The Genesis Sequence Books 6-10

by Mackenzie Morris

  Kalimis picked up the paper cup from the bedside table and sipped his water. "Let me just say that they know how to hurt people. They wanted me to feel like a rejected slave would feel. Taking a strong, proud warbringer and turning him into less than a slave . . . they wanted to humiliate me and break me down. They succeeded. Don't get all teary-eyed on me, Slayven. I deserved every second of it for what I did to you. So, if you want to pick up that butter knife and stab to me death, you're welcome to do it. To think that I beat you and raped you for years while you felt voiceless and helpless, it's not okay. I know a tiny bit of how you felt."

  "I'm not going to kill you, Kalimis. My life would be too boring without you in it. Besides, who is going to teach me how to be a good warbringer?"

  "Warbringer?" Kalimis's head tilted to the side in his curiosity. "What are you talking about, Slayven?"

  "Before he died, my uncle showed me something. He gave it to me. It's a box that was given to him by Tirlmayn when I was three days old."

  "Your horns."

  "Yes, my horns. They were recovered before we left the Star-World. They can be reattached. I'll be the warbringer I was born to be."

  "That's wonderful, Slayven, but-"

  Slayven interrupted him. "But what?"

  "Is that really what you want?"

  That was the same question Slayven had been asking himself. "I don't know. If I go through with this, I won't be myself."

  "We'll figure it out. I'll be here if you need me. You should go."

  Slayven watched the wetness growing on the warbringer's cheeks. "Kalimis . . . are you crying?"

  "Warbringers don't cry, Slayven."

  * * *

  Vance stood over his father's bed while the warlord slept in the dim lamplight. He stepped up to the wall by the headboard and traced the thin scratches with his fingertips that looked like shaky claw marks. No, not from claws . . . from tiny fingernails. The thin posts of the headboards were rubbed away where something metal had scraped the outer layer of varnish off. Upon closer look, Vance spotted the crude carving of a name on the side of the wooden headboard and a row of tally marks.

  Nemo. III.

  With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Vance tiptoed around the carpeted room to the table in the corner by the bathroom door. But as he got closer, he noticed it was not a table at all. It was a knee-high cage. He knelt down to look inside where a plush toy spaceship, a pair of small green sneakers, and a tattered towel told him this was the scene of something awful. A thin steel chain was wrapped around the front row of bars where a padlock was left unlocked.

  Vance stood back up when another lamp was turned on and his father's booming voice drew his attention back to the bed.

  "Aveni? You're dead. No, you can't be here. We just had your funeral."

  "You had a funeral for a clone." Vance drew his boomerang from his arm and stepped up to the foot of the bed. "We removed the numbers by cutting the foot off."

  "But that blood was yours, all over the room. It was your blood."

  "Yes, it was." Vance held up his shirt and turned to the side to show where the cauterized cut from his plasma boomerang had already been mostly healed. "Benjamin attacked me."

  "What are you doing here?" Tirlmayn's eyes grew wide as Vance injected a syringe full of glittering purple liquid into his arm. "What are you?"

  Vance held his arms to the sides as the warbringer hormones and chemicals took over. His fangs extended from his gums, his eyes shifted to bright purple, and the muscles along his arms and shoulders rippled with swollen strength. "You made me like this, father. You made me lose control. You turned me into this monster!"

  "Calm down, Aveni. Guards, take Prince Aveni back to his quarters. Guards?"

  "They're not coming, Tirlmayn. They're dead. They're all dead." Vance stepped out of the way to reveal the puddle of blood that was seeping under the door. "I killed them."

  Tirlmayn backed away from him and held the blankets around his chest. "Aveni, whatever this is about, I'm sure we can come to an agreement."

  "I don't want anything from your blood-soaked hands. You can't bribe me."

  "Nemo!" Tirlmayn held up his hands in surrender. "Nemo. I'll give you Nemo."

  "What? You don't have Nemo. Olonictu has Nemo."

  "I can help you."

  "Shut up." Vance snapped at him. "You die now."

  "I'll set Rav free!"

