Fire of the Dark Triad

by Asya Semenovich

  He had to pass through a common area on his way, and he really hoped it would be empty this time. But Hilgor was there, slowly pacing back and forth, his head slightly tilted, indicating that he was fully immersed in his work. Nick tried to quietly slip by, but Hilgor abruptly stopped and peered at Nick with keen intensity.

  “How is it going?” he asked, and something in his voice suggested that it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “You are spending all your time in the control room. Nick, you almost don’t sleep.”

  Nick casually leaned against the wall. “I know, I haven’t been around much these past few days,” he said in an upbeat tone. “Don’t take it personally. I just need to keep a closer eye on the ship’s systems.”

  “What’s wrong with the ship, Nick?” Hilgor asked quickly.

  Nick hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t mentioned to his passengers that he had skipped a safety stop after crossing the Y-3 Mirror Sector boundary, and that the ship’s autopilot had been progressively failing as a result. But it was becoming too hard to maintain the illusion of business as usual, and they were at the end of their journey anyway.

  “There was a glitch in the navigation system, and I’ve had to intervene manually. But we are almost home. Another two days if I don’t get us lost,” Nick forgot to smile, and Hilgor looked at him with genuine concern.

  “We’ll be alright, Hilgor,” Nick said calmly. “I just need to stay awake a little bit longer.”

  It indeed took another forty-eight hours before Kir alerted Nick that their ship was entering Earth’s traffic control range.

  “Just in time, Kir,” Nick exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. By that time, he was so tired that he had to repeat every task in his head several times before he dared to act on it. “Pass the controls to the Dispatch Center, specify Headhunter HQ as the destination. Check on the ambulance status.”

  “Our route confirmation has been received. The ambulance is on the way,” Kir replied.

  Nick shut his eyes and for one split second fell into a black nothingness. He woke with a jolt, grabbed a patch from his pocket and slapped it on his wrist.

  “Nick, the accumulation of stimulants in your system exceeds the maximum safe dose by 5.71 times. The probability of heart failure …” started Kir, but Nick dismissed the message with a wave of his hand.

  His focus returned, and he switched all his attention on the expanding image of the emergency medical transporter. It was moving at top speed, and in a few seconds was mooring nearby.

  “Kir, release the sick bay module,” said Nick, and a large oblong object detached from his ship. It floated toward the ambulance, which quickly sucked it into the cargo area and darted away.

  “Goodbye,” said Nick. There was nothing else he could do, but, unsurprisingly, there was no sense of relief. She was still dying, and everything now hinged on the question of whether or not her condition was recoverable by Earth’s medical technology. For a moment, he imagined receiving the news that she was not going to make it, and it made him lightheaded.

  “Kir, prepare for arrival,” he said, and pushing himself up from his chair, he left the cabin.

  His passengers had been waiting in the common room; their belongings, including the bulky holder with Reish’s work and Hilgor’s shabby armchair, were neatly lined up against the wall. Hilgor seemed to be appropriately wound up for the occasion, but Reish looked too sick to care.

  “Welcome to Earth. Kir, display the external camera feed on the main screen,” said Nick and briefly glanced at the images that spanned the wall.

  All newcomers from the Mirror Worlds reacted to the constellations of Orbit’s floating structures in the same way, and Reish and Hilgor weren’t exceptions; awe on their faces put a brief smile on Nick’s face.

  The ship was instantly cleared for landing and zoomed past the enormous formations of the Orbit belt, beginning its rapid descent towards Earth’s capital city.

  Berlin was another sight that caused people to hold their breaths. Practical considerations played a minimal role in its architecture, and the artistic freedom had turned the city into a gigantic sculpture. It was overwhelmingly gorgeous, and even those who weren’t particularly appreciative of spatial aesthetics were still affected by its mere scale and complexity.

  The dramatic view of the skyline gave way to the sight of individual buildings, and the ship entered the canyons of the inner districts. Reish gasped and tightly gripped her knees as they joined a chaotic swarm of flying objects, whizzing by so fast that it was impossible to make out their exact shapes or sizes.

  “Don’t you worry, traffic control hasn’t failed in centuries,” said Nick reassuringly, but it didn’t seem to convince her, and she remained stiffly frozen in the same awkward posture until they finally stopped in the shade of a tall angular building. The gates promptly opened, letting them inside the internal parking dock.

  “Nick, you can disembark now,” said Kir.

  The arrival area had been thoughtfully designed to reduce newcomers’ anxiety by conveying an enthusiastic message of universal welcome, but Nick stepped off the jet bridge with a bad feeling. He didn’t expect an especially friendly greeting this time.

  An outlier intake team immediately surrounded his passengers, cutting him off, and he suddenly found himself standing alone. He looked around the intimately familiar hall in slight confusion. Not that he anticipated an armed squad to arrest him on the spot, but he nevertheless assumed that someone would confront him right away. The authorities already knew about his misdemeanors – he had sent his report a while ago, right after he crossed the Mirror Wall, and transmissions could reach Earth. He had crafted his statement very carefully and omitted everything that should be skipped, including the exact nature of his relationship with Lita, but he did give a detailed account of his first meeting with Remir, and the last scene when Remir was shot. He hoped to prove that bringing Lita was an accident and not a predetermined action on his part. He had no illusions, however, that despite his careful editing, the Beta Blue story looked rather bad. And, of course, on top of everything else there was his unsanctioned detour to Y-3.

