Slamming the E-Reader down, his jaw stretched. "Why do you insist on wanting to sound like filthy gutter trash? And unless you want a summary execution, you will start speaking like a normal citizen. Why are you rejecting my help?"
"Don't talk to me like that. You have no right."
"Who are you then?"
Waves of white energy broke through the fabric of space-time severing, splitting. Reality broke. Nothing understood its significance.
"My name is Mega CEO Katherine Dueva. I am here for a reason. I think I am supposed..." She said. Luminous bands broke out like string cheese. Both of their hands interlaced into a forbidden quantum dance. The Arkhe Principle began.
"What do you mean? What is going on?" He was different, stripped of his clothing, but not naked. Her vision blurred.
"I feel... confused. It's—It is—tss. A buzzing in my ear. Triple. Do you hear it?" John asked. She reached out for him, but his Being stretched far off into the ether.
"Yes. Something... A buzz. Buzzle. Buzzling. Buzzeling. Butzeling. Where are we?"
"It's getting louder..."
She planted her feet and reached down into the firmament of the universe and grabbed a handful of spinning Oracle White truth.
"Captain Johann Edward Rex!" Victoria's mind enunciated facts, not words. "We need to meet. There is something coming! Something that's going to change this world forever, and you and I are a part of that. Listen to me! Don't negotiate with it. It's going to try to ally with you."
Thoughts fragmented into scenes. She twirled faster, spinning reality with it, and something pulled at her consciousness. Fettering on something remote, like a heavy Plasstien anchor cast out into the Dead Oceans, facts flashed into her mind. "Can you hear me?"
"Victoria... What is happening to me?" His voice. She flung a cord of reality towards it, trying to lasso it down. A cocoon of white energy wrapped around her and sparks of energy held it in place, bleeding into itself, warping out.
"I will get the red key so we can go to Labor's Park in 30 days. We will find something there." Facts. Her skin quaked underneath. She crouched, trying to maintain whatever sense of self she had left, but it was fading. Fast.
"Too... much... risk. We should find someone else."
"There is no one else!" Her name wasn't her own, and she wasn't herself. Get out of me!
The buzzing stopped, her uniform soaked with sweat. Warmth from the heat blower did nothing to stop her shivering.
"Just a moment," she begged. She had to wash her face, and get rid of this feeling of otherness. Look around. Make sure things were okay. She passed by others who were tutoring in their cubicles, and as she staggered by, she heard them whisper again. The walk to the washing room was short, just a few hallways down in the Logistics Department. After washing her face and hands and using the hand blower to dry her clothes, she faltered back. The memories of what just happened gathered themselves into data bundles and melted down. I am Victoria Tesla... The other name, an alien thing, faded into the cosmos.
The intervening cubicles steadied her back. By the time she sat back down, her stomach was cramping like the time she had her first period. Bile rose up, and she sprinted back to the toilet and heaved up what bits of food she had left.
The door to the toilet opened. Sergeant Talcome, guardian of the library and Senior Curator held her lash, stroking it like a doll.
"Why were you running in the halls, Cadet?"
She gagged again.
There wasn't concern in her voice, only an annoyance of doing what she had to do to make sure she didn't get herself in trouble in case one of the students was in a real emergency situation. "Do you need to report to medical?"
"No, Sergeant. Just cramps." She flushed the toilet.
"Be sure to wash your mouth out and brush your teeth. I will bring something in. Stand by."
Victoria followed the instructions, and her trip back to the desk was effortless. John, however, looked worse than a sick Ovr in winter.
"Are you feeling alright?" She asked.
"I am fine. Just felt sick."
Resuming their session was impossible. Both tried to discuss the finer details of the history of The Battle of Labor's Park, but they both agreed they would break it off and try again the next day.
"Last night, I had a dream about you," he stammered. "We were on the way to Labor's along with my friend Neil. I cannot stop thinking about it. So real..." He blushed and looked down. "I feel like something important is going to happen between us. I do not know how to say it. Have I met you somewhere before?"
"Yes." Her body was a searing torch. "Give me your hand." He let go of the E-Reader and gave her both of his hands. She took them and pulled forward. "I had the same dream."
