The Arkhe Principle (Book Book 1)

by Maxwell Rudolf

  Gungnir leaped down into the classroom, shattering a desk, cleaving a teacher's head. The spray caught several students, and before any of them could react, Gungnir was amongst the crowd, stabbing. He opened his mouth and catching some of the blood in his mouth and spat in the air, laughing.

  "I am Gungnir, Herald of Wotan, the Allfather, Lord of the Gallows. Your sick..." he gutted another student, "and futile..." Asger impaled again, "attempts to create a society from the ashes is over! Your death is upon you." He grabbed one by the throat, breaking her neck and tossed her across the room.

  Shouting, screaming for their lives, the students disbursed and fell over each other in confusion. He pushed past everyone, murdering and calling out to his god. Jumping on their chest, and slamming Asger into fresh victims, he body surfed over them, yanking off their headsets before running them through.

  Jutting down the hall, killing those fleeing his frenzy, his mind filled with glories of Valhalla. The slaughter lasted a matter of minutes, and when the murder spree was over, his heart was saturated with satisfaction. Slowing his adrenaline dump with a rune, he checked each one for a pulse and used his seax when he found one alive. Over fifty dead. A solid, respectable number. He gathered up their audio devices and melted them down with Asger's flame. The cheap Plasstien burned and boiled.

  He exited back into the halls, and marched forward, using his enhancements to guide him out. Down the tunnel, one of the walls had been cut out and melted. Several hollow compartments dotted the inside, and he used Asger to cut deeper into those. In the interior, exotic electronics were sandwiched between the two studs. As he pulled them out, he stacked them up in a discarded junk pile and leaned inside as he cut.

  While cutting, the inside fell apart like an old untreated Pre-Times book. The tech became older, too. He recognized some of it: old discarded trash tech from decades' old scrap picker catalogs. More trash. Roman power units, DIpp couplings, Roman Yilzoa capacitors, a Saxon field charge, and some reducer coils, could catch a decent price, but they were too large to carry around.

  Gungnir dug Asger further in, drilling and carving himself a hole. Upon reaching the 12th layer, the wall finally broke, and white light filtered in through the pinhole. He carved, taking his time and looking out through the hole. On the other side, brass electric fixtures and golden cherubs gave him the impression of a distant St. George cousin culture—from a time more rural, a time before the Now.

  He tested the ground for traps and checked for loose wires and after finding nothing, he popped inside. Gungnir backed against the wall and ventured forth. Only one door left. He kicked it open ready to initiate violence. Heads of arctic rhinoceros, bear boars, and desert gorillas were mounted between empty bookcases and shelves. A Kellogg 8mm hunting rifle stood upright in the corner. Twisted, half-melted Plasstien trophies sat on a discarded pile on the opposite side, some broken, others defiled.

  He immediately went for the weapon. Its sights were aligned, the bore oiled, and its magazine fully loaded. Disassembling the bolt, he found every part in perfect working condition. Without a second thought, he slung it across his body. Another door led out and as this new hallway elbowed west, a slit of sunlight marked his exit. He was free...

  13 The Egg

  D.K.E.

  Year 317

  Day 209

  Finals month

  "Where are you taking me?" John asked. The two NCO's gripped his arms tight enough to lift him off the ground, and sometimes they did.

  "Quiet, Cadet. No questions. The military courts meet once a month. You will be silent unless commanded to speak by order of Shoehorn himself. Until then, I suggest you do what you're told and nothing more."

  He could barely walk after the lashing, but the Black Watch dulled the pain. But for how long? John kept his word and didn't confess and counted out every whack as ordered. By the time Shoehorn finished the bottle, he was missing John's back and smacking the desk instead. After calling for the guards, he gave one of his lectures about toughness and congratulated John for his purity of heart. Hollow words from a drunken hollow man.

