The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

“You mean we could have just lit a fire last night?”

  “That’s what you’re concerned about?”

  I shook my head. “I kid. I’m terrified.”

  We followed the man through a cold, empty hall. Thin beams of light streamed through the narrow windows, flanking our path like the oars of a boat. The hall led to a winding staircase. We climbed past four landings, each of which I assumed led to a corridor of dormitories, before arriving at a trapdoor in the ceiling of the last floor.

  The man pushed the trapdoor open, and light poured down. He gestured at the opening. King and I climbed out, and the trapdoor slammed shut behind us.

  We were on the roof of the fortress.

  Sitting on the ground a few feet away, his back turned to us, was a pale bald man. He did not seem to be wearing any clothes.

  “Hey,” King said. “Is your name Massah Tsukr?”

  No response. There was a blow of wind, and I caught the familiar, unpleasant whiff of embalming chemicals.

  “Do you smell that?” I whispered.

  King nodded, his expression grim. “Wait here?” he whispered back.

  He took cautious steps towards the naked man. When King was half-way to the man, a shadow fell upon us.

  I looked up. Above us: a mass of feathers and scales, glowing red eyes and claws. It was descending fast.

  “King!” I screamed.

  But he had noticed it. He flitted back to me, just as the hulking monster slam-landed onto the roof, creating a gust of wind that almost threw me off the roof. King grabbed my hand just in time, and his weight brought us toppling near the edge of the roof instead.

  I looked up from the ground, and froze with terror.

  The creature was a humongous thing, with the figure of a reptile, but the snow white fur of a mammal. It had four appendages, each fitted with yellow razor-sharp blades, and a tail that twitched and curled like an amphibian’s. Attached to its lengthy, spiked neck was a beaked head, assorted with crimson orbs I assumed were eyes. Finally, attached to its back was a pair of enormous wings that spanned the length of the entire fort

  Now, those wings were partially folded and curved downwards, cloaking the naked man in their combined shadow.

  The creature let out a deafening shriek.

  “Th-that’s a…” I stammered.

  “Kakiricatura,” King said. Even he sounded incredulous.

  As King and I struggled to our feet, the naked man’s back lit up with several rows of rubriq.

  King gritted his teeth, and his sword started to glow. “I’m going to ask this one more time,” he yelled at the man. “Are you Massah Tsukr?”

  The man’s head started to turn. There was a sickening snap, as the head came around to face us.

  I wanted to throw up. But I fought my stomach’s disapproval.

  The lips on the corpse’s face stretched into an impossible grin. “Sol King,” they hissed.

  King’s shoulders fell. “Puppeteer. Whose body is that?”

  The corpse chuckled. “My closest friend,” it breathed. “And he understood. He understood why this was necessary.”

  “Is that Tsukr’s body, Puppeteer?” King barked. “You muckin’ bastard.”

  The kakiricatura snarled at us.

  “He gave this body up willingly, King,” the Puppeteer said. “Unlike those agents your bosses sent after me.” He laughed. “You don’t know what it’s been like without you. They were so weak, King. They don’t have what we have.”

  King narrowed his eyes. “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Did you know that I grew up here?” the Puppeteer said, his voice gentler all of a sudden. “Massah and I. Ours was a cold childhood, filled with pain and training and death. The other children, they were content to simply do as they were told, making themselves into machines that would later be used for nothing more than the fleeting political caprices of foolish men. But me…me…I wondered…” He paused. “I wondered who we were, what was out there. I wanted to know my identity.”

  As I listened, I thought I saw a glint of something in those dead eyes: emotion.

  Then, the corpse’s lips twisted into a sneer. “The others laughed at me; one boy in particular. He was the largest of us. And the most arrogant.” A dark laugh. “He thought identity was overrated. I needed to show him. Show him that everybody needs an identity. So I did the only logical thing. I took his away from him.”

  His lips spread again.

  “No…” I whispered.

