Tuners

by Aaron Frale

  Jon couldn’t believe his dad was such a badass. He almost forgot that he was furious at him when he saw him fight. The Tuners, meanwhile, were also fighting off waves of cultists. For each one they felled, three more popped into the room. It was a never-ending battle, and Jon knew they couldn’t keep it up forever.

  “Meathook!” Jon yelled. “Can you clear me a path to the platform?”

  “Will do, boss,” Meathook said and began to swing his hammer wildly, knocking down six or seven cultists at a time.

  “Patel. Cover me,” Jon said. They made their way through the opening, and Patel walked with her back against Jon. She was taking all sorts of blows that were meant for him and barely getting bruised.

  The two priests on the platform were stoic and quiet. They had to be how the High Priest was managing to summon his armies. Jon was sure of it. When he got to the platform, they didn’t even react. Underneath their hoods, he could see the ear spikes implanted just like those who were hooked into the machine. The priests’ eyes were glazed over, and they were shaking. Blood and black ooze spewed from their orifices.

  Jon swung his sword and chopped off one of the earpieces. The priest shrieked with pain, and two cultists who were halfway in a tune screamed as they were lost in the void. Jon went for the other clergyman when Ludie pushed Patel out of the way and dashed towards Jon and tackled him. The kid was still wearing his power armor and packed quite the punch.

  Ludie crushed Jon’s hand with the control gauntlet and put his other armored hand around Jon’s neck. He whispered. “She was mine.”

  Jon gasped for air as Ludie squeezed.

  Just before Jon lost consciousness, Hailey stood behind Ludie with a club she had liberated from one of the cultists. “I’m nobody’s.”

  She swung the club and knocked Ludie to the side. He tumbled from the platform. While Jon was regaining his breath, she turned to the second priest and ripped the ear spikes out. Blood splattered her face, and the priest went down. The cultists stopped appearing in the room. The tide of the battle began to turn.

  Hailey held out her hand to Jon.

  “You’re nobody’s, eh?” Jon asked. “I was hoping that kiss meant something.”

  “Yeah, maybe I’ll let you come around and see me every so often,” Hailey smirked.

  That was good enough for Jon. They readied their weapons and turned toward the battle, but it was already over, except for one crucial detail.

  The High Priest held Jon’s dad with the ceremonial dagger to his throat. The surviving cultists, including Ludie and a few of the poor saps who had joined them, gathered behind their leader. They backed up towards the door.

  “You won’t make it out that way,” Hector said. “This station is a sphere. There is nowhere to run.”

  “That’s where you are wrong,” the High Priest hissed. “Go ahead and pull up your security cameras. Look at the rest of your precious HQ.”

  Hector hit a few buttons on one of the control panels. The large screen that displayed a lot of the Tuner metrics switched to a rotating security feed. Every part of the station was being overrun with cultists. The arboretum had the fanatics running through and killing personnel. A group of security forces was being overwhelmed in the cafeteria. A woman was shot in the back by an arrow in one of the circular hallways.

  In each scene, more and more cultists appeared, including the priests with the earpieces that allowed them to transport even more of them. They were spreading like a disease across the facility. For each warrior the staff would take out, more would appear.

  “Abandon HQ,” Hector said.

  “But there are people out there,” Ernest said.

  “Abandon the station!” Hector yelled.

  The High Priest smiled and stepped out into the hallway with Duyi. As the door was closing, Jon saw the High Priest slit his father’s throat.

  “Dad!” Jon yelled and ran towards the door.

  Meathook scooped up Jon and said, “No, buddy. You heard the man; we are leaving.”

  “Let go of me!” Jon struggled, but it was no good. Meathook was too strong.

  “Jon,” Hailey said.

  He didn’t see her. All he was seeing was red.

