Eventually he came to a wooded outcropping and saw daylight in the mist overhead. He found a curving stairway carved from stone. At the top, he came to a sand-filled plateau that opened onto a balcony where the brilliant wasteland sun poured in, turning mist into a blinding, milky-white fog. Dove Langley sat turned away from him. Wind ruffled her ornate orange robes. She turned to him, face shining, eyes hard.
“There’s the lapdog,” she said.
Wodan felt the irony of the statement even as it stung him. She had been an agent of a tyrannical nation for her entire life, both a mascot and a spy. Wodan knew that the twelve Engels must have more strength and intelligence than their human taskmasters, and yet they still bowed to tradition and weight of numbers. Worse still, he could see that a literal leash was tied around her shoulders and waist. It trailed along the ground, snaked upward, and disappeared in the mist overhead.
Wodan smiled lamely, picked up the tether, and tried pulling it apart. His hands slipped along it, finding no purchase. He unsheathed Capricornus from his back and wrapped the tether about the blade. He pulled, but the leash only slipped in his hand and along the edge of the blade.
“Nice try,” said Langley. “I hadn’t thought about trying to break the leash myself. Was that a part of your big plan? Or is there even a plan?”
“I’m biding my time,” said Wodan. “Please, be patient. We’ll think of something that-”
“Biding your time?” She laughed without warmth. “Is that what you call doing nothing except what he tells you?”
His pain was not lessened by the understanding that he fully deserved the accusation. He sat in the sand beside her and stared at his hands.
They sat in silence for a long time. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. Wodan looked and saw that her gaze was fixed outside. “You don’t owe me anything. When I fixed your hands, I didn’t do it so you’d be in my debt. I told you to use them as you will, and you have.” She lowered her gaze and muttered to herself. Frustration and futile anger were written in her face. “What are you doing in here, anyway?”
“Setsassanar told me I was doing well, and asked me what I wanted as reward. So I figured I’d come see how you were doing.”
“Thanks,” she said almost immediately, forceful. She stared at a spot in the sand. A tiny mound formed, then quickly fell flat as she absentmindedly exercised her powers. “It’s more than anyone else has done for me.”
“I’m sure Justyn and Matthias are thinking of something.”
Langley laughed, this time genuinely. “He’s shown me some recordings. Mostly those two are getting drunk and arguing. One time Justyn said they had to contact Ktari for reinforcements, no matter what Big Dad thought, and Matthias argued with him for hours, saying that Big Dad would flip my switch if he had any idea what was going on. Another time it was Matthias that ordered some troops onto a plane so they could contact the homeland; Justyn jumped on him and they wrestled, right in front of everyone. Justyn won, of course.” She paused for a long time, then said, “They’re both idiots. Genetically enhanced retards.” She laughed again, quietly, missing them both deeply. And though it pained Wodan to see her in such a state, he laughed at the sorry pair as well.
“Well,” she said, turning to him. “What have you been doing the past week? Gods, you’re huge. I didn’t notice… you’re bigger than you used to be!”
Wodan blushed and turned away.
“You look like a freaking goon. What is he doing to you?”
Wodan flexed his arms in a comic pose. “Just beefing up. You know, being superhuman.”
She sighed and cocked her head.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m not like you guys. I wasn’t born in… in your state. I was just a normal person. This is a big change for me!”
“Just how big are you going to get? If your neck gets thicker than your head, I’m not going to talk to you anymore.”
Wodan hid his disappointment. He realized that he wasn’t just visiting Langley to check on her; he had secretly hoped that she would be impressed by his progress. “I’ve been lifting weights all week, but that part of the training is over. Now he’s going to start my endurance training. I’ll probably lose some of this weight.”
She said nothing, but turned away and shook her head slightly.
“And I’ve been fighting robots, too,” he continued. “Every day! It’s hard, but I think I’m getting better.”
“Wow,” she said, her voice flat. “He’s going to make a great killer out of you.”
