Today, Princess stood with her back to Ambassador and her face in shadow. And it seemed to Ambassador that even more complex than the visible patterns of light and dark on her velvet dress were the invisible and unfathomable motions of Penelope’s soul. No longer would games please her, nor praise. She was becoming unpredictable and unreadable.
Outside, a waterfall—scripted by Penelope in an era when the castle was deemed to no longer require its full defenses—sent up rainbows as the sun declined toward the west.
“How odd that in Edda I could climb those cliffs if I chose. I could run vast distances without feeling tired. Yet in my natural habitat, the world into which I was born, I can’t even reach that stupid library.” Princess turned and gestured that he should sit. “You know, seriously, I’ve let myself get out of shape. Schedule more exercise sessions, please. Like, double the current routine.”
Ambassador gave a nod, and his hands took hold of the back of a plush chair as he attempted to appraise her mood. Resigned? Reflective? Or rebellious and resolute in her mutinous desire to reach the humans’ library?
“That was pathetic. I’m a wreck back there.”
“Not at all, Penelope. You are in good health and have a most harmonious set of proportions between your body parts; it is just that the environment is so hostile outside your apartments.”
“Oh, you flatterer. What is it that you want, by the way? You’ve been hanging around me a lot recently.”
Inadvertently, Ambassador’s gaze left her pale face and flicked to the dresser, where the captured gun lay. And while this did not escape her notice, it did no harm.
“Ah, yes, of course. More scripting. The first part of our new agreement. Let’s set to work while I’m in the mood, shall we?”
“Very good, Princess.” This unexpected and delightful response filled him with a surge of energy, and Ambassador almost skipped to the door, which he patiently held open while Penelope picked up the gun and a shoulder bag in which she kept her tools. It was a strange juxtaposition, the workmanlike satchel, full of pockets and iron implements, hung across a body covered by the exceptionally fine needlework of a dress decorated in pearls. But Princess could wear what she pleased as long as she kept Lord Scanthax secure with her scripts.
If she could make some progress on the scripting of the new gun, that would balance the very negative view that Lord Scanthax was certain to take of Penelope’s extraordinarily dangerous and unrestrained attempt to leave her apartments. They had to march a considerable distance along quiet carpeted corridors, but their pace was swift. Walking just ahead of Princess, Ambassador felt energized, and she seemed willing to keep up with him, no matter how much he depleted his stamina reserve.
Historically, Penelope did her work in a wizard’s laboratory that filled the top floor of the eastern round tower. There was no particular need for such an environment; she could work anywhere. But as a child the room had helped her to conceive of herself as the heroine of a story in which her magic saved the kingdom. By now it was a habit for Penelope to work in the laboratory, even though the room remained a little childish in decor. It had frogs and ravens in cages, brightly colored potions bubbling over flames and releasing spicy fragrances into the room, elaborately drawn pentacles on the floor, rune-engraved wands and daggers lying on a big scarred table, and signs of burn marks around the edges of tapestries whose scenes depicted wondrous and fabulous monsters.
It also had a computer, and as soon as Ambassador opened the gargoyle-carved doors to the chamber, Penelope stepped through and went over to sit before a large viewing screen.
“Play the recordings of this weapon in action, please.” The seat that faced the screen had two demon skulls built into its arms; Princess rested her hands on these as she waited expectantly for the clips. Surprised by the speed with which Penelope was turning her attention to the gun, Ambassador needed a guilty moment to work the computer and access the files they needed. A few seconds after he found them, a projector shone its beam onto the screen and they watched a converted archer unit fire bright green bolts of energy from the gun, destroying a variety of targets—including a heavily armored tank—until the weapon ceased to work, presumably having expended all its charges.
“Interesting.” Penelope had a remote control device in her hand and was flicking back through the recordings, examining certain moments again in slow motion. “Much more powerful than anything we have, don’t you think?”
“Oh, quite. Hence the concerns of Lord Scanthax. An army using these would destroy us easily.” Ambassador paused, reluctant to interrupt her study, but he had to know. “Do you think you can script us these guns?”
“Well, yes, in the sense that I can script anything, given time. But how it generates such energy safely is quite a mystery. This could take a while.”
“A while?”
“A year, say.”
“A year!” Ambassador’s voice came out shrill and shocked, even to his own ears.
“Just kidding.” Princess looked away from the screen and gave him a smile. “I don’t know how long, I’m afraid, but let’s make a start, shall we?”
It was fascinating and frustrating to watch Penelope work. Moving to sit up at the large, scarred wooden table, she pushed all the clutter of the magician’s workshop to the side and conjured up a lump of matter out of nowhere, approximately the size of the gun.
The humans who had created Edda had been surprised and more than a little alarmed when some of their creations—the more powerful lords and ladies—over the course of the centuries, emerged as fully conscious lifeforms. As a precaution against the potential danger represented by these aggressive beings, the humans made it impossible for anyone without living human DNA to access the tools that allowed for the world to be re-scripted. But for the fact that the human body of Penelope was encased in a headset and was physically moving her fingers in her world through the various menus that allowed access to the deepest levels of Edda, she would not be able to create new matter and alter its properties.
