Edda Page 32

  “I see.” Penelope nodded, quite prepared to believe that the magical avatar in front of her was capable of holding her own against hundreds of opponents. “Can I ask you something else? How many people are there in Saga? And how many humans on your planet?”

  “About six million,” said Ghost.

  Gunnar spoke for the two humans. “There’s just over five million of us on New Earth.”

  Millions. Of course. Why was she so surprised? But it was intimidating all the same. How did you make friends when there were so many people? By going to school with just a few of them, perhaps. Or by living near them. If she had grown up as a normal human, would she have lots of friends by now?

  “When I’ve trapped Lord Scanthax and secured the sole use of these controls, will you take my avatar back with you to Saga and be my friends?” As soon as she finished speaking, Penelope was horrified with herself. It had just jumped out, that over-needy appeal. Beneath her headset she felt a flush of embarrassment.

  The silence lasted a fraction too long, before Athena spoke.

  “Of course.”

  “No—I mean, you don’t have to be my friends. I’ll find friends. Just help me get started there.”

  “How long has it been just you and Lord Scanthax here?” asked Erik kindly.

  “All my life.”

  Gunnar drew a sharp breath, as if horrified. “And there were never any other humans to take care of you as a child?”

  “No.”

  Wondering about the life she should have had reminded Penelope of a question that she had been meaning to ask.

  “Are any of you good with computers?”

  “There.” Ghost pointed to Athena with an expression of pride. “She’s the best.”

  “I’m not bad.”

  “I’ve been trying to access the films for the exodus of the humans from the colony, but they are blocked.”

  “Show me.”

  Leaning over the console, Penelope opened menus until she hit the barrier.

  ACCESS TO THESE FILES REQUIRES A USERNAME AND PASSWORD.

  “Hmm.” Athena rummaged in her bag. “You need one of these.” She clipped a small device to the keyboard wire. It had a tiny display on which letters were flitting by so fast it was impossible to read them. “There you go.” Athena got out of her seat and gestured for Penelope to take her place.

  “Told you!” Ghost smiled at Penelope as she sat down at the console.

  The little screen had two words on it:

  SCANTHAX TH3*VQO3

  Penelope’s hands were shaking again as she scrolled through the films that had previously been inaccessible to her. Was she about to find the real reason her parents had left her behind? Everyone looked up at the screen as the film she had chosen, Penelope 1, began to play.

  “Aww.”

  A baby was on-screen, strapped into an egg-shaped carrying device.

  “Hush now, Athena,” said Ghost. “It’s your turn to get serious.”

  A robot rolled swiftly into view, scooped up the carrier without a pause, and rushed on out of the shot. A different camera angle showed the robot as it rolled on down a corridor. The baby began to cry, but only for a few seconds; a needle from one of the robot’s fingers jabbed into the baby’s plump cheek, and almost instantly its head lolled to the side. The scene cut again to another camera, showing the robot turning abruptly into a room whose door immediately closed behind it, revealing a sign: DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  “Strange. What’s that about?” said Athena, suddenly somber.

  Now they were looking at the view from the original camera, the bare floor where the baby had been. A woman came into view, seen from above, facing away from the camera.

  “Where’s Penelope? Who moved Penelope?”

  Her voice was angry and anxious. As the woman turned toward the camera, Penelope paused the film. There she was. Her mother. None of the others spoke as Penelope looked at the woman for a long, long time. At last, once every detail of her mother’s face had impressed itself in her mind, Penelope let the film go on. It had been edited to track the woman as she ran back and forth, stopping people, becoming more and more frantic. Penelope’s mother tried all the nearby rooms and even rattled the door with the high voltage warning sign. But it was locked. This painful search went on for nearly thirty minutes, with the woman in tears and several other people now helping in the search.

  “Peri, look.” A man showed her a screen. “Penelope’s listed as being on the Argo.”

  “No. No. That can’t be. The Argo is taking off. Call them. Tell them to stop. Tell them to wait for me!”

