The Valkyrie Project

by Nels Wadycki

  Ana looked back over her shoulder and saw the elevator stop on nine. Then she heard an explosion. The sound came from above and the building shook. She ran.

  Back through the doors she'd destroyed to where Jrue was already pulling away.

  "Come on, you lazy bitch!" Marisol shouted out the open side door of the transport. Her eyes flicked up from Ana to the building and back.

  "What floor?" Ana called to her without looking back.

  Marisol looked at her, eyebrows scrunched together, and then realized what she meant and looked up again.

  "Nine!"

  So Ana had made the right decision not to follow the man with crooked nose and new old scar. She would be a burned-out skeleton of a person, just like the car she had knocked from the sky while on the roof only a handful of minutes prior. Would Scarface have survived? No, he’d taken himself out like the agents in the warehouse who had protected the crates of lost children. Perhaps the real question was: how did the Continuum convince so many to sacrifice themselves for their cause? Had they built in an override mechanism when they gave their agents the ability to control others?

  Ana would have to contemplate this further once she was clear of the wreckage that had begun to rain down around her. She got up on her toes and pushed her pace. Jrue picked up speed as well, but Ana gained ground until she pulled alongside the transport. The door slid open, and Ana stumbled as she tried to gain entrance to the speeding vehicle. She managed to grab a handle just inside the door and the momentum of the transport swept her off her feet, carrying her forward. It bobbed and weaved beneath her for a moment as it pulled away from the cracked, decaying pavement.

  "Close the door!" Marisol and Ana yelled in unison. The door slid shut and the whipping from the wind ceased. Inside the van there was nothing but a rhythmic drone.

  "You okay back there?" Jrue asked without looking back.

  "Good as it gets," she said.

  Ana strapped herself to the right of the young woman fitting the description of Dr. Alicia Portofil. She gave the doctor a polite nod before resting her arms on her knees and sucking in a few lungfuls of air. She wished she could fill and empty them asynchronously in order to replenish the oxygen in her muscles and brain faster.

  Ana was about to introduce herself when her comm buzzed to life. Aerin's face appeared on the screen. Ana tapped the screen, hoping that whatever he was prepared to say would impart some meaning to yet another dizzying confusion of a mission.

  "Ana," he said, full of his usual excitement, "I just got a hit on the DNA for that Continuum agent you brought back."

  A moment of silence followed, Ana's heart pounding in her chest, her brain struggling to pay off its oxygen debt, before he realized she was waiting for him to continue.

  "He just showed up in the EU database."

  She stared at the screen, and then stuttered, "But he was killed three days ago. Even with a delay in processing…"

  "There was no delay. He was born today."

  6.

  KNOWING IS HALF THE BATTLE

  Jrue had not slept in more than forty hours. The headache that had attacked him around hour twenty-three had not relented for even a moment, despite several doses of self-administered pain medication. Yet the headache was only one symptom of the madness into which he felt himself descending.

  Jrue tried to wonder if he had become an insomniac because of a phobia drawn out while being chased by the man with the scarred face, but complex thoughts grew increasingly hard to come by as his body drained of energy and he yearned for a sleep that refused to come. After sixteen hours—eight hours after he should have been asleep and resting for another mission—he'd tried some holoporn and a little self-gratification. Usually he'd be ready for bed after that, but he lay in the dark for another few hours thinking about Ana. The holoporn probably had something to do with that. At twenty hours he logged on to his terminal and looked at new hovercar models that would be ancient relics by the time he was ever able to afford one.

  Then he got the message that the Agency wanted him to take an extra day to recover from his exertion on the previous mission. He heaved a huge sigh of relief, knowing he was not close to being fit to fly.

  He tried to contact Ana but she didn't pick up. She probably had the day off too and was using the time to do what he was unable to. He imagined her in a deep sleep, curled up in his bed, warm, angelic, vulnerable.

  Not long after that, the headache bit him like a rattlesnake wielding a hammer at the end of its tail. A hammersnake.

  The next twelve inside-out hours consisted of bearing his mortal coil to the local pharmacy to load up on the weak drugs he was allowed to buy without a doctor's approval, downing them, waiting to feel any effects, and then returning to the pharmacy feeling like a smashed-up crash-test junkie. He worried that they might start to recognize him there and report him to the authorities, but that was probably just an egomaniacal paranoia induced by the slippery cocktail of sleep debt and kaleidoscopic drug interactions.

