by David Finn
Iverson gave a genuine laugh. This girl could certainly talk.
She continued, ‘But if we ever get back to Babelzon, I can hook you up with my brother Smile, or even Jackie Z, who runs the Innocents’ books. They know a lot more about it, if you’re interested.’
Iverson said, ‘I’m interested.’
She gave him a careful look. ‘Cool. We’re almost at the exit.’
She cracked her neck. The timer in her head knew that the moments grew short. She rounded the corner slow, stopping dead, shifting back to cover. Two young human guards in battle armour were hanging around a service exit which matched with the destination on her watch from the Triton computers. The guards looked young and scared and bored, little more than kids guarding a door. She had Innocents back in Babelzon still in training who were older. She doubted these two clowns knew anything about demon gods. They would have been far more scared. She didn’t like to kill when she didn’t have to. It was a misnomer to think of Demorn as a merciless killer who cut down her foes without emotion or regard. She had learnt to shut that part of herself down a long time ago, focusing on the mission and the job and the hit, but every now and then, she thought of such things, she thought of the people she was paid to kill, or chose to kill, or was forced to kill.
She flung the electro-star from her wrist, watching it curve and slice through the air, striking one of them in the neck, smashing him against the wall. The other turned to see Demorn approaching quickly with a gun trained on his head.
‘You’ve got a chance,’ she said. ‘Lay down your weapon. I’m Demorn, I’m the leader of the Innocents. You can come with me and leave Triton and all this.’
The boy looked panicked, and fumbled for his gun. Demorn shot him twice. ‘Sorry, kid.’
Iverson was circumspect as he wandered up to them.
‘You didn’t give him much of a choice,’ he said dryly.
‘Do you think any of us had much of a choice? I asked him to lay down his weapon and join my Club,’ Demorn replied. ‘That’s about the same choice me and my brother got when we crash-landed in Babelzon. How much of a choice did the Order give you, Iverson?’
Iverson gazed into the mid distance. ‘They made it pretty simple for me.’
Demorn gave a wise, sad laugh. ‘Hey, we’re still here. I guess we made the better decision.’
The other soldier was still alive. Up close, Demorn could see it was a girl, complete with acne and dirty blonde hair, seventeen or eighteen, maybe less. It was hard to tell under a combat suit which had done absolutely nothing to stop an electro-star in the neck. Demorn only carried a few stun electro-stars and she was glad to have used them for once.
‘What are you doing with her?’ Iverson said.
Demorn held her watch by the service exit and let the codes in the drive crack the lock. She shrugged. ‘Let her be, Iverson. She’ll wake up in a couple of hours with a hell of a headache.’
Iverson looked at her with his dark exhausted eyes. ‘Okay.’
But she could see the questions in his eyes that the Investigator was too polite to ask.
She said, ‘This is a personal run. Nobody is paying me to kill these people.’
Iverson said, ‘Cool. What are you trying to do?’
‘Me? I want to save reality, get back to Bay City, and go on a date with my girlfriend. She is so nice and we’ve only just begun to know one another.’
She squeezed the bridge of her nose to shut down an upcoming sinus headache. It hurt Demorn’s brain to think of the spiralling consequences beyond the next job, the next goal. But this was the big time and she had to think of such things.
‘Save reality?’ Iverson asked.
‘Sure. Sounds easy, hey?’
Iverson gave Demorn a friendly pat on the shoulder. ‘I’m here to help, remember.’
‘Thanks, hun, you’re a doll,’ Demorn said, as she flicked the exit door open with a soft kick.
13
* * *
The corridors were not the same as the sterile corporate laboratories they had left. It felt like they were sliding backwards in time, kitsch painting of huge black ships sailing storytime seas. Demorn recognised pictures on the walls from her time with the Innocents, back when she was at Babelzon and not so far from home. Huge pyramids that spun in the bronze sky. Stunning icons of the goddesses and all the gods. Subtly different from what she had known, still recognisable through a distorted lens. The pictures seemed almost alive. Tears upon their painted faces, raised in sorrow or exultation. The floor seemed to move and shift. It felt like they were upon a rolling ship. Demorn remembered again the words of Red Morning, the old leader of the Innocents. Her tales of the Skull Ships, those dread craft that sailed the murky water of Limbo and never-space between dimensions, between the God Forts, sailed by the animated dead on the Endless Ocean.
