by D N Meinster
Was he giving the Goddess too much credit or blame? He didn't know. All he knew was that he had never been more cozy than in this moment, with Rikki wrapped around him. But he was only able to appreciate the position briefly, as he quite suddenly fell into sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Project Head
A three-dimensional projection of Keisler appeared on his desk, accompanied by a projection of Maevus. They looked up at the Director, who, from their positions, would be nothing but an enhanced image on a flat screen.
"We bring news," Keisler said.
"I heard what happened to Lodmac," Versil replied. The death of their Director of Security was most unfortunate, but any of his clones could easily step into the position.
"But not what happened to Lestrapel," Maevus announced.
Both of Versil's eyebrows went up, and he bent over toward the projections. He did not like being the last to know of any bit of news that went on in Belliore. Most of his time was spent monitoring live feeds from his hovering drone recorders, or HDRs. Even in the midst of an experiment, he would keep one eye on the happenings of his city. As Project Head and Director of Research, all the work being done in Cortex was under his supervision, and, thus, his responsibility. From the creation of a new clone, to the invention of better microchips, all required his consent. Fortunately, he had the eDat to help him monitor each situation. Since the population boom, it'd gotten harder to keep track of it all.
Hearing about a situation regarding Lestrapel Humuratos that he had yet to be informed about disconcerted him. There'd been no notifications, nor had he spotted any calamity on the live feeds which decorated the walls of his office. Versil briefly scrutinized the scenes that were within his peripheral vision. All seemed normal. The weapons lab construction was continuing. Assigned break times were proceeding as expected. And not one screen was highlighted in red to alert him of any unanticipated developments.
There could only be a single conclusion. Whatever was happening to Lestrapel was intentionally being kept from him. The two directors who summoned his attention had planned whatever was to subsequently occur. His curiosity grew, unsure what information they were going to present him. After so many years in Cortex, it was not easy to be surprised.
"So tell me then," Versil softy demanded.
"He's been infected with the MR," Keisler plainly stated.
Versil curled his fist, unseen by his translucent company. When he tried to open his hand back up, his fingers resisted. He grabbed his wrist and shook it, trying to compel them to move. His joints weren't what they had once been.
"We're down two directors," Maevus informed him.
"I can count," Versil spat, finally getting his hand back open. He had not foreseen this development. Lodmac's death was obviously going to happen, given his antagonizing of their Kytheran visitors. But he never thought the MR would affect any of the Directorate. The infection rate had not even hit double digits. It had been improbable that one of the five directors in a city of millions would contract it. "So this is an official Directorate meeting?"
"Yes," Keisler replied. "And I'm calling a vote to replace the Project Head."
"Seconded," Maevus said.
So that's what this was about. They wanted to overthrow him. "After decades at the helm of this city, you want to remove me?"
"The MR is your fault," Keisler reminded him. "Lestrapel's incapacitation and likely death is your fault."
"You led us here," Maevus said.
"The mage can save him!" Versil cried. Doren had caught the MR, but Rikki the mage had cured him of the disease. He'd seen it all transpire on his feed of the hospital. If she could do that, then surely she could end this plague. "Let me work with her. Now that her friend is in good health, she will come around."
"You had your chance," Maevus stated.
"On the removal of the current Project Head, I vote in the affirmative," Keisler went on.
"I vote in the affirmative," Maevus concurred.
"I vote in the negative," Versil growled.
"The affirmative votes have a majority," Keisler said. "Versil Talap is removed as Project Head. I will serve as Acting Project Head until the open positions on the Directorate are filled and a new vote is called."
"Versil Talap shall remain as Director of Research, per the Cortex Charter," Maevus added. "I suggest you use the time to continue researching how to fix this mess you've caused. If you don't, I promise you will lose that title as well."
"Do you plan on turning over the Key to those Kytherans now?" Versil wondered. He did not trust three simpletons with the safety of their kingdom. The horrors Neanthal unleashed on the Bellish were recorded in their history. He had no desire to see him escape from his pocket dimension. Belliore had adequately protected the Key for three hundred years. There was no reason for that to change.
"We would, if you hadn't installed biometric controls on the Chamber," Keisler said.
"That's right," Versil told them with a grin. "You can pretend to be Project Head for as long as you want, but I built this city. Its secrets and treasures are mine. I will always be in charge. End transmission."
The projections of Keisler and Maevus disappeared from his desk, but Versil stared at the space they had occupied like they were still there. Never before had he faced such a blatant power grab. Belliore had been formed in the name of scientific advancement. Politics and emotion were of such a secondary nature that they were rarely, if ever, considered. This manipulation of the Directorate was clearly a strike against precedent. They were emotional; upset about what had occurred due to the MR. But there had been times before in Bellish history when they'd lost control of a creation. The Project Head hadn't been made to suffer then. And now these directors had dragged their political desires into the crisis. They saw an opportunity to gain better titles. It was unheard of! The Bellish awarded titles based on capability, not circumstances.
These two plotters. These two traitors. They defied the Charter that they used to overthrow him and the very founders that had set up this scientific sanctuary. He had observed them for ages, and neither had hinted at a desire to depose him.