In a flash his disappointment turned to anger. “But the difference with me is that I’m going to fight devils, Langley, not humans.”
Langley drew her legs up and put her chin on her knees. She was silent, and Wodan regretted the comment.
“I’m sorry, Langley, it’s just... I mean, the people who run San Ktari... don’t you think that...”
“You think that we should be in charge just because our thoughts are quicker and our bodies are stronger. Superbeings, you call us. But there’s more humans than us, Wodan, and they’ve been around a lot longer than we have. They didn’t get where they are by being idiots. You wouldn’t understand. You’re like some painter who goes unappreciated and wonders why businessmen do so well. It’s the power of the establishment. It’s slow moving, all-encompassing. It’s intricate... it’s interesting to dull people. The aims are simple, but the methods are complex. A person can spend their lifetime fighting for a position in one branch of the Empire, and to them it seems really important, but when you step outside and look at the entire structure, then even that important person’s position is just one small drop in an ocean. It’s overwhelming, Wodan. And we’re not like you. The thing we were born into... our positions were written out while we were just children. There’s a few of our kind who don’t go along with it. But they’re nobodies. They have nothing. There’s a few of us who like being worshipped, so they go along with the script that’s written out for them, and they wouldn’t think of deviating. Why would they? And then there’s some of us who... who are just crushed by the thing. Just crushed, Wodan.”
Wodan watched her for a while. “You’re wrong,” he said. “When you say that I’m different from you. You want to know a secret? Something Setsassanar showed me?”
Her eyes turned toward him.
“Your genes – I mean, the synthetic genetic code that was used to create you and the other Engels - it’s a variant of the one used to create me. Setsassanar showed me how two scientists from my homeland, Didi and William Childriss, found the code in a vault left by the Ancients. Didi tricked Childriss into putting the code into me, before I was born. Didi wanted the position of Head of the Department of Science, so he forced Childriss, his rival, to leave Haven. Childriss ended up in San Ktari. Childriss changed the code. He made twelve variations on the original theme. I guess he won a position by selling the idea of using superhuman gods to increase the Empire’s reach.”
Langley turned away and sat in thought. “Big Dad... so his name is William...”
“You never knew?”
She shook her head. “Imperial Engineer. That’s what he’s called… that’s what his name means when translated into Western. To us, he was always just... Big Dad.”
“But you see - it means we’re like family!”
“He changed the code,” said Langley, throwing her head toward him. “Is that why you grew so slowly?”
Wodan shrugged, then nodded. “There are other changes, too. I don’t know all the ways we’re different, but I know all the ways we’re the same. We’re all in the same situation, Langley. Don’t you see? We’re something more. We’re a new species! We have power and potential that… that no one else…”
“Will you listen to yourself? You’re so excited, you can’t even get the words out!”
“But why shouldn’t I be excited?” Wodan did not realize it, but Langley drew away just as he leaned forward unconsciously. “The human race has accepted living under monsters. Th
e idea of changing the status quo is like… changing the weather, or making the wasteland fertile! But none of that… none of that would be impossible for us!”
Langley edged away still more, then turned away and placed her chin on her knees once more. “Don’t let him fill your head with that… elitist resentment, Wodi. Everyone’s just trying to survive. Physically, emotionally, morally, whatever. You’re turning fanatical. The world doesn’t need another self-righteous warmonger. It’s already full of them. Black and white thinking only leads to trouble.” Dove Langley turned to him fully, then said, “You don’t see it now because he’s dangling candy in front of you, but that freak Setsassanar - he’s a monster, Wodan. He’s a lunatic who lives alone and sneaks out at night like a vampire. He is a vampire.”
Wodan sat back. “I see more than you think I see.”
The sand before Langley drifted in a small, syrupy-slow whirlwind. “I’m not judging you. Not really. We’re all tools, Wodan. Don’t worry about it. Concentrate on your studies. Keep doing whatever it is that you do. Keep doing the things that the rest of us can’t do.”
