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.