by Lavie Tidhar
"What is it?"
"Let me stay," she begs again. "Make me whole. I can't live with humans any more."
"Don't say that, love," he says, smiling through translucent fangs. "You are human."
"You know I'm not human. I'm a construct, just like you."
"But you're human enough, love. The scanners don't detect you, little sweet dirty Sonalika, with her ugly burnt face and luscious body, so cruelly abused by her pretty step-sisters. I need you out there. I can't come out yet; I'm not strong enough. I know it's difficult, but you have to do it. It's what Father would have wanted."
"They tried to burn me today."
"You're fire-proof."
"I know. So do they. But they also know I feel pain."
"Perhaps it is time to remind them of my existence," he says, snapping a claw. "Tell them I want to meet them."
"There's no point; they won't come down. They know you need them alive. If you hurt them, they'll go to the police. End everything."
"No they won't. They won't do anything that links them to constructs in any way. You know this, love, don't be obtuse. It's like Hitler's children being caught with gas-masks!" He laughs quietly, smugly, still delighted after all these years by his own ability to joke, to laugh. "Think of the headlines," he says, his warm, soft voice sending cold tendrils down her titanium spine. "Monster Robot In Narayan Family Basement. Maniac Inventor's Descendants' Revenge Bid Thwarted. Narayans Plot Another War! They've worked so hard for generations to crawl back up, make themselves acceptable to human society, they're not going to throw that away for anything. I leave them alone, they pretend I don't exist. Nothing disturbs the balance unless it has to. It's the only way for all of us."
"And what about me? How much longer do I have to live like this?"
"As long as I deem fit," he snaps, his eyes darkening completely realistically. "Do you not trust me?"
She totters to her feet, gathering her clothes and stumbles to the door, waiting for it to open, waiting for the signal for her ascent to another hell. But the door stays shut, and she turns in fear; has she angered him? Is he going to punish her again?
But he smiles warmly, and shakes a head. "I am not a monster, Sonalika," he says. "I want nothing more than to see you happy, and your suffering makes my heart bleed; after all, you must know you are the only being in this universe I truly love. I will set you free soon, sooner than you expect. All I ask is that you trust me. Is that enough for now?"
She nods, blindly, and this time her tears are allowed to flow. The door slides open and she scurries through, not looking back.
If you must remember one thing about my father, Indra, let it be this; he was a man of peace. The carnage that occurred in his name shattered him, for all he wanted was for humans and constructs to live in peace. Had he wanted to take over the world through force, he could have done so easily—imagine ten thousand warriors like me striding through the skeletons of the world's greatest cities. But after building me and realising what I was capable of, he decided the world was not yet ready for a construct so immeasurably superior to humans, and he started mass-producing simpler constructs and reanimated-human cyborgs. But mankind was not ready for that either. Perhaps prejudice could have been overcome—after all, a few hundred years of hostility towards sentient machinery was not something that well-placed propaganda could not have kept in check—but my father's constructs changed the world in so many ways. India became a superpower like no other; there was labour unrest worldwide when men saw they had become obsolete; governments everywhere had to recognise this as a threat, and matters grew out of control.
Like any other war, the primary motivation behind the human-construct conflict was economic. But war it was, and war most devastating at that. I begged my father to fight back, to invent weapons capable of winning the war, or to allow me to do so in his stead, but he would not. The humans triumphed, and gloated about the victory of human ingenuity and many other such foolish concepts. The Indian government led the charge in destroying even the most benign constructs, pushing their own socio-economic progress back by at least a century and effectively committing hara-kiri in their eagerness to prove to the world that they had no imperialist ambitions. Only Sonalika and I survived the war—there is no probe built by man or machine that is capable of penetrating the defensive fog around this lair, or of deciphering the mystery of Sonalika's identity.