“I will,” he said, suddenly rising and leaving.
***
“Ah, my gentle Dove! How can she wound me with such cruel words, Apprentice?”
Wodan found Setsassanar in a stone dining hall supported by dark wooden arches. He saw medieval tapestries of war and witch hunts, as well as a painting of the blond man, labeled “Cecil”, which he had seen when he first entered the Tower. Setsassanar sat at a long table filled with platters of synthetic meat and fruit shaped into impossible forms. Robot Number Six, Black, sat by his side, clawed fingers clicking softly as he glared at his untouched meal.
“No doubt you listened to everything that was said,” said Wodan.
Setsassanar ignored the comment and adopted a pose of exaggerated grief. “To pluck that beautiful rose, dear apprentice, means risking the thorns of her spiteful commentary. Roses and thorns – good grief! Perhaps only the most ancient cliché can encapsulate the depths of a young lady’s heart. But what’s an ancient immortal in love to do, Apprentice?”
In love? thought Wodan.
At that moment he realized that Setsassanar had exchanged his black garments for the clothing of a medieval nobleman. He was, no doubt, dressing the part of a vampire from a story.
One of the aged murals in the hall flickered, was covered in static, then a moving image played on its surface. In a setting much like the one they sat in now, that of a darkened castle’s dining room, a scared man in a fine suit sat shaking as a gaunt humanoid monster, most likely a vampire, stood over him. The black-clad vampire was bald, pasty, with piercing eyes and hands that ended in long yellow fingernails. With its mouth hanging open the creature muttered, “Time is an abyss, more profound than a thousand nights.”
The image flickered, then the faded painting returned in its place. Wodan watched as Setsassanar chewed meat from the bone.
“What she said about you – can you say that it’s not true?”
“What is truth?” Setsassanar said quietly. Finishing his meat, he idly tossed the bone at Black. The automaton opened its jaws in a silent hiss. “Kidnapping her, isolating her, terrorizing her with the fear of not knowing what will become of her – evil, sure, whatever, but can you say that her words aren’t a stake through the heart?”
“How can you joke about this?” said Wodan, stepping towards his master. “Can you really justify kidnapping her? Can you honestly say that what you did isn’t evil!?”
“Yes, and no,” said Setsassanar, leveling his eyes at Wodan.
Wodan exhaled in frustration. “How can it be both yes and no?”
In a flash Setsassanar rose and placed his hands on either side of the table. “Because a son of Leviathan can’t afford to see a thing, label it, and cast it into a vault where he will never touch it again!” he shouted. “He studies levels of meaning! Good and evil set no boundaries for him! If anything, they are impediments! Throw them off! Wisdom is many-sided, a labyrinth! Have I allowed a brute laborer into my sanctuary? Even as you demand explanation you wait for me to give permission!”
“Permission?”
“Permission to feel what you already understand! You’re not stupid!” Setsassanar grew quiet once again. “So don’t pretend to be. Look at her situation. She is a god-slave of petty men who want to wipe the world clean of anything unlike themselves. She is worshipped by a million weaklings, but is permitted only to do or think what a circle of bureaucrats allows her. She does not fight this situation. Instead she frowns into a mirror and says, ‘We are tools, this is our lot in life,’ and ignores the screaming agony of her own soul. Now I have imprisoned her. Literally. I have drawn a circle around her, I have put a chain about her. This, she declares, is evil - and the one who did this to her is a monster. Having gone through this, will she ever be able to see her situation in San Ktari as she once did? Will she be able to allow it to continue with her habitual, childish understanding? Before you can break your chains, apprentice, you have to open your eyes and see them.”
Wodan’s mind turned rapidly. Does he really have some great plan to wake her up, to free her from enslavement? Or is he only justifying some perverse desire, taking what he believes is his?
Or is it neither? Is this just the way that the bloated mind of an ancient post-human being occupies itself during an endless stretch of eternal boredom?
