by KT Belt
“720 has been named. I think she’s Artemis now,” a different moron replied.
“Artemis?” the first imbecile said to herself. “That name doesn’t fit at all.”
Janus looked at them for a short while and couldn’t help rolling his eyes. They weren’t Clairvoyants—Clairvoyants didn’t ask questions that were as irrelevant as they were stupid. In any case, the two were romantically involved in some way, and everybody knew it. They were inseparable, except whenever their legitimate partner stopped by for a visit. Janus didn’t know their entire story, but he didn’t care to learn it. He barely knew their names—Isabelle and Larry?
“So, what do you think, Janus?” Isabelle asked again.
Janus stared back at her. The gaze of a Clairvoyant usually caused the average person to wilt, but not this one. She was either too stupid or just didn’t know better. He sighed. They were his pain at least once a week.
“I do not care,” he said simply.
“I don’t believe you,” Larry replied.
Janus sighed again. Clairvoyants lied from time to time, just like everyone else. Lies could be helpful when the situation called for them. All the same, it was a bit much for these people to suggest they were worth the trouble.
“Everyone has wondered about them since they got here,” Larry continued.
“I do not care if you believe me or not,” Janus said. “I am not here to pit children against each other like wild dogs.”
“But you shoot them, right?” the man more said than asked. “You torture them, keep them in cages, isolate them from everybody except their handlers, and force them to fight constructs. What difference does it make if they fight each other?”
“Yeah, besides,” Isabelle added, “just think of the bets. Everyone wants to know who’s better. It’s not like they wouldn’t fight each other—that’s what they do. We wouldn’t even have to prod them.”
“Clairvoyants fight to the death,” Janus said.
Larry shrugged. “So?”
Janus stared at them. “You two disgust me.” He then stood and began walking toward the door.
Although Clairvoyants were the majority of the population in the facility, whenever one moved, attention was drawn to them. He, like all Clairvoyants, had learned to expect as much.
“No, wait!” both Isabelle and Larry said before he could leave the dining hall.
He turned to face them. “You may see no difference in what you suggest and what we do. Admittedly, we ride a very fine line. Everything that happens here, however, has a purpose.”
“And what would that be?” Isabelle interjected with a dismissive tone.
Janus looked at her quizzically. “How can you work here and not know?”
“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Larry began, answering for her. “To create an embedded and controlled population of Clairvoyants as a deterrent to invasion. We all know. But all you handlers do is hammer them all day. It won’t make a damn difference if they fight each other. It won’t mean anything to them.”
Isabelle agreed, making an argument Janus paid no attention to. Larry’s statement, idiotic as all of his statements were, got Janus thinking. But before he could make any conclusion, though, this conversation, such as it was, needed to end.
“I will not allow you or anyone to satisfy your curiosity at her expense,” he said.
“But, Janus—”
“Do not speak to me again on this matter,” he said firmly. Then, without waiting for a response, he left the room.
He walked down the hall, wishing he had a glass of water to clean the bad taste from his mouth. The dolts, however, weren’t on the forefront of his mind.
“Won’t mean anything,” he said softly to himself.
The business here attracted all kinds, the noble and ignoble among them. Even those two understood the purpose of the facility, its mission. He wholeheartedly agreed with it, yet its meaning was a barely remembered fog. In this place, the halls and fight rooms, like everything ever created, were as much a servant of the Dark as the Clairvoyants trapped within them. And if the Dark did anything, it clouded its meaning and perpetuated itself.
He shook his head. There were times he wondered if it was the assets or their handlers who were really being tested. The assets were young; they just grew used to it after a while. The carefully constructed madness the handlers created was only Tuesday to their charges. The handlers were fully aware of every step along the path. The pitfalls and perils along the way served an ultimate purpose, but to whom and in what way? It was undeniable that the feedback loop from handler to charge was reflected back from charge to handler.
Janus focused on 111724 for a moment with that in mind. She wasn’t very special. She was frighteningly strong, and a lot of people talked about her in conjunction with Artemis, but she wasn’t all too unique or different. At least, that’s what he thought, which made his task over the past year or so difficult. There was nothing about her for him to grasp onto in what would be one of his most unique responsibilities as a handler. She was smart; she knew her role and played it as well as she could. 111724 always gave just enough for what he needed and no more. Sure, she broke character every now and then, but it was an almost perfect performance. And that, in retrospect, could do.
He was almost to her now and could sense her power more and more with each step. It was subtle; even a Clairvoyant could miss it. All the same, there was no denying its potency. It was like watching the ever-darkening sky before a hurricane.
Janus arrived at her room now and opened the door. There she was, sitting quietly on her bed and reading a book. Mikayla lay beside her as 111724 casually played her fingers through the animal’s fur. She was different from the little girl he had met more than six years ago, which was of course the point. But he remembered what she was, and the contrast between then and now was striking. She was in transition from what she was to what she’d eventually be, and for this one singular moment, he could actually see her.
