Archon's Queen

by Matthew S. Cox

Sparks crackled around the psi inhibitor as it battled her subconscious tendency to ruin machines at the onset of emotion. The terror in her heart at the thought of having one of those bombs forcibly implanted triggered a neural shock that left her twitching out of control for several minutes.

  “That is most unusual,” said a voice out of sight to her left.

  The men seemed curious about the effect, leaning in closer to look. The one who kept grabbing her from behind waved some manner of handheld device past her.

  Agent Gordon palmed her head, lifting it so she looked at him. “Now what did you just try to do, naughty little girl?”

  The condescension in his voice brought her reason back on wings of anger. “Just kill me already. Stop torturing me.”

  He squatted in front of the chair, balancing his elbows on his knees, at eye level with her. “I would very much like to ask a favor of you.” He held up a small black box, the size of what an engagement ring would come in. “In return, I’ll offer you what’s in this box instead of what’s in that one.” He pointed at the restraining bomb.

  “Tell me what it is first.”

  Standing back to his full height, a head taller than the other man, he pondered her request with a thumb to his chin. The thinner agent closed the case containing the implant; her gaze darted to the click of the latch. Fear of the implanted detonator built on top of her dread of the pain that followed spikes of emotion. The harder she tried to stay calm, the more she panicked. It spiraled into a building cycle that sent her into a spastic fit of screaming and yanking on her arms and legs. The whispers in her head made it worse. She could not contain her fear and could not bear the agony that followed it.

  “I can’t take this anymore. Please stop. You have no idea what you’re doing to me!”

  “All you need to do is agree to help us out, and it stops.” Agent Gordon patted her on the shoulder.

  She sniffled, coughing spit through her teeth and trying to regain some small degree of composure. “What do you want?”

  “Well, as you know, the CSB operates independently of oversight with wide-sweeping powers in matters involving The Concern. Directive Seven gives us the power to terminate any individual deemed to be a threat to Crown or country.” He poked her in the forehead with a gloved finger gun. “I could do you right here and no one would say boo.”

  Anna swayed as if drunk, looking up at him with an unladylike tendril of drool falling out of her mouth. The thrumming distractions in her mind, images and whispered words, chipped at the threshold of her sanity.

  “Why can’t you just say psionics? Is it easier to murder people when we’re just ‘The Concern?’”

  Agent Gordon flashed a frown of contemplation for a few seconds and nodded. “Yes, basically. I rather think of it as being the poor sot who gets stuck working at the pound, having to put down all those puppies that are unadoptable.”

  Anna closed her eyes, trying to ignore the whispering. “No puppy is unadoptable.”

  “Dogs then. I s’pose you’re right then, the little ones most often do what they’re told. It’s the ones that bite we have to put down… the mangy ones that live on the edge of town, hiding in alleys and picking through trash. It’s the sick ones who become a menace to society.”

  She glared. That was not her anymore. James was going to save her. She stared longingly at the door, trying to bend reality by sheer force of will and make him appear. Her howl of agony rang through the cavernous space, leaving her bleeding from the nose and shaking out of control.

  “You really ought to stop fighting the inhibitor, Anna. It’ll only hurt worse and worse.”

  Thinking of the earnest look on James’s face, she somehow found the resilience not to crack and admit it was subconscious. The CSB did not know about the Awakened, and James did not want them to.

  “It hurts so much. I can’t help it. Make the whispering stop, please.”

  “Can’t, lass. That’s what keeps your mind off balance and makes it impossible to use your power. If you try to find enough focus to try, it zaps. Take deep breaths and relax; most people last three days of wearing one before they go insane, you’ve only had it on for three hours.”

  “What do you want me to do? Will you let me go if I agree to it?”

  He circled her wearing a smug grin. “There is an individual who some of us within the CSB would like removed. With a little help from us, your unfortunate pappy’s death was swept under the proverbial rug.” He spun to a halt with a flourish of his coat. Eye contact. “We want you to solve a problem. Make it look like an accident, the same way you did Daddy.”

