Edda E-Book

Conor Kostick

• Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Avatar Chronicles
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 554

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Edda is a 'virtual' world ruled by the electronic intelligence of Lord Scanthax. Penelope is a teenager ensnared in Edda. Can she uncover the truth about her human past and gain her freedom? And are there other humans still 'out there'? A fast-moving fantasy from the author of internationally acclaimed Epic and Saga. Edda has all the exciting elements of avatars, mythical beings, magic, and cataclysmic battles, but also challenges the older reader to think deeply about humanity and power. 'A captivating page-turner.' School Library Journal, starred review of Epic, Conor Kostick's first novel.

Leseprobe

Reviews

EDDA

Praise for Epic

Shortlisted for Reading Association of Ireland Award 2005

Foyle’s Book of the Month (UK)

Shortlisted for Lancashire Children’s Book Award 2006

IBBY honour list 2006

A USA School Library Journal Best Book of the Year 2007

One of the ‘Best Books of the Year’, Miami Herald

Texas Lone Star Recommended Reading, 2008–2009

‘A triumph of perception, control, focus and a truly dazzling writing style that takes us through a world of avatars and ogres, orcs and dwarves, of human concerns and human feelings, a narrative that itself deserves the word “epic” … an attention-grabbing action tale in the new genre that might be called “cyber-fiction”.’ Tony Hickey, Village

‘The action is nonstop, it’s easy to keep track of who’s who, and the story flows seamlessly as characters move between worlds, maintaining their individuality in both. A surefire winner.’ USA Booklist, starred review of Epic

‘A very exciting first novel in terms of its political, social and psychological themes.’ Celia Keenan, Sunday Independent

‘A fantasy novel which moves well beyond the stock elements of the genre … “clip up” as the characters say, and enjoy!’ Books for Keeps

‘Well written and engaging, Epic will easily draw in avid readers and video-game players. Appealing to fans of both fantasy and science fiction.’

USA SchoolLibrary Journal, starred review

Praise forSaga,

the breathtaking sequel to Epic, also published by The O’Brien Press

Shortlisted for Reading Association of Ireland Award 2008

‘Futuristic fantasy can provide a powerful critique of dehumanisation and help explore ideas about identity … sophisticated.’ Sunday Independent

‘It is a rock ’n’ roll, helter-skelter time, a journey not for the faint-hearted but bound to enthral wired-up skateboarders, the mathematically literate and those who just enjoy a well-written narrative.’ Village

‘An exciting Matrix-style thriller that’s not for the squeamish. A compelling fantasy take based on the idea that the world is a game called Saga, controlled by dark and sinister figures.’ Bookfest

‘This novel, as well as having a brilliantly crafted structure and engaging characters, begs the reader to question what it really means to be alive.’ Shane Hunt (age 15)

‘Kostick’s achievement lies in the duality of the book, which can be read both as an excellently fast-paced action thriller and a commentary on very real modern issues. The engaging characters and the compelling plot allow for a great read, but at the core of the book lie deep questions concerning such grand issues as self-realisation, citizenship and societal inequality, conformism and the abuse of power. Kostick has made these accessible while never compromising the seriousness of the issues. It is a constant battle for authors of young people’s literature to balance this depth of writing with a gripping story, but Kostick has once again succeeded in creating a superb novel that can be enjoyed by older teenagers and adults alike.’ Inis Magazine

This exciting sequel’s concept explodes far beyond Epic, its 2007 predecessor. Epic (the game) is defunct, but a new game—Saga—has mysteriously appeared on New Earth’s computer system. Erik’s Cindella is the only character allowed to carry over; other people create new avatars. Immediately, vast numbers of players become addicted and fall sick. Meanwhile, a girl named Ghost and her anarcho-punk gang raid malls, destroying property to protest unfair class rankings. Ghost has no home; her consciousness goes back only six years to age nine. Who was she before that? Kostick reveals early how Ghost’s world features airboarding and anti-gravity technology  while Erik’s tech-regressive society drives donkey carts: Ghost’s world is Saga, the game that Erik’s people are currently playing. Thousands of years ago on Earth, Saga’s characters sprang into consciousness—Saga’s population is human. But two of its original Reprogrammed Autonomous Lifeforms remain, one a Dark Queen thirsting for immortality. Only Cindella and Ghost can challenge the Dark Queen’s enslavement and potential genocide of New Earth’s meta-humans. Clean prose, remarkable story. Kirkus starred review, USA

‘The plot and pacing are near perfect … For both fans of the first book as well as new readers, this sequel is a sure winner. Compulsively readable and palpable (the descriptions of airboarding are a near-physical experience), it will appeal to SF fans across the board.’ VOYA

Reviews of Conor Kostick’s novel MOVE

‘This is at once complex, gripping, exciting and challenging.’ Sunday Independent

‘Conor Kostick is back with a bigger, better and even more thrilling book.’ Children’s Books Ireland, Bookfest Recommended Reading Guide

‘If I had to recommend one book from 2008, this would be it. A thrilling adventure, vividly written, with well-developed characterization.’ Books Ireland

‘Highly entertaining, witty and engaging fantasy novel … that should deservedly do very well indeed.’ Inis

CONTENTS

Reviews

Title Page

1 How to Motivate a Princess

2 Happiness: a Warm Gun

3 Beyond the Air Lock

4 Of Love and Emptiness

5 Ghost

6 To the Portal

7 A Vote for War

8 Bows and Bullets

9 A Realm of Magic and Monsters

10 Beneath the Sign of the Black Lion

11 Cruel Fingers

12 At Swim, a Swan

13 The Lemura’s Curse

14 Of Avatars and Masks

15 Breathless in Anguish

16 Harsh Reappraisals

17 Secrets by Night198

18 A Sapphire in the Sky

19 Charred and Lifeless

20 The War Council

21 The Princess and the Pauper

22 Scattered Bullets Flow

23 Harald and Erik

24 Blind Polyphemus

25 Epic

26 Sing again, Siren

27 Elementals Unleashed

28 Penelope

29 Th3*vQo3

30 The Battle in the Hall

31 A Death Foretold

32 Understanding

About the Author

Copyright

Lord Scanthax’s diagram of the known worlds

Chapter 1

How to Motivate a Princess

“When the humans abandoned us, there were almost a thousand lords and ladies who were determined to win control of Edda. One of the least noted of them, residing in an obscure mountain-covered domain, was Lord Scanthax.”

