by Logan Jacobs
“I beg your pardon?” Grizz blurted out as if he had been struck in the face with a wet fish. “I am not some piece of meat to be bartered with.”
“That’s what I want,” Neophor shrugged. “I’ll get it for you in seventy-two hours. Payment on delivery. Or else no deal.”
“Tempest, surely there are other hackers?” Grizz pleaded to Tempest.
“Oh, big thing, there are,” Neophor bragged. “But I’m the only TechnoWitch in a hundred thousand light years. They could maybe break it in a century. You wanna know who killed your friend or not?”
“I…” Grizz started to say and then closed his mouth. He stared at her for a very long moment, his face giving away nothing. “I agree to your terms, TechnoWitch. If you get us the information in seventy-two hours I will be yours for two.”
“Delicious,” Neophor said with delight splashed across her circuit board face. “I’ll let you know when I break it.”
Neophor held out her hand and Tempest dropped the drive into her palm. Little snake-like cables slithered from her silicon pores and wrapped around the drive before they pulled into her flesh where it disappeared. Neophor’s eyes rolled back into her head again leaving us with nothing but a computerized zombie stare.
“See you in seventy-two hours,” Tempest said and turned to leave.
“Yes you will, and one of you more than the rest,” Neophor giggled. “Oh, I can already feel it warming up my routers. It’s electric. Stimulating…”
She trailed off into a wordless old-school modem on crack sound, and we took that as our cue to get the fuck out of there.
Back in the alleyway Tempest called the cabbie to come get us.
“Okay, that was fucking weird,” I finally said to break the very uncomfortable silence we were in.
“That, is an understatement worth of Ugg-Far-Lee the Understater, Havak,” Grizz said, clearly thrown out of whack.
“Yeah, I probably should have warned you that Neophor is a major freak,” Tempest said, shaking her head. “Like, super freak. Sorry, Grizz. I had no idea she’d take such a liking to you. She normally goes for guys, or girls, or whatever, with the whole slight, waify, doom and gloom thing going on.”
“That makes sense,” I nodded in agreement. She reminded me of a Goth girl I dated for about four hours in my early twenties. Her name had been Ankh, and I’d met her while delivering some stuff to a local alt bookstore. She took me to a club called Sacrament. Everyone wore lots of black, had many, many piercings, were all named Lestat or Asphyxia, and danced to shitty Eighties new wave or horrible techno music. I lasted the entire night because Ankh was hot as shit and seemed like she was going to be into some weird stuff, but when we got to her apartment, there were two large glass fish aquariums on either side of her bed where night tables should have been. One held four different tarantulas and the other had a twenty foot Burmese python in it.
She told me that she “never had fun” without her “dark babies being involved,” and I turned tail and left without bothering to get more info on exactly what she meant.
“I am not thrilled about this,” Grizz admitted. “In fact I actually feel genuine fear for the first time in over a century, but if it helps us find Darry’s killer then it will be worth it.”
“I mean, it might not be that bad, Grizz,” I said hopefully.
“No, Havak, it will be bad,” Tempest said matter-of-factly.
Chapter Nine
“Good afternoon, Team Havak,” Tyche said in his cool, crisp, British accent. The tall, thin, regal AI program hologram stood in front of our command center with his hands held behind his back in a way that made him look like a begrudging parent. He was the mouthpiece for the Crucible of Carnage, the de facto big man in charge for all I had been able to tell since meeting the guy a few weeks ago.
The Crucible had been created by these aliens known as the Aetheron Ozusti as a way to help curb intergalactic warfare centuries ago. No one had really seen them since. Tyche was the AI that ran the mainframe. He was also kind of Artie’s dad. “I am always very surprised when you survive a match in the arena. I dare even say dumbfounded at times.”
Oh, yeah, and he was a dick.
“We like to keep folks on their toes,” I snarked with barely veiled sarcasm.
