Renaissance 2.0: The Entire Series (books 1 thru 5)

by Dean C. Moore

  “You happy?” Purnell snipped in Perdue’s face.

  “Not in the least.”

  “I wish we’d never met Robin Wakefield. The next time I see her, I’ll kill her myself rather than be privy to any more of her plans.” Everything blurred before Purnell’s eyes; they were welling with tears.

  “Looks like you’re gonna get your chance,” Perdue said with a cuing nod.

  Robin Wakefield strolled through the killing fields, in her startling red hour-glass dress, her high-heels on.

  ***

  “What have you done, Robin?” She scanned the charred bodies. Some still clutched the controls on their vehicles. Others she assembled in her imagination from the pieces lying about.

  A skull glowed, its eyes aflame like a Halloween lantern. “This is why you don’t get involved.”

  She peered down at the flattened human below her feet. “This is why you’re so slow to action.”

  There were more dead than she could count. “Not slow enough, apparently.”

  Some lumberjacks, still among the living dead, hung impaled on the horns of elk. They screamed out in agony.

  Robin wiped her hand across the vista, restored the forest to life.

  She banished the heavy, forest-killing equipment to oblivion. Putting a dent in the owners’ pocketbooks would make him think twice next time.

  And, one by one, then several at a time—she brought the dead back to life. She could see a larger section of the obelisk alighting in her mind’s eye as it empowered her.

  ***

  “Fuck me,” Perdue exclaimed, as he observed Robin’s interventions. “There you go, Purnell. She gave you a stretch goal to work toward. Maybe if you can learn to undo all my handiwork, you can finally stop all your whining.”

  ***

  Robin materialized before Perdue. They watched as the terrorized work crew fled the scene. “They’ll still have their nightmares,” Robin explained. “One thing for sure, they won’t be coming back. Mission accomplished. Maybe I should have explained a light touch works best. The less attention you draw to yourselves, the more likely you are to survive this world, or any other.”

  Perdue smirked, but said nothing.

  Purnell said, “Our fearless leader here wanted to know how far we could take things and how long we could last.”

  “Reasonable,” she said. Purnell thought she sounded nearly as dry as Perdue. She turned to look over the restored forest with an air of melancholy, perhaps grieving for the tortured men left in her wake, which was more than Purnell could do. As bleeding hearts go, she might just have him outgunned.

  Robes-Pierre jumped out of the truck. “If you can do all that, what do you need us for?”

  “I can’t keep my mind on everything at once. Perdue’s right; there’s too many bad guys out there and they still have us outgunned, no matter how much we power up.” She focused her attention on Purnell. “You can’t spend the rest of your life deliberating. That’s an even worse hell than anything our bad guys will endure. I know.”

  Robin disappeared before Purnell could get in a last word.

  “I knew there was something I liked about her.” Perdue flicked his cigarette. “Come on, time to see what Purnell has to contribute to our little team, besides a lot of bellyaching. Or you get left behind, Purnell. How’s that help your indecision?” Perdue grabbed him and shoved him.

  Purnell stumbled before falling into a more even pace as their new point-man. He’d take the first shot, which Perdue probably figured was all he was good for right now.

  ***

  “Is it me, or does Brasilia, as cities go, seem saner than most, and a whole lot prettier?” Purnell felt just as hypnotized by Oscar Neimeyer’s design for the Parliament buildings as by the rest of the urban landscape.

  “Don’t let the prettiness distract you from the fact we’re here to kill people.” Perdue reached for a boomerang in one of the SWAT truck’s storage lockers. Mercifully, it, like the ZAPPER truck, bore no logos. The anonymity served them well right now, considering they had absolutely no jurisdiction in Brazil, and decidedly dubious reasons for being here. Perdue handed the boomerang to Go Long. “Try this. A gift from Widget.”

  Go Long painted a skeptical face on his person before relenting. He grabbed the burnished metal boomerang out of Perdue’s hand, got a feel for its balance.