  “I’m sorry, Peri.” The man shouted after her mother as she ran down a corridor as fast as she could. “There’s been some mistake. But she’ll be well looked after for the journey.”

  To judge by the date and time in the bottom corner of the screen, the film then jumped forward four hours. All the corridors were empty. The door to the high voltage room opened and the robot rolled out, still carrying the unconscious baby. It took her down several corridors to an air lock and a room in which another robot waited. Stacked high on the shelves were packets of milk formula and baby food. Only now did the image become familiar and match the scenes Penelope had seen a hundred times before in Lord Scanthax’s propaganda film. On this viewing, however, everything was a blur. Her tears had filled the headset. Her poor mother. And poor Penelope. She had not been left behind. She had been stolen from her family and friends by a monster.

  “No no no.” Had she spoken aloud? She had. Penelope turned her avatar around and fled. Her avatar pounded down the corridors, careless of whether anyone would hear her or not. As soon as she was back in her bed, she unclipped.

  Once she became aware of her human body again, Penelope found that her feet were hammering up and down on the bed, while her arms were thrashing around at her sides. “No! No! No!” Her howls filled the small chamber. A film of sweat formed on her, but she felt cold. Anguish gripped her from head to toe. But the dominant feeling surging through her now was not misery or rage; it was shame. What must those other people think of her? How stupid of her not to have realized it all along. No one would leave a baby behind by accident. She was a fool. A stupid, stupid fool. And pathetically, she’d served her kidnapper for her whole life. Well, no longer.

  Chapter 30

  THE BATTLE IN THE HALL

  Redistribution Day. Penelope had clipped up to Edda after a terrible night during which she had revisited her life in the light of the knowledge that Lord Scanthax had kidnapped her as a baby. For hours she had cried at her pitiful story, but gradually a cold resolve had crept over her. Up to this day, her life, seen properly, had been that of an exploited victim. But that was about to change, and Penelope was determined that from this day on her life would be her own.

  Ever since she had come up with the plan of trapping Lord Scanthax, she had supposed that on Redistribution Day she would be a quivering and palpitating wreck, overwhelmed by anxiety and fear of failure. One of her great worries had been that she would not be able to keep herself composed enough to deal with unforeseen contingencies. Now the day had come and Penelope found no trace of anxiety in her thoughts, just a grim determination to succeed.

  Her avatar dressed for the ceremony with great care and with a deliberate pace that was driving Ambassador into a state of considerable agitation.

  “Please, Princess. Lord Scanthax expects the top table to be filled by now. Please—really, what need is there to keep brushing your hair like that? It is splendid, truly splendid.”

  A page knocked and entered without waiting for a response.

  “Lord Scanthax says to come at once; everyone is waiting.”

  “See, Princess. Please.”

  She got up without answering him. Everything was in place: her tiara, her finest corset, her three-layered skirt, the handgun strapped to her thigh. As they left the bedroom, Penelope picked up the “glue gun” she had been working on
all this time.

  “Princess?”

  “I have good news. I have made great progress with the energy weapon. I shall give a demonstration today.”

  “Oh, how wonderful. Lord Scanthax will be delighted.”

  Ambassador was so pleased that he gave a leap of delight, an action that was quite out of keeping with his portly figure and ceremonial clothes.

  Although Ambassador attempted to rush her along to the Feast Hall, Penelope would not be hurried. It was important that she arrive after all the other manifestations had entered the room.

  The corridors were strange today. It was as though she were walking through them for the very first time, seeing them through the eyes of the people of Saga. What manner of creature ruled a castle such as this? Clearly, a person who had no interest in art, fashion, history, or any kind of culture; for while the rooms of the castle were full of the varied and wonderful treasures of four worlds, these splendid artifacts were stored haphazardly and remained undisturbed except for once a year, when trophies were sought for displays that reminded the lord of his conquests.

  When they entered the Feast Hall, conversation ceased everywhere, and—like a herd of deer turning to investigate an unexpected sound—as one the faces of all the lesser manifestations turned toward her, with exactly the same expression on them all. Lord Scanthax, resplendent in his gleaming breastplate, stood frowning up at the top table. He gestured for them to come over.

