The Blood Red Game

EPILOGUE

Asquiol of Pompeii took Mary the Maze back to his ship. They felt more at ease there, since the ship bore similarities to their own metabolic state.

Here, with Asquiol acting again as a guide for Mary, they pooled their resources together and contemplated the radiant multiverse around them.

Then they put out a tendril of multiversal thought-matter along the familiar layers, seeking the alien minds.

Then they were in contact!

When the alien leaders came to the ship, Mary gasped and said in normal speech: 'God! They're beautiful.'

They were beautiful, with delicate bones and translucent skins, great, golden eyes and graceful movements. Yet there was a look of depravity about them, of ultimate decadence. Like depraved, wise children.

'The Originators warned me to beware of races they called pessimists,' Asquiol said, 'races who had despaired of ever attaining full awareness of the multiverse, who had so completely lost the urge to transcend their limitations that the tiny core of being had, over millennia, been almost completely eroded. Doubtless these are of that kind.'

By use of their unique method, they once again conversed with the aliens and were astonished by the mood of total defeat, unquestioning acceptance of the winners' rights to dictate any terms they wished.

They had lost their urge to transcend physical confines and in so doing had lost pride - real pride, also.

Absolute defeat - lost spirit - utter hopelessness - concede all rights you wish to take…

This mood was sufficient to add almost the last pressure on the victors' already weary minds. A great pity welled up in them as they communicated their terms to the conquered.

Accept terms - any terms acceptable - we have no status - you have all status - we are nothing but your tools to use…

So conditioned were the aliens to the code applying to the Game they had played for centuries, perhaps millennia, that they could let this unknown opponent do as it liked. They were conditioned to obeying the victor. They could not question the victor's right. Their shame was so intense that they threatened to die of it - yet there was no trace of bitterness, no trace of resentment or lingering pride…

Asquiol and Mary resolved to help them, if they could.

The aliens left.

Would they ever see them again? As the spherical ship moved away, they sent out a polite impression that congratulated them on their ingenuity and courage, but it met with no response. They were beaten - no praise could alter that. They gave them positions of planets suitable for human occupation - they were totally unsuited for themselves, anyway - and then they fled.

They did not go to nurse grudges, for they had none. They did not plot retaliation, for such a thing was inconceivable. They went to hide - to reappear only if their conquerors demanded it.

They were a strange people whose artificial code had obviously completely superseded natural instincts.

As the alien ship disappeared, Asquiol and Mary broke their contact with the leaders.

'I'd better inform Mordan. He'll be delighted, anyway.' Asquiol operated the laser. He told the Gee-lord of his meeting.

'I'll start the fleet moving towards some habitable planets right away. Give me an hour.' Lord Mordan smiled tiredly. 'We did it, Prince Asquiol. I must admit I was close to accepting defeat.'

'We all were,' Asquiol smiled. 'How are the other three?'

'They've gone back to Roffrey's ship. I think they're okay. Roffrey and the girl seem quite happy, strangely. Do you want me to keep tabs on them?'

'No.' Asquiol shook his head, and as he did so the light broke and reformed around it, the images scattering and merging. Asquiol stared at Mordan's weary face for a moment. The Gee-lord shifted uncomfortably beneath the fixed stare.

'I could do with some natural sleep,' he said at last, 'but I've got to get the fleet moving first. Is there anything else?'

'Nothing,' said Asquiol, and switched out.

There was a subdued mood of victory about the reformed fleet as he and Mary watched it from one of the ports.

'There's a lot more to do, Mary,' he said. 'This is really only the beginning. I once compared the human race to a chick smashing out of its shell. The comparison still applies. We've broken the shell. We've survived our first period in the multiverse - but will we survive the second and the third? Is there a huge, cosmic farmer with an axe somewhere thinking of serving us up for dinner when we're plump enough?'

She smiled. 'You're worn out. So am I. Give yourself time to think properly. It's the reaction - you're depressed. That kind of emotion can harm a lot of the work we still have to do.'

He looked at her in surprise. He was still unused to having company that he could appreciate, someone who could understand what he felt and saw.

'Where are we going?' he said. 'We need to plan carefully. The degraded condition of the fleet can't be allowed to continue once we make planet-fall. Galactic Law will have to be firmly re-established. Men like Lord Mordan, who have been more than useful in the past because of their pragmatic virtues which could not have been helped by possession of the kind of vision we need now, will have to be taken out of, positions of power. We've become a grim race lately - out of necessity. If we let matters slide, Mary, the race could easily degenerate back into something worse than its pre-exodus state. If that happened, our destiny might be out of reach for good. There isn't much time. The Originators made that clear when Renark and I first met them.'

He sighed.

'With me to help you,' she said, 'the hard work will be easier. I know it's going to be harder, but there are two of us now. You noticed how Adam and Willow were beginning to respond back in the Game Ship? There must be dozens like them in the fleet, potentially capable of joining us. Soon, perhaps in only a few generations, there will be a race of people like us, until there are enough to take the place of the Originators.'

'Not that many,' Asquiol said. 'Most people are happy as they are. Who can blame them? It will be an uphill climb.'

'That's the best way to climb hills,' she smiled. 'And remember - keep your impression of those aliens we saw firmly in your mind. We have an example now of how we could degenerate. Perhaps it was fated that we should meet that race. It will serve as a reminder - and a warning. And with a reminder like that, we are not likely to fail.'

Around them, as they sat in contemplation, the multi-verse flowed, thick and solid, so full. And this could be the heritage of their race.

He laughed slightly. 'There's a, scene in Henry the Fourth where Falstaff learns that Prince Hal, his old drinking companion, is now king. He gathers his friends about him and tells them good times have come, for he is "Fortune's Steward," and the king will honour them and allow them to behave as they like with impunity. But, instead, King Henry banishes Falstaff for a buffoon and troublemaker. Falstaff realises then that instead of becoming better, things are going to be worse. I sometimes wonder if, perhaps, I'm not "Fortune's Steward" - leading the whole race towards a promise I can't keep…'

Mary's multi-faceted face smiled encouragingly.

'There are still the Originators. But even without them

Man has always had to act without being able to foresee the outcome of his actions - ever since he began the long climb upward. He is a stumbler; he has to convince himself of the results he will achieve without ever knowing if he can do it. But he quite often succeeds. We have a long way to go, Asquiol, before we shall ever be able to know for certain the outcome of our actions. Meanwhile, we keep going.

'We're probably the most optimistic race in the multi-verse!'

They laughed together. And the spirit of Renark, which had permeated through the race to give it a unified strength, seemed to share their joy.

The multiverse, agitated, swirled and leapt and delighted them with its flourish of colour and variety. All possibilities existed there.

All promise, all hope.