Anatali: Ragnarok

by A. C. Edwards

  “Verdandi charges herself to sever the thread by claiming Volundr for Valhalla. Upon seeing the beautiful, if immoral, prince taking advantage of a noblewoman, she is at once enraged and intrigued. She conceals her lust from her sisters under the guise of discovering which thread corrupted fate and made this destined Einherjar so debased. Skuld soon discovers Verdandi’s guilt and leaves to cut his thread herself. But then…”

  “But then?”

  “The Ragnarok.” Nice theatrics, Nicky. “A full century before its time, all begins as it should, but the knot still tugs, distorting true fate from any one man or deity. Loki’s middle child, Jörmungandr, the great serpent, spews venom into the sky, whence it saturates the earth. His first child, Fenrir, the great war-wolf, stretches his maw from ground to cloud. Loki soon arrives with his last child, Hel, along with her army of the netherworld.”

  Another puff. Another stick on the fire. It wasn’t all that warm despite its size. “And the Aesir gather at Vigrond, scrambling to face the hordes and all that, right?”

  “But the Jotuns too, thus incited by Loki’s deceit. They set fire to Yggdrasil and confront Aesir, Hel, the Einherjar, and Vanir as equals.”

  “Kay, I get the backdrop. Get back to my shit.”

  “As Verdandi escapes with Volundr, Skuld hunts them both, believing her sister corrupted beyond recourse. The Valkyrie finds asylum first with the brother gods, Vidar and Vali, and later with Lord Odin himself. Unable to unravel the knot, the high gods still succumb to fates predestined.”

  “You’re still trying hard to make this fit, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all. If I had the text, I would show it to you. The play’s irony is implicit, offering the illusion of free-will, all accented by our own inability to defy our destinies—even as we Aesir and Einherjar follow our most virtuous paths.”

  “But Shannon was hardly perf—”

  “But nothing,” Nicky said. She hid a chuckle behind her shoulder. Damn sensitive about this, as always. “Question your own decisions as you may, but I do not judge you immoral. So I ask you do not judge us, for AI hasn’t the need or biology for our counterparts’ greater flaws.”

  “Oooo,” Jessica smirked, “getting snippy with me? I know you’ve thought it, but you’re finally saying it: you’re superior, since I'm so consumed with lust or whatever. So, what word fits you guys in the play? Hubris? Did I guess that right?”

  “No! I wasn't accusing—”

  “Sure, Nicky, sure. You’re just angsty on virtue because you can’t make out with Holly other than blinks and boops. I’m sure virtual sex is hot enough. Don’t be jealous.”

  “I-I, no! It’s not like that!” Stuttering robots? Oh, if only he could blush. She tossed her head back and let loose. And if only he could fume—he didn’t say a word throughout her belly-laugh.

  “Ok, ok,” she said, wiping a tear. “I’ll let you get on with it. How’s the Ragnarok end?”

  “Yes…well, the battle is so fierce that even the dead find their ranks waning. Verdandi, the Jotuns, Vanir, Aesir, and the army of Hel converge in a final five-point holocaust. Skuld attacks Volundr in a last bid to untangle the knot but is thwarted by her sister. Verdandi knocks her to the ground and raises her sword—”

  “Jessie!” Dillon’s voice, an echo. Damn, she should have left a note.

  “He is safe. I will finish. Verdandi raised her sword—”

  “Jessica Hall!”

  “He’s going to wake up the entire damn warehouse.” She stood on Nicky’s box and shouted, “Shut the fuck up!” Jessica wrapped an arm around his helmet and snapped her wolves into heel. “Never mind the end. You told me Verdandi dies, but I’m not sure I want to know how. It’s all fate, or rather the choices I make, right?”

  “One or the other. Yes. And you will not perish unless I precede you.”

  “Then let’s make sure you live.”

  * * *

  “The hell were you?” Dillon said, black-eyes narrowed and hands behind his back.

  “What’s it look like—having a chat.” She jumped off the back and strutted forward. He licked his lips and leaned in. She stopped in place. “Oh no you don’t. Honeymoon’s over. What do you got back there?”

  “Wedding present. You’ll have to kiss me first.” The cocky shit jiggled his arms. She stepped right to peek, then left as he spun. When she grabbed out, he caught her arm, jerked her close and pressed his lips to hers.

