The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

  King nodded. “Let’s go.”

  We followed him down the street, and through a few alleyways. Soon, we broke out of the shadows, and into the open. The afternoon skies were blazing, and the ground was hazy with heat. We were in an enormous parking area; rusty transporters littered the place. The Rai Sing building was only a few moments away.

  “You think he has surveillance cameras?” Po asked.

  Kay frowned. “That’d be cold.”

  “The blueprints don’t say anything about surveillance,” King said. “We’ll proceed as planned, assume that he does.”

  We each tried to stay hidden from sight, sneaking from transporter to transporter. Finally, we spotted the back entrance to the building. The metal gate had eroded to nothing; it was practically an open door.

  King signalled at us to turn on our radios.

  We’re going to flit across the park, King said. And, you should go first Imp. You’re fastest.

  Imp nodded, and came around from behind his transporter. Just as he prepared to move, the sound of grinding concrete echoed at us from the arena. I looked up over my transporter.

  There was a hole, opening up in the side of the building. A cylindrical metal device slid out into view.

  “What the muck is that?” I asked.

  King had already slipped on his recon goggles, and he was staring at the metal cylinder. His brow furrowed. “Is that a…”

  The mouth of the cylinder suddenly lit up with a ball of dazzling, purple flames.

  “Cannon!” King screamed. “Move, move, move!”

  We scattered, just as the purple ball came hurtling towards us. Something behind me went up in a deafening explosion.

  As I ran, more transporters blew up to my left and right. I spotted Po and Kay, running a distance ahead of me. One transporter jumped up in flames, obscuring my view of them, and falling in my direction. I dove out of the way, rolled back to my feet, and kept running. Purple fire rained down all around me.

  There had to be more than one cannon.

  I spared a quick glimpse at the Rai Sing building. It seemed that as we ran the circumference of the building, more ports opened up in the walls. The damn attack system was following us.

  Po and Kay started to flash flit. I did the same, maintaining a steady rhythm of vacuum-swaddle-propel. Soon, the rain of fire was far behind us.

  “Where’re King and Imp?” I yelled, as we flitted side by side.

  Po pointed. King and Imp had ran in the opposite direction, and now, they were coming from the other side of the building.

  We met in the middle, sliding to a stop behind an enormous delivery truck. Now, it was the front entrance to the building that was in sight. But it was sealed behind a mountain of rubble.

  “The cannons on this side of the building are going to appear any moment,” King said. “We need a plan.”

  “Ey, I could clear the rubble at the front entrance,” Kay said. “A few punches are all it’ll take. It’ll be cake.”

  King frowned. “Needs too much mana. And the cannons on this side will be opened before you can finish. We’re going to do this the old fashioned way.”

  Already I could hear the explosions on both sides of the building coming our way, closing in.

  “We’re going to take the cannons down?” Po asked.

  “Exactly. We’ll split up again and meet at the back entrance. Except, this time we’re returning fire. Imp, you follow Fey back the way she came. Kay, Po, come with me.”

  I tried not to show my surprise. I was only a rookie; why was he was putting me in a two-man team?

  “Fey and Imp have the highest accuracy rates. They’ll be fine together,” he explained, as if for the benefit of the entire team. “The three of us though, we need all the help we can get.”

  I forced a smile for him. I knew he wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true, but now my nerves were through the roof.

  The ports were opening nearer and nearer to our side of the building. We were almost in the line of fire now.

  “Ready?” King asked, and then cried: “Go!”

  I shot out from behind the truck.

  A new port had just opened, and a cannon was sliding out. Before I could even ready my first bolt, Imp jumped out in front of me, and pulled at his bow. Blue light streaked out from his fingertips. The cannon blew to smithereens.

  Imp winked at me, as if to say, ‘That’s how it’s done.’

  I hesitated, and then, before I could lose my nerve, leapt atop a transporter bonnet, and let a double fisted bolt fly from my knuckles. The bolt hit the base of another cannon, and brought it crashing to the ground.

