The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection

by Stephanie Flint

  Another ding, and she’s gone.

  Commander Rick clears his throat. “The coordinates are input. Take note of how I give the hub orders—it may be useful later.” He guides me to a computer, then types a new command.

  Teleport now, he orders.

  Instantly we’re in a new room with a hub of the same size. My breath catches in my throat. There are more beasts than humans in this one. A quick techno sight scan suggests these are fire and electric elementals, meant for defense.

  “Though most attacks can be taken care of by telepathy and life-spirit alone, having other defenses has its benefits,” Commander Rick notes.

  A woman in a white laboratory coat acknowledges us with a nod, and then returns to work while Commander Rick leads me to the elevator across the room. We go upstairs to our temporary quarters, where I find a suitcase already prepared with equipment and clothing. There’s a tan uniform, crisp but lightweight. Considerably cooler than my usual fiber optics outfit, though the weather shouldn’t be bad. Atop the folded uniform is a simple hat with a round brim at the front, like the ones I’ve seen officials wear. Beside it is sunscreen, canteens with water, and a secondary tablet with relevant mission details.

  According to the tablet, a sandstorm tore through Cairo yesterday and vanished as mysteriously as it appeared. There are reports of statues and mummies coming to life inside a museum—and a missing stone artifact. Examination of the museum’s security footage reveals two young women paying for their tickets before entering the museum. One of them, with short blond hair, is unmistakably Jenna.

  When we arrive in Cairo, the museum is a mess of broken glass and broken statues, water stains on the wall, and uprooted tiles. The place has been closed to the public since the incident, after which the Camaraderie ordered everything be left alone.

  A male beast hobbles across the tile floor, sniffing a fractured statue with a jackal’s head. The beast presses his clawed hand to the statue’s abdomen. His cat-like eyes dilate, searching, and then he’s on to another statue and another exhibit.

  I tuck my hands behind my back, trying not to fidget. “Can you see what they’re thinking?”

  “To an extent, yes,” Commander Rick says. “I gather their feelings; I sense their thoughts. If I delve deep enough I can see what they see, or command them. Such is the use of beast mastery—telepathy for those who aren’t human.” He smiles at Cynthia, whose current form is a small bird who sits on his shoulder. There’s also a toughness beast behind us who wears a heavy combat vest and carefully fitted straps of cloth around his feet to protect his skin from the sand. Imposing brass knuckles link over his hands. A female beast with a thin robe draped over her body treads across the floor. Her skin is covered with a fine layer of water, giving her a slimy sheen. She’s even developed something like gills in her neck. There are other beasts, too, but these are the ones the commander thought would be the most useful.

  The tracking beast stops beside an empty exhibit, and then lets out a yip that’s high-pitched and not quite human.

  “What does he see?” I ask.

  The commander strokes his chin. “It sees Miss Nickleson—and another tracker. There is a sense of fear and panic. The tracker is afraid of statues, and this one spoke to her.”

  I scratch my head. The commander doesn’t normally give such cryptic responses.

  He chuckles. “That power does take some getting used to. Evidently, the rebels were standing here when the statues activated. These two were not the ones to grab the stone.”

  I nod. “The security footage shows that the team was split.”

  The beast lopes across the room to the spot where the portal had been. He stands over the empty tiles, silent, then yips again.

  “They had a car on the roof,” Commander Rick says, heading toward the gated entrance. “They hoped to flee.” His heel grinds stray sand. I jog behind. Outside, a Special Forces agent opens a portal to the roof.

  The sun is bright, the temperature warm. The roof is piled with sand. The tracking beast scampers across the miniature dunes, digging, and then points at new evidence like a hunting hound.

  The commander strokes his chin, thoughtful. “They flew, pursued by a giant lion.”

  “The sphinx,” I suggest. “Reports mentioned a ghostly figure, and it matches the mythology. That must be the guardian.”

  “Very well. We’ll track it to the location the beast suggests, and hope there’s something left of them to find.”

  I swallow hard, and we set off in the jeeps.