It was the MR. It had distracted him from his usual routine, so he would miss any slight changes in behavior. And it had scared his fellow directors so that they were willing to take unprecedented action.
Magic. Of all the powers and energies that existed in the natural world, it was the one that could not be quantified or subdued. And yet, over the years, he had never stopped trying. It figured it had led him to this current predicament. That was an oversight he should have predicted.
Versil lowered one foot to the floor and then the other. Both movements were accompanied by a slight whirring sound. He placed open palms on his desk and propped himself up, an even louder buzz emanating from his back. He'd gotten used to the noise over the last decade.
On the outside of his pale pink vestment were thin metallic rods, stretching out from each of his limbs and extending along the center of his back. The nonintrusive exoskeleton did the heavy lifting that his muscles and joints were no longer capable of. Without the extra support, he mightn't stand, let alone walk. He was currently developing similar equipment for his hands, and he one day hoped to have the machine surgically fused to his own skeleton. He'd considered growing new arms and legs to replace his outdated ones, but he risked losing one completely if the procedure failed. No, biomechanical supplementation was the only solution for him.
Several of his monitors parted to allow him to exit his office. He'd spent so many hours in there; too many. All those days of inactivity, staring at feeds, did as much damage to his body as time had done. He made a habit of exercising once per day, but he'd made that decision too late to save his mobility. Now, he could only preserve what was left.
The main section of Versil's laboratory was devoted to the study of magic. The walls were lined with cylindrical glass tanks, the carcasses of young mages suspended in a greenish liquid. Some bodies were i
dentical to others, though these mage clones were entirely unpredictable when it came to magical abilities. It seemed it was more than DNA that determined magical inclinations. Others had been born from sheer happenstance, without any intention of becoming part of his research. There were fifty on each side, most no older than a teenager. None had truly lived, and many had been artificially aged. Still, they undoubtedly contributed to his punishment.
Versil had never been a pious man. Where the historical data regarding Neanthal was as good as fact, Magenine's existence was entirely speculative. The origin of that name was Neanthal himself; not exactly a trustworthy source. The Goddess had never visited Ghumai, nor made her presence known in some way. All anyone had to go on was magic, and that wasn't sufficient for the Bellish.
Belliore's scientists had studied magic for centuries, though their knowledge was limited to mages that would volunteer. While it may have been an erratic and unstable form of energy, they had never hypothesized that it was of divine originations. Versil had held true to this belief until recently.
All of the mages in this lab had failed him. He'd spliced and extracted every genome, but his goals remained beyond reach. His body fell into decay while magic slipped through his fingers again and again.
But then the Grand Mage of Kytheras had shown up. And he'd gotten himself caught in a stasis field. Versil had carefully extracted Hatswick's blood and incorporated its unique properties into his experimentation. Unlike the mages born in his lab, his DNA fully cooperated with the viral entities he exposed it to. By splicing the two together, he hoped to create a virus that would give the infected body magical abilities. Magic that that person would be able to control, without having to have been born a mage.
It got out of hand almost immediately. Though patient zero started to display the magic he hoped, he died mere hours after displaying the abilities. Versil thought the virus was contained, but then he'd heard of something similar happening out in Cortex. The magical plague had escaped insulation in his lab. He didn't know how. He'd taken every precaution.
All he'd wanted to do was fix what was broken inside him; to repair what he'd impaired so long ago. Instead, he unleashed a plague upon the city he'd built.
If there was a goddess, Versil knew She couldn't have been pleased that he vastly outstayed his welcome in Ghumai. But She mustn't have tolerated the mages he killed and experimented on in recent years. According to legend, they were especially Hers. When he heard that the virus was out in Cortex, he had an inkling that it was more than bad luck that it had gotten out. The Goddess had found a way to get back at him for all that he'd done to Her and Her special offspring. She spread Her foul magic on those that abhorred it; those that had enabled him. Magenine's Retribution, indeed.
"What is the current status of processes eight, ten, and ninety-two?" Versil inquired of the eDat as he made his way to the genetic splicer.
"Process eight, failed," the eDat reported. "Process ten, failed. Process ninety-two, failed."
"Dammit, Magenine," Versil barked. She was allowing this plague to continue. Each time he thought he had developed a counter-agent, the result came back in the negative. That's why he needed her. Rikki had cured the MR through her own magical will. She hadn't needed tests or experimentation to remove the virus from Doren. If he'd acted sooner, the current eventualities baring out could have been prevented. He would've remained Project Head. Lestrapel wouldn't be dying.
He wasn't worried about the title, though. He'd get it back within decades. He knew he could because he'd done it before. But he was worried he'd pushed the only one that could help away and that the MR would infect too many before he could save them.
"What are current projections for the MR infection rate?" Versil asked.
"Based on previous models, Cortex will see a ten percent infection rate within five days," the eDat replied.
"And for that to double?"
"A twenty percent infection rate will be reached in ten days."
"A deck?" Versil hung his head as he made it to the splicer. "When will one hundred percent be reached?"
