“Tell me what I want to know,” she says.
If I tell her now, maybe I won’t say more than necessary.
Her face is blank. “What is your name?”
I close my eyes. They must already have that information. They have telepaths. Though I’ve been running numerous scenarios in my head to prevent them from getting in, it’s hard to say what they got now that my life-spirit power has been dimmed. But telling them my name is the breaking point.
No matter what they do to me, I can’t give in.
Lady Black watches me, evaluating me. Her eyes are brown today. Experience tells me she’s still using her charm, trying to get an answer.
“No,” I say. “I’m not telling you anything.”
She sighs. “Very well.” She knocks me on my side and has the needle to my neck before I have a chance to fight. She jabs the needle into my skin. I struggle to regain my footing, but she’s already halfway across the room, an empty syringe in hand.
She leaves. I stare at the door, seething. I can’t focus. I need to get out of here—
I push myself to my feet. The chains hold my wrists tight.
“Damn it!” I rattle the chains. “Get back here!” I scream at the door, pulling against the chains. She wants answers? She’ll have to fight for them. Fog—can’t focus. My chest is unnecessarily tight. Short of breath. “Get back here!”
The chain rattles on metal, and I fight against them, fighting for the door. Damn her. Damn her to—
Master Zaytsev, are you all right? Your heart rate is abnormally high.
My eyes snap open. I’m wrapped in a tangle of sheets and my forehead feels sticky. The side of my bed looms beside me. A tentacle extends from the floor and pulls the sheet free. I take a deep breath, my fingers pressed to my forehead. There’s a small cut, nothing major, crusted with blood. I must’ve hit my head on the grate when I fell, though the grate is now covered with bone.
The Legion Spore gathers the sheets within three makeshift tentacles and lays the pile on the bed. I’ve never paid much attention before now, but thinking back, my bed has always been made for me.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
For what, Master Zaytsev? It sounds confused, but I’m thankful the vessel isn’t reading my mind.
“For making my bed. And waking me.”
Certainly, Master Zaytsev. The task is in our programming.
I sit at the foot of the freshly-made bed and lean against the railing. Go figure I’d still have nightmares about taking the wrong dosage of the daily pill to go along with my fears of being unfaithful. I don’t look forward to seeing Lady Black again. As much as she keeps slipping into my nightmares, she has a certain appeal… not one I want to think about. I’ve avoided making a terrible mistake once, but I’m not sure if I can avoid it again.
I sag back into the sheets. After taking the base, the Legion Spore portaled to the edge of Tokyo, the site of the OA scout’s telepathic block from our first interrogation. As with the OA base, we knocked out technology and communications. Prevented missiles from reaching the flagship. The battle’s still raging. It’s a big city, not easily defeated. Still, there’s not a whole lot for me to do. The Legion Spore can run on autopilot during the quiet times. That’s why I was able to get some sleep.
I reach the bathroom and find the Legion Spore has already set out antibacterial cream and a bandage for my head. I can’t help but smile. After last time, it knows I don’t trust it to heal me. Not that I’d mind now, with the glitch removed.
In that case, Master Zaytsev, would you like us to heal you?
So much for keeping my thoughts to myself. “Just don’t stop my ability to breathe.” A pleasant chill floods through my forehead, and the sharpness dissipates. All that remains is dried blood. “Thanks.”
Of course, Master Zaytsev. Let us know when you want the night’s report.
I put the medicine back in the cabinet, pausing at the sight of the anti-anxiety medication. I close the door quickly. “What’s the news?”
The vessel launches into an overview. Sections of the city have been evacuated, mechs are en route to Tokyo’s main district, and we’ve already taken out a considerable number of OA helicopters, though our fleet remains small.
This isn’t the main invasion fleet. If all goes well, we’ll take Tokyo using the advance fleet. Then we’ll replenish our beasties and be prepared to take the Oriental Alliance in a full-scale invasion. For now, though, my job is to keep an eye on things, and make sure the Legion Spore doesn’t suffer any more devastating glitches.
