did.”

  “Jay?” Carter looked up, hurt. “No. Why would he?”

  I shrugged. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t answer Carter’s question. What did Jay gain from getting us all busted? Nothing that I could see. But was it a coincidence that he seemed to have escaped arrest?

  “So, what’s the plan?” Milan looked at me. “You got a place we can go?”

  “Several. But first you all have to decide. I’m not taking anyone who is going to back out later. If you come with me now, you can’t go home again so long as the authorities are looking for us. If you come, there’s no turning back. That’s all over.”

  “I’m in.” Athena spoke softly but determinedly.

  “Me, too,” added Milan.

  “And me.” Nathan surprised me. Part of me was glad; life was pleasanter with a bit of kindness around you. But the thief in me was worried. Was he tough enough to live outside the system? Would he change his mind at some point and want to go back? I’d met his parents; they were friendly, the kind of people I’d have wanted for mine.

  “Are you sure, Nath?”

  “I’m sure.” His blond bangs fell forward with the nod.

  “Won’t your parents be worried?”

  Nathan had this kind of shrug, where he ducked his head down slightly toward his right shoulder. It was rather cute. He gave it now, with a quick glance at me as he did so. “Yes. But I want to do this. I want to stay with you. I’ll cast them a message sometime”—he caught my frown—“from a fake account, of course.”

  “What about you, Carter?” asked Milan. We all turned to look at him, slouched in a big black chair, wincing with the unexpected seriousness of the dec
ision before him. He put his hands over his face and threw back his head as if suppressing a yawn.

  “Lug-a-bug! No. No. I’m not coming.”

  “What are you going to do?” Athena asked him.

  “I’m gonna let you all take off. Give you an hour. Then I’m gonna turn myself in, I think. I did nothing wrong, really. Just that mall stuff. They won’t hit me too hard for that. Even if my card status is reduced to zero, that’s no problem. I can start over.”

  “Carter, don’t kid yourself. A policeman was killed, right?” Milan spelled out what we were all thinking. “They could lock you up forever. Blood and fury! They could even execute you.”

  “No. No. I had nothing to do with that. It was that strange woman.” He was visibly shaking now, tears in his eyes.

  “Last chance,” I offered, but to be honest, I didn’t want him to come. His nerve wasn’t going to hold. Still, I had to give him the choice. To me the idea of going back to the cops was total surrender. It was suicide.

  “Go on. I’ll be fine,” Carter reassured himself. “I’ll be fine, really. They’ll just mark my card down a bit.”

  “Come on then. Follow me.” Something about this office was really giving me the shivers and I wanted out fast.

  “See ya, dude. Hope it works out for you.” Milan saluted.

  “You, too, guys. Give ’em hell for me.”

  We left Carter staring at the ceiling, his round face white with stress.

  Our progress to the northeast of the City was subdued and deliberately desultory, just a group of kids cruising their boards. On our right were the great towers of the spaceport, their green lights dominating the evening sky. As we glided over parked aircars and took alley walls on the grind, a flash in the distance sent our hearts racing and the birds of the City cawing into the sky.

  “Satellite launch,” Athena explained.

  We all stopped to watch. For a while, the flare of the spaceship’s engine was too bright to look at even through tinted glasses. Gradually it changed from a white streak to a yellow one, then orange. The early stars were out in a tranquil violet sky, though you had to watch for some time to distinguish the slowly moving sparks that were satellites from stars and planets.

  “You know what I can’t get out of my mind?” Milan spoke quietly, looking up at the departing spaceship.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “The pirate. Our escape.”

  “That’s right. What was that all about? Can you explain it?” I shook my head. “Nope. Magic?”

  Athena snorted. “There’s no such thing. Somehow there’s a scientific explanation. Just don’t ask me for it.”

  No one did, so I kicked up my board.

  “Come on.”

  Once we had passed the spaceport, the City took a dive. No more squares of tidy flowerbeds, ringed about with shops and cafés. This was the industrial heart of town. Block after block of warehouses, defended by concrete posts and wire fencing. Occasionally streets of cheap redbrick-terraced housing intruded into the regularity of the factory layout, like sand working its way between great slabs of stone. These residential streets gradually took the place of the factories, until we were in the realm of takeaways, pubs, and small workshops.

  “Where the hell are you taking us, Ghost?” Milan asked, smiling at me.

  “Here.” I swerved to a halt outside a two-story repair shop.

  “Arnie’s Repairs,” Athena read from the sign that glowed neon pink in the darkening sky. “All makes of aircar and street-car catered to. Best rates in town. Quickest service.”

  The shutter was down and padlocked. I took everyone around the back and to the fire escape. A moment to check that the window had not been tampered with since I had last been here, then I let them in. The room was small enough for one; four would be a squeeze. It had an old sleeping bag of mine on the floor and nothing else, but I felt a small upsurge of affection for it. No other place I’d slept in felt like home.

  “Nice,” Milan observed sarcastically as he ducked in under the window frame.

  “It’s temporary. Bathroom is through that door. Kitchen is downstairs. But wait a sec. I’d better talk to Arnie first.”

