A Prison of Worlds (The Chained Worlds Chronicles Book 1)

by Daniel Ruth

  “I don't have a phone, er, working phone,” I said shrugging. The police man just looked at me like I was a madman. Most of the people I know look at me the same way. I can't stand the things, always making weird noises just before they vent a foul smelling gas. I used to know some psychics that had a special relationship with technology. I am not one of them and never even tried to develop such a thing. I almost have to be in a meditative state to keep my energies from interacting with the new chips.

  “Um, right.” He seemed a bit flustered by my flat response. “I am Officer Cromwell. Er... well, Lieutenant Monahan asked me to see if you'd mind consulting on some crimes.”

  This took me back a bit. “Me? I don't have any background in criminology.”

  “The crimes involve magic, sir.”

  I understood now. It's not like the city didn't have its hidden magic users, it’s just that most of them were very much like mystics or shamans. They had an instinctive knowledge on how to cast specific spells. To learn more, they would meditate and become ‘enlightened.’ Useless. They had no idea how magic worked, just how to contemplate their navel. Perhaps that was harsh, but there was some truth to it. I couldn't cast verbal spells yet, but I knew magic, felt it in my bones... and it didn't hurt to have lived in a city full of braggart mages. Damn, I missed them.

  So basically the reason they needed me was very similar to why I was looking for educated wizards. If a crime involved magic then either a supernatural entity committed it, a mystic did it, or a wizard did it. Basically, they needed me for my ‘academic’ reputation rather than my vigilante experience. My mind flashed back to my conversation just a few minutes ago. A captured wizard would leave books behind. Surely the nice police officers wouldn't need all those books.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 2

  The air traffic was rather intense, and I assume there was no real time crunch, because the officer only used his siren once to bypass the gridlocked air cars. I enjoy flying under my own power, but sitting in a ceramic and plasteel can, surrounded by other floating boxes, was boring as hell. I am trying to keep a fairly low profile, but if I could still shapechange into something with wings I would probably just shrug my shoulders and tell everyone I was a mutant vampire, just to freely fly around. There was an old cartoon about gargoyles; I could have faked being one of them. Some branches of my species can fly with or without wings. I ain't one of them.

  Still, it wasn't really far, and the closer we got the less traffic we saw until we were the sole car in the sky. Can you say target? When I first noticed the traffic go away, I looked down and saw we were over the Blight. If you're not familiar with the city, then let me just say it's insanely thick with unsavory types. Oddly enough, from up here I could see large areas of the slums newly cordoned off behind semi-translucent tents. That just had to push all the transients, homeless, and gangs into smaller areas. I winced. That can’t end well. This worried me since this was where I buy my books.

  Technology allows a minimum level of lifestyle to almost anyone. If you, for some unknown reason, don’t want to fit in, are antisocial, or perhaps just bat shit crazy, you can go to the cities only free ranging insane asylum we call the Blight. You can play gangster, road warrior, homeless, or anarchist to your heart’s content. If you die, you will be taken to the city hospital and resurrected, assuming your brain is intact, then sent on your merry way. The area is largely unpoliced since, crazy or not, the people have cobbled together some pretty slick jammers and EMP generators. It’s safer just to leave them alone, and not worth calling in the military.

  When my sixth sense went off, I knew we were about to be attacked; sometimes, I love clairvoyance. This wasn't really one of them. I knew a good minute ahead of the fact that we were going into trouble but didn't know how, when or why. It was a very frustrating feeling.

  “Officer...” I began and then trailed off. How do you tell a non-psychic that you feel bad vibes and something unfortunate is going to happen? And, by the way, you can't say what.

  “What can I do for you, Prof?” the officer asked good-naturedly.

  “Um.” Hemming and hawing may occasionally work, but it wasn't exactly productive in this case. I scanned the area below us for what was triggering my senses, the adrenalin rush seeming to slow the world slightly as my eyes flicked from point to point, the sense of danger slowly growing in the back of my mind.

