by J. J. Lorden
A deep respect of kinship passed between them.
Erramir felt himself start to weaken, he had no way to stop his blood loss, and his death drew closer.
Then the cat’s focus faded, the golden glow in its eyes expired, and they drifted shut. Erramir found himself suddenly tearful, mournful at the death of this beautiful creature. He now felt that he’d killed something magnificent.
His cheeks were wet with tears, and he dropped his head in sorrow. Then Erramir wept.
His grief didn’t last long. An excruciating pain shot up his side, breaking his solemnity. He looked down at dark wetness that soaked through his simple pants. Blood was continuing to run steadily out of the holes in his chest. He lifted his right arm and bent his head painfully to look at his side.
“Yep, those are definitely my ribs. Shit.” His breath caught and started coming in short, ragged gasps. “Damn… only here… five minutes.”
He remembered something, his bag–the strange potion. Well, it can’t hurt. He reached back for the bag, but it wasn’t there. He remembered it breaking free mid-fight. “Where?”
He scanned the battle scene for the small sack and spotted it over in the dirt close to where the cat had pinned him. He started to slowly push himself up, “Okay... not far... need bag.” He got one foot under himself, then collapsed with a feeble grunt.
The bag was a mere twenty feet away, but in his condition, it might as well have been a mile.
“Damn.” The word tumbled out, and he considered lying down–he was starting to feel sleepy. Erramir contemplated the idea and settled on it being a damn good one. Then his side began to tingle.
He sleepily repeated the motion of lifting his arm to inspect his side and found a string of golden energy was touching him. No, it was flowing into him. He followed the line all the way back to the cat.
His eyes widened. “What is that?” His energy seemed to be improving, and a quick check of his health confirmed it. Erramir observed the misty golden strand in wonder. Then as his mind began to sharpen, something else occurred to him. Hadn’t he committed to accepting the cat’s soul? “Oh no. Am I... am I gonna get another soul?”
Thinking quickly, Erramir decided he didn’t want another soul. It would be better to die and respawn. He swiped feebly at the golden line, trying to knock it away, “No... No, thank you. One soul’s enough.”
The swipes were useless, and the golden energy kept coming, so he stopped.
“Well, shit. This should be interesting.”
As if prompted, the warrior cat’s soul slammed into his.
15
Honor Bound
Foreign emotions began smashing through Erramir’s mind like a stampede of elephants barreling through a hedge maze.
His unguarded psyche was bombarded by sadness, disappointment, loss, and humble respect. The flood swept his own feelings away like driftwood before a tsunami.
The new soul’s emotions reigned supreme within his inner space. For an impossible-to-determine time, he tumbled about, tossed randomly from one painful feeling to another.
Flashes of the fight from the cat’s perspective were also thrown into the mix. Those Erramir found fascinating, although he struggled to grasp any details, as each vision inevitably fell on the heels of an emotional cyclone.
In the last, he was drawn into the cat’s final acceptance and humble respect for his foe. There, in that emotion, his awareness settled enough to be present.
A memory then faded in, and the weathered face of an old woman with long grey hair and neck wrapped tight in scarlet cloth passed into his mind. She had emerald eyes.
Her lips moved, a raspy but firm voice emerged, “Must find the harbinger...” then she disappeared.
Another vision followed right on its heels. The view was sideways and showed him, Erramir, on his knees, bloodied, head down, and nearly dead.
He looked up, and his eyes flashed with golden light.
The image faded and Erramir was looking at the stars while cold earth pressed against his back and head.
He reached to touch his chest, felt his shirt was shredded, then felt tender flesh surrounded by hard scales. His side felt the same, and his health was orange and slowly regenerating.
He exhaled and closed his eyes. Okay, that sucked. But at least I’m not gonna die. I’ll just rest here for a little while.
He only got a few breaths.
The foreign soul-energy surged with a vengeance. It struck him like a punch to the gut, and his eyes flew open in shock. Erramir instantly strained to push the torrent back, trying to fight it off, but it ran right over his will and drove intentionally toward a spot in his center.
The energy found its target and gathered about a tight, dark place behind his solar plexus. His eyes darted for the spot as did his hands, gripping his chest.
The foreign soul ripped the place open.
It didn’t hurt physically, and it wasn’t the emotional torture he’d initially suffered. But it scared the hell out of him. Is that my soul? Did that thing just rip open my soul?
Whatever the unseen barrier had been, it was shredded now, and the foreign soul spilled through the opening. Then his guts began to roil. It didn’t feel safe, none of this felt safe.
“Noo, stop. Please stop,” he whimpered quietly.
But the churning grew into a bubbling pot of darkness. He felt the overwhelming desire to vomit it all out. The compulsion was so strong that he rolled over and dry heaved onto the grass, but there was nothing–you can’t vomit out darkness.
Soon after, the darkness stopped churning, and he moaned, pushing himself onto his back again. Clueless and genuinely concerned, Erramir waited anxiously, hoping the soul ripping was over.
The darkness, streaked with the cat’s soul-energy, began to siphon out of his chest in the form of a smoky tendril. It gathered above him and solidified into something like a smoked crystalline sphere.