  “I cornered him, beat him up, tied him down.” He paused. “Took off his face.”

  Silence.

  “Massah helped me escape that night,” the Puppeteer continued. “And for the longest time, I searched for who I was, who I was supposed to be.” He paused, as his eyes rested meaningfully on King. “And then I met you.”

  “Don’t drag me into your mucked up fantasy,” King snarled.

  “Suddenly, everything made sense,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “You are one of the greatest agents of this generation. And I was—no, I am—the one destined to kill you.”

  “Tell me where you really are,” King said, “and you can give it a shot. I’m not making any promises though. I am quite difficult to kill.”

  “Of course.” The corpse cocked its head, and I heard another subtle crunch. Then, to my utter surprise, it said, “You will find me at the Rai Sing arena of the Rim world.”

  “You could have found a way to tell us that sooner,” King said. “It would’ve saved us the trip here.”

  “True, my dear King,” the Puppeteer cooed. “But what’s the fun in that?”

  After uttering those words, his eyes fell on me for the first time, and it sent chills up my spine. Curiosity laced his face. Without averting his gaze, he said, “See you soon, Mister King.”

  Immediately, the kakiricatura roared, and a river of fire poured out of its beak and onto the corpse.

  “Jump!” King cried.

  We leapt off the fort, as the flames swallowed the roof. On my way down, I grabbed onto the bare branch of a tree. Pain shot down from my fingers to my shoulders as I dangled.

  King landed like a feline on a nearby branch.

  We both looked up, as the kakiricatura let out its final cry, flapped its wings, and disappeared into the grey sky.

  CHAPTER 53

  I stared at the white wall, lost in my own thoughts. I could barely feel the smarting of antiseptic on my arm, or the tingle of regenerative mana on my thigh.

  “Arra?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Arra.”

  I looked down. Po was on her knees, healing my bullet wound.

  “I asked you to pass me the skin-spritz,” she said, annoyed.

  “Oh, sorry.” I looked through the assortment of medical supplies on the bedside table, and handed her a small chrome can. She sprayed all over the red, newly formed muscle, and my own dark skin started to grow over it.

  King and I had returned to the Auroran Beta base a few hours ago. Whilst he was reporting to the Director, I was in the infirmary, getting fixed.

  I didn’t feel like talking. There was a sickness at the pit of my stomach that would not go away.

  “You alright?” Po asked me, as she worked.

  “Not really,” I admitted. “I keep thinking that I can’t be shocked anymore, and then something horrible happens, or I learn something disgusting. He killed his best friend, Po. Killed him and took over his body. He cut of a little boy’s face, when he was just a little boy himself. I’ve always believed that monsters are made, not born. But this man…”

  Po worked silently for a few moments. “Yeah,” she finally mumbled, “Our baddies tend to be a little on the psycho side. It takes some getting used to. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You’ve done fine so far.”

  I was taken aback. “You complimented me.”

  Po looked up. “Huh? No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did. You said I’ve done fine so far.”
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  “If you think that’s a compliment your standards are very low,” Po grumbled.

  “Still,” I said, “I’m pretty sure it’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.” I paused. “Thanks.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered.

  There was a knock on the door, followed by Kay’s hulking figure. “Hey sweet,” he said, grinning. “Feelin’ better?”

  I smiled back, and nodded.

  “Good, because the Director said to tell you both we’re movin’ in two hours. Private shuttle to the Rim is already on standby.” Then he handed Po a silver briefcase, and left.

  Po handed me the case.

  I opened it.

  A pair of Tundra blades gleamed up at me.

  “This is new,” I said.

  “No muck. I convinced the Director to have a spare made in case something happened to the first one. She didn’t think it was necessary.” Po said. “Surprise, surprise.”

  I frowned. “And this was cheaper than simply putting a retrace spell on the first one?”

  “Believe it or not, it was. Try not to lose this pair. Do you have any idea how expensive these things are?”

