by Lee Bond
“I was not.” Spur bowed his head sorrowfully. His one great failure. “She was taken. Before the towers went down.”
“By whom?” BishopCo-specific surveillance data concerning Naoko’s actual landing and all that’d happened following that moment was corrupt beyond all comprehension. Neighboring cameras and surveillance units had been too far away from the exchange site to be of any use at all other to provide him with proof that a third party had arrived on the scene and that everything after that moment had gone to colossal shit.
If she’d been taken, as Spur said, maybe there was a chance. A chance she was out there, somewhere, still alive, still having a chance at freedom. In time, if she was still alive, she might even have an opportunity to forget the man who’d ruined her life in so many ways.
“They call themselves CyberPriests, Captain Nickels.” Since most of the caveman’s face was covered, Spur couldn’t decipher the man’s expression, but body language said it all. “You have met them.”
“I have.” Garth kept walking. In his mind’s eye, Porkchop Express grew closer. People were dying, not many, and none worth worrying about; destitute scavengers and reprehensible criminals were the only ones who frequented the broken, blasted and cracked warrens that far away from Minus Zero proper. No one would miss them, and the No One Dies Until the End of the Universe’ protocol he followed had been revised to make acceptances and allowances where criminals and thugs were concerned.
Besides. Individuals didn’t matter. Not when it came to the rebirth of the Universe.
Craftily, Garth twiddled his fingers just inside the ring. Spur was at the unseen barricade before the motion had become more than a gesture, hand reaching out to grab hold. The Engineer responded by slamming an open-handed fist into the center of Spur’s chest, sending the pale android hurtling back the way he’d come. A killing blow for a man, all it did was muss the EuroJapanese miracle’s perfect hair.
The excitement of the crowd rose to epic heights for all of three seconds, then crashed back down to sullen muttering.
“And they’re all dead.” Garth watched Spur pick himself up, smooth his hair, fix his neutral colored hakama. “Which means there’s a good chance she is, as well. Either by their hands, though that isn’t likely, by the King’s hand, which is more probable, or simply by being unable to escape from where they kept her. Your proximity protocols are out of whack.”
“If.” Spur ran a diagnostic on the thought-clusters located in his chest to see if the surprisingly powerful blow had done any harm, nonplussed as a machine could be to find that there was none at all. It was as if the blow had never landed. “If I was given leave and access to a proper power source, I could repair the damaged circuits.”
Something dawned on the AI android, and were he at the top of his game, he would’ve noticed it right off. Awe at the man’s tenacity and survivability temporarily overrode the pain at Naoko Kamagana’s undoubted passing. “You’ve been to Arcade City. You’ve met with the King.”
Garth nodded, once. He didn’t know how Barnabas Blake had managed it, but right there at the very end, the motherfucker had turned himself into a tragic character and not a villain, and it pissed him off no end; the fucking guy had started out being more than willing to destroy not only the Unreality in which they all lived, but had had plans to roll out on a Sphere-hunt to destroy the rest of everything in Existence as well!
That kind of shit wasn’t supposed to be forgivable. And yet… it was more Cloud’s fault than anything, not to mention the originators of the Harmony Project that’d yielded the ‘Priests in the first place.
“And here you are.” Spur marveled. “The Dome?”
“Down. Gone.” Garth blew imaginary dust from an open hand. “And now, here I am.”
“Of course.” Spur bowed as deeply as he could. The robes covering nearly every inch of Nickels made sense, now. None who entered a place like Arcade City could remain unchanged for long, and the ex-Specter himself was apparently a man capable of administering rabid changes to his own … essence, thus … he was as poorly off as any man or woman introduced to the ravages of Dark Iron. “I have only heard tales. Is it as bad as they claim?”
“Worse.” Garth wasn’t surprised by Spur’s awareness of things no one should rightfully know. The magnificently forged machine was a product of the Emperor-for-Life, who –after meeting with Barnabas Blake- probably really was also thirty thousand years old. Anything the android knew about anything important undoubtedly came from the ancient EuroJapanese lord, and given Bravo’s estimation as to what that being intended on doing when the Heshii came through The Cordon, it was extremely likely that Spur knew everything. “Worse than you can imagine.”
