Flotsam Prison Blues (The Technomancer Novels Book 2)

by M. K. Gibson

  Hell, no reason to lie to him. Even if I did, I was pretty sure he would know it. “Something like that,” I said. My smoke wasn’t as satisfying right then, as I felt the true sinister nature this guy. And he was an immortal.

  “Simply amazing. Who would have thought something from so far in the past could be so much more advanced than anything we have today. I heard ARCTech was doing research into nanite tech, but failed over and over.”

  When I first met Father Grimm, he was freaking creepy as all hell and I thought he was a villain. Could have been because he dressed in all black and cut my throat once. But he turned out to be an immortal and a good friend. This guy, though? Similar creepy vibe, but he was trying too hard to be nice. Too cordial. This was a guy who was used to doing what he wanted, when he wanted, to whom he wanted.

  “So, how are you enjoying your stay here at Flotsam?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all. I always ask those staying here that question.” Gerhardt stood up and looked around the room, enjoying its antiquated beauty. By a Davenport sofa, there was a black lacquered end table with an original Gramophone atop it. He paused there and turned the needle over. The Gramophone began to play a Benny Goodman song with the crackling boxy sound that only came from old-fashioned records.

  “I need to know what we are doing here so we can make changes to improve our process. May I ask, how was the indoctrination process? Did you find the experience evoking a complete sense of hopelessness and pain?”

  “What?”

  “Should I rephrase the question?” Gerhardt asked in honesty as he walked to his desk and poured two drinks into heavy crystal tumblers. He walked over and offered one to me. I took it.

  “No, I got the question. I just meant, are you serious? It’s a prison. What kind of fucked-up thing is that to ask?” I took a sip from the tumbler. A vodka-infused schnapps. Nice.

  “A practical one. You see, Mastema wanted to create a place of pain and reverence. He charged me with ensuring his vision was done properly. And I always try to perform my best when my father wishes it. Ergo, my ultimate creations. The perfect guards. Powerful, incorruptible, and ultimately loyal. “

  “Your creations? You mean the flesh golems? You made those?”

  “Of course. I enjoy experimentation. But these, these are my opus. A perfect blend of science with just a touch of magic. Reanimated beings with a spark of my own essence. Beautiful, are they not? And as long as I perform my father’s wishes, I am given reign over the lives of the inmates as I see fit to further my endeavors. And their sacrifices have greatly furthered my work.”

  Mastema was his father, huh? That would make Mr. Gerhardt some kind of nephilim, or a demi-god. One that took delight in the pain of others. And he also knew magic as well. Great.

  “You are really fucked up, aren’t you?”

  Gerhardt pondered that. “Hmm, some have called me that, in much more polite terms. Yet I like to think of myself as a visionary.”

  Gerhardt shrugged and continued in a light conversational tone. “But trust me, if you were not important to powerful people, I would have already cut you open to see what makes you tick. To see if I could break the DNA encryption on your nanites to make them work as I saw fit. Just imagine my creations with your enhanced abilities.” He finished his drink and smiled.

  Yeah, that’s what the world needed. Powerful Frankenstein monsters with my regenerative abilities and enhanced strengths and senses. Good thing my father had the foresight to ensure the Collective could never be used by anyone else. They weren’t just coded to my DNA; they were made from it. “So, why am I here then?” I asked.

  “Oh, forgive me, I do get sidetracked when I have the opportunity for interesting conversation. This is simply your one-month checkup, so to speak. Also to let you know that the inquiry against you is nearly complete. You have, hmm . . . two months until it is finished?”

  “Two months?” I said, my mind racing with the thoughts of freedom.

  “Oh yes, about two months. Plenty of time for me to break your spirit. As I said before, I enjoy talking to the inmates to know how they are faring here at Flotsam. Would you say you feel your situation is dire or hopeless?”

  I honestly had no idea what to say to the lunatic. “A little bit of both?”

  “Excellent. Have you considered suicide yet?”

  “No?”