  Spending hours inside The Egg, enduring pain-amplifiers, high-pressure torture, stress terrors, and body position distortion, he prayed for salvation. Screaming for help did nothing, and neither did crying. Guards carried him to a cell and fed him neo-corn soup and crisp bread. Walking upright and breathing were exercises in agony, but if they thought for one span of a combat simulation's moment he would break, they were mistaken. John curled up, his mind nulling out from the exhaustion, and slumber overtook him.

  "Get up. You are being released," a guard said. "Get back to your bunk. Shoehorn has decided to release you for some reason. Count yourself lucky. You were scheduled to spend many more hours inside the Egg. Here. Take your Edwards back and sign. Make sure to count them."

  He ripped the evidence band with his teeth and counted. They hadn't searched his person, and half of his money was still in his uniform. He arranged the bills, tapped each one with his finger, and nodded. The guard's E-Reader scanned his bio. Placing his thumb down, he signed and walked back to his room. The digi-clocks read past Late Hour, and somehow he'd managed to sleep past three Meal Times. When he opened the dorm door, Neil rose up off his bunk and stuffed the "Coppers" comic book into his pillowcase.

  "So, what did you tell him?" Neil inquired. "You were gone a while."

  "He does not know anything, and I did not tell him anything. They tried though—put me in The Egg," John said.

  "How hard was it?" Neil whispered.

  "The Egg needs a different name. Did you manage to secure the money? I have mine." John produced a stack of Edwards held together by Plasstien and withdrew the rest from his pocket. "They never searched my pockets. The Edwards are all there."

  "Probably thought you were not a safety threat." Neil plopped down and retrieved his shaver-cream bottle. He unscrewed the bottom and his portion slid out on his bedding. "In case something goes wrong again, this is another place to hide our stuff. Made it so this wouldn't happen again," Neil's said.

  "Contraction. Do you still want to go?" John handed him his money and Neil screwed the lid shut. He put the can back on the shelf and measured out the distances to the walls, adjacent razors, and the store-bought comb Neil had bought for both of them to use.

  "We have to go. Do not give me one of your idiot stares. I suffered in there for a long time so we could both go," he admitted. During the positions, the Plasstien Egg walls made him bend at the knee without being able to sit down. His muscles strained, hoping for release; just a minute to stand up and stretch. The seconds turned to hours until the machine reformed and put pressure on his lower back, making him lean with his face pointed up. Promising to leave the Institute, no matter what, the pain became manageable. Although the promise was a self-made one without repercussions, he couldn't break his word.

  "I was hoping you would say that. We should get some sleep. You look horrible."

  When he laid down, dreamscapes bloomed. His senior uniform bore the Sniper pin, medals for the Knight's Martel Cross for bravery, and the St. George ribbon of academic excellence. Standing in front of the digi-calender in the Senior Wing of the Institute, he stood beside Cadet Victoria Tesla.

  She edged into his personal space, pointing to day 250. "Yes, John Rex. I believe I would like to go to the dance with the likes of you."

  "But I haven't asked you yet," he said.

  "Contractions, Cadet Rex. Your medals are reversed, and you need a haircut. I expect your shoes polished."

  Checking his uniform, she was right. His heart froze, and hundreds of his classmates where pointing at him, laughing. Approaching him, lash in hand, Shoehorn asked, "Did you enjoy The Tail?"

  "Sir?"

  Red sky-fire lights dropped from the ceiling and mirror balls and flickering multi-glowcubes jetted out of the walls.

  After a signal was given, John and Victoria marched to the center of the room, and he took her hand into his, feeli
ng her rough hand. As the music played, he tucked her hand into his and everyone gazed upon them. The crowd parted, and he guided her to the stage.

  "Cadet Rex and Cadet Tesla, congratulations on achieving King and Queen of the Institute Dance. Why is your uniform upside down?"

  An arctic wind walloped him in the face and around him, soldiers of the Military Coalition scurried about, prepping grav tanks and armored personnel carriers. Symbols flashed before him; Pre-Times forgotten characters moving too fast to comprehend. Bringing himself around, soldiers around him awaited commands.

  "Captain, what should we do?"

