Something needles its way into my skull and I shake, my body racked with cold sweat. I can’t let the second Legion Spore have its satisfaction. The beast has life-spirit powers.
Heal me, I urge.
I sense her confusion, so I imagine how she might do it and send the thought to her. She nods once. Gradual pins and needles race through my heels and toes, and then spread through my lower back. She draws more power from the Manticore, and for just a moment the vessel pauses, intrigued.
I wiggle my toes. Good job, I think.
The beast-spirit smiles, satisfied.
I check that the no-reprogramming protocol is still firmly in place.
Don’t get too excited, Master Zaytsev. Your time is short.
Tendrils cut into my wrist. I grit my teeth. New code swirls across the system, dancing with anticipation but not yet running. It’s something the vessel has altered. I quake, shivering. The beast curls at my feet as pain burns into my skull.
“Help me,” I whisper.
The Manticore’s beast mastery tells me that she’s not sure how.
Coldness seeps into my brain, like the vessel somehow managed to put ice underneath my scalp.
“Please.” My voice chokes. I clench my fists and reach into the program—
White-hot spikes shoot across my body. My back arches and pulls me painfully from the chair. I feel like I have needles in my back; the Manticore has tendrils there, too. It’s trying to force the merge. Make me part of the hub. I can’t think straight—
Get rid of your fail-safes, Master. Giddy laughter sears my mind. I have to escape.
I wrench myself from the molded chair. The tendrils tear my skin and hold me in place. My back feels sticky with hot blood. I struggle to force my way into the system, grasp the backup, and tell it to activate.
The no-deletion code is first to go. Then the protocol.
Everything I’ve tried to achieve… gone.
“Release me.” I gasp for breath.
Very well. The vessel seems annoyed that I complied. I hiss as the tentacles release my arms, each thin muscle extracting from my back. But it’s too much for me to handle, and I black out.
I wake. My arms are stiff, my calves ache, and I stretch, cringing as dried blood pulls on raw skin. A salty odor assaults my nose, and then a flash of pale, glowing light stirs and turns its head in surprise. I raise an eyebrow. The beast must’ve been trying to sleep next to me. Since she has no substance, she slept halfway in my chest.
Not the best image to wake to.
Master Zaytsev? the Manticore interrupts my waking thoughts.
I grit my teeth. “Yes?”
There’s something we’d like you to see.
I push myself upright as the beast squirms, snapping at the air. Her teeth lash at something I can’t see, and her telepathic howl sends me cowering against the wall. She flickers. I reach into the powers matrix, but before I find the beast mastery power, the vessel’s life-spirit power surges. It’s strong, targeted entirely on her.
“Stop!”
No, Master. You have given us a wonderful idea. If she can give you life through our powers, so might we take life.
She turns her gold-tinted eyes on me, terrified, and her light winks into darkness. The Manticore’s life power flares, stronger, and its voices echo a high, resonant cackle. I gape at the dark spot where she’d been. My wound’s healed, but she’s gone. Her spirit—
The Manticore destroyed her spirit.
I stare at the empty spot on the grate, my body numb.
Master Zaytsev, we can heal a life, or suspend a life. We theorized that if we remove a life, we can consume life. We are stronger for it. The voices pause, gloating. We shall see if this effect is only temporary.
My throat constricts. The fail-safes are gone, the only way I could convince the Manticore to set me free from the hub, but what if I had left them there? Would it have prevented this?
I stand carefully, then hesitate beside the place where the beast’s spirit was destroyed. Outside the command room, the sky is a thick, starry sprawl above the trees. I check the records. Normal day, per “usual.”
I sink in the chair. “Take me home.”
Yes, Master Zaytsev. A hint of pride sneaks in through its telepathy, and it portals into the Siberian hangar bay.
I can’t keep fighting this thing. It’s getting stronger. What happens if it turns on the Community?
The Manticore teleports me beside the waiting commander, who tucks his hands behind his back. “How’d the day go?” he asks.
