by Lee Bond
Garth scratched his nose, wondering if he was missing something. The little exchange had gone way too easy. Cuanso stood there, vibrating with impatience, clearly eager to get his grubby hands on the Tynedale/Fujihara reclamation ship, blinded to anything else but the impossibly lucrative offerings offered up by pawning the vessel’s AI spheres to the highest bidder.
Nah. He wasn’t missing anything, not this time. He’d gotten used to dealing with Latelians and Arcadians, that was all. Even the dimmest witted Latelian would come up with eighteen different ways the deal sounded wonky and then demand they sit down and work out a six thousand page contract covering everything involved, up to and including the rotation of the planet and it’s moons ‘just in case’. And Arcadians? Well…. They’d just try gnawing on your arm until they got a better deal.
Garth slumped, emanating ‘you beat me’ vibes. He stuck out a hand. “You got me. I’m in. Obviously, if I die, the ship is yours. The entry codes are in my pocket.”
Cuanso gripped Galactus’ hand and shook it firmly. “Obviously.”
The fight promoter motioned for Galactus to head on towards the waiting area, explaining it would be no more than half an hour before he had his chance to commit suicide in the grandest method possible. Cuanso turned back a few seconds later, intending to get a bodyguard to grab poor Zorbak’s leafy head, but someone had already snatched it up.
Cuanso shrugged. Someone would make a stew out of it or something.
Zeroites were nothing if not resourceful.
***
One year, three hundred days. An average of fifteen foolish humans per day. Just shy of ten thousand men, women and the occasional strange Offworlder so far gone that they found the company of those in Ground Zero more comfortable, all dead.
By his hand.
Just shy of ten thousand dead bodies swept away from the clearing beneath the scaffold-and-girder dome reaching above him.
The top of his new home was one hundred forty-two meters at very apex. Too high to jump, and besides, it was electrified. Not enough to kill because it was unlikely that any one of the fools who lived in Ground Zero would ever possess either the technology or the wherewithal to deploy it in such a manner; if they did, they would sell it, and it would be sold, again and again and again, turning hands until the end of time.
The curvature of his home was easier to reach, but there was more than just electrocution to contend with; the redoubtable Cuanso, ostensibly his new employer, had men with powerful guns waiting to shoot him should he try to escape. The guns, too, would only prove to be a minor inconvenience, but damage was best avoided wherever possible.
Not that he’d even bother with escape.
Beyond the rickety ring, the electrified walls, the too-high jump and the men with the guns, there was The Law. Trinity’s Law.
A single step –ironically, precisely right where Cuanso’s structure had been built, right down to the inch- anywhere on the other side of his wonderful home would see Enforcers appearing out of the woodwork within seconds; the ancient android didn’t believe there was enough of a data connection anywhere within the whole of Ground Zero for the more fearsome of his predators –the Turing Regulators- to be properly supported, so it would be the armor-clad Enforcers and no one else.
Spur was pleased that his latest combatant, Zorbak the Gorundian, had either died or come to his senses. A moment of respite in the middle of the day was refreshing. He grew so tired of the ceaseless tide of blood and other detritus. It ground him down, made him wonder bleakly if this, his new life, was to be his life forever.
It was at moments like this that the EuroJapanese android imagined Jordan Bishop’s haughty response, his snide comments, the gloating expression on his artfully maintained savage noble’s face. The man would be brimming with nearly narcissistic pleasure at the artificial being’s discomfort and soon would’ve begun needling, harassing him, pointing out the tiny displays of passion, the little slips of anger, the flashes of disgust.
It was during moments like this, when the crush and press of the maniacal and bloodthirsty Zeroites just on the other side of the walls fell slightly more silent, that Spur thought of Jordan and his spiteful words and …
… missed them. As much as an android could. He’d been with the Bishops for five thousand years, had served many masters and mistresses during his enforced stay within the mighty BishopCo central offices, but none of them had held a candle to Jordan Bishop. He’d been … unique. Whether it was some curious detail missed in the birthing process, some artificial artifact introduced through one of the Conglomerate head’s many, many enhancement sessions or if just boiled down to the queer thing that Humanity was when you took a step back and looked at them with a dispassionate eye, Jordan Bishop had been truly one of a kind.
