Clockwork Asylum

by Jak Koke

  Jane listened with anger evident on her face. That anger growing as Ryan unraveled the story.

  Carla watched him in silence, a look of astonishment dawning on her dark features.

  Nadja simply gazed at him and nodded. Ryan could see her sharp mind making various connections, could see all the implications of what he'd said fall into place. "Ryan, you of course realize the vast repercussions of your accusations. What surety do you have?"

  Carla broke in. "Yes, even if your information is accurate, it's all circumstantial. You've established motive. We know he had the capability and the opportunity. But that doesn't mean he did it."

  "Ryan," Nadja said, "do you have any specifics on how it was pulled off? How did he plant the bomb or the magic ritual or whatever it was that killed Dunkelzahn?"

  Ryan gave her a pleading look. "None. Carla's right. All the evidence is circumstantial, but with someone of Damien Knight's power and influence, I doubt any direct evidence will ever present itself. He's too smart, too savvy to ever leave any discernible link that would point to him."

  Carla straightened up. "The evidence is compelling, and it should be reported to Strapp and the Scott Commission immediately. But I don't want it getting to the press."

  Jane's icon looked at her. "Tell Strapp? Tell the Scott Commission? And just what do you intend to say? Hey, Quentin, one of your primary suspects just told me that someone else did it. So how about we stop investigating Ryan, and start investigating Damien Knight, someone who has a rock-solid alibi? After they threw you off the Commission, they'd lock you up in an asylum."

  Carla started to respond, but Nadja cut her off. "Jane's right. We all know Ryan, and we know enough to trust him completely, but that's not going to cut it with Strapp."

  Ryan smiled at her. "My gut says this is the right direction to be looking in, but I doubt we can expect any sort of official backup on it."

  Carla gave Jane a sharp glance. "So what do you suggest instead?"

  Jane's icon looked up. Her huge, pouty lips were set in a firm line. "Covert hit."

  The stunned look hit Carla again. "You out of your fragging mind? Assassinate Damien Knight? Even with the best team you could put together, I wouldn't attempt that in a thousand years. There's only one person I know who could . . . " She looked at Ryan and fell silent.

  Ryan laughed, softly. "Yes, Carla, I could probably do it. But I think you're right. An ice job just doesn't feel right. At least not yet."

  Jane shook her head. "People, think about it for a moment. I trust Quicksilver more than any other meat walking the planet. If he says Knight killed our beloved dragon, then I know he's right. But I also know that no Scott Commission, no government force is going to have the balls or the muscle to bring Knight to justice. He'll skate and leave someone else to take the fall. The only way to make him pay is to wipe every trace of him off the face of the earth."

  There was a pause while everyone took in just what Jane had said.

  "Which, of course, is why we can't take him down," Nadja said, her voice like a granite gavel coming down. Not to be denied.

  Ryan turned to her. "I know that tone," he said. "Explain."

  Nadja smiled. "On one hand, Jane is completely correct. However, two things are working against us here. One, even if we kill him, that won't solve our biggest problem. Both Ryan and I would still be under suspicion for murdering Dunkelzahn. Considering what we know about Strapp's line of reasoning, he might just believe that Ryan, Knight, and I were all working together, but had a falling out.

  "Two, Ryan said it himself. All the evidence is circumstantial. Even he's not sure just how far to trust his informant. So if we ice Knight, and we're wrong, then the fallout will be heavy enough to bury us all. We need to be absolutely sure. If we knew for a fact that Knight was behind it, I would vote for geeking him, then digging hard into his actions prior to the assassination. With him dead, there would be no one to thwart our efforts. Still, I need more proof before I can agree to such drastic actions."

  Carla leaned forward, passion flashing on her face. "You've all gone off the fragging deep end! This is a witch hunt. We have no concrete evidence that implicates anyone. I know what security measures were taken to protect Dunkelzahn. I've gone over and over possible weaknesses, the nature of the blast. And I'll do it again, but the real evidence is too slim to reach any kind of conclusion. You have no proof."

