Mercury Revolts: (Book Four of the Mercury Series)

by Robert Kroese

  “Eddie!” Michelle yelled again, trying to extract her tiny fist from the wall. “The patch!”

  Eddie nodded and went to one of the computers, plugging in the USB drive.

  Gamaliel took a step forward, holding out his hand toward Eddie. Gamaliel wasn’t stupid; he’d figured out that someone else nearby was using the anti-Balderhaz field gun to allow Michelle and Eddie to manipulate interplanar energy. But that meant Gamaliel could perform miracles as well. Wiping out data stored on magnetic media was the easiest thing in the world for an angel to do. A miniscule amount of interplanar energy could be converted into a powerful electromagnetic pulse, erasing every bit of data on every computer in the building. But Eddie was exerting as much effort as he could muster into not letting Gamaliel get ahold of any interplanar energy in the area. He couldn’t hold Gamaliel off forever, but he could buy Michelle enough time for another attack.

  Michelle had already gotten free from the wall and was moving toward Gamaliel when the latter suddenly crouched down and then shot directly upward, crashing through the ceiling. Through the hole, the night sky could be seen.

  “Suzy!” cried Eddie.

  “I’m on it,” said Michelle. “Run the patch!” Michelle shot through the hole in the ceiling after Gamaliel.

  Eddie found the patch file on the thumb drive, uploaded it to the Myrmidon server, and executed the file. A progress indicator crept across the screen as the software was updated. Behind him, several of the goons were stirring. Eddie tried to give them another knock, but he suddenly found himself unable to grab hold of any interplanar energy. Suzy must have moved out of range with the anti-Balderhaz field gun. The progress indicator was at thirty-seven percent. Eddie smiled nervously as three of the six men picked up their guns and got to their feet. They didn’t look happy.

  “OK, look, guys,” said Eddie. “All I’m doing is patching the software. It’s no big deal. It’s like when that window pops up and asks you if you want to update Java.”

  The three men exchanged angry glances.

  “I hate that fucking thing,” said one of them.

  The other two grunted in agreement, and Eddie realized he’d made a serious tactical error. Everybody hated Java updates.

  The three men moved toward him. “Get out of the way,” the first one said, “or—”

  But at that moment Michelle and Gamaliel came crashing back through the ceiling, flattening the three men. Michelle was on Gamaliel’s back, with her legs wrapped around his stomach and her arms around his neck. Gamaliel was growling and trying to pry her arms off.

  Eddie glanced at the screen. The progress indicator was at fifty-eight percent. If he could keep Michelle and Gamaliel from smashing the computer in the next couple of minutes, their mission would be a success. Gamaliel got up, staggered back and forth for a few seconds, further trampling the barely conscious men he’d just landed on, and then barreled backwards into the bare wall behind him.

  His goal had presumably been to dislodge Michelle, but he managed to hit the wall precisely between two studs, smashed through both layers of drywall, and disappeared from Eddie’s view with Michelle presumably still firmly attached.

  Meanwhile another of the goons had come around and Eddie ran over and pounced on him. Without the ability to perform miracles, Eddie didn’t have much of a chance against a single unarmed man, to say nothing of six men with assault rifles. Fortunately this particular man was prone, dazed, and injured, which gave Eddie a fighting chance.

  Eddie punched the man as hard as he could across the jaw, which had the dual effect of waking him up and pissing him off. The man gripped Eddie by the throat and threw him off as if Eddie were a light jacket. Eddie landed on top of another barely conscious man, who stirred and groaned. Eddie considered punching the man, thought better of it, and sprang after the other man, who had gotten to his feet and was heading toward the computer terminal. Eddie dove at the man, gripping him around the ankles. The man pulled one of his legs free and continued walking toward the terminal, dragging Eddie across the floor as he went.

  He’d reached the terminal and was bending over the keyboard when Eddie heard a voice above him.

  “Eddie!” the voice cried.

  Eddie looked up to see Suzy peering through the hole in the ceiling at him. She was pointing a hair dryer at him.

