by J. J. Lorden
“Well, it is an honor to speak with one of the mighty Breal Bloudran Dwarfs. Do you have a name? Are you inside there? Can you let… ahhh…” Erramir flinched back as holes suddenly melted through the face in several places appearing as if bullet holes or deep craters, pocking all about its visage.
“Argh-… Damm– … dis Jan– … be heer, I–… ammid! Wher–…” the door sputtered angrily. Obviously, the Dwarf had a technical issue with his door, and he wasn’t happy about it. Bits of face kept melting then reforming only for other parts to melt.
“…bein car–… ina da sett–… dis void–… dey be quiet–… dis nad–… Yar–… a git–… Champeeon–… yar hands–… da Und Vard–… can find–……”
The melted parts multiplied, the voice cutting in only for a syllable here and there, nothing intelligible especially given the Dwarf’s accent. Then it went flat and they all stared.
“Well, that was freaky as hell,” Carson said.
“What was he saying?” Val rubbed her forehead on Virg as she thought out loud. “Something about a champion, our hands, and the und vard? And something we’re supposed to find?”
An odd noise came from the door, and all three of them fixed on it. Dead center, a small circle of stone flowed into a palm-sized copy of the rooted tree sigil, then extended a couple inches.
“Huh.” Erramir rubbed his face with one hand, then bent forward to inspect the sigil. “Maybe this hammer tree is connected to these Dwarves. Makes sense; Dwarven lore is full of hammers.” He paused, thinking briefly. Erramir continued, “Oh, I think he meant for us to put our hands on this thing.”
He looked back at Car and Val. “The face mentioned our hands. And, this didn’t just show up here for nothing, right?”
Carson shrugged a shoulder, bobbing his head. “Yep, gotta touch it for sure. Go ahead, bro, do the honors.”
Erramir laughed, “The honors, huh. You’re just scared.”
“He’s totally scared,” Val agreed.
“Pahh!” Carson blew out in disdain. “Wise, I think you mean. DPS never goes first, melee before brains. You two are up.” He finished, pointing at the sigil with both hands and stepping back. “Be my guest.”
“Wussy.” Erramir mumbled, reaching to push on the sigil with his right palm. “Arhhhhhh!” He jerked his hand away, dropped his sword, and back-peddled rapidly right into Carson, plowing them both into the tunnel wall.
“It burns! It burns!” Erramir hollered, somehow managing to land very squarely on top of his magically inclined best bud despite being half in the snow.
Erramir shoved his hand at Carson, seemingly wiping something on him. “Get it off, Get it off!”
“Guahhhh! Stop! No! No!” Carson flailed and pushed, trying to get away.
“Arrghhh! It’s going up my arm! Stop it! Please stop it!”
Their legs were sticking into the tunnel while each violent thrash collapsed a bit more snow on their upper halves.
“DPS card! DPS card!” Carson screamed, frantically twisting his head away from Erramir’s hand, arms working desperately for separation. “You can’t touch me! Get off, get off!”
Val sensed something was fishy and started laughing. This wasn’t typical behavior for Erramir, and he was clearly being overly dramatic. “DPS card?” she muttered within the laugh, shaking her head.
Erramir burst out, “My Neck! Ahhhh! My Neck!” Clutching at his throat with one hand while pushing it toward Carson’s face. “Help Car! Do something!”
“Get off me! Get that away from me!” Carson, in a panic, pushed to keep Erramir’s neck back.
A moment later, Erramir couldn’t keep it up. Flopping off Carson, his panicked screaming morphed into a rolling laugh. “Bwahh-haha, horrible scary hand virus. Heh-heh-heh-heh. My neck, it’s in my neck!”
The tunnel was partially caved-in where they’d struggled, and still laughing, Erramir worked his way toward the tunnel opening and stood up. “It was just a little tickle. Heh-heh. No big deal, man.”
“Dick.” Carson glowered, heaving himself up next to Val on the opposite side of the partial collapse.
Erramir laughed some more, holding up his perfectly healthy hand. “It’s nothing, see. Like a little static shock is all.”
“You’re still a dick.”
“What’s a DPS card?” Val asked, smirking. “And why would it mean Erramir can’t touch you?”