“Yes, quite,” Tyche smiled at me coldly. “Well, as I’m sure you know, I am here to inform you of the new challenges that shall await you in the next match. The Aetherons, in their wisdom, have seen how the constant changing of the game modes have spurred many great victories and helped curb some of the rampant offshoot underground gambling. So, they have called the next match… Lockdown.”
He let that hang in the air for dramatic tension.
“Fans of Stallone I see,” I murmured to PoLarr who slipped me a behind the back low-five.
“In this particular match you will be incarcerated in the universe's most notorious prison, The Pitt,” Tyche said with relish. “There are housed the most wretched, despicable, murderous, and violently depraved criminals the galaxy has ever known. You will have twenty-four hours to escape.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Tempest said arrogantly.
“Here is the catch, there is only one person from each alliance allowed,” Tyche continued. “Whoever formed the team, its figurehead, is the one who must compete. They, and they alone, must escape by sunrise the next morning or face execution. You have one day to prepare. Good day.”
With that last gem, he was gone.
The silence that filled his absence was stunned for sure.
“On the plus side,” I said to break the tension, “you guys get a week off.”
“This is bullshit,” Tempest said and threw her hands up into the air.
“Yeah,” Artie said and did the same thing. “What Tempest said!”
“I was certainly not expecting that,” Grizz said and rubbed his chin.
“Guys,” I tried to reassure them, “it’s okay. Look, it will be like my first trial back on the island. No big deal.”
“You almost died like twelve times in the first five minutes of that,” Artie pointed out. “And you blew up the island.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t die,” I pointed out. “Plus, seriously, I watched every episode of Prison Break like four times.”
“Really?” PoLarr asked.
“What?” I defended myself. “I like Wentworth Miller. I think his performance as Captain Cold is highly underrated.”
“You are so strange,” PoLarr noted.
“You’re just now figuring that out?” I joked. “No, seriously guys, I think this could be a good thing. Test my metal as a man, on his own, mano-y-mano, and all that machismo stuff.”
“Careful not to get arrogant, Havak,” Grizz suggested. “I recommend we look at your upgrade for this match.”
“Oh, I want one where I can make toilet wine,” I blurted out.
“Why would you want to make wine in a toilet?” Grizz asked and stared at me like I was an insane person. “What in Leroy Jenkins’ name is wrong with your planet?”
“Great idea, Grizz,” Artie chirped and brought up the skill upgrade tree on our holo-projector. The tree branched off in about a hundred different directions with little placards that had the skill name and a description.
When I first arrived, I’d had a small nano-chip inserted at the base of my cerebral cortex. It allowed for whatever skill to be uploaded directly into my brain. Most required training to master in order to get used to the movements and develop muscle memory.
I began to look over the skills. It was always a bit overwhelming at first but I’d developed a technique that had been working really well lately. I started to look at the tree and just let my eyes lose focus as I tried to take in everything and nothing all at once. Usually something would jump out at me.
“Got it,” I said after about two minutes. “Improvised Stabbing Weapons. I can shank a bitch”
“That … ” Grizz began, “is an excellent choice, Havak. Yo
u have redeemed yourself for the toilet wine.”
“Coming right up,” Artie said as she tapped a few commands on her keyboard. A moment later I felt the familiar buzz at the base of my skull and then the bright flash of light as the skill was downloaded into my chip.
“I can now make a shiv out of a toothbrush and an old sock,” I said matter-of-factly.
“On second thought,” Nova said. “I am glad I am not going to be in this one.”
“That makes two of us, sugar,” Aurora agreed. “Old stockings are only good for tying appendages to bed posts.”
“Now that is settled,” Grizz announced. “I have made the executive decision that we will take the rest of the day off from training. The skill Havak chose is a knowledge based upgrade and requires no muscle memory work, and the rest of you could use another day off.”
“Cool,” PoLarr said excitedly. “I wanted to try to fly the jetpack Darry made for our last match some more. See if I could master it and say goodbye to the big bug high up in the sky.”
