I have put some thought into where to begin this narrative. Perhaps to give context, I should mention that I found a journal entry the other day, hand-written by Edom St. John. It took me by surprise – I thought that all of his journal entries had been burned in the fire.
Funny how no one thought it was peculiar that he would write by hand, on paper.
Scratch that. Everyone thought it was a bizarre affectation, everyone except Edom himself. Edom didn’t think so because he was programmed not to think so. Edom was programed not to think so because he could more-or-less operate a datapad, and the fastest way for the palimpsest to wear through was to remind him that I could program two autovacs to dance a tango.
It was my job, back in the days when I had a job. I programmed simulations. Stupid flight simulations that an eight year old child could run. Well, at least, I could have run them when I was eight years old, if I hadn’t been in a behavior correction camp.
What I really wanted to program was simulations of trans-universal geometries. That’s the cutting edge of physics, and I did it in my spare time, surreptitiously. But I would never be assigned such work because I had been identified as a nonconformist at the age of five. From that moment, my elite status was revoked. Worse – or better, perhaps? – none of the drugs or the treatments ever seemed to take. It seems that I’m a stubborn bastard.
If I weren’t labeled a persona non grata, I could have had quite a nice job working for the military, finding new universes. I should’ve followed Suzanna’s example and made a run for the IndWorlds as soon as possible. I could have made a life there with her. There’s a huge market for people to plot more efficient wormhole routes. Pathfinders. That wasn’t really my area of interest, but it was much better than the drone work I was given by CenGov. I was interested in the more exotic universes, impractical ones quite probably not safe for travel, the ones where the laws of physics seemed written by an insane clown.
No, because I’m a stubborn bastard, I stayed, and then I applied my skills in programming, data analysis and theoretical physics to what has become my primary vocation: designing weapon systems for terrorist cartels. Suzanna just wanted to be free, but I nursed my grudge. That’s probably why we broke up.
Not that we were ever meant to be together anyway. She ran contraband for me – materials I needed for my designs. She decided somewhere along the way that I was cute. Cute as a mantis shrimp, I suppose. But I was no one to resist the cosmic storm that was Sweet Blonde Suzanna. I had never been in a relationship before, and she had a long history of commandeering inappropriate boyfriends. And then dumping them.
My only other relationship was Tara. That wasn’t my fault. Edom St. John arranged that. It’s difficult for me to tell sometimes if I ever felt anything about Tara, or if I still do. The ghost of Edom St. John is not so easy to exorcise. I was convinced at the time that the coup to depose you as Archon was necessary. Later, I was equally convinced that I needed to escape Molly’s insane ambitions. However, in retrospect, I wonder if I was trying to break free of Tara, and Edom wouldn’t allow it? I suppose I’ll never know.
Which brings me back to the passage in his journal: “Tara is the first person to see the death of my wife and son as a personal, not a political tragedy.” Edom, if you were still alive, I would say wake up – it’s both. That is, if you hadn’t been killed on the same occasion as your wife, after being turned in by your son (who is still alive, by the way) as a dangerous radical. I only know this because Mickey knew this, Mickey who pretended to be an idiot while infiltrating the science station, Mickey the 5th emanation of Ashtara.
Edom. Are we on a first name basis? Well, you used my body for a year and a half, during which time I drank your tea and fucked your girlfriend. So I suppose we are.
Edom fell for Tara because she was the first person since his wife who seemed to really care about him. Tara, on the other hand, fell for Edom because she likes awkward, bumbling science geeks. She also likes militaristic assholes, smooth operators, sleazy gamblers, bitchy artists, and psychopaths. In short, Tara likes everything. She is the most amazingly fickle woman I have ever met. Her level of discrimination asymptotically approaches zero.
Which doesn’t say much for me, I suppose. Ah, well, life is easier when you don’t need to worry about trusting someone other than yourself. And Tara is altogether too sentimental, let alone you, Ashtara. If I had your power, people would die. A lot of people.
Do you have any idea how galling it is to me that Cuinn Cleary turned out to be one of your emanations? That stray dog who turned up at the doorstep of RR-2 Labs? A ludicrous fool who then proceeded in five minutes to do the sort of trans-universal analysis which would have taken me days. I envied him. I despised him. I most especially resented the mutual glances of badly-hidden ardor shared between him and my former lover, recently estranged from her husband Prince Patrick, who was also, unknown to me, another of your emanations. At that point, I still had designs upon her. I did not realize how pathetically you had stacked the deck against me.
I never stood a chance. Ashtara, who can do anything, become anything. Ash, so loyal and useful. Ash, the perfect lover, companion, servant. I could’ve loved you, Ash, if only you had loved me. If you had loved me, I would’ve made a lot of people pay. Think of what merry havoc I could’ve wreaked with Lorcan. But you chose Tara, that attention-deficit diva. And so I have to hate both of you, despite the fact that mutual interest makes us allies more often than not. And like Claris, I’m smart enough not to let my hatred get in the way of my own advantage.
Bitter? Who’s bitter?