  All I saw were mostly vacant decaying buildings, most with windows broken, some with holes in walls where shattered brick and wood facing gaped open. There were people down there, most ignoring us, some glaring as the vehicle of the law flew above them. With a moment of clarity, I saw the source of my discontent. Below us, seemingly waiting for us, was a rag tag group of rough looking youths with tubes of some sort pointing at us. While I am not a technophile, Jeremy has brought over enough movies in the last six months to fill in most of the holes in my knowledge with this dimension's Earth culture. That, and they looked a lot like the hi-tech outlaws and hostile colonies who used to shoot at us, back home. There’s a certain intense, crazy look in the eyes that gives them away.

  “Missiles,” I shouted, while pointing over his shoulder. I was a little too late since I saw five separate flashes and the too familiar sight of torpedo-like objects rising through the air towards us.

  I really have to hand it to Cromwell, he really knew how to fly. Well, I think he did. At least the car bucked and twisted and flipped a lot. I didn't have my belt on, and I got thrown around a lot until I managed to shove my hand through the armored door and anchor myself in place. Hopefully, my pilot would be occupied enough not to notice this. I was trying to stay just a minor human psychic with an education in the occult, not one of the ludicrously strong supernaturals that the city teemed with.

  There was a whine and a pop as faint smoke filled the back seat. That was probably the kinetic dampeners that were supposed to keep us from being tossed around. The fact that they conveniently just self-destructed was most likely my fault. While sad, I suppose I should just be happy we were still in the air. I tried to think tranquil, enlightened thoughts and dampen my energies. The sound of one hand clapping and all that jazz. Officer Cromwell had his harness on; sometimes being truly old school pays.

  We avoided the first barrage and I situated myself in a stable enough location to actually look outside again. I was just in time to see another set of five fly towards us. The thought whispered through the back of my mind that this meant there were at least ten guys with launchers down there, because there is no way those things can shoot twice in a row. At least I hoped not. I hated technology sometimes.

  Now that I had gotten my bearings, I placed a hundred-foot-wide psionic bubble between us and them in time to take that volley. It was pretty sturdy but still went down at the fifth hit. I hope that confused them at least. My force fields are invisible, unless you can sense psychic energy or see the unseen in some way.

  The car rolled over again, still doing those neat evasion rolls that had sent me spinning like a ping pong ball through the back seat. I took advantage of the very clear view of the ground through the window to place a third, smaller force bubble directly around the bad people shooting at us.

  The next thing I saw was a very bright light show below us as another set of five missiles rose up, only to impact the interior of the telekinetic wall surrounding the youths shooting at us. Okay, I guess those things can shoot multiple times. You learn something new every day.

  Wincing in sympathy, I looked to see the shield go down. Did I mention that my race can see things that are invisible? They kind of glow blue to me. I am not sure how others that can see these things or perceive them. My glowing bubble popped as the missiles hit them. I tried to keep an eye out on the location as the car continued to make like a roller coaster. When the debris and smoke finally cleared I noted that five missiles exploding fifty feet from a human isn't a good thing. There was no one still standing beneath us. On the good side, I didn't see bod
y parts or blood blanketing the area so maybe they were still alive.

  “Are you alright sir?” my dear friend Officer Cromwell called from the front.

  “Yeah, just a little motion sick. I think the car got hit with something though,” I said innocently. It's never too soon to cover your butt.

  “Well, we can fix the car. Good thing their ordinance misfired. Saved our asses.”

  “Yeah, thank goodness,” I muttered with mixed emotions. Since the officer had offered a good rationale, I planned to jump on it.

  We landed and got out. I started checking the injuries of the people that were caught under the explosion. Cromwell stayed back after verifying I actually had some medical knowledge, apparently calling in the event to the station. Maybe he should have been securing the perimeter or something, but I have no idea what standard protocol for having missiles shot at you was.