Images. Images of Agnethea and Dave. Of Nicked Jimmy and his cruel death. Of the repulsive horrors spawned in Ickford’s last hours. Poor King Barnabas Blake the One and Only, a twisted caricature of himself. The Final Form rising up out of the blackened, flaking ashes of a dead once-eternal ruler.
Even a machine could see the bitter walls rise up to protect Garth from the harshness of whatever dire memories flitted through his messy organic mind. “And the particulate?”
Garth smiled craftily once more. “Contained.” It was undeniable that once he got what he wanted from Spur –entrance to the Emperor’s Fabled Dome- that the android would do whatever he could do kill him right there on the spot, so best practices said to keep most of the cards hidden.
Such ambiguity. Spur didn’t know what to with that, didn’t know how the Emperor would react to what Nickels had become and was afraid of what would happen when he learned of Naoko Kamagana’s untimely demise. “You came here to learn what you could about your next grand adventure.”
“I did.” Through his connection to Minus Zero’s shoddy datasphere, Garth saw Cuanso issuing fierce orders to the gun-toting men arrayed around the even shoddier buildings ringing the natural cave. “But before we get to that, I need to ask you one more question.”
“By all means, though you should be aware, Cuanso’s men are going to begin firing upon us. From this distance, their rounds will cause me some discomfort, but nothing I cannot overcome with time.” Spur gestured towards Garth, meaning implicit.
“I’ll be fine.” Porkchop Express was now just on the other side of the area, heavy lasers ready to vaporize vast swathes or rock and other detritus. A few gunmen, already targeted, would be nothing much to worry about.
“Then ask away.” Spur resumed kneeling, Cuanso’s imploring words echoing loudly.
“Naoko.” Garth struggled to keep emotion from his voice and felt he did a rather admirable job. “If you’d managed to get her away from the ‘Priests and Jordan Bishop. What would you have done?”
A fleeting smile crossed Spur’s lips. “Freedom, Garth Nickels. Nothing but freedom for a cherished blossom like her. My lord and master, The Emperor-for-Life Etienne Marseilles, may be many things, but when it comes to family, he is most insistent. I would have risked my own death in violating Trinity’s Laws to ensure that freedom.”
Hearing the news was akin to breaking the surface of an endless ocean mere seconds from asphyxiating. An unwanted half-shout of surprised joy escaped his lips; Garth had been hoping and praying that –no matter Spur’s odd affiliation with Bishop and unswerving loyalty to an Endgame player- the android’s motivations in trying to spirit Naoko to freedom had been something along those lines.
“Good.” Garth nodded, then commanded Porkchop Express to come through the walls. There’d be about a minute or so before everyone realized what was going on, and then chaos would erupt.
Hopefully, anyone who fled the scene would be smart enough to avoid Thunderdome.
“Do you not want to ask why? What her relationship to the Emperor is?” Spur asked slyly. There were so many layers to the drama about to unfold, much like Nickels’ protective gear.
“No.” Garth’s ears picked up the first, faint sounds of fear and surprise –mingled with collapsing rock an
d buildings- some five hundred feet away. Subtle changes to how Spur knelt in the center of his prison indicated that the android heard the same.
“Are you going to attempt to free me?” Spur asked quizzically.
“No attempts will be made.” Garth replied stridently. “Success will be had.”
“I should warn you, Captain.” Spur rose once more, powerful eyes seeking out the cause of the disturbance so far away. If he needed to breathe, the android knew his breathe would’ve been taken away. The caveman had stolen a Tynedale/Fujihara reclamation vessel and it was currently navigating it’s way somewhat clumsily through the terribly cramped cavern. Beams ordinarily designed to dig through rock or cut through sterner stuff flicked out here and there, turning would-be assailants into greasy spots of ash. “Trinity will not permit me to leave this spot. It is the only reason I have remained where I am. There is no other earthly reason why I would.”