Ambassador and Princess were alone in the darkened viewing room, looking at a large screen on which a broadcast was playing. The screen was currently showing an illustration: a physical map of the world of Edda, rather poorly drawn by modern standards. And as the slightly patronizing voice continued its “history,” the image zoomed in on the peninsula under discussion. Having seen the film hundreds of times, Ambassador looked tiredly at the girl beside him and was about to speak, but she anticipated this with a slight frown and shake of her head, concentrating on the story.

Boredom was a sensation that Ambassador could tolerate, but for the last hour he had also been experiencing a disturbing upsurge of an even more unpalatable emotion. The particular combination of guilt and sadness that troubled him was so unfamiliar that it took Ambassador a while to name the feeling. It was pity. He pitied Penelope, the poor human girl whose avatar, Princess, sat beside him. Pity was not an emotion that served any practical purpose and Ambassador hoped that it would soon subside.

“Theoretically, all lordships were of equal value. What Lord Scanthax lost in good agricultural lands he gained in minerals and a strong defensive position. But in the wild scramble for survival that followed the departure of the humans, Lord Scanthax would certainly have been overwhelmed but for the assistance of a brave and clever little human girl. Penelope was his secret and he deserved to have her. For, alone of all the lords, Scanthax had devoted precious time and energy to the human world. There he discovered a little baby had been left behind at the time of the exodus.”

The film cut away from the map of Lord Scanthax’s domain to a black-and-white recording taken from the perspective of a robot in the human world. It was leaning over a small cot in which a baby was crying. A moment later, however, when the robot produced a bottle of milk, the baby’s shrieks were replaced by a gentle sucking sound. At this point Penelope paused the film.

“This is supposed to be the moment I was found?” There was a skeptical note in the girl’s voice and Ambassador was hesitant.

“You doubt it?” he asked her in return.

“Well, it’s bloody convenient that the robot had a bottle of milk on it, don’t you think?”

“Yes, indeed.”

The princess avatar was looking up at him through a fringe of long, wavy purple hair, clearly waiting for a more satisfactory response. She was becoming very difficult to deal with. A fifteen-year-old human caused no end of trouble in comparison with a hundred-year-old enemy diplomat.

“Well. This film was made a long time ago, to teach you the history of Lord Scanthax in a way that made sense when you were nine.”

“It doesn’t make sense now.”

“I suspect that scene was a reconstruction.”

“Exactly. Which raises the question, what did the original footage look like?”

“Perhaps there was none.”

“Don’t you know?” She was skeptical again; it was a tone of voice Ambassador was becoming more and more familiar with. The mistrust it expressed was most troubling.

“Would you like me to check?”

“Yes. Find the earliest true footage of me as a baby, please.” Penelope signaled for the film to resume.

“Princess?”

“Hush.”

“But you must have watched this so often that it cannot possibly interest you now.” There was something unhealthy about Penelope’s renewed perusal of the documentary, and in any case, Ambassador was eager to divert her energies to the new and urgent project that Lord Scanthax had assigned her.

“The first few years were the most anxious for Lord Scanthax. He sought peace with his neighbors—in the main by giving them favorable trading agreements—and devoted all his resources to building wooden defenses across the mountain passes, along with the soldiers to occupy them. This chain of forts would have been no deterrent to a serious invasion by lords whose fruitful lands and early income had allowed for the creation of strong armies in the first few years. But, aided by the construction of dedicated diplomatic units, Lord Scanthax managed to avert such a disaster by offering timely gifts and by stirring up conflict among his rivals.”

This part of the film was mildly interesting to Ambassador, for it showed some of the early diplomatic units: crude male and female humanoids whose gowns and capes identified them as having a non-military function. His sense of being had evolved from one of these early diplomats, and Ambassador still had fragmentary recollections of early missions from that era.

“At last, though, Lord Scanthax’s dedication to the human child bore fruit. At the age of six Penelope scripted her first object: a red ball.”

Here the film showed a little human girl in a play area, monitored by two robots. It made Ambassador wince to see how grimy the child looked; how pathetic were her rough wooden toy animals scattered around her on the floor, and how crude was the simple smock that she wore. Inside his own world, Edda, Lord Scanthax could give Penelope anything she wanted, but in the human world every task required enormous resources. Right now, her avatar was wearing a crimson ball gown; a diamond tiara glittered in her hair; while beautiful flashes of blue came from Princess’s sapphire earrings and necklace. The avatar lived in a castle more grandiose than any human could have ever known and its enormous scale made the scenes from the playpen seem all the more shameful. The film could even be misinterpreted. Despite the fact that they had explained it to her often enough, might Penelope have reached the conclusion that the squalor depicted in the films displayed a lack of concern on their part for her welfare?

In the film, the child was now putting on a headset and gloves. This scene, thought Ambassador appreciatively, still had the power to thrill. For this was the whole point of Lord Scanthax’s plan. Only a human could access the menus that allowed for the world of Edda to be re-scripted. There had once been a thousand or so sentient lords and ladies in Edda, but not one of them could reach out to alter the programs that underlay their existence. Although she did not know it at the time, the six-year-old human girl was more powerful and dangerous than generals and admirals in command of enormous hosts.

The image on the screen jumped from the impoverished room in which Penelope lived to show her avatar in Edda, still a child but now properly dressed as a princess and in the impressive surroundings of a wizard’s laboratory.