  “Jon,” Hailey said again. She had Jon’s attention this time. “There are a lot of people in this station who are going to need to get out of here. Most of them are cut off from the platform. With the barrier down, we can tune as many of them as we can out of here, but we are going to need all the help we can get. The High Priest’s army is growing, and soon we won’t be able to help them. You can’t help your dad, but you can still save some people.”

  Jon acquiesced. “All right. All right. Put me down.”

  Meathook held tight. “How do I know you’re not going to run off again?”

  “Just put me down!” Jon said, and Meathook dropped him face-first on the floor.

  “Quit monkeying around and help get these people out of here!” Hector yelled as the first group of refugees stood on the platform.

  “Where are we going?” Meathook asked.

  “I hear Hawaii is nice this time of year,” Hailey said.

  “Finally, something that is similar in our universes!” Jon said.

  “We can count the safehouses out,” Hector said. “Ludie knows about them.”

  “How about my universe?” Jon asked.

  “Your universe is at risk of collapse,” Hector said.

  “Yeah,” Jon said. “That’s why Ludie would never think we’d go there.”

  “Universe 42 is only at 50% risk now. The barrier has been healing. It should be able to withstand some normal tunes so long as the cultists don’t follow us,” Ernest added.

  “The cultists will be busy checking all the safehouses first,” Patel said. “That will give 42 a further chance to heal. I believe with enough access to technology, I can set up a jamming system in Universe 42 that will prevent unauthorized tunes like we have here.”

  “Yeah, but won’t Ludie just crack it?” Jon asked.

  “Ludie was able to do what he did because I was sloppy and didn’t keep a close eye on him,” Hector said. “He had too much access to sensitive systems. Besides, he had to be here already to do it. There is no way to do it from the outside. 42 it is. Tuners, you know what to do.” He turned to DeAndre, who could barely stand. “Except you.”

  DeAndre gave Hector the thumbs up.

  Hector tapped a few buttons on the command control panel. At the same time, all the TF3s in the room blared with a loud noise. “This is Hector Gonzales,” he said, and his voice echoed through every piece of communication equipment. “We are abandoning HQ. Repeat, we are abandoning HQ.”

  Hector put the message on repeat. He turned to the Tuners next. “All right, we are getting as many people off this station as we can. You ready?”

  Jon, Meathook, Hailey, and Patel nodded. Hailey had a brand new TF3 in her hands. Jon smiled because he knew exactly what she thought when she cringed at the music selection. It was time to get to work.

  33

  Rashaun couldn’t stop laughing at the video. He had just finished watching a prank Jack Falshon played on his older brother that ended with Jack running down the street in his boxers. Rashaun almost shared it with Jon. He paused, and then a grim expression came over his face. He tossed his phone on his desk and left his cluttered room to go downstairs for some milk. Rashaun’s parents used to tease him that they were going to buy him a cow because of how much milk he drank. His mom bought three gallons of it every week, and they’d still run out.

  It was a Friday night, and his parents were already asleep. His mom and dad were heavy sleepers, so he turned on the lights and made no attempt to be quiet. Rashaun’s house was always noisy. Whether it was the clomping of people moving about the place or the boisterous family conversations, there was a lot of noise.

  Life hadn’t been the same after the murders at Jon’s house. The weird people who were found at his home and then again at the mall in
spired all sorts of conspiracy theories. Most of Rashaun’s friends thought they were aliens. The official statement from Homeland Security was that they were terrorists. A couple of agents had interviewed Rashaun, but he didn’t tell them anything.

  Rashaun knew the girl that Jon had met had to be involved. However, he didn’t know how. From the pictures the agent had shown him, she was pretty. He had never seen her before, so he technically never lied to the police. When people asked him what he thought about it, he always said, “I don’t know. Aliens?”