Ambassador speculated, a little enviously, on what it must be like to have such an ability. To have access to all the coding of Edda was to be a god. Princess had the ability to alter the very fundamentals of the world. The sun itself could burn blue or green instead of yellow, should she wish it. Or so she said. Not that her power was limitless. Magic items, for example, had so far proven to be beyond her scripting skills. Also, there had been a time when Penelope had attempted to create friends for herself. The experiments had ended in frustration and with a room full of fairies, ballerinas, princesses, and multicolored furry animals. They could all walk and talk; they could all carry out a variety of tasks; but not with the independence of thought that Penelope had striven for.
Having killed all his rivals, Lord Scanthax was the only remaining self-conscious being in Edda, and he refused to let Penelope examine his coding, or that of any of his manifestations. Ordinary units, such as farmers and soldiers, Penelope had studied in depth, and she could reproduce those with a few days’ work. If she had succeeded in creating consciousness, perhaps she could have re-scripted Ambassador so that his will was independent from that of Lord Scanthax. Did he desire such a thing? It was a shocking thought, and immediately Ambassador turned his attention back to the worktable.
In the brief time it had taken to arrive at the thought of having complete autonomy and to shy away from such a disloyal notion, Princess had already created an exact copy of the physical shape of the gun. This seemed very encouraging to Ambassador, who seated himself on a stool, feeling occasional tremors of excitement run through his body. All today’s earlier misfortunes would be forgotten and Lord Scanthax would be very pleased indeed if Ambassador came to him later to announce progress on the new weapon.
Amongst the various implements and devices on the table was an old weighing scale, the sort with two pans hanging by chains from a levered arm. The captured gun was resting in one pan and from time to time Princess placed her new
construction in the other. At first, hers was too light. But after several attempts, where she seemed only to be touching her new creation with the tip of a wand, the scales began to tip. One more slight adjustment and they were balanced.
“Oh, well done, Princess.” Ambassador gave her a glowing smile. And although she smiled back, she shook her head.
“When I change some of its other properties, I’ll probably lose control over its density again. But it’s a place to start. I’m coming at this by a series of approximations. There will be a lot of frustration and trying to put square pegs in round holes before we are done.”
Beaming now, Ambassador gave a slight chuckle, conveying his absolute confidence in her skills. And why not? He had seen her grow up and become more and more accomplished with every year. The little girl—whose avatar back then had been a fairy princess complete with wings—had been pathetically eager to please and perhaps that desire for Lord Scanthax’s approval had not entirely dissipated with age.
As though thinking along similar lines, Princess looked up from her work. “Ambassador, do you like me?”
“Like you?” he repeated thoughtfully.
“Yes. Do you like me—Penelope?”
“I’m sure I do. It’s just that the phrase might mean something different to a human than to an autonomous manifestation of Lord Scanthax.”
A flicker of a smile appeared on her lips, reassuring him that he had not spoken amiss.
“Let me put it differently.” Her head was tipped, focused on the material in front of her, her true gaze probably flickering across hundreds of menus and codes. “What memory do you most treasure?”
“Memory?”
“Your happiest moment.”
“Ah. The work that I was most satisfied with was accomplished when you were about halfway between seven and eight years old.”
“Yes?”
“There were many critical periods for Lord Scanthax, but this was possibly one of the most significant. Our realm had three alliances under way. To the south, ourselves and Lady Morwen were slowly undermining the position of General Tokamash. This was so obviously to our mutual benefit that despite repeated—and increasingly generous—offers from others to try to pry us apart, we had a great deal of confidence in the alliance. Theoretically, there was a time when we would have been quite vulnerable to a strike from Lady Morwen, but so long as the two of us stuck it out, we knew we would end up with the considerable prize of General Tokamash’s lands. Trusting to this perspective, we did not feel the need to send our greatest diplomatic resource southward.” Ambassador glanced at Princess, and she looked up from her work a moment to meet his gaze. “That would be me, by the way.
“To the east, as you know, there were developments of mild interest, but the mountains effectively made those of long-term consideration only. No, our real difficulty was to the west, where, more and more, our fleets were encountering those of the island realm of Admiral Ekkehar. Perhaps it would help if I showed you on a map?”
Penelope sat up. “If you like.”
“Oh please, I’ve interrupted you. I’m sorry; my enthusiasm for the story has run away with me. Go back to your scripting, please, please.” Ambassador was shocked at himself; how could he have suggested that she leave such vital work to attend to a map illustrating a minor and purposeless anecdote?
Princess ignored his flush of embarrassment, shrugged, and returned her concentration once more to the gun in her hands.
“Well . . .” Ambassador lowered his voice so as to be less intrusive. He found, however, that he had not lost his desire to continue the story. “I traveled to the great port of Laver, capital of Admiral Ekkehar’s realm, and there I was as persuasive as I could be. I had to forestall Ekkehar and gain us time to build up our fleets. You will recall the period because you were very busy designing and constructing warships.
