Good. At least someone is still easily distracted from any crises and moral dilemmas they might have had if they had a moment to themselves. But with so many songs to keep her company and advise her, Frida will never be truly alone for that introspection.
There is one ambiguous plot thread left though. What happened to Glitch and the world we left to his experiments care. Where is our Omnissiah ending!?
You would have had to expand the portal enough that it would have bitten off a fairly large chunk of the city all in one go. Then, in the icy wasteland on the other side, you could have taken shelter in the section of Terminus you'd brought with you, then started expanding and rebuilding. It would have changed the genre of this quest to a 'city-building survival game', kinda like Frostpunk.
If you'd decided to do that, I would have been fine with it. However, at this point, I'm kinda glad you didn't: it would have expanded the lifespan of this quest by a substantial margin. Frankly, I'm glad that – after four years – we've reached the finishing line.
The False God turned them into massively muscled monstrosities, but that was only meant to be a temporary change: if he'd somehow managed to win, he would have wanted them to go back to their jobs at the Pandemonium bar and nightclub.
After the False God died, any of the 'demon bartenders' who were still alive by that point would have been trapped on the Crown, lost and confused after they slowly regained their intelligence. I didn't go into detail about this in the last few updates, but Evie stated her intention to dismantle the rickety Crown before it could fall on the city below – also, she wanted to disable the Apotheosis Engine, thinking that it would be horrendously dangerous for everyone if it fell into the wrong hands – so I assume that she would get that done before she left and went travelling with Frida.
While Evie was dismantling the Crown, she would have come across the surviving 'demon bartenders' and I'm sure that she'd want to evacuate them safely back down to the city. I guess that maybe they'd carry on as the staff at Pandemonium (hey, it's a job and they were good at it), but some of them would probably want to leave and do something else now that the False God is no longer forcing them to work there. Over time, I guess they'd just integrate themselves with the rest of the population.
Now that the Chronarchs are no longer occupying all of her time (pun intended), I'm sure that Evie will eventually realise that she can "steal a page from Grimwood's book" and cross over into alternate dimensions in which her loved ones still exist. Or she might try to resurrect the elven race using the DNA of elves from another dimension. Or, like you've said, use her amazing technology to create some brand new worlds of her own. The possibilities are endless!
Still, this story ends here. I'll leave it up to you and your imaginations to decide what Evie does afterwards.
Fortunately for anyone who is afraid of a robot rebellion, Glitch doesn't want to be the Omnissiah: he thinks it sounds too much like hard work. (I didn't think that was an ambiguous plot thread, to be honest: Glitch said as much when Frida talked to him about it in '254. Say Goodbye'.)
Dammit Glitch, take a note from your creators! Man built robots to delegate them stuff he couldn't be bothered with (and yes, that includes ruling - it accounts for a good share of dystopias), so the fair turnabout is to engineer a biological species for the job that still needs doing! If you wanted to, you could make them smart enough to realise they don't want to do it either and build mechanical assistants for themselves, and then watch how many iteration it will take for the situation to implode.
Now how does Frida write a sequel to her book if no one does anything disastrous and the ending is actually happy? Should the woman do everything herself?
Dammit Glitch, take a note from your creators! Man built robots to delegate them stuff he couldn't be bothered with (and yes, that includes ruling - it accounts for a good share of dystopias), so the fair turnabout is to engineer a biological species for the job that still needs doing! If you wanted to, you could make them smart enough to realise they don't want to do it either and build mechanical assistants for themselves, and then watch how many iteration it will take for the situation to implode.
Wasn't that the plot of an episode of Rick and Morty? Something similar to that, anyway...
Actually, I did have plans for a sequel to this quest in which the protagonist would be an amnesiac dude stumbling around an original superhero universe; Frida and pals would be apparently minor characters doing something mysterious in the background (with the potential to become major characters later on). But I think I'm going to put that plan on the backburner for now. I'm going to take a break. Maybe I'll go back to doing what I did before, maybe I'll do something new and interesting... well, who knows?
I've written up a summary and comments for this in the Completed Quest Catalogue:
I'm not sure if @Vocalend is still updating this, but… oh well, here goes: my third original quest, Sorry, Your Time-Traveling Privileges Have Been Revoked is finally finished! It even has three epilogues and two alternate endings!
Synopsis: This is the story of a time-traveling musician named Frida Bolevidar, whose interstellar and temporal journey is interrupted by a sudden crash-landing in Terminus, the city at the end of time. While attempting to escape, she comes across a range of puzzles, side-quests, and a peculiar cast of characters. Eventually, she becomes embroiled in a heroic struggle against a group of self-proclaimed gods who see the entire universe as their playground.