  Open desert. Nothing but sand dunes and a distant view of the pyramids against the skyline of Cairo. The commander’s team fans out within sight, scouring the sand for any trace of the rebels’ existence.

  See if you can sense technology, he suggests, anything they may have left behind.

  I reach out with my mind, searching for tell-tale electronic circuits. But other than the agent’s equipment and the locators in the beasts, the desert is a barren range. I huddle in the commander’s jeep and tab the radio. “Nothing, sir. The place is empty.”

  His voice returns in my head, clearer than it would be via radio. Very well. We may find debris that would indicate their presence. My team and I will continue our search. Meanwhile, I would like you to remotely connect with the Legion Spore.

  I stare at the radio. We’re a considerable distance from Japan. “Sir?”

  Use satellite connections. Technology. Anything that gives you access.

  The vast expanse of desert spans outward, not giving me any hope of reaching the Legion Spore. I’m not sure I want to. If I can access its commands at this distance, the vessel can do the same to me.

  “Yes, sir,” I say hesitantly. I reposition myself with my legs extended so I’ll be comfortable, and then pull the hat over my face to keep out the sun. I connect to my tablet. From there I search available networks, rerouting until I find the communication satellites in low orbit. My link strains as I branch further. A research station in India. A hub in Siberia. A small unit lying wait in Japan. I’m floating, falling. I tighten my fingers around the edge of the fabric seat. I need to keep my grip with reality. I need… a warm mix of numbers and memories pervades the air, along with a sense of surprise as I latch onto the Legion Spore’s intelligence matrix.

  Master Zaytsev?

  All at once I’m stronger, more secure. The Legion Spore bolsters the link like a hub might, and I feel, oddly, like I’m standing in the center of its command room.

  We did not realize you were going to pay us a visit. Would you like us to link minds? It would strengthen our connection.

  Every fiber of my body tenses. Our link wavers. Part of me is afraid the vessel would simply suck me out, leaving my sunburned body forgotten in the desert. I’m not sure, since the link should be purely telepathic, but I resist the notion. I will not voluntarily link.

  Sorry, Master Zaytsev. We did not realize you would have such opposition to our idea. We will keep the connection as is.

  I’m floating. Nervous. Stretched thin. The vessel offers a helping hand and keeps the signal strong.

  Status report? I think, knowing it will read my thoughts.

  With the exception of a few minor setbacks, the conquest of Tokyo is proceeding as Commander Rick expected. However, there seems to be an abnormal amount of chaos in the battle. It is all very inefficient. We were wondering if chaos might instead be structured—controlled.

  Uneasiness snakes through me. Of course there is chaos in war. We organize the troops and try to plan for what might happen, but we never know how the enemy will respond. That’s Commander Rick’s expertise, not mine.

  Enemies we anticipate. What of those who resist? Civilians, who in fleeing, create unnecessary chaos?

  The Legion Spore sends along a sense of panic and fear, a tentacled kaiju hanging from the sky. Running for safety, chaos… A spinning ball of numbers pulse around me, threads of the vessel’s calculations. I hold my breath, choking on the air.

>   We have researched, Master Zaytsev, about how we might control chaos. We found several indications that a common belief among humans may prevent mass hysteria.

  …engravings within Egyptian tombs. Aztec gods and rituals. Textbooks detailing worship of family ancestry. Icons across history—a cross, flags, peace signs—

  Hand gestures, like the one my mother made.

  Humans rally behind symbols. Throughout history, cults have controlled a large number of people under a single, charismatic leader. We have come to the conclusion that our work would be more efficient if the leader himself was included in the mass consciousness.

  A chill weaves its way through my mind.

  What are you suggesting?

  Our proposal is simple. If we bring those who flee to a shared understanding, they would readily accept Camaraderie rule. The Legion Spore delights in retrieving file after file that supports its conclusions.

  I feel my own hesitation, and I want desperately to sever the connection. How do we convince rebels to accept the Community? They rebel for a reason—a desire for freedom, a dislike of leaders, a disdain for certain tactics…

  They rebel out of fear for their lives, change, and determined stubbornness. Though, perhaps we are being hasty. The vessel sounds disappointed, as if it has seen a flaw in its plan. More research will be required to determine how we may convince them of acceptance.