Garth waved a hand dismissively. “Got that covered.”
The ship came closer, the beams lancing out from the multitudinous banks throwing garish lights everywhere. The crowd, suddenly realizing what was going on, began to panic and –as Garth had feared- scores of Zeroites rushed towards Thunderdome. Their sizzling cries were thankfully drowned out by the cacophony of those trying to destroy what was essentially a battleship.
Cuanso’s voice howled through the PA system. “Galactus, you motherfucker! By all that is holy I …”
A brief second of distortion, and the bookmaker’s voice disappeared altogether.
“You ‘got that covered’?” Spur shook his head in disbelief.
“Yep.” Garth nodded assiduously. “I guarantee you that Trinity is far too busy elsewhere in the Unreality … you know this Universe isn’t real, right? Yeah, I figured. Seems everyone and their pet Nyarlthotep knows, these days. Anyways. Yeah. It’s busy trying to fight the Latelians to give a crap.”
Spur watched the T/F ship move above the apex of his prison. Not the largest of ships in the powerful EuroJapanese-owned Conglomerate, it nevertheless seemed massive at the moment. Harsh spotlights bloomed, crushing the shadows. Stabilizer engines kicked up a storm of dust and debris, blowing everything outwards against the wall of electrified Zeroites.
Shouting now to be heard above the ship, Spur responded to Garth’s foolish statement. “Trinity doesn’t need to concern Itself with me directly for It’s Laws to be followed. There are Enforcers, Adjutants, and all manner of things. Should you move me from this place, Turing Regulator programs will automatically spawn inside the minds of the AI aboard your vessel.”
“One,” Garth said as he stood beside Spur, “Trinity’s Laws no longer apply to you. Ariel Bishop successfully lobbied to have the base of BishopCo’s infrastructure moved. To a location ‘more sufficiently capable of handling the stress of being the Universe’s largest company’, and if I’m not mistaken, the Laws concerning your actual imprisonment revolve almost entirely around the physical location of BishopCo’s power base.”
Spur lashed out, attempting to drive an elbow into Garth’s temple. The blow missed by a mile.
“Two,” Garth continued, slapping a roundhouse kick out of the way casual ease, “there are no AI aboard Porkchop Express.”
Driven by automatic responses, Spur experienced a surge of very real panic as he continued trying to kill the only man who could apparently rescue him; if what Nickels was saying was true, that Ariel Bishop had indeed managed to move BishopCo’s center of operations somewhere other than Earth, then Trinity’s restrictions demanded he do all he could to take himself to the new leader of the powerful Conglomerate.
What matter if there was a small delay in leaving the planet? No distinctions would be made, no concern would be had over where a tardy android departed Earth, so long as –eventually- departure would be made.
“I am sorry.” Spur shouted again to be heard over the engines and the sounds of fighting. “As I said. Damage to some of my processors. I cannot control myself. I am bound to keep the august body before you free from harm, corruption, investigation and examination. Both by Trinity and by my Emperor. When you are dead, I will take your body with me to the Emperor. He has powers unseen and unimagined.”
And then, because Garth was proving to be the better of the two in terms of hand-to-hand combat –it wasn’t the first time Spur had met someone phenomenally skilled, not by a longshot- the android allowed the unbearable pressure of the combat protocols to engage the offensive systems that had earned him the intolerable nickname ‘White Spider’ so long ago.
Garth watched the thousands of feet of ultrafine monofilament strings whisper outwards from Spur’s colossal mane of impressive hair, one eyebrow quirked Spock-style. Halfway through blocking a pretty devious uppercut that had no business in a proper martial arts bout, there was no opportunity to evade or otherwise defend himself against the deadly sharp fibers.
They wrapped themselves around his arms, his legs, his neck, slicing cleanly through the layers of robes and wrapping he’d clad himself in before stepping foot in Ground Zero.