Thick metal armor spreads across the Legion Spore’s surface, designated by glowing green segments on the computer screen. One missile erupts, then another. I clench the armrest as the airship sways. The third missile slams into the armored hull and explodes on impact. The vessel shudders.
I bite my lip. “Damage report?”
All systems normal.
Normal thanks to the armor. I reach with techno sight to find the mechs responsible. A soldier tries to lock their system before I weasel in. Too late. The mech goes limp, its silver canisters unfired.
The commander’s voice transmits pride through his thoughts. Good work, Master Zaytsev. Keep this up, and we’ll have Tokyo in a matter of days.
I smile weakly. “Thanks, sir, but the Legion Spore is to thank for most of this.” Really, it is. Half the time I don’t even realize one of our patrols is being attacked before the Legion Spore shoots its own “missile” down at them—either lasers from its eyes or fireballs from its hull.
I return to focusing on the battlefield.
Tick…
Tick…
Tick…
Something’s not right. Beasties swarm past cars and bicycles on the ground, and a few stragglers flee in terror. But an approaching mech’s code bubbles, eating at my mind. There’s no one inside, but I do sense some kind of countdown. This one links the timer to a crossing of circuits.
It’s set to explode.
I hold my breath, mentally delaying the mech’s faulty timer as the Legion Spore commands the beasts to run the opposite direction. Once they’re clear of danger, I release the timer. Fire shoots from the hunk of metal, its acrylic glass pod spiraling into the shattered window of a nearby skyscraper. Broken fragments rain on the empty, cracked concrete below.
Something clicks in my mind and goes silent, like the technology around me has come to a standstill. I frown. The Legion Spore’s logs are still recording, but there’s a blip I can’t place. “Legion Spore?”
We are, shall we say, ‘dead in the water.’
At least the AI is still online. “Show me the flight sequence.” I purse my lips as the knotted mess of code that used to be my flight program presents itself. I try to reorganize the strands of data, but it’s like trying to unravel a kitten’s yarn ball.
Dead in the water, indeed.
The glitch appears to originate from a woman with flight powers. After sensing the destructive code in the mech, our flight program scrambled. We checked the corresponding file and found that the woman who eventually became our flight component attempted suicide rather than be captured. We believe this is the trigger for your so-called haunting.
Not bad. If the Legion Spore can root out its own glitches, that’s going to make it easier on me. “She failed,” I suggested, “but the self-destructive tendency remained in her personality. It’s not a memory, so it wasn’t erased.”
Those within a hub do not retain personality. The programming is skillfully merged so no trace of the original component remains. The vessel purrs with pleasure, mentally conveying satisfaction at its efficiency. I frown. I’ve never seen a hub react in any way that wasn’t strictly… inhuman.
“Strong memories and personalities aren’t erased from the people who haven’t undergone beast transformation,” I remind it. “Telepaths, life-spirit elementals, techno sight users—they aren’t turned into beasts before being connected to a hub.”
Cor
rect. These are your ghosts.
I shudder. There are so many ways to use people in hubs, and we still don’t know all the side effects. “How are the air sacs holding?”
We have reprogrammed our shapeshifters in order to retain the maximum air.
I start to speak, then stare at the screen. The Legion Spore reprogrammed itself? A quick glance at the code confirms what the Legion Spore says, and that it did a pretty good job.
Still… I shift in my seat, twisting Val’s locket between my fingers. Something about a self-programming AI doesn’t let me rest easy, especially after watching the rebels’ old sci-fi shows about rogue computers and oppressive rulers.
Is something wrong, Master Zaytsev? You have mentally praised us, yet you seem displeased.
A chill runs through my spine. A self-programming AI who reads minds. “Legion Spore, have you ever reprogrammed yourself in any other situation?”
Our records show no indication of tinkering. This is the first incident.