  Vance paused as he looked down at the warlord groveling and begging for his life. "What do you know about Rav? You don't know anything."

  "He's trapped in an Olonictic program made by Brooke, the Hive Queen's daughter. Krisharn, your uncle, he sided with her. I can tell you where Krisharn is and you can hunt them both down, then destroy that program and set Rav free."

  "Krisharn is gone?" Vance asked, watching the fear flashing across Tirlmayn's eyes.

  "He's using us, Aveni. Krisharn tricked me. He has been creating bombs and hiding them in the sewers to be used against our own people."

  "Krisharn did that?"

  "Yes. You have to listen to me." Tirlmayn reached out to grab onto the belt of Vance's baggy white pants. "If you want to stop this war, you have to side with me."

  "I side with myself and only myself."

  "You side with me because I am the only one who can stop Olonictu. I saved Benjamin's life for you. I saved your friends and as much of the Red Sand Rebels as I could back on Star-World Delta. I gave them a chance to join us, even though Krisharn wanted otherwise. I'm the only reason your friends are alive right now. I've always been the one on your side, even if you can't see that."

  "So you are placing the blame for all of this on Krisharn?" Vance asked, glaring at his father from under his hood.

  "He's the one pulling the strings from behind the scenes, Aveni. He's the one who made those bombs that Benjamin has been disarming. Yes, I knew and I was grateful. Krisharn is the one who placed one of our spies on the ruling tribunal of Elysia. The twisted Jonathan Brightman? He was planted there by Krisharn. He's been working for him the entire time."

  "What about Birom? You killed Dallis Zimnark's children. You executed them in cold blood."

  Tirlmayn bowed his head, his massive horns glinting in the lamplight. "Because Krisharn made me."

  "What about that Elysian civilian ship that was shot down by Azimandian forces? During that time, Krisharn wasn't allied with you."

  "Krisharn has never been allied with me. He-"

  Vance shouted at him. "Lies! You're lying. Answer the question. Who authorized the attack on that civilian ship?"

  "I did, but I had reasons."

  "My husband's little brother died when that ship was shot down. And before you go making excuses for yourself, claiming that Krisharn was controlling you, I know better. You are the warlord of Azimandia. If you wanted to get free from Krisharn, you could have. You could have had him executed for crimes against the empire."

  "It's not that simple, Aveni. It has never been that simple. He owns you."

  "W-what?" Vance pulled away from him. "What does that mean? What are you saying?"

  "There was a reason I had to leave you on Odyssia when you were an infant. I wanted to be there with you. I wanted to save your mother once she fell ill. I did. Aveni, I swear I did. But Krisharn would not allow me to go back for you. Do you not remember? Do you not remember how he claimed you when you were a young boy?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Tirlmayn grinned. "Then perhaps my plan worked. I made those clones of you to be your bodyguards and to throw Krisharn off of your trail. I could not have him find the real you for fear that he would make you his slave and kill you. Finding out now that he wasn't able to abuse you is a relief to me."

  "I don't believe a word that comes out of your mouth. You're making that up. You abandoned me because you didn't want me. No one has ever wanted me."

  "That's not true. Aveni, that's as far from the truth as you can get. I love you. And I loved your mother. If
I could go back and redo everything, I would. People, even warlords, make mistakes, Aveni."

  Vance snarled. "And one of those mistakes was ever laying a hand on Nemo Tillman's head. You can make up stories about my early life or things about Krisharn, but you can't hide the fact that you harmed that little boy. Even if you're telling the truth about everything else, that fact remains the same. You abused Nemo, and that is more than enough of a reason to kill you."

  "Since when are you the crusader for children's rights? You're no white knight, Aveni. You're a drug addict. You're a thief. You're a slimy creature worth less to the universe than the maggots eating niflu shit on Birom. You should have died in the alley on Odyssia when you were eight. You weren't worth the hospital stay to save your pathetic life. You only have a purpose because I give you one."

  Vance bit his lip then lowered his boomerang.