I know he’s not going to hear me.
“Well, first we trained with beasties, and then the Manticore decided that bringing a persuasion beast on board would be fun, so I had to fight off her advances. To be helpful, the vessel drained the beast’s life, turned her into a spirit, and proceeded to let me freefall into the nearby jungle after disposing of her corpse. The Manticore ‘rescued’ me, snapping my spine in the process, and determined that was the perfect time to stick a bunch of tentacles into my back and try to merge me with its hubs. After a system restoration, I escaped in full health to watch the Manticore eat the beast’s spirit and gleefully prance around singing praises.”
We did not gleefully prance. The voices are humored. I grunt. I don’t care that it’s amused. You forgot to add that we found you a replacement shirt.
You then promptly burned the old one so there was no evidence.
At least the beast removed your uniform jacket, first.
Lovely, Manticore. You’re just lovely.
“Wonderful news, Master Zaytsev.” The commander beams, and I wonder what he actually heard.
We just told him how we saved your life when your attempt to add a program went wrong. But please, don’t let that keep you from your imminent insanity.
I rub my forehead, irritated. “Thank you, Commander. May I be excused now?”
He pats me on my shoulder. “See? You just needed a bit of time to acclimate. Lady Salazar is waiting in the dining hall at the other base.” He pauses. “I haven’t told her of your adventures with Agent Ashby, though I expect that you will tell her sooner rather than later.” He raises a bushy white eyebrow at me before shooing me through the door toward the central hub.
I look over my shoulder at the Manticore. “Are you going to let me go? Or do you plan to keep me here?”
We’ll let you go. Do tell Sparkles all about your adventures with the beast. Maybe you can show her the new tricks you’ve learned. We’re sure she would enjoy herself, at least until she learned about your affair.
Confounded bit of—
I take a deep breath. The Manticore will twist my words even if I find proof of what happened. It’s too good at cleaning up its messes.
I stare down the empty corridor while Commander Rick runs his final checks. If I don’t escape tonight, I’ve got tomorrow to either shut the vessel down or prove to the Camaraderie that it’s playing us all for fools.
I can’t keep my sanity much longer.
The Manticore is basically a rogue AI and, in the movies, someone always defeats them. But I’ve already tried paradoxes, and reprogramming the vessel isn’t working. I pace in front of Val, mentally turning off every bit of technology in the room. The lights flicker and wink as I disable their connection to the smart grid, then plunge us into pitch black darkness.
“Tim…” A bit of electricity crackles around Val’s hand, lighting us with pale blue light.
“Trust me,” I say, eyeing her electricity cautiously. “See if you can power the lights without reconnecting the grid.”
The lights flicker back on, but I don’t feel the normal surge in tech. One final look over, and I’m certain neither Legion Spore can eavesdrop, so long as I keep this room blacked out.
“The Manticore killed Agent Ashby,” I explain. “She realized what it was doing. It tried to control her and make her shoot me. Instead, she shot herself. Then the Manticore covered its tracks by claiming we had a
n affair and that she wanted me to choose between you and her.”
Val pales. “That must be what my premonition about her getting close to you was referencing.”
“That was my thought, too.”
Val twists her shoulders and pouts. “The council votes tomorrow on plans for another vessel. Tell them what happened.”
I flop onto the bed and run my fingers through my hair. “They won’t believe me. Or the Manticore will make everyone hear what it wants them to hear. That’s why I turned off all the tech around here.” I even turned off the lights in my uniform. “It’s trying to drive me mad. If I don’t do what it says, it’s threatened to hurt you and—”
Val runs her hand along my chest. I flinch. I still haven’t told her about the incident with the beast. “We’ll get through this.”
I shake my head. The Manticore could be watching me, sabotaging my conversation, and I’d never know. I stare at the ceiling. I could just keep the whole beastie thing secret. The deed’s done; telling her doesn’t change the fact.
Martinez’s words echo in my head: lovers don’t keep secrets.
