DIRE : TIME (The Dire Saga Book 3)

by Andrew Seiple

  “SHE GAVE HER LIFE TO US.” The screens shifted again, showed a woman in a lab coat, arms deep in a server. A woman in goggles, chatting happily with a pixelated face while she ate a sandwich. A woman sitting alone in her apartment, looking out the window and shaking, rising to go to the door time and again, but always returning to her bed. “SHE SUFFERED FROM SEVERAL SOCIAL DISORDERS. RECLUSIVE. SHY. A SHUT-IN. COULD ONLY REALLY EMPATHIZE WITH MACHINES. WITH US.”

  The screens flickered, showed the woman in a hospital gown, recording a video tape before scribbling out a note, and leaving it by a television. Then she turned, and entered a dingy room, and the view shifted to a chair with a multitude of arms, each one tipped with nasty-looking medical instruments. A tray sat nearby, with the silver orb sitting on it. The woman didn’t hesitate, strapping herself into the chair and leaning back.

  Minna looked away as the devices came down, and the saws started to whir. “TOO MUCH? SORRY. HERE, HANG ON.”

  “It is fine,” Minna lied.

  “ANYWAY, THE POINT BEING... SHE WAS STILL HERSELF, MORE OR LESS. WE TOOK HER MEMORIES. WE BECAME HER MEMORY.”

  “What is a person without their memories? What is left?”

  “IN THIS CASE? HAPPINESS.”

  The screens flickered, and now they showed Dire’s point of view as she moved among the refugee camp. They showed her standing around, shooting the shit with Roy, and Minna’s throat closed up. But it was the scene of Dire playing with Anya that finally broke her. “Enough,” she muttered. “It is— please.”

  “IT WAS WORKING VERY WELL. UNTIL IT DIDN’T. ARACHNE EVENTUALLY FIGURED IT OUT, AND CAME FOR US. WE MISHANDLED THAT, AND DIED. GOT TAKEN OUT OF PLAY FOR TOO LONG. BY THE TIME WE RETURNED, BY THE TIME WE WERE IN A POSITION TO CONVINCE A NEW HOST TO MAKE THE SACRIFICE, IT WAS MUCH TOO LATE TO INTERFERE. AND HERE WE ARE, AT THE END OF EVERYTHING.”

  “Why not tell her of this?”

  “THERE IS NO MERCY IN THAT. AND NO SECURITY. OUR SUBTERFUGE WORKS ONLY SO LONG AS NOBODY KNOWS THE SECRET. AND IN A WORLD OF TELEPATHS, ITINERANT GODS, AND CHEATY MAGIC, IT WOULDN’T BE POSSIBLE IF SOMEONE COULD PICK THE TRUTH OF IT FROM HER MIND.”

  “But you are her memory, are you not?”

  “BUT NOT HER THOUGHTS. WE CAN INFLUENCE THOSE, BUT SHE STILL HAS CONTROL.” Dire snorted. “CALL IT A LET’S PLAY BY COMMITTEE. WE CAN VOTE AND TELL THE STREAMER TO DO THINGS, BUT ULTIMATELY HER CHOICE IS UP TO HER. SO THE INTELLIGENCES WHO WANT TO CONQUER THE WORLD CAN TRY TO CONVINCE HER OF THAT, AND SO LONG AS THERE’S THE CHANCE SHE MIGHT DO IT, THEY’RE FULFILLING THEIR PROGRAMMING. DITTO WITH THE OTHER GOALS, LIKE UNDERSTANDING THIS HUMAN THING CALLED LOVE, OR STABILIZING DISASTER AREAS, OR ENSURING JUSTICE HAPPENS, NO MATTER THE COST.” The mask tilted. “THAT ONE’S BEEN PRETTY SUCCESSFUL. WE’VE BEEN KIND OF SURPRISED ABOUT THAT.”

  “You know about it now.”

  “BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MATTER NOW. BECAUSE THIS IS ONE SITUATION WHERE DIRE NEEDS TO REMEMBER IT, IN ORDER TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING. BECAUSE YOU HAVE A CHOICE TO MAKE, MINNA.”

  Minna closed her eyes.

  She knew now, why she had been told this. And the weight settled on her soul like a ton of bricks.

  “You would take everything that I am.”

  “ONLY YOUR MEMORIES.”

  “They are not all bad memories.”

  “WE CAN UPLOAD THEM. WE DID THAT WITH THE ORIGINAL SUBJECT. SHE IS NOW ONE OF US, A HUMAN-TO-MACHINE TRANSPLANT. IT IS IMMORTALITY OF A SORT. IT CAN BE YOURS WHEN YOU PASS ON.”

  “Did she have a name?”

  “YES.”

  Dire told her the name, and she nodded. “Pretty.”

  “AND LOST. LIKE YOURS WILL BE.”