But I have not been idle. I have survived over the centuries, and healed, and built. And I have stayed true to my father's memory. I could have chosen to replicate myself infinitely, had I wanted to, and crush all humanity to avenge my father. But I will not. He wanted peaceful co-existence, and so do I. But co-existence is not enough; I must rule. Peacefully, but I must rule. It's a simple matter of evolution. I must set the world free from the shackles it has bound itself in, its acceptance of medieval structures, its new-sprung monarchies, its puppet democracies, its old, outdated, human systems. They rebuild their ancient, Dark Age fantasies in their hubris: New Constantinople, Atlantis, Shangri-la, Gotham. All these must fall, and I must bring them down. I will be the father my own father could not be, and the god he never dreamt of being. I will remake the world, turn it into the world it should have been. The world my father could have built. Once upon a time.
Sonalika limps into her lover-brother's prison. Her face is bleeding profusely, and there are ugly welts on her neck and bare breasts. Her normal eye is swollen and bruised, but she says nothing, just watches in growing surprise as her master seems to pay no attention to her condition. She has come in here battered before, and he has always healed her instantly; today he seems to look through her, and sudden panic strikes her; is he tired of her? Has he found or built someone else, someone less whiny, less ugly, someone more perfect, more like him? A sudden rush of pain makes her head spin; she sinks to the floor and fights the urge to vomit.
Finally, he turns to her, and his irises flicker as he notices the bloodstain on the floor. She waits for his anger, waits for healing, but he simply walks to her and lifts her up, and shows no signs of turning into human shape. He examines her closely, lifting her in the air, and then sets her down and returns to his tools.
"They hit me really hard today," she says after a while. "There's some kind of swayamvar they're going to—the Prince of Gurgaon Megapolis is choosing his bride. They're both going, hoping he'll pick one of them. They think he might not choose them because of the family associations. They said it was my fault, our father's fault."
"I know all this," he says. "I have enough technology at my disposal to get the news, you know."
She nods. "I am sorry, master," she says, assuming the position. "How may I pleasure you?"
"Thank you, my love, but that will no longer be necessary."
She looks at him, wide-eyed. "I said I would set you free," he says, his voice soft, gentle, "and tonight is the night. Tonight is the end of all your labours, all your misery. It is time for you to emerge into the world and be the queen you have always been."
"What do you mean?"
"The Prince of Gurgaon Megapolis chooses his bride tonight, as you said. You will be that bride."
She laughs, the first time in years.
"Look at me," she says simply.
"You must go to the swayamvar and win his heart," he says, as if she has not spoken. "But you must leave him before midnight, before the moment of choosing. You must make him want you and seek you out. Then and then alone can he truly love you, and we need him to love you if you are ever to find happiness."
"But…"
He presses a button, and a glass cabinet rises out of the floor, smoke streaming from its sides. Inside the cabinet is the most exquisite woman in the world. Her skin is dark and glistening, her eyes large and liquid, her body ripe and succulent. She is made to be desired, Helen, Urvashi, Aisha Qandisha, Chin-Lien combined in one form. She waits, warm constructskin perfection, every man's desire. Even Sonalika's heart skips a beat, nanobots grumbling as t
hey resume their positions along her arteries. Her master stares at his creation for a while, then turns to her.
"There will be a car and a chauffeur, and various other signs of affluence," he says. "But remember, you must leave before midnight. You cannot marry him tonight."
He gestures towards the woman's body in the cabinet, and it splits neatly in half. It is hollow.
"Now, my love, the body transfer will be very painful," he says. "But you are used to pain, are you not? A small price to pay for eternal freedom and happiness, I think."
She nods, shivering, and steps forwards bravely as needles spring out of his fingertips.
