Flotsam Prison Blues (The Technomancer Novels Book 2)

by M. K. Gibson

  Damn it. Back to la-la land. I felt the wound on my leg burn a bit. The Collective was working as best it could, but it should have begun patching me up, even after it was torn back open. I should be feeling better, not worse.

  //HOST - MOTRAL DANGER DETECTED - DIRECT CONTACT PROTOCOL INITIATED//

  What is it, Collective? I asked. I scanned the beach, looking for an incoming attack. Was it a Deep One coming in? I listened and heard nothing but the lapping waves and Chael’s breathing.

  //HOST’S WOUND - DAMAGE BEYOND COLLECTIVE’S ABILITY TO REPAIR - INSUFFICIENT BASE MATERIALS TO COUNTERACT//

  What? The shiv cut in my leg? I survived a hook in the mouth and a broken leg, and a cut was going to kill me? I took out the shiv and looked at the jagged weapon in the moonlight, and then I saw what the problem was. Fused into the makeshift blade were the telltale red flecks of metal. Inferium. Toothless’s blade was rusted metal and inferium.

  This was bad. This was very fucking bad. The Hell-forged metal was necrotic and almost always lethal to humans. And a gash this big meant I didn’t have much of a chance.

  Correction: If the Collective was contacting me directly, I had NO chance.

  I pulled off my pants despite the cold and peeled away the dirty bandage, and I nearly gagged on the stink. Which, over the stench of the bay and the bodies not too far away, was saying something. I could see red and black track marks snaking away from the wound all down my leg and beginning to spread up my body.

  When the lines reached my heart, that would be it. The Collective was probably working overtime to keep it in check. But without enough food and materials . . .

  Collective, how much time? I asked, my mind racing, desperately trying to think of a plan and coming up with jack shit.

  //UNKNOWN - LESS THAN AN HOUR - HOST: QUERY - WHAT IS DEATH LIKE//

  The question took me back a second. I forgot sometimes that the Collective was an artificial intelligence. It was technically alive. It existed, replicated, and created waste. And in our time together, the Collective had developed an awareness and even something of a sense of humor. And now, it was scared.

  I don’t know, I answered as best as I could. I didn’t know how to answer my AI in a way that would make sense.

  //UNACCEPTABLE - COLLECTIVE DEMANDS CONTINUED EXISTENCE//

  You and me both. Is there anything here you need? Anything I could eat? Sand, kelp, bay water? Fuck, I’ll go chow down on those bodies outside if that’s what it takes to keep us going.

  //NEGATIVE - COMPONENT EXAMPLES CONTAIN POTENTIAL - INSUFFICIENT PROCESSING TIME TO CONVERT MATERIALS INTO MEDICINAL APPLICATION//

  In my chat with the Collective about our looming death, I hadn’t noticed that Chael had rolled to his side and was watching me intently.

  “See. Smellll preeeeetty,” the big man purred like a ten-foot cat.

  “You mean dying?! Yeah, I’m freaking fragrant as fuck over here. Do you have anything to keep my leg from rotting off and the infection from stopping my heart?” I yelled. I realized I was getting real informal with a homicidal crack-pot who made Andre the Giant look like a toddler. But right then, I didn’t give a shit.

  “Yes,” Chael said, sitting up.

  “Yes, what? You have medicine or something?”

  Chael’s dead white eyes narrowed and he grinned a vulpine smile. “Or something.”

  He sprang on top of me and held he down with one hand before I could react. With his other hand, he licked his left forefinger and jammed it into my thigh, into the center of the cut.

  I screamed and Chael laughed. He ran his finger up and down the hole in my leg and with each pass I screamed harder and thrashed. But the giant held me as if I was a child. He continued to remove his finger, lick my blood. And jam it back into my cut.

  Amid my screaming, the pain receded. Each pass of Chael’s saliva-soaked, sausage-sized finger inside my leg lessened the wound more and more. A few more swipes and the pain was gone. Not just gone, but healed.

  Chael got off me and went back to lying on his kelp bed. I looked at the newly-formed scar on my leg. It was a pink swath of scar tissue that looked like an elongated crescent moon.