  I walked over and frowned at the first fellow I was starting to tend. Serious burns and bruising, blood from the ears. I looked over at another. A broken bone at least. Bah. I should have stayed over by the police car; now I felt guilty. Sighing in defeat at the assault of my conscious, I knelt down and touched the first punk, focusing a tiny bit of my power on him to smooth over the burns. Not enough to have the guy jump up and make a break for it, but enough to keep him out of the critical care ward or a resuscitation tank. I wasn't that guilty.

  I had heard this neighborhood was bad, but shooting missiles at police were a first. None of these kids were supernaturals, either. While I was contemplating the situation, I knelt next to the next victim of misplaced anger. Bones were a pain; I had to straighten it out and then apply the energy to speed the natural healing.

  I moved on to the next unconscious guy, straightening his limbs out in preparation for a little flesh manipulation. Afterward, I smoothly set the broken bone, and with a quick application of energy healed it enough to forgo a splint, though he wouldn’t be doing athletics any time soon.

  I admit that I have an ego the size of a planet. My entire race in all its myriad facets, light and dark, has this condition. But sometimes the universe really does revolve around you for just a few seconds. It’s a scientific fact. I read it in a magazine, so it must be true.

  However, it did make sense to me that statistically it would be more likely for people to be shooting missiles at me rather than at random police. If I had more time, I could do a light telepathic probe on these guys and find out why they would take such a huge risk.

  “Looks like you did a good job of sorting these punks out.” I jumped at the words behind me.

  Spinning, I noticed that Cromwell had finished his report over the communicator, and was showing the newcomers from the floating paddy wagon where the downed criminals were.

  “Can't believe our luck,” Cromwell said, while gesturing to the youths that were being carted into the van. “If one of their launchers hadn't misfired we would have been nothing but burning wreckage on the street.”

  “Yeah, luck was with us,” I said, trying to keep the irony from my voice. My acting skills must have been enough, since Cromwell turned back to the car.

  “I know it's been a tough day for you Professor, but would you mind going on to take a look at things?” the officer asked, contritely over his shoulder.

  Once more, I was surprised. I was never in any real danger; why would I mind going on to look at the crime scene? I got a hold of myself just before I said anything. Sometimes, it's hard to remember who you're pretending to be twenty-four hours a day.

  “Yes, well as upsetting as this incident is, we can't let the criminals get in the way of your investigation.” God that sounded pompous. Something then occurred to me. “Did this attack have anything to do with your case?”

  “Doubt it,” Cromwell stated definitively. “Totally different MO. You'll see.”

  “Oh, seems a bit of a coincidence.” I trailed off.

  “Not really, I recognize that gang from their colors.” I must have looked befuddled. “They all wore red jackets with the stylized 'X'. That gang was raided last week, and the gang members that are still free vowed vengeance on the police.”

  “Vowed... vengeance,” I said wonderingly. Okay, maybe this was a complete coincidence and I was being paranoid. “I hadn't realized it was that bad. These guys seemed really well armed.” I had no idea what they were, but the missile launchers looked more advanced that what I usually saw on the vid. Of course, Jeremy and I mostly watched movies almost a hundred years old. Maybe I should watch the news more.

  “Yeah, it's getting bad out here,” the officer said darkly, as he smoothly raised the hover car into the air. “The missiles are new. I don't think they are common on the street... thank God. Usually, we can handle the normals, but the supernaturals are getting worse too.”

  From what Jeremy said, I suppose the Mayor agreed.

  Chapter 3

  There was no more excitement on the way to our destination. This just happened to be in the middle of the Blight. I was actually surprised; I had heard from Jeremy that no police would dare to go there. Even if it was a first, considering the welcome we got on the way, it's amazing that anyone called the police, and more so that someone actually came.

  We landed outside the remains of an old tenement house from the 2060's. The windows looked blasted out and gaping holes covered the walls; bricks and mortar littered the ground outside. It looked only a little worse for wear than the apartments on either side. The original damage was probably from the Aussie Meltdown riots, the rest from time and abandonment.

