Excerpt: The Uncanny Valley

That Morning in the Citadel.

The Shah yawned, and scratched his round belly. Bloody mornings he thought to himself. He was standing in his office, a cup of coffee on his desk growing colder as he stared out over the city. He could see the ocean, past the walls which enveloped the city, protecting it, as they had for fifty years. He could see the valley, and the forest, which was slowly encroaching on the fields surrounding the city. We'll have to get that forest trimmed.... he thought to himself as he sat down at his desk. He stroked his chin, his thin wispy beard. We'll have to get that trimmed too he thought absent-mindedly. Cough. A noise like someone clearing their throat so that they will be noticed. The Shah ignored it, more out of habit than anything else, he would often make people wait while he finished his coffee. Cough. There it was again, an impatient sound, like someone felt like they had something better to do than to wait for him. Again he ignored it. “Damn you” said a frustrated voice behind him. He turned to see a blunderbuss inches from his face. “Well hello.” he said smiling at the black masked woman brandishing the weapon in his face. “I'm not sure that I've had the pleasure of meeting you. I'm the Shah. You might have seen posters with this face on it in the town.” he pointed to his face, circling it with one of his stubby fingers. “You know, the ones that say 'Hail to the Chief'. And you are?” he stuck out a hand. The woman shoved the weapon further into his face. “Bloody idiot. Don't you know that you're about to die?” she said. “Well, I assumed that. But there's no need to be uncivilised about it, so if you don't mind I'd like to write a small note to my family. It'll only take a minute.” The woman nodded. He sat down at his desk again, and began to write.

My Dear Family.

Know that your dear father died as a nobleman should.

His Imperial Majesty, Commander of the invincible imperial armed forces, the eminently benevolent, righteously just, steadfastly noble Shah, ruler of Bangalore.

He folded the page, and slid it into an envelope, sealing it with his royal seal. He looked up into the masked face, that mask, there was something familiar about it, and yet he couldn't put his finger on it. The woman picked up his coffee, and slowly poured it out on the thick carpet, tossing the cup out the window where it fell out of view. “That cup was a gift from the last Pope I'll have you know, but if you don't mind, I'd like to know the reason for this antagonism, if that's fine with you?” asked the Shah, his face impassive, but with obvious annoyance in his voice. “Don't you know who I am?” said the woman laughing, an evil, almost mechanical laugh that grated on his ears. “I, am the allegedly Great Baroness Münchhausen, and I expect even you, Shah though you may be, to stand in my presence.” she paused here, waiting for something. The Shah knew exactly what it was, but he was in no mood to comply. “Is that so.” he said disinterestedly “I'll have to make a note to remember to disregard that.” The Baroness stood there for a few moments, and the Shah wasn't quite sure whether or not he had really put his foot in it this time.” “Stand.” she said finally, “After all, I'm the one with the gun.” He stood, wishing he had followed the advice of his father, who told him he should always have a weapon on him. Her tone of voice had changed subtly. Darker, bitter, full of what the Shah assumed was sarcasm, although it had been along time since anyone but him had been sarcastic in his presence. “I'm not going to tell you why I am here, simply because I need no reason. I explain myself to no one.” He could hear the woman gritting her teeth behind her mask. “I'm sorry...” he said nonchalantly, “....but I'm not familiar with that name, Münchhausen. Is it French? How is it spelt?” He could see the anger in her eyes behind the mask, the black mask. It was curious, he thought, how one feels bulletproof behind a mask, almost like.... his reverie was cut short “You will remember my name for the rest of your life!” she screamed, aiming the weapon again at his head. “Which won't be a long or healthy life, if one were to follow certain recent goings on to their logical conclusion.” said the Shah, thoughtfully and with half a twinkle in his eye as he finished her sentence. “I'll tell you what...” he said, like an old man pretending to divulge a secret to his five year old grand-daughter. “Tell you what. I'll remember you in a better light if you remove that mask, I never forget a face, and you wouldn't want me to remember you like that now would you?” he smiled expectantly, as if he had won some great consolation prize by his skill and cunning alone, the main prize – to stay alive eluding him for the first time ever. He always wondered when it would come, it was almost inevitable that one day, he would be assassinated. And now that the day had come, he realised that he was bearing up much better than he would have expected himself to, and he was having fun at the same time, messing with the mind of an unstable individual. “I wonder what it's like, in Elysium.” he said with a smile. He sat down on the edge of his desk. “Have you ever been there? No, of course not, silly me! You're not dead, unless you're a ghost hiding behind the mask?” The Baroness sighed in frustration. “Cease this incessant babbling at once!” she cried, before she blew his brains onto the cream coloured wall opposite.