Gemini Gambit

by D Scott Johnson

  “Okay, Mike,” Kim said to him privately, “what’s up with Dr. Crazypants? And what the hell does another warrior mean?”

  Mike laughed and said out loud, “I’ve told you more than once, Emerson, there is no base to find. I’m not trying to reconstruct an AI Hitler in a lab somewhere in the Alps. Ms. Calembel is simply a business partner in a new merchandising project.”

  “Ah, but if there’s nothing to hide, why insist on this preposterous charade of being part of the realms? The first virtual person in the world? Really!”

  He said it with a strange accent Kim couldn’t place. She’d seen her fair share of weirdos in the realms, but this guy was in a class all his own. He took being an old villain from a bad horror movie way too seriously.

  “Mike,” Kim asked privately, “where the hell did you find this guy?”

  “He found me. Somehow. The very first person who ever did. It was amazing. Too bad he’s—”

  “The captain of the SS Nutbar, sailing down the Lunatic River?”

  “Heading for the Wackadoo Ocean, yes,” he said with a laugh.

  Kim accidentally let the smirk show on her face.

  “Did something I say amuse you, Ms. Calembel?” His wheezing laugh made her skin crawl. Maybe it was the eyes, which were rheumy and unblinking.

  Mike briefly flapped his wings. “Emerson, I didn’t ask you here to discuss my plans for Nazi domination—”

  “Aha!” he burst out and then in a strangled whisper said, “So you admit it!”

  “I admit nothing. I am simply in need of someone with your specific talents.”

  That one seemed to catch him by surprise. “Do you have a challenge for me?”

  “Indeed. All I have is a name; I want to know what it means. Four dead-drop agent searches have turned up nothing. They were three deep and they turned up nothing. I know you’re better.”

  Emerson’s eyes became even more animated. His hands actually waved and twitched slightly. “I do enjoy a challenge. There is, however, the matter of my fee.”

  He handed over a cash demand with so many zeroes on it Kim gasped. “Mike,” she said privately to him, “I don’t have close to that kind of—”

  Mike fulfilled the demand with his own account and then released the information they had assembled earlier.

  Her jaw fell open and she said out loud, “Where the hell did you get that kind of cash?”

  Emerson chuckled. “So the king of Warhawk can still keep secrets, I see.”

  Warhawk. That was where this all started. A big piece of the puzzle fell into place. That was why he interrupted her in the tournament. He owned Warhawk. She’d been playing in his back yard.

  Kim forced Mike’s holo to manifest on the table in front of her. “You own Warhawk? The whole combat realm?”

  People paid access fees, tournament fees, monthly subscriptions, rented guildhalls, and even paid for customizations, all to the owner of Warhawk. It was cheap, but there had to be a million members.

  He curled his wings in tight and then lowered his head. “Yes?”

  Mike wasn’t turning her life upside down anymore; he’d put it on a spin cycle. “I have been using up my cash to pay your way! I bought you clothes! Pancakes!”

  “It never seemed the right time to tell you.”

  “So your plan was to stand there in your stupid grape suit freeloading until I ran out of cash?”

  “How was I supposed to know you were running out? That was a big bag you threw in the back of the car!”

  “That’s right, I even bought a damned car for you! I paid your rent!”

  “Well, every time I thought to bring it up you were yelling at me for some other mistake I made because I couldn’t read your mind, and then when you made me take back the ring I just figured—”

  “Wait.” Kim held up her hand as her heart stuttered. “That ring. You’re telling me you bought it? For me?”

  “What, did you think I stole it?”

  Her face grew so hot pinpricks of sweat broke out on it. That was exactly what she thought, because that was what she would’ve done in his place.

  “You actually thought I was stupid enough to put you, of all people, in danger? You never even considered…”

  Kim asked softly, “Me, of all people?”

  She caught herself rubbing her ring finger. She could feel it there, wanted it there, wanted him here, not just today but forever. Panic slashed through her like a whip. There was no way in hell she could possibly have these feelings, not now.

  Not ever.