Jordan had always believed Spur possessed emotion, was more than just a machine, greater than …
“Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, oddities and freaks, Zeroites and any suspicious types that may or may not be working for Trinity, Cuanso the Magnificent is pleased to announce that the next fight is about to begin! Betting windows are open now! Choose between White Spider or Galactus! Bet on anything from how long it takes for Spider to pull the skin off Galactus’ body or the number of blows Galactus scores on Spider! Bet all you can! Bet more than you have! Take the risk, take the plunge, jump without looking! Who knows? Maybe this time, White Spider has met his match! Remember, though, you lose, you can’t pay, you play! Bet now! Windows close in ten minutes.”
Spur opened his eyes and craned his head upwards. By tilting his head just so, he was able to make out the stuttering, sputtering, poorly rendered holographic rendition of his next victim. No more impressive than some of the other fools who’d already thought to test their might against ‘White Spider’.
Spur the android closed his eyes and waited for the buzzer.
One year, three hundred days. On average, fifteen foolish mortals a day.
Plus one more.
***
Garth ignored the rough hand shoving him through the gate easily, though he was left with the distinct impression that not everyone who fought Spider wanted to, and in this respect, Minus Zero grew closer and closer to his memories of Ickford. There, it’d been The Wall, here, it was an allegedly unkillable, unstoppable monstrosity they all called White Spider.
The gate slammed shut and was locked tight. The bodyguard who’d escorted him to the Thunderdome had kept up with a long list of things that would happen to him if he decided he’d rather not fight after all the commotion he’d caused; regardless of how agreeable Cuanso had seemed, it also seemed that the promoter had leveraged a huge amount of his money into the betting pools to skew the action in favor of both Spider winning and Zorbak having his ass handed to him, something that –no matter how much influence the fallen Zanzibarian had now- no one in Ground Zero would like hearing. Getting that all set up had taken more than a day, and Cuanso was out some, if not all, that money because no matter how loyal people were, that loyalty was spendable, just like currency.
And they were, after all, in Minus Zero.
“Time to get ready.” Garth whispered. Deep in the recesses of his mind where the OS and Eye liked to hang out, a command unfurled and whistled through the shoddy datasphere maintained by men like Cuanso, flying faster than light towards the Tynedale/Fujihara Reclamation Vessel that’d been renamed Porkchop Express.
Imaginary green ‘go’ lights flickered to life. Alax the Unfriendly, keeping watchful eye over the bountiful prize, would be shitting bricks; ships didn’t come to life on their own, not even ultra-sophisticated ones like the reclamation ship. AI weren’t allowed to pilot anything.
Another command pulsed from that hidden space inside Garth’s mind and communication points between The Yard and Cuanso’s handheld were subverted. Any and all panicky calls from Alax would be handled by a bog-standard avatar coded during the initial chitchat with the Yard operator, leaving Cuanso none the wiser w
hat was happening.
Until it became pretty fucking obvious what was happening.
Garth smiled happily. He loved having access to proper technology again. Nice, simple, easy to use tech that wasn’t made from Cloud or anything fucking weird. It was awesome. A telepresence memory whispered through his conscious mind: Porkchop Express was lifting up and moving towards the too-large entrance that people working The Yard used to make their way to Minus Zero.
The repurposed reclamation ship’s digging lasers –powerful enough to cut through the mantle of a planet, or to hollow out Pluto, now Garth thought about it- cut through a forty foot section of crudely lashed together girders and re-used ferrocrete like a hot knife through butter.
Garth grinned again. Technology was so much better than farting around with invisible nanoparticulate, wasn’t it?
