[Demonworld #1] Demonworld

by Kyle B. Stiff

Korliss punched in the keypad near his chair and a black table nearby crackled to life. Blurred images played on the surface as Korliss navigated through various programs, then a holographic image unfolded above the table. In the darkness of the living room, Sevrik was bathed in the light of an image of a glowing human brain. Green folds twisted like a labyrinth inside of which thoughts whirled as bright orange fireflies, a visual representation of synapses firing.

  “It’s… beautiful,” said Sevrik.

  “It’s Project,” said Korliss. “This is the mind of our ultimate weapon.”

  Sevrik tore his eyes away, then said, “But Korliss, we made a conscious decision to never track our Project! He was to remain free, always free, so that –”

  “Oh, Sevrik, you know Didi. All that he tells us and all that he shows us are nothing compared to the secrets he keeps. I’ve no doubt he’s ashamed of the NeuSen; he never made it, he found it. It’s Ancient technology.”

  Sevrik leaned back, overwhelmed by the notion. People rarely spoke of it, but it was no secret that humans once covered the earth. The Ancients lived in great cities of stone and glass built so high that they blotted out the stars in the sky, they consumed forests and gutted mountains the likes of which no longer existed anymore, and their sciences bordered on something like magic. No one knew for sure what happened to them; the only truth now was that demons ruled and the remnants of mankind lived in the shadow of the demon.

  “The NeuSen Array,” said Korliss, “was keyed to resonate with the mind of our Project and with the minds of a few dozen random citizens of Haven. Didi was able to figure out that much of the strange device. Apparently the process can be done by touch alone, so Didi probably used scientists that he works with –”

  “So he could have projections of their minds as well?” Sevrik interrupted. “Why bother?”

  “Because the NeuSen can’t track the location of a mind. It lacks the proper points of reference. But if you key a mind and place it within the web of other living minds that are keyed into the system…”

  “Then you can tell when one mind has left the web of reference,” said Sevrik. “So we know Project has gone from Haven, and is still alive, but we just don’t know where.”

  “Exactly. But there’s one more thing: Anything that leaves the web of reference has a three day shelf life. Once it stays outside the web that long, the NeuSen assumes the information is irrelevant and… discards it.”

  The two sat in silence. Sevrik watched the lights play upon Korliss’s lean features as he lit another cigarette. “Three days,” said Sevrik. “So we have three days to find Project… or else we practically never will. It’s now the end of the first day, and I have no clues whatsoever.”

  “Clues,” said Professor Korliss. “Let’s think on that for a moment. Citizens usually don’t go missing from Haven. If only Project was missing, we might be able visit the morgue, make an examination of the bodies, and assume that one of them was our Project. Because multiple people are missing, we can assume that there is a conspiracy. What would be the point of such a conspiracy?”

  “Let’s look at those who are missing,” said Sevrik, nodding to the table computer.

  Korliss already had image files and rough biographies open for the seven victims. “Marlon Ziello, young Guardian,” Sevrik muttered, scanning the files. “I know the boy. Saul Hargis, young student, outstanding record. Romana W. Kyner, young student… police record, expunged. Mercule Hermann, doctor, Iduna Deira, professor, writer… both politically left-leaning. Salem Jules, laborer… in bad health, police record, list of jobs held goes on and on…”

  “And Peter Remus,” said Korliss. “A Judge and former Guardian with an unimpressive record.”

  “I know him,” said Sevrik.

  “Look here. This is where things get interesting.” He brought up a short article on the datanet. There was a photograph of Peter Remus shaking hands with a heavy man in a fine suit. “A few months ago, the conservative Stone Warren party named him as their running man in the next election.”

  “So, we have three youths whose political opinions are still unformed,” said Sevrik, “and one old man who seems to be wholly apolitical. However, we also have two people, a doctor and a University professor, who are politically active –”

  “Iduna Deira may be left-leaning,” said Korliss, “but she’s written opinion pieces against the current administration, too. She is, at heart, a political radical.”

  “Most importantly,” said Sevrik, “among all those who disappeared, the most politically important one is Peter Remus – a staunch conservative who could jeopardize the position of the current Prime Minister.”

  Korliss tapped his controls idly, then said, “You think this conspiracy is political in nature? Why kidnap two liberals and a conservative, then?”

  Sevrik stood and circled the room suddenly, saying, “Korliss, I know you see the Stone Warren Party as a backwards, repressive clan of religious nuts who want to stifle our society, and I know you see the Running Wind Party as the only progressive force that has any chance of shaping Haven into some kind of enlightened society of education and equality –”

  “That’s not really the truth of the matter,” Professor Korliss interjected loudly.

  “Fine, fine, I may have spoken too broadly, but Korliss, I work with these people. I deal with them every day. Believe me, those issues that the common citizen worries about and debates over… those issues have nothing to do with the everyday reality of the political elite. What matters to them – is power. Stone Warren, Running Wind, minority party… it doesn’t matter. They bicker during the day, shake hands and eat with one another in the evening, then they plot against one another over drinks before bedtime.”