She gave no reaction to the door opening. She could never sense him coming, and he had no idea why. Regardless, she seemed so calm and peaceful, if a little sad. She sported a few bruises from a hard fight the day before. The stress of her battles had long since morphed her body into that of a toned and athletic predator. Yet in her face, there was only a soft echo of the horrors of her life. His wasn’t the only forging she was suffering either. Nature had its purpose, just as he did. Janus had even reduced the stress on 111724 to allow the onset of puberty. All things considered, nature looked like it would make her potent in more than one realm.
The girl in front of him, however, appeared to have no interest in the power and influence she’d eventually wield at her leisure. He didn’t know if that was strange or not. There were adults who would kill to be half of what she was as an adolescent. Just then, she looked up at him and the moment was shattered. There was no visible change in her demeanor, but to Janus, it was like someone had turned off the lights in the room.
“111724,” he said, “it is time.”
She never complained, at least not anymore. What she did do was tie her hair back in a ponytail, and just like that, her facade was complete. She was focused, disciplined; there was nothing free or extraneous about her now. 111724 was exactly as he wanted her to be: an indestructible monster that only knew purpose. He wished he could break her of that. In linear time, he knew her better than even her parents did. He had been around her all day, every day for the past six years. Few in her life would ever be able to boast as much. Janus, however, didn’t know her—not really. She hid from him, and all he could see were glimpses of her here and there. He tried not to think about it for the moment, though. Today was a special day.
He left the room, and 111724 obediently followed him out as she always did. The lights shut off behind them, and the two conducted themselves in their normal routine. 111724 knew well what was expected of her. That knowledge had penetrated nearly every aspect of her psyche, coloring how she spoke and
directing how she moved. It was subtle yet quite apparent for someone who knew what to look for.
She was graceful. All Clairvoyants were graceful, but she was slightly more subdued than her peers, and Janus always found that curious. She never seemed to be a shy or withdrawn personality by nature, and there were distinct fits and spurts in which she was anything but. Most of the time, though, there was no swagger in her movement. There was no bounce, vivacity, or anything that could be considered distinctive. Janus had tried for years to coax that out of her. At this point, he figured he’d just have to live with it.
They entered the elevator as usual, but this time they exited on a floor 111724 had never been to before. It wasn’t all too different from any other floor. The lack of decoration was par for the course, as was the lack of windows and most other things. 111724 knew something was different, though. She looked around the corridor before glancing hesitantly at her handler. Her display was a bit more inquisitive than normal, at least outwardly. She put a lid on it immediately, despite that Janus never said anything.
There was, however, one thing she didn’t or couldn’t hide. 111724 was nervous—maybe even scared. It would be hard for just anyone to tell, as it didn’t appear on the surface. He probably wouldn’t notice if he didn’t know her so well. Her energy, even as she tried to diminish it, was a storming rage. She may as well be on fire. Now, though, it was vibrant in a different way. When someone walked past her, it didn’t ignore them as it usually did. Instead, it nervously rose in almost violent protest before falling to its previous level once the person was safely out of sight.
Janus produced an effect in her that was just as pronounced but exactly opposite in magnitude. His every glance and even his every breath caused that same energy to shy away. 111724 shied away herself every now and then when she couldn’t help it. Janus never thought he’d have such a hold on her at her age, but everyone was unique and responded differently. Some Clairvoyants were complete psychopaths; others were housecats. 111724 was a person just like anyone else, but for one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy to actually be frightened? Taken at face value, it was hard to believe.
111724 only grew more nervous with each step as they neared their destination. It was amazing how she could never read him, yet in the back of her mind knew when they were getting close to where he was taking her. He opened the door and they walked inside. 111724 was immediately pinned in place. She gave a questioning glance to Janus, unable to keep her composure. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. She looked at the room again and then back at Janus. He waved for her to continue. Of all the things he’d told her, he never said curiosity was a bad thing.
There were hundreds upon hundreds of different rooms at this facility. They were all mostly the same, but not this one. This one was unique. It was hard to tell exactly how big it was at a glance. The room was purposely made to get lost in. Multiple paths, irregular and only rarely arranged in straight lines, wound through row after row of weapons. Janus had toured the place for hours and still found new secrets.
111724 probably knew all of that in the back of her mind. She took a moment to study a rather gruesome looking set of brass knuckles. She moved on after only a short moment. Her steps were tentative, yet, as amazing as it was, he’d say she had actually forgotten about him, if he didn’t know better. She seemed to have no clear aim or destination, nor did she walk very quickly. Janus simply shadowed and watched. He doubted she had much interest in weapons; this was probably just the simple pleasure of seeing something new. The life of an asset followed a routine, even if he tried to mix it up and keep her off balance as much as he could. In that, this was not only something new but also something new that couldn’t kill—unless, of course, static weapons could leap out of their display cases and attack her.
Her progression took her to a wall of axes. No single type of axe repeated itself, yet there were hundreds on display. Some had handles that approached and, in some cases, surpassed the length of her body. Different axes were far shorter. Their heads showed easily as much diversity. Carmen didn’t know anything about axes, but she winced when she saw the head of one and thought of what it could do to a person’s body. She had her fill of them about then and continued on to the clubs.