  "That's right, Aveni. You are who I make you, because without me, you would be an empty mess. You're incapable of even thinking for yourself. I even tested you, seeing if you would go through with killing Rav Tillman. And to my surprise, you actually did it. All I had to do was threaten that boy toy of yours and you would do anything I ordered. That's your place in life, son. You take orders."

  "No. Not any longer."

  "Yes, because that's all you've ever known." Tirlmayn slid out of his massive bed and wrapped a silk robe around himself as he stood. "You weren't born to be a prince. You were born to be a slave, to take orders, to serve your master, and to die when I needed you to die. You built that robot child just like I wanted you to. Who do you think gave you the Genesis Sequence? That was me. I needed my super weapon to defeat Krisharn, so I had you, my little slave son, to build Nemo. And now, you are going to retrieve him for me. Then you will work on upgrades and weapon enhancements so we can turn him into my weapon that he was always meant to be. And you will be the one controlling him. You'll be a hero. You will finally move past being worthless."

  "And what has to happen to Nemo to make him a weapon?"

  "First, he will be isolated and stripped of all identity. We will put him in a cell underground with no light, no sound, no interaction with anyone except for you. You will become his world and all he knows. You will then break him. You will be the hand that feeds him, the hand that strikes him, the hand that locks the chains around his wrists. You will be the bringer of sustenance and the bringer of punishment. We will keep him there for two years. That should be enough time for a boy of his age."

  No way in hell. "You want me to lock my seven-year-old son in an underground cage where I beat him every day for two years?"

  "He's not your son. He's a computer that someone decided to give free will to and raise him to believe he was just a boy. That self-awareness and identity must be beaten out of him. He must be a blank slate for us to work with. And until that day, you will be the one to train him. He trusts you. What was it he called you? Uncle Vance? That computer loves you. That makes you the prime candidate to teach him that love is something he should never feel."

  Vance stood from the bed and dropped his boomerang. "You're right."

  "I knew you would see it my way, Aveni. This is your purpose."

  "Not that." He went to the dresser and ran his hands over the rough wooden edges. "You're right that I've been useless all my life. I'm not going to kill you with my boomerang."

  "You're making the right choice, my son."

  Vance took the edge of the heavy dresser in his hands and pulled it in front of the door to block it. He slid the top drawer open to see the short leather tawse, the curled bull whip, and the pair of handcuffs. "These things . . . you used them on Nemo."

  "Yes."

  He motioned to the short cage in the corner of the room where a child's pair of green sneakers sat on the blood-spotted padding. "And you kept him locked in there?"

  "I had to. He had to be conditioned."

  "You said you never raped him. Why is his name carved into your headboard with three tally marks beside it? Why are the bedposts rubbed raw from where you handcuffed him?"

  "Observant as always, Aveni. But if you ask Nemo, he won't remember much. I did what I could to remove some of the . . . unwanted memories from his mind."

  "I hate you. I-" Vance pointed the bull whip threateningly at his father. "Sit back down on the bed. I told you wasn't going to kill you with my boomerang. No, that would be too humane for a demon like you. I'm going to do to you what you did to Nemo. I'll beat you, I'll whip you, I'll torture and humiliate you until your heart stops, even if it takes all night. No one touches my son. And I swear on my mother's memory that no one ever will again."

  Chapter 12

  Down past the lower levels of the Under City, sneaking past the multiple security checkpoints by jumping across rooftops, and sticking to the shadows while the soldiers marched by in groups, Rav slid down the fire escape of a tenement building that was in severe disrepair. He let go of the rusted metal and dropped to land in a puddle of some sticky liquid behind an orange dumpster. There was only one main elevator left for him to sneak into, but through the smoky fog of the empty level, he could still see the security flood lights glowing at the end of the main road. Someone was walking back and forth, distorting the light.

  Rav pried his .44 magnum from his pocket and spun the barrel. He did not want to use it to hurt any of these people, these programs, whatever they were, but he would if it came down to it. Before committing to his mission, he reached back to touch his wound. Even through the makeshift bandage he had secured around it, there was so much blood. He looked behind him to see the trail of specks he was leaving behind. The more he used his arm, the more it bled. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he was running out of time. It was a matter of time before he grew too weak and bled out in some back street.

