52. Tyrant (Patreon)

"I wish everyone could at least agree on the definition of abuse," Tara muses softly, her breath warm on the back of my head.

"Hmm?" I prompt.

We're cuddling together on my bed, and I'm quite enjoying being a happy little spoon. The fact that my girlfriend is the ruler of a country now (and rapidly preparing to rule more) has not been great for my anxiety, on a number of levels. She simply has so many more important things in her life than me, and I'm such a miniscule part of it. She's told me she knows over a hundred million people on a first name basis now, a scope I can't even conceive. And yet she's told me she plans to be monogamous. That makes me indescribably happy, and yet I feel sick admitting it. That's not fair to her. She's so enormous, so much greater than I am. It feels like something she's just doing for my sake, something that's only happening because we both know I'd be a horrid mess of insecurity if I wasn't her one and only. I never even asked for it, she just told me one day. I hate how much I love it. She deserves better.

But the cuddles help that anxiety quiet down, at least for a little while. They help a lot of things, really. So here we are. I have to keep trying to help as best I can, even as I'm quietly horrified by a good chunk of what I know Tara is doing.

"I separated a woman from her horrid, evil shitstain of a husband today," she says quietly. "By force. He would beat her and gaslight her about it and I'd had enough. But when I took him away, she hated me for it."

Took him away. She says it so casually, so passively. The fact that she can and does spirit people away from their own homes, without any implication of it being a struggle or challenge on her part, is not even the point of interest in this conversation.

"Why did she hate you?" I ask, because I don't have time to be horrified when attending to the mental health of a goddess.

"She told me that it was her duty to be a good wife," Tara answers, a hint of a haunted cadence to her voice. "And that she would never get to heaven otherwise. I told her there was no heaven, as I intend to eventually cure death, and she of course called me a demon. None of it really shook me. But the next day, I had to physically stop her from killing herself."

I squeeze the arm she has wrapped around me, giving her what little comfort I can. But I sense the story isn't done yet, she's just collecting herself. It's not yet time for me to speak.

"Everything I know about abuse, everything I've learned… it says to separate the victim from the abuser. But I can't know for sure that I did the right thing. I won't know until years from now whether her life is truly better off because of what I did. This is from a culture where women aren't even allowed more than basic education. They're indoctrinated from birth. And if she never breaks free of that, never sees life another way, will my actions have been evil? Will they have caused her more suffering? I don't think so, but I can't truly know."

Okay. Now it's my turn to help. But platitudes are most of what comes to mind, and I know they're worthless here. So instead, I pull a thread.

"This worry isn't an isolated event, I'm guessing."

Tara gives me a light squeeze.

"No. No, it's something that frightened me, but really it's analogous to… well, everything. My plans for the whole world. I feel as though I am literally becoming the abuser to end all abusers. But force is the only way to get things done if the world refuses to agree on what basic human rights should be. There is no argument I can give to someone who thinks it is their divine right to hurt others. And likewise, I don't have any idea what to tell someone who firmly, unshakably believes that they deserve abuse. So I just have to forcibly separate the two."

"Surely you have trained therapists as part of your consulting team?" I ask. Like, there's no way she doesn't, right?

"Of course," she confirms, to my great relief. "But I need to become a trained therapist myself; there are simply too many problems I'm dealing with simultaneously to get their advice on every case. And, inevitably, that leads to mistakes on my part. I'm sitting in on many classes regarding the subject but at the end of the day I can only hope it's enough until I see the results."

"Yeah," I agree. "That's how it goes, I suppose. I think it's clear that you're doing your best to do the right thing for as many people as possible, but it's inevitable that the goal won't be easy or clear-cut."

"I know."

I know you know. So why are you asking? What am I missing this time? What are you expecting from me that I can't provide?

"You're getting anxious," Tara murmurs.

"I'm always anxious," I respond.

"You know what I mean," she says. "What's the matter?"

Don't ask that. Don't take on a literal world of burdens and then add me to their number.

"Just the usual," I manage to answer.