“That is very kind of you, PoLarr.” Grizz nodded.
Everyone spent the next few minutes gathering their stuff, making plans for the day, and saying goodbyes.
Grizz and I lingered behind after everyone had left.
“So, looks like I’m off the case for twenty-four hours,” I sighed as the two of us sat down at the table.
“Yes,” Grizz said and shrugged his shoulders. “I will try to take the time to do some digging with a few of the trainers from Darry’s other alliance customers. We often watch part of the matches together.”
“Cool,” I agreed. “With a little luck, and a dash of my usual derring-do, I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Let us pray to the gods of fortune that it is so,” Grizz said. “What are you doing with the rest of your day?”
“I think I might go chase down a hunch I had,” I told him. “What you said about Darry hating Trillium has been stuck in my brain. Something about that video. I think I’ll head on down to her production building and see if I can’t get her to answer a few questions.”
“That is an excellent idea,” Grizz acknowledged. “But do you think she’ll meet with you on such short notice? Trillium seems like the type to only take visitors by her request.”
“You know me, Grizz,” I said arrogantly. “I’ll charm my way in.”
“You mean make such a nuisance of yourself that they will agree just to shut you up,” Grizz smiled.
“Yup.”
“It is something you excel at,” Grizz grinned.
“I know,” I said, grabbed my lightweight satin bomber style jacket, and headed out to catch a hover cab.
Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the front desk of Trillium Vou Production Enterprises in front of a very nonplussed female receptionist who looked just like a Nagel painting from a college dorm room circa Nineteen Ninety. She had light gray skin, dark red lips, pale blue eyes, blue-black hair, and an outfit straight out of Miami Vice.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said in that ‘I’m being polite but I really despise your face’ tone of voice that all receptionists at snooty offices seemed to have. “But Ms. Vou sees people by appointment only.”
“Right, right, right,” I spat out rapid fire. “I know, usually, for normal people, but, Trillium and I are friends. Just tell her--”
“Champion Havak,” the receptionist cut me off and finally looked up from her holo-screen computer, “I know exactly who you are, and you and Ms. Vou are certainly not friends.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” I shot back and tried to fast talk her. She was proving to be a hard nut to crack. “Fair enough. How about if I want to give her an exclusive on my extensive and impressive love life with my alliance mates?”
“Then please have Ms. V-Five send a formal request,” she countered. “Or would you like me to contact her about discussing the most intimate details of your sexual copulation on live needle-cast for the entire mega-verse to see?”
“Um, on second thought,” I backpedaled. Man, this chick was killing me. “I’ll have my people call your people to set that up.”
“Wonderful, goodbye,” the receptionist smiled like a fucking shark and went back to looking at her holo-screen.
“I’m just gonna have a seat,” I said as confidently as I could muster. “In case she comes by.”
“You do that,” she said bitchily without looking up.
With a sigh I sat in the rather uncomfortable chairs that surrounded a little coffee table near the reception desk.
“Nice one, Havak,” I muttered to myself. “Time to rethink this one.”
I was on mentally discarded plan four, which involved me streaking through the lobby, when the receptionist looked up from her screen.
“Champion Havak,” she said, now suddenly polite as punch, “Ms. Vou will actually be able to squeeze you in for a few moments before she takes lunch. You can go back to the studio. I assume you know the way?”
“Sure do, thanks,” I said and tried to mimic her smile from earlier. It either worked, or I looked like I had just farted. Either one was actually okay with me.
I did indeed know the way and soon found myself in Trillium’s production studio. It was dark and quiet for a change. All the cameras were offline, and it was eerily still. Empty, dark, stages were right up there with basements as far as the creepy factor went for me. No idea why, other than that, I watched the Scream movies at a sleepover once when I was twelve, and it had burned that unrealistic fear of being stabbed at the craft services table deep into my brain.
