by M. K. Gibson
Wait, how did I get here? Oh, yes, introductions. Please forgive me. I do tend to ramble once in a while. I’m what I like to call . . . factually opinionated. And if you don’t like that, well, piss off.
Sigh . . . sorry. My wife and I recently had our first child and I’m not sleeping well. Normally I’m a very pleasant chap to be around. Yes, I’m a villain, but I wouldn’t consider myself “evil.” I’m just the hero of my own story.
What? What’s the matter?
Oh, are you still thinking about that planet I blew up in the prologue? Okay, I can see how that’s confusing. Heh heh, on one hand I’m over here saying “Oh hey, look at me, I’m a nice villain,” and on the other hand, I’m kind of responsible for that planet exploding and extinguishing countless lives. I can see why you’d be confused.
You see, that was funny.
Yup . . . not much else to add to that.
And technically, I didn’t do it. My daughter did. Sure, someone—maybe me—set the darling toddler on an intergalactic warship’s main fire control terminal next to a glowing red button. And maybe said toddler saw the button and did what came naturally.
She’s a demi-god, after all, and those little buggers can circumvent rules that we godly types have to play by. I, for example, cannot enact lethal force against a mortal of another plane of existence unless said mortal means me harm.
But my daughter—my dear little Evie—well, she can do whatever she wants. Like, say, eradicate a planet with the push of a button that looks like a glowing toy. It’s like I said earlier: Manipulating the rules is what I do.
Oh, yes, you astute readers may have noticed that in the last book Evie was an infant and here she’s a toddler. So I assume you think a couple of years have gone by.
Nope.
Evie just wanted to be taller, so she willed herself to grow up a little. Little darling just wanted a cookie. Keeping her power in check does take a considerable strain on my part, and I’ve instilled in her the sense to let herself grow up naturally. Could you imagine what she she’d do if I let her have full control of her power?
Gods above and below, I’d have to punish her by banishing her to her own dimension. But in a cool way. Not in a crappy plot device amid an otherwise awesome movie as in Thor: Ragnarok.
Now, with all that background crap out of the way, let’s get into the actual story. Sorry for wasting your time and the first chapter of this book with exposition. A complete no-no in the publishing world.
But, hey, that’s what rules are for, aren’t they? To be broken.
So let’s dive in, shall we? In the next chapter we get to see what became of Randy and visit a spaceship. Won’t that be lovely?
Chapter Two
Where I Council an Alien, Mock Higher Education, and Make America Great Again
The miniature black hole continued to suck in the remnants of Jaangar VII. Satisfied with the results, I turned away from the viewport and looked at the members of the Vaanath Dominion.
“So, any questions?”
The battle bridge of the hulking Quasar-class Dominion warship Leviathan was completely silent. All eyes stared at me in shock. Eventually all those bizarre alien eyes drifted to the obsidian throne at the center of the bridge.
Vaanath Magnus, First of His Name, Fourth High Lord glowered at me from the warship’s central throne. The near eight-foot-tall, dark blue bald humanoid in the lacquered black and dark green battle armor looked rather nonplussed with the results of my consultation.
His retinue of sycophants and advisers flanked him. They spoke in harsh whispers, unsure of what to think or say. The mix of alien species was too bizarre to describe, save for the fact that they were all mostly humanoids and looked as if they were wearing extensive prosthetic pieces with makeup. The kind of aliens you only see on bad TV, or read in bad writing, because the creator couldn’t imagine something that didn’t fit the “two arms, two legs, and a head” mold.
Vaanath Magnus raised an armored hand and the bridge grew silent. The Dominion lord leaned forward and stared directly at me.
“What did you do?” Magnus demanded.
“Me?” I asked. “Nothing. My daughter, though—well, that’s another story.”
I looked over at my little girl, who had a wide smile on her face. “Made a big boom, Daddy!”