  Fucking weak-kneed bullshit—she couldn’t help it.

  “See,” he pulled away, “that wasn’t so bad. It was worth it. Here you go.”

  From behind his back he fingered a pair of high-techy combat boots at the cuffs. A ball of white fabric was stuffed in the left. For her thousandth tease on shoes, she forced a smile, but didn’t feel excited. He didn’t even know her size.

  “Um, thanks, John.” She plopped them on Nicky’s box before hopping on. The socks felt hot around her ankles, constricting. She inspected the boots, sniffing cautiously. “Dead men’s shoes?”

  “Nope. Those shipping reports in our room? I had Dani track down a crate from Cali. We've got sixes through tens.”

  “Y-Yeah, cool.” Already laced, the boots slid on like a—boot. Tied and cozy, she leapt off the box, landing hard in a stumble. “Well, shit, that feels weird.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t though of that. You don’t have to—”

  “No, they're perfect.” Had Cinderella found her slippers? Firm and auto-conforming, the insoles already regulated body temperature as the fabric sucked out the sweat. The real trick was getting her balance back. “Might give me an edge.”

  “You sure?” Dillon’s bitten lip warmed to a smile.

  Jessica danced a high school flag-corps number using Bunny as her standard. “Oh, yeah. I love them.”

  “Awesome. I got me a pair too. Hope us being shoe-buddies don’t seem too lame.”

  She whirled to his side, tipping back until he caught her. “And who's around to judge?”

  Nicky ahem’ed, “One hour until sunrise.”

  Jessica hugged close to Dillon, inhaling his scent. No, the boots weren’t going to stay on for long. “Why don’t you take an example and go get you some with Holly. Last words, final confessions. You got an hour to make it right.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” she smirked, “Want to experience some humanity? Some goddamn clarity? Get your love while you can. Oblivion might only be an hour away.” Jessica pressed her cheek to Dillon’s. He pecked her chin. “Go for it.”

  “I-I will attend to final business.” He swiveled and rolled off. Hells yes.

  Jessica shoulder-slammed the door and dragged Dillon back into their room. Ayla and Kahn scampered through but stayed by the entrance. Her shoe-bearing prince was to betray her? From what she gathered, he was the one who needed saving. She wouldn’t abandon him. She would protect him, like everyone protected her.

  Back on the mattress, she honestly wondered how normal people might choose to spend their last hours alive.

  Arc 6

  Ragnarok

  ~ 52 ~

  Last Temptation

  December 1, 4124 — 7:26 AM

  Another floor-rattling boom collapsed the last of the crates, spilling office supplies in the crush. Jessica stopped a rolling cylinder with the toe of her boot before tapping it back. The whistle of the fourth missile sounded different. A staccato of pops reported—okay, that was a barrage, not a single.

  Still waiting.

  She and Dillon knelt behind a welded wall of drums and hoppers, the bunker complete with a corrugated splash shield overhead and holes cut for guns. Between them and the shipping doors, dozens of white-skinned meat-shields marched circles in orderly ranks. The Dvoraks' thawing flesh dripped into slush puddles of putrid blood and squishy chunks. Terrible smell, but nearby, the jury-rigged filtration system rapidly pumped in hot air while cycling out the stench.

  The power-lifters barred the doors while the other main thorough
fares had been tossed, piled, and set ablaze. Dani predicted the Umbrella’s blizzard would finish by midday and summer would reassert itself by sundown. Nome’s first natural day in nearly a decade, and with nice weather considering last week’s forecast. They only needed to hold until then, a limited siege with a deadline: noon.

  The non-combatant refugees were crowded in the airdock-mess-hall, which had the warehouse’s thickest walls. Dani and Spangler guarded the lightly armed rabble as a last line of defense. On the roof, Sig, Hilde, and the two men defended against the air assault, all under the assumption the feds would eventually land shuttles. On a catwalk looking out an open window, Shrine directed undead traffic both within and without. She’d said the shock troops were so used to following orders they barely needed guidance. Black mist swirled around her. Nearby, Holly crouched in a purposefully darkened hollow, the refugee leader still empty-bellied.

