Lords of the Seventh Swarm

Chapter 12

“You feel all right about this?” Gallen asked Maggie that morning. “You don’t mind if I leave for a couple days?”

Maggie lay in bed beside him, her dark red hair in her eyes. She shook her head. “Just get your cloning done before you leave.”

Gallen studied her face. Maggie looked pale, though her morning sickness had passed. He did not want to broach this topic, but he had to. “I’m not going for Felph, you know.”

“I know. You want to beat the dronon. So you’re hunting for a magic potion? I have to tell you, Gallen, I wouldn’t hope for too much. I don’t understand how such a potion could do what Felph claims.”

“Why not? We have that vial of Hope we got … where? I don’t even remember the name of the world.”

“Cyanoses, Maggie said. “And it wasn’t a magic potion, just a spray containing the same chemicals that arouse hope in anyone.”

“It felt magic to me, coming as we did from Tihrglas, never having seen such a thing. It felt magic. Who knows what the Qualeewoohs might have done. Try on the spirit mask, if you don’t believe me.”

Maggie glanced to the mask, lying beside the bed, shook her head thoughtfully. “For your sake,” Maggie whispered, “I hope they’ve found magic.”

Gallen took her hand, clung to it. He felt guilty. He whispered, “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”

Maggie patted her tummy. “I have our son to keep me company. Believe me, if he’d kicked you as much last night as he did me, you’d know you weren’t alone. Besides, you’re the one who needs to run off into the tangle. I’m in no shape to follow. I’m just going to stay here and work on getting fat. for a couple of days. Hera is here, and Arachne. This will give me a chance to get to know them.”

Gallen could not put a name to his concerns. Maggie smiled, then took his left hand, pulled it under the covers, placed it on her womb. Gallen felt her warm belly stretch as his son kicked.

Maggie’s eyes blazed with a light of their own. That is how I want her to be, always, Gallen considered. Shining with joy. He leaned forward, kissed her softly and with passion. Her breath tasted sweet, even this early in the morning. In a few moments she climbed atop him, and they became tangled together for a long hour.

When their passion was spent, Maggie whispered heavily into Gallen’s ear, “Don’t take any chances out there.”

“Ah, you’re a madwoman, Maggie. First you nearly kill me with lovemaking, then you tell me to take care. You’ll make me old before my time.”

“I just wanted to remind you that you have something to live for. I–I don’t want to make love to your clone.”

“Too late, I already am a clone. You’re making love to Belorian.”

Maggie shook her head. “No, he died centuries ago. You’re my Gallen O’Day.”

Gallen kissed her eyelids and said seriously, “I know.”

Moments later, a service droid announced itself at their door, requesting them to follow it to meet Lord Felph. Gallen dressed quickly in the black robes of a Lord Protector, put on his mantle, gathered his weapons, and packed his clothes.

The droid led them deep into the palace, along yellow corridors where holoimages gave radiation warnings. The doors were unmarked, but the droid told them that this was Felph’s technical center, the birthing chambers where he made his children.

At a green door, the droid bid them enter a large darkly lit oval-shaped room perhaps fifty meters in diameter. Storage tubes for clones lined each wall, gray round lids smattering the white room with giant polka dots. In the center, of the room lay a vivification table, a plain white table with various pumps around it that would allow Felph to infuse nutrients into a clone as he downloaded it with memories.

The table’s Al was built into a hood that spanned the ceiling, along with various lights and instruments, so that the Al looked like some menacing giant spider in its vast neural webbing, squatting over them all.

Lord Felph waited beside the vivification table, along with all his children, and Orick and Tallea. Gallen felt surprised, having believed that donating a sample of his genome would be a private act.

But he recognized immediately a level of tension in the room that was almost electric. Perhaps it came from the strained expression of Lord Felph, who wore a shabby brown robe and stood gazing at Zeus, his eyes flickering with anger. Perhaps it came from his children, who stared resolutely at the floor.

