Fiddleback Trilogy 3 - Evil Triumphant

by Michael A. Stackpole

  I also wore body armor, but it was not as thick or as obvious as Crowley's. It was barely noticeable beneath the green polo shirt I wore. The shirt, in combination with the khaki slacks I wore and the white, V-neck sweater on the chair behind my desk, marked me as a prosperous corporator who had just stepped in to the office before heading out to the links for a quick nine holes.

  Or it did after I removed my two shoulder holsters and tucked the Colt Kraits in a cabinet beside the desk. I glanced at my watch and noticed the hands read 9:15 a.m., but the digital window in it had the time as 1 p.m.

  I had gotten used to time moving faster or slower in the proto-dimensions than it did here on Earth, but the mismatched settings on my watch were an unwanted reminder of the paranormal reality of the universe. If not for the watch and its evidence, I could always try to imagine what I had seen and done as one long nightmare.

  "It's already afternoon here." I dropped into the big chair behind the XR-8500 datadesk and looked at its broad, flat surface. The whole glassy desktop was a touch-sensitive computer screen. I pressed my finger against the flashing clock icon and it exploded out into a time-stamped memo from my executive assistant. I scanned it, then frowned.

  "Lilith has picked up Mickey's father and sister from the airport. They should be back here very soon, which means I'll have to deal with that situation straight away."

  Crowley nodded thoughtfully. "You have my sympathies." He turned to Vetha. "If you will come with me, I will get you situated. If you can tell me your needs as far as food and housing are concerned, arrangements will be made."

  The ivory creature nodded her head, then followed Crowley out through the office's side door. Looking up, I saw the Yidam's scarlet eyes focused far away. "You are welcome to stay for this. They have both seen your daughter, which means they might be ready to understand you..."

  The Yidam shook his head and folded both pairs of arms across his chest. "No, I do not think they are ready for me. It is just that I know the boy's kin will doubtlessly feel about the truth as my daughter must feel about me. I was lost to her, and now I am found, yet I am not the same person or being she remembers." He opened his arms in a gesture of helplessness that mocked his powerful build and fearsome aspect. "Somewhere inside of me there is much that remembers her, but the past three decades have changed me a great deal."

  I tried to smile sympathetically. The Yidam and his daughter Rajani were both members of an extraterrestrial race called the Jes'da. The race is psychomimetic, which means it conforms its physiology to that prevalent among the dominant race where they grow up. Such protective coloration made evolution easier for them, but the ability to change deserted most of the Jes'da by the age of 6. Practitioners of a philosophical discipline known as c'dithrta retained their psychomorphic abilities and could even, through long years of meditation, direct their change.

  Rajani had spent nearly 30 years in isolation and stasis so she could change and become a tool to be used against Fiddleback. Her father had hidden away in a monastery in Tibet. While the monastery kept him safe from discovery by Fiddleback, the prayers and beliefs of the monks deprived him of the isolation given his daughter. As a result, the monks' influence managed to remold him into the form of a Buddhist godling and guardian.

  "You and I have not had much chance to see your daughter, but the information I get from the rest of my people is that she is very open and bright." I let a genuine smile cross my face. "Sinclair is very high on her, and his judgment is not to be dismissed. Rajani is more than capable of being self-reliant, so she will not depend upon you, but she does need you because you are the only link she has back to her mother and her heritage."

  "I know, and I see her as my link to the future." The Yidam smiled, which was not a terribly pleasant thing to see. "It is just that the transformation I have undergone is more than physical. The monks made me over into a deity and, while I do not have the powers and abilities ascribed to a Yidam, I have been given some of a god's perspective on the world. I do not like it."

  "Perhaps getting to know your daughter again will provide you a counter-balance."

  "Indeed, I hope this is so, Coyote." He looked out my window toward one of GBI's internal courtyards. "She is down there with Mickey and Bat. I will go speak with her."

  "Good luck, my friend."

  My desktop sounded a pleasant tone as the Yidam left through the door Crowley had used, then shut it behind him. I hit the icon of a speaker. "Yes?"

  "I have Mr. Farber and his daughter here, Mr. Loring. Shall I bring them in?"

  "Yes, Lilith, please do." I hit the icon again, severing the connection, then stood and moved around in front of my desk. The door across from me opened, and my blond executive assistant ushered the two guests into my office. "I am pleased to see you made it. I'm Michael Loring."

  "Tadd Farber." Mickey's father offered me his hand, and I shook it. His palm was wet and his pale flesh looked almost corpselike compared with my tan. He wore a suit coat and slacks that almost matched, but had clearly been bought off the rack a dozen years before. He had lost a lot a weight since then, for it hung on him as if he were in an advertisement for a drastic weight-loss clinic. He had combed his thin, straw-colored hair sideways over his head, exposing a broad expanse of forehead above brown eyes.

  "This is Dorothy." His daughter stepped forward and offered me her hand. She seemed ill at ease wearing a floral-print dress, white gloves and socks and black patent leather shoes, but she tolerated the situation bravely. I took her hand in mine and found a stronger grip than her father's in it. Her honey-blond hair had been combed and trimmed, and her bright blue eyes were full of curiosity.