Iverson murmured, ‘It feels like this should be a dream.’
A shiver ran down her back. Demorn knew magic was in the air. She felt some distant kinship to him, to this gaunt Investigator who she guessed held some kind of warrant on her.
‘It’s strange isn’t it,’ she said. ‘It’s real. I know we’re here, but only just.’
Iverson ran his hand along one of the paintings. He tapped the side of his head, looking lost. ‘I’m seeing Natalia again. Hypnotics, this place is packed with hypnotics.’
Demorn could see his right eye flickering red as the implant fought for control. There was something desperate about Iverson, something vulnerable.
The kitschy style of the old fashioned hotel corridors was replaced by a blank featureless sterile white.
Demorn slid to a halt, combat boots screeching. A dark cloaked figure floated in the hallway and turned. Iverson fired on reflex, the Glock blasting through the figure, hitting the wall. A thick door slammed behind them, sealing them in.
Demorn said, ‘Settle down, soldier, this isn’t Call of Duty. He’s a program. We don’t want to trigger security bots. Not while there is no way out.’
Iverson holstered the pistol. ‘Do you recognise this place?’
There was rumble above them, a tiny shudder in the door. The air seemed to ripple then go back to normal.
Demorn pressed her palm against the metallic door, laughing. The Innocents’ logo came up.
‘Sure do! Safe as houses in here! We’ve found the Innocents’ bolthole. This is what is left of the Ruby Room in this reality. Everything above is gone. All the trappings, all the mystery.’
Iverson was curious. ‘The whole place is lost?’
‘Pretty much. Swallowed by the Limbo Sea, returned to the Void, yadda yadda. All that’s left is the bowels of the engine room.’
She rapped the the metal wall. ‘Built to last.’
‘Is all this floating through space?’ he asked.
‘Not space like we normally think of it, Iverson. A kind of space though. We’re adrift, being pulled through the gaps, dragged toward a Source Core, in the grey wastelands between the dimensions.’
‘To the end of the rainbow?’ he asked.
She blinked. ‘Oh no. If we don’t get off in time the Source Core will swallow this too. Both life bringer and death bringer. Up close, it’s all dangerous and very cool.’
Iverson was dry. ‘I hope they don’t wipe my mind. Because all this is truly remarkable.’
Demorn watched him studying the remains of the cloaked figure. It bordered on a fetish how the Investigators viewed life.
‘It’s not the first time the Triton or Shrine cult has infiltrated a Ruby Room. There’s a war going on, Iverson. A war that goes way beyond Ceron City and Prussia at each other’s throats like some bad amateur replay of WW2, while all you Investigators do is watch.’
Iverson chuckled as he assessed what was left of the cloaked figure. ‘WW2? Your references are so old-school.’
‘Sue me, I love the History Channel,’ she replied.
‘Yeah, and I know what the Innocents are, Demorn. Thieves and assassin
s. Don’t try and make out you’re defending humanity out of the goodness in your heart. You’ve killed plenty of people for money.’
‘Have I?’ Demorn asked, her hand drifting toward her pistol.
Iverson replied. ‘Yes, and I really don’t care. It’s a war and you’re an assassin. It wouldn’t make sense if you didn’t take the hit jobs. So don’t try and shoot me in the back. And I won’t taser you and take you back to an Order prison. Deal?’
She grinned, liking his edge. From a certain angle there was something almost hot about his gaunt, harsh face and short hair. He had an exhausted calm about him that she liked. ‘Deal,’ she said.
Iverson looked down the white featureless corridor that stretched into the middle distance. He could see a forcefield rippling in the air. He held up the cloak. It had an Innocents’ logo on it. ‘One of yours?’