  Collective, what’s our status?

  //CRISIS AVERTED HOST - INFECTION REDUCED TO 0% - HOST REMAINS AT SUBOPTIMAL OPERATING CAPACITY - NO IMMEDIATE LIFE THREATENING CONDITIONS EXIST - REQUEST: EXTEND COLLECTIVE’S GRATITUDE TO GIANT ENTITY//

  And with that pleasant news, the Collective popped offline. I flexed my leg and it felt good. Hell, even the break was feeling better. Overall I was still starved and freezing, but I felt no major aches or pains. Damn, I needed to bottle Chael’s spit and sell it as a miracle cure.

  “Hey Chael, thank you. Seriously. But, I have to ask, why?”

  Chael didn’t acknowledge me at first. He was mumbling something about the source of the darkest spire at the nexus of creation. Then his dead white eyes turned to me and for a fraction of a second they flashed the most brilliant blue.

  “When I told you you smelled pretty, you said ‘thank you’. Now go to your home, this is mine.” And with that Chael rolled over, turning his back to me, and muttered, “He who is like God recedes into the madness once again.”

  Well, chalk up a win for good manners.

  With Chael ignoring me now, I reckoned that was the end of this little party. I got up and backed away. I stepped through the hole in the wall where it met the base of the old guard tower. Stepping in, I saw that Chael had piled all types of crap here. Makeshift weapons, clothes, food, and even pieces of tech.

  All this stuff had to have come off the bodies at his territory perimeter. It looked like Chael had no use for it, so he just threw it in here. For an old lightrunner like me, this was like Christmas. Come to think of it, Christmas was only a month or so away. And a cache of useful items in a prison like this would be valuable.

  There were stone stairs that wound upwards towards the top of the tower. And each step upwards brought back a memory. Flashes of the first war and the battle of Razor Bay came to mind.

  Hell, I’d been there before. In this tower. Over a hundred years ago, but I knew this tower. As I followed them up, they led me to a loft I’d been expecting. There was an old-world steel-and-wire-framed bed with a moldy, musty mattress on top of it from the war. A small outhouse-like toilet led down and outside the tower. I knew because I’d been a lookout in that tower before.

  A few wooden tables and chests were in the room. They were empty, but I remembered sitting there, having a beer and playing cards while stationed here. In the corner of the loft, a steel ladder went up through a trap door. Going up the ladder, I stood atop the stone-roofed guard tower. It wasn’t big. Maybe twenty feet by twenty feet, but I could see almost the entire island and off into the bay. I remembered. From here I saw the sinking of our fleet as Abominations waded into the Chesapeake to attack.

  There were five others towers like this one. Lookout posts that doubled as places to fire sniper ordnance and mortar attacks. For a moment, I felt free again. Fighting against the demons as Sgt. RJ “Lucky” Doral.

  I shook my head. That person, that life, was a long time ago. Now, the waters were polluted and inhabited by evil. The fortress was a prison and I was a prisoner. Nothing more.

  I could see why Chael wanted me to keep an eye out for him. He couldn’t fit up here. Well, if I was to be his prison bitch, I guess there were worse people to watch your back. I went back down into the loft and fell down on the moldy mattress, and despite the smell, dampness, and flashbacks to a different time in my life, I was asleep in seconds.

  ************************

  The next morning, after good night of sleep and healing, a thought occurred to me: Why didn’t I just act like myself? With Chael’s tower as a place for a new vault and his protection, why couldn’t I do in prison what I did on the outside—make profit from trade?

  I had to do something while I was in Flotsam to keep my mind off my friends and in the moment. I know
it sounds shitty, but if I spent my time worrying about them, I might miss the next attack on me. Clearly, I was set up. And like I told the Collective, I had to hope the bastards who did it would show themselves.

  Or maybe this was it. Maybe the demons let a human become a land baron just to toss him into prison to send a message. Who knew? But it did reaffirm that I needed to focus on the now.

  So I formulated a plan: I had to start targeting inmates and built up a rep. If I started with Brutes, taking them out for their weapons or whatever items they had, it would make me a threat and someone to be wary of.