Commentary: In terms of readers, this quest was not a success. However, even though it never had more than a handful of regular participants, I never felt discouraged because I really, really enjoyed writing it. Out of all the quests I've written so far, it's probably my favourite. Frida is a hilariously entertaining protagonist, the other characters are an interesting and varied bunch, and there's an undercurrent of quirky and irreverent humour running throughout. Maybe it takes a while to get going, maybe it's a bit self-indulgent, maybe I'm not as clever as I'd like to think I am – and yeah, I know that my sense of humour isn't for everyone – but I'm sure that there are a lot of people out there who would really enjoy reading this quest if they only gave it a chance.
I think that gives a fairly decent first impression, don't you?
Anyway, this quest is now finished. As I've said before, I will continue to reply to any comments or queries you may have. Otherwise, I guess this is goodbye.
I was tempted to end this with "So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye!" A Sound of Music reference would be kind of appropriate, considering Frida's varied musical tastes, but it is a very old-fashioned and somewhat twee film, so maybe not.
Therefore, I decided to go with a Douglas Adams reference instead. This quest has quite a few similarities with The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so I think it's a good fit. (Can you believe that I've avoided drawing comparisons between Glitch and Marvin the Paranoid Android until now? Me neither.)
Well, here goes: "So long, and thanks for all the fish!"
Several months ago, when Frida asked Evie out, I considered the possibility that their conversation would go somewhat differently. Like this, possibly:
After taking a moment to compose yourself, you go back into the kitchen, march over to where the object of your affections is sitting, and say to her, 'Evie, I think you're gorgeous. I really enjoy spending time with you. I want you to be my girlfriend. What do you say to that?'
'You're… asking me out?' she says wonderingly, peering at your face as though expecting you to suddenly crack a smile and admit that you're joking with her.
'Yes, I am,' you say, reaching out and taking her hand. 'Can I make it any more obvious?'
Gazing down at Frida's hopeful expression, Evarvae arranged her face into an inscrutable mask. 'Frida, I don't want to reject you,' she began. 'I'm not rejecting you, but I need you to understand–'
'Oh yeah? It kinda sounds like you're rejecting me,' said Frida, inflecting it like a joke, though there was a hint of bitterness in her tone.
'There are things you need to know about me,' said Evarvae, pressing on regardless. 'If we became lovers, I suspect that it would not end happily for you.'
'That's always a risk with any relationship.' Frida shrugged. 'I think I'm old enough to decide for myself whether or not the risk would be worthwhile, don't you?'
'I'm not sure you understand. Or perhaps I haven't explained myself very well.' Evarvae sighed. 'Therefore, with Glitch's assistance, I will attempt to convey my message to you via the means of communication you favour above all others.'
She nodded to the blocky Worker robot who had been watching the proceedings with a modicum of amusement but without much interest. 'Start the music, please.'
Glitch inclined his head slightly. Then, out of his speakers came a noise like rushing wind. A few disconsolate notes of sad piano music.
And Evarvae began to sing: 'I… hurt myself today… to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain… the only thing that's real. The needle tears a hole… that old familiar sting. Try to kill it all away… but I remember everything. What have I become? My sweetest friend… everyone I know goes away, in the end.'
She took a deep breath before continuing: 'And you could have it all… my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt…'
Continuing the song until it was finished, Evarvae was surprised to find Frida looking at her adoringly.
'That was beautiful!' Frida cried. 'You have such a lovely voice! And you went out of your way to learn that song, just for me? That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me!'
'I'm sure that's not true,' Evarvae said feebly.
'Well, when people have done something nice for me before, it usually because they want something from me,' said Frida. 'But not you. You're trying to warn me to stay away. Not because you dislike me or anything like that, but because you care.'
She stood up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on Evarvae's cheek. 'Thank you.'
'YOU TWO ARE SUCH DORKS!' said Glitch, his eyepieces flaring with a faint reddish light.
Frida rounded on him indignantly. 'And what's wrong with that?'
'YOU'LL NEVER BE COOL LIKE I AM.'
'Somehow, I think I can live with that,' said Frida, with a snort of laughter.
The song 'Hurt', which I have quoted in this omake, was originally by Nine Inch Nails, but the cover version by Johnny Cash is probably just as famous, if not more so. I felt like it was a good fit for Evie, anyway.