Carson glanced at her, looking slightly embarrassed. “I said that out loud, huh.”
“Yeah, more like yelled it.”
“Right.” He sighed. “Well, it’s a thing I sometimes use when stuff just gets too hairy. It means I’m out–done–like an eject button. Too much stress isn’t good for me, and I know that, so if I get that way, I pull my card and bail.” He shrugged. “It’s not something I say out loud.”
Carson shot Erramir a contemptuous sneer. “But asshole there scared the shit out of me.”
“Hell yeah, I did.” Erramir grinned, brushing snow from his jacket. “That was great.” He fell into more laughter. “Totally worth it.” Even as he said so, Erramir recognized it wasn’t really like him. His way was more subtle, dry humor, not this kind of thing. But it felt good to let go a bit, just for the fun of it. That’s interesting. Am I already changing? he pondered.
“So, do we all need to touch the sigil?” Val asked, glancing back toward it.
“I think so, not sure, though. Car?” said Erramir.
“Probably, let me check.” The mage went to the door, paused tentatively, watching it for a moment, then lifted the ring he’d managed to melt the ice off of. It hinged at the top. Carson turned it–it didn’t budge. “Yeah, looks like it.” He sighed. “Mannn… I really hope that Dwarf is on our side.”
Hesitating for only a second more, he determinedly pressed his hand to the sigil. “Ohh, yeah, that’s nothing.”
He stepped aside, and Val moved forward. “What is this supposed to do anyhow?” She reached for and pressed her palm to the sigil.
“Unghh.” Val, Carson, and Erramir grunted simultaneously, grimacing as a stab of pain echoed through three palms.
A quiet clacking, similar to a ratchet wrench, reverberated from the door. All eyes fixed on it, watching as the rooted hammer melted back into the stone.
Val stepped back, and Carson slid subtly behind her, placing Val between himself and the door. Val didn’t notice.
Thunk.
Then silence.
Erramir waded through the snow, stepping in front of his friends. Eyes on the door, he spoke over his shoulder. “Unlocked or armed a trap?”
“Unlocked,” said Val.
“Unlocked and trapped,” voted Carson.
“What? Car, not helping. Why would it unlock and arm a trap at the same time?” Erramir derided, but he wasn’t gainsaying Carson’s intuition. He knew better.
“Ummm… don’t know?” Carson replied. Erramir turned slowly to meet his eyes. “DPS card,” Carson blurted.
“Seriously?” Erramir glared. Then he exhaled heavily. “Fine, whatever. It’s not like we have a choice.”
Val bobbed her head in agreement. They weren’t leaving here until the door was opened. She absently glanced at the phantom spot of pain in her palm. “What… is that?” she whispered, lifting her hand and slowly rotating it back and forth.
“What’s what?” Carson asked, lifting his own hand. “Ohh.”
Erramir looked between them, then at his palm. His eyes widened. “Ohh.”
Above each of their palms floated a ghostly image of the rooted hammer sigil. Just barely, no more than the thickness of a coin, and it faded if viewed too far to one side. Straight on, it was bright and clear.
“There’s some crazy essence in this thing. It’s not elemental. At least not one of mine.” Carson said.
“Key, maybe? Or quest marker?” Erramir offered.
“One of those or possibly a reputation thing, but that seems unlikely,” Carson said. “Try the door, man. I don’t th
ink it’s trapped.”
“Right.” Erramir lifted the ring, it spun smoothly, and the door popped open.
“Gear up, boys,” Val said, a grin spreading across her face. “I think we found the dungeon.”
29
The Good Doctor
Northern Aburrá Valley
Medellín, Colombia
February 20, 2064—World Seed minus 2 months, 2 weeks
Gideon was a tall, thick man with pale skin. His blockish head sprouted short, curly brown hair while his generous nose supported round, bookish glasses. His full beard was fastidiously cut square around his chin, enhancing an already imposing presence.
The good people of Colombia flowed about him, no doubt headed to lunch, meetings, and social engagements as he looked up at the Texier Quantum Labs tower nearing completion. Even here in the northern business section of Medellín, many foreheads were smeared with grey ash; some even looked like the cross they were supposed to represent.
