Dark Iron King II: Arcadia Falls (Unreal Universe Book 5)

by Lee Bond

  “When,” Huey drew the word out, watching ‘footage’ of the horrific efficiency of the Myco Dominion over and over again, “when you asked Tendreel Salingh to stop … were you you?”

  “I’m not certain I understand what you mean.” Fenris grinned toothily.

  It was at this point in the ‘development’ of the Myco Dominion that Trinity Itself stepped in; the Mycos –in short order- had their asses handed to them by fully automated attack ships. They found their stolen worlds bombarded with gene-specific weapons that shredded through the delicate lace that was the viral intelligence known as Mycogene-Alzant. Robot vessels obliterated moon-sized spore-ships laden down with all manner of organic weaponry. Trinity pushed and shoved and whanged away at the mighty Myco Dominion until It had beaten them back to the first world, their Homeworld.

  Then It … cheated. It knew It couldn’t erase such a singularly wonderful intelligence as the Myco virus-mind. Oh, it could. Quite easily. But Trinity was ever a collector of the strange and the bizarre, and It always saved species that might be of benefit later on down the road.

  Rather than kill the Mycos, it changed them. It introduced a virus into the virus, so to speak, one that rapidly altered the hive-mind aspect of their communal intelligence, threatened them that if they started fucking around with domination again that they’d find themselves happy to be teeny-tiny mushrooms for eternity, then left.

  One door closes, another door opens. Communal intelligence disappears, a faint but definite vision of Harmony’s slender threads filling the Unreal Universe appears. Those elders surviving Trinity’s wrath well understood the nature of that particular threat and so set about rewriting their history, telling young sporelings lie after lie after lie until fabrication became truth.

  The Mycogene-Alzants were peaceful now. Subtly manipulated by the weight of being able to piece together the present and the future, they’d learned wisdom where there’d been nothing but rapacious hunger, so much so that even Trinity had believed them reformed enough to the point where It allowed wise specimens –like Tendreel Salingh- to roam Trinityspace.

  Except no one, not Trinity, not Huey … no one could’ve imagined the effect Garth N’Chalez was having on the fabric of the Unreal Universe.

  Huey shut the data down and glared at Fenris, wishing he had a wee bit of the Myco ability to pluck those slender threads. Fenris was an intimidating figure when he was asleep –probably hanging from the ceiling like a fucking vampire bat or something-, making him the literal figure of many people’s nightmares.

  In person, the effect was much stronger. Whether they knew it or not, the people in Charbo’s were now eating their food quietly, heads down, sullen looks on their faces, eyes questing out exits, all without knowing why.

  “Were you you, or did you channel someone nice, like Richard Simmons?” Huey knew what the answer was going to be but had to ask anyways.

  “I don’t know who Richard Simmons is,” Fenris answered calmly, “and I can only be me.”

  “So.” Huey sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. He definitely should’ve had the burger and fries. The ‘favor’ Fenris needed done was one that could’ve done with some carbs in the system. “You were you, and you threatened the ever-loving shit out of this talking mushroom.”

  “Ah. Yes. That.” Fenris shrugged. “I am who I am.”

  “And that’s all that you am.” Huey replied listlessly. Then, filling himself full of intensity and dire import that was available to him thanks to the burgeoning godmind inside him, Huey the AI stared at Fenris. He told a brief but very concise retelling of the Myco Dominion, highlighting specifically how insanely well-adapted the virus-mind was at cross-contaminating other species, species it’d never seen before.

  The dour look on Fenris’ face was almost worth the colossal mistake that was going to need fixing.