Even though this quest is finished, I may occasionally come back to it and add some more omakes, if the mood takes me. I still have some ideas for a possible sequel to this, so… Frida may return, in some form, sooner or later.
Also, I've recently updated my Story Ideas thread, so please check that out if you're interested in seeing where the writing bug may take me in future.
Because Garrar is Flashkannon's favourite character, I decided that I had to write this. Consider it a gift.
*
The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan
(Bonus Epilogue)
Clad only in a loincloth with the flag of the United States of America emblazoned on it, Garrar burst into the hostage situation, waving his sword and dramatically proclaiming, "Halt, evil-doers! You claim to be patriots and traditionalists in favour of true American values, but in fact you are traitors and criminals – and I am here to bring you to justice!"
'You're an idiot,' said one of the mask-wearing white supremacists, pointing a gun at a smartly-dressed young man who'd been unfortunate enough to get caught up in this whole predicament. 'And you just got this boy killed!'
All of a sudden, his hostage was gone. Vanished. One minute he was there, then – in less than the blink of an eye – he had disappeared.
'Uh-uh,' said Garrar, shaking his head. 'I know several things you don't: first, I'm a distraction; second, the value of teamwork; and third, the sweet taste of Hostess Fruit PiesTM!'
'What?' said the bewildered terrorist, scrunching up his face with the effort of trying to derive meaning from this string of apparent non-sequiturs.
'Exactly,' said the burly barbarian who had recently reinvented himself as the patriotic superhero known as "Old Glory". Then, fast as a snake, he proceeded to punch the masked white supremacist into unconsciousness.
His ally appeared out of nowhere and hissed at him, 'Stop trying to get corporate sponsorship!' She was a svelte young woman with her hair cropped short, wearing a skin-tight outfit that she claimed was a necessary component of her amazing powers of teleportation. 'Even if you get it, you'll regret it, in the end.' She sighed disconsolately. 'I certainly did.'
'But you were the Teenage Tearaway, an inspiration to rebellious and sulky youths everywhere!' Garrar protested. 'Didn't you have your own fashion brand?'
'I used to,' said the former Tearaway, putting on a disgusted sneer. 'But it was all fake. Manufactured nonsense. They portrayed me as a cigarette-smoking rule-breaking rebel, but in actual fact I was a good girl who did whatever my parents told me to. Until they stole all of my money.'
'All of it?' Garrar raised his eyebrows to a comical height. 'But… weren't you a billionaire?"
'At one point, yeah. It just goes to show how quickly money can go to waste if people spend it on big houses, fast cars, drugs, private jets, yachts, more drugs, and stupid bets,' said the former Tearaway, moodily kicking the ground.
'Well, at least you have friends,' the time-travelling barbarian hero said encouragingly. 'You're a hero: there are people who admire and respect you. I know there are plenty of little girls who want to be you. Isn't that better than having ludicrously vast amounts of money?'
'You are so corny,' said the former corporate superheroine with a derisive snort. 'But… yeah, surprisingly enough, that does make me feel better. Thanks.'
'What are friends for, eh?' said Garrar, giving her a big grin.
'Stop ignoring us!' yelled one of the other white supremacists, brandishing a shotgun at them.
'Yeah, you can't stop in the middle of a fight to give your sidekick a pep talk,' said a thin, emaciated youth who certainly didn't look like a member of the "genetically superior master race" he and his pals claimed to be part of: rather, he looked like he was suffering from a serious illness.
'Nuh-uh, I just did,' said Garrar, shaking his head. 'And anyway, she's not my sidekick: I only joined in the superhero game a few years ago, but she's been doing it for most of her life. If anything, I'm her sidekick.'
'Are you sure that you want to be doing this?' asked the very experienced superheroine, frowning at the emaciated young man. 'You look like you should be in hospital.'
He scowled back at her. 'Are you threatening me?'
'No, I mean that you look seriously unwell. If you want to fight, we can fight, but I'd feel bad about it,' said the former Tearaway, bouncing from foot to foot. 'Even if you are a racist and a terrorist.'
'It's all right for you,' the emaciated youth sneered at her. 'You were born lucky–'
'We're not doing this!' insisted the shotgun-wielding terrorist. 'We're not here to talk through our problems like a bunch of dope-smoking hippy libtards! Anyway, even if you've taken away our hostages, we're still in control here! We have a bomb–!'
The superheroine formerly known as "the Teenage Tearaway" disappeared for a moment. When she reappeared, she was holding two fused lumps of tangled wire and twisted metal. 'Correction: you had a bomb,' she said wearily.