John wretched his hands free, snapped up his E-Reader, and almost fell down staggering out the door. The eyes of everyone transfixed on her. She grabbed her learning module and left.
* * *
Six days before the final exams and she had focused and mastered everything he had to teach and then some. She let her accent slip sometimes, just to annoy him, but after a few days, he started to groan and rolled his eyes every time she did. He was cuter when she wasn't pushing his aggro buttons.
After their lunch, they walked back to the library and resumed their studies. Mimicking Lace Epcot took practice, but the actress was the only one she could accurately fake, even down to the way she held her head, direct straight, and he hadn't noticed. Not at all, no matter how much she hinted or tried. "What happened the last time you tried to button in on the park?" She asked, interweaving her fingers together.
"I got a blank node."
"Me too," she said. "I tried to reroute my E-Reader to a different Data Storage Application, but I couldn't find the password. Oh, before coming here, my mum maided for quite a few houses in Labor's. One time I found something from the Underworld in a burnt out house. I did not want to be caught with it, and I gave it to her." But how to describe that to him to make him understand? She couldn't draw it out. It wouldn't make any sense.
"What was it?" He marveled.
"I don't know."
"I do not know." He corrected.
"Yes, fine, Mr. Perfect. But I doubt you have ever seen the Underworld so you would not understand."
"No, not yet."
"They have been searching our rooms a lot more, lately." Victoria gave an almost imperceptible grin but he smiled back. "Soon, a lot of Cadets will be on leave. Security will be light. The NCO's and officers all go on leave. We could go out, you and me?"
"Do you have any idea what you're damn saying? You know what will happen if we are caught."
"Can you keep your voice down for once? St. George. And you just used a contraction. I forgive you though. You are cute when you get angry. Your forehead does this thing..."
"Even if we tried, we do not have a Red pass. Escape is not even a possibility."
"Stop. You are moving your eyes around like you are trying to find something." She pushed some random buttons on her E-Reader, and the screen nulled out for a moment. A complete detailed map flickered on and showed her location in the library as an O. Small neon x's left a trail to the Key Department. She dropped it with a clang and blinked, taking in as many details as possible.
"What are you doing?" He asked, looking over.
She snatched it up and held the screen close to her face. It zoomed in to inside the Key Room and switched to a full-color digi-view. On the wall, locked cubbyholes held E-Keys. The view panned to a holographic image of a man dressed in black, with a polished leather Sam Brown Belt. For a millisecond, the image turned to static, long enough for something else... A floppy hat and a chest-length white beard flashed but flickered back. And when the screen flashed a second time, he snapped his fingers and opened the drawers to a desk. Winking, he snapped again and one of the slots opened. A gloved finger pointed to the label, and the view flashed red. Exit 2. She nulled out the device and slid it away.
"Vi
ctoria, what are you doing?"
"Nothing." She tapped the screen, took a deep breath, and decided. "I know how to get the pass."
"What?"
"Meet me in Hallway C, Building 6 at 23:15 in 4 days. It's the door between the cantina and the emergency exit." She spun around. Cadet Miko walked by and stared down at John, casting him a murder look. He didn't say anything to him as he strutted by, but the way their eyes met, she suspected they knew each other, and he would be in trouble once he got back to his dorm.
"No. And I did not waste my time to tutor you only to let you get yourself expelled if you try something like this," he said. "Tell me right now you are not going to do this."
"I am going to do this, and you are going to come with me. Instead of confessing on me, which I know you want to do, I want you to go and ask St. George for advice. Just pray, okay? Will you at least do that?"
He shook his head and reached for the device. When he had his hand on it, she slapped hers down and hugged her thumb underneath.
"Give me your other hand." He hesitated. "Hurry... Before someone sees us."
John gave her his other hand and she held it the same way. And she prayed the Love Prayer. His touch connected with hers, their essences folding in on each other. A word came to her mind.
"Arkhe."
Tears poured out of John's eyes, and he closed them. They both sat there for a lifetime, and the second hand on the overhead digi-clock ticked two seconds. She let go.