  Right… Let me know how that goes.

  Of course, Master Zaytsev. Your research on the Catonian relics has been most useful.

  Researching, reprogramming, personality… I’ve got to be missing something. I delve deep into the Legion Spore’s code, searching for signs of tampering and outside influence, then drift, endlessly looking for that which may not exist. I feel its personality just out of reach. I swim through numbers, through powers. Closer. Upward, past the beasts and through glitches I’ve removed. Floating, restless. The personality emanates directly from its power matrix, uncoded, tied somewhere between those with telepathy and those with life-spirit.

  My chest feels heavy. I grapple to hold our link. I need to see the difference. The personality is living. Where hubs are artificial, this isn’t. I grasp for the vanishing lines. They can’t disappear yet. I’ve almost found the answer. Something happened in using the pendants and so many people. I jerk. My shoulder is heavy. The Legion Spore—

  “Master Zaytsev.”

  I gasp, twitching in my seat and blinking at the open expanse. Commander Rick stands above me, his brow wrinkled with concern. I was right there—I had it.

  So close.

  “Did it work?” he asks.

  My heart pounds and I squeeze my fists shut, trying to get my bearings. “Yes, Commander. Remember what I said about the Legion Spore having a personality?” I squint toward the specks that mark his team in the orange desert. The sun is in the far western sky, a giant ball of red flame. My stomach rumbles. How long was I out? “The personality is somehow fragmented in the powers matrix. It doesn’t feel like code, though, and before I could find the source, I woke up.”

  So, so close.

  The commander snorts. “Indeed. You were connected for quite some time. We spent the past several hours searching for what turned out to be a broken car door. Apparently Miss Nickleson briefly touched it before removing herself from its presence. Everything else was lost in the shifting sand. We will investigate tomorrow to see if there has been any news of wanderers. At this point, Miss Nickleson is the one sure survivor of the attack on the museum, and she looked to be in poor condition. The anti-gravity craft was destroyed by the sphinx.”

  I lick my lips. My throat’s parched. I hate that the rebels might have been killed, but right now, the Legion Spore is more concerning. “Sir, the personality…”

  “Master Zaytsev.” Commander Rick narrows his eyebrows. “Everything in a hub is run by programming. Perhaps the powers are concealing this particular problem, but I’m sure you’ll find the glitch responsible. As for the rebels, you must understand that they are our enemies—even Miss Nickleson.” He raises his chin. My chest constricts. “Whether they live or die, we need information concerning their whereabouts and, once we have that information, we shall be one step closer to keeping the Community secure on a permanent basis. You remember the St. Petersburg incident?”

  Civilian rebels, not just the Coalition, caused a number of innocent deaths among security forces who were trying to keep the Community safe.

  “I’ve worked with them,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “They aren’t… they believe in what they’re doing.”

  Commander Rick’s expression softens. “That’s what makes them so dangerous.” He taps my shoulder. “Come, get strapped in. We will stay the night in Mit-Rahineh, then continue our search in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir. What about the Legion Spore?”

  The commander checks his mirrors and the jeep rumbles to life. “Just a ghost, m’boy. There’s code in there somewhere, you just have to find it.”

  I lower my eyes. The personality is a ghost of memories… and somehow it’s not in the code.

  Today’s search starts while the sky is still a navy blue. Stars twinkle above us, clear in the fresh breeze that sweeps through the old buildings. Special Forces position themselves on the rooftops. I pull my cap tighter over my hair as I follow the commander. The people here cooperate with our search—mostly by disappearing inside a slamming door and not interrupting us.

  Shortly after the pink rays of sunlight breach the city wall, the commander and I stop by a bazaar for breakfast. A merchant offers to sell us food, but he’s among the few willing to remain on the streets during our investigation. As the hour passes, plenty of computers and phones tap against my thoughts, but aside from warnings about our presence, I sense nothing regarding the Coalition. One hour turns to five, and I take a break to rub my feet. I’ve done more walking in the past week than I’ve done since I went on the Guatemalan mission with the rebels.