'Oh.' The shotgun-wielding terrorist seemed deflated by this news. 'Well… what happens now?'
'Now, we fight!' proclaimed a large, hunched figure who had just entered the room. 'Fight to prove your devotion to our cause! Fight for the glory of the White race!'
'You're a gorilla,' said Garrar, looking suspiciously at the newcomer, who was a large, white-furred albino gorilla dressed in an ill-fitting tuxedo and wearing sunglasses to shield his sensitive pink eyes. "You're not even human, so what do you care about White Supremacy?'
'That's speciesist!' cried the gorilla. 'I don't have to stand for that!'
'How ironic,' said the former Tearaway, rolling her eyes. 'It would take far too long to explain why what you just said was stupid, so… shall we commence with the butt-kicking?'
'Wait… you're the one they call "the Klan-Gorilla"!' shouted Garrar, seeming ready to burst with excitement.
'Actually, I prefer to be called "Doctor Whitemane,"' said the gorilla. 'I didn't spend a year of my life studying for my degree so that people could just ignore it.'
'What's your degree in?' the former Tearaway wanted to know.
'Phrenology,' said Doctor Whitemane, self-importantly.
'Huh.' The former Tearaway thought about that for a moment, sighed and shook her head. 'What a crock.'
'Doctor Whitemane, will you be my archnemesis?' said Garrar, starry-eyed. 'You're perfect!'
'What? Um… yes, I suppose so,' said the albino gorilla, awkwardly adjusting his sunglasses. 'Now, let's get on with the fighting, shall we?'
He swung a meaty fist in Garrar's direction. The half-naked barbarian warrior ducked back out of the way. A delighted smile spread across his face.
'Fantastic,' he breathed. Ever since Evarvae had brought him to this strange new world, he had enjoyed his time here immensely: he loved the food, the beer, the wide range of varied and interesting people, the fact that he could justify almost anything by shouting "Because that's the American Way!" and the fact that he was always guaranteed to get a good fight against despicable villains or terrifying monsters, any time of day, as often as he wanted. 'This is the life!'
His answering blow lifted Doctor Whitemane off his feet and pitched him onto his back. He heard gunshots. Several times, he felt as though he'd been thumped in the chest. Fortunately, Evie's handy little nanites were already doing their job of patching him up and putting him back together.
'You're not even American,' yelled one of the mask-wearing terrorists, shooting him again. 'You're an immigrant!'
'Well, yeah,' said Garrar with a pained shrug. 'Just like almost every other American: if you're not a native, you're an immigrant or the descendent of immigrants. Duh.'
'Less talking, more hitting,' said the former Tearaway, suddenly popping into existence and separating two of the terrorists from their weapons.
'Right!' Garrar grinned. He saw that Doctor Whitemane was getting up and coming back for more. 'Let's do this! You and me!'
'Rrargh!' the albino gorilla roared, leaping towards him with clawed hands outstretched…
Heh, well, I could go on and on. I think Garrar is a perfect fit for an over-the-top bombastic superhero universe. I hope you do too.
Maybe I'll show you more of my superhero pastiche/parody later on, either as a quest or a piece of creative writing.
Well, that sounds like a perfect place for another quest. And since Garrar is here, Frida would probably show up at one point or another for a cameo to catch up.
If you decide to do it, sign me right the fuck up.
How beautiful! This is, of course, my first time commenting directly in this thread, but since I have at last reached the most recent post, it only makes sense that I should! Thank you all for participating in this wonderful quest, and especially thanks to Chandagnac for writing it! This has been a lovely time, from start, to this most recent, lovely epilogue! I can almost see the cover of a golden-age Old Glory comic book!
'Well, yeah,' said Garrar with a pained shrug. 'Just like almost every other American: if you're not a native, you're an immigrant or the descendent of immigrants. Duh.'
The Tearaway: (is appalled) "You're an illegal immigrant?!"
Garrar/Old Glory: "Because that's the American way!"
The Tearaway: "Stop saying that!"
*
The Tearaway: "You're not paying taxes?!"
Garrar/Old Glory: "Nope."
The Tearaway: "Why not?"
Garrar/Old Glory: "Because that's the American way!"
The Tearaway: "Ugh... I walked into that one."
*
Passer-by: (is baffled) "Excuse me, why aren't you wearing pants?"
Garrar/Old Glory: "Because that's the American way!"
The Tearaway: (sighs) "Of course it is."