  Brooke was not playing around anymore. Those soldiers back in the warehouse were shooting to kill. If she wanted him dead, couldn't she simply pull the plug on the other side of this program? If he died in the program, would he die in real life? Rav did not have the luxury of stopping to contemplate those possibilities.

  When the sirens grew louder once again, echoing down from the upper levels, Rav pushed himself farther. He had to keep moving. Skirting the edge of the floodlight, he approached the maintenance elevator with his pistol cocked and ready to fire at a moment's notice. Nothing would stand in the way of him securing his freedom . . . or him dying trying to find it.

  "Halt. Who are you?"

  Rav froze, peering out from the shadows at the female soldier in black armor. "Just let me pass. I don't want to hurt you. Please don't make me hurt you."

  "Where are you going? The only place this elevator leads to is the sludge pits. It's awful down there."

  "I know. That's why I have to go down there. I don't have time to explain and I wouldn't even if I did have time. There's-"

  The guard's eyes squinted under the yellow visor of her helmet. "You're bleeding. What happened to you?"

  "Nothing. Just . . . a bar fight. I got beat up."

  "Are you drunk?"

  "Just let me pass." Rav raised the revolver. "Please don't make me use this."

  The soldier drew the machine gun from her back. "I carry the weapons here, sir, not you. If anyone is going to use their gun, it will be me. Now, I suggest you surrender your weapon then let me take you to the hospital. I promise it will work out better for both of us that way."

  Why were the hot ones always the stubborn ones? Rav bit his lip as he searched the soldier's face for any signs of weakness. None. Raised to be a gentleman, hurting women never came easy to him. "What do I have to do to get past you, sweetheart?"

  The soldier scoffed and readied her gun. "Pathetic chauvinistic pigs like you have no sway over me and my dedication to duty."

  Rav placed his hand over his aching heart. A chauvinistic pig? The sting from that one actually hurt more than his bullet wound for a few seconds. "Ma'am, I didn't mean it like that. I was-"

&nbs
p; "This isn't some porno, sir. You can't get around the penalty for breaking the laws by offering to do inappropriate things."

  Rav felt himself growing as red as his hair. "That's, that's not what I mean. I . . . damn it. Is this the way it has to be?"

  "You're under arrest."

  "I'm sorry, really, I am." He squeezed the trigger twice, sending the soldier to the pavement. Without checking to see if she was still alive, he dove into the metal-walled elevator and punched the button. Just as the elevator jerked to life and the yellow sparks showered down around him, Rav hit the button to stop it once again.

  Vance had said that Brooke would have put the exit in the place that Rav hated most in all of Odyssia. While he disliked the sludge pits with an eternally burning passion, there was one place he hated more. The only problem? It was on the uppermost level, in the middle of the richest part of the city, behind half a mile of electric fences, walls with turrets, and a private security force of over five hundred armed and highly trained guards. His father's mansion on the Cyrino family estate. More specifically, the basement of that house.

  Never in a million years would Rav ever voluntarily go back into that place. Now that he was faced with fighting for his freedom from this death trap program, he knew he had to go there. But how? There was no way he could make it up fifty levels and then into the Upper City. On a normal day, it was impossible for someone from the Under City to get up there without security clearance. Now with the hunt for him undoubtedly spreading over the entire planet, there was no way he could sneak up there.

  It was with that sobering realization, in the foggy light of the lowest level, that Rav's resolve finally cracked. With his back to the metal wall of the elevator, he slid to the floor and stared at the toes of his boots that were stained red with smeared blood. Defeated, his adrenaline faded away, leaving him incredibly sore and moaning uncontrollably from the pain in his shoulder. He hated this city. He hated Brooke. Most of all, he hated himself.

  If he had been stronger, smarter, faster, he would have been able to figure this out sooner. He wouldn't have gotten injured to the point of dying in some rickety elevator while his son was being tortured to death by aliens in the real world. Never had Rav felt so utterly alone, insignificant, and hopeless.