  All the conspiracy and conjecture aside, days hanging out at the skate park weren’t the same. Jon was the lifeblood of the group. They talked and joked around, but it was restrained laughter and conversation that would fizzle out. Even Jack wasn’t nearly as crazy without Jon around. It’s like they did nothing but quietly skate, and then each would scatter one-by-one till the sun went down. Rashaun always stayed a little after the sun set in hopes that Jon would try and reach out. Maybe he was on the run, and the skate park was the only place they could talk without being noticed. But no matter how long he waited, Jon never came. Rashaun was also too wise to risk the wrath of his mother if he stayed too long.

  He flipped on the switch in the kitchen and opened the fridge. He wanted something to go with the milk but didn’t know what. He stared at the contents long enough that if his mother had been awake, she would have asked him if he was trying to open up a ski resort in here.

  Eventually, he decided to grab some cookies from the pantry. His mom always hid them away and buried them in the depths, but who was she kidding? He poured the glass and got four from the bag and stuck a fifth in his mouth. He was about to go back upstairs with the glass and plate when there was a loud pounding on his door.

  It was a little late for someone to be knocking. Rashaun didn’t turn on any lights and walked towards the front. He peaked through the peephole and dropped his milk and cookies. Rashaun flipped the light switch and opened the door.

  Jon stood outside with a ragtag group of people who looked like they had just survived a war. The girl in the picture the Homeland Security agent had shown him was standing next to his friend. He could see two daggers sheathed at her side. Some of the others had weapons too. Even Jon had a crossbow and sword. From what he could tell, there was blood on it.

  “Jon?” Rashaun sputtered.

  “You know how your mom always said we could sleep here if we were ever in trouble?” Jon asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re in trouble.”

  34

  Arzerius paced the mall muttering to himself. The shopping complex wasn’t bustling even though it was a Saturday. Most people avoided the place since the bodies of the cultists had appeared. It took a couple of months to open it again, and the local people began to call it Murder Rock Mall. Since it had reopened, half the stores were closed, others were going out of business, and it was on a downward spiral.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Arzerius yelled at himself and turned around. A woman drew her two kids closer and gave him a wide berth. He didn’t care about her reaction. People would often look at him with suspicion on a good day, and if his hoodie fell down and anyone saw the star etched into his head, they would really flip out. He had tried makeup once to hide the scar and ended up wiping it off by accident.

  Luckily for him, the authorities of this universe never discovered that he had the scar. He was so afraid of the Order of the Flame dragging him back to the torturous existence he had known that he lived between the cracks of the system. He was always on edge because he feared that if anyone discovered him, the cultists would find out.

  He had seen what they did to deserters. He hadn’t realized how much pain a person could endure without being killed. The fear of being caught still hadn’t dissuaded him from running away at the first opportunity. A war call had summoned the army. All the warriors and priests had been sent as fast as the machine could pump them out. Arzerius had been sent to stabilize the transit on the other end with a two-star priest who had befriended him. They were sent to the wrong universe. They had known almost immediately when they appeared in a peaceful shopping mall.

  The protocol for a faulty tune was clear. They had to come back right away. Azerius made a split-second decision; he bashed in his friend’s brains and had been watching his back ever since.

  His scrambler was in the trunk of his car. It was a homemade device that would jumble signals of Tuning Forks near him. He had built it in hopes that he could thwart the machine from bringing him back, but the reality was that the cultists might not care enough about him, or they thought he was dead and had tuned to a void universe. Either way, he brought it with him everywhere except today in hopes that it was the thing protecting him. He needed the Tuners to find him. But no one seemed to be showing up. He muttered to himself and trotted back to his car.

  He had been going to the mall every few days or so for the past few months in the hope of meeting that kid again. After their encounter with the cultists, the subsequent murders, and the missing people at the kid’s house, Azerius had realized the cultists hadn’t come to this world for him. They were after the kid.

  If they were after the kid, then it could mean only one thing. He was a Tuner or at least connected to the Tuners. Either way, the Tuners were the only ones in the entire multiverse who could help him out. However, no matter how many times he frequented the mall, the kid did not come back. With each passing day, reprieve got further and further away.