  I whooped, and then quickly flitted off the transporter before a cannon took it to the air in flames. Just as I landed, Imp appeared at my side.

  I watched him release a few more arrows, and blow up a few more cannons. I smiled to myself, and charged my fists.

  The next time I moved, I was unafraid. The falling flames were no longer perils to be evaded—they were only obstacles that slowed me down. I jumped from transporter to transporter, delivering rapid-fire bolts with every throw of my fists. One of the fireballs reached me and time seemed to slow down; I performed a lateral flip over the flaming projectile, firing back a bolt of my own. My bolt reached the cannon just as it started to release another fireball. The resulting effect was an explosion so powerful that it tore down two more adjacent cannons.

  The thrill was like nothing I had ever felt before.

  I ran faster, jumped higher, threw harder, as the exchange of fire intensified. It wasn’t long before the back entrance to the arena was in view again. I intercepted a few airborne fireballs with my bolts, so that Imp could get a clear shot of their cannons. He blew up the last three cannons in sight.

  About a moment later, King, Po, and Kay flitted to a stop in front of us. We all turned to face the open entrance.

  “Outer perimeter, clear. You guys ready for Phase Two?” King asked.

  We nodded, and armed our instruments again.

  “Cyclone formation,” he ordered. “Move.”

  We formed a ring with our backs to each other, and made our way across the parking lot. One moment, we were stepping into the shade of the building’s overhanging dome; the next, we were in the cool of the building. A few more moments, and I couldn’t even see the light from the back entrance. We were surrounded by darkness. Darkness, impenetrable. Darkness, tangible.

  I was in the Puppeteer’s lair.

  CHAPTER 55

  I could smell him. Sweet, spicy, subtle—skyweed. I opened my eyes, and King’s face was hovering over mine.

  “Morning beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in.

  His breath was warm, his lips: fire. Our kiss was deep, boundlessly fulfilling, and still, infinitely unsatisfying. I was laughing against his mouth before he was done.

  “Good morning to you too,” I said, when he’d drawn back.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby.”

  “You looked like a baby,” he teased, his fingers running through my hair.

  “I should say flattery will get you nowhere, but I’d be lying.”

  “Damn. Now, I wish the Director hadn’t just called.”

  I wiggled from under him, and snatched my cell-comm off the bedside cabinet. There was a missed call logged in. I swore. “She’s going to kill me. You answered yours, I presume.”

  “S.I.’s throwing an old case our way. Something about a political assassin who keeps cutting his victims’ faces off.”

  “Wow, that’s discreet.”

  “Tell me about it. They suspect he started the fire that killed Vice Chancellor Gondo.”

  “Thought that was a gas leak.”

  “Apparently not. Shower?”

  “You go first.”

  I watched as he slipped out of his drawers. He winked at me, before stepping into the bathroom. I grinned, and shook my head.

  When I heard the shower running, I got out of b
ed, threw on a robe, and walked out onto the hotel room balcony. I gazed out at the beautiful Hitian metropolis, breathing in the cool, salty breeze.

  This was it. The kind of life I’d dreamed of for years. Expensive suites, a gorgeous boy, a job I was good at. Correction: a job I was brilliant at. Everything was perfect.

  I must’ve lost track of time, because suddenly, I felt King’s arms slip in from behind me and pull me to his chest. He planted his lips along my neck.

  “Credit for your thoughts,” he breathed.

  I smiled. “Can you handle them?”

  “I like to think I’ve been pretty good at handling you this morning.”

  I hit him on the head, and he laughed.

  “Seriously love,” he said. “Just say whatever’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

  “I—“ I said, “I think we should get married.”

  Complete silence. Then, I felt his hug loosen.

  “What’s wrong with the way things are now?” he asked.

  I swallowed. This was already not going the way I had expected. “I don’t know,” I said, weakly. “I’ve just always wanted to do it, you know—the duplex apartment, the little tykes running around with their little toys, parent-teacher meetings, the whole pie.”

