Deathstalker Coda (49 page)
Authors: Simon R. Green
He was standing in a great open park, surrounded by a city. There were lawns and trees, carefully arranged and sculpted hedges, and even a decorative bridge over a clear, sparkling river. Beyond the park, graceful air cars soared between tall towers, all silver and gold and rocket trims.
Darting in and around and between these wonderful cars were men and women wearing some kind of antigrav backpack. Their happy laughter echoed down to the streets below. The air was pure and clean, the sky a dazzling blue without a cloud in sight, and everything seemed to Owen to be gloriously bright and new.
The buildings were steel and silver, with huge mirrored windows, all of them built in strict straight lines, all of them exactly the same, with no room for style or individuality or character. They marched away in long rows, tall and imposing and strictly functional. The best that could be said of them was that they had a solid presence, a certain majesty of scale.
No people walked the polished and gleaming streets—only robots, carrying packages or running errands or obsessively cleaning things. They were roughly humanoid in shape, cast in gleaming steel, but they had none of the style or artistry of the Shub robots. These were clearly just machines, designed to perform tasks. They were actually sort of clunky, Owen decided; unfinished-looking.
Also moving up and down the streets, giving the robots plenty of room, were crowds of assorted animals. All of them without any obvious owner or master, all of them moving with perfect assurance. There were horses and dogs and cats, and other creatures Owen didn’t recognize, though he thought he might have seen pictures of them in certain very old texts.
“The robots aren’t very efficient,” said a warm, cheerful voice behind him. “But I guess we just like having them around. We always dreamed of creating robots, so now that we can build them, we do.”
Owen looked round. Standing beside him was a woman of a certain age, smiling calmly, dressed in a sparkling metallic tunic. It was a sign of how engrossed Owen had been in this strange old world that he hadn’t even heard her arrive. He made a mental note not to let that happen again. Just because a place looked . . . clean, didn’t mean it was necessarily friendly to strangers. He smiled back at the woman. She had an ordinary, dull, but determinedly happy face. The kind of woman who was always doing things for others, usually without thanks. She took Owen’s offered hand, and gave it a brief but emphatic shake.
“You must be Owen,” she said. “I’m Hellen Waters. The Illuminati have talked of nothing but you ever since they discovered you in orbit, appearing suddenly out of nowhere. They all listened in to your little chat with Lucifer. And yes, I’ve tried telling him about that name, but he won’t listen. The Light People can be almost willfully blind to concepts they don’t want to understand. I’m their human contact. Pretty much their only human contact, these days. I try to protect them, and run interference for them when government busybodies come sniffing around, because . . . well, because somebody’s got to. They’re very like children, in some ways, the Illuminati. They understand about big things, like the Terror, but the small everyday cruelties and evils of human thinking seem to go right over their heads. So, Owen, who are you? Where do you come from? And why have the Illuminati got themselves so worked up over you?”
Owen had to grin at the series of perfectly artless questions. “I am Owen Deathstalker, a traveler in time. I’m from your future. Don’t ask me exactly how far ahead; I’ve rather lost track of dates.”
Hellen looked at him, wide-eyed and openmouthed. “I should have known the Illuminati wouldn’t get so excited over just anybody. A time traveler! That is just so . . . What a year this has been! First contact with aliens, and a time traveler! I may hyperventilate.”
“Don’t ask me about the future,” said Owen. “I’m new to this whole time travel thing, but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to talk about things like that.”
“I’m just delighted to find out Humanity has a future,” said Hellen. “Sometimes you have to wonder . . . Can you tell me anything about what it’s like, where you come from?”
“It’s . . . colorful,” said Owen. “Yes, definitely colorful. You said your robots weren’t very efficient. So why build them?”
Hellen smiled, acknowledging the change of subject. “We built robots because we wanted to. Because we’ve always wanted to. Our scientific romances were always full of machine servants, in the shape of men. Besides, we like having servants, or maybe even slaves. Robots can be both, without any of the concomitant guilt. Some people say we let the robots do too much for us these days, that we’ve become soft and weak and far too dependent on them. Maybe. But life’s hard enough; you have to take your comforts where you can find them.