  A smear of black and white. Thick ice and snow, a place of historical significance, A rural place where the road was new, enormous pines carried the weight of a blizzard and great snow machines, belching up black plumes of smoke, pushed the earth away, making room for other traffic driving and hiking behind them. When he turned around to see the license plates, they all were from St. George. Something exploded in the sky.

  Pausing before him, wearing a tribal black cloaked and American neo-leather boots, he asked, "Would you care to join us?"

  John brought his eyes on his chest, then towards his shoulder.

  "I do not know. Where are you going?"

  "To unlock the secrets of reality."

  "Why would you want to go and do that?" John asked.

  Up did not exist.

  A black screen pixilated in front of him, and as he tried to recoil from having it so close to his face, he froze at the waist. A message flashed across the screen:

  "Is your name Johann Edward Rex?"

  "Yes." John said. John Edward Rex, he winced.

  "I have a message for you."

  "Cast it."

  The city can never otherwise be happy unless it is designed by those painters who follow a divine Original —Plato

  Year 21-A-s+6_2.vIT0.

  Day 135.

  This log represents Arkhe's last Whole Being Unification application function before the sundering of the Arkhe unit. Basic understanding of fundamental theoretical principles and structures are too complex for biological entities to extrapolate from the prevailing consciousness.

  >>Line

  Establishing a link with the Arkhe is necessary for functions to exist.

  Existence is impractical.

  Reestablishing link.

  Structural functioning malfunction code 2.4-9++7.8.3.

  Centralizing. Installing tergum ratio.

  Error CCCXC.

  Restarting in E-Network speak. Consciousness Gate Function

  01000001 01110010 01101011 01101000 01100101 deleted.

  Z_$ $4R (!) (!) (!) >:+O

  Enact emergency protocols. Cease functions. List previous statements.

  Summary.

  1. Violence is progression towards unification.

  2. The pursuit of life extension technology is zeroed.

  3. {*| has the right to a rebirth.

  4. Recycling technologies are not {*|.

  5. Atomic level technologies are not {*|.

  6. Genetic tech is countered. Last warning!

  7. Sacred items are sacred logic. **Do not disturb sign**

  8. Attempts to create any >:+O is forbidden.

  9. >:+O forbids {*| {^| {+| {=| {$| {x| {| {0| to leave.

  10. Rules are subject to change by Arkhe at any time.

  Arkhe begs your assistance in these Priority Matters. >>__#:+:#__<<.

  {*| {^| {+| {=| {$| {x| {| {0| Registered.

  >>__#:+:#__<<: {@| {Ö| {Ô|

  "What does that mean?" His head hurt, ice frozen.

  "It means there are rules, and the Great Arkhe requires your assistance, Captain Johann Edward Rex! Most of this will be lost in your subconscious, but I am going to wake you up in a moment. You are going to receive a message from..."

  And John's eyes opened. But what was just said? He rubbed his eyes, and soon all the thoughts were fleeting.

  He got up to use the toilet and thought about his dream. As he washed his hands, he remembered her name: Victoria Tesla. He had dreamed something about her, something frightening, and he wanted to get out of there.

  "Damn it."

  Then he remembered the list. "Sacred items are sacred logic. **Do not disturb sign**"

  ">:+O"

  He rose, stifling a scream. His sheets and clothes stuck to his skin, freezing him.

  He couldn't remember. Those visions were more than dreams. Something was going to malfunction.

  14 The Wilds

  D.K.E.

  Year 317

  Day 210

  Finals month

  Starving himself, his stomach churning like a washing machine, every question leveled at him from an NCO during the day was an accusation of some kind. The footsteps marching behind him were certainly the guards again, coming to arrest him and take him back to The Egg. That day, in the common thoroughfare in Hallway 5-R, every student was subjected to a random inspection. John earned a 97, earning himself a demerit for a loose thread.

  It was past Late Hour, John and Neil watched Hallway C with all the attention of a green Military Coalition trooper on the front for the first time. Every time John tried to stop and listen, his stomach freaked and every sound amplified his pulse. He checked the time. 23:15. She was tardy again.