  King was quiet for a while. “You don’t think we’d be rushing things a little?” he finally said.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Rushing things? How long have we been doing this, Sol? You know what? Forget it,” I said, slipping out of his arms. “Forget I even brought it up.”

  “Fey, come on,” he called after me, as I stomped to the bathroom. “Fey! Come back.”

  I locked the bathroom door, and stepped into the shower. The first warm drops of water splashed against my face. The lump in my throat was too thick; I kept swallowing hard. Tears welled up, and I started to shudder. I cried, as the water fell.

  Then, suddenly, the falling water was rain.

  It was dark, windy; the skies were overwhelmed with forks of lightning. There was a glass mansion ahead, on a tiled compound, surrounded by shuddering palmae trees.

  My earpiece was crackling. King’s voice, angry, frantic, desperate: Breakpoint Op is a bust. I repeat, Breakpoint Op is a bust. All operatives, fall back now, fall back now!

  But I couldn’t fall back.

  “I see him, King,” I said, panting because I was running. “The muckhead’s right in front of me. I can take him. I swear I will bring his muck-ugly rump down.”

  Disengage Watters. That is an order.

  I reached the side of the building, leapt onto some metal rungs, and climbed.

  The entire island is sinking, Fey. Disengage. Do you hear me? You don’t even have any backup!

  “Then get me backup,” I snapped, hoisting myself onto the rooftop.

  The getaway carrier was just about to lift off. I blasted the spinning rotors, and they gave, in a shower of brilliant sparks. The carrier spun back down, crashing neatly back onto its marked landing pad.

  I kept my hand outstretched as I approached the carrier. “Step out of the machine,” I roared above the rain. “Now. Do not compel me to use deadly force.”

  The carrier hatch jolted open, and a man I assumed was the pilot sprung out, screaming manically. I could see the profusion of recently etched rubriq on his forehead; he’d been spelled.

  He came swinging, like a mad man. I dodged his first couple of attacks, caught his third punch in my palm. Then, swinging a leg over his head, I gripped his neck between my thighs, and pulled him to the ground. One punch to the face, and he was out.

  “You are just as fun as she was, aren’t you?” I heard a powerful, sonorous voice say.

  I hopped back to my feet, and drew Tundra. Another man was stepping out of the carrier: a hulking monster of a man with a horribly scarred scalp. His trench coat billowed in the wind, around and about his rippling exposed chest.

  “Get on your knees, muck-face, and maybe I won’t hurt you too badly,” I warned.

  He looked around, like he was lost. “But, for light’s sake, this is turning into a regular guessing game, isn’t it?”

  “I said: get on your knees.”

  He looked annoyed with himself. “I really need to fine-tune this thing. Maybe add a fast forward button.”

  I blasted a bolt at him, missing his head by units. He rested his eyes on me again.

  “The next time,” I said, “I’ll put a hole in your brain. I’ll only say this one more time: get on your flaming knees.”

  “Fine, fine, let’s get this over with.” He looked bored when he reached behind his back, and produced a sword of absurdly colossal proportions. The tip of his blade sunk heavily into the concrete roof with a clang. “Oh, by the way,” he boomed. “Brace yourself.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth, when everything tilted—the building, the rain, the sky. I began to lose my footing. The carrier slid off the rooftop. Everything was at an incline.

  The island was sinking.

  The Puppeteer grinned. “Put’em up, sweetheart.” He flitted up at me.

  I attacked back, and…I was in water. A lot of water. The waves were mighty, and I struggled uselessly against them. Salt invaded my mouth with every gasp for air. The building was gone. The palmae trees were gone. The island was gone.

  “King,” I screamed. “King, can you hear me?”

  My radio connection was gone.

  There were floodlights cutting through the air, and I could vaguely make out the sound of whirling rotors. There were rescue carriers above me.

  “Help,” I cried, waving. “I’m over here. Help!”

  One floodlight arced in my direction, and I felt hope. I waved harder.