“After the robots, we built improved animals. That’s a much better story. We took the animals we loved most, and made them intelligent, and finally equal citizens. Horses and dogs and cats came first, because we’d always liked them the most. We did it to the monkeys too, but they turned out to be ungrateful little shits. They’ve got their own city now, and throw their shit at tourists. And we did offer to do it to the whales and dolphins, but they said they were quite happy as they were, thank you very much. Of course, some people were rather surprised when the animals turned out to have wills and opinions of their own, and were more interested in being partners than pets. Idiots. That was the point. Would you like to meet some?”
“Love to,” said Owen, fascinated by the thought of intelligent animals. “We do have horses and dogs and cats in my time, but mostly just out on the border worlds, and none of them are intelligent. Or if they are, they’re keeping really quiet about it.”
“Then I guess the experiment didn’t work out after all,” Hellen sighed. “Such a pity. Let’s try one of the dogs. Cats can be a bit snotty with strangers, and horses always want to talk philosophy. Dogs always have time to talk to a human. But be warned: dogs are still dogs—they love goofing off.”
She led Owen out of the park. Lucifer stayed behind. He’d gone very quiet since he landed. Owen and Hellen ended up talking to a large black and white spotty dog that sat at the edge of the street, having a very thorough and satisfying scratch. He broke off to have a good sniff at Owen.
“Hello, Hellen,” he said, in a deep growly voice. “Who’s the rube? He smells funny.”
“Such manners, Sparky,” Hellen scolded him, but still unable to keep the fondness out of her voice. “This is Owen. He’s just visiting.”
“Oh, a tourist. Nice to meet you, Owen; welcome to the city, don’t steal anything, and no I don’t pose for photos.” He cocked his head to one side. “You really do smell different. Wrong. Not entirely human. Are you a threat? I may be civilized now, but I can still bite off your bits and gargle with your testicles.”
“I’m no threat,” Owen assured the dog solemnly. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
The dog wagged his tail dubiously. “Well, I can hear the truth in your voice, but still—you watch yourself. Hellen is a good sort, but far too trusting. People take advantage of her, and not just people either. I wouldn’t hang around with those fairy aliens if you paid me. They talk crap and their smell puts my teeth on edge. I just know they’d love to put a collar on me, the bastards.”
“Do the people of this city treat you right?” said Owen.
The dog shrugged. “More or less. I think we’d all be a lot happier if humans did a little less talking and lot more throwing sticks, but . . . Right now, most animals are annoyed because people won’t let us have antigrav back-packs, and fly like they do. Just because certain species can’t be trusted when it comes to shitting and pissing. Pardon the language, but I’m a dog, and we don’t care. Humans have the strangest taboos. If they just sniffed each other’s crotches now and again, they’d all be a lot happier.”
Hellen decided it was time they were moving along, and Owen had to agree with her. A little doggy straight-talking went a long way. She led him back to the patiently waiting alien, who had opened a concealed panel in the ground, revealing a tunnel that led down into the earth. Owen was tempted to make a remark about Lucifer and the underworld, but rose above it. He and Hellen followed the alien down the simply lit tunnel, which sank steadily into the earth for some time before finally leveling off. The walls were made of tightly packed earth, and the smell of dirt and growing things was strong on the close air. Hellen leaned in close to Owen, so she could murmur confidentially in his ear.
“The Light People built all this. They like dark enclosed spaces. Apparently it makes them feel safe, and secure. Maybe it reminds them of their time in their cocoon. Assuming they have cocoons. They don’t talk much about their home life.”
The tunnel suddenly broadened out into a great natural cavern, hundreds of feet in diameter. The massed Illuminati hung from the ceiling by their feet, like bats, their wings folded around them like cloaks, huddled close together. They bobbed and rustled excitedly as Owen entered their domain, peering down at him from the high ceiling. Their bright rainbow glows supplied the only light, somewhat muted by the surrounding gloom. Owen counted forty of them, including Lucifer, who was looking longingly up at the crowded ceiling, but stayed politely on the ground with Owen and Hellen. There was no furniture, only raised earth mounds here and there, so Owen and Hellen sat on those. Lucifer regarded Owen thoughtfully.
