Demorn: Soul Fighter (The Asanti Series Book 3)

by David Finn

  6

  * * *

  Iverson popped the top and let the cool wind hit his face, enjoying the quiet hiss of the flier’s engines as he descended over the water into Bay City. He’d been blasting classic rock music for the last couple of hours, and his mood was mellow but concerned.

  The flight had been long and complex, seventy hours plus solo flight time, combined with delicate manoeuvring through a cold war zone. His Investigator badge didn’t mean every military commander or sell-sword was suddenly compliant with Order treaties.

  Bay City Security came in on the scanner. Iverson took the call.

  ‘Iverson, Special Investigator, Order Core,’ he said.

  A friendly woman’s voice. ‘William! It’s been too long.’

  Iverson smiled. ‘Lydia! Still running the street?’

  Lydia’s chuckle was a wise one. ‘Hardly. I’ve got half a hip and a bad knee left. But I thought I’d make a special appearance for my special pretty boy.’

  Iverson laughed.His hair was too long and he hadn’t shaved in half a week. He was wearing a Batman baseball cap and he didn’t care so much any more.

  ‘I’m older, Lydia.’

  ‘Well, I’m old, hun. Did my makeup tho. Wore my shortest skirt. Catch you bayside. Top of the Purple Lion.’

  Iverson rubbed his sore back as he exited the flier. Lydia rushed forward and they hugged tightly. A couple of security personnel lugging major weaponry stood in the shadows. Ex-military. Lydia was all class, a proud black woman in a tight suit. Iverson had worked closely with her when he’d first entered the Order, she’d showed him the ropes of being an Investigator, and he still counted Lydia amongst the most competent people he’d ever worked with. She’d been in a serious relationship north of twenty years with a beautiful lady named Susan, and cashed out of the Order and all the dirty politics for a cushy Bay City gig a few years ago. It didn’t look like the five years and change since they’d last crossed paths had touched Lydia. Iverson knew the same couldn’t be said for him.

  She rubbed him fondly on the back and Iverson kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Lydia.’

  ‘You too, Investigator.’

  She ran an eye over him and the flier behind him. ‘You travel light, William. With a big gun I bet.’

  Iverson flexed his sore hip, laughing. ‘I live light. They dragged me away from the Front for this, Lydia. What we got?’

  Lydia moved toward the exit point, punching information into her tablet. The security guys hung behind them.

  ‘We got this about an hour before we called you. She’s been loitering around the Soul Tournaments.’

  A 3D image sprang up in front of them. A tall woman in a green dress, red energy spirals surrounding her, partly clouding her features.

  Iverson got a jolt. ‘Oh Lydia, we got a winner!’

  Iverson grabbed the hard light hologram with his black gloves. He could feel Lydia’s eyes on him. He was filled with complex emotions. Iverson’s voice was almost tender as he considered her. ‘The famous Lady Josephine. What is she doing in Bay City?’

  ‘Weird things. She’s been loitering around the Soul Tournaments. Consorting with players. She’s playing some kind of long game.’

  They had entered the lift, leaving the roof of the Purple Tiger. Iverson leant against the mirror wall, thinking.

  Lydia rolled her eye over him. ‘What’s with the new look, hun? Cool Batman cap but last time I saw you it was short back and sides, salute the flag, high school quarterback.’

  Iverson sighed, looking up from the shimmering hologram. He took his cap off and ran his hand through his long hair. Blood red spirals kept encircling the woman. He waved his fingers and the image vanished. His implant had recorded everything.

  ‘I’m not sure I care anymore, Lydia. The Order keeps sending me back to the Front.’

  ‘What do they have you doing?’

  Iverson shrugged. ‘Purges. Traitor hunting. Hits behind the line. Nothing clean. It’s been a long, dirty war and I don’t think we’re winning. Half the time we can’t even decide what side we’re on.’

  They continued downward. They were going deep, into the bowels of Bay City. The temperature dropped, air conditioning taking over.

  He said, ‘This was billed as a vacation. Something about dimensional terrorists. I didn’t ask too many questions.’

  Lydia started laughing, resting her hand on his chest. ‘Really, William? You didn’t ask too many questions about dimensional terrorists? Don’t they call you a “Special Investigator”? Aren’t you supposed to be morbidly obsessed with “the how and why of it”?’