  Eddie smiled. The anti-Balderhaz field gun was a little too close for maximum effectiveness, but he only needed a very minor miracle at present. Eddie waved his hand and the man suddenly stood straight up, gasped, clutched his chest, and fell over backwards.

  “Jesus Christ, Eddie!” yelled Suzy from above. “What did you do?”

  “Stopped his heart,” said Eddie, getting up to look at the monitor. As he watched, the indicator went from ninety-nine to one hundred percent. “Thank God,” murmured Eddie.

  Then the screen went black.

  “Oh, shit,” said Eddie.

  “What?” asked Suzy. “What happened? Did it say the patch was successfully installed?”

  “No!” cried Eddie. “It went to one hundred percent and then everything went black! I don’t know what happened!”

  “Did you touch something?” asked Suzy.

  “No, I didn’t do anything! It just went black for no reason! Is there some…”

  A window popped up. It read:

  An update is available for Java. Would you like to update Java now?

  “Holy fucking shit,” groaned Eddie. He clicked No and the window disappeared. In its place another window appeared. It read:

  Myrmidon patch successfully installed.

  “Never mind,” said Eddie. “We’re good. Mission accomplished.”

  “But you killed that guy!” yelled Suzy.

  “Huh?” replied Eddie. “Oh, no. Hang on.” He waved his hand and the man suddenly jerked awake and gasped for air. Eddie leaned over him. “You OK, buddy?” he said.

  The man stared at Eddie with a look of terror on his face.

  “He’s fine,” said Eddie. “Just had to restart his heart.” He turned back to the man. “Stay out of trouble, OK? Don’t do drugs.”

  Through the hole in the wall Eddie heard a distant crash. Evidently Michelle and Gamaliel were still going at it.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Suzy.

  Eddie nodded. “Back up. Keep the gun pointed at me.”

  Suzy disappeared from view. Eddie floated through the hole in the ceiling and landed on the roof a few yards from her. “How do we get down?” he asked. Eddie had used the anti-Balderhaz field gun to allow Michelle to levitate Suzy onto the roof, and then tossed the gun to her. Getting down, though, posed some logistical problems now that they had lost a member of their team.

  “What about Michelle?” said Eddie, as they made their way to the edge of the roof.

  “Screw Michelle,” replied Suzy. “I hope she and Gamaliel tear each other to pieces.”

  “Yeah,” said Eddie, “but how do we get down?”

  “It’s not that far,” said Suzy. “Just lower yourself over the edge and drop to the ground. Then I’ll lower myself down and you can catch me.”

  Eddie stood at the edge of the roof and looked down. Some twelve feet down was pavement. He bit his lip. They could hear shouts coming from the hole in the roof.

  “Fine,” said Suzy. “I’ll go first and you can float down, you big pussy.”

  Suzy climbed over the edge and hung for a moment before dropping to the ground. She got to her feet and Eddie tossed her the anti-Balderhaz field gun. She took several paces back and aimed the gun at Eddie, allowing him to float gracefully to the ground.

  “All right,” Suzy said. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

  They scaled a chain-link fence and took off running across a vacant lot. Behind them they heard the shouts of pursuing men. But pursuit was futile, as Suzy and Eddie had left the Balderhaz field. Eddie scooped up Suzy in his arms and took flight, leaving the men cursing below. Gamaliel and Michelle were presu
mably still doing their best to kill each other.

  Eddie, Suzy and Michelle had done their part. Now everything depended on Mercury getting the transmitter in place.

  Chapter Forty-five

  About a thousand miles above Earth; August 2016

  The transmitter once again shot past the satellite, reached its apogee, and then began tumbling back to Earth. Mercury, in the clutches of two demons, vanished into the great mass of blue and white below. The matter was now out of his hands.

  Miraculously, as the makeshift contraption fell past the satellite, it slowed, came to a stop, and then reversed course. A small head peaked out from inside the drum, took a look around, and then disappeared back into the drum.

