HOW THE GODS KILL: III

by Konstantine Paradias and Edward Morris

art by Prince Satyrn

   After the Queen's own Court Psychosurgeon pronounced Ariachne sufficiently stable to function during field ops, they set her loose on Selene. The memory was as fresh as a salted whip lash. Upon exiting the dark, dank, smelly cargo-shuttle (commandeered by hush-money at the last feasible moment) she was driven by drone-chariot from the Undercity to the Summer Palace.  There she was made to kneel before her Majesty...who had, Herself, taken a Voidship out in secret to study the extent of her agent's skullfuckery as well as the validity of her paramount, crowning deception. Grading it all like a test, back in school, in order to protect all Her Majesty's investments.

   Selene had fought the Mindbenders for weeks on end, had even twisted one of their skepto-graphic machines in the process. She'd resisted dream larvae and had even fought off their nightmare advance which came during sleep after a week of artificial insomnia.

   She resisted, but, in the end, she caved. Like they all did. And then, they poured the chymical mixture that was Ariachne in and let her take over.

   Queen Kristamas's own Hounds (real Hounds, those) placed their roughly calloused hands on her, and held her until her last gibbering fit subsided to a sloppy catatonia. Well-oiled servos writhed beneath the sandpaper skin of their palms. They knew what they were doing. In their metal bones.

   When Ariachne calmed down and lay still, the Queen ran her hands through Ari's sweat soaked hair, held up her cheek, pried open her glassy eyes and beheld Her own reflection in the violet-tinged irises. The Queen was examining her from crown to rump as though she were a beast of burden. At length, she cupped Ari's trembling head in her palms, whispering in a voice brimful of crawling things, "What is your naaaame..."

   "A-Ariachne..." she stammered with the voice of the Other in her unconscious, her teeth chattering. The Queen's hands that held the entire system in their grasp, and bore a legion of rulers that would ensure the sovereignty of the Hapsburg-Romanovs for a thousand generations, felt infinitely cold. "Ariachne Logos."

   This seemed to please Kristamas, Third of Her Name, Eternal Despot of the Dominion of Austria. Slowly, she released Ariachne's face from her grasp, and stood back for the Court Psychosurgeon as he entered the room again.

   Producing a handkerchief from his jacket pocket with expert ease, the Psychosurgeon daubed the exalted fingers clean from any trace of the contact with the base matter that was Ari's flesh.

   "How long until she is ready?" the Queen purred. The Psychosurgeon thought a moment.

   "A week, your Majesty," he replied, after checking an arcane dial against his own inscrutable notes. "Just long enough for the chymical marriage to settle."

   "You will bring me the head of the traitor, won't you child?" Kristamas whispered to Ari, her voice a sickly sweet thing, like a knife too sharp to hurt the flesh it sliced into. "Your beloved's head?"

   Ari stared, feeble and uncomprehending. The Other still flamed and flickered in her eyes, whose senses were shut down though the lids were open wide. Ari flickered back in there, as well, toward the prefrontal cortex, smashing her body against the base of Reason. But she knew the Queen would accept a nod. This, too, seemed to please Her Majesty.

   "Go now, with my blessing...."

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How The Gods Kill

by Konstantine Paradias & Edward Morris 

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