“Yes, yes you did, sweetie,” I said with a smile and a wink, then addressed the command deck at large. “So, any of you all want to consider maybe putting a safety latch on the fire control mechanism? Hmm? Maybe a covering of some kind?”
“Blackwell,” Magnus rumbled.
I didn’t move or respond. While it was clear the Dominion lord didn’t care for me, he knew better than to get too informal. My reputation made him . . . cautious. No, the “Blackwell” Magnus was calling was my dear sweet nephew Randy.
You remember back in the last chapter when I mentioned defeating foes in my previous adventures? Well, the mastermind of both of those attempts on my position was none other than my own nephew Randy Blackwell. I defeated him, naturally. But instead of killing him, I made him an employee.
What can I say? I admired his chutzpah. But since the little shit dared to challenge me—twice—I made sure his loyalty to me was ironclad. That’s why I forced him to sign a soul-binding contract.
I owned his rebellious ass.
So I set Randy and his mother, my trashy yet educated sister Paige, up in their own micro-dimension as franchise contractors. As my new forward-facing liaison of the Blackwell Corporation, Randy’s job was to go to the universes I detested. Per my recent wishes, he was my emissary into Stella Primus, the premier sci-fi and space opera universe.
Lord knows I didn’t want to be running around this overdone, underdeveloped, stupid fiction subgenre a moment longer than necessary. How anyone cared about space opera was beyond me.
“I am here, Lord Magnus,” Randy said as he came through the pack of advisers to stand next to the throne.
“You assured me that your company could deliver results unlike anything seen before across the cosmos.”
“I did, Lord Magnus. Which was why I solicited the assistance of my uncle directly,” Randy said to the giant alien, then shifted his eyes to me. “I’m sure that the Shadow Master has a reason for the planet’s destruction?”
I smiled. Randy wasn’t sure whether to throw me a softball to knock out of the park or to throw me under the bus. In his defense, I’d stationed him here for a while now. The passage of time in this universe was different from mine. So for him, it’d been months that he had been in the service of the Dominion.
“Yes, I had a reason.”
“To make a big boom!” Evie said, throwing her arms in the air.
Two of the fire control officers tried to remove her from the control panel, but little Evie manifested three adorable saber-toothed shadow imps to defend her.
“Destwoy them!” Evie commanded. The shadow imps attacked the Dominion officers with comedic glee. The adjacent officers just watched, unsure of what to do. Not one moved to help the poor doomed bastards. They did, after all, fail to keep a child from launching the Dominion’s newest superweapon that my R&D team had helped to develop.
“Randy,” I said, “would you be so kind as to see to Evie? I’d hate to think what she’d do if they tried to take her little baggie of Cheerios.”
Randy nodded, gave a small bow to Magnus, and stepped over the imps and screaming officers to pick up Evie. “C’mere, little cousin.”
“Daddy said you suck.”
“I bet he did,” Randy sighed, removing Evie from the scuffle.
Family. Adorable.
“Well, Shadow Master,” Magnus said, “do you have a reason for that planet’s destruction?”
I smirked, then turned my back on the Dominion lord. I heard gasps from his advisers. In the viewport’s reflection, I saw Randy facepalm himself. Grasping my hands behind me, I stared into space.
“Tell me, Magnus. When you look out there,
what do you see?”
“My waning patience for your grandstanding,” Magnus replied.
I sighed. Normally when I consulted with clients, they were—well, dumb. Sadly, a lot of villains are in fact idiots.
Oh, don’t get me wrong; they’re normally educated and highly motivated, but I wouldn’t call them “smart.” Smart people can see the bigger picture by avoiding the tunnel vision brought on by their own biases and hubris, while also being aware of their own strengths and weaknesses. People like you and me.
Well . . . mostly me. I’m still not sure about you.
Oh, I got it. Here’s the perfect example. The villains I’m talking about are like that one person you know who’s college educated but also a complete moron. Everyone has that one friend, sister, brother, cousin, co-worker, or whoever who spouts facts and posts opinion blogs, but can’t follow logic outside their echo chambers. The ones who are surprisingly dumb in the weirdest ways.