  “So you see.” Huey grabbed Fenris’ French fries. The Harmony soldier didn’t even notice. “Harmony doesn’t make you any less prone to mistakes, Fenris. It simply makes you more capable of dealing with them. Except in this instance. Yes, Trinity re-engineered the Myco strain from being able to spore like that, but Garth’s presence can do weird and wonderful things. As you said, the mere act of her hunting him down has altered her. Fear and terror at being threatened, at being commanded by a guy who’s only spent the last few years floating in space at them, whispering creepy things through their comm systems? That shit will cause spontaneous evolution like no one’s business. There isn’t one Myco on that ship right now. There’s probably … no. Everyone on that ship is infected now, and I am willing to bet everything I own that they are all looking for what Garth plans on doing. If anyone has left that ship for one of the others? Fuck me, man. You royally screwed the pooch here, man. You know what might be able to pass through my shield? Spores. Infinitesimal spores that were specifically engineered to survive the rigors of deep space. Can you imagine a Foursie, plugged into Harmony, waking up Myco? Fuck, you suck dick.”

  Fenris watched Huey ram French fries into his mouth, unable to say anything. Even his brothers were abnormally quiet across Harmony. There was no defense. Huey was correct. In his haste to turn the strange thing that was Tendreel Salingh into something capable of removing Huey from Latelyspace, he’d failed to consider the various things that could go wrong; if this Mycogene was as dangerous apparently believed –and there was no reason to discount the AI’s encyclopedic knowledge of the Unreal Universe- and if she was remotely capable of doing what her ancient forebears had done then perhaps … perhaps the would-be God of Reality would not be enough to stop the threat.

  Across Harmony, his most ancient brothers grew silent.

  They needed Huey still. They had only sought to remove him from Latelyspace.

  There was nothing they would … no. There was nothing they could do.

  The Harmony soldier said nothing, admitted no mistake, proffered no apology. He was five thousand years old. He waited for Darkness to Fall so the Light might Rise. His first loyalty, the only thing he honored, was the will of the Unreal Universe, and that will said Reality would be born, no matter the cost, no matter the mistake. It was using N’Chalez as Engineer and so the Kin’kithal would be treated properly.

  The Unreal Universe had scant little to say on the nature of Huey the would-be God. It was as if It hadn’t made It’s mind up yet, so it was play the game as the field lay and that was it. Huey was no fool. Just as the AI had to know the situation had been intentionally exacerbated to give his opposition free reign in the solar system, so too he had to know that it was early days yet in their polite game of push me-pull you.

  “Are you going to take care of this problem yourself, Huey, or shall we risk dropping the shield to send God soldiers in?” Fenris offered the solution to speed the AI’s decision making process up. “You seem to imply that the Myco mind is capable of infecting God soldiers.”

  “Fuck, dude, towards the end, the Mycos were working on a way to infect machinery. Some kind of weird fucked up hybridized techno-fungal circuitry.” Huey shut his eyes. The HIM netLINK was more than capable of bouncing him through the shield. If he asked, the HIMs could send him to the far end of the Universe so he could have a one on one with Kith Antal.

  It was getting back through that might be … problematic.

  “I’d glare suspiciously at you right now, Fenris, but you and I both know it’d be a wasted gesture.” Huey stood. “I’ll take care of this little problem for you. This is a debt, Fenris, one I will collect. Oh, also, you pay for my lunch. Asshole.”

  Fenris watched Huey depart, a slow smile growing on his face.

  Soon, Huey would be out of the solar system. Then they could dispense with the soft-target approach the AI had been insisting they follow; plans to thoroughly dominate and control the Trinity threat had been in place for months now, the sole detractor being Huey himself. Herrig went along with whatever Huey suggested. With him gone, it would be simple enough to manipulate DuPont into do
ing what needed doing.

  Fenris rose, glared at the waitress as she came to collect payment for the food, then left.

  Harmony soldiers, paying for food?

  What a ridiculous concept.

  The Harmony soldier ate his lunch in total silence, accepting how Harmony and the Unreal Universe had spun his machinations. If Huey perished in dealing with Salingh, so be it. Something as complex and profoundly bizarre as their universe would provide.

  Besides, being free of Huey was worth the risk.

  Any risk at all.

  5. Side Quests really are Bullshit

  Finding Agnethea’s residence had been simple enough, once he’d moved himself far enough away from the scene of Specter’s awful rampage; like any self-titled and presumably pretentious monarch, ‘Queen’ Agnethea had set her castle dead center in the middle of rotten Ickford, a dire beacon for those seeking council or favor. Of the two –getting away from the scene of his awful crime and finding the Queen’s abode- had taken most of the fucking night, narrowly causing seven more severe altercations along the way: the folk in Ickford possessed very little awareness of their own mortality and took every opportunity to prove it.