"Okay. I will meet you there. Building 6. Hallway D. 23:15 in 4 days," he used his sleeve and wiped the tears away.
"Hallway C. Do not be late. Everything is going to be okay," she said and reached into her pocket. She handed him her handkerchief and he wiped his eyes and nose.
"I have to take a friend with me. You saw that, too, right?" He tucked the tissue away and gave her a Tucky coin, enough to pay for the used cloth.
"Thanks for the tissue."
"No, I didn't..." she caught herself. She tilted her head, "No, I did not see him, but I do not think he should go. That is not how it is supposed to be."
"That is how I saw it. He is going."
She shrugged and picked up her E-Reader. "Do not be late. See? I am contraction-less." They shook hands longer than what was allowed.
8 The Wotan Option
Seeking out the jammer, Gungnir drove to highlighted areas of high probability. The pace was slow, and progress slower still. Discarded bodies, torn apart by ferals or Grendels, littered the ground, picked clean by looters and marauders.
When Sunna fell, he bid farewell to the sun goddess until the next day and reconnected his Hensalar mufflers throughout the night to his cross-country carburetor, cursing when he jammed his finger in between some Plasstien parts. Working on his buggy wasn't something he enjoyed, but between speed and silence, he chose the latter. Pop music was close by and, after gorging himself on some food he took from the cabin, he drove to one of the dots his victim had drawn. The town was a detour, and he promised himself to kill enough to make the op worthwhile. Montavon better come through on his promise about his brother, or he would find himself hanging from a tree, despite whatever else might happen to him as a result of killing his boss. He continued his drive the next day.
A laser beamed between the pines and he slammed his foot on the brake pedal. The gyro kicked in, his grip-tires straining to prevent the whole thing from flipping over, but the ground was loose. A flashing orange light on his dashboard blinked. Everything started spinning, and the gyros went haywire. Sparks shot out, the internal system nulled out, and fires blossomed inside.
Shit! The front end crashed into a tree; the back wheels jacked up a meter in the air. For a fraction of a second, gravity failed, and when he landed, his head plowed into the driving wheel, blanking out his vision. His magic took control, and the rune Algiz released from his mind, the pain and temporary blindness extinguished. Belching clouds of black smoke fumed out of the engine compartment.
He tested the door, but the Plasstien had bent. Pulling the handle, planting a foot, and he kicked the door until it opened. The wind blew against his armor, and his internal bio-readouts adjusted. Moving to the front, he wretched the covering panel free. The muffler was cracked in half, the oil reservoir was unrecognizable, the hoses connecting everything had broken free of their ties. Gungnir stepped back and waved the smoke away.
He bent the driver's seat forward and un-bagged everything he had taken from the rural cabin. Most of the wrappings were made with some version of Plasstien, and he stacked them over a bowl. He took out a bottle of Plank fluid and poured the silver pre-programmed Planks over it. This stuff wasn't cheap, and he wondered if he would find another bottle anytime soon. He added a bit of Plank solvent and swirled the mixture together watching the Planks bind like quicksilver.
He spied the thick polysteel crowbar from the back and pried his buggy free. Such nonsense dealing with this shit. Bending down, he saw the shards of the razer-frag mine still stuck in the frame. Have to avoid the roads or next time my ancestors might not be looking out for me. He popped two stim cherries. His eyes dilated, his pulse quickened. Today got better.
Pouring the liquid on the engine, his mind became a calculator. Not enough to properly fix it. Stop messing around with me, I'm doing your work, Wotan. He dumped the goup out on the damaged areas, and the wrecked parts demanded the mix. The quicksilver type fluid darted out and solidified, fixing and sculpting what needed repairing.
Sitting back inside, Gungnir turned on his internal audio and played Chopin's Wagner Deluxe remix. He grabbed the steering wheel and squeezed down past the temperfoam. Music would help. He flicked on his audio channel and blared the music until it filled his heart with joy. He nodded his head and sang along. The next person he murdered was going to get an extra treat.
The engine fired hot, and he drove further on before pulling to the side. Green indicators switched to yellow and red. Time to get out and do the rest myself.