But yes, Garrar is definitely an illegal immigrant. I don't think it would ever occur to him to apply for a VISA, or pay taxes, or anything like that.
Heya! I'm back with another epilogue! Hope you like!
*
Goodbyeee! (Bonus Epilogue)
Even before he heard the clamour of alarms echoing through the hallways of the Doomsmen's spaceship, Dr. Szechhh was already preparing to escape. It didn't surprise him that the forcefield, designed by the renegade elf, Evarvae Uldanthyr, had already failed. Shoddy workmanship, of course. A self-satisfied sneer spread across Szechhh's reptilian face as he thought that. He knew that elves were only useful as livestock, but he had failed to convince the Time Travellers' Society of that fact. And later on, he had failed to convince Nihil – or Yan – the Doomsmen's leader, whatever he called himself. But now, he was smugly pleased to have been proved correct: the Doomsmen were all going to die because they had foolishly placed their trust in a garbage piece of technology crafted by an elf.
He had been with the Doomsmen for only a short time, but he had profited enormously from it. They had given him access to a great deal of information that he could not have found out on his own. For instance, the reason why he was unable to leave this pocket dimension was because of a self-proclaimed god hiding up in the Crown, who had deliberately trapped time-travellers here for some reason. When the False God was dealt with, Szechhh would be able to escape.
Using a short-range teleportation device, he would return to his old base in Vault Two, leaving the doomed spaceship to its fiery end. From there, he would raid the places that the Doomsmen had left behind, scavenging for tools and resources. After that, he would have to make a choice. Should he build a bomb large enough to destroy the spine and bring the Crown crashing down on the city below? Or would it be neater to repair one of the damaged titan robots and have them finish the job they'd started so many centuries ago? Either way, the Crown would be destroyed. The False God wouldn't survive that.
Perhaps there would be other options available as well, but… No sense in thinking about that yet, he told himself. Not until I've escaped.
The alarms grew louder. Doors slammed shut and sealed themselves. Szechhh felt the air around him getting dryer, hotter… or was it only in his imagination?
Doesn't matter, he thought. Don't need to know. Time to go.
He activated his short-range teleportation device, expecting that it would take him back to Vault Two between one instant and the next. His vision blurred and went dark. He felt dizzy and sick. Then, he was falling.
Above the clouds, he looked down and saw the aerial battle still raging. The Doomsmen's ship – the 'TTARRDIS' was what Yan had called it – was still being blasted with rockets, laser beams and various projectiles from the flying robots who were swarming around it like stinging insects. Listing dangerously to one side, it looked like it was about to crash into the Crown.
Good, Szechhh thought to himself. Perhaps I won't need a bomb.
Then, he realised his own predicament: he was naked, high up in the air, falling faster and faster, with little chance of being able to slow his descent. His teleportation device was gone. So were all his other tools and devices. Even his lab coat. Left behind aboard the doomed spaceship? Perhaps. Doesn't matter now.
Should he cry out for help? Would any of the flying robots hear him? Would they care enough to investigate?
Even as those questions popped into his mind, it was already too late. He had gone past them. Too far away.
For most of his life, he had relied on his own skills, his own knowledge, and his ability to create wondrous technological devices to do whatever he needed them to do. So, now... could he craft a device to save himself, using only his own body – his meat, his scales, his claws and teeth, his eyes and hands, tongue and tail – and the air around him? Would he have enough time? No. Only a few seconds.
There was nothing else he could do, nowhere he could go, and he had no hope of being rescued. In the end, he was alone. He felt strangely calm. Numb. Accepting of his fate.
"Tsch. Guess I'll die," he muttered, though the wind rushing past him made his words inaudible even to himself.
He fell. The desert rose up to meet him.
This is the first of three more epilogues I plan to write, just to finish things off properly. I felt that it was kinda weird that the character of Dr. Szechhh just disappeared from the narrative and you later found out that he'd died, so this was my attempt to rectify that.
The next epilogue will feature some of the more minor characters from the city of Terminus getting together and wondering what to do with their lives now that they're no longer trapped in a dying city surrounded by a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
And the third and final epilogue will star Frida's robot friend, Glitch. He deserves a proper send-off as well, don't you think?
It's supposed to be ironic. He was very disparaging and dismissive of Evie's technology, but his own technology failed him just as he needed it most. (Say what you like about Evie's tech, but at least it seems to be fairly reliable.)