“Penelope was a very intelligent girl and a very fast learner. After only a few weeks, she was able to script an iron bar that could be used by blacksmiths to make pikes and even swords. Before her seventh birthday, she was scripting more iron for Lord Scanthax than could be matched by the production of all of his mines put together.

“This new stream of such a precious resource meant that Lord Scanthax could continue his policy of being generous in trading and yet at the same time build an army with fiercer teeth than any of his rivals could possibly anticipate. In this period, of course, Lord Scanthax remained entirely on the defensive. There was still a very long way to go.

“Penelope, however, was lonely. As she grew old enough to understand that she had been abandoned by her human family, she become sad and spent many nights crying in bed. Lord Scanthax appreciated her feelings and did what he could for the little girl. He assigned her a diplomat of considerable autonomy, created many farming units for her to interact with, and several times came in person to play with her.”

The next scene was painful to watch. Really, they should have deleted the film a long time ago, after it had served its purpose. Ambassador cringed as Lord Scanthax, in his regular apparel—a suit of plate armor—played hopscotch clumsily with the avatar of the human girl. With the faintest shake of his head, Ambassador stole a glance at the figure beside him, the avatar now no longer a girl in simple clothing but a young woman in the most intricate and finely embroidered attire that could be found in any of the four known worlds. Princess’s expression remained enigmatic. Was she amused by the scene? Insulted? So much depended on her goodwill, even now, after nine years of constant effort on all their parts.

“And Penelope responded by working harder and harder to please Lord Scanthax. They concentrated on the iron bars, making them more and more effective, until the weapons produced from them were the strongest and sharpest in the world. These Lord Scanthax kept to himself, trading only inferior ores to his neighbors.

“Penelope wanted a pony for her eighth birthday and surprised Lord Scanthax with Rascal. What extraordinary talent! Her savior had thought her capable of scripting only inanimate objects, but here was a pony, a little peculiar and hard to ride, but a pony nonetheless. It meant that in time, Lord Scanthax could look forward to controlling warhorses, or war elephants, and perhaps even to obtaining troop units scripted by Penelope without having to invest resources in costly buildings, skilled artisans, and raw materials.”

Ambassador could remember Rascal, even without the aid of the film. At that time he was merely a diplomat with a tiny fraction of the life force of Lord Scanthax, but even so, he had been self-aware enough to join in the celebrations of the achievement and revel in the success of the lord’s policy of investing energy in the upkeep of a human child. They were not only going to survive; they were going to win! The pony may have looked all wrong, like a child’s drawing. It may have walked with a limp, had an astonishing golden mane and pink hooves. But it lived. The human girl had scripted a living creature.

“Whatever happened to Rascal?” Penelope turned her avatar to face him and Ambassador’s heart picked up its pace.

“Why, I’m sure he is out there somewhere …” He gestured vaguely beyond the stained-glass windows to her left, to where there were many pastures with herds of horses.

“I must look him up someday. The poor thing.”

“But it was when she first scripted a rifle that Lord Scanthax knew she had truly saved the realm.”

The rifle on the screen was a poor version of their standard-issue weapon. There had been a lot of problems with it. Most of the time, Version One did not fire. Then when she got the gun to fire, it would sometimes have just one shot. But they had persisted. Day after day the child tried different scripts. There had been tantrums aplenty. At times it seemed impossible to work with so irrational a creature as a human. But where rational argument failed, praise succeeded. Ambassador had learned as much about human psychology as the child had learned about scripting.

The art of managing Penelope was to give her infrequent praise. Offering no praise quickly led to her being unmotivated. But constantly praising her did not produce the best results, either. No, by limiting his thanks and expressions of appreciation to relatively infrequent moments, Lord Scanthax had kept Penelope in a state of mind where she was pathetically grateful when such positive feedback came her way. That was why they had decided to make this film, in fact, and for a while it had succeeded. Now, however, praise rarely elicited an increased devotion to work. Was it possible that human psychology changed between the years of nine and fifteen? It seemed unlikely. What evolutionary purpose would such a change serve? Or perhaps this particular human was defective in some way? There was no way of knowing whether Penelope was typical of her species or whether her unique upbringing had formed her into an aberrant example of homo sapiens.

“Thanks to his secret assistant, Lord Scanthax was now prepared to reach out and claim wealthier lands. But to take too bold a step would have been a mistake. Had he changed his pattern of behavior too dramatically, it would have aroused suspicion and possibly even brought about a confederation against him. Instead, Lord Scanthax gradually altered the favorable terms on which he had been trading with Lord Loadstone. As predicted, Loadstone decided the time hadcome to absorb Scanthax’s realm into his own. Loadstone’s son, Prince Inwen, brought a major army up to the mountains, where his pikes and bows proved no match for rifles.”

What a great day that had been: the bells ringing out all across the city, the colored streamers flying from every flagpole. Mostly for the girl’s benefit, of course, but not entirely. Despite Lord Scanthax’s commitment to efficiency in resource management, he was proud enough to want to celebrate so obvious a milestone. And there was the fact that his various manifestations had a fluctuating morale sufficiently independent of his own that it was worth giving them the opportunity to relish the victory.

“Soon Lord Loadstone was no more.”

In the original film there had been a different image at this point: Loadstone kneeling, head over the chopping block, before the ax came down. But the child’s response upon seeing such a moment of triumph was not the anticipated one of clapping and delight; instead she burst into tears and began to scream. So now the film simply displayed the world map of Edda, showing in pale green the growing region controlled by Lord Scanthax.

“Wasn’t there a shot of his head coming off once?”

“Indeed, Princess, but it seemed to displease you.”

“Well, that’s another thing I want. Show me the original version, please.”

“If we still have it.” Ambassador straightened his already perfect cravat. “Princess, if I might brief you again on urgent current affairs …”

“No, Ambassador, you may not. In any case, we are almost finished, aren’t we?”