Any second now, Garth thought, eyeing Spur speculatively; wrapped as he was in White Spider’s deadly cocoon, the Kin’kithal had plenty of time to examine the android. The marvelous five thousand year old thinking machine didn’t feel like it’d been formed from Cloud Particulate, and … with everything the way it was now, Garth was pretty fucking sure he’d be able to spot any instances of hytech nano just by looking at it.
So what, then, was Spur? Really? How had the Emperor built him, and to what end? You didn’t build a machine like the android then cut it loose into the Universe, knowing full well that sooner or later, it’d be snapped up by Trinity.
There was a deeper game being played, and if Barnabas and then –later- The Cloud had had contact with Trinity, then so too had Etienne Marseilles, with all three of them attempting to play each other against the middle.
Spur wasn’t surprised that his initial monofilament attack hadn’t been successful. Nickels had been through Arcade City, had almost certainly either had Dark Iron thrust upon him or imbibed it willingly, and that foul stuff transformed everyone who took it. Or so he’d been told.
“Apologies.” Spur whispered. It wasn’t supposed to have happened this way. Spur was resolved in his efforts to bring Garth’s body to the Emperor. “You will not survive this next part.”
The controllable monofilament began … flexing. Tightening the noose, as it were, each passing second guaranteed to eventually cut through whatever odd changes Dark Iron had made until the man was eventually reduced to small chunks of meat. Spur wasn’t entirely certain what the Emperor would be able to do with the remains, but the Emperor was the Emperor.
Garth winced at the shrill squee-squee-squee sounds the monofilament lariats wrapped around him were making as they tried to turn him into Scalloped Hero. “Yeah, sorry. No.”
Kin’kithal Garth N’Chalez flexed. The last shreds of clothing fell from his body, and more than half of Spur’s murderous threads snapped like high-tension cables, filling the air with harsh snarling sounds. Spur had no time to react; before the last of his threads snapped, the rest … burned away.
Defensive and offensive protocols clashed inside the android’s capacious processors, warring for the sensible thing to do, neither ‘side’ being able to come to any kind of proper decision, resulting in a unbelievable cease fire.
Spur watched on in amazement as the … armor … that Garth wore began cooling down. This was … not good.
Garth dusted charred monofilament from nanoparticulate-covered shoulders, nonchalantly saying, “I have inside me blood of kings. I have no rivals. No one can be my equal.”
Spur bowed, deeply, honoring the thing that Garth N’Chalez had become. “I will take you to my Emperor.”
“Of course you will.” Garth gestured, and Porkchop Express began dismantling Thunderdome. “And just so we’re clear on something.”
“What is that?” Spur asked, una
ble to define the emotions flooding through him. He was returning home, at long, tiresome last. The final days were approaching. They would be dark days, though, when the Emperor learned –if he hadn’t already- on what had become of Naoko Kamagana.
Spur feared quite sincerely that Garth’s time in the Emperor’s homeland was destined to be very different, now.
“I am freeing you for a very distinct purpose.” Garth turned to look into Spur’s pale eyes. Still no sign of Cloudborn tech. Some other antiquated Armies of Man science experiment, as the ‘Priests had been? When the two of them fell to it –and they would- maybe then he’d find out. “On the way to the Emperor’s Dome, you will tell me everything there is to know about it, about him, about what I can expect inside. You will give me detailed data on the science he uses, the tech he deploys, any weird bullshit superpowers he has at his disposal. You will do all this. You will volunteer Intel if you think it might have any kind of relevance to me at all. If you think ‘hey, the Emperor wears pink panties and calls himself Daisy when no one is looking, I wonder if…’ you tell me that. We clear?”
Spur bowed. “Indeed. There is quite a bit to tell, though. In this ship, the journey will take less than an hour.”
Garth ordered one of the cargo lifters to descend. Light from the inside of Porkchop Express’ bays dominated the piercing bright light of the spotters. “Oh yeah, no, we got a side trip. We need to go to New Bangladesh first, the city of Kitezh. Should take no more than a couple days.”
Spur stepped out of the way of the cargo lifter. “What possible reason exists to delay?” With freedom and a return to the warm embrace of the Emperor already suffusing his every sense, the notion of delay was … unpalatable.