  Iverson started laughing too. It was funny when you thought about it. ‘Lady Josephine is a diplomat, a negotiator. She was well known for a period in Ceron City. She doesn’t work alone. She will have brought a couple of killers with her. Do you have anyone else for this?’

  Lydia nodded slowly. ‘Josephine has a suite in the Jade Hotel. She’s stayed low key, mostly hung out with the Soul fighters.’

  She pushed an image across to him. ‘She had a meeting with this woman.’

  Iverson looked over the photo. A intense pale face, burning green eyes. Early twenties maybe. It was hard to guess the age. The implant synched with a few file photos from the Prussian Front. Everything a bit blurred, non-dated, second-hand information from suspect sources. His stomach felt a rumble of apprehension. This wasn’t going to be a holiday.

  He said, ‘I know her. There’s a Ceron City angle. They call her Demorn. You might know her as something else. She’s good, a stone cold killer, a battlefield ghost.’

  ‘Is she evil?’

  What an odd question, Iverson thought. They’d stayed so far out of the War down here in Bay City, hiding behind the Glass Desert. They still believed in good and evil, still thought in those terms, believed those qualities could be reduced and assigned to individuals and their actions. All of Iverson’s experience had taught him that people operated in terms of compromise—they sold themselves piece by piece to survive and nothing was off the table the longer you stayed out there. He wondered if Bay City would change much now that the comet was above them and the War was starting to bite.

  ‘I have no idea. She’s efficient.’

  Iverson rapped his forehead. ‘There’s big gaps in the impact file. Blank spots, but a killer rep. She’s a mercenary. She’s probably done work for the Agency.’

  Lydia put her hand on his arm. ‘One thing, William. The Lady Josephine, she’s legal here. Whatever she was wanted for across the Glass, the pardon came through. The Duke has signed it himself, his people have spoken.’

  ‘Of course he has.’

  Iverson grinned but he was hollow. Another dirty deal. He had seen the bombed ruins of New Mexico City, walked through the devastation of the neutron bomb. Millions dead. Frozen bodies, mouths open in horror. Terrorists, soldiers, civilians. The bomb didn’t care. Plenty of chat in Agency corridors about Zeltra hands in the deal. A Zeltra money trail that stayed suspiciously close to the Treasurer and her coterie of merchant bankers. Lady Josephine had never been formally charged, but there was a reason she had fled Ceron and was hanging out with mercenaries in a sleazy gambling town while her lawyers tried to hose it down.

  ‘What did you call me for then?’

  They walked into a huge hangar. The first thing he was aware of was a blinding white light. He shielded his eyes. It was a giant tank, phosphorescent muck in sparkling water, rich in nutrients. He saw the massive elongated husk of a vaguely humanoid creature. A distended head, the skin scrawled with scars and incisions.

  ‘This is why I called you,’ Lydia said.

  Iverson took a step closer. The hangar was freezing, the frigid air pinching at his black leather jumpsuit. Around the main tank he saw smaller offshoots, miniature ice cages, filled with smaller bodies, frozen in liquid. Iverson went right up to the big tank. The creature’s gigantic eyes stared unblinking with no feeling, no life. He
felt only regret and claustrophobic, down here in the vast cavern, before the blazing ice cages.

  ‘It’s a dead god,’ he said dully. ‘A god and his disciples.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘Why do we assume it’s a guy?’

  Iverson was bent down, examining the script upon the body, words carved deeply on flesh. Religious claptrap. Talk of prophecies. Obscene scrawling over the first messages. And everywhere across the creature was the mark of the scientists. His gloved hand pressed against the cage, the cold flooding his palm.

  ‘How long have you had this?’

  ‘Almost a month. Two nights after the comet appeared in the sky. Our machines dragged it in.’

  The lights came on in the cavern. The room was impossibly large. He couldn’t see the end in any direction. Huge electronic boxes were piled around the room in patterns, synching a grid around the ice cages.

  ‘You seem to have the situation under control. Why call me?’

  Lydia slapped her metal leg. ‘You and me go way back, William. I don’t have this under control, I’m barely keeping a handle on it. We both saw things in the War that would send the Duke and Duchess running.’