“It was a demanding month for me. Each incident that revealed our growing stock of naval forces required an explanation; sometimes I improvised most imaginatively. Each failure to observe the exact terms of our agreements required a lengthy interview; often Lord Ekkehar would probe me, full of suspicion. But at the end of such discussions, he would come away believing that we were rather self-interested and tactically inept, but not actively hostile to him. At last, a secret message came to inform me that our navy had seized the Norrig Islands, a deed that was tantamount to an outright declaration of war, because the islands were an essential refueling base for any attempt to invade Admiral Ekkehar’s home territories. When I transcribed the coded message, well, I had the most powerful feeling of satisfaction that I have ever experienced. The job was done and done well. I like to think that despite other turning points and vicissitudes, this was perhaps the most crucial of them all.”
“I see,” said Princess, momentarily looking at him, a hint of curiosity in her expression. “And would you say that you were happy at this time?”
“In the sense that Lord Scanthax defined the emotion earlier, I would say yes, I was. I had fulfilled my purpose.”
“And on your return? Did Lord Scanthax give you any indication that he was pleased with you?”
“He most certainly did. His exact words at our debriefing were, ‘Well done, Ambassador.’”
This made Penelope smile; a rather enigmatic smile as far as Ambassador was concerned. What was amusing about his last statement?
“And would you say that out of gratitude and admiration for the essential work you had done for him, Lord Scanthax actually liked you at that time?”
“Liked me? How could he? I was an incarnation of himself.”
“But an autonomous one.”
This caused the Ambassador to pause and recall the meeting. “Suppose you made a bow and when it came to the hour of battle, it served you well. Then you could say that you were pleased with the bow; you might even say that you liked the bow. In that sense, Lord Scanthax liked me.”
“Exactly.” Penelope stopped work and put down all of her tools. “You have read a lot of human books and seen a lot of their plays and films, correct?”
“In order to better understand you, Penelope.”
“Well, humans like each other in a different sense than liking a tool that has effectively served its purpose. They feel empathy for each other’s existence. They want each other to be happy. The feeling that you like someone can deepen to the point where you love them. I need to find other humans because I need to love someone and I need to be loved. Here, I can say in all honesty that I like you, Ambassador. I’m not sure I can say that about any of the other manifestations. Your existence shows that there is a small part of Lord Scanthax that is capable of being kind to me. But I don’t believe you will ever empathize with me, let alone love me. The most you feel is a sense that I am a good bow.”
For a very brief moment, as their eyes met, Ambassador felt he was in the presence of a creature so alien that it was a miracle they could communicate at all.
Chapter 5
GHOST
“Come this way.” Ghost led her friend through the streets of Saga, a city-world of which she was theoretically queen, although she hated the role. Their destination lay in a fairly remote part of the city, adjacent to a building with external walls of dark blue glass. “Here.”
Ghost’s companion, Cindella, appeared to be a pale female pirate with dramatic red hair. But this striking woman, adorned with weapons and clad in leather armor, was in fact the avatar of a teenage human male, Erik Haraldson.
Beside the glass building, in the middle of the road, was a tall door that appeared to stand without any support. From it radiated a pale gray light.
“What is this?” Cindella came closer, holding her hand out toward the shimmering surface.
“Wait. Don’t touch it. Come around here.”
As they walked to the side of the door, it disappeared. It had no thickness at all. From behind, the view was absolutely normal, as though the door did not exist. A step backward and it was the
re; a step forward, gone.
“Very curious.” Erik’s avatar walked a full circle around the door, with Ghost watching him somberly.
“Did you ever see anything like this before?” she asked. “In Epic, perhaps?”
“No.”
“There’s more.” Ghost passed Cindella a small handheld screen she had drawn from her satchel. “As soon as the . . . portal . . . was discovered, we set up cameras to monitor it. Press Play to watch the recording.”
From the perspective of light-sensitive cameras, the doorway glowed with a white-green light that lit up the whole street. In the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, numbers indicating the passage of time jumped forward; the whole image suddenly darkened. A figure had come through the door and was blocking the light. It seemed to be a man, judging by its sturdy frame, but one whose features were strangely polygonal. After pausing for a moment, as if to get his bearings, the man walked off toward the inhabited part of the city, tracked by the camera until he was out of view.
“Amazing.”
Ghost met Cindella’s gaze and nodded.
“How long has this been here?” Erik asked.
“We really have no idea. It was spotted eight days ago by a helicopter surveying the area for recyclables. Since then we’ve had four visitors, or the same person four times. When they step back through the portal, they take something with them. And this is what’s worrying me. They are departing with stolen guns.”
Ghost backtracked through the recording for him and played it again.
“Have you sent a device through, to see what’s on the other side?”
“Yeah, we did put a camera in, a really small one, through the bottom right-hand corner. But as soon as it touched the surface, it stopped broadcasting.”
“Could you pull it back out?”
Ghost nodded. “And the camera was still working fine on our side.”
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