Demorn said, ‘We’re defending ourselves, y’know. While you all fight over cities and complicated peace treaties, we’re fighting an invisible war against oblivion. Triton and Shrine are converting our people and fighters for their private feud. With every Ruby Room we lose Ultimate Fate draws more power and grows closer to breaching the final wall between him and us and we lose another piece of the God Fort.’
His eyebrows were raised. ‘You actually call it a God Fort?’
‘Sure, why not? The last line between Ultimate Fate and us.’
‘And he’s a boy? Ultimate Fate?’
She gave a shrug and a smile. ‘That’s the operating theory in my head anyway. In some of the comics they follow me all the way till I reach the end. It’s all killer robots and psychics and dystopian visions come to life. I don’t remember anything obviously. It could be fiction for all I know.’
Iverson said, ‘You’re in pretty deep. Remember the sun still shines and you can have walks on the beach and drinks with your girlfriend. How much are you getting paid for this, Demorn?’
She gave him a slight bow. ‘Well, I’m not a charity, Investigator. A girl has to eat, after all. And have a pina colada or two on those lovely summer walks with somebody special.’
Demorn holstered the Athena gun and walked past the program.
Sure she does, Iverson thought, getting up and walking slow behind her.
Demorn could see the forcefield net, too. The guns came online as she approached, swivelling out of the walls. A last defence system if something did crash through the metal door. She waved her hand in an easy gesture.
‘Stryker always wore his badge.’
The same cloaked figure Iverson had shot at appeared at a control desk. The digital outline was more obvious now, but still incredibly realistic. It hurt Demorn’s eyes to look at it too long. The shawl slipped back as the thin figure worked at the controls. It was a young man turning old. Parts of him seemed stuck in his early twenties, a twinkle in his eye and an easy-going smile. But Demorn saw the almost eternal weariness that overrode everything else in his eyes, the deep claw marks upon his cheeks. The boy wore a green jacket that looked military or at least faux-military.
He accepted Demorn’s command without comment. A screen flickered in the air above them.
DEMORN—VARIANT 1—LEADER OF THE INNOCENTS—AUTHORISED
The program called Stryker looked at her. His gauntness was shocking. A zombie-like calm was spread across his features. It’s not him, she told herself. She remembered the real Stryker and the red bandana he always wore and his enthusiasm which was always so genuine and how long ago that seemed. She wondered why the program didn’t have him wearing a bandana when the faded Russian army jacket was picture perfect. She hadn’t known Stryker that well or long. He’d been what some called a five minute Innocent but he was a legend in the Club nonetheless. She could only faintly remember how he had died or his sacrifice.
Stryker said, ‘There’s another here, Demorn. Not an Innocent.’
‘He’s with me,’ Demorn said. She snapped her fingers playfully. ‘Date night!’
The program that was so like and so unlike Stryker gave the ghost of a smile. The forcefield shimmered and collapsed as he let them through. The scenery changed as they stepped into a long blue-lit tunnel lit by arc lights. Stryker looked blurry and far away. Iverson was a black shadow flicking in and out her vision. Memories hit her sideways, pushing at the corner of her mind. Huge air ducts hummed above. Demorn truly felt they were in the middle of a huge machine moving through space and time. On this world she felt so cold and so alone and so trapped. In these quieter moments Demorn realised just how much she wanted to go, leave this War for good, this set of obligations and negotiations and fragile alliances.
She wanted to buy Winter flowers and take her on a proper date. She wanted kiss her and forget everybody else. Demorn wanted to be happy more than she wanted to keep fighting this war. But the war followed Demorn, bathing her in blood like some holy icon. It put her in comic books and prophecies that she barely cared about, let alone believed. If she had chosen this role, the choice was made long ago and lost to time. It was all lost to time.
The forcefield shimmered and reformed. Iverson stood next to her. She knew what would happen next. Memory matched what her eyes saw. A massive time snake smashed through the blast door, green electric currents rippling through the air. Static prickled her skin. Her ruby heart stirred with heat. She could feel tears in her eyes, actual tears for the first time in years, hot on her face as she watched the snake leap at Stryker, smashing him against the forcefield, fangs tipping into his face and neck.