I’ll pontificate all I like, thank you. And I will tell my story in my own way. I believe that you asked for “An independent view on the Ceremony of Admission and the address of His Holiness to the subjects of the Skarsian Matriarchy.” Unfortunately, you won’t get one. Ashtara, do you have even a sterile neutrino’s worth of sense? You do not ask your wife’s ex-lover for “an independent view.” What you will receive instead is “a cupful of spleen.”
The Ceremony of Admission itself was absolutely turgid. Hardly a surprise. Lord Danak specializes in the creation of spectacles which impress people with their impressiveness. The whole thing was, of course, undercut by the sardonically camp touches added by Driscoll. And Miranda played the straight man – woman/tree. Her innate dignity was matched only by her utter cluelessness.
The highlight of the evening was getting to dance with Claris, a lovely and astute woman. How sad that she is completely insubstantial, unable to commit herself to a plan or ideology for more than five minutes running. That’s exactly what the Cu’enashti think of the Cu’enmerengi, isn’t it? Don’t delude yourself – she fully realizes your contempt for her. As I said, she is astute, but she’ll never bother to avenge herself. She’ll get distracted by a new dress. She lacks the art of stoking her simmering resentment. I suppose I could school her in the art of inferno.
Another memorable moment was when Sir Kaman showed up with young Charles on his arm. A common physician chosen by the son of God? Now there’s a juicy royal scandal if I’ve ever seen one. You really have got to get the media under control, Ash. Freedom of the press is a fine ideal, but it must be accompanied by the strict hand of guidance. Otherwise, instead of pursuing political honesty and scientific progress, journalists so-called will pander to decadent folly, corrupting the minds of the citizens in the process. Question you as ruler? They should! Question your taste in eveningwear? Off with their heads!
Revealing the existence of the Goliath Tree on the same occasion – now there was a stroke of genius. Of course, what interested everyone most was getting a look at the Matriarch’s new husbands. I’m sure you’ve heard some of the commentary – each one was examined and reviewed for attractiveness, his personal characteristics, such as could be divined from the brief press conference given by each, scrutinized and evaluated for the better part of the two days following. We now know that Ari is “the wild one,” Malachi is “the serious one,” and Valentin is “the analytic one.” This is politics as performed by media barons in the process of creating a new all-boy entertainment franchise. The 20th Century had “The Beatles,” and the 37th Century has “The Trees.”
It stands to reason that the people are far more concerned with the Matriarch’s bedroom antics than the incorporation of a new world, an entirely new species, the first artificially-created species of sentient beings, into the very fabric of our society. An occasion of galactic import has occurred, a milestone in the history of humanity, and the pundits are dissecting whether Manasseh is more handsome than Evan.
I’m not bitter, I’m disgusted. The only species more imbecilic than my own is yours, Ashtara. To possess the powers and capabilities at your disposal, and then model yourselves upon a human template, choose a human partner as the purpose and center of your existence – it baffles me. Such an incredible waste. And then the humans you choose – Tara, Premma, Sir Kaman, Sir Lloyd – is this some kind of joke? Does your species have some inherent predilection for the absurd?
Do you really want to know what I thought of the speech?
It scared the living shit out of me.
It was sentimental and extraordinarily arrogant. “The chosen of the gods” – that’s always a rationale for conquest. Also, I note that you defined cybridization as resulting in something less than human. Are you laying the groundwork for another genocide?
I don’t know what was more frightening: your vision of an expansionist empire, of a new species which is a hybrid between animal and plant; the reception of hysterical enthusiasm it received amongst almost everyone, including not only the hoi polloi but also those who should have known much better; or the inexorable logic that tells me you’re right, in conflict with the feeling in my gut that says we’ll be drowning in blood before you’re through – up to our hips and branches in it.
Whether or not you believe in your own half-mad elitist rhetoric, you have to do this. From the moment humans discovered the Domha’vei, this course has been set. If we don’t act first, then CenGov will destroy us – out of fear that we will become exactly what you prophesied. Even that nonsense about “love” might have a grain of truth – if it weren’t for your obsession with Tara, the forests would’ve been razed by now, the Domha’vei a slave territory of CenGov. But don’t you think it was a bit whitewashed? The Cu’enmerengi don’t need love. The Cu’enashti need a focal point in order to bridge the gap between animal and plant, in order to maintain the fullness of their powers. That isn’t love – there’s no need to get sappy. Well, I suppose a tree can’t help being a sap, can it?
When the speech was over, I caught the look in Claris’ eyes. We were thinking exactly the same thing – that we had to stand behind you, because if we stood alone, we’d be taken down. But neither of us likes it. It’s the best of our bad options.
So the speech was successful, yes. You don’t need me to tell you this. Go look at your polls. Your citizens are all fired up to take arms against CenGov. So much for a peace negotiation with Tellick. And you did it all so lightly, Ashtara. You still think you can get out unscathed, that there won’t be a price to pay. Have you forgotten Tasea? Your decisive victory there led to years of terrorism and local revolts. Now the Taseans have gotten what they wanted, and there’s hell to pay. You haven’t learned a thing from that, Ashhole.
You still don’t understand that even when you win, there’s a price.