Reawakened

by Dean C. Moore

  FRANKENSTEIN

  “Reawakened”

  By

  Dean C. Moore

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Dean C. Moore. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  ONE

  Lothos had heard much about the fearsome huntresses Artemis and Brigomartis, so it was with some trepidation that he slid the barn doors open. He might not make it back out alive, but right now, that was a minor consideration.

  Inside, the two women were busy segmenting a Texas Longhorn bull. Lothos appreciated the fact that they had been kind enough to kill it first. With impressive strength, the one dressed in a scant white tunic that really didn’t cover much—perhaps to give her the free range of motion she needed to ply her trade—threw an entire hind leg over a barn stall door. Lothos was even more taken back by how the blood splatter from her handiwork absorbed into her white garment, disappearing entirely. Magic or hi-tech? One rarely knew these days.

  His eyes, not entirely finished running up the legs of the one in white, covered only by sandals that laced up to the knee, were drawn to the ripping sounds made by the huntress in black. Not even bothering to loosen things up with the knife, she just tore the bull’s entire other rear leg off with brute strength alone. The leg went flying over the top of another stall door on the opposite side of the barn.

  The zealous, blood-slurping and bone-crunching sounds of their pets devouring their meals might have sent a chill up Lothos’s back were it not for the hypnotizingly beautiful women before him pulling his focus. He just didn’t have enough space in his mind to be both terrified by the snarling beasts and consumed by the women’s allure. He suspected their winsomeness was yet another weapon the two women were only too happy to employ against their adversaries. The one in black was dressed in scant black leather with slots for her boomerangs just behind her shoulders. The one clad in white kept her matching ivory bow leaning against the card table.

  Apparently between feeding their animals, the two women were preoccupied with laying out tarot cards. Why were two typically fearless huntresses suddenly so worried about their future?

  Again, he had more pressing problems. He made a raucous throat-clearing sound to get their attention, but it was no match for the grumbling beasts in the stalls, eager for more food. They had ravenous appetites that, from the looks of it, the women were worn ragged keeping up with.

  “God damn it!” he finally shouted. “You’d think you were handing out communion in here, the solemn way in which you carry out this ritual. During my wedding, I couldn’t get my wife to give me the same attention.”

  The two huntresses finally paused what they were doing and looked up at him, wiping the sweat from their brows and eyes and the rest of their faces with the backs of their hands, and leaving their facades painted in blood. “Great, Lothos, they look even more intent on a fight now than before you opened your big mouth.”

  “What is it, stranger?” the one in white asked.

  “You’re Artemis, I gather, the practical one, no doubt figuring the sooner you find out the nature of my business, the sooner you can get rid of me.” For a second he thought she stifled a smile. “I… I need your help. I heard you hire out as bodyguards from time to time.”

  “Sorry, friend, we’re out of the protection racket,” the one in black said.

  “And you must be Britomartis, the worrywart and all-around risk-assessment manager of the group.” Lothos knew he was walking on thin ice. But these women would have no respect for some meek rendition of a man, even if that’s how he felt right now. “So what has you so afraid you’re holed up in a barn?”

  “You’re right, stranger, we’re scared for our lives,” Artemis said. “You’d be wise to be scared too. If you knew what we knew… I suppose there’s no point being unnecessarily cruel.”

  Lothos turned, as did the women, at the screaming-monkey sounds of lumber tearing. Two werewolves charged through the barn’s fortifications—such as they were—from opposite ends in a strange, coordinated attack, for which they were not known. No less intimidating than the screeching of rudely torn asunder wood were the raspy roars coming from the werewolves—each the size of a horse.

  The animals were still in midair from the leaps they’d taken to smash through the barn’s outer walls when they were lit up in flames. They landed on the ground toasted and mummified both.

  Lothos swiveled his hang-jawed expression to either side of the barn. “You have dragons? That can stop werewolves even before your keen huntress’s reflexes can kick in? And still you cower in fear?”

  The girls were busy shoring up the gaping holes in the barn with replacement wood, using claw-tailed hammers and nails, which they’d thoughtfully stocked ahead of time. “Look, friend,” Artemis said, raising her voice to get over the sounds of her own nail-hammering, “we realize we’re not exactly doing our reputations much good at the moment. But until Soren and the beast have a falling out, and are no longer working as one, we’re officially retired.”

  “Soren’s link to the beast has been severed,” Lothos advised.

  Both girls stopped their hammering and glared at him. “You realize all I have to do is blink a certain way and those dragons will fry you where you stand?” Britomartis’s eyes suggested she was seriously thinking about it. So, she wasn’t beyond putting the fear in others, as well. He supposed turning her mind against others instead of against herself was certainly more practical.

  “I assure you I’m not fucking with you,” Lothos replied. “Not only are Dr. Frankenstein and his monster no longer one and the same, but Soren no longer has his mind chip. So, both the logical genius that is the doctor, and the intuitive genius that is the monster are now officially a thing of the past.”