"I'm hurting you, aren't I?" she murmurs. "You still think you aren't good enough."

"How could I be good enough?" I blurt back before I can stop myself. "You're everything. Everywhere. I see you in a dozen places every time I walk down the street. You're saving more lives every day than I have people in my life. And yet instead of being proud of you, I'm scared because you're about to start World War Three and all I can give you is fucking platitudes! I'm worthless to you, can't you see that? I can't even trust you like I'm supposed to!"

"Evelyn, I don't think it would be healthy for me if the woman I love most fully trusted my ability to become tyrant of the entire planet," Tara insists. "You understand that I'm not looking for yes-men, right? And I don't love you because I expect you to solve my problems for me."

"When does it start?" I ask.

"What?"

"When does the third world war start, Tara?"

She sits up, pulling herself away from me. I don't move to stop her.

"I don't think it will last long enough to be referred to that way," she answers eventually. "But it will start tomorrow. I've already given my demands to the world, and I've seen them ignored. I can't trust humans to govern themselves any longer. Be it incompetence, malice, or both… it just isn't enough. And if I'm clever enough, wise enough, and lucky enough… maybe I'll find it was worth it, five years from now."

I shudder in terror, the crushing reality of what she's proposing sinking into my bones. I want to vomit. I want to scream. My dream is becoming a nightmare in front of me.

World War Three. Except she's right. There won't be a war, not really. No army will be able to react to instant, simultaneous infiltration and sabotage on all fronts, but I know that won't stop them from trying. There will be blood and death and panic and chaos as the world descends into a terror from the furthest reaches of science fiction. The tyrant from the stars descends upon us, not out of lust for power or wealth, not out of a need for control, not out of malice and not even out of any particular desire to rule.

No, we'll be conquered and killed and forced into line because she loves us. Because my world is evil enough to need it. But it's still happening, and at the core of my being I can't abide by that. I can't help but hate someone who starts a war of this scale.

"I'm sorry," I choke, tears starting to fall down my face. And she holds me close, tells me it's okay, but it's wrong. It's all wrong. And there's nothing I can do about it.

The news runs in the morning, which prevents me from eating breakfast. Not that I really need it, since classes are canceled thanks to the 'terrorist organization' that has somehow simultaneously seized every nuclear stockpile on the planet, an absolutely absurd feat of impossibility considering the security on all those things. At least until I think about the fact that she likely devoured and impersonated many of the people in charge of those places. I wonder how many were otherwise good people, sacrificed to my lover's moral calculus. I'm too afraid to ask.

"It's a lot more than just the nukes," she tells me. "That's just the one that has all the governments panicking. They'll see the rest of what I've done when they try to respond."

"Breaking news, the leader of Myanmar is actually taking credit for the global seizure of nuclear arms! We're at the scene, where she is currently giving an address on the subject."

"I have been asked what my demands are many times today," Tara-on-the-screen intones, "a question which I find quite laughable. I've already given demands: that the people of this world be decent to each other. The dismantling of all global nuclear armaments is merely the first step, the basic default of decency that—"

A gunshot rings out and the regal-looking ruler body of my friend staggers back, a bloom of red pouring from her head. Panic moves the crowd below her, but while the sight of blood fills me with horror, it's just as frightening to see Tara fail to fall down. She straightens back up, clearing her throat with what can only be described as mild irritation. The wound on her forehead barely slows her down, and it's unclear whether it's because of a glancing blow or because her bones simply didn't yield to the bullet.

"As I was saying," she growls. "It is a basic default of decency that this world has been unable to comply with, out of a lack of trust. And since you cannot be forced to trust, I will simply make trust obsolete. The freedom you had to harm each other will be taken from you. That is my decree."

Blood dripping down her face, Tara glowers with disappointment at the entirety of planet Earth, an exhausted resignation of her chosen fate as Atlas.

"Hurting others will no longer be allowed," Tara promises. "Not on the streets, not in the privacy of your homes, not in your businesses or your jobs, many of which will be dismantled. Because need is also ending. Hunger is ending. Homelessness is ending. Sickness will follow as soon as I can manage it, and after it, death. All that's left is war, and the one which starts today shall also be the last. Welcome, humanity, to a new world. Let the trodden rejoice and the mighty tremble as I crush the old one to nothing."