  Drawing a quarter-circle to the airdock’s corner, Jessica’s bunker stood just under the roof’s stairwell. At her back, Nicky paced with Ayla and Kahn held secure, their feet resting on his box. Jessica had said it, ‘defend them as you would me.’ She’d made him promise.

  She lost count as the barrage intensified, the rattling of the walls layering over the din. A million explosions echoing a million times. Holly’s visor blinked. Nicky shouted, “Artillery, the shuttles will come.”

  Yeah, but how many? Carmichael’s squad, or four squads, or a full military assault with powered armor and an army of bots? Assurances had been made they could survive this, but—Dillon’s bubble shimmered around them. He gripped her wrist. Jessica raised an eyebrow and looked from his hand to his face. Priceless. She felt a tickle up her spine that forced a giggle. In low tones: “Oh, This is the end. It'll make or break us!”

  This was the best defended, prepared, comfortable, and unified they’d been since the start. Over a dozen battles, a hundred horrors, and a thousand kills. Jessica breathed deep and took it all in. She was the now, the present, Nicky’s Verdandi smitten with the knot and taking it as it came. This wasn’t her last fight. It was her time to shine. If she did die, they had better blow her to bits or she’d haunt and hunt the fuckers until the end of time.

  As the clamor subsided, she heard shouts from the roof. Shrine yelled, “They’re landing!”

  The distant pull on her stomach confirmed—that box was with them.

  She shook away Dillon’s hand and gripped her rifle. Bunny danced circles in virtual black snow fields. Perking his ears, the foreground faded to an all-business cycle of infrared, pure-vision, and even x-ray. Bunny had fucking x-ray? A mass of shit, there was nothing to see.

  The growl of rapid cannon-fire originated far too close for comfort—Shrine thrust her hands out the window. Then she flinched. Hands slamming to the catwalk, a storm of white-hot tracers cut the air and swiss-cheesed the roof from inside. Angling down, the rounds pierced the metal only to rebound off her energy barrier, shredding the wall.

  A metallic spike punched through the shipping door. Four barbs sprang from the cone and set into the steel. Again and again, until a dozen harpoons dotted the corrugated paneling. Holly. Shrine. With a deafening screech, the wall tore away from the warehouse’s frame. A hurricane of ebony powder swirled through the breech, obscuring everything beyond Dillon’s shield.

  Then all became quiet.

  As the snow settled, a large shadow hovered at the limits of Bunny’s vision. Flakes fell few and far between, and the bitterness of the sudden freeze had abated to uncomfortable instead of hypothermic. The Dvorak horde outside seemed half-sized, or rather, half as tall. Most standing in the walls’ path had been crushed to the shoulders or had been bisected at the waist. Groups of twenty squirmed under the steel paneling; other teams squat-pressed openings for their frozen friends. Shrine was missing from the catwalk, and Holly was nowhere in sight.

  What now, a stand off? For all their firepower, the feds still had to make it inside if they wanted a capture, and if this was to be an execution—if cruise missiles and rocket barrages hadn’t worked—a lousy shuttle could only do so much.

  “Incoming transmission,” Nicky said, “from the shuttle: should I relay?”

  She glared over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.

  “Jessica, once again, it is my pleasure.” Carmichael’s voice, Nicky’s body. I guess he took that as a yes. Clear and cheerful, the officer said. “Might we chat?”

  “Got nothing to say to you, prick,” she mumbled, searching over the field with Bunny for a target. Nothing.

  “Now, now, don’t be rude,” he said. She bit her lip. “Yes, I can hear you, but you’ll have to speak up a little.”

  “That’s great. So when I say fuck off, you’ll get the message?”

  “Indeed. As I said yesterday, it is time to leave little Nome to rot. We have no intention of abandoning you brave survivors, and I promise the best of care. It is well within our budget to set you all up comfortably in new lives on any Sol-Union colony.”

  “The rescue we’ve been waiting for.” Jessica turned her head to Dillon, then to Nicky and her friends. “The price is silence.”

  ”Obviously, some concessions must be made for the good of the Union. And if you wish to forget this nightmare and start anew, we can make that possible.”

  “Don’t you mean, will make that possible?” Memory wipes, great. She knew little about them, but they were a standard option for trauma victims off-planet. “Do you have any idea why we’re resisting?”