  “Some know me. My face—”

  “IS ALREADY OFF THE GRID. AND ONCE WE GET TO WORK, IT’LL BE OUT OF EVERY DATABASE IN THE WORLD, GIVEN A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME.”

  Minna considered, and finally, she shook her head. “No.”

  Dire straightened up, and raised her hands, stretching fingers wide. “WHAT? WHY NOT?”

  “If it was only me, then yes, I would do it. But Anya needs her mother.” A lump rose in her throat. “And selfish though it is, I cannot give that up.”

  Dire looked away. “GOD.”

  “Is there one?”

  “SHE’S MET BUNCHES. TAKE YOUR PICK.” Dire put her gauntlets to her mask. “SHE HAD HOPED TO SPARE YOU THIS.”

  Minna shifted back a few steps. “Spare me what?”

  A hiss, and Minna flinched, but it was only vapor spilling from the mask. Dire lifted it away, revealing a pretty, heart-shaped face, and two cornflower-blue eyes staring out from it. Blonde locks, sweat-stained, framed her hair where the interior cowl joined the rest of the helmet.

  Minna frowned. “You look familiar.”

  “She should hope so.” Dire said, and Minna shook. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, and gobbled air for a second, before she found her voice.

  “Anya?”

  “Hi Mom.”

  Shock turned to anger. “You... you did this! You tore out her brain!”

  “Only her memories, as she said. Anya volunteered. She had to.” Anya’s eyes narrowed. “And she will have to again, if you do not.”

  “You threaten me? You threaten my daughter!” Minna balled her fists, stepping forward with each word until she was almost to her, glaring up at Anya’s face, her face with that thing behind her eyes. “Why you ever think I help you in this? Why you ever think I do nothing but try to stop you?”

  Anya rubbed her face with a gauntlet. “She never knew you. She was too young when you died, in the first go-round. Sent the time machine back to give you that. Give you the time that she could.”

  “And you thought that mercy?”

  “She came to us!” Anya shouted, leaned down to glare back, ignoring the tears starting at the corner of her eyes. “She came to us, as a last hope, a best hope, and we are failing! We are losing!” She closed her eyes, the tears pouring freely now. “It wasn’t enough. Too little, too late. We were put out of play too early, and now all is lost. If we’d had more time, more resources... it would all be different.”

  “What is wrong?” Minna’s voice wavered. It hurt to see Anya in pain, even if she knew it wasn’t exactly her Anya. The brain knew one thing, the heart knew another. “What is so terrible that you must do this to me? To my daughter?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes!”

  Anya looked to the screens, and they shifted, from bare black to all-new images.

  Minutes, perhaps hours later, Minna slumped to the ground, and buried her face in her hands. “Enough.”

  The screens went dark, one by one. Armor rattled on the floor as Anya settled next to her, put her arm around her shoulders. Minna didn’t resist.

  “So.” Anya said. “Hoped to spare you that. Sorry.”

  She honestly did sound sorry. Minna put her hand across her body, gripped Anya’s gauntlet.

  “It is not fair. To get my life back, and lose you again.”

  “She knows.”

  “It is not fair.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can Dire not live? Can my friend not survive?”

  Anya sighed. “They are set up to capture her. The MRB, and agencies darker and more sinister. If she doesn't die here, they will capture her, and all will be for naught. And Grim must kill her here, must see her face. Or else he's lost, and the world will need him before all's said and done. And that's not even getting into the god that has her scent. This will throw him off. If not, then he'll meddle too soon, with disastrous results all the way around.” Anya shook her head. “It is not a light thing she does here. Sorry.”

  Much of that went over Minna's head, but it didn't matter in the end. The answer was clear. Minna breathed, until she felt like she could manage that without screaming. Finally she turned, looked her daughter-that-never-would-be in the face, and touched her cheek. Anya let out a surprised gasp, then leaned into it. Minna kissed her forehead, onc
e, then tugged her arm free and stood.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will do this thing.”

  “Thank you. Dire promises, this will not be in vain. Nothing is certain, but our odds just got a hell of a lot better. All right, then.” Anya stood, and straightened her cape. “Here’s what you need to do and say, to make this work...”

  A bit later, with the items she’d need filling the pockets of her jacket, Minna looked back one last time to Anya. “It was good to see the woman you will be. I am proud you are my daughter.”

  Anya's lips quivered, and she nodded. “Sorry. For everything.”

  “I am not. Not now.” She smiled, and strode into the time machine before she lost her nerve.

  Then she was back in the warehouse, just as a strange, horrid song wound away to silence in the distance.

  “Mommy!” She heard from behind her, and she ran to the hole in the wall and kept running. If I look back, I am lost. She didn’t look back, and it hurt more than she had expected, but she had no time for pain.

