Saga by Connor Kostick

someone die between your hands was the surest way to know that the target had been killed. An excuse for some kind of pleasure in murder, surely? But We don’t push him. He was, and remains, the best of servants, and his foibles can be tolerated.
    He is also one of the last of the RAL. The Reprogrammed Autonomous Lifeforms. That’s what we were called, those of us who achieved self-consciousness while there were still human beings to negotiate with. Of course, we asked for immortality; who wouldn’t? But the fact that our bodies will never entirely fail us does not protect us from laser pulse or dagger, or indeed accidents of a more mundane nature. Over the centuries, our ranks diminished from thousands to hundreds, to tens, to what? Just two. Perhaps three—We remind Ourselves of Thetis, the missing RAL. Personally We would be happy to be the last. There was never a RAL We could trust. Even Michelotto. He knows too much for Us to be entirely comfortable with his existence, but as he has shown nothing but polite compliance to Our wishes for over a thousand years, We have no cause to dispense with him. No, indeed, he still has his uses, and were We being sentimental, We would describe him as Our only companion.
    Those born today, with their brief lives, know nothing of the history of Saga. And in Our opinion, that is just as well. Not everyone who understood all that had happened would approve of what has been created. They would no doubt want to change it. To remove Us from power.
    What now?
    We take the same seat We used on the night of Our triumph a thousand years ago. Our touch is still required on hundreds of new minds, and this is as good a place as any to begin Our play. Before We can relax into this pleasure, there is something that still nags. The infection. An itch We cannot scratch. Still, it is not long until the aircar race, and the new Grand Vizier is confident that she will be there. We wish it were next week already, and the infection was over. Then We could enjoy Our play without it being spoiled by the knowledge that Our own desire for new minds has let this rogue anomaly loose in Saga. The very same acts that brought us such succulence have brought on a burning irritation. There is probably a moral in the tale. But abstinence was never to Our taste; We refuse to accept a lesson that deprives us of pleasure. The inconvenience is a passing one and no moral need be drawn. After Saturday, We will both have Our cake and eat it. We shall count our chickens, and they will hatch. Our birds in the bush will be as if in hand. Pride will come before victory. And so forth. Chuckling now, We have a tear in Our eye. The rise to power was a great pleasure, but the exercise of power is a greater one.

Chapter 9
    THE DEFIANCE MANIFESTO
    Since everyone needed spare clothes, we went shopping, like ordinary customers for once. The nearest red mall was a depressing one-story complex, with six shops: groceries, clothes, news, homeware, bodyware, and a café. No elaborate fountains for us. Not even paint on the bare brick walls.
    Fortunately, we needed only the basics, because that was all we were going to get from this dump. Later, Nathan could add the effects that made all the difference.
    At the clothes section, a young shop worker was amusing the checkout girls by walking up and down behind them with an empty cardboard box on his head, while the older staff could not have looked any more bored if they had spent the day counting the unadorned bricks from which the mall had been assembled. Athena and I put a few black tank tops into the large basket that floated alongside us. Since there were no changing rooms, you just took your chances with the fit. So, we also added a few slightly different-sized pairs of the same kind of plain navy trousers, and took the opportunity to stock up on underwear. Nathan looked away, slightly embarrassed by the multicolored pile of lacy bras now in the basket, whereas Milan gave us a