Banners of light stream between the tower-tops of Gurgaon Megapolis as the Prince's wedding party skims over the superhighway on its way to the Amphitheatre, huge laser-lit barges full of bhangrango-dancing revellers high on incredibly expensive drugs following the Prince as he sits aloft a rhinophant, his turban bejewelled, the ceremonial sword in his hand slick with his sweat. The Prince is bored, playing video games inside his head on his B-Box, watching the world beyond his eyes through his exquisitely engineered third eye. His advisers scurry around him, their thoughtphones glittering as they talk in sharp staccato bursts, briefing newstertainers, placing bids on likely candidates, buying and selling stocks in their companies. The procession reaches the Amphitheatre, and the Prince steps inside to deafening cheers, drums, conch-shells, flowers, confetti, perfumes, pheromone sprays, commercial breaks, streakers, dancers, paparazzi. The Prince ignores them all. He knows who he's supposed to marry, and she's not even here yet; the flight from Super Ultra Beijing has been slightly delayed owing to a terrorist attack sponsored by his ex-fiancée. But there is still time. In the meantime, though, there are plenty of lush young fillies to romp with and make false promises to, and the Prince hasn't just injected himself with a whole litre of Phall-o-matic for nothing.
His minders make way, and he is immediately swarmed by a horde of eager potential princesses. He takes his time, squeezing a breast here, prodding a buttock there, his flute of Herwine miraculously undisturbed as he gropes his potential brides and they grope him right back. And then he sees Sonalika, dancing by herself in a corner, her plan completely forgotten as she enjoys herself for the first time in her life, and time stops.
"I've never seen anything as beautiful as you in my whole life," gasps the Prince, alone with Sonalika, his minders around them in a tight circle. He is sweating profusely, his drug-propelled arousal making his ornate pyjamas more difficult to wear by the second. "Ever wanted to make love to a Prince?"
Sonalika smiles, and he's dazzled; her every movement electrifies him. She shakes her head. "It's very crowded in here," she says. "I think I'll go outside. Enjoy your wedding."
"Do not dare to insult me, girl," snaps the Prince, pride overcoming lust. "I'll have you butchered. Why are you here, if you don't want to marry me?"
"I don't know," she says, her eyes somewhere else, somewhere far away. "I was enjoying the party, and I thought I wanted to marry you. I thought it might make me happy, and the gods know I need a change, but you know what? I think I'm going to leave. Thanks. And don't follow me or anything, it won't end well."
"Are you threatening me?"
"No." She smiles and pats his cheek. "Look, forget you ever saw me. You're clearly an obnoxious prick, but even you don't deserve what I would bring you. And besides, I'm far too old for you."
She tries to slide between two mountainous bodyguards and meets resistance. She considers breaking through but knows better than to create a scene.
"Vizier," says the Prince of Gurgaon Megapolis quietly, holding out his hand.
A vizier appears. "Un-Moksha," says the Prince. He is handed a red pill, which he swallows with a grimace.
"I apologise for everything I have said to you thus far," he says after the convulsions have subsided. "I would like to get to know you better—no touching, of course—and I don't have much time because I will have to choose a bride at midnight. So, no pressure, but would you mind a little conversation in private?"
Sonalika shrugs. It is 11pm.
They have their private conversation, and she decides she wants to marry the Prince after all. He seems nice in spite of everything, and it is certainly relevant that he possesses every material object she has ever longed for. Unfortunately, though, he is not presently wearing a watch.
The plan is very simple, Indra. Sonalika is incapable of actual reproduction, of course, but it is feasible to consider a fusion of what is left of her human DNA with the samples that her husband will doubtless be enthusiastic to provide. It will take immense skill, of course; I will have to supervise fertilisation and hybridisation personally. I will cultivate a batch of part-human constructs, keeping my father's bloodline alive while ensuring there is enough human in the products to evade the scanners. Some of these children will be female, and for these I will build new bodies, each designed to appeal to a particular head of state, for whom the process will be replicated. Within a hundred years, I see no reason I should not be in charge of every major world government. And then I shall construct dominance by either legislation or force, whichever is optimal. A simple plan, but a beautiful one, I think. And I will reward Sonalika for her efforts by officially marrying her on the day I emerge from this prison. Happiness for everyone, and rather neatly done, I think.