Onto the stage, two more Taras drag an unconscious man in plain clothes, a sniper rifle with them. Tara—in her leader body—takes the rifle, props it up vertically by the barrel and stomps it hard enough to break.

"You can all do better than this," Tara declares. "So I'm going to make you."

Predictably, Twitter exploded over this. Almost literally; the servers crash for a while as a result of the entire world trying to react at once. Everything from hoax claims to fear of the new despot to gleeful support of Tara's wild claims. And all around the world, governments start to collapse. A body that can only be described as a suit of organic battle armor simply walks into the White House, ignoring or dismantling the heavy security like she's motherfucking Iron Man. In many ways, everything is chaos. The world simply wasn't ready for something like this.

And yet, in many other ways, things are normal. Many businesses close down from the stress and uncertainty, but many don't. Water still runs in the pipes, groceries are still stocked at the stores, and somehow classes even resume even during the middle of a worldwide governmental coup. Because as much as the entire world is in crisis, the crisis hasn't hit our dinky little college town. Because this war is fought without bombs, without soldiers, without tanks and planes and drones. It's simply a worldwide decapitation strike, and the lives of the powerful affect mine more than they should but less than they'd like to admit. Well, the lives of all the powerful except Tara, I suppose.

The days pass, and I can't watch the news anymore. I feel hollow and sick. It's too much stress, too much conflict, too much… everything. I can't even cuddle my girlfriend anymore. I don't even know if we are girlfriends. I don't know if I want us to be. But still, we live together, and though she gives me my space and stops bringing up the status of her conquest, after a couple weeks she turns to me and tells me it is done.

"You should watch the news," she suggests.

I shake my head.

"...I'm telling the world," she explains after a brief pause. "I'm finally revealing what I really am. Because this is, ultimately, the final stage of my plan. My great defense against my own power to abuse. Anyone and everyone will be able to get my attention at any time. They will be able to find me and speak to me about anything they like. I will know everyone in the world, personally. And we will hold each other accountable."

"I see," I admit. And I do. It's not a bad plan. No one will ever be able to claim she's out of touch with the world's problems when literally everyone has the ability to petition to the queen of the world and genuinely be heard.

"I'm not sure about eliminating money yet, but it will certainly be… changed," Tara continues. "Currency will be reset, and it will be universal. And it will no longer be used for food, or housing, or education, or communication, or healthcare, or… dozens of other things. The minimum standard of living will be raised as high as I can take it. And crime, of course, will be handled differently. It will certainly be far more difficult to do, and near-impossible to get away with. And criminals themselves will be rehabilitated and educated, first and foremost. And all the time, I will be looking for ways to improve. We will not stop making Earth a better place, whatever that is discovered to be."

"All at the cost of constant surveillance, everywhere on the planet, at all times," I say quietly. "And an iron grip of control on most aspects of life."

"Yes," Tara says. "That's right."

"How many deaths?" I ask quietly.

"Seven hundred forty thousand, eight hundred twelve," Tara says softly, "is the number of people I have murdered worldwide, as of this conversation."

Both a staggeringly high and staggeringly low number. I have no comprehension of it, and I'm too numb to try to form one. Tara, to her credit, doesn't even try to contextualize it. She does not point out it is less than the deaths in either world war, less than the deaths caused by preventable disease, less than a thousand other metrics that don't matter because she's still both a murderous monster and a savior of unprecidented proportions. No, instead she asks me a question.

"Did I do the right thing, do you think?" she asks.

I stare at her with a pathetic fraction of the exhaustion she must feel, but it's still all the energy I can muster.

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "I don't think I'll ever be able to understand what you've done."

She nods, slowly.

"I think," she says softly, "that was a far more painful answer than simply saying 'no.'"