  As I regarded the blades, something hit me. “Wait,” I said, “so King is just supposed to believe that Fey Watters had a spare pair of Tundra blades? How do I explain this to him?”

  “How did you explain not being able to recall your instrument in the field?” she asked, giving me a look.

  I started to say something, and stopped.

  “Give it up,” Po muttered, standing up. “I know that King knows you’re not Fey Watters.”

  “You do?”

  “Everybody does,” Po said. “Including the Director.”

  Now, I was very confused. “Wait? Does King know that you know that he knows that I’m not Fey Watters?”

  Po shrugged. “Probably.”

  I blinked, unable to believe what I was hearing. “So…” I said, “if he knows that you know that he knows, what’s the point of all this? What the muck am I doing here?”

  “You’re doing exactly what you were brought here to do,” Po said, without looking at me. “Be Fey Watters.”

  “Except now he knows that I’m not.”

  “So just keep doing whatever you’re doing,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “What the muck does that matter to you?” Po snapped. “Your job is to keep him working. ‘Why’ is not, and has never been, any of your business. In a few hours, we may finally have the Puppeteer in our hands. The only question you need to ask right now is whether you want to be around when we do. Do you want the Puppeteer as badly as we do?”

  I glared at Po, but eventually muttered, “Yes. More.”

  “Then you’ll shut up and ride this out,” she said.

  I was silent as she packed away the medical supplies. She turned to me when she was done, less angry.

  “This is all going to be over soon,” she said, softly. “If we do succeed in assassinating the Puppeteer, the Director has alerted me to revoke your Agency access. You will not return here, Arra. You will especially not have any more contact with Sol King. You will go back to your life, and Beta will mean nothing to you—a dream of a dream. Do you understand that?”

  I nodded.

  Po looked almost relieved. “Good,” she said.

  The door opened, and King stepped in. His eyes met with mine. He smiled. “Hey.”

  I tried to smile back.

  “I’m finished here,” Po said. “Going to get ready.”

  She stepped out, and closed the door behind her.

  King stuffed his hands into his pocket. “So,” he said, “We move out in a couple of hours. Crazy, huh? This could actually be the end of the Puppeteer assignment.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Crazy.”

  “You must be excited.”

  “I am,” I said, without thinking about it. But right after I’d spoken, I realized that I really wasn’t. Why wasn’t I more excited?

  We stared at each other for a few moments.

  “You should come back,” King finally said. “To the Agency, I mean. You’ve got potential.”

  “Oh?”

  He nodded. “You were very good in Floris.”

  That surprised me. “Thanks.”

  “Well, you really weren’t,” King said. “You were actually sort of terrible.”

  I couldn’t believe him. “Seriously?”

  “I had to keep saving you. I saved you about a hundred times.”

  “I saved you too,” I cried. “You were going to drown, and I did the thing with the flitting and the shooting out of the water, remember?”

  King looked sceptical. “Are you sure?”

  “Um, yes I’m sure.”

  “No, I mean: are you sure I was drowning. That’s not how I remember it.”

  “What? How do you remember it?”

  “I’m pretty sure I was just resting my eyes,” King said.

  “I’m pretty sure you weren’t.”

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure I was.”

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure you weren’t,” I snapped.

  He laughed, and I shook my head. “You’re such a rump hole,” I said, but I couldn’t help smiling, and then, laughing.

  We laughed till we were out of breath.

  “Seriously though,” King finally said, as he wiped away his tears of laughter. “You should come back after we’re through with this mission.”

  I stopped and looked away. “I—I don’t think that…”

  “I’ll have a word with the Director, you can intensify your training,” he said. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  I pursed my lips.

  “The least you can do is think about it,” he said. “Promise me that you’ll at least think about it.”

  I smiled, and nodded. “I will.”

  King smiled. “Good.”

  A knock on the door. Imp’s head came around it. He thumbed in the direction of the conference room.

