The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(101)

“Naturally, sir,” the priest replied hurriedly. “We have had ample time.”

“Excellent, Father. I shall oversee the attack from there. And then we will rebuild London from the rubble in our own image and likeness, a London that will be the center of a new empire. A magnificent London that will await the arrival of our emperor.”

The priest nodded sadly. He fell silent for a few moments before asking, with feigned indifference, “Did you kill him?”

“Who?”

“Wells. Did you kill Wells?”

“Ah, no, I couldn’t,” the Envoy responded, waving away the question. “I received his blood by accident.”

“I’m glad,” the priest said, relieved. “As you yourself mentioned, he possesses one of the most . . . exceptional minds on the planet.”

“Yes, but not in the way you imagine,” the Envoy acknowledged enigmatically.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure how to explain it . . .” The Envoy stroked his whiskers pensively. “His mind contains something peculiar, an additional feature lacking in the brains of the other bodies I usurped. A button he hasn’t yet pressed. And I’ve no idea what it’s for. Yet it makes me feel uneasy and stops me from venturing into the furrows of his mind as I should like. If it weren’t for the fact that no human can pose a threat to us, I’d even go so far as to say that it feels menacing.”

The priest looked at him quizzically, unsure how to respond. “Well, tomorrow even that won’t matter,” he concluded, rising to his feet and gathering up his books. “Despite his mysterious mind, Wells will no doubt perish during the invasion, together with most of the rest of humanity.”

The Envoy felt a twinge of pity as he watched the priest place the books back in the cabinet. He could not help giving him a warm smile when he returned to his seat.

“I recommend you look at things in a different light, Father,” he said. “Remember, it is the survival instinct of an entire race that drives us.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” the priest grunted.

The Envoy gave a solemn nod. “Besides, we shall also prevent the Earthlings from spreading through the Cosmos like a harmful virus.” He grinned.

The priest suppressed a bitter laugh. “I suppose that’s how they would see us if they knew we existed,” he said, “like a dormant virus in their organism.”

“I believe you have become too fond of the Earthlings,” the Envoy snapped.

“It is inevitable,” the priest murmured, shrugging his shoulders. “We were born and raised among them. And despite their limitations they are truly . . . unique. They are my flock.”

“From what I’ve observed, they certainly are resilient,” the Envoy resumed, ignoring the priest’s words. “They will make superb slaves. And their minds are abuzz with energy. They will be of more use to us than even they could imagine. Don’t weep for them, Father. How long before they drain all their natural resources and make themselves extinct: three, perhaps four hundred years? What is that in comparison to the age of the universe?”

“From that point of view, perhaps only the blink of an eye,” the priest persisted, “but from their position it is whole lives, generations, History.”

“They could only survive by fleeing to other planets, like we do,” the Envoy replied, trying to conceal his frustration. “Do you think their science will be sufficiently advanced by then to allow them to travel into space? And if it were, what do you think they would find? Only remnants, depleted planets, worlds squeezed dry. Scraps from the banquet table. As you know, all the other races in the universe are doing the same as us. In fact, the matter is very simple: it is them or us. There is no God to decide who deserves to prevail. You may not believe it, but we are alone. Cast adrift. No one knows what we should do, what game of chess we are playing, or for whom.”

The Envoy peered curiously at the priest before adding, “Could it be that you consider them a model of civilization, an irreparable loss?”

The priest gazed at him for a few moments in silence. “No,” he replied, with an air of regret. “They wage war on one another, they commit atrocities, they kill in the name of absurd ideologies and invent vengeful gods to soothe the pain of their loneliness.”

“Good,” the Envoy said contentedly, rising to his feet. “I wouldn’t like to think you were siding with them. You know that in any case we will conquer the Earth. And afterward you will have a good position, providing I don’t send any negative reports about you. Don’t forget that.”

“So, let’s slaughter them,” the priest said at last, with an air of resignation, lowering his head and clasping his hands reverentially above his head.

“No, Father,” the Envoy replied almost with affection, turning his back on the priest and walking slowly toward the arched doorway leading to the church. Then he paused, closing his eyes once more and listening. When he spoke again, his voice sounded distant and faint, as though floating on the breeze. “Remember, this will only be a slaughter from their point of view. The Cosmos cares nothing for the Earthlings’ absurd morality.”

The priest lowered his hands with a downcast air. A solemn silence descended on the sacristy, a silence undisturbed even by the clamor of the minds of the colony. The Envoy remained with his eyes closed, listening, as a wistful smile played over his borrowed lips.