  I pointed the both of them to the chairs in front of my desk. "Before we begin, can we get you anything? Coffee? Soda? A beer?"

  Tadd's eyes lit up when I mentioned beer, then dulled down again. He looked at the floor rather than at his daughter, then shook his head. "I'm fine."

  "Dorothy?"

  "I'm fine, too."

  "Very well," I smiled. "We will get something later. I'll buzz you if I need you, Lilith."

  Lilith left us alone and closed the main door. I returned to my chair and sat down, then looked up at them. "I must thank you for coming all this way on such short notice. I know my people were less than communicative. I appreciate your willingness to trust me."

  Tadd raised his eyes to meet my gaze. "They said you had information about Mickey." His left hand unconsciously sought and found his daughter's hand. "Do you, Mr. Loring?"

  I nodded and leaned back in my chair. I knew in an instant that I could spin a tale that Tadd Farber would believe because the world had hammered him with tragedy after tragedy. I knew, from what Rajani had told me and from the files Jytte had coaxed out of computers half a world away, that Tadd Farber had sold his' proxy for voting to Daizaimoku, the zaibatsu that all but controlled the northern half of Arizona. His wife died after a protracted illness, and alcoholism had sucked him down. He had sunk so low that he had arranged to have his children sold off. Then, when they were returned to him and he started the slow climb back to respectability, Mickey had vanished.

  Fooling him would be no problem. He was a man who had been broken by the world. He accepted what corporations told him was the truth. He no longer wanted to think critically about the world, and his skills at doing so had atrophied away to almost nothing. He would be easy, but his sharp-minded and street-smart daughter would be something else entirely.

  "I do, Mr. Farber, and you must call me Mike. I heard that your son Mickey had gone missing..."

  Dorothy's cerulean eyes narrowed. "You did? But we didn't tell nobody."

  I met her stare openly. "I have many sources, Dorothy — may I call you Dot? Your brother refers to you that way, so I have come to think of you as Dot."

  The girl gave me a cautious nod, but still watched me with the interest of a mongoose watching a cobra. "You know where Mickey is?"

  "I do indeed. You see, when I heard a
bout him, well, Mickey is what I was called when I was growing up. I don't know why, but finding him became something personal with me. I was determined to find him, but I didn't disturb you with my efforts because, quite frankly, I didn't want to get your hopes up in case I failed."

  Tadd grunted, and Dorothy's expression eased a bit, but she remained wary. "Can we see him? Is he okay?"

  "All in good time and, yes, he is fine." I chose my words carefully. "He is also changed."

  Tadd's head came up. "Changed?"

  "The individual who abducted your son is, well, is psychotic. He is an individual of incredible talent and, in addition to being a egomaniac, fancies himself a sculptor of sorts. His choice of medium is the human body, and his work would be celebrated worldwide except he chooses to perform his work on those who do not or cannot stop him."

  "What are you saying, Mr. Loring, Mike?" Anxiety vibrated off Tadd like tones from a tuning fork. "How could he do anything to Mickey? What kind of sicko monster is he? Mickey's just a 5-year-old little boy."

  How do I explain what a Dark Lord is to someone like Tadd Farber? "You're right, he is a monster. What he did to your son, though, is welcome in many ways. He fixed your son's cleft palate. He repaired all the damage done by the chronic ear infections. In Mickey, I can see bits of you, just as I can in your lovely daughter here." I stood and purposefully refrained from glancing out the window. "I don't want to scare you, because Mickey is in far better shape than any of us could have imagined. I just want you to be ready, because he is not the same little boy you remember."

  I laid my left hand gently on Tadd Farber's forearm as he rose from his chair. "One thing I do want you to understand, Tadd, is that Lorica Industries is pledged to seeing to it that Mickey will be taken care of for his entire life. You need not worry about him or your daughter or yourself."

  "Why? You're not responsible, are you?" Tadd regarded me with the haunted wariness I'd expect from a beaten animal.

  "No, I am not, but that does not excuse me of feeling an obligation to your son. May I be frank?" As he nodded, I tightened my grip on his arm and brought his hand up to eye level. "Your watch was made in Bulgaria. Your suit was probably sewn together in a Belizan factory. Your trip here was your first time on a plane and quite probably the first trip outside the United States. Your monthly income in dolmarks barely covers your expenses, and I imagine that the food you had in the airplane is probably the best and most nutritious of meals you've had in over a month. Am I close?"

  "Yes," he whispered hoarsely. I could feel him trembling and saw that he did not look at his daughter while she stared daggers at me. "I don't understand why you want to help us."

  "The world is an evil place, Tadd. Your son and daughter have been touched by that evil — with Mickey facing the brunt of it. Even so, your children are resilient and have a will to survive. Nurturing them, and people like them, means the world may become a little less evil."

  I gestured at the finery in the office. "All of this, Tadd, is very expensive, but it is worthless if it is not used correctly. Others would see what I have here as a goal, but I see it as a means to a goal. I know life has not been easy for you, and I suspect it will get worse before it gets better. I just want you to know that it will get better because it is imperative to me that the world gets better."