“Well then, there you are, finally,” Felph said to Gallen and Maggie, hardly turning away from Zeus. “Here is the DNA sampler. Just set your hand here.”

Felph pointed to a white pad near the table, and Gallen set his palm on the spot. A small device came up under his hand, whirred momentarily as it peeled away a tiny scrap of skin, then retracted, taking it into storage.

The central gem in Gallen’s mantle glowed as the artificial intelligence overhead recorded his memories.

Felph turned, addressed his children. “I requested your presence because this is a big day. A very big day. It is the first day of freedom for my children.” He clipped his words off, biting them back. “Already this day, some of you have used your freedom badly. I found Zeus running around naked on the roof, and he threw one of my droids from the citadel, after recording a little message for me.”

Felph sighed, and he spoke in a tone of grief. “So, I must consider, ‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’

“Herm, what shall I do? How can I hope for a civil response to a civil request from you children?” Felph gazed up into Herm’s green eyes, stepped close, and breathed into his face. “What would you do?”

“Punish us, I guess,” Herm said, hardly mumbling as he gazed at the floor.

Gallen nearly laughed. Felph’s “children,” though adults in form, were acting like five-year-olds. Felph took the role of aggrieved parent.

“Punish you. Hmmm … a good idea! A fine idea,” Felph agreed. “And tell me, Arachne. You’re the smart one here. How would you go about that? Shall I have you stand in corners? Should I take away privileges?”

Arachne did not move. Instead, she kept her face down and pretended not to hear. She shook slightly.

“Hera, then? How would you punish them?”

“I would do what you plan to do now,” Hera answered with a smirk. Her blues eyes flashed beneath her auburn hair. She stood up straight, squared her shoulders.

“Which is?”

“You’ll kill our clones and erase our memory crystals.”

Felph folded his hands in front of his belly, tried to hold back his surprise at her answer. “You would do that, really?”

“Of course,” Hera said. “You have no choice in the matter. You can’t continue to spoil us.”

At that moment, her words seemed to galvanize Felph into motion. Gallen sensed that what had, until a moment before, been only a threat, now became the chosen course of action. “Of course, of course. You’re so right, my precious.”

He turned back to the others. “Do you understand why I must do this? Why you’ve forced me to do this? You wanted freedom-all very well and good. I’ve given it to you. But from whom little is required, little is expected. In the past I’ve allowed you to make mistakes without facing their consequences. I’ve coddled you.”

Felph stood for a second, eyes flashing, then rushed to Zeus’s side and screamed. “And this is how you repay me, you insolent shit! This is how! I gave you life!” Zeus raised his hands, as if to block a blow if Felph tried to strike. “I give you food on the table and clothes on your back! I … I-Damn you! Damn you all!” Felph turned and rushed to a gray tube, pulled the handle, and slid the tube out from the wall, opening it as if it were a giant drawer. Zeus’s clone lay naked on a white bed. It looked as if it were sleeping, eyes closed sweetly. Its hair was long, and unlike Zeus, who was clean-shaven, the clone had a wispy beard that needed trimming. Otherwise, the clone looked perfect, without blemish.

Lord Felph reached into a pocket of his drab robe, fumbled, and pulled out a gun. He put it to the clone’s ear and pulled the trigger. A loud pop sounded. Blood spattered the room. The clone’s head wobbled, then Felph pushed, rolled it over so it fell from its bed to the floor. The clone lay bleeding from a horrible wound that split its skull.

Felph reached up to the next shelf, pulled it open, drew out a second clone: another copy of Zeus.

Felph stuck the gun in its mouth, pulled the trigger three times, then dragged the ruined thing to the floor so it landed atop the first. Gallen stood, stunned. As a Lord Protector, he wondered if he should save the clones, but his mantle told him the clones were mere flesh. They had no memories, no experience or personality. Indeed, they’d been grown in flesh vats and moved directly into cold storage. Electrodes kept their muscles toned. They were no more conscious than growths of skin or fingernails. They were Felph’s property.