“A cage, Apprentice,” said the Master, taking Wodan from his thoughts. “You have to see the cage you’ve built around yourself before you can break free. Is freedom something that you desire?”
“I…”
“Come, Wodan. Let’s take a look at some real monsters, shall we? Let’s see the cage that holds your soul.”
The paintings flickered, ruining the illusion that they were inside an ancient castle, then several bricks in the floor and wall moved aside as a shining, metallic membrane opened up. Thick, hair-like filaments grew within the opening and formed something part-ladder, part-stairway. Wodan followed Setsassanar down the strange, organic stairwell.
The dark tunnel dropped them into the blue crystalline chamber where the orb terminal was kept. Setsassanar touched the blue orb.
“Yes, Master?” said the familiar feminine voice.
“Slave Circuit, show the recording which I have prepared.”
“Yes, Master.”
Images flickered in the air and Wodan found himself in a comfortable-looking tavern in the Black Valley. Objects grew hazy, then sharp, then hazy once again as the “lens” looked about for its focus.
“There!” said Wodan, pointing. “That’s Mallery, the little gnat who got himself elected as one of my representatives. He hasn’t started stealing already, has he?”
“Patience,” said Setsassanar. “You wouldn’t want me to spoil the plot before its time, would you? Let’s watch and see what a hungry man does in his spare time when he has the illusion of power as his plaything.”
***
The din of farmers and laborers shouting as they threw darts in the background clashed with the stern faces of the six representatives sitting in the back of the Calf of Gold Bar and Game Room.
“Let me tell you what a vacation is,” said Mallery. “Let me tell you how they used to run things.”
Mallery leaned forward, making sure to place an elbow on the table so that his new cufflinks would catch the light of the gas lamp at the table’s center.
“In the time of the Ancients they would go on vacations all the time. Any time one of them was tired, he would simply say, ‘I think I’ll take a vacation,’ and then hop on an airship and fly to another city on the other side of the world. Then he would spend months, years, getting drunk and chasing women. Then he would come back home to his job any time he liked.”
“Gods below,” said one of the other representatives. “How did they keep things moving with people constantly leaving their stations?”
“Because there were always peopl
e like us,” said Mallery, taking a moment to look every man in the eye. “Because there were people like us who refused to give up. People who did what was necessary to hold it all together. None of us ran off to this so-called holy land when we had the chance, did we?” Mallery shrugged and looked off to the side, as if this idea had just come to him and he spoke only out of a sense of duty. “We didn’t run, but our self-appointed king certainly did. This place was already a mess, but now… I just don’t know.”
The others seemed bored, tired, or lost in their own thoughts. Then Mallery noticed that Representative Almus was staring at him, probing intently. Almus was a white-haired man with a long, drawn-out face and a nose like a cauliflower which he believed prevented him from taking the sort of leadership role that Mallery naturally adopted. Almus owned a newspaper printing business, and was interested in the idea of influencing others. He had failed as an artist early in life, and held a grudge fed by that failure. But every time he heard Mallery speak about his grand vision, he was always left with the feeling that this man dealt in forces more powerful than art.
He knows, thought Mallery. Let him watch and see how it’s done. I only have to bring in one of them. If one of them wants anything – anything – then I’ll show them how easy it is to get that very thing. Then the others will rush to join because of the terror of being left out.
“Don’t bother,” said Elmyr, another representative. He was a banker, and had large shoulders and a large mound of gray hair – but if one looked at him for long enough, one was struck by the realization that his head was very tiny, and gave the impression that he was a gnome peeking out from a dry bush. “Don’t bother trying to do anything, Mallery, because the Black Valley… is finished.”
“How so?” said Mallery. Everyone leaned in, and at first Mallery became envious, wondering if Elmyr was going to take everyone for a ride. Mallery calmed himself, thinking that perhaps he could use whatever drama Elmyr stirred up as a part of his own plans. “What do you mean it’s ‘finished’?”
Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants Page 29