  Penelope, however, had stopped the moment she had heard the door close behind her. Swiftly, she ran the “glue gun” around the frame of the door, fusing it with the wall.

  “Princess, what are you doing? The lord wants us.”

  She bent down and completed the circuit by moving the gun along the polished wooden floor, fastening the bottom of the door to the ground.

  “There is no need for such precautions, Princess,” Lord Scanthax called out. “It was the threat of bombs that was the issue.”

  “It isn’t a precaution.”

  “Oh. What have you done, then?”

  “What have you done?” echoed Ambassador disconsolately.

  “I’ve sealed you into this room. All the windows and walls are impregnable. Therefore, I’ve made you and your manifestations prisoners.”

  There were a few gasps and a certain amount of alarmed murmuring rose up among the lower-level manifestations.

  “Why have you done so?”

  “So as to bring about your extinction.”

  “Oh princess,” said Ambassador and slumped to the floor, head in hands. “He’s going to kill you now.”

  It was uncanny the way all the minor manifestations turned at once to look at Lord Scanthax while he considered Penelope’s words.

  “I’m disappointed. Admittedly, it has been increasingly difficult to obtain your assistance in recent times. Yet I believe you could still be of value to me. Tell me, what happened to change you from that eager girl who was so vital to my success?”

  “I worked as hard as I could for you,” said Penelope, “when I believed that you cared about me. But you don’t have any empathy for me at all, do you?” Her voice was trembling, but her avatar remained calm.

  Alert and poised for action, Assassin stood up. “My lord, this is dangerous. If she has brought a bomb here, she might be in a position to implement her threat. Switch off her life support at once and let us continue with the ceremony.”

  “No!” Ambassador cried out. “She still wants to help us. Don’t you, Princess? It’s just a human trait, for her to be so emotional as to say things she doesn’t mean.” He looked up pleadingly at Penelope.

  “All I want is to be held by my mother,” she spoke softly. “To laugh and play with my friends. To find someone to love. But I’m the loneliest human being in the universe, thanks to you. I’m light-years away from the nearest human population and as things stand, I’ve no idea how to find them. So I’m going to watch you die; after which, I’ll have my avatar travel the four worlds until I find other humans.”

  After contemplating this statement for a while, Lord Scanthax shook his head. “Assassin is correct. Ambassador, you have failed us. Executioner.” He turned and from the hidden alcove in the wall behind him emerged his leather-clad bodyguard, great ax in hand. “You see, Princess, you have made a great mistake by revealing your hostility toward me in this way.”

  While Lord Scanthax was addressing Penelope, the black-hooded Executioner made his way to the fireplace at his usual slow and foreboding pace.

  “You have overlooked something very important. There is another exit from the room and Executioner will use it to reach your life-support systems and switch them off.”

  Leaning against the main door, Penelope said nothing.

  “You have about five minutes to plead with me. But I doubt you will change my mind. I don’t see it as too great a waste to eliminate you now; you were becoming less and less effective and the energy cost of keeping your human body alive was a major burden.” Lord Scanthax was not gloating or being sarcastic. Penelope understood him well enough by now. From his perspective, he was simply deleting a resource that was too unstable. Executioner opened the secret door. A sharp blade struck him in the throat, and as he toppled back, dead, Cindella stepped into the room.

  A swirl of consternation swept through the hall, like a whirlpool centered on Lord Scanthax. His manifestations scrambled to draw their weapons; exhibits toppled and broken glass scattered along the floor.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Scanthax. I’m here to negotiate with you. Please, let’s discuss our futures in a calm and reasonable fashion.”

  More panic, at least among the less important manifestations. The ones that mattered, however, were those surrounding Lord Scanthax: Assassin, General, Chancellor, Engineer, Scout, Admiral, Air Commander, and Quartermaster.

  “Who are you?” shouted Lord Scanthax furiously.