  “Mission brief,” King explained. “Looks like the Director is just as eager as we are. Shall we?”

  “Let’s,” I said. I jumped off the bed, and followed King out of the room. I closed the door behind me.

  CHAPTER 54

  The Rim: it was the last of the five known worlds. Ravaged by fifty years of territorial war—what the rest of the worlds had come to call the Rim Wars—it was a wasteland of red skies, crumbling cities, poisoned waters, and cratered fields.

  Just hours ago, the team and I had teleported to the Rim’s derelict Terminal via a private shuttle. Here in the capital state, Sector A, there were next to no civilians. Even now, as our hover carrier flew north, through the Rim’s perpetually red skies, I looked back at the world’s Pillar, and felt a quiet sense of despair for this dimension. Unlike on other worlds, where the Pillar stretched heavenward in seeming infinitude, here it was clearly truncated at barely thirty thousand feet high; the consequence of poorly regulated greystone mining. I had heard that in farther, surrounding sectors, civilians could not even see the Pillar.

  I could not imagine it. Not being able to see my world’s Pillar.

  Learners predicted that in two decades, the Rim’s Pillar would be too weak to support teleportation any longer. This world would be lost, impossible to visit again, impossible to escape. But, maybe that was okay. The Rim was hardly a tourist destination anyway.

  It was the perfect retreat for a corpse-controlling psychopath though.

  Inside the hover carrier, there was grim silence. We had gone over the plan twice already; the blueprints of the Puppeteer’s base, thrice. We had suited up in protective gear. I was armoured in a black, lightweight, polycarbonate suit. I had seen both Kay and Imp’s instruments now. Kay’s instrument was a pair of blood-tinged, stone gauntlets called Monolith. Imp’s was a bronze, longbow—Zefferus. I was surrounded by competence. I should have felt more assured, but my nerves were still getting the better of me.

  I felt Kay
’s hand on my shoulder. I looked up at his reassuring face.

  “You’ll be fine,” he mouthed.

  “Who are you listening to?” I asked, because I could hear the music spilling from his headphones.

  “Grate Escape.”

  I’d never heard of them. “May I?”

  He handed me his headphones, and I immersed myself in the roaring, electric strings. I wasn’t the biggest rhymestone fan, but it was a good song, and it had good rhymes.

  After that song ended, I gave him back his headset, and closed my eyes. I kept going over the plan in my head.

  After maybe an hour, I felt Kay’s gentle prods.

  “Ey, we’re here,” he said.

  I looked out the window. Below us was the Rai Sing arena. Or, what remained of it anyway.

  Approximately a throw in diameter, with a seating capacity of two hundred thousand, the Rai Sing arena had once been the largest functioning hoverball arena, a miracle of modern architecture. The structure had ended up collateral damage of the war. Many of the outer walls lay in ruins, and sections of the inner steel frame stuck out like the exposed bones of a terrible injury.

  And within the walls, instead of the vibrant green of a hoverball field, the heart of the arena was caked entirely in a dull layer of red clay. Nobody knew why. There was the theory that some mining corporation had turned the arena into a dumping ground during the first decade of the war. Then, there was the more unsettling theory that the first decade had been so brutal, and produced so many countless casualties, that warlords had chosen to deposit the rotting bodies of their enemies in the middle of the field. The United Worlds Alliance had supposedly covered the field with clay as a kind of formal burial, a show of respect to the dead.

  The Puppeteer was hiding somewhere in that horrible building. I had to hand it to him; he sure knew how to pick them.

  Our hover carrier descended into a street about a block away from the arena. The door swung open, and we climbed out one by one.

  “Arm your instruments,” King commanded, as he unsheathed his blade.

  Po twirled her staff; Imp put a hand to his bow and formed a bright blue arrow out of pure mana; Kay’s gauntlets produced curved blades made out of orange light. Each of their instruments lit up with rubriq. I pulled out Tundra II from the scabbards at my back.