Considering that over the years, people have tried to divine the future by analysing currents of water (bletonism), studying the passage of smoke (capnomancy), watching the flight of birds (ornithomancy), looking into fire (pyromancy), interpreting oil poured onto water (leconomancy), randomly drawing lots (sortilege), and examining the entrails of sacrificial victims (hieroscopia), among many other forms of divination, dropped lizard astrology seems to fit right in with all the rest.
Hello,
like I promised few months ago, I have finished reading the Quest! And it was as good as I wanted it to be. Thanks @Chandagnac for making to the end even though there were only few participants.
Story got wonky a bit when the group was finishing the sidequests.. let's do A, but first B, but while doing B let's do C, oh, but we need D for the C... but I blame said participants for that! But all in all, it was a great jrpg adventure and I'm looking forward to reading your next quest!
You know, if you like this, perhaps I might entice you to join us in Chosen by The Dragon God, Chandagnac's newest, ongoing quest? It's not exactly jrpg, but it is a fun time with nuanced characters and an engaging, textured world. The Chandagnac standard. It's the latest in a whole universe of quests starting with A Hedge Maze is You, but I think it holds up about as well to a new viewer, sans context. I can say this with relative confidence, since I am only reading AHMiY just now, despite having been an active participant in the last two Hedgyverse quests.
You know, if you like this, perhaps I might entice you to join us in Chosen by The Dragon God, Chandagnac's newest, ongoing quest? It's not exactly jrpg, but it is a fun time with nuanced characters and an engaging, textured world. The Chandagnac standard. It's the latest in a whole universe of quests starting with A Hedge Maze is You, but I think it holds up about as well to a new viewer, sans context. I can say this with relative confidence, since I am only reading AHMiY just now, despite having been an active participant in the last two Hedgyverse quests.
I'm sorry to have to tell you that I recently brought Chosen by the Dragon God to a premature end. For various reasons, but mostly for the sake of my deteriorating mental and physical health.
So yeah, I've decided that I don't want to be a quest master anymore. When I've finished writing the last couple of epilogues for this quest, that'll be it.
*
A Day in the Life (Bonus Epilogue)
After too many years living underground, in the Bowels of the city, Ratcliffe was finding it difficult to adjust to life on the surface. The light was too bright, his nose was constantly runny, and he felt uncomfortably warm while he had his coat on – but then, as soon as he took it off, he felt a chill in the air and the cold fingers of the breeze stroking his exposed skin – and then he had to put it on again. Still, as he wandered around the new shantytown that had sprung up around the old city walls, wandering through a forest of tents and a vast open-air market, he found himself looking forward to the future. There was probably money in it, he thought.
"I'll have a bowl of that," he said, stopping at one of the stalls and pointing to a vat of suspicious-looking meat in bubbling orange slime. "How about you, Jacinta?" he asked, turning to the burly woman who'd been walking beside him.
She put on a disgusted scowl. "I'd rather eat dog's vomit."
"That can be arranged," said the stall owner. "Just give me a minute to find a dog."
"Hah," said Jacinta. "Very funny joke."
"Well, never mind that," said Ratcliffe, handing over a handful of scrip, accepting a spoon and a bowl of mystery meat stew in exchange, and then hurriedly moving on. "I say, I wonder why people never moved out here before? Why did we live underground, in the dark, surrounded by raw sewage, for so many years? Why did we think it was okay to live like that?"
"Better than being erased from existence. That happened to people who ventured too far away from the city, so I heard." Jacinta gave an eloquent shrug. "All kinds of weird temporal shenanigans were going on back then. Uhh, I think… people decided they'd rather live down in the dark, with the rats and the sewage, if it meant they'd get to live at all."
"You're probably right. But… well, what shall we do now? There's a whole new world out there. Places we've never even heard of, all kinds of people, so many opportunities…" He took a mouthful of stew. It had a strongly-spiced chemical taste, which was just enough to cover up anything else that might have been wrong with it. He'd eaten worse, almost every day, and so he continued to eat without comment.
"People will always need junk. Odds and ends. Stuff they can fix," said Jacinta. "It's not glamorous work, but it's a living. It's all I need."
"But don't you ever dream of something more? You could be great, you could be a wealthy woman, you could spread your name and influence all over the world! All you have to do – all any of us have to do – is seize the opportunities that are given to us. Like, right now, there are people out there who have all kinds of resources that we need and want, here in Terminus. Undoubtedly, we've got something that they want – maybe technology, ideas, skills and experience, the products of our culture or that we've saved from the distant past, and so on – so all we need to do is find out what they want, sell it to them, and buy from them the things we want. That's what commerce is all about, when you get down to it. And I reckon we could do that, get in on the ground floor, and make our fortunes before anyone else has a chance to get involved. Whaddya say to that? Are you in?"