  And then, suddenly, I wasn’t waving. I was in a chair, staring at a wooden door. I blinked; I felt drugged. It was dank in here. And cramped. I looked up: cobwebs mantled the ceiling in thick, fleecy streams. A single light bulb dangled from a wire, its emission weak. On my right, there was a table, and a tray. In the tray, there were tools. Surgical tools. I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I was tied to my chair.

  The door creaked open, and the Puppeteer stepped in. He looked around approvingly, and grinned. “Finally, the right memory.”

  “Where am I?” I slurred.

  “I apologize about before,” he said, slipping off his coat, and hanging it up on a nail in the wall. “Needless to say, I haven’t quite perfected the memory graft spell yet. Everything back there was so choppy: jumping from memory to memory like that. Messy. But you try micro-spelling a remote-controllable dream sequence into a delivery particulate the size of a pollen grain.”

  “What did you do to me?” I wheezed.

  He came up to me, licking his lips excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you’d ask that. I was praying. This is going to blow you away. You need to sit down for this one. Ha-ha! Small joke. Anyway.” He paused, and grinned. “I hacked your mind.”

  My vision wobbled. “What?”

  “Came up with it last week. Absolute genius, if I do say so myself. Except for the kinks. But I’ll fix them. Hopefully.”

  “I—“ I swallowed, and exhaled shakily. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ugh. Simpleton. I wanted us to have a little chitchat. So I used an airborne neurological agent, specifically engineered to your bio-mana signature, to implant a foreign memory into your brain, remote hijack it at my convenience, and jaw it out with you here in your own subconscious.”

  Even at half my wit, I was incredulous. “You did what?”

  “Of course, it would have been easier to hijack one of your own memories, but unfortunately, we have not had the pleasure of sharing an encounter intimate or extensive enough to serve my purposes. Thankfully, I have such a fantastic brain. I theorized that your hijinks masquerading as Fey Watters would have made you adequately susceptible to her memories. It was either that, or the implant would have put you in a permanently catatonic state.” He looked thoughtful. “Also, your brain could have
exploded. But that was a small maybe.” He demonstrated with his fingers. “Really slim chance. But forget that. Hey! Look how wonderfully this all turned out. Tell me you’re not impressed.”

  I was getting peeved. “You’re crazy,” I croaked. “And I am Fey Watters.”

  He frowned. “No. No, you’re not.” He pulled a notebook and a pen out of a rusty cabinet, and started to scratch frantically, muttering under his breath, “Patient seems to be suffering mild delusional state. Has assumed identity of memory donor.”

  “I’m Fey Watters, muck-face.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said, still writing. “You’re Arra Everglade. And none of this is real. Well, I am. In a transcendental sort of way, I am. But nothing else is real.”

  “Pitch-muck. Stop playing games.”

  He looked up. “I can’t afford to play games, Miss Everglade. I’m only explaining all this, because I need you in your right state of mind. I estimate three moments at most, before I pick up one of those surgical tools right there, and this memory turns very ugly, very quickly. I was a lot less patient back then, you see? So snap out of your delusions, and answer me something.”

  I was so confused. Now, strangely familiar images were flashing into my head: a young girl dressed up in feathers, a Phyllian with long hair laughing with me on a balcony, a Ruby man with silver hair and golden eyes, a derelict sports arena, cannons.

  His hand clasped by face, and squeezed. “Why were you chosen to replace Fey Watters?”

  I don’t know what you’re talking about, I should have said. But my head was all fuddled. I wasn’t sure I knew what was going on.

  “Why, Miss Everglade?” he whispered. “What makes you so damn special?”

  Then, just like that, I was lucid. I knew who I was.

  I stared him in the eye. “Go to bleak.”

  “You are wasting my time, Everglade.” He picked up a scalpel from the tray. “Do not assume for a fraction, that because we’re in your head, this won’t hurt like muck.”

  “I don’t know why they chose me!”

  “Are you sure? Because King, the way he looks at you.” He grinned slyly. “Nah demoor, e ju-t’reh myh,” he uttered, his K’har smooth. “I need to know if you are worth my time, Everglade. I only have one more shot at this.”