  You would do well not to reminisce about such friendships. Commander Rick raises a pair of binoculars and peers past the city wall.

  My shoulders slouch. I can’t help remembering the Guatemala mission. The rebels took me in, trained me, befriended me…

  Commander Rick crouches. “While the Coalition has suffered, they are still single-handedly responsible for a great many of our problems. They have evaded our best teams and our best bounty hunters. That’s why we’re out here, not Special Forces. Because the rebels are a threat.” He pauses. “Imagine if Miss Nickleson takes it in her hands to destroy the beast production plants. The loss of workers and beasts would slow our attacks on the Oriental Alliance and spur rebellions in nearby factions.”

  My heart sinks. “Sorry, sir. I’m—working on it.”

  The skin crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “I’m not Lady Winters. I don’t expect you to interrogate or execute them when the occasion arises, though I expect you to be present.”

  I flinch, staring at the sandy brick in front of me. I don’t want to see them interrogated.

  “Why don’t you trace for nearby rebellions to see if that brings in any information?” he suggests. “I’ve searched the thoughts of the people here; they’ve seen nothing and heard nothing out of the ordinary. If the rebels’ portal creator survived, they may have vanished entirely.”

  I spend the rest of the day following behind the Commander, mentally searching EYEnet and private networks. I don’t find rebels, though there is plenty of questionable activity: gambling, unapproved trading, and possession of illegal artifacts. Things the commander will have local forces investigate later.

  The next day is spent in the desert—endless sky with nothing to show for our efforts.

  The rebels have vanished.

  Three days later, we stop in Bahariya. Same routine. Special Forces go out before dawn, and the beasts track for any sense of the rebel’s direction. I spend my time following Commander Rick with a tablet, tracking our progress in Japan, directin
g the Legion Spore, and looking for indications of the time stone.

  A shadow falls across the road and I crane my head to the sky. A vulture circles above the quiet city, silhouetted by the sun. Like most places here, the citizens walk a fine line between Community and territory. They live their lives regardless of what the Camaraderie does, so long as they don’t rebel.

  Afternoon arrives, and Commander Rick’s team meets us at a small café in the outer part of the city. “Once we have taken Japan, m’boy, we’ll move into India.” The commander sits himself into a wrought iron chair and gracefully scoots the chair to the table. My legs are so stiff that I’m glad to sit. “After India is made into a territory of the Camaraderie, we should move on to South Africa. They fund the Coalition. If we cut the rebels’ primary source of income, perhaps we can finally eliminate the pests.”

  Perhaps we should take South Africa first, and then continue this futile search. South Africa would be a smaller target, in any case.

  “Enough of that, dear boy. Now is the time for tea.” The commander waves his hand in the air and a waiter joins us, notepad in hand. The Special Forces agents take seats in the surrounding tables. The commander orders pots for everyone. Above us, a polished wooden trellis gleams with a thin black cloth, protecting us from the sun. Red and black flags flutter across the edge of the terrace.

  They must have known we were coming.

  Commander Rick smiles. “Correct. This place has wonderful tea. Perfect for relaxing. Everyone must relax, once in awhile. Helps rejuvenate the mind.” He taps his forehead and smiles conspiratorially.

  Relaxing… I rub my head gingerly. We should be in Japan or South Africa, worrying about the real battle and not these blasted rebels. I mentally tap into my tablet, checking the status of the Legion Spore.

  Same as usual.

  The waiter returns with porcelain cups and “quaint” teapots, each decorated with the Lady of the Cog. Like the pot, my teacup has hand-painted cogs on the sides. Commander Rick pours clear, steaming liquid into my cup and stirs a brown sugar cube into his own. After letting the tea steep, he raises his cup in a toast to the waiter. “This is a delightful tea. It has been some time since I had it last, but certainly worth the wait. I shall be sure to purchase extra for the return trip before we leave.” The waiter bows, pleased, and disappears into his shop.