“Hear our story, Owen Deathstalker. We came to Hearth ten months ago, and at first the humans made a great fuss of us. We were their first alien contact, and they couldn’t get enough of us. There were parades, celebrations, and endless questions. But when we had to tell them that we couldn’t teach them to fly in space unprotected, as we do, their enthusiasm waned. And when we finally told them why we had come, that we were the last of our species, fleeing from the Terror that had destroyed our civilization, everything changed. We were no longer heroic travelers, just objects of pity. Refugees. Not brave explorers of the infinite, as they intended to be. And when they found out we had no great knowledge to share with them, no amazing advanced technology, just a warning of the danger to come . . . the novelty wore off fast. They lost interest in us. They were bored. We were a disappointment. All the great dreams they’d had of first contact with an intelligent alien species, and we couldn’t fulfill any of them. They wouldn’t listen to us about the Terror. A threat that wouldn’t even arrive for thousands of years wasn’t enough to hold their attention. No one took it seriously.
That’s someone else’s problem,
they said.
Let someone else worry about it.
We became a joke, and then an old joke, that no one wants to hear anymore. Let me show you. Turn on the television, Hellen.”
That’s someone else’s problem,
they said.
Let someone else worry about it.
We became a joke, and then an old joke, that no one wants to hear anymore. Let me show you. Turn on the television, Hellen.”
She nodded quickly, and pulled forward out of the shadows what looked to Owen like a portable viewscreen unit. Hellen turned it on, and the screen showed a close-up of some show host doing what Owen assumed was topical humor. Certainly none of it meant anything to him, but the live studio audience lapped it up. The host was Allan Woss, a tall lanky sort in a sparkly suit, with a mop of bright blue hair and a wide fake smile, to show off his perfect white teeth. He waved his arms about a lot and kept shooting
love me
looks into the camera. Owen sniffed. He recognized the type. It seemed some things were always the same, wherever you went.
love me
looks into the camera. Owen sniffed. He recognized the type. It seemed some things were always the same, wherever you went.
“He’s a personality,” Hellen said dispassionately. “Famous for being famous. And nowhere near as smart and funny as he thinks he is. And that sparkly suit is just so yesterday’s man. Ostensibly this is a chat show, but really the guests are only there so Woss can have fun at their expense. The Illuminati standing below him, in what Woss so charmingly refers to as the Conversation Pit, is called Solar. And this . . . is the only kind of show the Light People can get on these days. They know the odds are stacked against them from the start, but they’re obsessed with getting their warning across. I understand why, but . . . no one listens. No one cares. It all happened so very far away, and so long ago.”
She turned up the volume as Woss lowered himself into what looked very like a throne, set over the Conversation Pit. The single Illuminati looked smaller and shabbier on the television screen. The harsh studio lighting bleached out its delicate rainbow colors. The Illuminati wrapped its wings tightly about its body, perhaps for comfort. Woss leaned back in his throne, utterly at ease, dispensing judgement and jokes for the eager live audience, and barely allowing Solar to get a word in edgewise.
“So, Solar, tell us all about yourself, you strange-looking person, you. Do you have any strange powers or abilities? Can you get radio signals on those antennae? Can you tell us this week’s winning lottery number? No, not a lot of use, are you? So it’s just the wings, then . . . Shame, shame, shame. Still, let me ask you the question I just know our viewers want me to ask: since none of you Light Bulb People seem to be guys or gals, how do you produce more little Illuminati? I mean, pardon my bluntness, but you people don’t seem to have any equipment to do anything with! Unless those aren’t really antennae after all! Just a joke, just a joke. Maybe I should ask you about pollination. For all I know, you could have been shagging your dressing room!”
There was loud sycophantic laughter and cheers from his audience. Woss smiled and waved his hands about. Owen scowled.
“Why is he giving Solar such a hard time?”
“Because that’s what he does. Because he can,” said Hellen. “The Illuminati were our first contact, and they turned out to be
boring.
And that of course was unforgivable. So now everyone just makes fun of them, in the hope they’ll take the hint, and leave. That way Humanity can just forget all about them.”
boring.
And that of course was unforgivable. So now everyone just makes fun of them, in the hope they’ll take the hint, and leave. That way Humanity can just forget all about them.”
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