  "Carla—"

  "Quicksilver, of all people, you should know how rash and dangerous it is just to have this conversation, let alone contemplate carrying all this drek out. Killing someone of Damien Knight's station will shake the world to its very core, especially after the assassination of Dunkelzahn. We're talking widespread paranoia. Killing mid-level execs don't mean drek, but you start axing people like Knight, the corps will seize up in a panic."

  Ryan help up his hands. "Easy, Carla. No one is doing anything yet. This is just a strategy meeting. You and I know that when you're trying to come up with a plan, you start at the most extreme and work down to something more manageable. Don't take it so personally. I need you calm and thinking straight. The second you decide something can't be done, then you can't do it, and that may limit your options down the line."

  Carla took a deep breath, then nodded and leaned back.

  Ryan turned to face the other women. "Okay, give me alternatives."

  Jane arched a monofilament-thin eyebrow. "Such as? You say you can ice Knight, I say it needs to be done. What else is there to talk about?"

  Ryan turned to Jane's icon. "Such as the fact that I'm not sure it needs to be done. I don't kill without reason, and no matter my feelings about Knight, I don't intend to start now."

  "Finally, the voice of reason," said Carla, with a tired clap.

  Ryan frowned. "Don't get too comfortable with that, Carla. I said I don't kill without reason. I haven't absolutely confirmed my information, and to be honest, that is the main thing keeping Damien walking and talking right now. I like Nadja's idea. We find out more, then decide on a course of action."

  Nadja looked up from her desk top, where she'd been typing for the last minute. "Ryan, Damien will be at the Watergate Hotel this afternoon. At a luncheon party to garner support for my vice-presidential bid. He probably wants to pick my brain on how I'll be voting my Gavilan stock."

  Ryan nodded.

  Nadja went on. "I could have a private meet with him, try and force his hand. Maybe he'll toss us a bone."

  Jane snorted. "Yeah, and maybe blue monkeys will fly out of my hoop."

  Ryan laughed. "Jane's got it right. He'll never drop anything to you. He'll have so many personal defenses up, it'll probably take him an hour just to mentally prepare for the luncheon."

  Carla shrugged. "Then what? We kidnap him and brainwash him into confessing?" Her voice indicated sarcasm, but Ryan considered the request seriously for a minute before discarding it.

  Ryan stood and paced around, stopping at the window. He looked out over the immaculately sculptured grounds.

  Something from Roxborough's past was surfacing to haunt him.

  Roxborough was in London, at a party for the CEO of Intellynx, a mid-level corp that he wanted to buy out. Ryan remembered feeling nervous, almost shaking with apprehension. But he also felt a thrill of excitement, the titillation of the hunt.

  He had spent over an hour flattering the CEO's private secretary, Ryan couldn't recall her name. After a lifetime of getting her just drunk enough that she forgot who he was, and what his presence meant, Roxborough had recorded her graphic tales of the sexual orgies, fetish parties, and under-the-desk encounters she'd participated in. All at the command of her boss, a happily married CEO.

  All he had to do was play the chip once, and the CEO was literally on his knees. Begging Roxborough to take what he wanted, just not to play the chip to his wife.

  Ryan smiled and turned from the window. "No, Knight will never let anything show to you. However"—he turned to Nadja, where she sat at the desk—"do
you have a date for this afternoon?"

  Jane's eyes began to gleam, and Nadja smiled. "Why, Ryan, are you asking me on a date?"

  "I still think you're all crazy." Carla was slumped in her chair, a look of defeat on her finely chiseled features.

  Ryan turned to her. "Carla, I promise you this. If, and that's a very large if, Damien is foolish enough to let anything leak out today, we'll convene for another meeting before any action is taken. If we have any concrete evidence to take to Strapp or the Scott Commission, then that's the way we'll play it. If not, then we'll choose a course of action at that time. Agreed?"

  After a long pause, Carla nodded her head. "No," she said. "I won't go along with it."

  She stood and walked to the door. "Quicksilver, if you want to proceed with this, I won't get in your way, but even by turning a blind eye, I'm sticking my neck out here. Don't frag with me. Okay?"