The boy fought but it was hopeless. She remembered why he had no bandana, why she could see his stringy, messy hair. He’d left it at home. He was trying to be a different person on the day he died. Iverson swore, going for his gun. She just shook her head.
‘Don’t bother. There’s nothing we can do. It’s all happened before.’
The time snake killed Stryker the way it always did, always would. Eventually, the program was dead and the snake curled into itself, fangs devouring skin, until it vanished. There was nothing left of Stryker. Demorn was left standing in the blue-lit corridor. Her whole heart felt empty and cold. Iverson’s voice was kind. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t a prick. That was something.
‘Who was he?’ Iverson said.
‘Stryker? A long time ago he was a friend. A good friend. To me and my brother.’
‘And what the hell was that?’
Demorn barely resisted the urge to scream at him. ‘It was a time snake. One of them killed him, ok? Years ago.’
‘I didn’t know they were real.’
She shrugged. ‘For us they are. My brother and I tried to help him. We went back. It didn’t work. Stryker got stuck in the machine. The snake, too.’
‘Your life is tricky to understand,’ Iverson said.
His face was too calm. His eyes were too measured. She almost didn’t want to fight the urge to hit him. The memories were pushing at the edges again.
‘Stop pretending everything is normal in your life, Iverson. You’re chasing a wife that’s been dead for years if she even existed. It’s insulting.’
She kept her voice flat, controlled. But that was an illusion. Demorn hit the side wall hard with her steel fist, much harder than she intended to. She left a satisfying indent. Demorn swung again. Something buckled. She went again. It felt good. She ripped the door off its hinges and smashed it against the forcefield. The tears were flowing on her face. She couldn’t work out what was wrong with her. Stryker had been her brother’s friend. It reminded her of Babelzon, reminded her of what she had left behind to be this weapon of so many different masters.
She willed her hand back to flesh, holding it to the ruined wall. A door slid open with a beep. Demorn stepped through, toward what sounded like modern country pop.
14
* * *
It was modern country pop. Bad modern country pop. Hot rods and BBQs and beer pong. Whatever happened to Johnny Cash, Demorn wondered. The Man in Black would be spinning in his grave at this le
vel of crap. Demorn flung herself in her old chair, clicking her fingers to shut the music down, still angry at herself and not much else. Stryker bought up complex emotions in her, old memories she thought she’d left behind. She suddenly missed her brother, a lot. The time snake that killed Stryker had probably been meant for them all. It stalked them through the winding pathways of Babelzon when they were young and still believed in the bullshit they told each other about all for one and one for all. Her heart felt ice cold. She had run from a city full of troubles in Babelzon to the wilds of Firethorn and the peace and untamed beauty of the White Fort. But peace could drag and three years could feel like a lifetime. Bay City had been a cool change of pace in a lot of ways. A comet in the sky, a touch of crisis, a couple of soul fights. She enjoyed that.
It was vastly preferable to the horror of the War in Ceron City and the memory of the decayed Baron Santos, dying by degrees in front of her. Suddenly, Demorn realised she would probably never see him again. There was no cure for what he had. No cure. He had sent her on a mission that was barely understood—she wondered if that was just to avoid seeing him die. She broke the tedium of her own thoughts by turning on her Xbox.
Iverson said, ‘Why did you call it a date night?’
Her laugh was a giggle. She had forgotten he was there. ‘Oh come on, man, you know this is going to be a friendship thing. I’m tired as hell of sex-slash-romance bullshit. I miss my girlfriend back in the Bay. I’m sick of this fucking War.’
He cracked a wise smile and slid onto the couch. ‘You and me both. Sorry I’m all you’ve got for company.’
Up close, he was younger than she had thought. Huge black circles lay under his eyes. What she had thought at first was severity was plain exhaustion. She held up a controller, hopefully.