Now it was time to turn his attention to the reason he’d come to Minus Zero in the first place. The so-called ‘White Spider’ hadn’t moved from his patch in the very center of Thunderdome, was, in fact, kneeling quite calmly there, head down, long white hair splayed down across his face.
A perfect representation of peaceful repose, in every meaning of the word.
“You’re … you’re s’posed to be fighting him now!”
Garth blinked, shook his head. He looked apologetically at the bouncer. “Heh. Yeah. Sorry. Million miles away.”
“Do somefing.” The bouncer jerked an oily thumb at the silent crowd behind him. “They don’t like it when no one does nuffing.”
Garth itched to correct the bouncer’s grammar, but chose to say nothing. The crowd, though, decided they’d had enough of the mighty Galactus hanging out at the doorway, so they started jeering and chucking stuff.
An overripe fruit of indeterminate nature and suspicious ripeness plastered the unnamed bodyguard square in the back of the head. An immediate and foul smell rose up from the man’s melon, so, curdled horror on his face, the guard pulled his gun and pointed it at Galactus. “Get a move on, pal, or I’ll shoot you myself. You immune to bullets like you are rotten fruit?”
The Kin’kithal opened his mouth then shut it. Was he immune to bullets? Had he ever even been shot in Arcade City? “Honestly, dude, I don’t know, but all right, all right, keep your panties on, I’m goin’.”
Minus Zero seemed rumble and shake with excitement as Galactus moved inward to meet his doom at the hands of the unstoppable White Spider.
***
“Hey.”
Spur cracked open an eye.
“Hey, buddy!”
The android opened the other and looked around until he caught sight of ‘Galactus’ lingering just on the edge of the defined area that spelled death for all who crossed it; out of the nine thousand, nine hundred and seventy-five different hopefuls, three had seen the faint lines that he swept into the dusty ground of his prison during his evening practice.
Three. And they’d come rushing in eventually, still just as heedless, just as secure in their mistaken belief that they would triumph where so many others had failed.
“I saw you.” Spur said quietly, just quiet enough so that the man would hear but would not be picked up by the prison’s subpar recording equipment. “Climbing around my prison cage. Three days ago.”
“Yeah you did.” Garth nodded. Porckchop grew closer, only slower, and only out of wisdom; the damn thing could’ve swarmed into the huge underground chamber in under three minutes, only … only words needed to be had with White Spider before things went to the next level and given the prisoner’s … lineage, Garth wanted to make good and goddamn sure they were on the same page before the escape ship arrived. “But you didn’t say anything.”
Spur cast a disparaging hand at the fools and buffoons capering on the far sides of his home, all but spat at the mere thought of Cuanso Selpon. “They use me for entertainment. Warning them of a man capable of climbing my prison walls without both setting off the alarms and of surviving the tremendous amount of electricity they feed into it would be to deprive them of such.”
Garth quirked an eyebrow. “So you knew I’d come here?”
Spur gestured to his home, to Minus Zero, to the idiots and morons. “All who come to this part of the underground eventually make their way here. Any who think themselves capable of fighting, come through the door. Any who …”
“Cross the line,” Garth scuffed a boot through the fine lines marking out the unsafe territory, “die.”
Spur rose against his will. Automatic routines embedded deep into his android soul took control whenever someone breached the gap the rigidly defined safety area, but Galactus made no further steps inward. “Just so. I cannot be killed.”
“Anything can be killed.” Garth announced darkly. “Anything.”
Spur ignored the dark comment. The crowd grew more restless. Cuanso’s thin voice echoed across the enclosure, alternately urging the assembled horde of grim fans to calm down and insisting that the fighters fight. “What were you looking for?”
“Intel.” Garth started walking left, following the line. White Spider stood stock in the center still, though he did spin slowly to follow. “Something I’ve been really terrible at acquiring lately.” He tapped his re-quadroniumed eye with a fingernail. “Luckily, things on this side work properly.”