I twiddle the locket under my thumb. “Keep me informed if you reprogram anything else. It’s useful when a quick decision needs to be made, but I want to make sure your program remains on track.”
Yes, Master Zaytsev.
When the repairs are done, I make another change. The telepathy program may no longer control a person without their explicit permission. If the Legion Spore changes that programming, there’s now another bit of code that gives me a five-minute delay to change it back.
My skin burns—it’s raw. I force my eyes open. I’m in my prison cell now, thank God. The cleansing rooms—damn it, I can’t remember what I told the telepath.
There are sheets beneath me. Crackling. Cool against my skin. But when I move, it drags against tender flesh. I bite my tongue to keep from sounding anything louder than a grunt. An arm moves around my midsection and pulls me close.
I frown. That’s a new development.
I force myself to roll over, grimacing as new points of pain erupt across my back. There’s another person in my bed—naked. I raise an eyebrow. I don’t remember taking anyone to bed. Don’t remember the bed, for that matter.
The woman shifts against me and brushes long strands of silky hair from her face.
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
Lady Black?
She murmurs softly, grasps me tighter, and nuzzles her head against my chest. She’s surprisingly peaceful in sleep. And…
That realization hits me. She’s sleeping. My hands are free; I can move as I want. And I can sort of sense her. It’s a groggy, fog-filled sense, but I can still sense her.
Yet she’s sleeping, unconcerned about what I might do.
I push a strand of her hair from her face. Soft, smooth. I hold it between my index and middle finger, staring at it. She poisoned me. I saw her do it. Yet… I remember an argument. I remember the voice of an older woman—the telepath.
Fear burrows inside me, deep and unyielding. Without my powers, there’s little hope that I kept my secrets.
I unwrap the lady’s hand from my waist and I hit the floor with an unsatisfying grunt. My legs are weak, like watered-down jelly. My entire body feels like it’s suffered from sunburn. One step. Another step. I stagger to the door and wrap my hand around the handle. I try to force the lever. It’s locked.
Damn it.
“You won’t escape.”
Her voice is quieter than I expect. I turn. There’s no hint of persuasion there, though the lady radiates a certain kind of innocence. She’s pushed herself up on the cot, her hair falling… strategically.
“I could hold you hostage,” I retort. “How would you like that?”
A half-smile forms on her lips, and she shakes her head. “They would suspend your life.”
I close my hands into fists and lean against the door frame. “Why are you here? What did I tell you?”
The lady glances toward the empty wall and the open chain embedded there. “You told me nothing. However, Lady Winters got what she wanted.” She slides her legs over the edge of the cot, letting her bare feet dangle.
I feel like a lead weight crushes my chest, and I sink against the wall.
Lady Winters got involved?
I failed.
Doesn’t matter how hard I tried. I still failed.
I expect the lady to console me, but she just sits there. “Without your powers, Lady Winters entered your mind and got the information she desired. She also approved you for her project. My apologies.”
I frown. “Project?”
“Confidential.”
“If I’m going to be part of it anyway…”
She rolls her eyes. “Let’s just say it’s a giant hub.”
I’ve heard of them. Never dealt with ’em. “Better than being a beast.” I glare at Lady Black and she scoffs, pushing herself off the bed.
“Please. I wasn’t the one who overdosed you.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was trying to defend herself. My lips curl into an involuntary snarl. “I saw you, clear as day.”
She shakes her head. “No, you saw a doctor inject you while you remained frozen. Lady Winters manipulated your memories from the other room, and you perceived me being the one to do it.”
I bite back my retort. “Why are my powers back?”
She lowers her eyes, but I see the hint of a smile. “I switched your rations, gave you ones without the medication. Why? Because I want to know.”
“Know what? If you don’t know my name, I ain’t telling.”
