I in turn study the dead bird and the gagargi. For some reason it feels as if I have had this very same conversation with him before. That I have forgotten it more than once. I feel distanced from myself, almost… almost as if I were watching myself from afar. But still I have to ask, “Can you do this to a person?”
The gagargi inspects the soul bead, nodding to himself as if pleased with his handiwork. The white swirls bear a definite yellow hue. I am sure of it. But the question to which I am waiting for an answer is too important for me to get sidetracked by trivialities.
“I can.”
The relief is such that I must seek support from the desk. There is no free surface, and pieces of metal and glass press sharp against my palms. I don’t care. This breakthrough must be recent. It fills in the last missing piece in our plan. I am grateful, so very grateful, but also drowsy. But tonight is an important night for my empire. I can’t allow myself the luxury of feeling tired.
“Yours will be a different empire.” The gagargi places the swan bead on the desk, amongst the cogs and wheels and pliers, empty glass spheres and golden springs and pieces of silver cable. The light of the newly created bead meets green and blue. “The time has come to put an end to mindless waste. No more children starving to death. No more soldiers sent to certain death.”
His voice is like the sweetest nectar. He places his long fingers on my right shoulder. His gaze is luminous, lit with promises of the better world. But my attention is drawn to the green and blue that emanates from… Alina’s name day gift.
“The Great Thinking Machine,” I whisper. My youngest sister was almost as afraid of the mechanical peacock as she was of the Great Thinking Machine. I remember promising to take the peacock away, but not bringing it here. How curious that is. How curious of me to think of it now that it is certain that the coup can’t fail.
“People will accept our guidance. They are ready for the machine.” The gagargi leans toward me in that way of his that I at first found intimidating, then later on irresistible. For he is fully focused on me, and only me. “Adult souls, though tarnished by name and past deeds, will suffice at first. There will be volunteers and those volunteered. Convicted prisoners. War criminals. Engineer Alanov has made extensive calculations and projections. Even if we cannot extract the whole soul at first, partial extraction will suffice for the first year.”
His words wash over me, so comforting. I tried my best to comfort Alina. But, haunted as she was by her visions, her grim imagination, there was nothing I could do to make her feel better. But perhaps time will heal her. And what was that last thing the gagargi said to me?
“What happens after the first year?”
He cups my cheeks, lips a mere paper’s width apart from me. He is more intoxicating than any wine I have ever tasted. “There will be more volunteers. Once the Great Thinking Machine brings the people equality, or at least the promise of equality, they will not want to go back.”
I don’t want to go back either, and there is no return anyway to the idealistic, simple childhood of mine where things were ever golden and unchanged. The old world, that of traditions, that of my foremothers, will come to an end soon. The new world, that of machines that can count and equality for all, is upon us.
“Imagine an average family in the countryside, dwelling in one of those villages that are not even marked on the maps. The father works in a dwindling coal mine. The mother takes care of the pitiful cottage. They have six children. The four boys are conscripted to war. Years later, one or none comes back. The father dies of a lung disease. The mother and daughters fall to poverty and starve. It is likely they won’t survive the next winter.”
This is the reality, what has become of the mighty Crescent Empire. Mother has been so keen on expanding the borders that she has forgotten the price. And though I have tried to make her see that, she has chosen to remain blind. I wonder what would have happened to the empire if it weren’t for the gagargi and me, my seed, and the people ready to sacrifice themselves for the cause that is most just.
“These people are never heard of, never seen.” The gagargi’s mouth is so close to mine that we might as well be kissing. As he exhales, I inhale. I drink the wisdom he shares so willingly. “Imagine they were offered an option. What if there were a tax that applied to everyone, regardless of their birth and origin?”
This is my cue. I have asked this before. I have heard the answer before. But I can’t stop myself, not when nothing separates us anymore. “What would we tax?”
The gagargi kisses me. His mouth is hot against mine as he pries my teeth apart with his persistent tongue. Soon, it throbs inside me, though I didn’t invite him in. Yet I can’t tell him to go away, because I need him. Because I want him.
I think.
He breaks the kiss too soon, and I want to beg him to continue. But before I can do so, he simply says, “Every other child.”
I blink, abashed that I got distracted by a kiss, of all things, when we were discussing matters of state. Tax every other child? But of course, he has told me this before. He has kissed me before. I followed him into his bed, under his sheets.
“My studies have confirmed that children’s souls are the purest form of energy. Their souls are easily extracted whole. Nothing goes to waste.”
It is because I have my gaze averted from his, my head bent down, that I catch a glimpse of the mechanical peacock again. No matter how I always tell Alina that her fears are irrational, she is certain the gagargi means to feed her to the Great Thinking Machine. I think the bird reminded her of that, just as it now reminds me of my sister’s disquietude.
But in the light of the gagargi’s words, perhaps she is right. No. Nonsense. Why would I think such? Even if some people were willing to gift their soul or their children’s souls for the better of the empire, for the Great Thinking Machine, my little sister has nothing to fear. Of that I am almost sure.
“Celestia, tell me, what are you thinking?”
I keep my chin stubbornly pressed down. It is almost a crime itself to doubt him who has placed himself at such great risk on my behalf. After all, if anyone were to find out that we are plotting a coup, if we were to fail tonight, it would be exile for me, execution for him.
“You are filled with such good intentions,” I reply, for how could I refuse him? Yet at the same time I ask myself, how does the gagargi know all this that he is sharing with me? Has he been experimenting with people more extensively without keeping me informed? It wouldn’t be difficult for him to get a child from an orphanage or a workhouse. It would be easy for his apprentices to dispose of a body.
“Of course I am.” He prods my chin up, to meet his eyes. I blink rapidly, a futile attempt to keep my thoughts straight. “Ours will be a merciful empire. But it will only come to be if you play your assigned part.”
His gaze locks on to me, and his words bind me. What am I doing resisting him, discarding the sweet bliss of his guidance? I can’t afford second thoughts now. I must—
Someone knocks at the door.
“Ah, it’s time,” Gagargi Prataslav says, and pulls his hand away from my chin. His gaze, however, remains locked with mine. He doesn’t seem fully satisfied with me. “Do enter.”
Captain Janlav steps in. He bears proudly the midnight blue uniform with silver epaulets and crescent buttons, but he wears red gloves. He has a rifle strapped across his back and a curving, ceremonial sword at his hip. He clicks his heels together in a salute and says, “Gagargi Prataslav, everything is ready.”