The weathered woman with the emerald eyes appeared in the crystal. She seemed to be aware and present–this wasn’t a memory.
Her green irises, as if lit from within, grew bright, then dimmed. “Find me. Find the Blood River Tribe. Honor must be prepared for what comes.” Then the face winked out of existence.
He blinked, then began making a noise somewhere between laughing and crying as he bitterly thought. Well, I guess I’ve got a goal now.
Even so, Erramir was not sure he wanted to go looking for someone responsible, even indirectly, for this torture.
The crystalline ball pulled back, appearing as if it would be leaving. But it stopped, shifted to smoke, and smashed into him again. The force of it felt like being pounded into the ground by a sledgehammer.
Just as quickly as it appeared, he felt the soul slip away, disappearing into the space it had torn open.
“Guahhh....” he gasped and clutched at his chest again, but there was nothing to grab.
Stunned and scared, Erramir laid on the ground, hoping to all the digital gods that it was finally over. As he lay there, the lingering bits of darkness and volatile foreign emotions drained into his back and out into the soil below, leaving him blessedly empty. Ohhh, emptiness... Sooo nice. Thank Ink for emptiness.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him, every part of his body suddenly felt like lead. Erramir just wanted to sleep. Somewhere in his murky head, he knew that was a bad idea. No, I need... I need to... He cracked his eyes, forcing them to open by using all the muscles in his face.
What was he just thinking? He couldn’t recall. His eyes drifted shut again.
An icon began flashing against his eyelids. He poked it out of curiosity. A box of words appeared. It looked somewhat familiar, but he felt like those were memories from a past life.
It was red. That’s strange, words should be blue, he thought. He vaguely remembered blue.
What is that? Ohh. I did something good! There were more too. Then focusing just stopped working. Too tired. Can’t be that important… it’s not sleeping... it’s
just words. The words disappeared, and sinking into the earth, he fell asleep.
16
Dare
Texier Quantum Labs Main Campus, Charles Babbage Auditorium
Outside South Portland, Maine
January 12, 2040—World Seed minus 24 years, 3 months
The mid-thirties man stood pensively. Eyes closed and face expressionless, senses focused, aware. The thick, black house curtains ascended two stories to the tech and lighting balcony on his right, leaving a narrow gap just beyond his shoulder.
He deftly flipped a thin, black rod around his right thumb before catching it back in the crook, positioned to write. Flip, twirl, catch… flip, twirl, catch.
His Burberry tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, tortoise-shell glasses with amber lenses, mop of dark, slightly-wild hair, and mustard utility pants with too many pockets made him look bookish and quirky. Like an eccentric professor or a hipster scoffing at personal displays of wealth. For this man, the look was both strategic and pragmatic.
On stage, a man in an impeccable custom-made suit stood silently, hands clasped behind his back, jacket slightly parted but hanging neatly without bunching.
He wore a paisley tie in the Texier company colors: black, silver, and forest green, snugged about his thick neck. It was knotted in a perfect full Windsor, wide and symmetrical.
He waited as press core, bloggers, and Texier employees found their seats and settled in. The peculiar fellow backstage intended that this statuesque man, in his faultless business attire, be the polar opposite of his own appearance.
His upright, emotionless demeanor and uncanny capacity to stand alone, quietly commanding the respect of the thousand finding seats, were a considerable measure of his purpose. His presence defined several social tropes of the powerful and wealthy–and looking that part was, in itself, a certain kind of power.
In reality, he had no real power, at least not yet.
However, his access to their subconscious expectations was a useful tool, one the man backstage intended to use. When this man of appearances introduced the fellow behind the curtain, in his Oxfordesque coat and strange glasses with unkempt hair, and then showed deference, those subconscious beliefs would transfer.
His defiance of social expectations would then magnify his presence, holding the audience’s attention and adding weight to his words.
Though he had this group’s esteem, this was still critical. He’d learned long ago that if you were going to make accusations, issue challenges, and say the things that made people uncomfortable, a focused, respectful audience was a more receptive audience.
The low buzz in the auditorium began to settle. The aisles cleared, and the arcing rows of stadium seats filled in, leaving no gaps. It wouldn’t be long now.
The man slipped the thin rod inside his jacket and looked back over his shoulder at the dark-haired beauty and lanky ten-year-old boy standing backstage.
The boy grinned and gave him two big thumbs up. The stunning woman smiled and tilted her head to the side–the unspoken question hung between them. Which presentation would he give?
He smiled warmly at the boy and turned a thumbs-up back at him. The boy’s grin widened.
Looking to his wife, the man’s expression grew deep and vulnerable as he locked eyes with her.
He remembered why he was here. He remembered why he’d started this company. And he remembered the many long and challenging conversations they’d had about this speech.
It was time; they both knew it.
He exhaled, his resolve settled, and nodded once. Her expression sobered, and she bobbed her head in understanding.
The man lifted a finger to the frame of his glasses and tapped once, activating a connection. “Jim, I’m making the second speech. Give me a short primer, please.”