She chuckles, her laugh ringing clear. “Love, my dear. Consider yourself fortunate. How many rebels hold their own while persuading their captors to like them?” Her expression turns serious. “I want to know who you really are, without the drugs, without my persuasion. Even if you never love me, I have my own experiment to run. Lady Winters has what she needs. She’ll leave us alone until her project is ready.”
Blood drains my face. “When’s that?”
“We have a week. More or less.” She pauses, takes a deep breath, and then smiles again. “Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Lady Emily Black. What’s yours?”
I start to speak, then stop. So quick… she could have easily gotten the information from me then. Yet… she’s keeping her powers to herself. “Emily,” I test her name in my mouth… it’s not the worst name a person could have. “You don’t need to know my name.” I stand, still shaky, but stronger. “If you really want to gain my trust, why don’t you put some clothes on? I don’t want you trying to seduce me while we talk.”
To my surprise, she extracts a simple dress from underneath the covers. Plain. Form-fitting, yes, but not particularly revealing. “Very well.” She shrugs. “Let’s talk.”
I splash my face with cold water. These dreams are getting too frequent. Too sequential. Too memorable. Too emotional. I have this nagging urge to contact Lady Black, to speak with her. It tugs at me, holds me prisoner like the narrator in my dreams when he’s under her spell. It’s as if the dreams are real memories, not just imaginary scenarios created from my fears.
I rub my arms fiercely, trying to warm myself. These dreams make me want Val more than ever, and I don’t want to tell either of them what I’ve seen. It’s too personal, especially since I used to have a celebrity crush on the lady back when I was in the Community, back before I met Val.
What if I betray her? What if she had that vision because I make a mistake…
Master Zaytsev, your breakfast is ready.
I stare at myself in the mirror. I wonder, if I were to look at a mirror in my dreams, who would be in my place?
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Yes, Master Zaytsev.
Maybe the dreams are real. I pry open the locket, staring at the photograph of Val and me. She’s beautiful. I’ll have to tell her about the dreams when the older council members aren’t around. For now, I’ll wait. Part of me feels wrong for being curious, but I have to know what happens. If this is a gli
tch, tampering with the program could shut the dreams out completely. Yet, if they aren’t dreams, and they are memories, letting them continue might be one way for me to actually understand what’s going on with the glitches and learn more about the elusive Lady Black.
I wipe my face of the remaining water, and then head to the kitchenette.
While the Legion Spore keeps tabs on the battle, I continue my research for Commander Rick, skimming what I know about the time stones. The rebels already have the Guatemalan and Japanese stones. I’ve managed to guess at the locations of the three remaining stones: Peru, India, and Egypt. Some of the theories were in place before my research started, courtesy of Dr. Macon, an archeologist working for the Camaraderie.
I pull up the files. The Egyptian stone was simple enough to find. There are several accounts of unexplained sandstorms, each in conjunction with the same archeological dig. One account mentions a ghostlike sphinx that roasted the man’s companions before leaving him for dead—minus the artifact his partner was holding. Now, though, the site of the dig has been replaced with a museum. Since there aren’t any recent reports of stolen artifacts, sudden sandstorms, or ghostly cats, the stone might still be there. We even have a picture on file that matches the other stones. I take note, and then move on.
I think the next stone is in Cuzco, Peru. Dr. Macon indicated in her files that a temple there involves the worship of a sun deity, and that solar eclipses were considered cause for concern. Given the ties to solar events, and the Maya temple’s translation of “Beware the changing guardian; he who carries the five stones travels time in the circle of stone at the longest day,” I’m willing to entertain the idea. A footnote by her assistant suggests that the Inca of Peru may have been onto something in regards to their belief that gold was the sweat of the sun. The use of gold in enchanted artifacts, like the ones Benjamin makes, allows the bearer to use radiation powers. Not only that, but there are a few reports of disturbances in a local temple by malcontents. One of the thieves who managed to remain alive—not crushed into a mess of flesh and bone—described the appearance of a glowing puma who could lift massive stones with its paws.
The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection Page 18