  Immediately after exiting the abattoir/back alley carnage, a small gaggle of gearheads had immediately accosted him almost, buzzknives and chainswords chortling noisily as they’d tried to Scooby Doo some answers.

  Garth took a lap around Agnethea’s home, eyeing the huge structure suspiciously; spiraling up out of the earth in a collision of antiquated 18th century English designs and steampunk over-complexity, the Golem’s home was a dark rose surrounded by even darker soil. As he roamed the grounds, flitting in and out of shadows, a familiar theme popped up at him from underneath the gears-and-cogs motif.

  “It’s fucking Dracula’s castle.” Garth sniffed. He continued on his way, terribly unimpressed. How many styles of castle could there be, anyways?

  Atop the megalithic, cathedral-esque was what he automatically labeled ‘astronomy tower’, something the outsider would’ve never expected to see ‘neath The Dome. Perched precariously at the very apex of the highest spire, the half-dome screamed telescope quite loudly, leaving the Kin’kithal to wonder quite curiously how it was that Agnethea could flaunt King’s Will so easily; it was one thing to build a damned city that should’ve never been built, but from Barnabas reaction when it came to all things Dome-related, a device capable of spying on said Dome’s mysterious workings would’ve surely attracted even an absentee King’s ire immediately.

  Yet there it was, pointed at The Dome.

  Ickford was a place of horror and mysteries, all right.

  Resuming his reconnoiter, Garth thought back to that first group. That had gone well. Mostly; he’d seen them coming and had managed to get away from doing for the whole lot, but not without leaving behind a few serious though non-life threatening injuries for those stupid gearheads too foolish to show wisdom.

  Personally, Garth was thanking his lucky starts that most of his excess Kingsblood rage had been burned away during that initial encounter with the tinkers’ bullyboys, else Specter would’ve certainly come howling up out of the darkness.

  That being said, luck or no luck, that third pack of gearheads and wardogs had raised a hue and cry, alerting anyone within earshot that some kind of crazed Obsidian Golem lurked the back alleys, doing for any who came to close.

  That bit of bullshit had forced a fucking weary Kin’kithal down even darker alleys to rid himself of unwanted attention, vestiges of Specter urging him onwards to violence.

  Specter. Garth stared up at a few grim gargoyles as he contemplated that inner beast. Like the howling depiction of a winged lion trying to burst free from Agnethea’s rain gutters –which reminded him, Garth couldn’t remember a single drop of rain inside Arcade City-, Specter still demanded free reign. The Engineer tried to remember what it’d been like across The Cordon, tried to –however temporarily- recapture his feelings, his thoughts, as he’d rained terror upon Trinity’s enemies.

  Tried, and failed. A combination self-loathing and the cathartic temporary imprisonment on that empty planet had rid him of most of the darkest memories. The Kin’kithal genome had thankfully done the rest, effectively burying the thing that a Kith’kin could become under a billion tons of regret.

  Successful, until, naturally, Dark Iron.

  Garth picked up the pace a bit and moved on to Agnethea’s garden.

  Thanks to his impromptu flight through alleys and across more than a few rooftops, cagily and cunningly evading capture by gearheads smart enough to know they weren’t hunting a Golem but a Specter, Garth knew that the fey garden before him was the only one of its kind within Ickford’s walls. The meticulously arranged garden was utterly jarring; stuffed full of white roses, magnolias, violets and trilliums but ringed with mesmerizing spirals of black dahlias, it took Garth a moment to figure out what was so unsettling about the lovely little stretch, but when he did, he chuckled, shook his head, and moved on.

  Agnethea’s collision of flowers formed a vast, organic skull and crossbones. The woman had a dark sense of humor, that was for sure.