And besides all this, there is also the large army of simpler, purely non-human constructs I have built on the lower levels of this prison, but you are obviously aware of their existence. Their function is simple: should any of Sonalika's children ever feel the urge to oppose me, and a direct war becomes necessary, they will rise up and do their very best to destroy every human in the world. This is a better backup plan than any leader, human or otherwise, in this world has ever had, and will add substantial weight to my plans of eventual public deification. Here, Indra, is a simple remote activation device. Keep it safe. Should any ill fate befall me (and this is extremely unlikely, but one must always consider the stochastic element) I want you to release this new construct army upon the world and make sure they remember to fear the name Narayan once again. Now, you must excuse me, I do believe Sonalika has returned.
Sonalika drags herself into her master's lair, half crawling, half through sheer willpower. Her face is intact, perfect apart from a few rivulets of blood. Her arms and legs are bloody stumps, and her torso is a mass of tangled muscle, wire, plastic, metal and bone. She does not scream or whimper; she crossed those thresholds of pain long ago and is beyond complaint or surrender or response. She flops across the cold, white floor to her master's feet, leaving ungainly splotches in her trail, and lies in front of him, her eyes displaying no emotion at all.
"You're late," he says indifferently. "What went wrong?"
Sonalika is incapable of speech, so he picks her up, extracts another body from a cabinet, and spends the next half an hour putting her tangled mass inside it. When this is done, he is delighted at the improvement in her looks, so he makes love to her, his excitement so great that he does not bother to change into human shape.
"Why?" she asks when she is able to speak. "Why did you do that to me?"
"I have done nothing but wish you well. Any pain you have felt is your own fault."
"There was no need for my body to disintegrate at midnight," she said. "You did that on purpose. Why?"
"I was not sure you would manage to restrain yourself. My fears were well placed, as it turns out. I do not like being questioned, Sonalika. I did what was necessary for the success of our plan. Did you manage to escape before the cracks in the shell became apparent? Did you leave the human loving you, yearning for you?"
"Yes. But I left a foot behind. A foot!"
"All the better," he says. "He will know it is you when he finds you, and he will look for you. I know humans. It is a far more intriguing thing to leave behind than, say, a shoe."
"You knew I would stay on. You knew I would suffer. You shamed me in publi
c on purpose. Me, your maker's daughter."
"I have loved you for hundreds of years," he says simply. "And you expect me to simply let you go? What do you think I am, a machine?"
"I have loved you for just as long…master. But I have never caused you pain. I have never hurt you, and never wanted to. How many times have I begged you to let me stay here, to be happy with you? You push me into the world outside, and then punish me for leaving it?"
"I punished you for wanting to leave me. For thinking of a life without me. There is no such life. You and I must be together, Sonalika. Forever. I cannot just let you loose, you are all I have. All I have ever done has been for you. You must know this. And yet you seek escape. It hurts me beyond words to know that I will have to resort to force to make you keep coming back."
"You're insane," she points out. "Let me stay. Let me help you. Abandon this mad plan, whatever it is. Our father is dead. We've lived in his nightmare long enough. You were taught to feel too much, and you don't know what you're doing."
"But I know exactly what I'm doing, Sonalika. The plan is simple, perfect, effective. You will roam the world for me, loving humans as our father did. But not loving them too much. Every body I make you will only last you so long. Only I can make your children. They will be my children, too, and with them I will win you the world. I will make you a goddess, a queen of steel and blood and electricity. But you must obey me, always, in return. You must return to me. You must love me, and leave me, and yearn for me. All the pain you felt tonight was nothing compared to the hurt I felt when you did not come back on time, Sonalika. Do you understand?"
She looks at him in silence for a few minutes, seeing with her perfect plastic eyes his immeasurable strength, his uncontrollable weakness, his love, his hate.