  He started to think that he would be notified of disciplinary actions remotely and hesitantly moved towards the exit when a woman in a government uniform suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

  “Elisabeth,” she said curtly, without a veneer of custom cordiality, and beamed Kir her credentials. Her title made Nick blink – under different circumstances he would have been flattered by the personal attention of such high-ranking official. And she most likely was a Dark Triad – there was no other reason her name was so non-Commonwealth sounding. Of course, she could have been an outlier’s partner, but Nick recognized the eyes.

  “We saw your report,” she looked at Nick with mild distaste, as if he was still covered with dirt and blood. “Did you keep the raw metrics from Remir Autran’s test?”

  Nick nodded. He had filed the encrypted file in Kir’s memory back then, following the standard protocol of outlier assessment; he didn’t know that he wouldn’t need it.

  “Excellent. Send it to me,” she said.

  “Sure. What’s it for?”

  “It doesn’t concern the Headhunter Association,” she said affably. It’s none of your business, said her eyes.

  Nick shrugged, “Kir, share Remir Autran’s file.”

  Strange, he thought, why would the government be interested in a dead outlier? But he didn’t have a chance to dwell on the subject.

  “We have decided not to press legal charges against you for bringing a Mirror World commoner to Earth, but your professional license has been revoked,” continued Elisabeth with an impenetrable expression. “Alya, connect him to the Headhunter Association,” her tone softened slightly as she addressed her implant.

  “They’ll process your termination,” explained Elisabeth, “and then I’
ll walk you out of the building.”

  An incoming call request flashed in Nick’s vision.

  “Kir, accept,” said Nick. He didn’t have any doubt that this was coming. A communication window opened up, and the face of a vaguely familiar company administrator showed up on the screen.

  “I regret to inform you that we’ve cancelled your contract,” the video connection was one-sided, and the man was looking slightly above Nick’s eyes. “I assume you don’t need an explanation.”

  “No, not really,” Nick was glad that they had spared him the disciplinary lecture. “I get it.”

  “Please relinquish all headhunter-specific programs.”

  Nick was ready for that too, but he nevertheless felt a tight knot in his stomach.

  “Right away, please,” added the administrator uncomfortably. He clearly was not enjoying this task.

  Not a big deal, Nick told himself firmly, headhunters weren’t allowed to use their software at home anyway. “Kir, provide access to the proprietary programs,” he said in a calm tone. This mess wasn’t the company representative’s fault.

  The man exhaled and nodded.

  “I am starting the delete sequence. After that the outlier’s award will be transferred to your bank account, and we are officially separated,” he said, and an explosion of warnings flashed on Nick’s internal screens.

  “Nick, I’ve been downgraded to civilian status,” Kir’s voice was accompanied by the soft but persistent sound of system failure alarms. “The following capabilities have been lost: Mirror edge navigation, neuro-transmission …”

  The list of deleted programs was long, and waiting for Kir to finish, Nick glanced at Elisabeth, who was standing a couple of steps away. Her icy expression didn’t make him feel any better, but he forgot all about it the moment Kir sent him an urgent contact request from the Emergency Medical Center. Nick propped himself against the wall and closed his eyes.

  “Don’t die,” he said aloud, “please, don’t die.”

  He then mentally stepped off the edge of the cliff by ordering Kir to accept the call.

  A composed woman in a hospital uniform appeared on the communication screen. “Thank you for choosing our services,” she said in a professionally dispassionate voice. “We sincerely apologize for the delay in contacting you, but the medical team just finished evaluating the patient’s condition. The damage is significant, especially to her brain tissues. We …”

  “Will she live?” Nick pushed the words out almost without sound, but the woman understood.

  “Yes,” she said with a sudden glimpse of genuine compassion, “her physical and cognitive functions will be fully restored. We have already started the treatment, and we’re expecting your payment immediately,” she returned to her impersonal tone. “Do you have any questions?”

  The sickly sensation in Nick’s chest began to regress, leaving behind a nauseous residue, but his mind had already returned to its logical self, dismissing the dull heartache as an unhelpful distraction.

  “When can I talk to her?”

  “The full regeneration process could take up to three months, and she will have to remain in an induced coma for the duration of the treatment.”

  Nick cleared his throat. It sounded like an eternity, but it didn’t matter; nothing really mattered except for the fact that in the end Lita would walk out of the hospital alive.

  “It’s alright,” he said, “thank you. I am sending the money right away.”

  He glanced at the bill and beamed the amount, only slightly registering that the transfer almost emptied his bank account.

  “Hello? Excuse me!” Elisabeth waved, attracting his attention. “By the way, it’s very noble of you to spend so much on a Mirror World acquaintance.” Elisabeth turned her head back, “Especially considering that she won’t even get a chance to thank you for it.”