That is what his mantle told him, but Gallen knew better. The clones that Felph murdered might not have consciousness, but if Felph were to wake them, to simply feed and care for them, they would become normal people.

They were babies, fresh from the womb. Sleeping, merely sleeping.

Gallen didn’t know how to handle this. He could stop Felph, but his conscience whispered no: it is better this way. Felph was right. No one should have the right to immortality. Life should not be squandered or abused.

Lord Felph pulled open a third drawer, another copy of Zeus, but younger Zeus as he might look at twelve, instead of twenty-five. A boy with gorgeous dark eyes, the first growths of hair darkening his chest.

Gallen became aware of Maggie clutching his shoulder with both hands. Her teeth chattered, and she had such a look of horror in her face, Gallen could hardly bear it.

“Stop him, Gallen! Stop this!” Maggie pleaded.

Too late. At that moment, Felph shoved his gun into the clone’s chest and pulled the trigger five times, snapping off shots so fast it was remarkable.

Unlike the others, this clone reacted to the attack. It raised its hands into the air, and it gasped, its muscles convulsing-by reflex rather than design. It coughed blood, and Felph stopped, looked at the thing in horror. Then shoved the gun back into his pocket and grabbed an arm, pulling the clone to the floor, so three bodies lay naked, one atop the other.

Two of the clones twitched and jerked. Felph, his face and trim white beard now spattered with droplets of blood, stood panting over his kills. His face had drained white, as if in shock at what he’d done.

“Enough!” Gallen said. “You don’t have to do it like that.”

Felph’s eyes blazed with anger at Gallen’s command, but he said, “Of course, you’re right.”

He turned to Zeus. “One life, that’s all you have left. With freedom comes responsibility. I give you one life, and if you do not spend it wisely, the loss will be yours more than it is mine.”

Felph looked up to the great roof above him, at the Al with its neural webbing. Silver-blue conducting cords twisted among the brownish masses of neurons, and the great central processor of the Al crouched in the middle. “Mem, erase all data on Zeus-all his memories, all his aspirations. Then lock all such data out of your system in the future. I want his memories gone.”

The Al’s soft voice whispered through the room, neither male nor female. “Done.”

Zeus frowned up at the dome above him.

Felph continued, “Now wipe the memories for the rest of my children, and terminate their clones.”

“Done,” the voice came again, and it seemed to reverberate through Gallen’s mind, the voice of doom.

Now Lord Felph frowned at Zeus. “You want to stay here and play instead of escorting us to the tangle? Fine. Gallen was to have been your instructor. You stay here, and ponder your future. If you ever want to be reborn, you will earn that privilege. We’re going to our ship.” With that, Lord Felph stalked off, his brown robes billowing out behind him.

Young Athena looked up nervously to the Al, then scurried behind Felph, heading for the ship.

Gallen took one last look at the white corpses twitching on the floor, pools of dark blood spreading beneath them. Then he and Maggie followed Felph, along with Orick and Tallea, while the rest of Felph’s children-Zeus, Hera, Arachne, and Herm-all stood motionless, apparently too frightened to move.

Once Lord Felph left the room, Zeus went to the revivification table at the room’s center, leaned his palms against it, and stood for a moment, legs shaking so badly he could hardly stand. He exhaled a ragged breath, then glanced back at the others.

None of them took it so hard, mortality. Perhaps it was bred into him, but Zeus craved more. When he could stop trembling enough to stand under his own power, he ambled to his clones, piled in a bloody heap.

He squatted and held the chin of the young man he’d once been.

Vengeance for you, Zeus spoke without words. I shall have vengeance. He bent, kissed the clone’s lips, tasted its foul breath.

“Well, what a misfortune,” Herm said to Zeus. “Now it looks as if you will have to try to win all three points with Maggie, take her voluntarily. I can’t imagine you raping her now.”