"Why me? I'm not like you, always with the new ideas, with your head in the clouds and your feet in the gutter. What do you want me for?"
"You're a good businesswoman," said Ratcliffe. "And, you know, you're right: I need someone to rein me in sometimes, someone careful and patient, someone like you. I think we'd make a great team."
"Sounds almost like you're asking me out," said Jacinta, gazing distrustfully at him.
Ratcliffe looked her up and down, considering. She was a big, muscular woman, at least a head taller than him and nearly twice as wide, with coarse facial features and a scalp that was completely shaven except for a narrow strip of dyed pink hair in the middle. On the other hand, he was a scrawny little fellow with a pinched face, a large overbite, and a mop of mousy brown hair. It occurred to him that… well, it was worth a try.
He put on a winsome smile. "What would you say if I was?"
"Huh. I'll have to think about it," she replied.
Elsewhere in the marketplace, several demonic-looking men and women with horns, long tails, and brightly-coloured skin were sitting together, shellshocked and weary. Janus was with them. So were Malek, Valen, Mormo, Gorgo and… yeah, he'd been lucky. Only a few of his friends were dead. Somehow, after the False God had been killed – or whatever happened to him, he wasn't sure about that – the rest of them had changed back into their almost-human forms, instead of looking like massively-muscled monstrosities, and then they'd survived for long enough to be rescued from the Crown. Frida and her pointy-eared girlfriend had helped them with that, which was nice of them. But now…
"What should we do now?" Janus wondered aloud. "Where do we go from here?"
"We could rebuild Pandemonium," Malek suggested. "We're good at being bartenders and serving staff – we have centuries of experience – and people are always going to want to go out drinking and partying – so why not put our skills to good use?"
This suggestion was met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm from the other demons. "You wanna be a waiter all your life?" asked Gorgo.
"It doesn't need to be forever," said Malek. "It's just… It's a good way to make money. Whatever you want to do with your life, you're going to need money. Money makes the world go 'round, so they say. And this is how we can get it."
"How badly damaged was Pandemonium?" asked Janus. "Will we need a lot of money for that?"
"Most of it was frozen solid, but it's thawed out since then," said Valen. "We might need to rewire the whole place. Rebuild some of the walls and floors. Replenish our entire stock of booze and food."
"That's not going to be cheap," said Gorgo. "Where are we going to get the money from?"
"I'm sure we can get a loan," said Malek. "You've got to speculate to accumulate – and so on."
Mormo slumped in her seat. "More expenses," she muttered.
"Well… what if we persuaded the new Council to give us some kind of subsidy," Janus suggested. "We'll remind them of how popular Pandemonium used to be, how good it'd be for people's morale if we brought it back – and we might even get foreign tourists coming to take a look at it."
"Great idea, but there isn't a Council right now," said Gorgo. "There won't be one for months. And when they come together after the election, I'm sure they'll have bigger things to worry about than our old nightclub."
"Do you have any better ideas?" asked Valen.
Gorgo frowned, looking thoughtful. "I might. What if… what if one of us became a member of the Council? If we could get enough people to vote."
"I'd vote for you," said Janus, with a small shrug.
"Actually, I was thinking that you'd be the best candidate out of all of us," she replied. "You're well-known and well-liked."
"Me?! But–"
"Everyone who ever came into Pandemonium knows you are," she said, as if she were speaking an incontrovertible fact. "You were everyone's good friend."
"That doesn't mean I'd be a good political leader, though," he pointed out.
"Right, so we'll have to train you up," she said, giving him a nod. "Shouldn't take too long."
"Whatever you do, you can't possibly be any worse than the last bunch," said Malek. "O'Neill, Collins, and Lady Mondegreen turned out to be robots in disguise. Yan and Mikhail are missing, presumed dead. At the first possible opportunity, Pentallyon got in his time machine and went back home. No one has seen Guyard for months; he left behind some gambling tips and a note saying he was going out and that he'd be some time. And, uh… Dao seems to be doing a fairly decent job of holding everything together on his own, but he's ancient. I'm sure he's looking forward to a well-earned retirement."
"And I'm sure he'd want someone competent to follow in his footsteps. That could be you, Janus," said Gorgo, more than a little insistently.
