She looked him straight in the eye. "Probably sir." Her mouth dried to crisp bread.
"Our matrix predicted your search for Victoria Tesla and swapped the files with blank nodes. Care to explain?"
"I am not sure how much more to add. My son is probably in danger over at the Institute, and I am working alongside the school's commander to make sure nothing happens to him. Somehow, he is involved. " She threaded her hand trough her hair.
"Do you think this relates to Arkhe? Oh, don't be alarmed. We are protected in here via Q-shielding. Enough with both of you trying to pretend this is nothing."
Reginald rubbed the back of his neck a few times. "No, sir. There is no evidence. However, from what I have read in here, this Arkhe thing is causing massive fluctuations amongst certain important communities around the Kingdom. We do not understand why it can be said sometimes and other times cannot. The King has been withholding data on word distribution."
Dove rose and turned his back and placed his hands behind him. "We have our own probability matrix and have been able to out-predict certain individuals involved in this case. I do not know how either of you were able to somehow bypass our matrix, but this alone means both of you are somehow meant to be on this case."
Was he talking about fate? Some of Rosie's latest cases involved radical, dangerous cults obsessed with Pre-Destination and other variations of St. George theology. Destroying them was challenging but always rewarding. Only the Americans had been ignorant enough to permit religious freedoms and now that their Empire lay in melted Plasstien, their ideas were zeroed as idiotic at best and suicidal at worst.
"We have engineers, scientists, priests, all working on this. Arkhe represents something on a much larger scale. If it is some type of phenomenon we need to figure out what it is and kill the word. But if it is a weapon, we need to find out what kind." Chief Inspector Dove coughed in his elbow. Everyone leaned back. "The potential for unknowns will threaten us on every level." Dove took out a breath mint, popped it in his mouth, and chewed. "Rex. Your turn. Your report says nothing happened to you?" Dove spun and collected his E-Reader, pressing buttons.
"Nothing happened to me. But you need to understand the interval between the time he said the word and when he was affected. Is it possible the Saxons are expressing their rune magic through tech?" She took a sharp breath.
"Inspector, what exactly did the Hallmaster Shoehorn say?" His voice became louder, more coarse, and he jerked his neck back and forth, cracking it.
"Nothing I am going to repeat, sir. The Hallmaster and I are going solve this. This case involves my son."
"Solve what, Inspector Rex? We are data-less. And you might as well be simply another civilian on the street when it comes to the Hallmaster. Can you go to the Institute and talk to your boy? Because these events appear to be quantum laced. If it is a Saxon weapon, we will send in the Martel's, but if it is more, we need to know. The system predicted you would try to access information about Tesla before you did. I recall that happening one other time in late 350."
John was born on day 243, 350. Rosie hooked her feet around the posts of the chair.
"So Inspector, I know you do not want to confess on anyone, but we cannot allow anything like what happened to happen again."
"Yes, sir. Although I lost custody of John, he is still my boy. Let me go to the Institute and talk to him and try to make some discoveries. I will ask about both. Believe me, I want this taken care of."
"Callahan, go back to your office. I will call you when I have further need of you. I am sure you have work to do. Reginald, you are dismissed."
Reginald walked out, head down, silent as the dead.
Callahan opened his mouth but slammed his teeth down hard enough for them to clatter. "I will be in my office if you need me." Leaving and slamming the door, she listened to him curse his way down the hallway.
"Sir, I just wanted to say..."
Dove waved his hand. "Do not say anything, Inspector Rex. I was not going to bring anything up with your rival around. I am having a hard time believing you do not know what is going on. Do not think we forgot who Uther was."
"Sir, I have taken dozens of brain polygraphs under oath. I do not appreciate the accusation."
"Rosie, I want this Arkhe and Tesla business wrapped up."
"I will take care of it, sir. Thank you, sir."