He hid the buggy and grabbed his kit: a three-liter cherry water container, a few bags of Pop Music sugar raisins, a tin of Saxon neo-tuna, infantry dry bread, an unopened bag of 25 stim chocolates, a Roman x50 all-see ocular, his meager collection of outdated translation manuals, his toolkit, a packet of chem wipes, and Asger.
Gungnir filled padded clothes with handfuls of silver and stuffed them in the remaining pockets of his pack. The dense forest reminded him of the Freya Forest at the border of Koelnen back home. He missed those times, playing scout with his brother but always winning. But that was before the cancer.
The snow was thick and had partially melted and reformed into ice. His legs ached maneuvering through the white. His Pre-Times weapon acted as a balance and a probe, looking for hibernating Grendels buried somewhere beneath the freeze. Something moved out of the corner of his eye.
His bent his knees and landed prone. Seven segmented neo-snails the size of grav tanks crawled their way behind him, sliming and advancing. Eye stalks twisted around and locked on him. Something chalky yellow came streaming out of their eyes, melting the cold down into the mud. He hadn't seen this version of Grendel before.
Rising, his footing slipped. He rolled, jumping to his feet, doing forward somersaults, until the engines in his boots kicked in, sending him skyrocketing on the trees.
One of the straps on his back came loose. Another spray hit a pine next to him and smoked out a brownish smoke. He breathed it in and processed the smell, going through his memory and understanding its composition. Neural toxins. He jumped through the forest leaving them behind.
It didn't take him much longer to find his target. The place wasn't even walled in—out here, in this anarchy. Massive billboards surrounded several four-story buildings, all painted in obnoxious neon colors. He took out his ocular scope but something blocked his vision.
Something pounced on him, tearing a chunk of meat from his thigh, and searing pain blinded him. His ocular fell harmlessly down. Black tendrils socketed his ey
es shut, and small wisps of chlorine bled out of the parasite's inner core. The feral beast's mouth deformed into hundreds of needle-like teeth, and a bubbling purplish snot leaked out from its snout.
This was a job for Asger. Gungnir reached back and activated his Pre-Time artifact, and it hummed alive, asking to kill. The magical rune Algiz to mind, burning like a star in the ether, and the guardian magick blistered reality and shielded him. Sowilo followed. Success and health. Uruz. Strength, energy, action. He combined them into a larger rune, combining to articulate the unutterable.
He stabbed at the muscular feline, but it lunged back, prepping for a strike. He scrambled to his feet, Asger's point aimed at the monster's head. It hissed and swiped at the air, missing short and slung its head, flinging blackened juice from its mouth.
Gungnir jumped to the side, pulled back his spear and thundered down his weapon, piercing the Grendel's side and splitting it in twain. Brackish, black ooze splatter out of it, and it gurgled, sputtered out a dead word from the Pre-Times, and died.
Crawling, he kept a vigilant watch as he crawled into the town. The wind was blowing away from him, and his clothes started collecting ice. At the perimeter, the grass almost radiated and his arm nudged into a small, metal P-1 disk. Almost invisible, the disk's color changed like the neo-chameleon, and he struggled to find it again.
He unslung his pack, dug inside until finding his nano-driver, and unfastened the coupling on the back. A few lines like markers were etched on the back, but otherwise, the surface was smooth. He gave the Plasstien a close smell and packed it away.
Ahead of him, buildings grew like weeds out of the spring ground. He slid down the slush, towards the town, and waited. He didn't have enough time to pray the runes back or enter the Odin Consciousness, so he looked up and climbed a pine, keeping himself hidden. Hours ticked by, but no one came, and when Sunna descended below the horizon and day fell to night, he scoped out the town. The grass and trees changed into a different sub-species inside, completely unlike anything that should be able to survive this freeze. They were strange, like the ones Gungnir had studied in the Arkhe book, page 55, "Neo-Palm Trees." Their fat leaves had pinkish black veins extending all the way out to the tip of the leaf. But Pop Music wasn't freezing. But why not? It was like summer inside the perimeter.
The Arkhe Principle (Book Book 1) Page 6