  As we approached, I started to get a crawling sensation on my skin. The aura of the city had always been... dark, violent. It was why there were so few true psychics in town. It was a very uncomfortable feeling to be engulfed in the emanations of millions of very unhappy people that had lived, and died, in the city for decades. Or perhaps the city was built over some evil pre-Aztec temple. Who really knows what happened? However, it was significantly worse in this building. My tolerance for this kind of thing is pretty high. Being a creature of magic with many supernatural traits, my kind has lived and thrived in some very harsh environments. Still, I felt edgy, like there was some supernatural evil just around the corner. No problem.

  Outside the door, a shattered police buoy rested on the ground. Apparently, the locals didn’t like the police leaving their markers in place. Continuing up the stairs, I noticed claw marks in the stone and mason of the walls. I paused a moment to look closer, and Cromwell quietly paused next to me and let me examine the gouges. I placed my hands close to the wall, and the officer coughed.

  “Excuse me sir, but please don't touch the evidence.” I was about to make a sarcastic remark when he continued. “Wouldn't want your genetic evidence to get mixed up with the perpetrators when the scanning crew comes through.”

  Ah. Genetics. That would be a problem for me. “Yeah, wouldn't want that.”

  “Here use these,” he offered helpfully, while handing me a pair of disposable gloves. I was starting to feel like an official deputy. It felt far too familiar for my comfort. The difference between now and back when my team was alive was at that time I was the junior member.

  After rolling the gloves on, I felt them react to the heat of my hand by shrinking into a skin tight film. Raising my hands again, I compared the marks in the stonework to my own. A little larger but not that much. I did the same to the marks just a little over and found them smaller.

  Without saying anymore, I walked up to the next floor. Walking through the door with all the old style sticky warning tape surrounding the area, I saw a scene from a bad horror film. Bodies covered the floor, some torn apart, some simply sprawled on the ground. All seemed to be adults, which was a welcome miracle, but other than that there seemed little else in common. The corpses ranged in age from late teens to probably over sixty and numbered around twenty.

  Walking over to one of the more intact male bodies, I noted there was only a little blood, though the bruises on
the neck and protruding tongue made me think that he was choked to death. Smudges on the forehead caught my attention, and I drew a startled breath in recognition. I deeply regretted this, and the breath that I had been holding was expelled as I drew some not so fresh air into my lungs. I can hold my breath for a very long time and was extremely sorry for letting my surprise release it.

  I immediately got up and staggered to the window to suck in a breath of fresh air. I hate the smell of rotting meat.

  “It's hard to believe that one human did this to another,” a deep baritone sounded behind me. Turning around, I scowled at the figure. I was getting surprised too often for my comfort. Perhaps I was getting too dependent on my sixth sense to keep me aware of my surroundings.

  Behind me stood a very large man with the physique of a body builder. A body builder wearing a heavily armored SWAT style bodysuit. He looked like a pumped Arnold Schwarzenegger ready to crack down on evildoers everywhere.

  “Geez man, why do you wear that thing,” I complained. It was hard to take someone seriously that looked a hair breath away from walking off an old Robocop movie. I don’t know where he got the armor, but it was definitely not standard. “Can't you wear long johns like every other respectable hero?” I heard a gasp behind me as one of the other officers on the scene goggled at me mocking the most respected officer of the city.

  “It works,” was all the man in the armored suit said.

  “Right. Whatever.” I love that human catch phrase. It conveys the perfect amount of dismissal. We had met a while ago. He was one of the few officers with the nerve to go alone into the Blight, and while we were far from friends we had gotten used to one another’s quirks. He seemed to haunt the bookstores and more specifically the occult section. I would have thought he was staking it out, but he is not at all subtle in that armor. He also knew how I felt about his tank of a suit. I tease him about it almost every time we meet.