  Next, I had to wait for targets of opportunity. From my brief couple of days, I saw the flesh golems who walked the island uninhibited. Sometimes, they would take an inmate into custody back towards the main building where the indoctrination took place. The inmate would fight as best he could and always lose.

  In the scuffle, a lot of useful items would fall off him or her. I didn’t know what happened to the inmates, but no one ever saw them again. If I was first to the scene, then their loss was my gain. I could trade those items for goods and services. It wouldn’t take me too long to figure out who needed what. It was my job, after all.

  I speculated that The Growers were always happy to get some kind of tool that The Makers overcharged for. For those items, I could get a full stomach. And while in the Grower camps, I could steal what I could. Pilfered food would carry a lot of currency with The Fixers and Makers, which would help me upgrade my clothing and weapons. And thanks to Chael, I could move among the clans with relative ease and few assaults.

  The plan wasn’t that bad. Of course, most plans go Tango Uniform the moment the first hitch comes along, so I had to be prepared.

  And being prepared meant leaving the past and outside world behind. I let myself be concerned about the people of Löngutangar for the next sixty seconds. I only hoped that Vali had sobered up. Between him, Grimm, and Vidar, they should be able to keep the place going.

  I had no idea how they would make the monthly tithes. But if Andromalius was telling the truth, then they had a brief reprieve while I was in prison, as my assets were frozen until a formal inquiry was finished.

  At the end of that minute, I formed a mental shield, placing all the worries, regrets, and love for my friends behind that wall. This was where I was.

  For now.

  “All right, you motherfuckers. Daddy’s home. And I need a goddamn cigarette.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Just a Servant

  A long time ago . . .

  Ten Years Later

  “War Profiteer Reynolds, stand ready,” the hellion herald called out.

  Reynolds remained calm as he stood outside the stone doors of the lord’s chamber. With the years of work put into that moment, Reynolds assumed he would be more nervous. Instead, he simply felt his usual sense of numbness towards the world. He was a long time removed from being the freedom fighter who fought demons. And this was just another step to him. Another step over the bodies of idiots who either got in his way or refused to adapt. Another step towards blissful nothingness.

  “The lord is ready,” the herald informed Reynolds. “You are to be honored. One of the few humans ever to be received by our nobles.”

  “Less talking. Let’s get this over with.”

  “You need to show proper respect, human.”

  “And you need to open the fucking door,” Reynolds said as the stone doors opened and he walked past the herald.

  The receiving hall was grand. The entire edifice was a domed, circular structure atop one of the tallest buildings in the northern expanse of the growing supercity. Pieces of surviving architecture from Hell that came through during The Great Ascension were taken to the key locations across the city. Each would serve as beacons of Hell’s dominion over the new world.

  All Reynolds wanted was a little piece to call his own.

  The hall itself was circular, with curved tables carved into the stonework, cascading upwards in concentric rings. The tables were filled with the ruling nobility of full-blooded demons; the higher the rank, the closer to the center. From around the circular room, stone doors opened, allowing those being honored to walk into the grand hall.

  In the center of the hall, atop a dais made of smooth blood-red and black stone, stood a single demon. Reynolds had never seen the demon before, but all knew his name.

  Valefor. Grand Marquis of Hell and the speaker of the princes. His words were the reflections of their will. The regal demon had a face similar to a lion’s, with a flowing mane of golden hair and polished golden horns. His wings were adorned in golden bands of cloth and his clothes were belted robes of the deepest purple. He towered at almost twelve feet tall and he gave off an aura of authority.

  From across the room, Reynolds could sense the admiration and contempt for Valefor. Thus was the way of demons. If you were not trying to remove the one in front of you, then the one behind you would take you out.

  It was obvious Valefor knew it as well. The demon relished in the jealous contempt of his lessers. He practically begged for them to try and confront him.

  Reynolds was ushered to his seat in a small, shadowy section of the room. The greatest of humans was still far below the lowest of demons in the eyes of Hell.

  Which was fine for Reynolds. It meant he could close his eyes and catch a catnap while the proceedings happened.