The only light came from a vanity mirror and makeup station on the side of the big room. Trillium Vou, the original Nagel from the Nineties, sat at the vanity while a small hover bot removed her camera makeup with a tiny blue laser while she read some information on her holo-pad. Seeing no one else around her was odd as well. Trillium was typically the sun in a solar system of assistants, stylists, publicists, lackeys, and various other hangers-on.
I walked over and cleared my throat to announce my presence. Trillium turned and grinned at me, and I nearly had to take a step back. Without her makeup, Trillium’s features were softened and smoothed out, more open, inviting, and dare I even say, innocent. She was a beautifully striking woman on a normal day, it was usually just her horrible personality that turned me right off, but today she looked sort of pretty. Her eyes told a different story though. They were as sharp as ever.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this little visit, Marc?” Trillium asked. Her normally biting and cutting tone was gone. She just sounded tired. “I get roughly six hours a day to myself, four of which I typically spend sleeping, so you are eating into one of my precious two left.”
“Such is the life of the mega-verse’s most watched journalist, huh?” I asked back with a hard edge to my voice. I didn’t trust Trillium. Something about this beleaguered celebrity bit didn’t ring true to me. “Would you like me to get you a tissue to wipe your tired tears?”
“That is deserved,” she smiled at me. When she did, I could see the tiny lines of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes. It made her stressed and somewhat human. “Well done.”
“Thanks,” I grinned arrogantly, trying to put on my best tough-guy detective exterior. I had no idea how it looked because I’d never used it before. “Look, I don’t want to spend any more time together than I have to but I wanted to ask you a few questions about something.”
“Yes, there was no love between Darry Dar’Tor and me,” she said before I could even ask the question.
“How did you know that’s why I was here?” I asked, a bit taken back.
“Havak,” Trillium said with a twinkle in her eye. “It is literally my job to know these things. I also know he was your team’s weapon’s master. And that he and Grizz go way back. It is a shame he took his own life.”
“Come on, Trillium,” I urged. “I know how meticulous you and your team are about researching anyone you have on your show. You
know Darry would never kill himself. Could you tell me why he was watching an old broadcast of yours? Everyone knows he hated your everliving guts.”
“Havak,” Trillium said with a soft chuckle, “I’m a talk show host, not an investigative journalist. No, it doesn’t sound like the Darry I had known. But people change. Why was he watching one of my broadcasts? Because I asked him to.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I stammered, taken back.
“I contacted Darry several weeks ago to help develop a personal security device for me,” she said plainly.
“Bullshit,” I countered.
“I’ll show you our communications about it,” she shrugged and made a few swipes on her holo-pad. Several emails, for lack of a better word for it, popped up in the space between us. Sure enough they were back and forths between Trillium and Darry.
“Why the hell would Darry help you?” I asked, incredulous. “You tried to ruin his reputation.”
“Darry was a big boy and understood that it wasn’t personal,” Trillium said.
“Funny, Trill,” I scoffed and hoped that my just thought up nickname for her would goad her into giving me something. “It sure the fuck feels personal. Especially, you know, when you say ‘this is personal.’”
“Oh, Havak, you are delightfully naïve,” she chuckled softly. “Do all humans take everything at such face value? Look, the business I am in is just as cut throat as anything that happens in the games. I had to fight very hard to get where I am. If I am disrespected, especially in front of an audience, that audience will lose their trust in me. I can’t let that happen. Do you know how many people I employ?”
“No clue,” I said a little petulantly. What she was saying did make some sort of sense, in a sociopathic way.
“Over five thousand,” she answered her own question. “I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, but they are all from my homeworld, Thierr Mooglur. It is an economically depressed world stuck in a brutal caste system. If you are born poor, you stay poor. When I got out, I vowed that I would only hire those from my planet to work for me. Fifteen years later, I have kept true to that vow. Those five thousand people are my responsibility, now. If I lose my place at the top of the ratings, I have to let those people go back to an existence they risked all to escape. I won’t do that. So, yes, while it may seem personal, it is not. It is business.”