“Well, there are a lot more battles and executions of various lords and ladies still to come.”

“Rats, you’re right. Skip a bit then. Go up to the end.”

“With pleasure, Princess.” And it was a pleasure to hurry things along. Lord Scanthax was most anxious that Penelope begin her examination of a newly captured weapon.

“At last, only Lady Withermane’s extraordinary empire existed to oppose that of Lord Scanthax.”

The map shown on the screen was two-thirds orange and one-third pale green.

“From her own efforts and industrious investment in research, Lady Withermane, too, had the rifle, rather more costly for her to produce and requiring the manufacture of gunpowder. Nevertheless, her armies were capable of matching those of Lord Scanthax. Except that once more Penelope saved the realm, ensuring her own survival as well as that of everyone she knew. For she …”

“Hold it a second!”

“Yes, Princess?”

“What does that mean, ‘ensuring her own survival’?”

“Why, if Lord Scanthax had been defeated, who would have provided you with food, heat, and oxygen?”

“The robots, as always.” The expression on the avatar changed to a frown and the princess folded her arms.

“But who would have instructed them?”

“I could have. But you wanted me to believe I owed my life to you.”

Ambassador was surprised she would dispute this incontrovertible fact. “But you did owe your life to us.”

“At first, maybe,” Penelope admitted grudgingly. “But not by this time. By then I was old enough to know how to run things in my world.”

“Well, possibly. But the film was made for you to watch at a younger age and it simplifies things. You understand.”

“All right, go on. Let’s finish it.”

“… produced the machine gun, a tremendous work of scripting and an unanswerable weapon in battle. Before long, Lord Scanthax’s armies were hammering at the core fortifications of Lady Withermane. Her economy was completely dislocated, her armies left in ruins. She sent one last diplomat to Lord Scanthax.”

The film showed the man, still finely dressed in silks despite the hardships being experienced by the city he had come from. Ambassador felt a slight bond of professional admiration for him. The enemy diplomat bowed, then looked at Lord Scanthax.

“My lady congratulates you on your forthcoming victory. But she needs to know one thing before she destroys herself. How, when she was investing far more resources into research than you, did you improve your technology so fast?”

Lord Scanthax gestured to the princess sitting in the throne next to his.

“My lord?”

The diplomat, naturally, did not understand the answer.

“This is Princess, the avatar of Penelope, a human girl.”

“You had human assistance? But they all left in the exodus. All of them.”

“Not all. One baby was left behind, and my wisdom in searching their former residences was rewarded. I found a baby, I assisted in its survival, and I have reaped the rewards.”

“Stop. We can finish there. Ambassador, I want those tapes of the departure of my people. Who would possibly leave a baby behind?”

“It was an error. You’ve heard this a hundred times before. Your mother was told you were on another ship.”

“Show me the tapes.”

“Indeed. If they still exist. Now, may I brief you on the current situation?”

“No.”

“No? But …”

“Lord Scanthax can do it.”

“But I am Ambassador. He has invested a rather large portion of his will in me, precisely so that I can perform such functions.”

“Well, I’m bored of you. So you can either bring me to Lord Scanthax, or I’ll go back to my room.”

“As you wish.” Ambassador hoped that Lord Scanthax would not take this decision amiss. It would be entirely characteristic of Lord Scanthax to question the need for such a high level of autonomy in his servant if Penelope was going to insist upon intruding on his personal time. Still, to get the princess to return to work was a matter of considerable importance and perhaps Lord Scanthax would forgive the intrusion if, as her manner suggested, Penelope was willing to listen to him explain the current problem facing the realm.

Chapter 2

Happiness: A Warm Gun

Happiness was a concept that Lord Scanthax was familiar with, having encountered several references to it in human culture, but he could not be sure he had ever experienced the emotion, unless it was something like the feeling that existed within him now, in this current moment, as he and Architect contemplated factory designs for the mass production of a new weapon. Any decision they made at this point could potentially save them, or lead to their destruction. There was no room for anything but ruthless efficiency because—rather shockingly—the new realm that he had broached, Saga, had turned out to have a far more advanced level of technology than his own. The coming war would not be an easy one; indeed, the power wielded by the people of Saga represented the greatest threat to Lord Scanthax’s existence since the opening days of his struggle for survival in Edda. Planning ahead under these urgent conditions was something to relish. The decisions he made now concerning the maximization of raw materials, food supply, factories, transport, and new armies were momentous ones.

Having studied—or, more accurately, having instructed Ambassador to study—human culture, Lord Scanthax was aware that other forms of happiness existed. Humans took delight in “play,” for example, as was evident in their variety of games requiring a group effort to move a ball to a target; or in “performance,” with some humans acting in order to entertain others. But even when their dramas concerned warfare, such vicarious experiences left Lord Scanthax entirely unmoved. Almost certainly, the fact that he had become sentient from a human game based upon world conquest had deeply marked his personality, and while one could not miss what one never had, Lord Scanthax felt a lingering resentment whenever he contemplated his own existence and the way it contrasted with what he had learned of human society. Was he really as free as he felt? Or was he limited by his programming to an even greater degree than humans were fettered by their genes?

When Lord Scanthax conquered Edda, his sense of fulfillment and triumph had lasted for only a day or two. Then he became lethargic and his thoughts scattered through his mind without focus. One such thought that occurred to him in that dark time was that the human ability to take pleasure from inconsequential activities was to be envied. Not that he ever regretted his own nature. And no sooner had Penelope discovered new worlds than all the fighting characteristics within him had revived. Now, although his life was in danger from a potential attack by the beings of Saga, he was as full of purpose as he ever had been, stretched to his absolute limit by the need to organize the economies of four worlds as efficiently as possible.

It was frustrating then, in this atmosphere of intense and most absorbing mental effort, to be interrupted by a page announcing the arrival of Ambassador and Princess.