  “I don’t like killing. That was self-defense. He would have beaten me to death. Can’t you have one of these men do it? I’m not an assassin, that’s your lot.”

  “This is a political problem, we need plausible deniability. You have a unique talent that will set things up nicely as force majeure, and even provide his widow with a nice settlement from the company that manufactured whatever appliance you use as a power source.”

  “If I do it, you won’t put a bomb in me? What’s in the other box?”

  Gordon produced the small onyx cube once more, pulling it open like a clamshell to reveal a half-inch black chip nestled in a crease of blue felt. “Information… and yes, the detonators are necessary with individuals who can influence the mind and control people, subtle things poor saps like me have little chance to resist. Your talents are a bit more overt. I suppose you are not much different from a lunatic with a rifle.” He held out a hand. “Shake on the deal then?”

  Even if she wanted to, the handcuffs wouldn’t let her reach where he’d left his hand―on purpose. She glared.

  Gordon chuckled, lowering his arm. “I will ensure they make an exception for you and leave you off the books, provided you continue to behave yourself.” A plastic smile twisted his lips. “Perhaps you could continue in our employ.”

  She cringed. “I’m not a lunatic… unless you leave me like this much longer.”

  “So we have an accord then?” He snapped the small box closed.

  “I’ll need to think it over… I’m not a killer.”

  He chuckled. “Those blokes in the alley would beg to differ.”

  Anna rattled the cuffs as she tried to leap out of the chair. “They tried to… For fucks’ sake, he had his hand on my twat.”

  The box containing the bomb dangled before her eyes. “Consider this to be the extenuating circumstance in this case then. It’s him or you.”

  Deflating, she sagged. “Not much of a negotiator are you? Givin’ me a choice of one clusterfuck or the other.”

  The hovercar went past again, going the other way. She looked up, tracking the shimmer through the cracks. Whispers scolded her for murdering her father, teased her for being a freak, and mocked her for being unwanted. Chattering harpies called her a whore, called her dirty, and taunted her for some tiny part of her brain enjoying the feeling of being tied down. Threads of pain seeped into her head as her emotions careened about with wild abandon. Her impotent effort to get out of the chair fanned the fires of her panic; she knew a wave of torture would follow it and this time it would be unbearable.

  Doctor Mardling’s voice drifted out of the tormenting whispers. “You are far greater than they know.”

  Anna gathered her faculties and braced her mind against the barrage of images and sounds. It was a self-feeding cycle. The more it zapped her, the more emotional she got, making the shocks come harder. Her search for calm equilibrium swayed back and forth like an over-steering drunk. Hard metal on her skin was a constant reminder of vulnerability. Desperation mounted away from her control. Blood gushed from her nose as she strained; her entire body locked in a vibrating rigor as she shrieked with terror. Agent Gordon lifted an amused eyebrow; the men behind him took a step back.

  The thin metal strip around her head erupted in a spectacular arc of violet lightning that leapt through the steel chair into the man holding the ominous case. Subconscio
us desire to be rid of the neural static flung the energy away in a random direction to the closest conductor. He fell in place, convulsing on the ground as the energy caused a brief flash of his skull to glow purple through his face. Metal fragments rolled down her smock as the restrictive tightness once clamped around her brain dissipated into the awesome feeling of mental freedom.

  The desperate surge of power that leapt from her mind called arcs of lightning from one of the freestanding lamps through two of the soldiers. The men flew off their feet amid crackling flashes, slamming into the ground ten yards away, convulsing and moaning.

  Anna panted, out of breath from the exertion, and let her weight hang into the cords across her chest. Magnificent silence in her brain brought a smile to her face; the whispers had stopped. Before she could utter a word, Gordon’s head vanished beneath black that flowed out of his collar, up and over it like liquid. He had his pistol an inch from her nose in seconds.

  “Please! No!” she wailed, cringing and shivering.

  Distant moaning drifted through a minute of silence, the only sound louder than the rattle of handcuffs.

  “I must admit, I’ve never seen that before. I’ll give you two seconds to tell me how the hell you blew that thing out or I’m going to put a trench through your brain.”