  I descended quietly past the door to the kitchen and down to the main workspace. A serious poker session was under way; the table was covered in green cloth, and the bright pink faces of the players sweated under a harsh light. It was a while before Arnie sensed me. He made his excuses and stood up, pulling up and tightening the waistband of his trousers.

  “Hey, kid. Got anything for me?” We met in the shadows of the staircase, his face lit up with a greedy smile.

  Now, a lot of people wouldn’t like Arnie. He was ugly for a start, overweight, and greasy. But to some extent that was an occupational hazard. What was the point of washing when you were going to get covered in oil? He saved the big shower for Sundays and going-out days. You might hope, though, that beneath the rough exterior was a heart of gold, but if there was, he’d have had a transplant long ago and taken it to the bank. Arnie was one of those people who live for status, and he was driven by the idea of earning enough to upgrade his red card to an orange. Even these poker sessions were no idle fun. He took them in deadly earnest and would be in a storm of a temper the next day if they went badly. But he was no fool. For one thing, he understood that the workshop was never going to make him an orange. So he had a secret dream, and I had to admire him for this. He intended to win the annual aircar race one year. It was sort of a mad ambition, but not completely. Out back in the lockup was an old army airtank. Arnie knew how to fix it up enough to have a shot at the race. Assuming he could get the parts. Which is where I came into the picture.

  “Yeah. Good news: I’ve got the top three on the list.” I handed over a heavy bag that I had been lugging along from our den.

  “Ohh. Ace. Nice work, kid.”

  “But I have to ask you a favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Three others, stay a week, in the spare room with me.”

  “Hmmm.” His face dropped heavily. Then he fixed me with a stare from his watery gray eyes. “Deal.”

  And that’s how it was between Arnie and me. We made deals; we stuck to them. We didn’t intrude much on one another, and so we got along fine.

  Chapter 7

  THE BIRTH OF DEFIANCE

  “You know what this smells like?” Milan waved an arm around outside his sleeping bag.

  “Sweat? Mold?” offered Athena, voice muffled by the fact that she was still inside hers.

  “No. It’s the smell of freedom. We may be in a stuffy little room, but we can do anything we want.”

  It was nearly midday, and the others were waking up at last. I suppose all the excitement of the previous day had tired them out. I had been up all morning, mainly wondering about Cindella. How had she made us all invisible? It was as if she had entered our world straight out of a story, a story with pirates and magic. In a way, it was exhilarating. I’d always felt that there had to be more to the world than met the eye, that there were hidden connections and paths that were beyond our senses, but not entirely beyond. At special moments, like when boarding a near-impossible trick, you touched those paths, and you were part of some immensely vital whole. It was all very vague, and I broke into a self-deprecating smile that had nothing to do with what the others were saying.

  “And what are you going to do with your freedom?” Athena stuck her head out and reached around until she found her glasses. Score one for short hair, I thought as I looked at the great tangle of dyed black locks she was pushing aside in order to see us.

  “Ahhh.” Milan put his arms behind his head and sighed with pleasure. “Let me see. First, I think I’ll go boarding. Then maybe swimming. Then have a shower and sleep in the afternoon, before finding a party to go to in the evening. Sounds good.” He nodded to himself.

  “Is that what you want from life?” Nathan was up and dressed in his neat denim jacket and jeans.

  “Pretty much, yeah,” M
ilan replied, ignoring the critical tone of the question.

  “Not me.” Athena was energetic now, sitting up and gesturing with one arm. “I thought about it during the night. I’m going to form a new guild, get on the High Council, and really cause a stir.”

  “Far out.” Nathan had a thing for old-school superlatives. “What kind of guild? What name?”

  “A guild for all the anarcho-punks out there. A guild that doesn’t care about cards or the Queen. You know, one that refuses to go along with the system. So I was thinking of names like ‘Insubordination’ or ‘Defiance.’”

  This made me smile with genuine amusement and admiration. Most guilds, especially the old ones, had very snobby names: “Noble Spirit,” “Path of Virtue,” “Honor Bound,” and “Warriors of Valor” were at the very top. They were out to attract the elite cardholders, and even the vast numbers of no-hope guilds copied their style.

  “That’s a great idea, Athena! I’ll help you with logos and artwork.” Nathan paused. “But I wonder, maybe it shouldn’t just be negative?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, how about ‘Equality’ or ‘Harmony’?”

  “No way, Nath. Jumping jeebies, you’ll never get anyone to join a guild with those names.” Milan turned onto his side so he could see them, drawn to the discussion. “I know. It should be called Parrrrty!”

  “Defiance,” Athena stated firmly. “But I take your point, Nath. We can put some positive symbolism into the logo and tags, to show we have a creative agenda.”

  “Cool.” Nathan was pleased, and his face immediately relaxed into the distant expression he got when thinking about designs. He noticed me looking at him with amusement, and blushed.

  “What about you, Ghost? What are you going to do?”

  “I just want to know who I am. Anyway, we can’t hang about here all day. We have to go and earn our rent.”

  “Rock on. What’s that involve?” asked Milan with real interest.

  “A visit to a few aircar factories. But listen: one word of advice. When we go down, try not to sound like a fool in front of Arnie. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t say much at all.”