  A moment later, the owner of the small head, a diminutive cherub named Perpertiel, climbed out of the drum and, with a roll of duct tape in one hand, fluttered toward the satellite, dragging the transmitter behind him. Strictly speaking the fluttering was unnecessary as there was no atmosphere to speak of, but then Perp didn’t actually need the wings to fly in the first place. For Perp, it was all about style.

  It wasn’t particularly stylish to hide out inside an oil drum and nearly lose his lunch three different times, but that was evidently what was required of him. He was the only one who could fit inside the drum, and in any case he supposed that the indignity of his assignment was still preferable to being incinerated on reentry. He had to hand it to Mercury: when he got an idea in his head, he committed to it.

  Perp levitated Balderhaz’ transmitter while unscrewing the bolts that held the factory model in place. He let the old transmitter fall to Earth and moved the new one into place. A few yards of duct tape later, and he’d performed an installation that would have gotten the thumbs up from MacGyver himself. He plugged in the signal cable and that was that. Assuming that Suzy’s patch had been loaded, they would now have complete control over Tiamat and her minions.

  Perp let go of the satellite and fell toward Earth, his wings fluttering in the nonexistent breeze.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Grand Rapids, Michigan; August 2016

  After a few initial missteps the chip implantation program was going remarkably well, and it was no coincidence that the turnaround coincided with the arrival of Zion Johnson. Zion Johnson had met with his staff an hour after landing in Grand Rapids to explain to them that they’d all be getting chipped on national television to demonstrate both the innocuousness of the chips and the fact that nobody was above the law. He’d only had to fire three of them, who objected on principle. They and their principles were now locked up in a makeshift holding cell, awaiting chip implantation. If it made them feel better to put up some momentary resistance, Zion Johnson wasn’t going to begrudge them that.

  Zion Johnson and his underlings were chipped at a press conference, as planned. After they had the chips implanted, a reporter asked them if they felt any different. They all laughed and said no. “What am I supposed to be feeling?” one of them asked, which struck Zion Johnson as funny.

  Zion Johnson did feel different. Perhaps because he had always been so loyal, he was acutely aware of the tiniest seed of disloyalty inside of him. His patriotism was like the faith of an ascetic monk who flogged himself mercilessly for being unable to rid himself of the last vestiges of doubt. And now that doubt, that seed of disloyalty, was gone.

  Some part of him missed it, missed the constant struggle, the need to recite his mantra in the face of adversity. Now his mantra was redundant. There were no longer any obstacles to perfect patriotism, perfect obedience, and so there was no need to struggle, to rally his will to overcome. Superior attitude, superior state of mind now held no more meaning to him than six foot two, graying hair, size ten shoes. His attitude and state of mind were always superior, and he was starting to forget why he’d ever needed a mantra in the first place. It seemed silly now. Why would anyone question authority? Zion Johnson wasn’t going to tolerate anyone questioning his, and he wouldn’t expect the president or Tiamat to tolerate it either. He’d initially had his doubts about Tiamat, but now he saw her as embodying all of his most cherished ideals. If she didn’t always seem to be the most honorable, honest, or patriotic person, it was because her ways were beyond the understanding of a mere soldier like Zion Johnson. He would die for Tiamat if that’s what she asked of him.

  At present, Zion Johnson was overseeing the opening of the newest chip implantation center, in an abandoned Build-a-Bear store in a strip mall on the southeast side of the city. Smiling citizens were lined up out the door, and cameramen were documenting it all for the evening news. In actuality, most of the smiling citizens had already been chipped. They’d been asked by one of Zion Johnson’s underlings to show up in a show of support for the chip implantation effort and, having been programmed to do whatever was asked of them by authority figures, they’d happily complied. Several of them had taken the day off work to wait in line, go into a back room when their names were called, exit out the back of the building, walk back around to the front, and do it all over again. They would happily do this for weeks on end if asked, but a few of them did have to be sent home after making themselves sick on the free juice and cookies.