  Iverson shot her a sly smile. ‘Do they know about this?’

  Lydia shook her head slowly. ‘I inherited this room from a mob boss we killed when I first got the job. It’s classified, answerable to me and me alone. The Duke and Duchess are heavy into the Triton Cult, and I don’t trust them with the actual facts. He’s out of it on Quaaludes, she likes to gamble. That comet in the sky is giving them all sorts of neat ideas about living.’

  Cold sweat ran down his back. Iverson kept looking at the huge god, swollen and rotting inside the ice cage. Tears ran down the creature’s eyes. Even dead, the god radiated dark power through the massive ice cage. They couldn’t imprison all the power.

  ‘What’s the connection to Josephine?’

  Lydia gestured to the bodies in the smaller cages. It was a mix of aliens and humanoid creatures.

  ‘We had to interrogate the disciples. Unlike the god, most of them aren’t dead. Lady Josephine is behind the comet. They call her the Lady of the Magnificent Return.’

  The ice cages were trembling. Iverson took his hand away.

  ‘Be careful, Lydia, this god isn’t all the way dead. Do you believe its flunkies?’

  ‘A Zeltra Industries laz cannon took my damn leg. I don’t care what the Duke says, Josephine will never be innocent in my court.’

  Iverson laughed. ‘That’s the spirit.’

  Lydia snapped her fingers. ‘And we got this.’

  The bodyguards wheeled over another cage. It was Lady Josephine under the glass, hideously old, the green dress faded and torn. She had kept the cheekbones. She had a certain kind of beauty. On her dress was scrawled I SENT THE COMET in rough red ink.

  ‘Who wrote that?’

  Lydia pointed to the other cages. ‘One of these freaks. Servants of the dead god. They swore to it. She’s been cationic since we picked them up, just like the god. Our machines dragged them into this dimension.’

  He moved closer. The implant was recording everything, matching the facial structure against the Josephine on record.

  He spoke almost to himself. ‘Is she an Alternate? From a Parallel, I mean.’

  Lydia frowned. ‘We don’t know.’

  He said, ‘Josephine is a diplomat. She travels far and wide. She’s dangerous that way.’

  Iverson traced a gloved finger across the ice.

  ‘I don’t know where,’ Lydia said, stepping closer. ‘It’s not our Lady Josephine.’

  Iverson smiled. ‘The inside story on Lady Josephine is that our Lady isn’t from around here, either. Time travel, then?’

  ‘Doubtful.’ She hit her leg in frustration. ‘I need her, William. I need her secrets. The city needs this bitch’s secrets.’

  Iverson looked at Lydia with detachment and mild surprise. His mind was moving beyond Bay City. He was thinking of the Fortress and the night and day bombings in Ceron. Dealing with the Prussians as they sought to control another region, playing the kind of aggressive hardball they delighted in. Bay City was a holiday resort in comparison to the troubles they faced up North.

  Iverson asked, ‘You need her? What do you plan to do with her?’

  ‘I’m going to shortcut this war.’

  Lydia slid a hypodermic needle into his neck, feeling the barest flicker of regret. ‘I’m going to save this city.’

  Iverson stumbled forward as the powerful drug hit him, neutralising the inhibitors. She caught him, his body heavier than he looked, before palming him off to the guards. A scrawny doctor was in tow.

  ‘Wipe away the hag Josephine,’ she said. ‘Bury it like a bad dream. I want him to remember the dead god though. I want that in neon. I need him to know that something rotten this way comes.’ The doctor nodded, already pawing at her friend. Mad scientists. They were revolting but she needed them if they were going to save Bay City.

  ‘Don’t hurt him.’

  Carried by the guards Iverson vanished into the depths of the bunker. The external bunker lights went out around Lydia. She kept staring at the lit up face of withered Josephine. Her hand rapped the metal leg on reflex. Every instinct in her wanted to take the old bitch out of the cage and put a bullet through her skull. Every instinct but this overriding feeling inside her that the storm was just about to hit and they might need the hag. Lydia spun around and walked back to the lift before she did anything more she might regret.