  “You’re up, Purnell. Don’t let Go Long’s antics distract you from the fact that this is your show today.” Perdue snapped the compartment closed on the SWAT truck, enjoyed watching Purnell flinch. Purnell felt as if he were hung over: every sound pierced his skull like cutting-edge acupuncture using acoustic needles; the sun broiled his eyeballs. The slightest movement in his peripheral vision was interpreted as an enemy darting towards him. Perdue, not one to miss much, had keyed into his state of mind before he had.

  Either Parliament was in recess, or they’d let out for the day. The politicians streamed out of the buildings as if they’d sprung a leak at their bases, and the giant containers were oozing black oil out the bottom. Up close, the black smudges sharpened into business suits attached to identifiable mugs.

  “That’s one of them,” Purnell said, pointing. “One of the guys determined to run the Yanomami people into extinction for the pot of gold they’re sitting on, and copper, and tin…”

  “I’m not your poli-sci professor.” Perdue shouldered his rifle. “If you’re looking to impress me, you’re going about it the wrong way.”

  Evanti, the Parliamentarian Purnell had his eyes on, olive-skinned, thick of hair, stocky of build, made his way to his car with an anxious-to-get-home-at-the-end-of-a-long-day air about him. He ducked reflexively as the black BMW exploded, sending shrapnel his way. When the relentless plumes and explosions threatened to reach him, he dropped to the ground.

  Still shaking, Evanti stood, released his suitcase, and ran into traffic. Evidently, he was in shock and not all that clear on where he was headed. Though the men in black trailing him with guns pointing might have outweighed his fears of oncoming vehicles.

  Evanti looked away from the muzzle of the closest pistol bearing down on him, perhaps in search of cover, in time to see the truck smash into him.

  By the time the third truck passed over Evanti, he looked more like a Jackson Pollock than an Evanti original.

  Perdue panned his attention from the stain Evanti left on the asphalt to confirm his car had not in fact blown up, and there were no men in black chasing him. “Thought projection. Nice. Your kill style fits you, Purnell. You just get them to do themselves in. Less guilt that way.”

  “You notice none of the truckers stopped for him,” Purnell said.

  Perdue’s expression suggested he was still working through the implications. “You got inside their minds at the same time,” he said. He watched as traffic continued to zing by, no one noticing the dead man on the road. “Better still.”

  “There’s another of the Yanomami killers,” Purnell said pointing. Before he could do anything about it, Go Long flung his boomerang into traffic. It careened off several lanes of vehicles, picked up momentum along the way, only to find its way back to Renan, the man Purnell was pointing at. The burnished metal boomerang took his head clean off without even slowing, and trailed a line back to Go Long’s hands. He caught it with the assist of a Kevlar glove. Though by then, the blade tipping its perimeter had retracted.

  “Hey, that was supposed to be my kill,” Purnell groused.

  “I love the new you,” Perdue said, putting a hand on Purnell’s shoulder. “But we still have to learn to play nice with others.”

  “There’s another one. Breno. He’s getting away,” Purnell informed them. He indicated the car streaming along on the freeway.

  Chew Toy generated a colossal earthquake that ripped through the freeway. There was now a ramp in front of Breno’s car, which sent it airborne and into the opposing lane of traffic, where the Mercedes met up with the face end of a semi-truck.

  The exp
losion instantly killed both drivers.

  Perdue studied the fall out. The other commuters deterred by the fractured roadway; some cars hung precariously over sink holes that had appeared out of nowhere; others had fallen in entirely. “Messy, Chew Toy. God save me for saying it, but I think I prefer Purnell’s methods.”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  Perdue grabbed Purnell by the neck. “Your turn, little one. Can’t have them mitigating all your guilt for you. I’m just as curious to see how you hold up to a rising body count as I am to find out how long your powers last.”

  Purnell nodded in the direction of Castro, the latest politician to exit the parliament building. He boarded a company bus in the parking lot.

  The team watched expectantly as the bus doors closed on him. Castro barely had time to take his seat before everyone inside the bus tore him limb from limb. Eventually the blood splatter against the windows obscured any further evidence of the slaying, save for the few close-ups of passengers pressed up against the windows eating some part of Castro or another.