  “Nobles of the Infernal Realm. We stand on the verge of a new world. By order of the princes, New Golgotha’s regions will be split into three separate kingdoms. Each of them will be ruled by a new archduke, with subordinate lords governing their districts. Archduke Dantalion will rule the northern kingdom of Lemegeton, Archduke Abraxas will rule the central kingdom of Ars Goetia, and Archduchess Lady Bathin will rule the southern kingdom of Ars Amadel.”

  “Wait!” A blue-tinged Pride demon stood, calling from the crowd. “These are not matters to be discussed in front of their kind!”

  The Pride demon gesture towards Reynolds and the other humans in the dark receiving area.

  “Guards, Kill Lord Ben’ahl.”

  “Wait!”

  Towering demons appeared from their posts. The guards looked to be stunted Abominations, almost thirteen or fourteen feet tall with living skull-like features. They moved on the protesting Lord Ben’ahl with speed and savagery. Using club-like weapons affixed with dozens of jagged, barbed hooks, they swung for the lord as other demons got out of the guards’ way. Each swing of the massive weapons literally ripped the lord to pieces until there was only a bloody pile of dead demon left behind.

  “Lord Ben’ahl spoke out of turn and therefore must be punished. His holdings will be divided 40% to his betters and 60% to his lessers to ensure each party is ready for war,” Valefor said. He cleared his throat and continued. “He was correct, though. These are not matters for the ears of lesser beings to hear. My apologies to the nobles gathered, but they are so small and inconsequential, it is easy to overlook them. Humans, step forward to receive your gifts.”

  A hellion that resembled a merger between a man and a pack of writhing snakes opened the half-door to the seating area and guided Reynolds and seven other humans towards the center of the room. When they reached the edge of dais, Reynolds and the other humans knelt in reverence. Valefor addressed the supplicating humans.

  “For your contributions to Hell, you are hereby recognized by this court as superlatives among your kind, still lesser than any demon, but more than any human. You will be given positions of authority over the other humans. You are liaisons who will help guide the rest of humanity, and shape them into our vision of the new world. You have this one chance to request a boon from Hell. Make it count.”

  Reynolds listened as his fellow race-traitors asked for things like money and comfort. Power over others and indulgences of the flesh. Reynolds remained quiet.

  “War Profiteer Reynolds, you have no request?” Valefor asked.

  “I have a simple r
equest, Grand Marquis.”

  “You alone stand apart from the rest of your scum kind,” Valefor said, smiling. He gestured at the other humans. “Compared to you, the rest of these animals are little more than speaking monkeys.”

  “I thank you, Grand Marquis.”

  “You have assisted in bringing new ways to conduct war against your own kind. You are the reason why the ground is soaked in human blood for hundreds and hundreds of miles in any direction outside the city. You have brought more humans to heel than any other of our associates. You have broken their spirits and bent their will. Even more than some demons. For that alone, you shall be handsomely rewarded.”

  “You are too kind, Grand Marquis. I am just a servant.”

  “Nonsense,” Valefor said. “It was how you did it that caught the eyes of this court. The ruthlessness and contempt for lesser beings is to be applauded. Countless lay dead forevermore because of you and you alone. The new world will be built upon their rotting corpses and their blood will be mixed into the mortar with which we lay our new foundation. You, my little human traitor, are an example of why the old Hell thrived and Heaven failed. This new Hell will soar to great heights. You, Reynolds, have assisted in that.”

  Reynolds remained looking at the floor and remained keeping his emotions in check. “You . . . honor me, Grand Marquis.”

  “What then, is your request?”

  Reynolds told them.

  And the room erupted into laughter.

  “If that is what you wish for, then it is granted. By the word of the princes, this binding contract is. For you and those who share your bloodline you shall have it, provided your tiny empire can continue to pay for it.”

  “I thank you, Grand Marquis.”

  “As long as this one dwells in your kingdom, Archduke Abraxas, I would be wary. He might be the downfall of you,” Valefor said to giant green and gold Envy demon sitting in the stands.

  “Of that, I highly doubt,” Archduke Abraxas said with a snort and ruffle of his massive wings.