Many people went to church on Ash Wednesday in his home city; it was predominantly Catholic. Gideon didn’t subscribe to any single religion, preferring to adopt bits from several as they suited him. Ash Wednesday was one; Gideon found it was a poignant reminder.
The ash, meant to symbolize the dust humans ultimately returned to, offered a window for him to contemplate the lives at stake and the consequences of failure. So, he’d go later with his devout father and obtain his own smudge of palm ash.
Wearing a brown cloak to his ankles and being a head taller than everyone, Gideon stood out like a boulder in swift current. He pulled a thick, folded piece of colorful paper from within the cape and opened it. A second sheet covered with math in his own hand was tucked inside. He put that behind the thick sheet and smiled as a tingle ran over his body. Finally, he thought.
The advert, rough along one edge where he’d ripped it from the back cover of a magazine, depicted a rendering of this building completed with the tag line: Texier, Driven by Possibility, in bold below.
His heart sung for the picture’s background–not the blue sky and green manicured landscaping, but the forms within those areas. They weren’t done in black or any way so obvious, rather in subtle lines several shades paler than the backdrop, almost as if they’d been drawn with wax.
Laced through all of it, were geometric patterns of lines and dots.
To nearly every person on the planet, the shapes were nonsense, just a tech-forward advertising gimmick. To Gideon’s eye, it was Mozart’s opus lyrically coupled to Homer’s Odyssey–blazingly brilliant mathematical poetry.
Yet still, it was incomplete genius. But close, so close.
Folding the page up, he tucked it away, and finding a break in traffic, he crossed to the construction fencing that fronted right against the road. With toes pressed to the bottom rail, cars sped by only a few feet behind him. Gideon wasn’t concerned, though. Medellín was a net-drive city, and there hadn’t been an accident in years.
He flipped his hood up, pulled the cloak tight, and waited. A long minute passed as Gideon allowed time for anyone that had seen him cross the road to move on. Finding the sidewalk clear when he looked back to check, Gideon activated his cloak and disappeared.
BENDIK SAT BEHIND a large wood desk, thumb on his chin and forefinger braced against his cheekbone. Today was Medellín’s day, and he had a good feeling. Yesterday he’d been at the site outside of Ferrol, Spain, and he’d had high hopes then as well. Unfortunately, Ferrol had proved fruitless.
He’d been passing the time working on improving his interface bond, but an odd man had tripped one of his surveillance alerts, and now Bendik was starting to get excited.
In the image projected above his desk, the fellow, a brick of a man, wearing a long brown cloak, observed his construction site. He pulled Bendik’s ad from an inside pocket and spent a long moment regarding it with a broad smile. Bendik’s face split with a smile in response; perhaps he was done waiting.
The man walked across the street and stood before the tall barrier fence. Bendik leaned forward, curious. After pulling the strange cloak tight about his body and lifting its hood, the man stood unmoving for a while– then he disappeared.
Bendik leaned back. “Now, that is interesting.”
Zooming out, he changed the view to infrared, nothing. He switched to thermal, still nothing. He dismissed the floating image, and the cloud of projection nanites dissolved into a small, black stone on his desk.
Bendik steepled his fingers over his mouth, pressing them lightly to his lips. He closed his eyes, and, with intention, activated his interface and requested a powerful new overlay. This was still a stretch for him, but it should work.
Against his lidded eyes, a green line sketch of the container interior appeared. Beyond it, in lighter green, was a wireframe of the entire Texier-owned property.
His bond flexed, spreading to connect with the dispersed and unbonded web of the site, the request traveling with it. The overlay came online: gamma detection. It was basically useless in everyday life, gamma was, after all, the stuff of supernova’s and nuclear bombs, but he had a hunch.
A glowing oblong shape appeared beyond the metal container walls–it was climbing the stairs to his office. Bendik’s heartbeat quickened as he watched the form reach the landing and then, without opening it, walk through the door into his office. Within the more powerful web of his personal bond, the oblong bubble resolved into the shape of a man.
A slight smile bent the corners of his mouth in an expression holding far more intensity and interest than it suggested. Keeping his eyes closed, Bendik observed the figure take a few steps toward his desk and stop in the middle of his office. There was no apparent threat.