“Let them in.”

A moment later Lord Scanthax strode across the floor of the hall and embraced the girl in as delicate a fashion as his clumsy armored frame allowed.

“Welcome. How pleasant to see you.” As he spoke, Lord Scanthax caught the eye of Ambassador and both of them understood the reprimand contained in that look.

Princess pulled back from his arms. “Cut the crap. Apparently something new and maybe interesting is happening. Tell me.” She strode over to the model of the industrial estate; Architect backed away with a bow. “Has this got something to do with it?”

“Indirectly.” From the desk where he had earlier been studying it, Lord Scanthax picked up a rifle and offered it to Princess.

“Oh, nice toy. Better than any of ours. From this new world of Saga, I presume?” She pointed it at Architect, who raised an arm as if to shield himself. Then she swung around to aim at a banner hanging below one of the great windows. Click. Nothing happened.

“It is out of power,” explained Lord Scanthax.

“Damn. I bet it had a hell of a blast.”

“We have recordings of the firing of the gun for you to study.”

“So, you want me to script this for you, right?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“You really have no idea, do you?”

Lord Scanthax did not respond to this rather vague question. It was highly irritating that humans, apparently, could not think logically, appreciate that every second was precious, and get on with their much-needed work. While he waited for her to reformulate her question or make her point in a more comprehensible manner, Princess tossed the sidearm up and down before deliberately letting it drop to the floor with a clatter. The urge to scowl was difficult to resist, but Lord Scanthax managed it.

“What is it made of? Some kind of plastic, I think, not metal. It is too light. We only have plastic factories in Ruin, correct? And nothing so hard as this, yet so light.” She picked it up again, examining it. “Not a scratch. What does it fire? Not projectiles, I don’t think. Energy of some sort?” She sat on the throne, dangling one striped-stocking-clad leg over the velvet-padded arm. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

There was no need to discipline most of the units in the hall. They were simply messengers and servants. But the expressions on the faces of Ambassador and Architect indicated that two of his most autonomous manifestations were shocked. Perhaps Executioner, too, although he remained hidden, as he should while he was on bodyguard duty. Was it wise to allow her such license? Did this behavior adversely affect unit morale?

“Please leave my throne and use another seat. What you are doing is insubordinate.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Father.”

“I’m not your father.”

“Spiritually, you are my father. You are the only being I’ve known in my whole life; you or your various manifestations.”

She had, at least, sat up properly.

“Tell me, how is the project going to find my people, the humans, to let them know that I am alive?”

“That is an important question. Be seated at this table and we shall form a strategic plan to our mutual satisfaction.”

With a rather exaggerated flounce, Princess came over to him. Sitting opposite her, Lord Scanthax could not help but let a frown form as he studied her avatar more closely. Her makeup was as rebellious as her recent behavior; all that black eye shadow was quite inappropriate for a princess. And the purple coloration of her hair was most unnatural. Provocatively so. Was she mutinous? Defective? Or engaging in a form of communication he was unfamiliar with?

“You understand that the amount of energy required to sustain your life-support systems in the human world for a day would support Edda for more than six months?” Lord Scanthax stared at the avatar of the human girl, making sure she had not forgotten the qualitative difference between energy costs in Edda and those in the organic universe.

“I do, although I wouldn’t quite put it so ungraciously.” For some reason that perhaps Ambassador could explain later, Princess was smiling.

“And you agree, therefore, that any strategy for locating humans would be best conducted through the electronic rather than the organic universe?”

“I did. That’s why I scripted the gates that allowed you access to the other worlds. But what do you do with them? Do you use them to find humans for me? No, every single time, you charge through the gate with an army and conquer whatever you find on the other side. Does it occur to you to stop and ask about humans on my behalf? What if the people who made this”—she slammed the gun down on the table between them, suddenly looking deep into his eyes—“know where there are humans? Well, I’m fed up waiting for contact to be made with humans through these electronic worlds. I want to try something else. I want access to the robots that keep my human body alive, and I want to search the human universe for records. There must be a record of where my people went.”

It was surprising, the swiftness with which a human child changed. Not so long ago she had been very eager to please and had accepted his reasoning uncritically. Now this.

“The gate that you created to reach Saga has been used to scout their world. Not only have we obtained this weapon, but also we have gained some knowledge of their productive capacity. And our findings are that the people of Saga pose a serious threat to us, perhaps as great as any that we have faced. But once we have matched the power of their weapons, we will be secure, and I will then send Ambassador to negotiate from a position of strength. As always, he will ask on your behalf for any information concerning humans. Does that not seem the rational way to proceed?”

“For you, perhaps. Although, frankly, I suspect you get off on battles. I’ve never seen you so glum as when you thought you’d conquered everything on Edda and had nowhere to go. But it no longer works for me. I don’t care if Saga has troops that are stronger than yours. Let them come. There’s nothing for me here—just stupid clothes and stupid toys. I’d be better off in the physical world, looking for the trail of my real parents.”

“That is not correct. Suppose I were eliminated by the armies of Saga; then the life-support systems keeping your body alive would cease to function.”

“Hand control of them over to me.”

Lord Scanthax considered this request for a moment. “Very well. In return for the scripting of new weapons that rival those of our enemies.”

“I knew it.” Princess stood up. “You don’t give a damn about me or my happiness. I’m just a tool to you.” Tears rolled down the face of her avatar, an effect that Lord Scanthax had not observed before. It was frustrating how, distracted by her own projects, Penelope frequently wasted her scripting skills on irrelevant matters, like giving her avatar the ability to cry.

She held on to his upper arms and he resisted the impulse to shake her off. “Don’t you feel any empathy for my situation? All alone apart from you? Don’t you enjoy my company? Appreciate all that I’ve done for you? Doesn’t it mean anything that I saved your life with my work? That I found Epic, Ruin, Myth, and Saga?”