  “Hmm,” Gerhardt said with a dark, pondering look to his face. He took a long pull on his cigarette. “Do you hold on to a lingering sense of hope? That, perhaps, you have a way out of this place? Do you actually think they will find you not guilty?”

  I sat in stunned silence at the line of questioning. Me, silent. I know. I stood, then looked at Gerhardt for permission to stand and walk about his office. When he nodded, I stood and stretched my legs, sipping my drink.

  “Yes, I can see that you do. From your history, you are obviously a born survivor. Before G-day, you would be special. And even past that, in many ways, you are. But you are not the only immortal, as I am sure you know. Even the average demon or hellion lives longer than a human. Yet you are used to succeeding where you should have failed. Abraxas, for instance. No, I must really think on this issue. How to drive away all sense of hope and possibilities for a better tomorrow.”

  “I’m just going to say it again, you’re fucked up.”

  “No, Mr. Salem. I am an artist. Flesh is my canvas. Did you know there were rumors that the original Bible spoke of reincarnation? And said passages were destroyed by the Pharaohs lest the Hebrews believe they could come back? You can’t have a slave labor force thinking that death is not the end.”

  “Didn’t work out too well for Ramses,” I said as I admired the framed art beside his desk.

  “Poor Ozymandias. My father was fond of him and wept when he took his son. Nonetheless, my goal is to remove all sense of possibility from the people here.”

  I downed the rest of my drink. I picked up the decanter of alcohol. “Freshen your drink?”

  Gerhardt looked down for a moment, considering is drink. “Yes please.”

  I crossed the room and topped off his glass. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you. I must say you are quite entertaining and almost a gentleman.”

  “Almost,” I said. “But back to your original question, yeah, I lost all sense of hope while being here.”

  “I doubt that highly, Mr. Salem,” Gerhardt said as he took the decanter from me and returned to his desk. He removed several sheets of paper from a file and began sifting through them.

  “What happened to Chael?” I asked, changing the subject as I sat back down in my original seat.

  Gerhardt smiled. “Your friend is currently residing peacefully in a holding cell here. Not that any cell could really hold him. I should say he is allowing us to keep him while you are here. He was quite adamant on staying here until you have been released back into the general population.”

  “What did he do to get locked up here?” I asked, trying to reign in my emotions.

  “Him? Nothing. He simply appeared one day and refused to leave. He said he had work to do. I found him a nuisance so I sent some of my golems to deal with him. He destroyed them soundly. Since then, I have decided to allow him to stay. If for nothing more than to torment the other prisoners. He has taken a shine to you.”

  Wow. I’ve been adopted by a thousand-pound murder puppy.

  “OK, then. I guess I’m ready to be released back onto the island?”

  “Excellent,” Gerhardt said. “Now, you do understand that you are still a prisoner, of course.”

  “Uhh, sure?”

  “Wonderful. But I have something for you to consider.”

  “What?”

  Gerhardt smiled, lighting himself another cigarette, and watched me. “Do you know what will happen to the people of your barony?”

  My face darkened.

  “Wunderbar!” he said, his voice affecting a German accent. “You car
e for them. Excellent. In approximately sixty days, the inquiry about your particular case will be over. At that time, the Archduchess Lady Bathin and her Archbishop Maz’ael will come here and find you guilty of all crimes. Upon which the freeze of your assets will be over. Andromalius will then purchase your debt, own your land, kill those who resist, sell the children, and heavily tax those too weak to run.”

  Gerhardt ashed his cigarette and turned his gaze back to me. “Now, how does that make you feel?”

  “Children?” I whispered.

  “Of course. They make delightful pets and experimenting on them is quite unique. How do you think I grow my golems? The unique nature of a child’s physiology allows me to adapt the flesh in such a way that it grows and fuses together.”

  He was baiting me. Trying to get me to react. I clenched my jaw and stared at him.

  “No, nothing to say?”

  “No,” I growled.

  “You don’t need to say anything. I can see it on your face. Deep down, you know there is nothing you can do and your community is over. I can see it on your face. You try to keep your thoughts off your friends to endure this place. But you can’t. You worry for them. You hold onto hope. That is admirable. Foolish, but admirable. They are all going to die.”