  Perdue said, “I read the Yanomami favored a form of cannibalism. Nice touch.”

  Building security was headed their way. They looked of a better vintage than the usual rent-a-cops. “This should be interesting,” Perdue exclaimed.

  “Yeah, especially since my powers are gone,” Purnell said. “Looks like the mind-space I threw up to blind everyone to what was going on has collapsed.” The screams suddenly coming from the adjoining freeway and the company parking lot confirmed as much.

  “Why so soon?” Perdue asked clinically.

  “If I had to guess—that guilt you were talking about,” Purnell replied.

  “Lovely. Just like old times, namely me and the rest of my men covering for a weaker member of the team.” Perdue signaled his men to snap to. “Damn you and your conscience, Purnell. Damn you to hell.”

  “Don’t look now, but if we’re on a road to hell, I’m not the one in the driver’s seat.”

  Robes-Pierre jumped out the back of the SWAT truck. “If you two want to talk using ominous overtones, then you won’t mind telling me if we’re finally ready for our jaunt to Saturn.”

  “You picked a hell of a time to jump out of the truck, Robes-Pierre.” Perdue stepped between him and the line of fire. “You’re the one person on the team who doesn’t play POSTAL.”

  “Someone has to be the last man standing in case that game has any more hidden surprises. Besides, my abilities constitute enough of a superpower.”

  “All the same, you’ll kindly get your ass back in that truck.” Perdue spoke in a tone that didn’t invite discussion.

  “Not until you answer the question.”

  Perdue, pensive, studied the security teams swarming their way. “Yeah, next stop Saturn.”

  “Yes!” Robes-Pierre pumped his fist. The first bullet careened off the side of the truck. He jumped back into the van.

  ***

  Robin materialized in time to witness Perdue take out the entire hornet’s nest of Parliament security officers swarming around him. He sent out an expanding bubble of force-field-like energy that turned them to ash the instant it hit them, arguably to keep his own team alive. It was the way he winked at her before climbing in the back of the truck, which gave her pause.

  As the truck drove off, she was left to wonder about her choices. Like maybe there was some other reason her higher self had drawn her to Perdue. Maybe it was trying to teach her about chasing after lost causes. The inherent narcissism of it. Maybe, like Manny, she alternated between an overbearing superego and a rebellious id; with an insufficiently strong ego to settle the interminable war between them. It might also explain why she was starting to feel drained. The more psychic energy her superego and id stole for themselves, the less was available for ego, and her ability to move mountains, to solve problems, to push on. When she’d started to question why she had been drawn to various characters in her life, Manny’s was the first bio she downloaded with the obelisk’s help.

  Right now she was more concerned about being an echo of Purnell’s psyche than Manny’s; unable to push on, forever paralyzed by indecision.

  What was that she’d advised Thor? If she didn’t learn to think amid uncertainty and feelings of being overwhelmed, she couldn’t grow her mind. And she needed to stay ahead of the Renaissance figures if she were going to nursemaid them.

  To hell with it.

  She was pushing on.

  SEVEN

  Seril’s eyes broke the surface of the lake. He allowed the osmotic pressure of the swampy liquid, which, under twelve Earth gravities, had the consistency of liquid metal, to push him the rest of the way to the surface.

  His walking on water must have seriously creeped out the locals. But he was hollower than the Tin Man. Without constant effort on his part, he’d float on the lake’s surface like a buoy. Explanations to follow.

  For now, he enjoyed the advantages his bioengineering afforded him on Creepton, his name for this weird-ass planet, named in part after Krypton, from his Superman comics’ days, and in part for jeepers creepers, which was how the place made him feel. Maybe if his makers had stirred a little less human psychology into the mix…

  ***

  “What the hell? Where are we?” It had been a long time since Maya had felt this unnerved.

  Trotsky checked the scanners. “I don’t know, but were it not for the magnetic fields, we’d be crushed to a thin sheet of sandpaper scraping at the ocean bottom.”