Lots of data spilled from White Spider, but none of it made any kind of terrific sense; Garth knew the prisoner was an android, possessed high intellect, possibly somewhere in the 9 or 10 category on the AI Sphere Scale, was fiendishly efficient at killing and owned intimate knowledge of seven different forms of martial arts that hadn’t been seen in the styles displayed for over three thousand years.
If ‘White Spider’ wasn’t from the Emperor-for-Life’s Dome, he certainly had some kind of first-hand link to the hidden ruler of the EuroJapanese culture. Just as something like the android watching him warily, ready to slice him to pieces with hidden monofilament threads, couldn’t have been built by any other entity, Trinity wouldn’t have permitted his continued existence if he weren’t truly rare and unique.
So. In it’s hubris, the Platinum King hadn’t lied. There was something here, at these coordinates, capable of getting someone access to the Emperor-for-Life.
“Intel.” Spur wished Ground Zero had better machines. There was something about this burly man hidden behind layer upon layer of dark clothing and his gleaming silver eye that had him uncomfortable enough to be mildly concerned. Some of those who’d died at his hands had possessed differing degrees of implant or enhancement, yet none of them had proven his match. This man? Perhaps. Something tickled in his mind. “And what did you discover?”
“I learned,” Garth stopped moving and planted his feet firmly into the dust, “that your proper name is Spur, and that for the longest time, you were in the employ of a man named Jordan Bishop. I learned that until very recently, you lived high above the world you currently inhabit. I learned that Naoko Kamagana was to’ve been brought to your door, and that unnamed and powerful beings arrived and kidnapped her from you.”
A sudden shot of … yes, true emotion, pure fear, cascaded through the android’s immaculate machine body. “The caveman.”
Garth tilted his head. “Say again?”
Spur dipped his head in apology. “It is something Jordan Bishop called you. Caveman. Because of your …”
“Yep. I get it.” Garth cleared his throat. “I went looking for Intel on why you’re important to me, Spur, and instead, I found data concerning your direct involvement in stealing my girlfriend from Latelyspace. It was difficult to dig that info out of the monitoring AI spheres. Many of them cracked open from the tremendous stress put on their cases when the buildings fell. More than anyone would’ve imagined. But there were a few, here and there, in the strata and layers of collapsed residences and offices and labs that Cuanso’s scavengers haven’t reached yet. I found an interesting thing, Spur. Hidden in plain sight.”
Spur offered a bland smile. He knew better, now
he knew who he was dealing with, though the android wondered if Garth Nickels himself was aware of how different he was, now, after only a few years from the beginning of the debacle in Latelyspace. Pushing the man who’d survived Latelyspace was perhaps the least wise decision he could make all day.
“What is that, Captain Nickels?”
Garth looked through the files again, trying to understand what he saw. “According to documents I found, you’ve been in the service of the Bishop Conglomerate family line for thousands of years, held in place by Trinity Law concerning the very unique nature of your android brain. In that time, you served the family to the extent of your abilities, inarguably transforming an already powerful Conglomerate into an unstoppable juggernaut. In that time, you never once showed disloyalty or disingenuous behavior. Security footage, though, pried out of a dying AI, shows you, Spur, colluding with a secret cell within Bishop’s own FrancoBrit wardog army, to spirit Naoko away.”
Spur dipped his head once. “It is true.”
Garth rolled his shoulders, watched Spur’s autonomous protocols react accordingly. “Were you successful?”
It didn’t matter why the android had chosen that moment to do as he’d done, only that he had. The Kin’kithal had already come up with thousands of scenarios and reasons why the albino android in front of him would violate a peace treaty with the powerful Bishop Conglomerate over one brilliant women, starting with her status as EuroJapanese citizen by way of Latelyspace and ending with the lovely woman’s sheer, staggering genius. It was not unthinkable to believe that Spur had hoped to use Naoko’s unbeatable talents in hacking to override Trinity’s restrictions on his imprisonment, or that the mysterious Emperor-for-Life –who, according to Bravo, would prove to be a Universal threat, same as Barnabas- had intended to use her for the same.