  I felt the emotions rippling through him as if my fingertips were reading some ethereal Braille. The insecurity and self-doubt that had begun as I spoke gave way to pride in his children. Part of him resented the directness of my approach; he felt honored that I thought his children were worthy of salvation. Finally, as I pledged to help him and them, he grew stronger because the burden of their future had been lifted from his shoulders.

  "Shall we go see your son now?"

  "Please."

  Leaving through the side door, we crossed the tiled landing, and I hit a button that summoned the elevator. The doors opened to reveal a glass-walled cage that went up and down on the outside of the Galbro building. Dorothy preceded the both of us into the box and pressed her hands against the window of the far side. "Hey, someone's fighting down there."

  I smiled and pressed the button marked "Ground." "Some of my people use the courtyard for martial arts training."

  Tadd smiled. "Mickey would like that. He always liked watching karate movies on the TV."

  I nodded but said nothing. As the elevator descended, it became easier to see the two combatants. They fought in the center of a rain forestlike garden with walkways paved with crushed stones of white. In the central area, where the walkways became a wide, white ring edged with slate-gray stones, the two men circled each other cautiously. Just judging from the comparative size of the two men, the outcome would have seemed obvious.

  The larger of the two men looked huge even from a distance. Heavily muscled, he had countless scars criss-crossing his bare torso. The dark-haired man towered over the other fighter by almost a foot, yet remained back and in a low crouch. Bat feinted with his balled fists, but did not step in and pound his foe to oblivion.

  The other fighter moved with a fluidity that matched his slender, whiplash body. His dark brown hair trailed behind his head fakes, and a broad smile lit his face. Like Bat, he wore only a pair of gym shorts, so it was easy to see the intricate intaglio of thick and thin black lines swirling over his body. The lines followed and defined his musculature as if they were tattoos, but watching closely I once again saw that the line moved with his muscles, not above them as a tattoo might.

  Bat's left fist hooked in hard at the smaller man. Before the fist had gotten even halfway to its target, the tattooed man danced back and to the right. His right hand swatted the fist out of the way like a kitten batting at a ball of yam. The small man ducked his left shoulder and lunged forward in a move that sent his fingertips grazing across Bat's washboard stomach.

  The tattooed man retreated, then giggled aloud. "I tickled you again!"

  The explosive oath Bat offered in reply seemed to shock his foe, but the thick foliage and wall surrounding the courtyard cut off any vision of the two fighters at that point. Tadd stood on his tiptoes to catch any last glimpse, then smiled. "That was Bat, wasn't it? I've seen him in some of the fights televised from Eclipse."

  I nodded. "Yes, that was Bat."

  Tadd shook his head. "I seen him fight a whole bunch, and he's always been a winner for me. That guy he's fighting, though, he's a razor. He's incredible. What's his name?"

  "I'm glad you think highly of him." I waved the two of them toward the opening elevator door. "He is Mickey Farber. He is your son."

  "My son?"

  "Your son," I replied, nodding as Tadd slumped against the elevator wall. "Dorothy, the path here will take you directly to him. You father and I will be along presently."

  The girl looked up at him and reluctantly accepted her father's weak nod as confirmation of what I had said. She ran off, and I kept the elevator door open. "There is a bench over there. I can try to explain."

  Tadd's head came back up. "I hope you can explain." He rolled his shoulders, then straightened his jacket and walked to the bench. Confusion and anger and sorrow surrounded him like a cloud, but he kept his head up and exerted control as he sat down. "How can that be my son?"

  I took a deep breath and read the emotions Tadd was putting out. Rajani, the Yidam's daughter, had reported meeting Tadd once. She said he had some inner strength, but it was fragile. She felt he had reordered his life around and for his children after she brought them back to him. She also strongly suspected that losing Mickey and the shock of his returning in this modified form might crush him.

  And now, to that, I had to add an utter shift in his whole worldview. I stood before him, keeping my feet shoulder-width apart and my hands open. "Mr. Farber, do you think of evil as something you can touch, something that is personified?"

  My cautious tone and the nature of my question cut through his growing sense of self-doubt. "Evil? I guess so, I mean, I don't think t
here is a devil or anything but I guess I think some people are born evil."

  "Good, because there are creatures in the universe that are born evil or choose to become evil. For lack of a better term, I will refer to them as Dark Lords. Consider their outlook one where black is white and white is black. A kindness repels them, but misery draws them like a flame draws moths."

  His face tightened. "Dorothy told me about fleeing from a loup-garou in the forests near Flagstaff. I thought she was..." His voice caught in his throat. "Was that real?"

  "As I understand things, yes, it was. The creature they faced was not a Dark Lord per se, but was one of a legion of creatures that Dark Lords are capable of using to further their ends." I let my hands knot into fists, then forced them open slowly. "Your son was abducted by a Dark Lord we call Pygmalion. Like the sculptor, he made your son over into a work of art. He also made him into a prototype for a killing machine,"