  At the next collision with whatever was butting up against the hull of the sub, Maya shouted, “Keep hopping EM frequencies. I need to see what’s out there.”

  The sub’s external lights, radiating across the electromagnetic spectrum in response to the shifting computer signals, finally hit on something the creatures swimming about were able to reflect.

  A bone-chilling silence filled the air, melding with the cloud of anxiety, to make the atmosphere that much more stifling. The ship’s creaking and groaning under pressure seemed to convey their fears for them.

  Maya declared, “Those creatures do not exist on Earth.”

  “It must be the Bermuda Triangle effect. Too cool. I told you it was real, man.” That was Monitor, whose job it was, that’s right, to monitor anything and everything pertinent to their survival under water, specifically the stuff everyone else was likely to miss.

  “Not exactly.”

  ***

  Maya’s crew turned toward the woman who uttered the fateful words, “Not exactly,” in a voice no one recognized. They found Robin Wakefield, a.k.a. Lady in Red, holding on to a rail. Her lines, thanks to the hair, the dress, and the high heels, flowed more swankily than the sinuous contours of the sub.

  “Definite hallucination,” Monitor said, after giving Robin the once over with his eyes. “I’ll check the air mixture.”

  Robin explained, “I’ve modified the sub so you can check up on your off-world colonies. Your very own Bermuda Triangle effect, only you don’t have to be anywhere near Bermuda.”

  “Off-world colonies?” Monitor’s voice sounded shaky.

  Maya clenched visibly, but was still awaiting further information before reacting, and possibly wringing Robin’s neck.

  “I thought Maya could use some incentive to accelerate the learning curve vis-à-vis bioengineering new lifeforms, specifically new humanoid species for off-world.”

  “To get around the inevitable asteroid collision, our sun going supernova ahead of schedule, Mt. Whatever erupting and throwing up a planet-killing plume of radioactive smoke… Honestly, I’m way ahead of you.” Monitor nodded supportively. “Too bad I’m hallucinating all of this. Reality is going to hit like a cold slap in the face come morning.” He returned his eyes to his scanners.

  Robin smiled. Monitor was definitely growing on her. She was becoming increasingly aware of her own need for comic relief. Burdensome responsibility had made her, well, burdensome.

  “How does this device work exa
ctly?” Maya asked.

  “Group hallucination. Even better.” Monitor took his eyes off Maya and returned them to his scanner, even more determined to stoically deal with the latest turn of events.

  Robin explained, “The sub can only take you to worlds where you have a fighting chance of messing with the genome to give sentient life a foothold in a compressed timeframe. As you take your game up a level, the circle of appropriate worlds the sub will find for you will expand accordingly.”

  “Compressed timeframe?” Trotsky interjected, smelling a rat. He took a confrontational step closer toward her.

  Robin elaborated for them. “I can’t say for certain, but it appears the race is on between artificials and naturals. Self-aware robots, perhaps with the aid of Mother—my term for the now-sentient Internet—will trigger a Singularity State for themselves so that artificial intelligence can capitalize on their ability to evolve post-exponentially to explode across the cosmos.”

  “A sentient Internet?” Monitor took the joint out of his pocket. “What’s the point of getting baked if my reality already plays like a wild hallucination?” He threw the stick of marijuana in the garbage can.

  Robin took a step down the landing. “Once they figure a way around Einstein’s speed-of-light constant, perhaps by using black hole propulsion, they will settle the heavens in a virtual afternoon. The diversity of artificial lifeforms they can create to fill every nook and cranny will push out any chance the naturals have.”

  “You’re saying there’s a war coming?” Trotsky interjected once again, cutting to the chase. His stance shifted; muscles flexed, posture corrected, as if already in a fight.

  “God, this hallucination just keeps getting better and better,” Monitor said. “Screw correcting the air mixture. I say we go with this as the new normal.”

  Robin sighed. “I’m saying that not just this universe, but the multiverse, is about to become one very crowded place. And in the race to create new lifeforms, those who want to bet on carbon-based life might want to get their chips on the table… for whatever’s coming down the pike.”