Chapter 40: Eliminations

In 2045, the Terran nation then known as the United Arab Emirates had built an opulent linear city in the desert, which they later completed with curves so that this religious people could see the calligraphic name of their god from space. One of the dots in this calligraphy was a large sports stadium, visible from orbit, capable of hosting a million spectators, with a domed architecture that fell inward from the ceiling in the form of a massive drop meant for ultra-VIP seats.

Later, meteorological complications annihilated the desert nation which, overflowing with riches, had taken the path to the stars. The city bearing the name of God became abandoned—first forbidden and guarded, then haunted by urban explorers, and finally the scene of conflict when certain rare earths began to run short. On top of the corpses, opportunistic shepherds and farmers thrived, and what were once shopping centers, heliports, or cinemas—now covered in sand and soil but still bearing their original appearance—became grazing lands. Even today, descendants of those peaceful settlers still live there, and the signage in English or Arabic is no different from that in Greek or Latin two thousand years earlier, just a few thousand kilometers away—or, a thousand years before that, in Minoan, a little farther south.

It is within this philosophy of archaeological conservation that the Grand Stadium of the Prince was preserved, in the same way the Colosseum of Rome was. In 2222, restoration work was undertaken and, for a time, even ancient but popular sports like football were played there. Then it was definitively relegated to tourism and history, as zero-gravity sports offered far more exciting spectacles.

The day after the speech delivered by the one everyone called the Aleph, a million people—previously warned via psychic message—materialized in the stadium with surprised joy; they came from all walks of life and had dressed for the occasion. What they had in common was that they had immediately embraced the project of the Envoy of the Blind Gods with sincere joy and fervent enthusiasm: outcasts dreaming of the stars, conspiracy theorists who finally wanted someone to clean things up, cultists of the Grasp awaiting their time ... they adored the Aleph, as the god he unquestionably was.

The Aleph himself materialized in the drop at the top, barely clothed in a scarlet toga draped over skin weathered by adventure, and, on the grass field maintained by drones, stood the Wau, a little dazed, finally freed from his chains. During the preceding night, Garen had taken the time to analyze, gear by gear, the mechanics of the Wau’s armor and body, and had drawn a conclusion even Cass was unaware of. The Wau was nearly stumbling, as though bearing the weight of a sun—too bright, too sudden—after having been in the wrong position for too long, shocked by the unanimous boos of the crowd.

He regained his balance and looked over the diverse crowd in the stands. His impassive golden mask awed a few minds and the clamor quieted, save for a few enraged ones—true cornucopias of insults and spit. He noticed the Aleph in the drop, two hundred meters above, and, gambling everything, he leapt vertically, fist forward. An invisible wall interrupted the Wau halfway up, and he fell back to the ground amid mocking laughter.

The Aleph began to speak, interrupted by numerous cheers. They were filmed by drones and broadcast by the PanHS. Moreover, in his shadow, many key figures in communication could be seen—Ingo among them, whispering advice. Surprisingly, the former president of the HS was also present, seated in an armchair in the background, relaxed.

More than showing love, the crowd wanted to drink in his words; so he spoke:

“My human brothers: beware of worshipping me as you do the Transients, or you shall never be free. I stand beside you, I am a brother, an equal. I have gathered today a few of you at random from the HS for an interesting spectacle. The Wau you see here is the last of his Order.”

That night, he had asked the questions again and again:

“How many of you are there? Where are the others? Why have they abandoned you?”

And the Wau, under his psychic assault, had begun to believe that he truly was alone, and that his interlocutors in the Holy of Holies were merely illusions.

“Do not worry,” the Aleph continued. “Even if his intentions are unclear, he cannot harm you. I have placed a shield between him and you.”

Some attendees began throwing shoes, their terminals, at the Wau, now that they knew they were out of reach. Some even unbolted furniture. The projectiles crashed against the invisible wall and fell limply—though the Wau wondered how such a force field was possible: a distortion in the flow of time? High-speed particles?

And all that hatred ... Were these people chosen, or did humanity truly despise the Wau? Not that their opinion mattered. Not that Cass ever wished to be loved...

It was then that Ingo Izan, PanHS celebrity, took the floor:

“A little show for you all, brought to you by our Envoy of the Blind Gods. I think we’ve all wondered—and I myself wondered a few years ago: who is stronger, a Wau or elite soldiers? A Wau, or a titanic Xeno? A Wau, or a Transient? We’re going to find out today!”

This can’t be happening, thought the Wau, appalled by the stupidity of what he had just heard ... and yet a commando of elite soldiers materialized before him. And to think I just came out of a video game! The commando consisted of six men—the Wau had already faced some years ago on the Shareplace—and they were equipped with fluid armor and thermal rifles, capable of firing through any standard material to heat a target until white-hot.

“This makes no sense...,” began the Wau, spreading his arms. “We have our orders!” replied the unit leader, lowering his own.

The rifles fired, but nothing happened. The unit leader drew a molecular dagger from his side—a tool once reserved for the ancient monarchy of Antioch—which could pass through anything. The Wau dodged his strike and grabbed the fighter’s wrist, making him drop the weapon. Another dagger flew toward the Wau’s head, and he caught it midair. As the others were also drawing their daggers, the Wau delivered a small psychic pulse to knock them out, and they collapsed to the ground like a single corpse, under the cheers of the crowd—who, it seemed, liked the military no more than the armored fighter.

The soldiers dematerialized, and a robotic crowd-control unit appeared: a giant tripod, equipped with a red eye and loaded with missiles as well as thermal rays. Each step left a deep mark in the earth. Missiles launched, and one even crashed into the invisible barrier separating the field from the spectators.

The Wau decided to give the absurd crowd as little of a spectacle as possible. Advancing between the giant feet, he leapt and, fist forward, smashed and tore out the AI core of the giant drone. The unit dematerialized instantly.

Behind the Wau appeared a Sphinx of Ur, a scaly creature that lived in swamps, quadrupedal, with a bestial face framed by drooping triangular ears that gave it the look of a mythological being. Oh—and it was sixty meters long, half that in height, and legend had it that, when enraged, it could engulf entire cities, and that it was too large to feel pain in the time required to survive. Initially disoriented—prodded maliciously by the Aleph—it grew agitated. Rearing, it threw itself at the stands, only to be blocked by the barrier, losing bone-like growths, razor-sharp and as long as spears. This only excited its fury.

It laid eyes on the Wau—perhaps under the influence of the Aleph, who, from above, had a very human curiosity for someone with divine powers.

The Wau raised his hand. A psychic impulse of calm. The Sphinx advanced slowly, almost gently. The Aleph stoked its rage, with all his fury. The Wau built a psychic wall as tall as the Aleph’s anger—thus invisible to his eyes. He plunged the Sphinx into an illusion: it was back in the warmth of Ur’s swamps, as the dawn of its twin suns glowed. Its belly full from a good hunt. Tonight, it would mate with its kind—give and receive—and needed rest. The Sphinx lowered its head, bent its legs, fell to its side. It closed its six eyes. In a flourish of arrogance, the Wau ran his hand across its scales, as if tending lovingly to an old dog. The crowd held its breath. The Sphinx vanished.