  Chuckling at the Queen’s floral morbidity, Garth continued his circuit, dead set on knowing the location of every window and every door in the Castle. If Agnethea turned out to be more of the ‘it puts the lotion in the basket or it gets the hose again’ girl, high-speed escape routes through large stained glass windows would not only be the most prudent of escapes, but also the most badass.

  Running the list of flowers over in his mind again, wondering how in the hell roses and all that could survive in their natural form for thirty thousand years, Garth stopped and turned back to that garden. He wouldn’t know different strains of flowers if they came up and bit him on the ass.

  “What the …”

  Then it hit him! DarkEye was back online! He’d missed it because, well, for a number of reasons, starting with his own sad-sack mentality and ending with the fresh infusion of Dark Iron coursing through his veins; with Specter away in the basement rattling those old psychic chains, he’d been more than a little preoccupied making certain everyone was safe from the beast to notice.

  DarkEye was indeed back online, and now that he was paying full attention to the orb, the HUD was being flooded with reams of data. Wherever his gaze fell, little flags popped up, and if he stared for long enough at one of those markers, a tiny burst of information unraveled itself.

  Like, for instance, the names of the flowers in Agnethea’s skull and crossbones garden, names he would’ve never known in a million years.

  Garth wheeled slowly around in a tight circle, mystified. He’d believed –erroneously now, it seemed- that his solo fight with the Colossal King had destroyed the tendril thin connections spreading from DarkEye’s nanotech circuitry into the vision centers of his brain.

  What was different between now and then? Obviously, in addition to working again, the systems seemed to’ve improved somehow; the data flags were an enormous step up from just barfing information all over HUDspace, so it was definite that those nanotech systems had never been broken.

  Whatever was different now had little or nothing to do with his exposure to Kingsblood, either, because he’d been exposed to the vile stuff on and off throughout his journey and he had a fucking hard time imagining it was merely toxic levels of the stuff that’d flipped that switch.

  DarkEye tagged the names of a few Ickfordians scurrying quickly past Agnethea’s home, their hooded faces turning towards the reckless man standing so close to the wrought iron fence that he would surely be dead by dawn.

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” Garth muttered, tapping the solid horse’s eye lens grafted to his face. Tink tink tink.

  He was missing something obvious.

  Again.

  “Are you going to come in, Master Nickels, or shall I send my butler to fetch you?” Agnethea’s amused voice wafted down from one of the highest windows.

  Gar
th turned to look up at the woman. Unexpectedly, DarkEye sputtered and spat and went … neutral. It was the only way to describe the sudden absence of data. “Hey! Uh.”

  Agnethea smiled. She gestured grandly, and her astounding home grew a doorway just on the other side of the fence separating her garden from the outside world. Not that anyone in their right mind would ever so much as breathe on a single one of her flowers.

  Garth gnawed at his lip for a second, DarkEye spitting out reams of data on the sudden eruption of mechanisms in the walls where there’d been none before: type of fortification, age of fortification, locking mechanisms of fortification. A wireframe overlay suggested weak points and outlined possible overall structural damage.

  The outsider looked back up at Agnethea, who was ethereally breathtaking. The nanotech device shut down again.

  “Do come in, Master Nickels.” Agnethea implored once again. “There are still people out there looking for you, and though they know better, some few might choose to risk my displeasure to capture the great and powerful Specter.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Garth leaped over the wrought iron fence smoothly, angry at himself for not thinking straight several hours ago. Specter dourly suggested that it would’ve been easier to kill the fledgling gearheads as well.

  Garth walked up to the gaping door in the side of the wall, pausing to run his fingers across the width of the aperture before entering. Distressingly, the foot thick wall was comprised almost entirely of small-to-microscopic brass fittings.

  “I begin to see,” Garth N’Chalez, would-be Engineer for Reality, muttered to himself with some trepidation, “why people are scared shitless of this woman.”

  If this one wall was any indication, Agnethea’s Castle was built entirely out of dead gearheads.

  Garth did the math as he located a stairwell that would presumably take him to the most dreaded Obsidian Golem in all of Arcade City. The number of gearheads and the length of time it would take to acquire enough usable material to build a castle of this particular size and shape, not to mention the length of time it would take to build such a thing …