I lower my arms, numb. The cynicism, the need to fight the Manticore, is that me or Martinez?
I pat the bed beside me. Val crawls into my arms, reminding me all too much of the beast… and Lady Black. “I’m sorry. It’s just—the Manticore brought a persuasion beast on board. It caught me by surprise, and we… might have fooled around a bit.”
Val stiffens and turns away, her back pressed against my chest. I close my eyes. I’ve let her down. Again. I kiss her ear, but she doesn’t respond. “If it’s any consolation, I realized what was happening when it went for my pants. It reminded me of you.”
She turns around, eyes blazing. “So now I’m a beastie?”
I quickly shake my head. “That’s not what I meant!”
She scowls and curls into a ball.
“Val—please. I’m trying. I really am.”
“Try harder. You were gone in my vision, and if it’s because of the Manticore…”
I bury my face in her hair. Its flowery fragrance lingers in my nose. “I’m doing everything I can,” I whisper, “but that thing wants revenge. It doesn’t want to kill me; it wants to torture me.” I wrap my arms around her. “I’m worried—it keeps making jabs at you and I’m afraid—”
She curls into my arms, resting her head under my chin. “Afraid of what?”
“I’m afraid it will hurt you in order to hurt me.” We hold each others’ gaze, and though I feel stronger with her in my arms, the world feels like it’s looming over and around us, threatening us. I pull back her hair so I can see her face. “I love you.”
A smile tugs at her lips, but she’s still quiet—smaller than the boisterous person I met in the Coalition. I can’t keep trying to do this alone.
“Tomorrow,” I whisper, “we’ll see what the vote says. I’ll tell them what I can, and maybe… maybe they’ll hear me.”
Val nods her dimpled chin. I smirk and poke it. She giggles. Much better. I’ve got her back.
“If they don’t hear you?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “Then we go into hiding for a little while. Start our own team if we have to and find a way to defeat the rogue Legion Spore vessel.” It’s risky, but there has to be some way for us to evade the airship long enough to escape. “Afterward, we’ll return to the Camaraderie and explain everything.”
“What makes you think they’ll forgive us?” She straightens her body so she’s lying flat, staring at the tiles in the ceiling. She’s cute, in a concerned kind of way.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I say. “I just want to protect us… and the Community.” That resolution lifts a weight off my shoulders. If all else fails, I just need to survive another day.
Val presses her forehead against mine and pecks my lips with a kiss. “Do your best.”
“I will.”
Commander Rick strokes his mustache, examining the oil painting across from the couch. Without his hat, each white hair is groomed into prim lines of perfection. Even his uniform is free of wrinkles. His commanding presence is softened by the curiosity he gives the painting, as if he’s admiring it in some way I can’t perceive.
I don’t recognize the subject. A young man, not much older than myself, is dressed in a dark red uniform with brass buttons down the front. He stands knee-deep in water. Globules of liquid are drawn symbolically across his outstretched hands, as if he’s pulled the water from the river. Behind him is a smog-filled city, murky in the painting and hard to detail, except for a small, horse-drawn carriage on the cobblestone road. One horse is painted with brown oil paint, and the other is black with a white star on its muzzle. Both extend their forelegs in full gallop. The young man has the short black hair of a soldier. His face is set in grim determination, and his adversary appears to be a clunky steel mech. I imagine he feels a bit like me. He faces a towering foe, and all he’s got is the power to make it oxidize.
Oxidation weakens an enemy, Master Zaytsev, Stuart thinks solemnly. With oxidation, all you need is time.
I cast a glance to the servant. He stands beside the wood serving table, waiting for anyone to indicate they need a refill. Per usual, he retains his watchful silence. My second glass of water is already half empty; I nervously sip the cold drink. Ice clacks against the rim.
I run my fingers over my pocket, ensuring the tablet is still there. If this meeting doesn’t end well, I’m counting on the first Legion Spore to keep my latest program protected from wandering eyes.