  “My name is Erik. I’m a human; this is my avatar, Cindella.”

  At the word “human,” the room stilled. It was understandable that Lord Scanthax would dread what he could not control, and the fact that humans had access to the game menus and he did not meant that he was bound to treat an encounter with a human as a very serious matter.

  “What do you want here?”

  “First, I’d like Penelope at my side. Penelope, come on over here.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Penelope?”

  She shook her head.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She still did not move.

  “What else do you want?” As Lord Scanthax called out his question, Penelope noticed that Assassin and Scout were edging away from the center of the room, mixing with the less self-aware manifestations.

  “I want to find a means of ensuring that you will not invade Saga.”

  “Why?”

  “Because all the inhabitants of Saga are sentient. Many of them are my friends and if you invade—judging by the other worlds we traveled through—you’ll kill them all.”

  “I see. And what if I want to press ahead with the attack?”

  “Then I’ll try my best to stop you.”

  “By what means?”

  “By means of the magic items and the skills of this avatar?”

  “Oh!” Lord Scanthax laughed with relief. “Is that all?”

  “Permission to shoot her?”

  “Fire away, General.”

  The shot was loud and accurate and Cindella staggered back a pace. But then she righted herself, unharmed, and a fearful chatter broke out among some of the manifestations once more.

  “It’s no good. You’ll find it very difficult to kill Cindella, and even if you do, there are millions of us who will help defend Saga.”

  “And yet”—Lord Scanthax did not sound troubled—“there is something that does not make sense here. If you really are human and represent so many, surely there must be a few of you who could rescript this world and—for example—eliminate my troops without difficu
lty.”

  “My people no longer know how to rewrite the games. Generations have passed since we had those skills.”

  “Well, let’s test the strength of your negotiating position, shall we?”

  Climbing onto the top table, Lord Scanthax shouted at the top of his voice, filling the hall with his powerful bass.

  “All majors, colonels, and legates to me! Protect me! All other officers, kill her.” A rush of bodies greeted the orders, some running to Lord Scanthax, others charging at Cindella. Despite the noise, General suddenly roared out, audible above the sudden racket of military boots on the wooden floor.

  “We didn’t storm Tharsby Pass in three days of constant fighting to die here, in our own chambers. We didn’t clear our enemies from four worlds to fall to a single pirate in our midst. Don’t be dismayed by what she says about being human. Kill her.”

  Cindella sprang with superhuman grace above the oncoming soldiers and landed on a chandelier, causing it to sway violently with the impact. Nevertheless, her agility and balance were impressive, and Penelope was pleased to see that Erik’s avatar now had a bow in her hands. Soon the manifestations would start to die. This thought was confirmed by Erik’s next words, called down to the soldiers thronging below Cindella.

  “Well, it seems as though I will have to kill a few of you, to oblige your lord to take a more realistic view of his situation.”

  Erik sounded pleasant and good-humored, but all the same, his avatar began notching arrows and shooting down Ruin and Edda officers. The bullets, arrows, and daggers that were striking her in return had no effect.

  “All non-combat manifestations flee, escape, hide, disperse!” yelled Lord Scanthax. “Cease fire. Cut down the chandeliers.” He had come to appreciate the fact that Cindella was unaffected by their missiles.

  Climbing onto a table to get a better view, Penelope looked anxiously over toward the fireplace. Good. Ghost was peering into the room from around the edge of the secret door.

  A mighty crash snapped Penelope’s attention to her left, where Assassin had cut through the last rope supporting the chandelier on which Cindella had been perched. The pirate must have leaped to the next chandelier, which was swinging wildly about, before it, too, fell to the ground, smashing exhibits below. Cindella had dropped her bow and now she jumped an incredible distance to land high up on a window ledge. It was a precarious position; with the lead and glass windows sealed tight, there wasn’t much to hold on to, but Erik must have found the interior clasps of the windows. With the toes of Cindella’s boots just gripping the narrow sills, and with one hand on the windowpane, she still had one hand free and with it drew a dagger.