  Lothos was actually grateful the girls didn’t need the full lecture owing to prior run-ins with Soren. Most of the Dr. Frankensteins running around Shelley’s London District experimented with bringing the dead back to life—they did not experiment on themselves, as was the case with Soren, considered to be the greatest Dr. Frankenstein of them all; certainly he was the smartest and the most advanced with his fringe science. His body was riddled with nanites that were more than just cyberenhancements. Those nanites were carved with cabbalistic symbols—they gave him awesome magical powers as well, ones that both Soren and the beast were still exploring from their opposing perspectives. At least, so it was, when they were last united.

  “In that case, how can we help you?” Artemis said, dropping the hammer, suddenly no longer concerned about the gaping hole exposing them to the werewolves, vampires, Frankenstein monsters, and various other shapeshifters that were among the creatures of the night roaming Shelley’s Gothic take on the Victorian England reenactment district outside; one of many such themed districts in modern day Syracuse, New York.

  The worrywart, Britomartis, Lothos noticed, hadn’t ceased her shoring up of their lair’s exterior. No doubt she could find many more reasons to still be concerned than the more practical-minded Artemis. Artemis’s more chiseled facial features suited her straight-to-the-point nature. Whereas, Britomartis’s high cheek bones and softer facial features suited her dreamier eyes. Though “dreamy” wasn’t exactly the right word; they were haunted by her tireless indexing of her apprehensions. Both women had piercing blue eyes, but what you saw in them couldn’t be more different.

  “I… I…” Lo
thos couldn’t believe he was choking on his words after barely being able to hold them back all this time. “I’m a Seer,” he finally managed.

  “You mean a psychic?” Britomartis asked. She had stopped her hammering, suddenly interested in what he had to say again, possibly because her mind was the quicker of the two to pick up on the implications.

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking,” Lothos confessed. “Though, obviously, a lot more powerful.”

  “Obviously,” Britomartis said sarcastically, throwing a glance Artemis’s way. It didn’t help that he was a dwarf, the kind of person given to exaggerating their self-worth in hopes of compensating for their small stature and low self-esteem. The balding pate, the paunching stomach, and the fact that he wore three-inch lifts probably weren’t helping his cause either.

  To make matters worse, it was clear neither of the huntresses had encountered a Seer before or knew what the hell one was. Strange. Then again, he supposed his kind weren’t usually the ones people take out a contract on. The ones that had survived this long had learned not to tell anyone anything about their future they didn’t want to hear, probably explaining the lack of contracts on their heads. He was about to break with good sense on that score.

  “Even as we talk, there is an alien life form being awakened in a subterranean pyramid, buried miles beneath the ice in the Antarctic.”

  He expected mocking laughter. Honestly, the remark deserved no other reaction from any sane person. Such a response might even have set his mind to rest; maybe he’d gotten it wrong this time. Instead, the words coming out of their mouths were far more troubling.

  “Victor Truman,” both women mumbled, grimacing. They were already exchanging their carpentry tools for their huntress’s weapons.

  “What has that bastard gotten us into now?” Britomartis asked. He could tell from her vacant eyes that she was already filling in the possible scenarios of horror for him before he could spit out which one of her apprehensions actually held water.

  “The chain of events the alien’s awakening will unleash may well spell the death of us all—by all I mean every living thing on this planet,” Lothos said, trying to keep his voice even, though he was as overheating with emotions as those dragons stirring in their stalls, sensing and responding to their huntresses’s rising distress.

  “And our part in keeping the dominos from falling how they may?” Artemis asked, slinging her bow over her shoulders and then her satchel of arrows that was previously hanging from a stall door hook.

  “You must protect Naomi.”

  “Soren’s girlfriend?” Artemis sounded unconvinced. “That woman can defend herself, probably better than we can defend her.”

  “Besides, she’s got Soren and the rest of the dream team to lend support, if needed,” Britomartis chimed in, but her face betrayed the punch line she was holding back. Namely, “What in the hell could get past all that?”

  “We can’t afford for Naomi to feel overwhelmed. I want you to shore up the defenses around her, that’s all. Trust me on this. Besides, since you clearly aren’t the throw-down-your-own-lives-needlessly-in-the-support-of-a-great-cause types, the fact that you feel yourselves extraneous should be even better enticement.”

  The women bit down on their jaws; it was Lothos’s guess to keep from biting his head off.

  “You get that one gratis, stranger,” Artemis said. “We deserved that. Fine, we’ll lend the team our support. Is that all we’re going to get out of you?”

  “Yes, a little more information would be nice,” Britomartis argued, no doubt, looking for a way to cool the superheated engines of her mind already cranking out possible worst-case scenarios she wanted no part of.

  Lothos sighed. “If what I see comes to pass, Soren Frankenstein, reunited with his monster, will be the least of your concerns.”

  TWO

  “We’re going to need Soren and his monster—reunited again—now, not later!” Lar exclaimed, panting, the desperation oozing out of his voice faster than the perspiration could escape his insides.

  Victor just let the “Why?” that was hanging on his lips worm its way out of his eyes instead.

  “Captain Klutz struck again, I’m afraid.” Lar sighed and then gulped down the bile rising in his throat.