Janus took some time to consider this. "And… when I become a Council member, I suppose that I could persuade the others to subsidize the rebuilding of the Pandemonium bar and nightclub," he mused. "Because it would be great for morale and the tourist industry."
There was a general chorus of agreement from his fellows.
"Exactly," said Gorgo, nodding.
Another pause. Janus considered for a while longer. "I suppose it's worth a try."
Standing atop a temporary stage that had been set up for street performers, agitators, and preachers such as him, Amalric Ironside was telling the crowd that they should thank God for their lives and for delivering them to this lush and lively new world.
Hearing that, Sharra Steelhand snorted and said, "I suspect God had nothing to do with it."
"Why are you in such a bad mood?" asked Jenny Fleck, speaking in a timid and tentative tone of voice. "You got everything you wanted, didn't you? A new world, full of life, and all we need to do is help with the rebuilding. So why are you… um, acting like this?"
"I've spent most of my life fighting for a better world, but now it's come about I feel like I nothing I did made any difference whatsoever. All of the projects and plans I made turned out to be unnecessary. None of this has anything to do with me," said Sharra, wildly gesturing around at the azure blue sky high above, at the crowds of people talking happily about their hopes and plans for the future, and the verdant green plains and hills surrounding the city. "So what was the point of my life – everything I worked for, everything I suffered? It means nothing."
"We still need you," said Jenny. "The plans you made aren't useless – we'll just use them for something else. This city still needs the Rekindlers."
"Why?" asked Sharra, holding her head in her hands, sounding unutterably weary.
"We're the ones manufacturing the things they need, or will need, or might eventually be able to sell to the other nations of this new world. I know you never expected to live long enough to see the new world, but why not be glad that you made it this far? And… uh, you said there are still some of the Doomsmen out there, remember?"
"Yes, some of them didn't join up with the new Nihil. Some of the worst criminals and terrorists. They're still out there," said Sharra, staring around at the landscape on the other side of the new shantytown, as if she expected a sinister group of masked men to step out from behind a rock or a clump of trees or something. "They'll have to be dealt with before they can commit any more atrocities."
"At least they won't be able to revive any of the old titan robots," said Jenny, trying to stay optimistic. "We left all of them behind in the old world."
Sharra slowly nodded. "I hope so."
"Anyway… the city needs an entirely new government after the old Council almost all disappeared or turned out to be robots. Are you thinking of putting your name forward? You've been our leader for years."
"I don't know. Being the leader of an entire city of nearly a hundred thousand people who all want different things seems like it'd be a lot more difficult than being the leader of a pseudo-religious organization consisting of a few hundred people who're utterly devoted to the cause," said Sharra.
"You wouldn't be on your own," Jenny told her. "You'd have all the other Council members to help you."
"Or push their own agendas, argue with everything I say, and accuse me of being a communist, or a Nazi, or–" She threw back her head and laughed bitterly. "Or worse, a liberal!"
"Even so… it's got to be worth a try, right?"
"Maybe." Sharra sighed heavily. "I wonder if I can get Amalric to go for it. He'd be better at it than me."
"But then what will you do?" asked Jenny, sounding doubtful.
"Like you said before, there are still some of the Doomsmen out there. Maybe they managed to recover some of the weapons from the old titan robots before we came to this new world. Maybe they're planning to set up a bomb or a mass shooting or something horrible like that. Someone needs to stop them," said Sharra. "And that someone is me. Or, at least, I'll do my best."
"Good luck. Try not to get yourself killed, you hear?"
"Sure. I'll do my best," Sharra repeated herself. "See you around."
Turning on her heel, she walked away through the crowds and the mud, striding off into an uncertain future. She did not look back.
"And now, the end is near. And so I face the final curtain…"
The next and final epilogue will take place billions of years in the future. It will focus on Frida's sarcastic robot friend, Glitch. Look forward to that!
"Sounds almost like you're asking me out," said Jacinta, gazing distrustfully at him.
Ratcliffe looked her up and down, considering. She was a big, muscular woman, at least a head taller than him and nearly twice as wide, with coarse facial features and a scalp that was completely shaven except for a narrow strip of dyed pink hair in the middle. On the other hand, he was a scrawny little fellow with a pinched face, a large overbite, and a mop of mousy brown hair. It occurred to him that… well, it was worth a try.
He put on a winsome smile. "What would you say if I was?"
Janus took some time to consider this. "And… when I become a Council member, I suppose that I could persuade the others to subsidize the rebuilding of the Pandemonium bar and nightclub," he mused. "Because it would be great for morale and the tourist industry."