  “Yes,” Mike said, “of course you…”

  She needed to see some sort of reaction in him, some sort of acknowledgement that he felt something, anything that might even be close to what she felt, but Mike’s dragon face simply froze, then he vanished.

  No, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t. She wouldn’t let it.

  “Your offer is accepted,” Emerson said, and rose to leave. “This is indeed a most worthy challenge.” He turned and bowed deeply. “A word of advice, as I go. Buy some guns. Big guns.”

  He left, vanishing into the crowd much faster than Kim thought was possible.

  Chapter 37: Spencer

  The moment the wheels of the airplane touched down, Spencer popped his seatbelt free.

  “As long as nobody runs us over on the way to the terminal, we’ll be fine.” He grinned at the sour faces of the people around him. They seemed to think saying it out loud would magically make a 747 run them over.

  He still couldn’t get over what had happened. Three days ago, he was just a miserable schlub from a town nobody’d ever heard of. Now, he’d met an outright legend. The first human-AI hybrid in the world owed him favors. He’d visited Pride’s Lair! Spencer wanted nothing more than to get right back on the next plane to Dulles. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of how Kim would react. He’d only pissed her off accidentally. That was epic enough.

  Time for plan B. He found a skycap coming off duty who was more than willing to buy shots for them both with Spencer’s money. After a few rounds—okay a lot more than a few rounds—he summoned the BMW from the parking garage.

  He staggered past a tour bus for The Passion Play, blowing cigarette smoke like a chimney. The choked outrage from the old biddies standing in front of it made his vodka-soaked heart dance. Ancient hypocrites had no business judging someone who knew Angel Rage.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school, young man?” the one at the end of the line scolded.

  Spencer stopped and pulled down his sunglasses. “Shouldn’t you get a job?” He walked away before she recovered enough to speak. Score: a direct hit.

  Per Mike’s instructions, Spencer hit the airport’s realm right before he left to turn a fistful of constructs loose. They were like green dust. Spencer could’ve sworn he heard them hollering. Mike had said he hacked them together from one of Kim’s tools, something called LockPixies.

  Weirdly, the three sedans following behind his truck locked their tires, screeching to a halt. It immediately caused a traffic jam in front of the parking garage. The men inside were all frantically trying to open the doors. The wail of sirens echoed in the distance.

  Those cars were following his truck for a reason.

  Cops.

  His BMW lurched forward like it’d been kicked, then skidded to a stop in front of him. The back door flew open and a message shot across his enhanced vision.

  DON’T STAND THERE WITH YER GOB OPEN YA WEE GIT! GET IN!

  Virtual men, none more than six inches tall, covered every horizontal surface of the truck’s interior. They were dressed in skins and waved tiny spears, swords, and axes. Their skin color was a uniform deep green.

  “What?” Spencer asked as he staggered backward.

  “Ach!” the one standing on the steering column shouted. “That’s jus’ Will bein’ dramatic. Come with us if ye wanna stay outta jail!” The accent was so thick Spencer could barely make out what he said, but the approaching siren
s helped with the translation. He leapt through the door and they tore away in a cloud of tire smoke.

  Spencer buckled in as soon as he stopped bouncing around. Two police cars were closing on opposite sides of a cross street.

  “Nash! Daft Wally!” the one on the steering column shouted. “Take ‘em down!”

  The two the leader pointed at vanished. In less than a second, a black explosion erupted from underneath both vehicles; debris sprayed on the ground. They passed the cars and swerved to avoid transmission gears bouncing across the road.

  Nash and Wally reappeared to tumultuous applause.

  “What did you do?” Spencer asked.

  “Ha!” said Nash or Wally, Spencer couldn’t tell which was which. “They dinna work as well when they’re in reverse and drive at the same time!”

  “Have ye jammed their signals yet, Pry?” the leader shouted.

  A new one crawled out of the truck’s radio face. “Aye, Tavish, they’ll not be callin’ home from here!”

  So, the leader’s name was Tavish. At least that was shorter than Green Maniac Standing on the Steering Column.