  “So you believe this conspiracy is political in nature,” Korliss repeated.

  “Seven people have disappeared, and we have no witnesses. Who else could pull this off?” Sevrik stopped his pacing, then said, “But what I don’t understand is… why were the three youths taken as well?”

  Korliss stood as well, cracked his neck loudly, then said, “As long as we’re looking for patterns, think on this: Those three youths have nothing in common except for the fact that they are from the same generation. They’re quite close in age, actually. Now, there is only one Project, Sevrik, only one in all of Haven… and our enemy, whoever he is, was able to pluck him out of the entire population and make him disappear.”

  “You think the chances of Project disappearing from a random sampling of the population are…”

  “Next to zero, yes.”

  “Then Project is gone,” said Sevrik, chewing on the words, “because he is our special Project.”

  Korliss nodded slowly. “Someone knows about us, friend,” said Korliss. “Someone knows what we did twenty years ago. Someone very powerful removed a possible threat to their power.”

  The two stood in silence, feeling like hunted animals. They went and stood at the balcony and saw people in the streets of Haven below. Low gray buildings lined the avenue, speckled and rough. Korliss lived on the edge of the student neighborhoods – the tightly packed “learning slums” – and an affluent neighborhood full of green-veined granite houses. They saw students bent under the weight of stress weaving around older couples dressed in fine linens, tall hats and flowered dresses. A Guardian in full armor stared up at the pair; he saw Sevrik’s white uniform gleaming in the moonlight and Korliss, lean and angular, covered in black and wreathed in the smoke of his cigarette.

  Both stared across the University grounds to the great structures of Central Haven, the oldest buildings in Haven, the seat of power and order, the ultimate flowering of the dreams of the Founding Fathers.

  “You, me, and Didi,” said Korliss, “we three made a pact, and took action, because we were the only three men in Haven who understood that humanity is at war with a monstrous race. We knew that the Founders didn’t come here to create an island resort. They came here to gain a foothold, to devise a
strategy, to…”

  Korliss stopped. “I hear guilt in your tone,” said Sevrik.

  “We sacrificed someone,” said Korliss. “We… we killed someone, Sev. We erased their life.”

  “We killed no one. We gave someone the potential to –”

  “And what do you think Didi will do?” Korliss spat. “When those three days are up, when we can no longer be sure that our Project’s genetic potential hasn’t been stolen by the demons to use against us, what do you think Didi will do with his Killswitch?” Sevrik fell silent. “He’ll kill him, Sevrik. He’ll do it. You know what Didi is capable of.”

  Sevrik turned away. After a moment he nodded to the dome of the Prime Minister’s mansion in Central Haven. “It’s unrealistic for me to send patrols outside of Haven to find Project or the other missing persons. What I can do is intensify my investigation and increase my patrols here. I can flush out our enemy.”

  “Prime Minister Vachs will become suspicious. Questions will be asked.”

  “I don’t work for Aegis Vachs. I answer to the Senate. And a thousand gunmen answer to me, so I’ll worry about stepping on toes later. Aegis Vachs and Shem Udo, Secundus of the Guard, control a third of the Guardians, and as of now they are both under suspicion. If they try to stop me, and I see guilt in their eyes, they’re done. I’m a soldier, a man of action, and I have two more days to find Project before Didi pushes the button and ends it. We pick up the pieces later.”

  “Fine, then.” Korliss turned away from the open sky and entered his dark living room. “As for me, I’m going to take a heroic dose of this psilocybin I’ve been saving for a special occasion and take this opportunity to contemplate our species sliding into extinction. And while you shake your head and balk at the very idea that there’s guilt in my tone of voice, old friend, just you remember, as you throw politicians into prison cells and reawaken old methods of torture so you can keep the dream of a bright future alive, just you remember that it’s our fault that the politicians operate the way they do because we taught them how the game of power is played. We taught them the lust for power, Sevrik. All three of us did.”

  Korliss stood under the glowing green idol of the mind they had engineered and he thought to himself, Not once during our conversation did he bring up the fact that only the Guardians could have kidnapped seven people and shipped them out of Haven without anyone stopping them. It either never entered his mind, or he never wanted it to enter my mind.

  Do you still lust for power, Sevrik? Are you still the wild animal you once were?

  Chapter Five

  The Tree of Life and the Cave of Harsh Enlightenment

  The six made their way through the darkness, worn out, emotionally empty, aware only of the stream chattering beside them. Hermann had said nothing since the torture. He lagged behind and no one looked at him. A creeping wave of mist rolled over them with cold tongues.

  “You’re taking us somewhere?” said Wodi to Iduna, who was in the lead.

  “Yes, a place I saw earlier.”

  “What place?”

  “It’s just up this hill.”

  Through the haze of his exhaustion, Wodi only dimly realized that they had been walking uphill beside the stream for quite some time.