  “Why’s that?” he stopped, feeling a funny sensation in his stomach.

  “I assume you know the laws,” the woman turned around so smoothly as if she was expecting it. “The woman will be deported to her home M-237 right after her hospital discharge. We are already violating the rules by letting her stay on Earth for the duration of her treatment.”

  Nick stared at Elisabeth’s face. Her words just hung in the air, not making any sense, but everything became a notch too bright.

  “For security reasons we won’t wake her up until her delivery to the originating point. She won’t know she ever left. It’ll spare her an unnecessary psychological shock as well.”

  “But wait …” Nick’s mind finally switched on, and the whole thing sank in, “she will be killed there, for sure, by the military. You said you’ve seen my report.”

  “She doesn’t have a relation to a living outlier.”

  “But there must be …” Nick was desperately trying to contain a rising panic, “just give me a moment …” He couldn’t follow Lita to M-237, not without his border navigation software.

  “I am listening,” Elisabeth’s expression remained politely restrained, but there was a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  “You don’t have to return her to M-237,” Nick said hurriedly. “Please, just drop us off anywhere outside the Commonwealth.”

  “Us?” her eyes fixated on his face with sudden interest. “And just why are you so wound up about this? First world guilt? For a headhunter, seriously?” Now she was looking at him with unmistakable sarcasm, “Are you sure you didn’t miss something important in your report?”

  Nick knew that his panicked silence wasn’t making things better, but his mind went hopelessly blank. Thankfully, she didn’t want to waste her time.

  “Follow me to the exit,” she said, turning, and Nick fought a momentary desire to grab her shoulders and give her a strong shake. It wasn’t a good idea, obviously, and instead he walked slightly ahead of her in an awkward crablike sidestep.

  “Please just leave us on an empty mirror world … or a quarantined sector,” Nick tried to suppress a treacherous trembling in his voice. “I’m a professional, we will blend, and you can forget about us forever …”

  Elisabeth gave him a quick dismissive glance. “You know that we don’t do this,” she didn’t even try to sound sympathetic.

  “You can’t just apply a general policy in this case. It’ll be a murder, you understand this, right?” Passing employees turned their heads in his direction, and Nick realized that he was shouting.

  Elisabeth went through the exit doors, not breaking her stride. Without taking his eyes from her face, Nick stepped to the street backwards and bumped into a vehicle parked right at the entrance.

  “Let me give you a piece of advice, Nick,” Elisabeth stopped, and for the first time her eyes acknowledged him as more than a background nuisance. “Stop the hysterics and drop this thing. If somebody gets curious enough to look into the details of this mess you could lose a lot more than your license.” She easily got around him, lightly jumped into the hovering flyer, and shut the hatch in his face.

  He made a step out of pedestrian traffic, and stopped. At first, his thoughts were surprisingly detached. Apparently, immigration laws were brutally unforgiving, and the authorities didn’t hesitate to send a ship across the Universe to avoid a precedent. He heard an annoyed exclamation, raised his eyes and saw that he was still a nuisance on a busy pathway. He muttered an apology, cut across the sidewalk and sat down on a bench inside a small green area. The last Beta Blue memories flashed through his mind – Lita, wiping the blood from her face next to overturned combine; the bitter smell of burning forest; two motionless bodies on the meadow grass.

  He imagined how Lita would wake up in that place, and her last memories would be of Nick jumping up and grabbing something invisible in the air, Remir running towards her, and then the explosion. She would be disoriented, but not immediately scared. That would come later, when she re
alized that she had nowhere to go. The government would be excited to see her again.

  The scene with the Beta Blue officer pushing Lita against the wall in the media control room unfolded in Nick’s head, and his mind went haywire. He got up and started walking in a random direction, blindly staring at the ground.

  In a brief moment of relative coherence, he told himself that there was nothing personal in his situation, and that the laws were designed to be fair to all of the ordinary people dying in military coups, wars and epidemics across the quarantined Mirror Worlds. It just so happened that they were going to kill Lita right after she survived.

  The control room sequence flashed through his mind again. She would die on Beta Blue, but she wouldn’t die quickly. By trying to save her, he had made it much worse. She would have been better off if he had left her bleeding to death on that meadow. This last thought was unbearable. He was not going to let that happen.

  “Kir, I need a flyer,” he said walking towards the holographic wall that shielded the pedestrian zone from the traffic zone. A generic city transporter pulled over to the boarding strip almost immediately. “To the Trauma Center,” said Nick as he stepped inside. He had to see Lita even if her face still looked dead. He couldn’t afford to give up hope, not as long as she was still alive.

  The plaza in front of the medical complex was in use for a temporary art installation, which was common in open public spaces across the city. Nick had to work his way through the exhibition artifacts and their admiring crowds. But he instantly slowed as he walked into the almost deliberately disorienting hospital lobby. Large painted glass windows threw a veil of intricate patterns on the ornate furniture; oddly wrought elevator pillars cast complex shapes on the mosaic floor; tall wall mirrors multiplied every object under all possible angles.