Through tiny directional speakers in the frames, Jim’s response came. “I understand, Mr. Texier, I’ll prime them.”
On the other side of the curtain, Jim addressed the audience. “Welcome. Thank you all for coming on short notice.” His deep, resounding radio voice was cordial but commanding. It was the voice of a man well used to leading others.
“My name is Jim Johnson. For those of you who missed the memo, I’m the new President of Texier Quantum Labs.” There were some muted claps, and Jim held out a hand to quiet them. “Thank you, I’m honored to be working here with you all.” He nodded to one side of the auditorium and then the other, including the whole audience in his gesture.
“Today, our founder is going to break from the normal Texier Quantum Labs dialog.” Murmuring crept through the crowd in response, and several faces amongst the press core turned sour.
“Do not worry, he will still be introducing the new tech you’re all expecting to see. In addition, he will be speaking to a topic that is both more personal and more significant.”
Jim took a couple steps forward to the right edge of the stage and looked down toward the front few rows. “Thank you, to all you in the press, for traveling on such short notice. We think you’ll be glad you did.
“Please no questions until Mr. Texier, or I call for them. I know that’s typical, but this speech will not be. If you can’t respect that, you will be escorted out, and neither you nor anyone else from your organization will ever be invited back.”
Jim delivered the warning with a straight face and then paused to look at each of them; he obviously meant it.
“Also, we are not broadcasting this talk in any fashion. If any of you have been clever enough to sneak in some method of live blogging or broadcasting, you will be detected then removed, and neither you nor anyone else from your organization will ever be invited back.”
He coolly regarded the group again. After a moment, satisfied they’d been warned, he added, “You’ll all get a full, uncut video file afterward.”
Stepping back from the edge, Jim addressed the room at large. “Let me now introduce a man that has done more in the last ten years to deliver impactful technological advances than anyone in centuries.
“We’re lucky to have him as a company, as a nation, and as a human people. He has my utmost respect. I am proud to work for him and, on occasion, I am humbled to call him friend. Mr. Bendik Texier.”
Applause rose and Bendik pressed through the curtains. He strode to Jim, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder with a smile before turning to the crowd and raising a hand to acknowledge them. “Thank you, all. Thank you.”
Jim walked off stage, and Bendik took in the crowd. He allowed the adulation to continue for several moments, smiling with his hands calmly by his sides–the very image of relaxed confidence. He lifted one hand and the room quieted.
“Thank you all. I will begin by acknowledging all of you. Truly, what we have achieved is due only in small part to my talents. The much greater part is your accomplishment. I am proud to have you here and call you teammates.
“I consider you to be one of my most precious resources, and in large part, my talk today is because of you, my responsibility to you, and our responsibility to humanity.” He paused and looked up a bit, searching for the right words. The auditorium hung in dead silence.
Bendik’s gaze returned to his audience. “I know of a feeling that we all share. It is quiet, yet it disturbs us at our deepest level. This unease is hard to grasp and painful to consider, as each of us desires to leave a legacy of a world made better than we found it.
“The feeling is so difficult to accept because we look at the world, and this appears to be fundamentally impossible. With each passing day, week, and year, even though our personal fortunes may rise, our certainty that the world is declining is set ever more firmly.
“I have stood on the shoulders of giants. From there, I have been able to see the path ahead for all of us, and the path is terrifying for humanity at large. Our legacy is destined to be a world more poisoned, more neglected, and more abused than it was when we received it.
“In reflection of this sad condition
, our legacy also seems to be a human people more emotionally damaged and less trusting than we were.” His sharp delivery drilled into them.
“It is clear that in my lifetime, a significant probability exists of a catastrophic breakdown in nearly all of our critical systems and resources. Over-population, massive wealth gaps, environmental toxification, soil and fishery depletion, chemical dependency, and the painful erosion of commitment worldwide is the volatile sludge set to break the whole machine.
“The focus of governments continues to be debt-juggling, social engineering, and pandering to corporate interests while pursuing bankrupt ideas. Those at the highest levels play these games while refusing to participate in the very systems they continue to complicate and corrupt. Their white towers stink of compromise, corruption and talking points vomited out by algorithms created to measure which stinking pile of irrelevant horseshit is best to trumpet today.
“These blithe manipulations, isolationist ideas, and wrongly focused choices are all self-serving. Worse, their flippant attitude toward consequences is blindly marching us all further and further down into an inescapable pit.
“We are a leaderless, chaotic pack of animals actively seeking to destroy ourselves and this glorious blue orb that we call home. We’re a planet of assholes, arguing about who’s the biggest asshole!
“Corporate leaders–my colleagues–manipulate laws and the truth in equal measure while they closely watch the scales of Lady Justice, weighting the cost of human life against profitability.
“Those pretty people, whose faces decorate the covers of Forbes and Inc magazines, care nothing for anyone else. They may have a glimmer of love for their kids, their mom, and maybe their third wife. This is true almost universally, although the outlying exception does exist.
“But don’t kid yourself; they are one-hundred-percent focused on wealth extraction and accumulation, and damn the consequences.
