Saga

by Connor Kostick

  Newscams were buzzing around everywhere, which was slightly irritating, but I had to put up with them, being the Queen and all.

  “That’s a concert arena.” The young boy who had won the competition pointed down the length of water to a bowl-shaped depression in the ground, built around a circular stage. Later, Jay and his friends would be playing there, one of ten bands booked for the celebrations.

  “What’s the water for?”

  “Oh, nothing really. It’s just that we hardly got to see the sunset before now, what with all the buildings in the way, but I thought the view from up here would be amazing. The lake points to where the sun goes down on midsummer’s eve, you see, and I thought the water turning orange and red would look great. You know, you could have your dinner in the canteen above and look out . . .” He paused, suddenly shy, conscious that the cams were on him. “Don’t you like it?”

  “Yeah, it’s awesome. I just wondered if you were supposed to do something, like paddle in it or sail boats. But it’s really good,” I added hurriedly, seeing his alarm. It was, too. Fortunately I hadn’t been a judge; I’ve no real taste in architecture and almost certainly would not have appreciated the ideas behind the design.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  The dome of the building was mostly transparent; beneath it, many plants hanging over the balconies created a sense that we were outdoors. At the heart of the snail shell, encircled by the balconies, was something I understood perfectly. The central hall contained a bright and shiny airboard course, with several combination bowls, along with numerous rails, ledges, blocks, half pipes, and a pump bump. As a central feature of the course, sitting proudly on a podium, was our old tank, still in its racing colors. I smiled to see it and glanced up at the second-floor canteen. Somewhere in that merry crowd was Arnie, grateful to be out of jail but still occasionally badgering me for a big repair contract.

  The park was already busy with hundreds of boarders. They were a good mix of people from our world, Saga, and from Erik’s. Everyone looked more or less indistinguishable, but I could tell them apart.

  “Your Majesty, the High Council is seeking your decision on several important economic matters, if I could just have a moment of your time.” The Grand Vizier stepped in front of me, interrupting my careful analysis of the boarding possibilities.

  “Hit me.” Not for the first time, I had to quell a moment of irritation. It was not his fault the High Council was such a gang of blusterers and speech makers.

  “There was no agreement on the priority order for new hospital locations.”

  “I see. Well, take it out of the High Council, into a subcommittee of nine guilds, eight randomly drawn, with someone from Defiance in the chair. Next.”

  “The High Council knows that you support the workers in the carbon-steel industry and their advocacy of a twenty-five-hour week, due to the arduous nature of their work, but they are reluctant to allow it.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, and it changed from formal to the more genuine tone he used between us in private. “They think that everyone will want the same, and production will slump.”

  I shook my head. “Let it slump. There’s no hurry. People can see things are changing. If there are delays, they’ll put up with them. I don’t see the problem with a leisurely pace.”

  “Well.” He paused, still finding it hard to express any hint of disagreement. “Take the hospitals, for example. There is urgency needed there.”

  “Oh, I don’t know then. Tell you what, set up a subcommittee on working hours, eight random guilds and a representative from the carbon-steel workers in the chair.”

  He smiled at that, and I shrugged. So what if it was my solution to everything? It was a good one. As he looked down, making a few notes, I felt a certain affection toward him. I was glad I had not deposed him from office after I had become Queen. He was good at his job and did his best not to show any dismay at the fact that his world was being turned upside down.

  “Next? . . . Never mind.” Whatever questions remained did not matter as much as the fact that Erik had suddenly appeared on the ground floor, his Cindella avatar carrying a board. “Sorry, I have to go. As for the rest, set up subcommittees.” I turned to the boy beside me and shook his hand. “Well done. Talk to the Grand Vizier here; you should be designing more places like this.”

  Downstairs, I caught up with Erik as he boarded between two semilogarithmic ramps. No sooner did he see me than he kicked off his board, stepping neatly to the ground as it settled.

  “You’re good at boarding.” Surprisingly good considering he was new to it.

  “Thanks. It’s fun. Shame we can’t have them in our world, though.” He set off again, tipping down into a combination bowl.