"Five decks," the eDat responded.
He'd lose the entire population of Cortex in fifty days. It was good that the city was encased in a dome and isolated from the rest of Ghumai. Otherwise, every kingdom would've been dead within a season. Nevertheless, he had no intention of allowing the Bellish to reach an extinction point.
"Splice strand 285 with agent 216," Versil ordered.
A body-sized projection of the virus appeared overhead, adjacent to the alphanumeric equivalents of the genetic materials. The digits twirled around the virus as the system prepared to enact his orders.
As Versil watched, he debated whether another course was necessary if he was unable to stop the MR's spread. Restoration River's link to Terrastream was still functional, as far as he knew. Those that hadn't been infected could escape. Or perhaps, they could send clones of themselves out, along with stores of Belliore's scientific data. Whichever possibility, they had only five decks to prepare. He hoped he'd find a counter-agent before then, or that Rikki would change her mind and assist him.
"Incompatible," the eDat spoke as the words displayed overhead.
Preservation. That was what mattered most.
"Rerun process twenty-eight with strand 286," Versil stated, not anticipating different results.
What was the best use of his time? Continuing on with this fruitless chore or prepping a transport to leave Belliore?
The only way he was going to end this plague was with a mage's help and Rikki wasn't inclined to cooperate. Where was he supposed to find another...?
"Pause all processes," Versil ordered.
He'd had a mage all along. One infinitely wiser than the child that had arrived. And, in an ever more serendipitous chain of events, he'd gotten himself incapacitated and could easily be subjugated to Versil's will. But how could he remove Hatswick from the stasis field without risking potential blowback?
Hatswick's blood had unleashed the MR. It only made sense that the Grand Mage would participate in its treatment. But to what extent could he be controlled? Between paralyzing agents and pain induction, he was sure to coerce his help. But how to minimize the threat his magic posed? He'd need a prison made from magical reduction metals.
"Prepare and execute construction of experiment 91-34," Versil stated. He'd come up with plans for such a prison not long after discovering an alloy that was presently used in the construction of his peacekeepers.
The oversized floating image of the virus was replaced by one of a metallic box.
"Summon a transport," Versil continued relaying orders. "I want a squad of ten peacekeepers to join me."
He had not left his labs since he first extracted Hatswick's blood. He did not like going out in the open world in his condition. Any exposure to the elements could deteriorate his exoskeleton. And if it broke down, he would be stuck; helpless; dependent on automatons or fellow Bellish for aid. That was not how he ever wanted to be seen, not physically or scientifically. He'd kept all MR research to himself to try and prevent any such perceptions. They were supposed to believe he could handle it.
Versil could feel the emotions bubbling within as he thought of Keisler and Maevus. They thought they could replace him, but if he were to succeed, they would be the ones to be replaced. He'd fill those two open spots on the Directorate and get them permanently kicked off.
"Deep breath," Versil said to himself, trying to repress his thirst for vengeance. His political machinations could wait. He had something to prove to them all, first.
The volatile winds blew the heavy precipitation in his direction as Versil stepped outside. The droplets clinked against the metal of his exoskeleton and he worked his way over to the awaiting AGT. With weather manipulation a standard of living under the dome, he had never considered building an awning out on the transportation platform. By the time he was inside the vehicle, his entire outfit was soaked.
"The Ke
y Chamber," Versil announced as he lowered himself into a seat. The doors closed and the peacekeepers stood around aimlessly as the AGT headed off to their destination.
Hatswick would help him one way or another. If he refused to willingly assist, then he'd find out what happened when an elderly mage was infected with Magenine's Retribution.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
High Council in Exile
2 D.R.
Rantiford stared at the blood on his knuckles, debating if he should continue. The red liquid had yet to accumulate and drip off the sides of his hands, meaning it probably wasn't enough.
Rant raised his arm back and pummeled it into the side of the red-haired assassin's face. Ale's head spun as Rant's fist collided into his cheek, and bloody saliva ejected from his mouth as a bruise immediately began forming at the point of impact.
He looked at the back of his hand again. Still not enough red. Rant prepared to punch him again, but another hand latched onto his wrist.
"That's enough," Shine said before letting go of the Head Guardian's arm.
"It'll never be enough," Rant growled.
"Are you ready to speak?" Amelia asked, approaching the prisoner from the corner of the dark basement. "I can relieve you of your pain."
"Only Neanthal can do that," Ale retorted, spitting off to the side.
Rant raised his fist again, but this time it was Amelia that prevented him from attacking.
"What do you mean?" the Grand Mage asked, her voice as soothing as possible.
Ale groaned before speaking. "My family is dead. He can bring them back."
"Nonsense," Rantiford spat.
"I was dead," Ale told them. "He brought me back."
The three of them looked at each other in the soft candlelight, all of them unsure whether to believe their prisoner.
"Liar!" Rant cried, and he slammed a fist into the side of Ale's head.
Ale's chortle eerily bounced around the empty room. "You can't even believe what he's capable of. You are all going to die."
"Is that why you are here?" Shine asked. "To kill us?"