  Suddenly the frenzied whispering of the stream grew calm and quiet and Wodi lifted his eyes and saw that they stood in a wide clearing on the side of a hill wreathed in fog. The top of the hill was open, dark with green grass, and it was crowned by a single wide, twisted tree. Wodi saw moonlight peering through gray leaves and, because the mist below was so thick, he had the impression that the hilltop was an island floating in the clouds. The great tree dominated Wodi’s awareness; it was an old god, a guardian of a sanctuary, a keeper of mysteries far older than the nightmare horrors and chaos that ran shrieking throughout the rest of the valley.

  As they neared the great tree Wodi was hit by the scent of honeysuckle mixed with old batteries and his awareness shifted. Saul’s head jerked upwards and he felt of his own fingers; he was experienced in the use of strange substances and he knew what was happening. He touched Wodi’s shoulder thinking to tell him that the tree’s leaves contained a potent drug, but as he watched Wodi turn to him slowly, slowly, and then smile, then laugh, Saul knew that he already understood.

  They climbed the tree to sleep for the night. Wodi felt electricity running from the rough bark into his hands and, as he looked up, he saw stars shining through the branches and he felt that the branches of the great tree were dark channels than ran throughout the cosmos. It was a labyrinth of connections, a sustaining force that held all things aloft. Why life or matter or dreams existed was no longer a mystery to him. Awe-inspiring and terrible, as if reality itself was a mask removed and a shining face was revealed beneath the brute forms. As they settled into little nooks between the wide branches many fireflies came out to dance, landing on twigs, leaves, fingers, hair.

  Wodi turned and looked at Peter Remus. The elder looked both pig-like and delicate, his face slack, his eyes scanning something visible only to him. Wodi considered that the man spent most of his time dealing with poor people who had run afoul of the law as well as judges and lawyers and politicians who aspired to positions of power. Peter’s brow furrowed and the spots and lines of the man’s brow sent Wodi into a vision: He saw men in brown, fur-lined jackets meeting in a cold basement to argue the finer points of philosophy, science, belief. Wodi knew that these were the great Founders of Haven who had conspired against the monarchy and the religious leaders of Sunport six hundred years ago.

  Sunport, thought Wodi. That’s where we’re going! The coast, the edge of the wasteland… we’re looking for Haven, just as they were.

  The men debated violently. He saw a portly, wizened old man with dancing words and a mind like a blade; he saw another who spoke softly but looked barbaric, like an animal; he saw another with flaming red hair who took notes to codify their beliefs and debates in writing so that their ideas would live on if they should be found out and killed between this meeting and the next. Wodi laughed violently, for he realized that the faces of the men were those of actors who had played the Founding Fathers in various recorded dramas he had seen in his youth.

  He was shocked again as the men left off from their debate to take part in a ritual. Candles were lit and the men wore robes and masks. This was not taught in schools and there was something perverse about the movements and lengthy, monotonous invocations. Wodi saw the dark branches of the great tree connecting him and his companions to the men of old.

  “Damn the demon!” cried one of the Founders.

  “The demon is death!” the others repeated.

  Did Peter mouth those very words just now? Wodi wondered.

  Even as the men turned and stepped in rhythm with the fireflies, Wodi saw the subtle disagreements that drew lines of conflict among the Founders. He saw that many of them believed that man was made in the image of a great creator, an architect who hid behind the form of things, and it was their sacred duty to free mankind from the chains of demonic ideology so that a vast, wild, and inconceivable creative force could be unleashed upon the universe. He saw that some worshipped the sun, and dreamed of creating a new world fit for a new type of man, and they were willing to kill for their peaceful ideals. Others were obsessed with stories that included a pantheon of gods and heroes. Over and over throughout history they looked for stories and created new ones; just as many times their records were thrown into fires stoked by rulers, pontiffs, hatchetmen. Some observed and recorded and worshipped a world of natural laws and order, while others prayed to dark forces that lived in a world beyond reason. The only thing the Founders had in common was that they hated the flesh demons and hated the line of kings who sacrificed humans to demons in order to survive. But even in that, Wodi could see that some of the men only hated the demons and demon-kings because they hungered for power themselves.

  As the men turned about, hands clasping and unclasping, he saw a large ta
pestry hanging over them. Many great, round gears all intertwined in three sets of ten and then three more, and if one should turn, they all would turn…

  Wodi returned and saw the gray leaves of the tree curling and un-curling in the light of the moon.

  Even in Haven, thought Wodi. They built a land of egalitarianism free of demons and free of brutality. But even in Haven there was an old cancer that bided its time and is now making its presence known.

  “A cave,” said Saul. Wodi turned to him slowly. “There’s a cave down there. Among the stones at the foot of the hill, where the creek turns.”

  Wodi thought about it and realized that the tree must have a mirror image of itself that went down into the earth, into darkness. He looked and saw that Marlon was snoring loudly, his head thrown back into a crushed bird’s nest. Hermann was lost in his own world while Iduna and Peter discussed something among themselves.

  “Let’s go,” said Wodi, and the two scampered down the tree.

  * * *