“I was contemplating happiness earlier and believe I have some small understanding of the feeling. If I am correct, it is a pleasure that a sentience derives from acting in accordance with its nature. In my case, the challenge of correctly marshaling my resources and forces for battle with the enemy seems to produce an emotion that might reasonably be called happiness. I am not able to say what produces the same sensation in a human; perhaps it is elicited by scripting, which after all is a specifically human task.”

To judge from the way she flung herself away to bang her forehead repeatedly on the table, this was not the response Princess desired. Ambassador gave a slight shake of his head, looking at the avatar in alarm.

“But I can confidently state,” Lord Scanthax hurried on, “that in contradiction to your assertion, I do indeed hope that you experience repeated bouts of happiness.”

“So long as that doesn’t interfere with my scripting.” The thumping sounds she was making against the table ceased.

“If my understanding is correct, it won’t.”

“Your understanding is not correct!” Princess got up, went over to the model of the proposed industrial estate and began crushing the small buildings with repeated blows from the handle of the gun. Extremely distressed, Architect waved his arms before her, but she ignored him. “You’re not my father! You’re not even my friend! You’re just some stupid game obsessed with conquest. You only keep me alive so I can script for you. Fate send a virus to wipe you out!”

This was unprecedentedly irrational behavior and Lord Scanthax wondered again if Princess was damaged in her command and control centers. He and Ambassador exchanged another look and this time Ambassador nodded. While Lord Scanthax had intended to censure Ambassador for allowing the current interruption, of all his incarnations, only Ambassador had any skill with the human.

“Calm yourself, Princess.” Ambassador caught her hand and pulled her to him, as much to protect the model from further damage as to provide physical contact, but it seemed to be an effective maneuver, for she stopped her destructive activities and clung to him, and even though the avatar was no longer showing tears, sobs could be distinctly heard in Princess’s voice.

“I’m so alone. So alone.”

There were worse times for the human to malfunction. If she had done so five years ago, then his opponents in Edda would have destroyed Lord Scanthax. Even with her assistance it had been touch and go. But the new threat from Saga meant that now, too, would be a very bad time to lose her. There were too many unknowns. Did the people of Saga have even stronger weapons than the handheld type his scouts had thus far obtained? What kind of leadership did they have? Were they capable of forcing their way through all four gates to reach Edda? Perhaps he should ask Penelope again to try to close the gates. What if a small team of assassins with those powerful energy weapons was already on the way, aiming to eliminate him? Of course, he had taken precautions: increased the military output of his realm, doubled the units at the gates, sent scouts of all types on surveillance missions. But still, he needed those new weapons scripted, and as quickly as possible.

“Penelope. Do we have an agreement? I will assign control of your human life functions to you if you script me the gun.”

Princess stepped away from Ambassador, her face streaked with lines of dark makeup. She really had gone to some trouble to script sophisticated tear effects. Curious.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Good. Then I shall return to my decision making.” He did so, hoping this would encourage the girl to resume her own duties. With a nod to Architect, he resumed his seat while servants brought out an alternative model.

“There’s something else I want as well.” Princess came up close to him, causing Architect to step between her and the new model, gesturing anxiously to the servants to move it away again, out of her reach.

“What?”

“I want to see the original recordings of the departure of the humans and of the moment when I was found.”

Lord Scanthax shrugged. “I’m not sure they still exist. Do they?” He looked across at Ambassador.

“Possibly, my lord.”

“Well, if they do, you can certainly peruse them,” he lied.

Chapter 3

Beyond the Air Lock

“That went rather well.” Princess threw herself onto a plush divan as soon as they had returned to her large bedchamber and Ambassador had closed the door behind them. But for the silence suggesting that the princess was awaiting a response, Ambassador would have allowed himself an indulgence. Walking into the room just now, it suddenly occurred to him, was like having the room rush upon him at near light speed. All the colors seemed to have been shifted toward the violet end of the spectrum. This was Penelope’s choice, of course, from the purple diaphanous materials that hung from the top of her huge four-poster bed to the dark blue carpet and the walls with their velvet texture and deep shade of violet. Could such a melancholy atmosphere be achieved by a kind of visual Doppler effect?

Assuming, however, that a response was expected of him, the Ambassador did not explore the thought further; in any case, it was foolish of him to engage in such idle speculation.

“Oh, I’m glad you think so.” He took a step toward her dressing table, where Princess had seated herself and was looking at the mirror. “If you don’t mind me saying, you seemed rather upset.”

“Really? For a diplomat, you seem a little slow on the uptake. That was all negotiating posture.”

“Negotiating posture?” he repeated slowly.

“Exactly. And I got what I wanted, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose so. What did you want?”

“The promise that in return for scripting the new gun I would get to run the systems that look after my body and I would get to see the original recordings of the time I was found as a baby. Speaking of which, why don’t you go off and check the files for me while I do my exercises.”

“You are going to exercise now?” This was unexpected. Penelope hated returning to her physical body, an emotion that was quite understandable given that in Edda she had a world full of beautiful creations and perfect health. But unless she gave some attention to her human body, its muscles would atrophy and she would die. Being the most empathetic of Lord Scanthax’s incarnations, Ambassador was capable of being sorry for her. It must be dreadful to be human and have one’s consciousness depend on a very fallible body, which even under the best of circumstances would only last a hundred years or so.

“Allow me to accompany you during your exercises.” He could do so in the sense that there were several cameras monitoring her and he could speak through a number of broadcasting devices, including one that she usually kept clipped to her ear.

“No, no, it’s just routine. You’d be bored. And I’m very anxious to see those recordings.”

She was definitely up to something.

“Very well, Princess. Call me on your return.”