  The dimensional locks fitted across the room, and she was hurtling up to the surface. Lydia’s phone started ringing. It was Susan, probably calling about dinner. She didn’t want to answer. She felt too dirty and too used up to talk to anybody. The air conditioning was freezing everything inside her. She liked that.

  Interlude 1

  Of Times Gone By

  ‘Did you say time travel?’ Demorn asked, almost spilling her drink.

  The cab was travelling fast and smooth around the city.

  Lady Josephine gave her a dreamy smile. ‘I said, I hate time-travel stories. They get so confusing.’

  Demorn couldn’t disagree. She looked around the lush cab. The skeletal horse trotted along the concrete pathways. The windows were shaded black. Demorn felt like a target. She could feel the heat coming off this strange, dangerous diplomat. She could feel it but Lady Josephine looked as cool as the summer rain. The woman knew how to use channels well.

  Demorn had touched base with Smile back in Babelzon within minutes of the escape in the courtyard. Dangled potential dollars in front of him. Enough dollars that Smile circumvented the standard Bay City connection issues and got through to Demorn via contacts in Ceron at the highest possible rate. Josephine’s cab had picked her up in Monument Plaza. Maybe a three minute turnaround.

  Demorn said, ‘They are confusing. But I’m not telling you a time-travel story. This is something that happened twenty years ago. Before the Fracture Event.’

  Lady Josephine raised an elegant finger. ‘Heresy, of course, to suggest such an event occurred.’

  Demorn shrugged, smiling. ‘And yet it did. And here we are, two thieves talking.’

  She glanced out a darkened window. ‘Aren’t you worried they will chase us?’

  Josephine pulled a funny face. ‘I’m immune, darling.’

  Demorn said, ‘I know people who don’t care about immunity, diplomatic or otherwise. They take the open shot, they get out of town fast and they count their money faster.’

  Josephine shot her a quixotic look. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘It’s been me.’

  Demorn relaxed back in the couch. The air smelt rich. The sound of the horse hitting the concrete avenue cast her mind to other moments, other cities. She held up her drink and drained the pina colada.

  ‘But I’m not here for your bounty, Milady. I’m hunting bigger fish.’

  Josephine gave her a slow ironic salute. Her cheekbones were perfect, her expression wa
s soft. Demorn’s magic eyes caught something, peeling a layer of mystery and spells off the Lady. She had an old soul, Demorn suddenly realised. She wasn’t born to this kingdom of pulsating lights and instant gratification demon gods who fed and fed. Josephine was of an older world, filled with ritual and a dash of mystery. Despite her immunity and her trappings of wealth and influence, the Lady had fallen far further than she let on. Maybe the world had. Maybe we all have. Somehow, it made Demorn like her. She shot Josephine a smile and began.

  ‘It started a year ago when we were retreating from the Prussian Front. We’d lost Ulihurin and the War was turning bad fast. Santos wouldn’t take off the Helm and I knew something was wrong.’

  Lady Josephine sipped at her cocktail as Demorn spoke. Her face was mysterious with a smile. After a while it felt like a dream.

  End Interlude

  Interlude 2

  We Can Take Years Off, Baby

  Iverson woke thinking of his wife.

  ‘Natalia,’ he said.

  He opened his eyes to the White Room. He was in a sheer black jumpsuit, floating through the void of the room, a soft pressure on his forehead from the sensors, images playing out to mirrored screens. For a moment he could see her. Natalia was trapped in a zero cage. Long black hair framed a model’s face. She was too thin, too beautiful. Her cheeks looked so hollow and her eyes were flat.

  In that single instant he could still see her, still track her, sensors flaring as he tracked her location using the old implant connection, across the Prussian Front, into the Endless Ocean, fading out across water and dimensional fractures, bouncing off angles in a digital maze . . .

  The signal vanished. Iverson looked at where his finger was on the virtual map. The Glass Desert, right by Bay City. The bastards who held his wife had been through here. He tapped the screen. Probabilities collapsed upon themselves. He had to stay the course if he was to find his wife.

  The image of Natalia turned vague then vanished. Iverson caught an image of himself in the endless reflections. He looked haggard, closer to fifty than his thirty-something years. His eyes were ghosts. His stubble was grey and white, his hair wild and unsettled.