  She was out the door before he had a chance to respond. Well, Ryan thought. That's better than nothing, I suppose.

  Suddenly, Jane sat upright. "Quicksilver, gotta go too. Got some new feedback on our special project.

  Seems the ... man you had them follow is on the move." Then she vanished.

  Ryan turned to Nadja, who was already delving into the multitude of duties she had to accomplish before the luncheon. He went to her, putting his arms around her shoulders. He wanted to know that she was still on his side.

  "Just a nano," she said, shaking him off. "Let me finish this."

  She didn't mean anything by it, but it left him feeling cold. He released her and walked to the window and looked out at the azalea bushes in full flower.

  "Don't brood," Nadja said a minute later, coming up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist.

  He turned in her grasp, and seeing the smile on her face, he laughed. "I'm not brooding," he said. "Just unsure if I'm doing the right thing."

  She kissed him. "Don't let Carla spook you. She's got a government position now and can't afford conspiracies. She's giving you all she can."

  Ryan smiled. Nadja was right, of course.

  Her tone became serious. "If Damien Knight did kill Dunkelzahn, then he's more dangerous than we ever thought..." She let the sentence hang, knowing she didn't need to finish it.

  "He's always been dangerous," Ryan said. "He's the king snake, but I'm the mongoose."

  Nadja smiled. "Just be more careful than you've ever been in your life. I almost lost you once, and it will slot me off something fierce if you were to get yourself geeked this time."

  Ryan laughed. "You know I would do anything to avoid facing your anger."

  30

  The morning sun shone like an inferno down through the open shutters and into Lucero's small room. She was in the physical world, the teocalli in San Marcos. It seemed like ages since she'd been physical, and she trembled from weakness.

  She knelt on the stone floor by the edge of her small cot, her naked, scarred body covered in sweat. She was emaciated and malnourished, only just starting to regain her strength after her long stay in the metaplanes.

  "Señor Oscuro is ready for you now," said one of the temple attendants.

  Two young acolytes helped her walk. She knew she had outlived her usefulness, that she had succumbed to the light. She had embraced the beauty of the song and was now being taken to be sacrificed to Quetzalcoatl.

  Oscuro knows, she thought. He knows I've turned against him, and I'm going to be sacrificed.

  Somewhere in that thought, Lucero found a certain comfort. At least, if she were dead, she could no longer help in the dark destruction of the light.

  They took her through the sanctuary and outside, up the long stairs of the step-pyramid temple that was the teocalli devoted to the Great Feathered Serpent, Quetzalcoatl. Lucero took one long last look at the world around her as she ascended toward the Blood Mage Gestalt at the apex.

  How many times had she been part of their ritual when she was a member of the Gestalt herself? How many times had an old and burned-out member been brought as sacrifice to power a ritual sending? Too many times to remember.

  Now it is my turn. It would all have been so simple before she had been touched by the light. But now, all this seemed evil to her, a perversion of magic. To use life energy for such purposes, to destroy innocent lives in order to achieve power and domination.

  The landscape around the temple had changed in the days she had spent at the metaplanar spike. Far below the temple and down the hill, a huge crowd of people had gathered around the lake where the Locus had been discovered. Drawn to its power.

  Lucero found herself hypnotized by the allure of the huge black stone. Its glossy surface was cut perfectly flat, like the facet of an onyx diamond, and it seemed to absorb all light around it. Like a magical black hole, it was pulling people into its vortex.

  The lake itself had been drained, the water channeled away by huge pipes, and security fences had been set up.

  And in the dry lake bed, Lucero could make out the foundations of a new teocalli. They were building it right on top of the Locus.

  In the distance, Lucero saw many more people coming. Thousands and thousands of people migrating to be near the Locus. They camped in huge tent cities, chanting and celebrating the end of the Aztec Fifth Sun.

  Which, she knew, meant the coming of tzitzimine—demons who would devour the world. A shiver passed through her. Had she seen those demons across the Chasm?

  Señor Oscuro met her at the temple's apex. He looked her over closely and whispered in her ear. "There has been a change in you, my child."