18 The Bazaar
When he opened the door, it wasn't a bar Gungnir found, but a vast bazaar replete with vendors peddling their riches. Gun dealers and food canners, spare part vendors and book Pre-Times manuals peddlers all selling their wares inside. Electronic bits hung from every loose hook sealed in plastic bags with a sticker price. A huge rack of medical supplies took up several meters of the northeast corner. He elbowed his way through the market, taking in the smell of the unwashed, filthy ferals, and burnt plastics that clung to everything like diseased flesh.
As he spent, his bag of silver shrank, but his hands gripped bags of valued tech. Around him, data cords, missing connectors, and vast unknowable devices all rotted away on filthy Plasstien shelves, but his eyes were easily discerning the valuable goodies from the fake trash that didn't work. The warehouse was packed with crates of goodness, of devices around hidden in attics, basements and in places protected somehow from the never-ending landscape of war and death. Below his feet, in the fight pits, ferals fought in some kind of staged bout and he wanted to rest for a while and relax.
"How much for a show?" Gungnir held a few pieces of copper in his hand, ready to pay the attendee.
"One copper."
He slipped her two, and walked down the ramp. The crowd thundered down like the hammer of Donnar during the storm months, and he shouted back in perfect Saxon, joining in.
Everyone was on their feet jumping and grunting. In an arena-sized transparent Plasstien pit, 15 ferals bit and tore at a woman wielding a long axe. One snapped, coming away with part of her sandal, and she brought her weapon down across its snout, cleaving it off. It turned and clutched on several others, orange blood spraying.
"Help me, it hurts!" It snorted out, and the warrior woman charged in, swinging her axe, cutting four in half at the waist.
Gungnir moved closer and peered down. She had St. George tattoos down both her arms; her campaigns and achievements in battle. The entirety of her back was a tattoo of their weak and pathetic god and flag, a white background with a red cross.
The crowd cheered, and many joined in a chant. "Megge!" Their fists raised, moving with the rhythm. Autocraft-sized speakers shot down from the ceiling and started pulsating heavy bass, followed by thick synth lines interweaving through the beats making deep, psychedelic electronic music.
"Meine Damen und Herren, Survivors, Pickers, Warriors, Wastelanders, Rogues, and Scholars! Welcome!"
She swung her axe, killing another, and slamming the butt of her weapon into the throat of a twisted thing that cried out when it died. She brought the axe around, decapitating another and cut down still another one when she continued her swing. She rolled back, and sliced down two more. He nodded. Nice footwork, but primitive positioning tactics.
The remaining ones surrounded her and snarled, jutting forward, snapping their teeth. He laughed. They didn't have a chance. And before he could sit down, she dispatched them. How had she been taken alive? She must be working for them. So much for an actual show.
He spent another ten minutes watching her destroy countless ferals and pathetic slave combatants so green, they stood in shock when one of their own was killed. A few begged and made the spectacle more sorry than the "fight" already was.
Walking back, he investigated the medical section, comprising sectioned off walls creating different shops. Advanced synth kits and specialized machines whirled and blipped. Most of the tech gypsies didn't understand what they were selling and when he challenged them and speculated on the tech, they lowered their price.
When his coin purse only held a handful of gold, he bought several
armfuls of medical tech and walked to the center of the market. Dozens of digi-boards were awash with flashing neon green data streams, and he paused to take note of what he was seeing.
Groups of pickers gathered in the middle over a counter and gibbered in Demonic Tradespeak, their hands signaling back and forth, telling dirty jokes and talking shop. Their words seduced him; a different alien world. Everyone gathered around several hydro-colas, spiced waters, pro-stimmed coffees, cinnamon teas, St. George ales, and advanced Saxon beer dispensary machines. They all required a slide card. He searched for alternative ways to buy something to drink, but found nothing. Neither did he want to ask.
A thing in a dirty black v-neck t-shirt, long braids of roped hair falling from his misshapen head, with leathery reptilian skin and dark neo-crocodile eyes croaked something in his direction. Gungnir pushed him down on the ground, and the crowd dispersed. His ears picked up on the weapons being unholstered and unsheathed around him.
