"'Oh, mortal,’ he said, ‘you have me there. I should have known better than to boast so freely! Of course, I cannot. I am no true god. I can do many, many things that you cannot even imagine, but I cannot untangle such a paradox any more than you can… ‘"
– from the tales of Atheron the Storyteller
When Thaddeus and Geste had vanished through the doorway Bredon turned back to the prisoners. Lady Sunlight still showed no sign of interest in him, so he addressed himself to the group as a whole. “Now what?” he asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?"
“I don't know,” replied Sheila-the Lady of the Seasons, Bredon remembered, the goddess of the weather, who brought the warm sun in summer and the cold winds in winter.
Except that the woman he saw before him, although she was healthy and attractive apart from her fading burn, was just a woman, not a goddess. The Powers were only human, and their power lay in their technology.
And the seasons had nothing to do with technology, in any case.
“I don't know,” she repeated. “But I hope so."
“I'd like to get you out of those chains, but I don't have a key or anything that will cut them."
“Thaddeus keeps the key with him, I think,” the small man Bredon had identified as Rawl said.
“Why are you people talking to this savage?” Madame O whined. “What good can he do?"
“Thaddeus obviously doesn't think he can do anything at all,” Lady Sunlight said, “but Thaddeus has been wrong before."
Bredon felt his pulse quicken as Lady Sunlight eyed him appraisingly.
“He's not wrong this time,” O spat.
“Maybe not,” Bredon admitted. “I can try, though.” He looked around the room, but saw nothing useful. The red light above the door caught his eye. “Monitor, where is a key for these chains?” he asked.
The intelligence hesitated. “I am uncertain whether you are authorized to ask that,” it said at last.
“Why?"
“I have no record of your existence."
“Monitor,” Sheila demanded, “answer this man's question."
“No,” the intelligence replied at once. “The prisoner Sheila is forbidden all service beyond stated necessities and emergency aid."
Imp looked up from Aulden's chest for a moment, then glanced at first Bredon, then Sheila, then back to Bredon. “Aulden,” she whispered, “Bredon took a lot of imprinting at Arcade; he's no technician, but he can run machines. Thaddeus doesn't know that, and he didn't give the machines any orders about him. What can he do to stop Thaddeus?"
Aulden's expression slowly lost its underlying hopelessness as he considered this. He glanced up at the red light, then motioned silently for Bredon to come closer.
The mortal came and knelt beside the chained technician.
“I can't do anything about the machines Thaddeus designed himself, like Monitor up there,” Aulden whispered, “but they're all pretty stupid, because Thaddeus is a lousy technologist, so most of the fortress is run by intelligences we brought with us from Terra, or ones I designed for Thaddeus. I think you can do something with those. Except for Monitor, none of the machines can hear any of us immortals any more, but they ought to be able to hear you. And Thaddeus doesn't use purely biological intelligent systems because he doesn't trust them, since they have a habit of turning independent, so you won't have to worry about creatures, just machines."
Lady Sunlight glanced up at the red light that represented Monitor, and asked, “Aren't you afraid that that machine will hear you, and tell Thaddeus?"
“No,” Aulden replied. “You weren't listening. Thaddeus told it not to disturb him, with no qualification. Even if it hears us it won't tell anyone. It's a really stupid machine."
“What should I do?” Bredon asked eagerly.
“First,” Aulden told him, “you need the emergency codes."
Two levels and a corridor away, Thaddeus settled into a grey floating chair and gestured for the Trickster to do the same.
Geste obliged. Something felt very odd about the room, and he realized as the chair adjusted itself that no music was playing.
When both were comfortably seated, Thaddeus asked politely, “Now, why do you think I should stop my efforts to rebuild my stolen empire?"
“Because it's stupid and pointless,” Geste replied quickly.
“Oh?” Thaddeus's reply was cool.
“Yes,” Geste said. “Seriously, Thaddeus, what can you get by ruling an empire that you can't just buy now, with what you have? You can have any material possession you could possibly want; our galaxy is jammed with raw materials and energy, and all it takes is time and technology to make whatever you want-food, shelter, clothing, amusements, even women, whatever creatures you want. What good will an empire do you?"
Thaddeus cocked his head and smiled cruelly. “Can you really be that naive?” he asked. The smile vanished, and his voice turned hard. “I can have power. I will prove my superiority to all you young upstarts, with your foolish egalitarian beliefs and petty social rituals. I'll get the human race organized again, put an end to all this hedonistic anarchy."
“Will you?” Geste asked, almost sneering in mockery of Thaddeus's own behavior. “Do you really think you can do that?"
“Of course I can!” Thaddeus roared back. “I'm thousands of years older than you, Geste; show a little respect for your elders. I'm not a manufactured immortal like you, dependent on machines and symbiotes for longevity-I'm a natural immortal, a member of a superior race, one of the chosen people. My family is destined to rule over you ordinary humans. I have a head-start of more than two thousand years on any artificial immortal, and that two thousand years gives me experience and knowledge that you can't even imagine, with your pitiful few centuries behind you. You've lived all your life in pampered comfort, and you've been content with that, but I grew up in harder times, boy, I saw my mother's family murdered, my homeland destroyed, by you normal humans. I've lived through wars and disasters that would frighten you into catatonia, and I've learned from all of it."
“Have you? Then why did you fail twice before?"
“Because I was betrayed!” Thaddeus bellowed, rising from his chair, his face red with fury. “I trusted people, and they betrayed me!"
Geste resisted the impulse to taunt Thaddeus further. “All right, you were betrayed,” he said quietly. “Doesn't that show you that people don't want you to rule them?"
“What the hell do I care what they want?” Thaddeus asked, as he sank back into his seat. “I want it! I never claimed to be doing this for anyone else!"
Geste abandoned that line and groped for another.
“You could get killed,” he said. “You don't know what's happened out there these last few centuries. You might run smack into some sort of interstellar police force, or somebody else's empire, and get yourself killed."
“I'll risk it,” Thaddeus said. “I don't believe it, for one thing; I saw what you decadent babies were like, and now that you're all fake immortals, four hundred years wouldn't be enough to change that. You people need a thousand years just to decide what to have for breakfast."
“But what if some group of short-lifers took charge, caught someone by surprise…"
Thaddeus stared at him in such open disbelief that Geste did not bother to finish his question.
“Short-lifers,” Thaddeus said, “are absolutely harmless. They don't live long enough to learn anything dangerous. I've survived seven thousand years of the worst short-lifers can throw at me. If there's a short-lifer empire out there, all I have to do is wait for it to fall. It never takes very long."