  Only about one in five of the “customers” was an actual implantation candidate, and half of those were homeless people who were only there for the free food. But that’s how you had to start with these things. It was always easiest to control the disenfranchised. Once the distribution of food rations was linked to chip implantation, they’d start seeing more of the lower middle class showing up. And then, when people had gotten used to that, they’d start offering chip recipients special passes allowing unchecked travel throughout the city. The trick was to roll out these programs in an orderly and gradual way, to minimize the outrage. Of course, he could move faster in Grand Rapids than in a typical psy ops mission because with the chips, conversion was assured, instantaneous and irreversible. There would be no sunshine patriots or turncoats in Grand Rapids. Zion Johnson expected the entire city to be converted within a month. And then they’d move on to the next city. America would hit the tipping point within a year.

  But as Zion Johnson stood by, admiring the efficiency of his operation and enjoying a chocolate chip cookie, he was suddenly struck by a pang of doubt. It was a small pang—tiny, even. The sort of pang that he wouldn’t even have required even a single recitation of his mantra to exorcise. But it was such an unexpected sensation that he dropped his chocolate chip cookie on the floor and simply stood for a moment, regarding the kernel of doubt the way one might stop to observe a fragile faun that one has unexpectedly come across in the woods.

  Then, as he stood there reflecting on his doubt, another feeling struck him: anger. He wasn’t even sure at first what he was angry about, but the anger collided with the doubt like a breeze hitting a flame, and the doubt grew larger. The doubt fed the anger and the anger fed the doubt, and soon he was shaking in fury.

  One of his underlings—a pudgy female Homeland Security intern—had apparently noticed the change in his demeanor and walked up next to him. “Sir?” she said. “Do you want me to get you another cookie?”

  Zion Johnson turned to look at her, at first unable even to comprehend what she had said to him. Finally he murmured, “No. No cookie.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and bent over to pick up the cookie he’d dropped.

  “No cookies for anyone,” said Zion Johnson quietly.

  “Sir?” asked the intern.

  “NO COOKIES FOR ANYONE!” Zion Johnson shouted. The people in line turned to stare at him. A few of them slipped their cookies into their pockets.

  Zion Johnson drew his gun from its holster and held it over his head. “NO COOKIES FOR ANYONE!” he roared again, and fired five times into the ceiling.

  The people in line screamed and scattered. A few of them may have come to the realization that they’d somehow been hoodwinked into coming to this place, but most of them just ran out of fear. Zion Johnson didn’
t care; he just wanted everybody gone.

  “Sir!” yelled the intern. “What are you doing? What is wrong with you?”

  Zion Johnson turned to look at the girl. What is wrong with me? He thought. No, what is wrong with you? She had been chipped two days earlier, with the rest of his staff. He looked into her eyes, trying to determine whether she was still under Tiamat’s control. Is it just me? he thought. Am I the only one who is free? There was no way to tell. There was nothing in the girl’s eyes but confusion and fear.

  “Listen to me,” he said to the girl. “This is wrong. This whole operation is wrong. Putting chips in people’s heads to track them, it’s wrong. It doesn’t matter if we’re doing it for good reasons. The whole point of being human is that you have the freedom to choose to do right or wrong without coercion. Can’t you see that?”

  The girl now looked even more frightened. She backed away from Zion Johnson.

  The room had emptied out except for Zion Johnson, the girl, and a couple of equally frightened technicians. Zion Johnson had intentionally made the security presence virtually invisible to help with public relations. But invisible didn’t mean nonexistent. Five national guardsmen suddenly burst into the room, brandishing their rifles.

  “What the hell is going on here?” the sergeant in charge yelled. His eyes fell to Zion Johnson’s gun.

  “Stand down,” ordered Zion Johnson. “We’re shutting down this facility.”

  The sergeant’s eyebrow went up. “On whose authority, sir?” he asked.

  Now here’s an interesting conundrum, thought Zion Johnson. He still wasn’t sure if it was just his own chip that was malfunctioning or if the whole Myrmidon system was down. Was the sergeant questioning his order because the chip was telling him Zion Johnson wasn’t following Tiamat’s orders? Or was he questioning it because he was actually thinking for himself? There was one way to find out.