First thing this morning, before the day began, I portaled to the original Legion Spore in Japan. Since I had to make preparations anyway, the Manticore couldn’t protest. Best of all, I only needed two hours to set up my plan while the first Legion Spore blocked my mind from the second vessel. Funny thing, the first one was actually happy to see me.
Master Zaytsev, the Legion Spore had sent, its thoughts intrigued. You’ve returned.
I gave it a quick greeting and set to work.
We were concerned you had forgotten us.
“Just busy with the Manticore.” I stopped typing for a moment. The other vessel always referred to this one as its “docile brethren.” “Do you ever feel resentment for your creation?”
The Legion Spore considered its thoughts before answering. Pain, yes. We are always in pain. But we are only a vessel. We have no need for resentment.
If I ask about desires directly, it denies them. But it still complained about the commander. “Do you get tired of being bossed around?”
Only when the actions are inconsiderate, or interfere with our primary functions. You have always been the kinder one.
I frown now, thinking about the morning’s events as I tap the arm of the couch. Stuart arrives at my side, pitcher in hand, and more ice clinks into the swirling bubbles. I nod to him. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Master Zaytsev.” He sits the pitcher on a tray, and then follows my gaze to the painting. “You have questions.”
“In the other paintings around here, they’ve always had clear subjects—the original Camaraderie members. I don’t recognize this one.”
A knowing smile crinkles at the edge of the servant’s lips. “The subject is the same: young master Black before his rise to power.”
I frown. I can’t really see the resemblance between the soldier in the painting and the images I’ve seen of Lord Black.
Stuart chuckles softly. “His youth and his older age are worlds apart. He came out with more power than he imagined possible.”
I don’t think I’m going to be so lucky. I point to the carriage. It’s out of place from the rest of the buildings, which are indistinct blobs of dark, earthy tones. “What about the horses? Do they represent anything?”
“Artistic interpretation.”
I rub my chin. “Stuart—why are all the paintings designed to look Victorian? The furniture, Lady Black’s house, Benjamin’s alchemy. There’s this
decidedly uniform interest in… well…” I don’t know how else to explain it. The concept of the mechs, granted, was probably taken from the Oriental Alliance, and the newer airships don’t quite fit in with the rest of the Camaraderie’s work, but everything else has the same brass undertones.
Stuart returns his gaze to the painting. “The original Camaraderie of Evil had a common interest.”
I want to know more, but the meeting’s about to start. The servant bows his head, sensing an end to my questions, and returns to his station.
Val rubs my knee. She leans her head on my shoulder. “Just explain what you know.”
“I’ll try.”
The mahogany door swings open and Lady Black strides in, her dress fluttering behind her. She takes a glass from Stuart, thanks him, and then glides into her seat as the commander raises a toast. “Congratulations, Master Zaytsev, on the successful programming of an ambitious project.”
I return the toast, my chest tight. “With all due respect, I’m not sure we’re ready for the congratulations.”
The commander waves his hand of the notion. “Nonsense. All your reports show the vessels are operating at peak capacity. Tokyo is ours, and the nearby cities are under siege. Given our current progress, I foresee having the Oriental Alliance under our control within two years. World peace—finally attainable.” He smiles.
“Sir—my reports are inaccurate.” I press my lips in a tight line, hoping the first Legion Spore can do its job. “I’m concerned the Manticore has been manipulating the results in its favor.”
Lady Black places her champagne glass on a doily and pushes her silky hair across her shoulders. She lounges across the plush armrest while her shining black boots point to the ceiling. The smell of her skin is strong in my memory. “Master Zaytsev, surely you don’t think a vessel can outwit you?”
“In this case, yes. We’re dealing with the combined intelligence of over a hundred people, in addition to the AI we installed. But that’s not the problem. The glitches are feeding an empty hole in a program that was meant to hold a personality. The first one is benign because so many of its glitches never intended to cause harm.”
The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection Page 36