The Great and Dreadful Game. Zeus hadn’t thought of the repercussions the death of his clones would have on the Game.

As Zeus’s eyes grew wide, Hera began laughing, a high sweet sound, full of joy. Zeus turned and gazed up at his wife, astonished by that tone.

“Five points I’ve won in the Great and Dreadful Game today,” she said, “for killing Zeus’s clones.”

Zeus gasped, looked up at Hera in astonishment. She’d seldom been a player of the Game. And of course, Zeus hadn’t been warned of her plan to get his clones murdered. That was part of the game: only the bettors and the scorekeeper were ever notified of the bets in place. It kept life interesting, wondering what those around you might be scheming.

“Points won,” Arachne said. Arachne was the official scorekeeper. She never played herself, but it amused her to know the ins and outs of everyone else’s schemes.

“You arranged for the murder of my clones?” Zeus shouted at his wife. “You! Hera? How did you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything. You did. I knew you wouldn’t want to go on the expedition, so you would have to do something to annoy Father. I just made certain I happened to be near him when you did, then I suggested that he needed to find a way to rein you in.”

He did not ask Hera why she’d killed his clones. He suspected he knew. Maggie. Perhaps she had heard about his bet concerning Maggie. Hera knew she could stop Zeus from raping Maggie, at least, by providing such a horrendous penalty that he wouldn’t dare take Maggie quickly.

But then another thought occurred to Zeus. Hera could not have known about his bet with Herm unless Herm had told her. Yet Herm had not left Zeus’s sight all morning.

So it may have been that Hera had asked Herm to tempt Zeus into this bet.

Zeus had thought it exceedingly generous of Herm to offer so many points for a simple seduction. Now he saw why. Hera had bet against him. She would interfere.

Hera smiled, a mischievous grin. “Three points if you bed Maggie,” she said. “Three for me if you don’t. That was my bet with Herm.”

This astonished Zeus-the depth of his wife’s jealousy, the scope of her cunning. She could make a formidable opponent in the Great and Dreadful Game. Surely Zeus would have been more circumspect in betting this morning if he’d suspected how jealous Hera was.

She’d taken him off his guard last night with her talk of truces and feigned interest in Gallen.

It annoyed Zeus to be so easily handled; and it humbled him. He went to his dear wife, found himself aroused. He kissed her full lips, pressed himself against her. “You haven’t stopped me,” he teased. “I will have my pleasure with Maggie, though she could never give me as much pleasure as do you.”

“Three points if you get her.” Hera laughed sweetly; she sauntered from the room.

The ruthless woman, Zeus considered. How could Hera so casually have maneuvered Felph into killing their clones? She’d lost as much as he in this debacle. Now all Felph’s children lay under the threat of extinction. It only showed Zeus how serious an opponent Hera would be in the Game. Still, he admired her.

Arachne was watching them both with an uncustomary frown. Zeus wondered what she knew that he didn’t. “Why the furrowed brow, dear sister?”

The witch seldom gave him a straight answer; he expected none now. Still he could hope. She had, after all, been created to be his counselor. For heaven’s sake, he needed the counsel now.

“I think,” Arachne said, “that your game goes too far. We would all be better off, if no one played such games anymore.”

“Goes too far? In what way?”

Arachne’s dark eyes flashed. “You hurt others merely to gain status, without concern for those who’ve done us only good.”

“So you would have me walk away from this?” Zeus asked. “Simply lose three points?”

“If you were half as noble as you were crafty, you would run from this game,” Arachne said.

“Hah! Hera told you to say this, didn’t she?”

“I mean it, “ Arachne said. “You’re a fool. Gallen O’Day is a dangerous man. You know almost nothing about him. He will protect what is his!”

“Indeed!” Zeus laughed. “I shall have my points whether you or Hera like it or not.” He gave a hearty roar for no reason he could understand. It was a laugh of pain, as much as of pleasure.