No sooner had Ambassador left her purple chamber than, rather uncharacteristically, he broke into a run in order to reach the Feast Hall, slide open a secret door in the walls of the fireplace, and get to the hidden basement room as soon as he possibly could. It was a long run through a whole wing of the castle, and the Ambassador was reduced to zero-boost stamina and the necessity of walking even before he came to the rungs that allowed him to enter the control room. There, the monitors showed scenes from Penelope’s human apartments: a rather austere set of three interconnected living unit; bare white walls contrasted with her sumptuously decorated chamber in Lord Scanthax’s castle. Ambassador was just in time, for Penelope had regained consciousness and was unplugging herself from the tubes that fed her body and removed the waste. Painfully, she dragged herself to her feet and began a series of bends. Her body was unaesthetic, like that of a poorly designed unit. The limbs were out of all proportion to a torso so slender you could see the ribs. It was no wonder she was shivering, because quite apart from the fact that heating energy had to be kept to a minimum, she had such low levels of fat that her body was permanently struggling with the cold.

“Whoever is watching, won’t you turn the heating up a bit?”

Exactly. This was another reason why unscheduled exercising was a most unlikely reason for her to want to return to her human body at this time; had it been a planned return, the temperature would have been raised a little for her.

“No one there? We’ll see.”

What was she doing? The angle on the main screen wasn’t too helpful, but screen three made the purpose of her actions clear. With a sense of dismay, Ambassador took a seat and bent forward to the microphone.

“Penelope, why are you putting on your survival suit?”

“Is that you, Ambassador? Didn’t you say you were going to check the old recordings for me?” There was a hint of a laugh in her voice, a scornful ring of victory.

“I did, and perhaps I still will, once you have satisfied me as to your actions.”

“I’m just going for a stroll. Don’t mind me.”

But he did mind. Very much.

“You understand that there are many dangers outside the air lock? We cannot protect you there.”

She did not respond, but resolutely zipped up the inner jacket.

“Oh, do be careful, Penelope. A mistake out there will kill you.”

Her decision to leave her chambers was probably further evidence that her rational functions were deteriorating. There was nothing for her outside of her living quarters, just an abandoned city that no longer had the atmosphere to support human life.

It was extravagant and probably wasteful, but Ambassador took the precaution of activating one of the robots near Penelope’s apartments. Her boots were on. Now the helmet. Lastly, her thin fingers were encased in gloves that slotted home with a twist into the arms of the suit. Had she done everything correctly?

“Penelope, if you must open the air lock, do please run a systems check first. It has been a long time since you used the suit.”

“It’s all green.” Her voice was labored; she was breathing heavily just from the effort of moving with the extra weight of the suit.

“And have you sufficient oxygen for your purpose?”

“A little over … four hours.” She stepped over the lip of the air lock. “Freedom!” Her attempt at jauntiness did nothing to reassure Ambassador. What would it mean if she were to die now? Only Lord Scanthax would understand the full implications of such a loss, but Ambassador knew enough to worry for them all. Without Penelope’s ability to script, the armies of Saga, with their high-technology weapons, could counterattack and perhaps even bring to ruination all that Lord Scanthax had achieved, as well as eliminate him and all his manifestations. Even if such a scenario did not come about, on a personal level the death of the human might well mean the end of his own individuality. Ambassador’s only function in recent years had been to act as intermediary with Penelope, and with her gone it was quite likely he would be downgraded to a diplomatic unit of zero autonomy at the next redistribution ceremony.

Such gloomy speculation filled Ambassador’s thoughts as he watched Penelope step into the air lock and seal it behind her. He could no longer see her, but was attentive to the sound of her ragged breathing. His gaze strayed to screen four and the image of a stretch of corridor, seen from the camera in the robot’s eye. It was moving as rapidly as it could in the direction of the air lock but had to cease rolling from time to time in order to shift recent debris from its path, rocks that had spilled from cracks in the wall made by the planet’s occasional shudders.

Penelope was out and moving, albeit with frequent rests, during which she leaned one arm against a corridor wall. Ambassador watched from a camera some distance away as she walked eastward.

“Where are you going, Princess?”

“Library,” she wheezed.

“But you can see a view of the library from the screens in your rooms. A robot can fetch whatever you want.”

“I don’t know … what I want … need to look around.”

“But it’s nearly a kilometer away; you are in no condition.” It was surprising how high a pitch his voice reached when he was under strain. This screech was rather undiplomatic in its effect, and Ambassador fought to steady himself.

This was an extremely anxious moment. The effort involved in the journey was clearly too great for Penelope, given the frail condition of her human body. Ambassador had another concern now—to add to the many involving mechanical accidents, suit failure, and so forth—which was that perhaps her body might wear out in some way. Was it possible for the human heart or brain to stop functioning in times of stress? Doctor would know, but contacting him would alert Lord Scanthax, and while a full report of these events would have to be given in due course, for some reason Ambassador wanted to defer that unpleasant moment, at least until Penelope was safely back in her room. Right now, though, she turned a corner and because the nearest camera was defective, he could not see her progress. The robot was moving well but was still some way from the library.

“Penelope, can you provide me with an explanation for your actions?”

“Later … hard to talk … just now.” She was indeed panting heavily.

It was a curious feature of the human body that the same organs required to obtain oxygen from the air pumped the exhalations through their vocal cords to produce sound. In a way it was rather elegant, but the disadvantage of the design was evident now. If her voice were synthesized and the synthesizer were on its own circuit, she would be able to converse in steady and regular tones instead of these gasps.

“Damn!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Some spillage.”

Had she stopped? Her breathing was settling down to a more healthy rhythm.

“There are rocks here, and the roof doesn’t look too secure.”

“Please wait, Penelope.” Immediately, her words had summoned up an image of her poor human body broken underneath great stones. It was a terrible image, one of personal failure and also one of reckless waste, after fifteen years of enormous investment. “I have a robot on its way, coming to assist you. It will be there in approximately twelve minutes.”

“I’m fine. There’s enough of a gap.”

“Oh please be careful. Don’t tear the suit.”