  “I’m going to hold off killing you for the moment, Lar,” Victor said, “going against all better judgement, mind you.” His eyes bore into Lar as if to belie his words; Victor looked as if he were powering them up to fire lasers at him.

  Ramon, Victor’s apprentice, wearing a brown monk’s robe and an impish smile, stepped up to Victor and squeezed his shoulder. “Wise choice. Wait until you see what’s behind curtain number one.” Ramon held out his hand and opened a portal in Victor’s penthouse flat with the mandala magic Victor had bestowed upon him.

  Together, the three stepped through the portal into the submerged Antarctic pyramid, some miles beneath the ice, which Lar had named Olympus Mons, it being the biggest of the recently discovered pyramids on the remote continent.

  The air in the chamber was stale, dank, and cloying in addition to being cold enough to debride superficial layers of skin on contact better than a chemical face peel. The dust saturating everything had Ramon and Lar coughing. Victor appeared immune. He was also not blinking, interesting in that his two companions couldn’t blink fast enough to get the floating particulates in the air out of their eyes. They were tearing up faster than the windshield wipers of their eyelids could handle. Here, too, Victor appeared immune. He stood transfixed by the sight before him.

  Finally, he pulled Lar into a headlock and kissed the top of his head. “And to think I was seriously going to kill you. Well, not kill you, so much as torture you for all eternity—my new best friend and good luck charm. Captain Klutz is a hit, kid. No one else could have stumbled on to a find like this.” The whole time Victor was talking his eyes remained riveted to the sight before him.

  “The find of a lifetime, huh?” Ramon said, that rascally smile perennially painted on his person bigger than ever, and the sparkle in his eyes, another chief character trait, brighter than normal. At just nineteen, Ramon was always up to something; he was even sneakier and more conniving than Victor, Lar was sure of it; he was fairly certain all mandala magicians shared this genetic trait in common; though just what Ramon was plotting beneath the surface of all those “I’m secretly up to no good” smiles Lar had yet to put a finger on. The fact that his robe was similar to Soren’s, though, was a clue. Soren used his to cover up the nanite hive minds swarming his body’s surface. Could Ramon be covering up some markings of an entirely different nature?

  His attention never having wandered off point, even if Lar’s had, Victor said, “A find, not of a lifetime, but of all eternity; for that is what you’ve handed me, access to eternity.” He pulled Ramon into a headlock now and kissed the top of his head.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ramon warned. “Unless, of course, you mean that these guys could bring all of eternity down on our heads.”

  Victor laughed. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Ramon and Lar pulled away from Victor’s rare show of affection and glared at one another defensively.

  Then they joined Victor in his ritual of reverence, strange for Victor, as he didn’t much revere anything beyond his own ego.

  Before them stood the four alien lifeforms that Lar had stumbled upon with the help of his alter ego Captain Klutz; the latter’s claim to fame admittedly was the ability to trigger world-ending calamities nearly on a par with Victor, through just dumb luck and bumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time. Though this time, Captain Klutz had gotten some help from Ramon, who’d figured out how to read one of the pendants in Victor’s collection, inscribed with mandala magic that dated back thousands of years. Ramon’s Medallion-cypher magic and Captain Klutz’s bungling magic had combined to shatter the crypt holding the alien family in stasis for all eternity.

  Now, of course, the aliens were
no longer in stasis, their cryogenic state decaying, and that was precisely the problem they needed Victor’s help with. But his reaction didn’t suggest he was of a mind to make situations better, only worse. Victor, surprise, surprise, was being true to himself, if nothing else.

  The alien parents stood a little over twelve-feet tall. Their children, a boy and a girl, a little over eight feet. The mother had the largest cranium of the lot; Lar had taken that to mean she was the savant of the slave species, the hybrid that had allowed the alien race that had escaped their oppressors to hold them off this long. And when her mind had grown too powerful to avoid summoning them and to resist the pull of the collective, she’d put herself and her loved ones into stasis to avoid subjecting her people and this world to subjugation once again.

  Of course, Lar, at the time merged with both his alter egos, Captain Klutz and Cipher, the latter with a genius for semiotics and translating the subtext hidden in all languages and contexts, had arrived at those conclusions. It was yet to be seen if his clairvoyance on the matter was worth a damn. But Victor’s reaction suggested that he’d been dead on.

  “Victor, you get that this is a cryogenics chamber we unwittingly sabotaged?” Lar said, “Right? And that we need you to help us put these lifeforms back into stasis before the alien race the mother was determined to not summon is alerted. We suspect her mind had grown too powerful not to get on their radar. And now that it’s powering up again, we may have but days before powers, civilizations, and technologies—matured across the span of eternity—rain down on our heads.”

  Victor brought Lar in for another headlock, kissing his cheek this time. “God, you so get me. This is the best Christmas present ever. I couldn’t have provoked the celestial wizards to take me seriously better if I’d tried. You can forget the backwoods status of this off-the-grid planet that no one can be bothered with. Starting in about six hours and seventeen seconds—the time I estimate for the mother to fully awaken—we will be officially the cultural hotspot of the heavens.”