"Don't talk to me." He brought Asger down to his throat. "You feral thing. You belong below in the pit."
"You must be a Saxon," his neck strained up. "Help me stand. My joints can't take much."
He shrugged, sighed, and lifted the beast to his feet. "Yes. I'm a Saxon. Your accent is textbook, not native. You sound like an American—Bavarian. Street Bavarian."
"I learn on the job. Let me buy us a round of ale."
"Do that."
The feral reached into his back pocket and pulled out a keycard and ordered them two Bavarian Ales. They came out frothing and chilled. He took one and nodded his head again. "Thank you and to your health." Gungnir drank and it wasn't half bad.
"And to yours." He raised his mug. "I thought you only said 'to your health' with wine? Here, three more ales. Are you hungry? The garparls here are juicy. Once in a while, a guy comes in selling game meat. Usually strides in with a small army though and doesn't typically stay long. He's not in today."
"Yeah, order." He reached in and flung a blank copper coin on the table.
"I can tell you're new here." He nodded at Asger and drank some ale. "They have named me Erich, though I have dozens of names here, not all polite."
They shook hands the American way. It made Gungnir uncomfortable touching another man like that. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise. I'm Gungnir. I'm mainly in the market for medical supplies and equipment, but when I found these motors for an Athergoth-1 for..." He showed him the receipt, "I made the purchase."
Erich nodded his head. "Quite a find. You could easily flip those and profit." He cocked his head back and blinked. "Gungnir Odinson! You're famous. Quite an honor to meet someone of your stature in a place like this." He opened his arms wide as if to hug the room. "Think of this as a huge... 'Niflheim.' I'm going to buy us food."
"Are they fresh?" Gungnir asked. "Stale ones don't sit well with my stomach."
"I've never had a bad one."
"Alright then."
"Excuse me. Hold my seat. I have to go over to the machine." Erich tromped across the room, and when he took out a few coins from his neo-leather purse, a child, no older than ten, reached in, trying to steal from him. He snatched the child up by her arm and bit deep into her elbow, ripping it off. Pulling the arm out of his mouth, he kicked her in the chest, and she stopped breathing. Before inserting the coins, he wiped his lips. Two orange garparls dropped down the aluminum chute, and he started peeling one with his teeth as he stepped over his kill.
He took his chair as if nothing strange had happened. "Here you go. You're from Berlin, right? I've only traveled to towns on the border. I have great respect for the Saxon people and their prowess on the battlefield." He closed his eyes halfway and licked his bottom, cracked lip. "Something tells me you're a religious man," he said ripping the rind free.
"Gonna be a problem with you? I'm a Wotan's man and all that goes with it." Gungnir said, slicing his garparl and shoving a quarter of it between his teeth, juice flowing down his chin. Gungnir devoured the fruit down, unable to resist. It was fresher than any he'd eaten in months. Erich waited for him to finish.
"Not bad, right? No, I have no problems." He regarded him, furling his croc brow. "You have a military appearance. Your load out. If you're on an op, don't kill me, alright?" He laughed, held up his hands, and pointed at his spear. "That's nice." Two other people stopped and started listening in.
"Asger. Does a fine number of things. Can cut through the hardest of Plasstien. I, uh, don't know how old she is," he said, turning it. "But she's much older than I am. I take precautions. I've had three guys in my life try to snatch my weapon and take off." Gungnir stared back at the two.
One of them folded his arms, obviously clueless about Saxon customs. He bared his teeth at him and lunged forward as if to strike him down dead in the middle of the market. As he held Asger, he imagined stabbing through the man's groin and twisting the spear slowly, laughing, and yelling hate speech in Demonic Fast-Food. He stood there, unwavering.
He brought his eyes around to his mug. "Let me ask you three something's," Gungnir held up three fingers. "And I would appreciate you two," he pointed to two others who were listening close by, "scrub your face off right now. I mean, this second. Change your look, you useless bastards. I could butcher this whole place! You have no idea who I am, thralls! You low-born, shit-worshiping peasants!"