  For a moment, Lucero was close to fainting.

  "Even as your flesh grew weak, something in your spirit grew stronger. You overused your gift and burned it out. Somehow, your time at the bridge seems to have healed you to a certain extent. Today, you will take your rightful place in a blood ceremony to help speed your healing."

  At first, Lucero could barely comprehend the words Oscuro spoke, but as the truth gradually dawned on her, she wept for joy. In her deepest heart of hearts, she willed a silent prayer of thanks to the light for this gift.

  She had dreamed of rejoining the Gestalt.

  The ten of them stood and looked at her. They were all human, their skin a mosaic of tattoos and runic scars just like hers. There were thick needle-track marks on their necks and a dark emptiness in their eyes.

  They wore crimson robes and were attended by the healers and technicians who connected their veins to the blood-circulating machines, then to each Gestalt member through heavy-gauge catheters in their necks.

  Oscuro motioned for her to take her place among them, and she complied, allowing herself to become part of the blood circle. But as the ceremony began, something in her changed again. As the blood coursed through her, the dark spot on her soul turned foul and rank, blacker than it had ever been. Her lust for blood consumed her, and she began to thrash on the floor, breaking the connecting tube, and circumventing the pattern of blood flow.

  The rest of the gathered Gestalt looked at her, a mixture of horror and anger vying for dominance on their faces.

  Only Oscuro showed no reaction. Moving as if nothing were happening, Oscuro took the first of the chosen victims, and moved the girl into the circle.

  Instead of placing her on the altar, Oscuro made the girl kneel at Lucero's feet. As Lucero stood, panting, wild-eyed above the sacrifice, Oscuro had used the tip of his ornamental dagger to draw the finest cut over her jugular vein.

  A thin spray of blood shot out, showering Lucero's chest and stomach.

  The smell of it, oh, the smell, thought Lucero.

  Even as a small part of her mind rebelled, trying to maintain control over her addiction, the rest of her spirit was consumed. In her frail condition, Lucero literally ripped the little girl apart.

  Her fingers were like steel claws, her teeth mono-filament razors. She chewed her way through the girl's neck while her fingers ripped open the child's gut. Lucero was filled with the d
elicious scent of the young one's death, and she reveled in the orgy of sensations.

  She lost control then, absorbing the sheer power of the girl's life energy, pulling it into herself like sweet nourishment. She came to a few minutes later to find herself rolling on the floor in a large circle of bone and blood and intestine.

  Horror filled her then, and she looked around the circle of mages, her glance finally falling on Oscuro. He stood over her, his face beaming, like a proud father.

  An attendant was ordered to take her back to her room while the rest of the Gestalt finished the ceremony. And as she stumbled the way to her small room, the realization of what she'd done, of what she'd become, hit her.

  I am just like Oscuro. A monster.

  She had betrayed the light, had let her addiction consume again. And now, there was something more. Some dark power had entered her, had taken over that secret place in her where her true self belonged.

  She looked around the room that she had once found so comfortable, where she had always found solace. Now, all she saw was tainted by hatred, as if the very things she had found good about this place had turned foul.

  Is this how Oscuro sees the world?

  Lucero thought it might just be. Everything good seemed disgusting, everything dark and putrid seemed lovely and desirable. Her mind told her to surrender to it, accept it.

  After the acolytes left her, Lucero staggered to her feet, still quivering with the power of the girl's life energy. She stumbled to the small foot locker at the base of her bed and tossed the contents on the floor. After a frantic moment of searching, Lucero held the large carved dagger aloft to the light.

  It had been a gift from her teacher on the day she had been accepted to the Gestalt. The blade was edged with orichalcum, and it was virgin. The dagger had never tasted blood, and it brought a grim smile to her lips to think that its first victim would be its owner.

  Lucero knelt on the floor next to the cot and positioned the blade so that the butt of the handle rested on the bed's wooden frame, the tip pointed to the ceiling. She positioned her chin against the tip, steadying the blade with her hand. All she had to do was relax her posture and the razor-sharp tip would drive straight through her throat and up into her brain.