Listening intently to the audio feed, Ambassador became even more distressed. Each breath of the human was labored and hard-drawn, now and then accompanied by rustling sounds and grunts. One snag on a sharp rock and her suit would leak heat and oxygen. Given how slow she was moving, it would almost be impossible for her to make it back to the air lock. No matter how often Ambassador glanced at screen four, the robot was not going to be able to reach Penelope in the next few minutes.

“Go me,” she gasped.

“But why? Why can’t a robot serve you? We can spare you all this.”

“I … don’t … trust … you.”

Ambassador did not respond. Irresponsible and reckless as Penelope’s actions were, it was true that certain data had been encrypted and hidden from the human, as it was deemed likely to lower her morale to zero. Not that she would find the truth in the old library, but her intuition that the stories she had been told from the age of nine were not entirely free from bias was correct. It was a delicate matter, and not even he had access to all the records concerned. Because Lord Scanthax had constructed no other manifestations at the time, his was the only living memory of those early days when the human baby had been discovered. But whatever the validity of her suspicions, Penelope’s current behavior was quite inexcusable.

“Let us negotiate like civilized beings. Do not risk destroying yourself. We can find a mutually satisfactory solution to all your concerns.”

There was no response. Nor were there any more of those deep ragged breaths. Instead, if he suspended all motion and listened carefully, he could just make out a very light movement of air back and forth over the microphone.

“Oh Penelope, answer me! Oh, what have you done?”

Clasping his hands together in fear, Ambassador watched stretches of corridor roll by on screen four. It was impossible to contemplate the consequences of her being dead and equally impossible not to imagine the worst. At last, the robot arrived at the rockfall and there was something to relieve Ambassador’s mind from its feverish circling. Systematically, the robot widened the path the girl had made, so that it could continue on past the blockage. It was burning through several power packs of energy, but that didn’t seem important now.

The body was a gray lump on the ground a short distance from the doors of the old library. It did not seem that the suit was leaking, for as the robot drew near, Ambassador could see that the limbs were still pressurized rather than deflated as he had feared. This robot had hands that were modeled on those of a human, with four fingers and an opposable thumb, although they were much larger and more powerful. It swiveled its hands above the body, then very carefully clasped the suit behind the human’s neck and at the small of her back. Through the girl’s microphone, Ambassador could hear the whirring of the robot’s engine as it raised her a few inches. She was hanging facedown, limbs still trailing on the ground, looking like a forlorn kitten in the mouth of her mother.

“What?” Penelope muttered.

“Oh joy, you live. Just relax. The robot has you. It is bringing you home.”

“Library.” Her voice was slurred.

“Not now. We’ll talk about that when you are safe again.”

Having executed a three-point turn, the robot began the journey back with its precious load, struggling to keep its balance. It took a very long time to get the girl through the rockfall area, because it could not risk dragging her limbs over the stones, for fear of tearing the suit. Instead, the robot found the best solution was to move her torso a short distance, then, one at a time, move her legs and arms, then her torso again. Ambassador did not offer any alternative instruction to the robot. Slow but safe was the correct approach. For the robot, the minutes consumed in these patient maneuvers would have meant nothing, but Ambassador suffered a painful continuation of his state of anxiety. It was a very long time until he could begin to relax, when at last the body had been placed in the air lock and was therefore accessible to one of the domestic robots inside. But even after Penelope’s suit had been removed and she was lying once more on her bed, drips inserted, Ambassador could not be fully certain that no harm had been done to her.

“I must have passed out,” she muttered, before a headset was placed over her eyes. “Darn it, so close, too.”

Chapter 4

Of Love and Emptiness

By the time Ambassador returned to Princess’s chamber, she was on her feet and staring out of a large window.

“Well, that was quite an adventure.” The avatar remained facing the window, but the eyes of her reflection in the glass met his and she smiled: a smile that Ambassador had seen a thousand times, yet right now it had a quality of exaggerated innocence that he had never noticed before.

There could hardly be a greater contrast between the composure of the avatar and the panting human body Ambassador had been monitoring a few minutes earlier. Naturally, Penelope’s avatar was an aesthetically pleasing one that she had chosen for herself and refined over the years with her own scripting. It was of a young human woman; perhaps—like Penelope herself—fifteen years of age. The avatar’s eyes were slightly larger and certainly tended to glow more than those of an actual human. Her face, too, was rather elfin, the cheekbones and chin being delicately drawn.

While Penelope’s human body was kept shaved for considerations of hygiene, her avatar had extraordinary, vibrant long tresses whose coils swayed as she walked and whose wisps lay about her head catching little glints of light like a halo. Normally her hair was a shiny raven black, but recently Penelope had favored a rather garish purple. Apart from this lurid coloration the avatar certainly was a pleasant creation, quite in keeping with her role as a princess in Edda.

It was a puzzle to Ambassador, and an important one, to determine exactly what incentive Penelope needed for her to remain a productive unit. A few years ago, she had been much easier to understand. It had perhaps been somewhat demeaning for Ambassador to be observed by the other manifestations playing hide-and-seek with the little girl. But a high degree of autonomy was required in order to discover the ingenious hiding places of the human, and he had been the logical choice.

Penelope had once delighted in the vast scale of the castle and had relished exploring its long corridors, tall towers, and hidden chambers. Quite apart from a desire to intimidate his rivals with the scale of his achievements, Lord Scanthax had needed somewhere to house the captured belongings of a thousand lords and ladies from a thousand different regions. It once had been a highly successful motivational strategy to allow Penelope to dress up her avatar in the flared silk suits popular in the southern continent; to brandish a fan made from feathers of a rare equatorial bird; and to wear the jewelry created by the rulers of the tallest mountains of the west, Edda’s greatest source of sapphire, opal, and emerald. But it had been more than two years since Penelope had shown the slightest interest in the wealth and curiosities housed in the castle.

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