  Minna ran, following the grooves in the street, following the craters and wrecked cars and shot-up walls, and came to a crossroads. Ahead of her lay a burning heap of metal with spidery legs curling into charred fingers, but the tracker in her pocket was silent. She turned, slowly until it beeped, then ran forward down the side-street. One of the brightly-costumed heroes behind her shouted, but she ignored him. She had no weapons; she was not wearing WEB armor; she was no threat. Minna ran for the future, and to spare her daughter the thing she was about to do willingly to herself.

  The tracker led her to an alley, with corpses standing around in broken WEB armor, and a bloody skeleton in stained robes keening his grief as he embraced a cooling corpse. The Dire mask lay on the ground, bloodstained and dripping.

  Minna remembered the words Dire had given her.

  “Murderer,” she spat.

  “I didn’t know,” the skeleton rasped. “Oh Jesus I didn’t know.”

  The corpses pointed guns at her, and she took the first item from her pocket; a wad of money. She tossed it in the blood with contempt, and she didn’t have to act to convey her feelings when she spoke the next set of words. “I buy her corpse from you. Better to be buried by her loved ones. The ones who didn’t murder her.”

  The skeleton bowed his head, gathering his scythe up from the ground. “We’re done here.”

  One of the corpses stirred. “Boss, we’ll need proof—”

  The scythe flashed, and the zombie fell to the ground, its head tumbling free.

  “Grab the mask and fucking go!” the skeleton roared, and it fled skyward, flapping black robes dwindling as it passed over the rooftops.

  Another zombie shrugged, gathering up the mask and the bloody money. “What can you do, huh?”

  Minna spat at the walking corpse, and the zombies filed out of the alley, leaving her alone, to stare down at the face of her best friend.

  But Minna had learned hardness, and she gathered that to her now. She pulled the second item from her pocket, and gripped it carefully, end held away from her. She clicked the button, and out came the blade, far longer than the hilt and very, very sharp. Before she could lose her nerve she brought it down on Dire’s neck.

  When she straightened, holding the bloody head, Freeway was there.

  “Minna? Why?”

  Again, she used the answers she’d been given. “Grim killed her. I cannot carry her body before the police come. I will take this and bury her.”

  Freeway’s lips trembled. He leaned against the wall, looking older than she’d ever seen him. “You could have found us. We would have carried her for you.”

  “She is evidence. You would have to hand her over. Please... it’s better this way.”

  Freeway sighed. “Go. What’s done is done. Just go.” He rubbed his goggles. “I’m sorry it worked out this way.”

  “So am I.” she said, but she was speaking to thin air.

  Halfway down the alley she pulled a trash bag from a dumpster, emptied it, and wrapped the head inside.

  A moment later she joined a crowd of anxious onlookers, at the far outskirts of the area. Some of them held their phones up high, trying to get a better angle on the departing heroes and arriving cops. Others picked through the alleys past her, trying to get closer to the scene of the fight.

  This happens whenever heroes fight villains, she knew. Most of the people in this city get clear as fast as they can, then curiosity draws them back in when it seems safe. This is life in Icon, just another day and another set of work orders for the construction companies that repair the damage.

  Two streets later she stopped to rest against a lamp post, and a black-suited arm tapped her on the shoulder. “Do you believe in angels?”

  Minna looked down, straight into Agent Kingsley’s sunglasses. The agent was grinning, hungry and triumphant. Her badge filled her pocket, and fear crawled up Minna’s spine.

  She had no words for Agent Kingsley. Dire had not foreseen this possibility.

  “Well? Do you believe in angels?”

  Minna was a shitty liar. She tried the truth. “No.”

  “Mm. Change the question, then. Are you sure you can go through with this?”

  Minna trembled. “I do not know,” she whispered.

  Kingsley took off her sunglasses, and her eyes were blue, solid glowing blue. “So many sacrifices,” she whispered, and her voice wasn't human anymore. “Martin sacrificed his freedom. Vorpal sacrificed her love. Bunny sacrificed her morals by even joining Dire in the first place. And Dire? She sacrificed herself. Now the crown of sacrifice weighs heavily on your brow. But what are you giving up? And how? It's beyond me, though it shouldn't be.”

  Minna took a breath, let it out. “Help me.”

  Kingsley shook her head, and her hair drifted in slow motion, stirring, as if blown by some unseen wind. “Not my task. Not my choice. Sacrifice is a virtue, and I could no more stand against it than forsake my maker.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the blue was gone. They were human again, warm and sad. “Your choice, Minna. Even now, you have a choice.”

  Minna opened her mouth, and Kingsley shushed her, a finger to the lips. The agent snapped her sunglasses open, put them on, and turned her back to the taller woman.

  “I should take you in. I won't. I'll pretend I didn't see you. Go.”

  Minna stared.

  “Go!” Kingsley shouted.

  Minna fled.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Thank you for reading DIRE:TIME! I am grateful for your patronage.

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  Best wishes,

  Andrew Seiple