The first few were pretty straightforward: just wooden sticks that were heavy on one end. They slowly got more and more sophisticated as she went. Like the axes before them, there were hundreds of kinds. Some were studded with spikes while others were surprisingly small. Either way, they were rather unimpressive weapons to her. Such brute force just didn’t seem sensible. Perhaps, after years of killing scores of Constructs, she’d lost all respect for it?
She left that section without as much as a backward glance. Then she went on and on. The collection was almost unending. There were no clocks in the room and, for all that Clairvoyants innately knew, their sense of time remained pedestrian. Nevertheless, to say that hours passed was all too easy to believe. There were just so many and such different weapons. Some of the gathered arms were elegantly simple. A few were gruesomely exotic. None were ever repeated. Many she would be hard-pressed to describe if she were asked to. Then there was a transition from uniquely terran instruments to the alien.
The sorten weapons were the most savage of that group. They nearly approached their terran counterparts in some cases, but just nearly, and only here and there. Their most horrific implement, in her opinion, was what could best be described as a spear with many hooks well suited to turning internal organs into external ones. She didn’t have to guess that either—the written description next to the weapon was quite clear on that point, and there was even a picture of a victim for further clarification.
The collection of alien weapons wasn’t as exhaustive as it was for terrans, despite the standouts. The arms of the terrasaurs and Eternals weren’t even included. Or perhaps, considering their respective cultures, there weren’t as many alien weapons simply because they didn’t make as many as terrans did?
Carmen was back in familiar company soon enough. The study piece was knives this time. She had some experience with them, always from the business end. Next to guns, they were the most popular weapon used against her, and like with being shot, she didn’t think much about being cut anymore, even though it happened rarely. Usually, it didn’t take much for her to turn the knife against whoever was wielding it—broken arms or wrists often preceded that. The body could only move so far in one direction.
She continued on after a quick backward glance at Janus. He still shadowed her, and she noted that he was being rather quiet today. It wasn’t like he was ever a chatterbox, but now he wasn’t saying anything at all. Maybe this is some sort of test? she thought. He didn’t usually speak when she was being tested, but there was nothing here for her to be tested on. As a matter of fact, the room seemed rather meaningless to her. Still, she wasn’t complaining. It was somewhat interesting in its own way. She had no particular care for weapons, but she’d never thought there were so many different kinds.
Next were swords, though several blurred the line between what could be considered a sword and a knife. She had long figured there was some purpose for each weapon to be the way they were. It would be hard to believe there wasn’t some overarching reason as to why some weapons went from broad, blunt tips to narrow, tapering points and back again and why some axes required two hands and others only one. The variations between one weapon and the next were just as distinct and indistinct as faces. On the surface, or even far away, they all looked the same. Conversely, upon closer inspection, sometimes it was the subtle differences that gave each its character. Janus had taught her long ago that few things existed to simply exist. There was some reason for their design, even if she, or anyone else for that matter, didn’t know it.
Carmen took the time to survey most of the many swords, not because of an abundant interest but because the more time she spent in here, the less time she spent elsewhere. She had never like
d fighting, school, or pretty much anything else she did here. Some of the swords were honestly weird. She didn’t think a wavy edge would contribute much, but what did she know? Her eyes rested on hundreds of the things. After a while, she no longer noticed the nuances of each; they simply blended together. At this point, she was just walking through the room to walk, but she still made a heroic effort to look at everything. Janus followed closely behind, and she’d rather not leave. Then she stopped.
What drew her attention for the moment was a long-sword—more than one. It was hard for her to say why these weapons caught her interest more than the others, as long-swords were simple looking devices. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say they were little more than sharpened steel bars. But they were more than that. Like their peers, there was purpose in their design. She didn’t fully know what that purpose was, but she could sense it faintly. They were so very simple yet utterly sophisticated at the same time. That aspect of their character was quiet—most would miss it upon first glance. She would be the first to admit that she couldn’t fully grasp it, but it was plain as day in front of her. The weapon was perfectly made to do what it was designed to do and nothing more. That was the dominant trait of all the weapons in this room.
Janus walked up beside her. When he pulled a footlong metal cylinder off his belt, Carmen’s first instinct was to move away from him. Anything he produced usually had an ill effect on her health.
“This is a Taper,” he said, “the preferred weapon of a telekinetic.”
Carmen looked at it and was unimpressed. It didn’t even look like a weapon. Janus seemed to sense this, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he telekinetically held the weapon away from his body. He then spun it until loud cracks graced the air, and the weapon extended to its full length. He stopped it spinning, and she could see it was now almost as long as he was. Each end of what had been the cylinder, which was now a shaft, tapered to a sharp point. Janus raised the Taper over his head, guiding it with his palm, and then spun the weapon again. As before, there were several loud cracks, but the sound blended into one loud noise after a short moment. He finished his demonstration by placing the weapon back on the ground. All throughout, he never physically touched it.