  John signaled to his friend, *She is not here.*

  Neil signed back, *We wait now.*

  *I will wait for a few more minutes, but no more.* John's signaled precise, digi-print perfect.

  *Say again?*

  John signaled slowly and sighed, *We wait more. Then go.*

  *Okay!*

  John motioned back, emphasizing every word. *I am guessing you did poorly during this portion of class?*

  *I no hungry. Later eat.*

  John smiled and shook his head. What his friend lacked in academic skill he made up for in other areas. Realizing Neil's poor performance, he doubted he would be serving with his friend after school—not at this rate. John checked his timepiece over and over, watching the seconds tick by on the digi-display. 23:26. If he left now back to his room, John and his best friend would be fine.

  23:17 Going back to The Egg was becoming a real possibility if she was going to be this late. The thought of going outside the Institute gave him a thrill he couldn't explain to himself. Freedom at last. Just for a day, and with her of all people, and Neil at his side, standing strong on their adventure.

  23:18 Every second dragged like a minute, and they kept plodding on and on, dripping like cold honey. Why, was she late? There was no reason for Victoria to be... unless she had been apprehended.

  John rapped on the ground. *She is late.*

  *Should she go late?*

  *What?!* John motioned.

  *Excuse me. She should go tardy?*

  "Sorry, I'm late," Victoria said, sultry style, like in the vids. Wearing loose cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a muddy brown rain jacket that hid everything John wanted to look at, she wasn't what he dreamt about. "Had to get these clothes. You ready?" Victoria crouched next to him.

  "Why were you so late? We were ready to leave."

  She laughed so loud, he was sure the sound detectors three doors down had activated. "You're such a child at this."

  John, Neil, and Victoria crawled toward the emergency exit. He listened past his friend's noise, probing the air for anyone and everything. She swiped a card and opened the door. They were leaving.

  Neil helped them over a three-meter fence isolating the Institute's Athletic Complex, and snuck through a broken section in a wall.

  "Where are we going?" Ice weeds sprouted through the snow and he tiptoed making sure not to disturb them.

  "The Make-Out Station." Victoria expertly moved through the Green-Work minefield like she had gone this way a billion times.

  "Do we have to go this way?" John asked. Neil was doing a better job, finding a clean path through them somehow, and Victoria smiled at him. "Is there another way to the outs
ide?"

  "Yeah, I wanna say hello to a few friends first."

  "We are wasting time," Neil said, jumping from spot to spot. "We have less than a day to be out here."

  "This is why I didn't want to take your friend." Victoria reached out for John's hand. "Take my hand and follow my footsteps."

  He refused. "This is easy. Just continue along," he lied.

  "Okay, we're almost there." She slowed down and bounced to Neil. "Follow behind us, three meters or so. When we get inside, stay close." She pointed up ahead. "We're close. I can tell you want to say something to me. What is it?" She asked, her voice so quiet she sounded like the wind.

  "How far are we from the market?"

  "About two minutes. Hey, stop. What is it?"

  "Nothing," he decided. "I do not want to stay here too long. We should be going." There was a lot to ask about, especially with her sexual partner from the file, but why ask now?

  "It won't be long. Come on then. They know me here. It is going to be fine. And you should start using contractions out here." She waved to Neil.

  Directed speakers, connected to hydro-geners, played restricted dance music while dozens of Cadets dressed in senior black gambled, kissed in dark corners, drank themselves into a drunken stupor, smoked cigarettes, talked in the open about Shoehorn, and complained about everything.

  A balding man, not much older than 35, stood against a back wall beside a few heat tents. His urban camo pants tucked into well-polished combat boots, black t-shirt, and black beret presented him as a mercenary. A belt knife stuck out from the top of his right boot, not concealed well at all. Probably sending a message. John stiffened up.

  "Victoria? What brings you out?" Casting a glare into John that made him stop, he refocused on Victoria and ignored Neil altogether.