Take my sister Paige. She actually believes that she won’t get sunburned while driving with the convertible’s top down . . . because she’s in motion. Yeah, let that sink in. She once asked—I shit you not—if you baked ice cream cake. And she, dear reader, has a master’s degree. She jumped through the hoops, did the assignments, and got the parchment to prove it.
Do you bake . . . ice cream cake. Damn you, higher education and your money-making scheme. I wish I’d come up with it first.
Highly educated but not “smart” is why my client base comes to me, regardless of their universe’s genre. Magnus was . . . well, he was a different kind of dumb. He was the kind of dumb person who thought his privileged position made him more than what he was. Like a politician. Sure, they have “power,” but it is only an illusion given to them by people like me—the ones who run the corporations, and by which I mean the world. We have armies of lawyers and lobbyists. When one of these little snots acts up, they’re replaced by someone who’s more . . . pliable.
Or we just back the other side. Happens way more than you think. Why do you think super PACs were created?
Vaanath Magnus, First of His Name, Fourth High Lord was born into his station. His clan was powerful and influential. His rise though the ranks of the Dominion had less to do with his aptitude and more to do with his family’s wealth. Sure, he’d won many battles. But when you throw a near inexhaustible amount of resources at a problem, you can brute force your way to victory almost every time.
It’s the American way.
I turned back around and faced the giant alien. Before I said anything, I reached into my suit’s inner pocket and took out a pack of my cigarettes. I lit one and breathed out the smoke.
“Magnus,” I began, choosing my words carefully, “if you cannot see the gift I’ve given you, then not only are you a fucking idiot, but also, you don’t deserve your station within the Dominion.”
“Djzha,” Magnus boomed. “Kill him.”
Yup . . . he’s an idiot.
Chapter Three
Where I Call a God, Suffer a Crisis of Faith, and Get Rid of a Problem
When you are conducting a business consultation, there are many factors to consider. Whether or not you can perform what is being asked is paramount. Then, of course, you must negotiate a fair salary for the work you will provide. And at the top of the list of considerations is whether your client is a ruthless intergalactic warlord who will sic elite assassins on you if you dare to question his mental faculties.
See why I dislike coming to this universe?
Four Djzha manifested before me, adorned in their ceremonial red and black robes. Beneath their hoods and face wrappings I could make out the various pieces of mind- enhancing technology grafted to their flesh. They didn’t appear so much as they shifted into this plane of existence. It was as if they could turn sideways, in defiance of the natural flow of this universe, as if they were able to move in a separate dimensional space that ran perpendicular to our own.
The Djzha were an advanced level of being, blending technology and spirituality. Kind of like the zen masters of Silicon Valley. They may have been Terran at one time, but extended exposure to ancient alien technology and meta-dimensional space had altered them into what they were.
In my way.
All four of them approached in unison. Without verbally communicating, each of them manifested a glowing sword made of digital light, code pulled from the fabric of reality.
I, in turn, pulled out my cell phone and held up a “please-wait-a-moment” finger.
“Sophia,” I said as the line connected.
“Heya sir,” my receptionist said in her normal perky voice. “How’s the consultation going?”
I looked at the assassins and shrugged. “Eh, pretty standard. Can you do me a favor and patch me through to Hermov Wellshlein?”
“Sure thing, sir,” Sophia said. “Is there a problem?”
“Just making sure of something,” I said, then held my hand over the phone and addressed the Djzha directly. “Sorry, just one sec.”
The Phase Walkers seemed confused by my forwardness, and looked back at Magnus for direction. While that exchange went on, I listened to the prog-rock instrumental version of David Bowie’s “A Space Oddity” while my call was being connected. A moment later, the line picked up.
“What are you doing, Jackson?” a synthesized voice said.
“Cut the crap, Wellshy,” I said. “You know I’m in your universe working a contract.”