  Something in me snapped. I jumped to my feet, grabbed the heavy glass ashtray, and hurled it at Gerhardt’s smug fucking face.

  “Fuck you, you sadistic fucking asshole!”

  Gerhardt raised his hand and a dome of red, magical energy surrounded him and his desk. The crystal ashtray shattered as the light from his magic twinkled against fractured glass. Gerhardt dropped his shield while raising his right palm. A wave of dark red energy lanced out, smacking me in my chest. The impact of the blast threw me back against the far wall with enough force that my teeth rattled.

  Oh hell. Immortal and a mage. In that moment, flat on my back, I got a very familiar vibe. Grimm and Gerhardt should get together and go bowling.

  “There, that’s settled,” Gerhardt said as he made a “come here” gesture. Three flesh golems entered the room upon his silent command. They carried leg shackles and another pair of full enclosure manacles. The creatures picked me up and clamped the manacles in place.

  Gerhardt furiously began scribbling a note to himself with a mad look of pleasure on his face. When he finished, he looked up at me. “Good luck with your demoness friend. I am sure she has many choice things to say, and do, to you. It was a pleasure.”

  The golems walked me, now bound, out of Gerhardt’s office and down a long stone stairwell. When we reached the bottom, one of the golems lifted a latch that had to weigh several hundred pounds while the other pulled against a massive door leading to a stone tunnel. Once we were through, the golems worked in tandem to open another set of metal doors, which opened to the island’s general population.

  Upon delivering me, one of the golems hit me in the small of the back so hard I felt my legs tingle. The second hit me in the stomach, doubling me over, while the third simply pushed me over into the wet, cold mud. They removed my shackles and left me there on the ground, returning inside and locking the door.

  Well, that could have gone better.

  I lit one of the cigarettes I stole from Gerhardt when I offered to refill his drink. At least I was still a decent thief.

  Yeela and Khlabra, Gh’aliss’s Lust demon daughters, approached me while I was on the ground.

  Yay.

  “Gh’aliss wants to see you,” the tall, darker-hued female, Khlabra, said. Her smaller lavender sister, the feral Yeela, was on all fours, her ass and tail in the air. She was ready to tear out my throat as she had Toothless’s.

  I could try and fight them, what with Gerhardt being so kind as to give my body a much-needed infusion of base materials. Hell, I could probably take them. I saw how they fought in the arena, and they definitely saw me. But if Gh’aliss was here, then I couldn’t avoid her.

  I would prefer to go into this particular trap with Chael at my back. But big, beautiful, and bat-shit nuts was nowhere to be seen, and I doubted I could stall until he finally lumbered this way.

  “What does she want?”

  “I don’t know,” Khlabra said, clenching her jaw.

  “You’re supposed to bring me back unharmed, aren’t you?” I asked with a smirk.

  “Mostly,” Yeela hissed.

  “Then you know of your my past with your mother?”

  “That she used to lay with a human named Reynolds, yes,” Khlabra said as she flexed her muscles. I knew I was pushing the line with her.

  We walked a while, moving past the area where The Fixers set up the ambush that got me caught in the first place. The area was already picked clean of any lost items. Hell, even the golem Chael destroyed was gone. Based off the footprints, other golems had come to claim their dead brother.

  Hmm.

  “Well, if we’re going to see Gh’aliss, who no doubt isn’t happy with me, I only have one question,” I said as we continued walking.

  “What?” Khlabra said with the utmost irritation as her eyes narrowed.

  “How’s my hair?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Scars

  “It’s good to see you, Reynolds,” Gh’aliss said from her chair in her barracks room within Fixer territory. Seeing her again brought back a lot of memories. Almost none of them good. “You’re looking good, all things considered.”

  “You . . . too,” I said, looking at her. She hadn’t really aged. Just matured. Demon physiology, even topsiders, made them live longer than humans. She had to be in her seventies, but her human-like features resembled a beautiful woman in her late thirties or early forties. Except for her scar tissue along the left side of her body and face, she was still a stunner.

