of this Empire, Jamur Rika, causes me a predicament. You are the one my superiors instructed me to find. It is by your permission that landscapes can be altered. It was with you alone that we were supposed to form an alliance, so that we could move ourselves from our world in a well-ordered and peaceful manner.'
'Peaceful?' Randur snapped. 'You didn't seem particularly peace-loving just a while ago.'
'In my superiors' eyes, I am considered violent,' Artemisia admitted. 'Why else do you think they keep me away from my homeworld as often as possible?'
'Why not just negotiate with Urtica?' Randur sneered. 'He's the one in power now, so you should be talking to him.'
'He suffers from some kind of… instability, so it is believed. It is clear that he is not one for us to debate with. He would not understand our ways, which makes our task substantially more complex, and, furthermore, he is not a man with a peaceful nature. As I said, the repopulation must be conducted harmoniously. Besides, my instructions were to find you, Jamur Rika.'
'Couldn't you just come back at any point in time and repopulate?'
'You say that as if there was any room for debate in the matter. There are a handful of time-paths available. This is the path of least resistance – because you are still so primitive, and the land remains reasonably hospitable. Remember, we come not to fight.' She turned to the two women. 'Jamur Rika, I feel, has a more pacifist nature than other leaders. To introduce our alien culture into yours successfully, it is essential that the process is holistic and integrated. Otherwise, this entire world of yours collapses too.'
'Can't you put a stop to any of this endless violence, in both our worlds?' Rika interrupted.
Randur realized then that Rika was ready to believe everything this death-machine was saying to them.
'On these islands,' Rika continued, 'across my Empire, peace would always be preferable, then your lives would not be wasted.'
Artemisia laughed bitterly, then simply shook her head. Randur imagined he saw the distant millennia reflected in her oddly glowing eyes. Here was a woman absolutely tired of what she was. 'You say peace as if it were an offering of wine.'
Rika took hold of her gaze for a moment.
*
Artemisia left them alone for a while, and the three sat in ontemplative silence. Dusk approached, and the two moons progressed alongside each other, skimming the blood-coloured cloud-base.
'It might all be lies,' Randur said eventually. It irritated him, this sudden revelatory burst of new knowledge.
No one responded to him at first.
Eir said, 'Unlikely though, isn't it? I mean, just look around you. And don't stare at me like that. Whenever you don't understand something, you simply become irate. It's perfectly all right to not understand this.'
Calming himself, Randur glanced up to watch the Hanuman flapping about eccentrically as silhouettes. Artemisia rejoined them eventually, carrying what he took to be a telescope. For a moment she focused on the horizon.
'The two moons look beautiful from here,' Rika offered.
'You think both of them are moons?' Artemisia seemed surprised, and pocketed the device. 'That does amuse me.'
Not more crap. Randur was now feeling overwhelmed by unwanted information. His entire concept of the world had been shattered by these conversations. He almost didn't want to know the truth, preferring the sanctuary of innocence or ignorance.
They talked of nothing significant for the rest of the evening, instead taking shelter below deck. Artemisia remained intimidating, but she conducted herself with grace, and saw that they were well looked after. Food had been left for them on a large platter, fruits and vegetables he'd never seen, olives and figs, and there was also bread and watered wine.
They huddled together in a small cabin panelled with dark wood, on a bed covered in opulent cushions. Around the edge of the room were placed long chests whose flat lids were painted with various scenes presumably from this other culture. A tripod stood next to the bed, and coloured lanterns hung from the roof. Gemstones were set into the wood furniture – lapis lazuli and jasper and quartz.
The three of them ate on the bed in silence. Randur kept thinking about the things that Artemisia had saying, about their world not being how they had thought it to be.
*
After night had fallen, Eir and Randur took a walk above deck. Ias surprisingly warm, as if the ship was emitting its own heat froithin. Initially, the smell of smoke prompted thoughts of wood fires, but they couldn't see any. Eventually Eir pointed out that all the Hanuman were smoking roll-ups, similar to those used back in Villjamur.
Randur thought it absurd.
'Little addicts, are they not?' Artemisia had appeared silently behind them, her hands clasped behind her back. She approached alongside. Even without factoring in her size, Artemisia would have seemed intimidating, yet dignified – a killer yes, but a regal one. Now wearing a simple black tunic, her pale-blue flesh was exposed and her muscles frighteningly well-defined.
'How come they all smoke?' Eir asked.
'It is their payment.' Artemisia spoke proudly, a noticeably different tone from earlier. 'They work in exchange for tobacco, to which they are addicted, and therefore they become addicted to working for me.'
'Isn't that like slavery?' Eir suggested.
'It is no different to working for money, like your races do,' Artemisia replied.
'What do they do, on this ship?' Randur asked, strolling up to one perched on the edge of the rail so precariously, he wondered if it might fall off. He began stroking its fur, and the winged monkey regarded him coolly, taking another puff of its roll-up. It wore an expression of deepest satisfaction.
'Mainly they do repairs on the Exmachina for me,' Artemisia said, 'since they can easily access all the way underneath. They run errands about the ship, and they scout better than anything else I've known, providing they fly on solo missions. They're prone to arrogance and infighting among their tribes.'
There were so many questions Randur wanted to ask, but it didn't seem urgent. It occurred to him that he felt immensely secure on this ship – being on the run had driven him into a sense of paranoia. A gust of wind came on board, disturbing the peaceful ambience. Artemisia glanced up in irritation, and only then did he think it odd that the wind hadn't really been present before. His first thought was of some cultist trickery, then he realized that this woman and her ship might be beyond all that.
Rika strolled across the deck, a dark gown rippling softly against her body, once again every bit the Empress. Her demeanour was like a premonition, a return to something more ancient and established. Artemisia responded with something that might be mistaken for an emotion, though what, he couldn't say.
Rika had noticed them survey her clothing. 'I found it in one of the cupboards. It doesn't fit perfectly, but it's surprisingly warm.'
'It is an example of what the few humans might wear, where I come from,' Artemisia said.
'You have humans in your world?' Eir asked, but received no response.
Rika's glance towards Artemisia was wide-eyed and approval-seeking. Randur knew this because Eir had often done the same to him. So Rika sought attention from this being but, according to Eir, Rika had not once in her life shown such interest in anything other than the Jorsalir church.
'Lady Rika,' Randur said boldly, 'you look at this woman like she's a god.'
'Perhaps she is,' Rika whispered, speaking to herself more than anyone else.
'She said that we – we as a race, as a species – we created them, in another earlier time,' Eir observed.
'Let us not steer into teleology,' Artemisia said. 'Has all my earlier information been absorbed?'
'It's just too much to believe in without seeing confirmation for ourselves,' Eir said.
'Agreed,' Randur said. 'You have evidence for all this, I take it? Something we can just, uh, see?'
'Amusing that you assume merely seeing will confirm reality. If one sees a stump of a tree in a field at dusk, it may resemble the form of another human, and your fears may creep in, but it is still a tree. One should question what is being seen, at all times.'
Artemisia moved away, assimilating into the darkness. The remaining three stared at each other and then