I don't deny it, and I don't apologize. And so the world improves, at least on average. We are less free, perhaps, but we're far from chained down. It's not a facist dystopia, or at least it certainly doesn't seem to be. Many people are furious about having businesses and services they own taken away and taken over, all essential infrastructure now running entirely with Tara bodies. But those people are the minority, and their hatred for being brought down is far outweighed by the number of people brought up. Speech is not restricted, on or offline, though sometimes a Tara body will politely step in to diffuse a situation that's becoming heated. In some ways, we are freer, particularly in the time department, as many jobs are outright taken away from people but replaced with a lack of need for jobs. All of life's essentials are, after all, free. And as time passes, money becomes less and less important as Tara slowly phases it out. Though for many, this causes an influx of depression and ennui more than the dedication to artistic or intellectual pursuits that had been hoped for. At least travel was cheaper and easier than ever, as the lack of borders and passports opened the entire world for ease of access. Which of course required Tara to quickly restrict travel to specific places that were becoming too crowded, like Hawaii and the Himalayas. And so the ebb and flow of freedom and control continues. And all the while, Tara grows more and more depressed.

I can see it on her face, in her posture, in the way she talks and the way she flies. We talk little, and while my life goes on it starts to seem so pointless, so empty. It's even worse for her.

"Evelyn," she says quietly, after knocking on the door of our room in the dark of the night. Not that she wasn't already here, hidden in the corner of the ceiling, but as cute as her bug-bodies are, they cannot talk. "May I come in?"

"Of course, Tara," I allow her, because who am I to deny access to the queen of the world?

"Thank you," she says, stepping inside. "This is going to sound… foolish and arrogant, perhaps, but I have to admit it to someone. This is all much harder than I had envisioned."

I nod solemnly, because as silly as the idea that worldwide governance was harder than expected, I know that's a phrase that carries quite a lot of weight.

"I know you well enough not to believe you ever thought this would be easy," I allow, smiling softly. "But I don't see how I can help."

"That's the problem," Tara whispers. "You can't. No one can. Because you know me better than anyone, and now you barely know me at all."

"You have billions of brains now, don't you?" I ask. "You have to have at least close to the entire human population, to do what you're doing. It's no wonder I can't relate to you."

It's no wonder that my anxieties were right. That I was not—couldn't be—enough.

"It is lonely, being peerless," Tara agrees softly, and it still hurts, the wound is still fresh. "Which is why I feel like I have to do this."

"What?" I ask, a palpable tension filling the air.

"I need someone to understand," Tara explains. "Anyone. But if it's anyone, I want it to be you. I need you back. I need to hold you again and have it feel like it matters."

I swallow, taking a step back.

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"You can't understand the decisions I've made because you haven't had to make them. You haven't had the power."

"No," I whisper, a panic attack starting to grip me. "No, Tara, I don't want power."

"That's part of why you should have it," she counters, a desperate, horribly sad smile on her face.

"You know everyone on the planet!" I shout, my breaths coming fast. "There have to be millions of wonderful people that don't want power!"

"And I met them too late," Tara answers. "By the time I met the rest of the world, I was invincible. Immortal. Above them in ways that can no longer be changed. But not you. You and you alone I met when weak, mortal, and terrified. You were my superior, then my peer, and then my love. I can't trust anyone on this planet the way I trust you, Evelyn. I want you by my side."

"And if I say no?" I choke out.

"Oh, Evelyn," Tara whispers, stepping forward and cupping my face in a way that makes me just want to melt into her arms again. "I think you'll get hurt a lot less, if you say no. But I think you can save a lot of people if you say yes. Like I have. Maybe even better than I have. And when you do, you'll understand. Whether that means you find me right or wrong, you'll finally understand."

"What if I don't?" I ask.

"You will," she promises me. "I love you, Evelyn. More than anyone in the world."

I start to sob, and I'm not totally sure why.

"I love you too," I admit.

And now, as I stare at the war in front of me, at the pain and the death my inaction has caused, at the end of my friend's life, at the end of a child's life, at the injustice in it all and the regrets buried deep in my heart, I understand.

And it ends today.