  But as my eyes lingered on the scars, I had to look away.

  “What’s the matter, Reynolds? Don’t like to look at your own handiwork?”

  I said nothing. What could I say?

  Yeela was on me in a second. One of her clawed hands was around my throat while the other was around my waist. She waiting on the command to simultaneously cut my throat and disembowel me.

  “Answer her,” Yeela said. She was so close her hot breath was moist on my ear.

  I mumbled something under my breath.

  “Louder,” Yeela ordered. Her claws began to break the skin on my neck and stomach.

  “You weren’t supposed to be there,” I said.

  “That’s your excuse?” Khlabra said from behind me. The bigger daughter was out of my line of sight, but she made her presence known. Besides her physical form, Khlabra shared a lot with her maternal sire. Her strength and presence was Gh’aliss all over. But Yeela had her fury.

  “The only one I have,” I said. “I even told you to leave. Damn it, Gh’aliss,” I said, trying to shake my head, but Yeela’s grip prevented excess movement. “Why did you stay?”

  “It was my home,” she said. “Our home.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “I was a pet monkey to them. Nothing more. That place . . . “ I shook my head, looking for the words. “It was my prison. In every sense as much as this place is.”

  “If you remember,” Gh’aliss purred, “I was a gift to you for service to Hell.”

  “I was your assignment. You reported my dealings, at least the ones you knew of, back to the powers that be. You were just my warden.”

  “Is that all I was?”

  Again, I looked away. “Yes . . . No. Goddamn it, Gh’aliss, what do you want? I’m still breathing, so you want something from me.”

  Gh’aliss looked me over, appraising both me and my words. She stood and walked over to her me. The rags that passed for clothing looked almost good on her. She’d wrapped her shirt into a criss-cross halter top which emphasized her breasts and left her stomach bare. The sarong she wore allowed freedom of movements for her long legs.

  She ran a clawed, yet soft hand across my face. “I miss your long hair,” she said. “A
nd your beard. You look too young.”

  Despite a demon at my throat, I smiled over at Yeela. “Told you she’d ask about the hair.”

  Yeela squeezed harder.

  “Yeela, that is enough, Mr. Reynolds is our guest.”

  “It’s Salem now,” I corrected her. “Reynolds is long dead.”

  “I heard. It’s a good name. So, how have you lived this long? I’m not expert on humans, but you should be dead.”

  She didn’t know. Hmm.

  “Do you remember that night? The fight? Do you remember what I told you?”

  Gh’aliss smiled. “Yes. You said you were different. I just never knew how different you were. Hell below, just look at you. Still rugged. Still powerful. Mmm . . . there was a time when I was more than just your keeper,” she said as she rubbed her hand along my chest. Her hand fumbled with the rope I used as a belt. Once she loosened my pants, her hand went down to my groin.

  “Ahh . . . that I remember.”

  I turned my head, trying like hell to comprehend the situation of getting a demonic handy from my hellspawn ex-girlfriend while her daughters watched.

  “Do you want to do this . . . in front of them?” I asked.

  “Still a human,” Gh’aliss said.

  She slapped me in the mouth so fast, I never saw it coming. Or perhaps I was just low on thinking blood. Regardless, my head was yanked free of Yeela’s grasp from Gh’aliss’s pop in my mouth. My face stung from the blow. Hell, the old gal still had a helluva right hand.

  Also, my balls must reek, because her hand positively stank. Well, welcome to prison life without proper hygiene facilities.

  “I could fuck you right now in front of them, then let them have a turn and not bat an eye,” Gh’aliss said, her voice bordering on enraged. “Do you know what happens to a Lust demon who is unable to keep a human seduced? A demon who fails at her mission?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing. No jobs. No assistance. You think being a nomad here is bad? Try out there where everyone and everything turns its back on you. You’ll find that you will do anything . . . anything to anyone at any time to make even a few credits. Khlabra’s father was a highborn Wrath demon who patrolled the walls outside the city. He showed me favor until he found out I was pregnant. When he tried to kill me, I killed him. That got me my first trip to this place.”