  They pulled up to the airport’s exit. To Spencer’s surprise, they didn’t just blast through it. The truck slowed to a stop with Spencer’s window opposite the attendant’s.

  “Stay cool, laddie!” Tavish said, “We din’ wanna attract more attention than we hafta!”

  Spencer muted their feed, but they were all still madly jumping and racing around as he handed cash to the attendant. It was beyond distracting.

  “What the hell’s going on back there?” Spencer asked.

  “Beats me,” the attendant replied, “can you get out to the EI?”

  Spencer had a truck full of little green lunatics only he could see. There had to be some sort of connection, somehow. “Nah, mine just went. Maybe someone knocked down a tower?”

  “No idea. Here’s your change, have a nice day.”

  Spencer unmuted the feed and flinched at the shrieking howl that now dominated all other noises. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?”

  “That’s Car Jack, the finest haggis shagger there ever was, boy.” Tavish had now manifested on Spencer’s shoulder, but still had to shout into his ear to be heard over the bagpipes Car Jack was enthusiastically strangling.

  Tavish turned and called out, “Oi! Pry! Didja shut down the airport too?”

  The one in the radio stuck his head out again. “Aye! But I canna reach the ones in the air! No plane crashes today, boys!” Even the bagpiper stopped to join in the chorus of boos.

  “What the hell are you guys? Some sort of demon smurf?”

  The silence rippled away from Spencer as they all turned to face him.

  “You’ll be takin’ that back, boy, if ye want our help attall,” Tavish said.

  “What? What did I say?”

  “We are based on the fiercest of fantasy warriors, lad, not some poor excuse for a merchandise campaign! Asides, ken ya not see we’re the wrong color?” They all bellowed their approval and set to work again. On the interstate, a pair of police cruisers flashed to life in the opposite lanes and then went dark as they coasted to a stop in the broad green median. A police helicopter settled with alarming speed onto a nearby field.

  He was very glad they couldn’t actually crash airplanes.

  “Well done, Durell!” Tavish applauded as a new green maniac appeared through a portal. “But why didn’t ya crash it inta the cars?”

  “Och, bloody pilot switched to autorotate before I could tip the thing over.” Spencer was getting better at understanding them. It only took a second to translate afoore ahcood tup datting hoover.

  “So, what, you’re all LockPixies?”

  “No, laddie,” Tavish shook his head. “They be our cousins, aye, but they’re weak minded fools. Always mincin’ about, spyin’ and pryin’. Never takin’ nothin’, destroyin’ nothin’. No, sonny, what our master Mike did was free us!” The gathering bellowed their approval. “He gave us a mission! Protect the chosen—that’d be you—and destroy!”

  The blasted bagpipes started up then, almost overloading the channel with their racket.

  Every fifteen minutes or so as they traveled out of Little Rock headed south, various law-enforcement vehicles would gracefully pull onto the highway behind them, follow briefly, and then—most of the time—gently coast to a stop on the side of the road.

  Other times the tires would explode from out-of-control automatic inflation, or the previously noted two-gears-at-once transmission bomb would go off. The feds were the best. Pry Bar, the electronics expert, worked out that they hadn’t patched the engine management system on their SUVs. He was able to screw the ignition timing up so badly the resulting explosion would blow the intake system off. It knocked a huge dent in the hood. Those were awesome.

  Then the cops tried a roadblock. Pry picked it up as they entered Pine Bluff. “Aye, Master Spencer”—they started calling him that after he taught them the Diarrhea Song—“they’re gettin’ clever again.”

  “Och.” Tavish clenched his jaw as he examined the maps with Spencer. “I knew they’d figger it out eventually. Right, lads, gather up.”

  It was only when they formed into ragged lines on the dash and seats that Spencer noticed a problem. There was a lot fewer of them than when they left the airport.

  Tavish marched back and forth across the top of the front seats. “Men, we knew this time would come. Our enemy has gathered his strength in overwhelming numbers. There is no way to win.”

  They all shouted a chorus of boos.