  Anna cried as the cold pistol touched her cheek.

  The chirp of electronic firing circuits echoed from the still-conscious soldiers behind Gordon. Anna squirmed, not caring about the painful chafing handcuffs. She tried to curl into a ball, to get away from all the guns pointed at her. Her gaze darted past Gordon to the men with rifles trained on her. She jerked at her limbs, unable to move, gripped with fear the likes of which she had not felt since the night of her father’s death.

  The night she thought she was about to die.

  Bang. A loud report broke the quiet, right in front of her. Followed by several more pops, and fizzling.

  Anna nearly lost her bladder at the sudden noise. She opened her eyes at the sound of mystified cursing. The soldiers no longer aimed at her, they swatted and checked their now-dark rifles. One spoke into a communications link, which seemed not to work. A startled gasp came from her right, low. The man who had been holding the detonator implant was on the floor cradling the side of his face, bloody and laced with superficial shrapnel wounds from the half-exploded box. Bits of white foam snowed through the air around him, mixed with the scent of explosive chemicals and burned plastic. The charge meant to be attached to a brain stem had gone off in his hands.

  Agent Hughes put a hand over the silver nub behind his ear, eyeing the destroyed box.

  Gordon twisted his gun to look at its side, thrusting out a lip as he appraised the dead weapon. He tucked it back into its holster before drawing a combat knife from his vest and holding the point under her chin.

  She tried to raise her hands in a defensive gesture, two chains clicked. “Please don’t kill me. It was an accident!”

  “Sir, the prisoner burned the inhibitor… She’s dangerous,” said one of the soldiers. “All of our gear is toast. We should fall back.”

  “I’m inclined to believe her,” said Hughes, raising an eyebrow. “You saw what she did in that alley. Even you should admit that was self-defense.”

  “Get Wiltshire out of here.” Gordon poked her in the chin, forcing her to raise her head and look away. She pushed herself to the limit of her bindings in a search for distance. He plucked pieces of the scorched headband out of her lap, appraising each with casual curiosity before tossing them one by one to the side. Then, much to Anna’s surprise, he tugged her smock down to cover more of her thighs.

  Two soldiers dragged the bloody man away.

  “Those things ride up when you squirm.” Gordon glanced to his left. “What do you think?”

  “I can’t tell,” muttered Hughes. “Her thoughts are walled off. Feels like a mind block. Of course, if she is doing that, then she won’t be able to do anything else.”

  “That was a rather fortuitous accident.” Gordon smiled; he seemed to enjoy the risk. He lowered the knife enough to let her look at him. “I believe you had something to say?”

  Anna shivered out of control, taking a moment to find a voice. “Electronics freak out if I get emotional. I’m shitless right now.”

  “I kind of got that impression from the trembling, crying, and whimpering,” said Gordon.

  “You kind of have that effect on women.” Hughes winked.

  Gordon picked his eye with his middle finger.

  “It’s why my dad beat the hell out of me. I’d get scared or angry and some appliance would bugger itself. The more it cost, the worse I got it. The night he… I thought he was going to kill me.”

  “Going for the sympathy card now?” Gordon sighed.

  Agent Hughes gave her a pitying look. “Gordon…”

  “I don’t know how I broke that thing you put on my head. It was awful. Maddening.”

  Hughes put a hand on her head, tracing his thumb over the burn mark. She cringed. “If her electrical abilities are operating at a subconscious level triggered by emotion, the inhibitor was probably creating an escalating feedback loop. The more it punished her, the more her brain fought back. Incredible.” With Gordon unable to see Hughes face, he seemed genuine in his concern. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, but it was… needlessly cruel. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here. She’s the first person I’ve ever seen to have abilities that defy conscious control.”

  “You’re going soft on me, Hughes.” Gordon clucked his tongue. “Well, Miss Morgan, it seems the Bureau has a lot to learn from you.”

  “I don’t think it’s dangerous,” said Hughes. “The involuntary outbursts are simply more… inconvenient.”