“That is an extraordinary article of clothing. Did you make it yourself?” Bendik asked.
The gamma outline disappeared, and a deep friendly chuckle filled the metal box. Any reverberation was swallowed by the reactive sound paneling.
Bendik opened his eyes and dismissed the ocular overlay. A brown-cloaked man, built like a brick column, stood before him. The man drew his hood back and regarded the Texier Quantum Labs founder with crystal blue eyes above a smile that mirrored Bendik’s, small and intense.
“I should have guessed you’d be able to track me,” his voice rolled.
“Indeed. That’s a new trick, actually. I should thank you for the test run. Stable, localized gamma particles can be tricky.” Bendik twisted his head a notch and raised one hand a couple inches. “At least they are for the rest of us.”
The man’s eyes widened by a hair. “Well, in that case. You’re welcome.” He paused to withdraw the papers and step between the pair of leather chairs fronting Bendik’s desk. “Got something here I think you might be looking for,” said the man as thick fingers carefully unfolded, then laid the two pages on the desk facing Bendik. The edges bent up, the heavy magazine stock refusing to lay flat.
Bendik pulled them forward, pressing the sides down. Neat, black marker lines traced the background geometric shapes. In two spots, there were minor changes. On the right, a whole section was crossed out and recreated over the rendering of the completed tower. A smaller group of interlocking polygons was traced in the bottom corner, and below was written a date, today’s date.
Bendik traced the new section with a finger. “Ohh, that’s… clever.”
The man spoke, “Simply brilliant advertisement, the most compelling I’ve ever seen. Although, I don’t expect your target audience is very large.”
Bendik continued to pour over the information, his eyes now flicking between the math and the non-Euclidian shapes. “No, it was not.” His finger landed on a spot close to the center of the page of calculations, and he looked up at the large stranger. “You have this frequency range unbounded. How? I… well… I don’t know how to do that.” He looked down again and then back up. “How do I do that?”
“Hah!” The big man pulled a chair forward, so he could reach the desk. He undid a flat grey cla
sp at the neck of his cloak, then pulled it off, sat down, and lifted the mantle in one hand. “Like this.”
Bendik looked between the cloak and the man, eyes wide and excited. Then his smile grew, and his joy-filled the space between them. “My name is Bendik. Thank you for existing! And, responding to my ad.” He held out a hand.
The man grasped his hand, “Gideon Suarez. But please call me Doc or Gideon; both are good.”
“It is an absolute thrill to meet you, Gideon Suarez. As I don’t tend to stand on formality, let’s go with Doc.”
Gideon smiled, “Excellent, I enjoy the moniker. And, in truth, only my father calls me Gideon.”
“Excellent, I’m surely not he. And, now that we’ve got that handled. Who are you, Doc?”
The young man looked at Bendik–his tight smile broadening. Bendik couldn’t help but notice, despite the youthful appearance, Gideon’s smile belonged on a much older man.
“Presuming a few things,” Gideon began. “I believe I am someone like yourself, Mr. Texier. A man interested in re-sculpting the focus of humanity.”
“Your presumptions may be accurate, Doc. Just call me Bendik, though, or End as my erstwhile companion Pete does.”
“End.” Gideon nodded to himself. “I like that. Also, an excellent moniker. Okay, End, being straight, can we agree that humanity’s model for the allocation of power is a run-away train headed for a cliff?”
“That’s well put Doc. Yes, we can agree on that.”
“And can we agree that government, in any existing or theoretical model, is incapable of stopping that train?”
“Again, 100% agree.”
“In that case, details aside for now, it is accurate to say that I am a like-minded human, with some advanced technical knowhow, who can help you.”
Bendik regarded the mid-twenties man. “You are certainly far more than that.” He fingered the inked-up ad and densely packed sheet of notes. “There is not another person on the planet that could do this; that’s the whole point of the puzzle. I don’t care how dedicated or noble you are; it doesn’t make you an expert in harnessing interdimensional gamma radiation, does it?” He cocked an eyebrow. “So, I dare say you are understating–by perhaps a smidge.”