  Tavish wasn’t having any of that. “But we shall prevail! We all knew there’d be no going home for any of us after this. A one-way mission, but what glory!”

  The racket again threatened to overwhelm Spencer’s channel.

  “Aye,” he said when the shouts died down, “we’ll fight and die. Running won’t get us anything. We’re constructs”—more boos—“but if we succeed”—shouts of approval, a few fell off the dash—“this boy will have a chance to tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take… OUR FREEDOM!”

  The cheering was so loud it finally did cause Spencer’s audio to cut out briefly.

  When they crested the top of the railway overpass a few miles south of the city limits, cars covered the far slope, blocking the road completely.

  Just before he arrived, though, each cruiser started up and slowly drove off the opposite edge of the hill. Cops whose cover had spontaneously removed itself were running everywhere, yanking on now-locked doors or dragging behind vehicles they couldn’t pull to a stop.

  Very few of the constructs returned. Naturally, though, the one with the bagpipes made it back. Spencer winced every time Jack turned a chord into a strangled turkey. “Tavish, can you make him stop?”

  “Oi, and your surname is even McKenzie! Dinna the pipes stir ye very soul?”

  “Not when it sounds like he’s stirring a dying cat.”

  Jack’s pipes honked into a dribbling silence.

  Tavish’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll not have ye disrespect the pipes.”

  Spencer looked over the front seats. The chilled naked mud of soybean fields stripped to dirt hadn’t changed a bit, but everything else in his life had.

  “Tavish, how far did Mike overclock you guys?” He and Mike both wondered what a class five AI would be like if someone made them run faster than their contract specified.

  The few dozen left all collapsed in laughter. “Master Mike warned us you’d ask that. No, laddie, we’re not full AIs, just clever constructs programmed to enjoy a wee bit o’ thievery. Master Mike said you could root us to be sure.”

  Everything in realmspace had a root prompt, except for Mike. It was like finding out your brother had no belly button. That was how Spencer finally believed he was for real and not just an unduplicate that’d somehow gotten loose.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, ya Nancy, root us! C’mon, ya do know how?�
�� They all jumped up and down again. Jack began blowing up his pipes.

  “All right, fine. Command. Sudo,” Mike set the password, so, “Password t-f-w-b-w-y-a. Accept.”

  They all hopped and were still.

  Shit. There were feds right behind him.

  “Command. Sudo exit. Accept.”

  They relaxed and cheered as Jack strangled a rendition of “Scotland the Brave.”

  “Damn it, all of you, stop!”

  They weren’t real, but they were Spencer’s. He’d have to sacrifice them all to even hope to get out of this. The realization defined suck. These guys were a lot of fun.

  “There’s enough of you left to protect me?”

  “Aye, laddie, but when they tail ye for more than two minutes, we’re done.”

  Spencer climbed into the driver’s seat and popped the truck off autodrive. As they passed the abandoned crop duster field on the edge of town, he floored the accelerator and sped away from his pursuers.

  The meanies vanished one by one, but it gave him a miracle. Every time Spencer went screaming into an intersection, the cars would stop. A regular weekday morning, a school day of all things, and cars just parted in front of him. He blasted down the highway, turning on to side streets, driving into the old downtown, just to watch how cars moved away from him.

  Eventually, Tavish was the only one left. “It’s been a bonnie great run with ye, Master Spencer.”

  “Aye,” Spencer replied, grinning at Tavish’s reaction. “Do you have enough for one last run?” He knew, as he turned left on to South Main from Brookhaven Drive, that there was a flat straight at least three miles long in front of him. “I need a distraction, Tavish, and I don’t want to die.”

  “Och, no, laddie. No, sirrah. I’ll make sure you live through this.” He saluted. “Sing our song, Spencer McKenzie. Sing our song and remember!”

  Tavish vanished and Spencer stood on the accelerator. When he lifted his foot, the pedal stayed glued to the floor.

  “Tavish,” he called out to the empty cabin. The speed override button pressed itself down until the warning tone stopped. His velocity climbed higher and higher while the road seemed to stretch and narrow.