  “Yes, sir.” Anna stared at her bare knees. This was far more terrifying than a shithead constable wanting to molest her. “It’s why I’ve not got a NetMini. They kept breaking.”

  She struggled to get up, fearing they meant to keep her for good. The X across her chest felt as if it tightened, cutting off her ability to breathe; she focused all of her mental energy on staying calm. Gordon held up a placating hand, and put his knife away. Shadows moved behind him, the men shocked by the dying lamps grunted to their feet and staggered away like drunkards. Hughes held up what was left of the detonator implant, eyes wide.

  “There are methods other than crude devices to ensure cooperation,” said Gordon with a wry curl to his lip.

  “You could always treat us like people?” Anna balled her hands into fists, knees together.

  Hughes shifted to hide his face from Gordon.

  “We need a problem eliminated in a manner that appears to be accidental. You have three friends who need to stay out of jail.”

  Anna froze; what little color her face had faded. The whole chair rattled. “You… No.”

  “I’m not talking about normal prison. I’m referring to a shadowy governmental ‘no one ever sees you again’ prison. You know, the places the tinfoil hat crowd insist are real, but we deny having?” Gordon patted her upon the cheek. “And once you’re done, you will work with us if you want them to continue to enjoy the sight of blue sky.”

  Tears streamed down her face. She sagged.

  “Do we have an accord?”

  “Don’t hurt them. Leave them out of this.” She made a fist and yanked at her right arm, scowling at the floor. “I’ll do it. Forgive me if I don’t shake.”

  “Excellent.” Gordon waved to someone behind her.

  A hand came over the seatback and pushed her head to the left. Before she could get out much of a yelp, icy metal pressed into the side of her neck with a hiss. Cold spread up into her head and down over her chest. Sound blurred, and Gordon’s condescending grin warped into a spiral of color. Agent Hughes’s face slid into her field of view; his hands cradled her head.

  His voice chased her thoughts into darkness.

  You will be just fine, Anna.

  entle rock
ing lulled Anna into a stupor of comfort. For several minutes after regaining consciousness, she lay on her side like a corpse. Salty air wafted about, creating small whorls of dust over the dull grey-green surface that stretched out along the right side of her vision. The sound of water lapping against thin plastisteel provided a rhythmic backdrop to the intermittent cry of gulls and the distant echoing laughter of men. The smell of saltwater dominated every breath.

  Her hand slid over rough cloth, across a patch of coarse traction coating, and onto her face. A stripe of pain circled her skull, tender to the touch like a burn from a hair iron. Anna forced herself into a sitting position. The small rowboat in which she sprawled drifted a few yards from a rocky shoreline. She peered over the side into inky black water, a mirror of the night sky. Her gaze climbed a stained concrete pylon to the underside of the pier a distance above.

  It took her a moment to realize she was dressed in her own clothing again. The yellow too-short smock seemed like a foggy memory. Anna gathered her coat tight to her chest, struggling to remember how she had gone from stalking a nonce to sitting in a rowboat. Despite the covering, the air upon the water blew a chill through her bones. Her eyes widened as she recalled who had taken her, her fingers grabbed at her neck with a feverish panic that lasted until she felt no trace of an implanted detonator. She tucked her hands into her armpits for warmth, spotting red marks around both wrists. Agent Gordon’s voice came back to her, threatening to whisk Penny, Spawny, and Faye off the face of the Earth. Arms around her knees, she bawled like a child from guilt.

  Kill an innocent man or my friends suffer? Anna wiped her eyes. He’s a politician. How innocent can he be?

  Anna leaned against the shallow wall, staring up at the lights of the city. The panic of the past several hours melted away as the little boat rocked with the gentle undulation of the water. Head in her hands, she cradled her skull against her knees and tried to forget the torture caused by the device they had put on her. Motion timed with a gust of wind drew her attention to a clean black satchel next to her. It was as out of place as she, no doubt a gift from Agent Gordon. A twinge of nausea crept through her gut as she rummaged through the contents: a NetMini, a datapad, and a small black case about the size of a large bar of soap.