  “Honestly, no, and I am curious. It is in your best interest to accompany us.”

  Jessica watched the shuttle bobble and strafe, hovering silently. His lie was tempting, but one detail above all others held her in place. “I don’t want to forget. Not my brother, the Winslows, Nicky, Shannon, or even Dolores. I want to remember how brave Ayla has been, and how strong I’ve become. We are the legacy of everyone who’s loved and supported us. It’s our duty to carry on and remember. I’m going to live, and I’m taking Nome with me.”

  “Well said, but you do your memories dishonor if you perish now. If we must take you by force, the odds are against you.”

  “That’s not what our statistician says. Now fuck off or let us talk to an Anatali rep.”

  “So be it.” His voice cut out as the shuttle rose—then descended. Gull-wing doors flapped open on both sides. She couldn’t see what spilled out into the mass of Dvoraks, but the obvious was obvious: game on.

  The back wall rattled in a metronome boom, boom, boom. So another shuttle was still keeping the air-guard pinned down. The clips of automatic gunfire and muzzle flashes from the open field sounded hollow, but a roar of groans soon overwhelmed the echoes and tin-drum music around her. Ayla had kept silent so far, but now barked furiously towards the shuttle—no, beyond it.

  Jessica knew that sound and recognized the vibration of the earth. A fog of kicked-up snow crested the hilltop and descended down Sageway, down towards Carmichael’s shuttle. The advancing blood-spray of the federal troops paused and spread in a disk—they had formed a holding position. Despite the box, she felt him, could almost hear him leading the vanner army’s march.

  Dillon stood beside her, palms raised. A spiraling smoke trail arced high over the horde. The grenade burst a half-moment from its mark: the bunker. Jessica ducked low as shrapnel struck the wall. Fiery chunks bounced off her boy’s barrier. Nicky shifted behind her and set his treads. She squinted against the light-show and focused on Bunny. His readings were a jumble of heat and Dvoraks; his head spun in a dizzy. Targeting circles alternated between open space to a thousand torsos.

  No time to get confused, rabbit.

  She reached for her clipper as she squeezed off a fireball. The blind shot streaked towards the shuttle. Mid-air, fire splashed over the mob at half the distance. A blurry outline arose from the flames, just a flicker until Bunny blended x-ray and night vision.

  The petite silhouette lashed out at a child, first decapitating it, then cleaving it do
wn the middle. A taller, broken corpse crumpled from a twirling thrust. Always moving closer, the feminine form dispatched another pair at their knees.

  “I can’t see shit! What is it?” her boy shouted in her ear.

  “We’re blind, not deaf. Tighten up that fucking bubble, Bunny didn’t get her.”

  “A girl?”

  Jessica scowled, but held her focus. In a split second, the figure knelt and vanished. Their splash-shield overhead rang with a thud. She raised Bunny with the clipper at its side. “Nicky!”

  Tick-tick-tick.

  The x-ray showed a moving blob above, but every time Jessica pulled her trigger, the girl had already moved. As the rail-rounds pierced the metal, she heard shouts from the warehouse’s roof far above. Whatever—if they didn’t like Jessica’s errant shots, they should have kept the bitch out. What was she, an android? At the moment she seemed a monster on par with Hester.

  “I cannot see her!” Nicky flung his arms over the bunker's lip, two with his axe and another pair in lunges and squirts. After a grinding squeal, an axe-arm returned, severed at three-quarters length and spouting water.

  Fuck.

  “Hold off!” she shouted, turning her back from the main battle beyond. Bunny’s targeting locked on, offset to the right—he had adjusted his sight to her clipper hand. Jessica breathed deep and waited for a pause. Nicky’s tentacles writhed as a spaghetti shield around him. He now held Ayla and Kahn by the hips, not their chests; both snarled and attempted to squirm free atop his box.

  The figure’s random darting halted. Jessica popped a clipper round. The attacker again vanished from Bunny’s sight. Dillon’s barrier flashed bright orange. Spun back, the girl landed among Nicky’s arms, but each one rebounded as if she were made of stone. The axe bounced off her head. She faded into normal sight, wearing a silver catsuit. Helmet and visor protected down to dark brown cheeks and tufts of black hair. She gripped a pair of glowing knifes. Both were short, but their light stretched the length to a foot each.