The men froze in horror as Gungnir rose from his chair, lording over everything and everyone. He kicked the chair and it flew across the room, shattering in pieces and he slammed his fist on the wooden table, denting the Plasstien coating. "You dare lay your eyes on me and try to listen in? Answer me!"
Neither of them answered, and the one closest to the door scrambled away, ducked down and stumbled out. The next dropped to all fours and found the exit. Not worth the effort this time.
Gungnir reached in his metal bag and picked out a fist-sized chunk of nano-steel. "I am searching for data. You don't seem like the type to turn away metal. Trade with me." Gungnir presented the money in the light.
"What would you like to know?"
"Tell me everything you can about Pop Music. We're close to one, but I want more data."
"Their tech is odd. At night, certain days of the week, people can hear music in their heads. Only works in certain parts of the region, but sometimes they start setting up communities. If they stay long enough, another town forms. Most of them wear these headphones. How much steel is that?" His eyes licked the metal.
Gungnir leaned in and sat the piece of money on the counter. "How many of them are there?"
"Who can say? But between you and me, they're small time. New rumors are abound about something much bigger. A place called Site 13. Only problem is it's in St. George proper."
Gungnir flipped the metal to him, and Erich caught it in mid air. He kissed it twice before tucking it in his purse.
"The place is a buried city from the Pre-Times. The entirety will hold enough tech to conquer the world, if what they say is true. I don't want to be responsible for the spread of false data and lose my rep."
"That's a lot of metal I handed over. This better be worth it."
"The only reason I told for cheap is because of its location. You can't just hike inside St. George, not even you."
"You'd be surprised."
"I have something else special for you. It's not a weapon, or armor, or a manual, but I know you'll be interested." His claws pried open a soft-Plasstien sack, and he reached in and pulled out a burnt book entitled, ARKHE. By the touch, it was old and probably made of real leather. The waxy coating was slick and bore several claw marks. A red ribbon was fastened around the middle and tied in a knot. Its singed Oracle White cover sparkled under the light.
"What? How much are you going to charge me for a fucking book?"
"Nothing. I give this to you because this belongs to you, not to me or anyone else. I'm on an op myself from a man named Shaman Total Solutions. I was paid to deliver this to you. The book has unusual propert
ies and I would beg you to not open this until you're home alone."
It matched the one in his house almost but something felt wrong about it. "Is this some sort of magick?"
"No. I wouldn't dare insult you. It's part of you. I don't know how to explain because the thoughts don't make sense. To be honest, I looked inside myself to make sure I wasn't going to give you something that could come back and haunt me later. The last thing I need in my life is a berzerking Úlfheðnar after me." He popped in his card and ordered two more drinks.
"I don't like taking things for free, and I have heard of Total Solutions in some of my travels. Why would he give something to me unless he's trying to collect a bounty on me? I rarely kill priests of other gods because I don't want to incur their wrath. I have enough problems with my gods as it is."
"May I be so bold as to ask you something? And you must promise not to attack me after I've asked. I ask this to show you how much I think the book is worth. If you feel you've been cheated, come back and kill me. I won't hide from you. Why bother?"
Gungnir finished his drink and tapped his knuckles on the machine. Erich ordered another, and Gungnir drank the frosty ale down in a few gulps.
"Ask me. You are either going to become a friend or an enemy in a second. And I don't have many enemies. But then I have even fewer friends. So ask your question in safety."
"Do you feel human?"
"What kind of fucking ridiculous question is that? You are implying I'm not?! You feral, disgusting, animal maggot. Of course! Every single day, I rise to greet Sunna and bask in her glory. I feel the tide of Wotan raging through my blood like lava from the bowels of Muspelheim. I feel pleasure in destroying the weak and elevating the strong! I have boundless sexual energy when I rape. I lust for blood-filled victories and take pride in my accomplishments, no matter how trivial. My magnificence bleeds over into all who see me!"
"You are less human than you think, Gungnir."
The Arkhe Principle (Book Book 1) Page 13