“So I see,” Hermov Wellshlein, the god of Stella Primus, said back to me in a much more human voice. “What do you want?”
“Clarification.”
“On?”
“Your death system. Is it soul-based? Or do you use midichlorians, thetans, star-stuff dust, or what?”
“Why?” Hermov asked. I could hear his voice tensing.
“Because I’m about to kill . . . mmm, four of your citizens. Just wanted to give you the heads-up I’ll be sending them your way.”
“Who?” Hermov asked.
“Four of these—” I paused and held my hand over the phone. “What are you all called again?”
“Djzha?”
“Djzha,” I said back into the phone.
“No, you may not!” Hermov declared. “They are integral to that quadrant’s storyline.”
I cupped the phone again and addressed the Djzha. “Again, so sorry, I’ll be with you all in just a second. My apologies.” I put the phone back to my ear. “Frankly, this call was mostly out of professional courtesy. You know the deal. I’m a visiting deity and these four are intending me mortal harm. Now, they’re following the order of their lord, Vaanath Magnus. If I wanted to get technical, he is using them as his instrument. By the transitive property, he is intending me mortal harm. Therefore, I could kill him. Tell me, is he integral to your story?”
“Damn it, Jackson.” Hermov sighed. “Fine. But you owe me.”
“Sure sure,” I said. “See you at the next meeting.”
“Hey, Jackson,” Hermov said.
“Yes?”
“I thought you said you hated space opera. What are you doing there?”
“Well, first, I’m trying to get out of here as soon as I can. And second, I hate bad space opera. I like the good stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I said with a smirk. “I’ll let you know if I ever come across any.”
“That’s cold, Jackson.”
“I know.”
“Wait,” Hermov said. “Did you blow up a planet?!”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry, I-- c-- make that out,” I said, affecting fake static. “Going through . . . space tunnel?”
Eh, boring conversation anyway, I thought as I hung up the phone and addressed the bridge. “For those who care, I just spoke to this universe’s god and got the go-ahead to send a message.”
“There is no God,” Magnus said. “Life is simply the conquerors or the conquered.”
“You know, you should run for office,” I
said, nodding at his campaign slogan. “That being said, I’m not sure which party would vote for you.”
Randy, who was still carrying Evie, once again hung his head and turned away. “Come on, little cousin. I think this is about to get R-rated.”
“Daddy says those are the best movies.”
Fatherhood. It’s totes easy.
“Djzha,” Magnus said. “Cease this fool’s prattling.”
Once again all four of the Phase Walkers came at me with their digitally constructed glowing blades.
“Trust me, you will not become more powerful than I ever imagined,” I told the Djzha. “And to be fair, I’ve always wanted to do this.”
I extended my hands and allowed a portion of my stored power to flow forth in the form of crackling lightning. The god-fueled electricity arced through each of the Djzha. And unlike some other well known, all-powerful despots, my lightning wasn’t set to “slow cook.”
The Djzha burst like hot dogs in the microwave, sending chunks of flesh, blood, and tech flying. Stepping through the viscera, I marched up to Magnus as his retainers stepped aside.
“So, I think it’s time you and I have a chat.”
********
“So that is why I blew up the planet,” I explained while I looked out the viewport at where Jaangar VII once was. “Since the last of the ancient, sentient ships was still alive, and not under Dominion control, it would eventually call out to a would-be champion. By using your family’s new superweapon, the one my company helped develop, you demonstrated the Dominion’s unquestionable power AND stopped a rebellion before it started. In one simple stroke, you’ve ensured your power base for years to come.”
“But--”
“No buts,” I said, cutting Magnus off. I lit a cigarette and continued my thought. “I know what you’re going to say: ‘The Quantum Bomb was supposed to be a secret.’ Well, that never works, trust me. If your enemies don’t know of it, then they don’t know to be afraid of it. And sure, they may try to circumvent the technology now that they know of its existence, but our combined scientists and engineers are already working on the next generation of doomsday weapons.”