  He walked through the parking lot of the mall towards the shopping center across the street, where he had first talked with Jon. There were a few parking spots behind the shopping center where no one ever parked. He always used one of those places. He figured the fewer people to observe him getting out of his vehicle, the better. If someone happened to be in the area when he attempted to park, he’d circle around or leave. If paranoia were an art form, he would be taking it to the highest level. He didn’t even drive the same route home each time he left the house.

  He popped the trunk of his car and rooted through the various gadgets and debris. Before he was able to get ahold of the scrambler, he heard the sound of a car engine purring directly behind him. At first, he thought that it was very odd that someone would be waiting to take his spot when there were other open spots around him. Then he realized that he must have been caught. The authorities were here to take him away, and it was only a matter of time before the cultists found out about him.

  He turned slowly to see a red and white 1956 two-door hardtop Chrysler New Yorker. It wasn’t the cultists or the authorities at all. For lack of any better plan, he ran, and the car’s tires screeched as it peeled out.

  Azerius ran as fast as he could through the parking lot. There was a narrow gap between the buildings. If he could beat the driver of the mysterious car to it, they would have to go around the shopping complex to get to the other side. He charged towards his freedom with every last breath. The gravity of this world was a fraction of what he was used too. However, being in the universe for an extended period had caused his natural ability to waste away no matter how much he worked out.

  He was nearly out of breath and a few feet away from the gap when he heard the roar of the overcharged engine upon him. The Chrysler whipped past him and turned at the last minute. It skidded to a halt right in front of the alley to freedom.

  He was unable to slow down when the driver opened their door. The speed of his run collided with the opened door and was just enough to knock him off his feet. The wind evacuated from his chest, and he gasped for air.

  “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!” he said through the wheezing.

  The occupant of the vehicle got out of the car and walked over to where he lay. Their face was obscured by the sun for a brief moment, but then they came into focus. Azerius was a little surprised and confused by what he saw. He half expected to see a Priest of the Flame or one of the local law enforcement officials. Instead, he saw a person, maybe seventeen
or eighteen years old. He couldn’t make out the gender. They had short black cropped hair and a mix of brown and white leather clothing that made them look like an extra in a post-apocalypse movie. They wore a bandana around their head that covered the ears.

  They knelt beside him and said, “That looks like it hurt.”

  “You could have tried to talk to me,” he wheezed.

  “You shouldn’t have tried to run,” they said, “and before we get too friendly, I have a couple of questions for you. The first is simple enough. Why is a cultist hanging around this universe?”

  “Cultist? I don’t know what you mean by cultist.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” they said and tore off his hood

  “Hey,” he said and sat up. The pain in his chest flared, and he didn’t make it the rest of the way. He slumped on the ground.

  “So, let me ask again. What is a cultist doing in this universe?”

  “I ran away.”

  “I see,” they said and stared at him for a minute. “Why did you pick this universe?”

  “I got sent here by accident. I am not going back to that hell hole,” he said.

  After more tense moments, the mystery person seemed to accept his answers. They helped him to his feet, and he dusted himself off. He felt naked with his forehead scar showing and put his hood back up.

  “So what are you? A bounty hunter? Are you here to take me in?” Azerius asked.

  “Of sorts, but to be honest, the cultists wouldn’t pay a penny for you. They torture deserters to entertain themselves and scare new recruits to stay in line. They have better things to do than chase down every person who slips through the cracks. They could care less about a twerp like you who will probably die anyway when they get around to cleansing this backwater universe.”

  “It’s 42.”

  “What?”

  “The Tuners call it 42. Not, a, b, c, or anything. Just 42.”

  “Yeah, I never did understand their naming system. I mean backwater in the sense that they have barely invented handheld music devices and touchscreens. This universe is about as much threat to the cultists as an anthill in the backyard. It doesn’t mean it will be safe. It just means they have more important things to do.”