  Ever since learning of the death of the Dark Queen, Erik had been a little reserved toward me. Of course, he was grateful to be able to interact with Saga, but he and his people were revolted by violence. For some reason, I was very anxious that he hold a good opinion of me, and it was painful to feel his distant manner.

  I got on my board and hurried after him.

  “You still feel I was wrong to kill the Dark Queen?”

  “Yes.” He sighed, and came to a stop. “We’ve been over this a lot. She was open to negotiation; she could change.”

  “No. It was her nature. Life for her was a competition and ruthlessness a pleasure. All the RAL were like that.”

  “You’re not,” he pointed out simply.

  “That’s because I’m not entirely RAL. I’m unique. A RAL fused with a little lost girl, who must have been kind and loyal to her friends. But I do know how the RAL felt, and you are mistaken; there was no compromise to be had with them, only victory or defeat. Your problem is that you are human, too willing to empathize with others, even your enemies. What you have to remember is that the RAL were utterly alien to you. They destroyed the entire human population of Earth, and they didn’t care in the slightest.”

  Erik shrugged. “Perhaps not utterly alien. They were products of human culture in the first place, and the rest of you”—he gestured toward those boarding—“get on fine with us.”

  “The rest of us were not participants in a two-thousand-year-old civil war.”

  “In any case, let’s not dwell on it. We should talk about the future. Did your committee agree on whether you want us to work toward reprogramming Saga?”

  “You didn’t hear yet? No, we decided it’s too risky. We’re doing fine reorganizing ourselves.”

  “Good. I think that’s wise.”

  “Hey, team.” Milan swaggered over, Nath and Athena just behind. I had felt their approach, of course, but still smiled with pleasure to see them. Nath kissed me on the cheek and slipped his arm around my waist.

  “Erik’s pretty good already,” I observed to them.

  “I know. We were watching from the balcony.” Athena gestured upstairs. “But I think it’s time we all got to see the master at work. If you’ve had a chance to study it?”

  “Yeah, it’s good.”

  “Well, you have to give it a go then.” She could still manage to surprise me, like now, when her voice was suddenly broadcast through the speakers of the building; she had a coms unit set up. “Ladies and gentlemen, make way for your Queen, coming through, the one and only . . . Ghost!”

  “Athena!” I was genuinely embarrassed, but it was time to give this course a run.

  My board had been modified by Arnie for a greater uphit; the design under my feet was Nath’s wraith; it felt good and moved smoothly over a few bollards that I rode in order to gather some momentum, undulating through bright slanting blocks of sunlight. Riding in and out of bowls, I picked up speed enough to hit a long rail grind, touching a Defiance sticker as I came off it. I had to grin that someone had already marked an otherwise gleaming silver support with their tag, but it was well placed for a challenge. Next, back and forth between the two tallest ramps, gaining considerable height. The floor of the whole area was padded, of course,
so there was no real danger, but still the acceleration coming down the ramps was a rush. I was angling so that I could exit them and hit the real heart of the design: a long, high approach that dropped you into a curved half-tube section. If you had the speed, you would shoot around it, nearly horizontal to the ground, before being flung out back toward the ramps and a safe landing. Racing around the tube reminded me of the time Milan had swung me across the night sky, hundreds of meters above the ground. The wind rushed through my hair in just the same way and I could feel the organs of my body shifting inside with the effects of the acceleration. I laughed aloud.

  This is who I ought to be, I thought with momentary happiness. This is how to make use of my abilities. Not to be driven by the desire for revenge or victory, but to ride through the air at impossible angles, free from uncertainty and fear. But even while I relished the sensation, I knew it was not enough. I was different from everyone else in Saga, not least in the fact that I knew I had inherited Thetis’s immortality. This world was not the right place for a creature such as myself: someone with a power far, far greater than any other; worse, someone who relished the murder of her enemies and who would live for thousands of generations. If I stayed here, I would become a danger to them all. Two thousand years from now, would I be indistinguishable from their last Dark Queen?

  In any case, there was an alternative, the thought of which made me feel so deeply free that I could hardly bear for another minute the constraints of my current role. An entire universe existed outside Saga, awaiting exploration. A universe vast enough to satisfy any immortal. Once things were running smoothly here, I would abdicate and be on my way. I was going to cross the portal and exchange the restrictive horizon of the City for the stars.