  Only after having that addled thought for the third time and then being accosted by a dealer who asked him if he might need something more powerful did Jrue's fragmented mind slot in the puzzle piece telling him to seek out a professional. No doubt there was a large staff on hand to assist agents with the formidable array of psychological issues that came with killing and having others try to kill you. The staff on hand stood a meter high, whittled from the limb of a hundred-year-old oak, struck by lightning enough times it became infused with the power to command firewater.

  When Jrue's mind, body, and soul—which he wanted to keep on hand just in case—hobbled into the fortieth hour stunted by incoherence, and an increasing belief that the malevolent visions he faced down in his apartment were real, he found himself wobbling into the soft glow of the Agency building.

  --

  "Hi, I'm Jrue," he said to the security guard at the front desk. So far, so good. "Authorization code 860149. I haven't been able to sleep for more than forty hours. I mean, not like I'm trying to sleep for more than forty hours. I mean I have been awake for forty hours."

  The dark blue woman, a conflagration atop her head, gave him a look indicative of confusion that let Jrue know that he sounded as crazy as he felt. Her suit was felt. Dark blue felt.

  "Do you speak English?" the woman asked as her hair burned a ruby red across the deep sapphire of her ocean suit. Jrue thought he had been speaking English, but paused to review his previous statement. He found he could not remember what he'd said. Perhaps he would have to do this without words. Didn't they say that sixty percent of communication was non-verbal?

  He held up his thumb, nodding at it while trying to get her to follow. He pressed the thumb into the scanner docked on the counter in front of her. He could see the holodisplay in front of her, just below the counter, shift and change.

  "Need doctor." Keep it short. Maybe he could get out a couple words.

  The woman at the desk looked a bit less confused this time. "I'll see what I can do."

  Progress at least.

  The holodisplay shifted again and this time the distortion field engaged around it so Jrue—or anyone else who might be trying to spy on the guard—could not see what she was doing.

  "I guess you must have a pretty important friend in here somewhere," she said. "She'll be down soon. Would you like to have a seat while you wait?"

  He couldn't tell if it was condescension or pity, but either way, Jrue did feel like sitting, like resting, like sleeping. He managed to find a chair by the elevators to be closer when the doctor arrived.

  When the doors parted, streamers of silky white light spilled forth, illuminating the floor and ceiling around them. Cascades of sparkle and glitter trailed the light as if announcing to Jrue that his savior had arrived.

  From within the glow emerged not a doctor—and yet she had been his doctor once, hadn't she?—but a beautiful Valkyrie who went by the name Ana. She glided toward him as if carried on the light that ra
diated from within her, clothed in nothing but smooth, delicate, flawless skin. Jrue tried not to look at her gentle round mounds and her taut flat stomach and her—no, he forced his eyes up to meet hers. The perfect structure of her face was marred by a look of concern.

  Then she was next to him, standing close in resplendent beauty, ignorant of anyone who might see her. He wondered if the sight would be enough to cure him of his insomnia on the spot, but he did not want to fall asleep. He would give up sleep for another forty-eight, seventy-two, ninety-six hours, whatever it took if it meant he could enjoy the view of her lithe, supple form in front of him just a little longer.

  "Jrue." The words came from her mouth, the melody of a familiar song, the letters spilling out in thin wisps of purple smoke that smelled of cherry blossoms. "Are you okay? You look a little haggard."

  Words of his own came, but he wasn't sure what touched her ears. Somehow his request for a doctor had summoned Ana so he could bear witness to her magnificent, glorious, angelic, virtuous nude body.

  "Yeah, let's get you up to a doctor and do some analysis."

  Ana draped his arm over her shoulders and neck and hauled him up from the chair. The supple puckered material did not want to let him go, but it was no match for the strength of the Valkyrie. The flesh on his arm tingled and burned where it touched the soft skin of her naked back. She seared him, but he did not pull away, too happy to be touching her to her to let the pain push him away. She maneuvered him toward the elevators from which she had appeared and Jrue imagined the fire of her lips pressed against his. He could taste the spice of her tongue tangled with his, a light red wine mixed with cayenne pepper. He really wanted to share some Yum Nua salad with her.

  Jrue heard words coming from his mouth again, but did not bother paying attention to whatever it was he said. Instead he focused on his arm rubbing the rippled muscles of Ana's back as she escorted him to the elevators.

  They exited into an empty hallway, tan walls melting into a faded tan carpet. It seemed to go on forever. Ana led him past several tan doors, the panels next to them alight with the room number, name, occupation, and specialty of the occupant(s).

  Ana coaxed Jrue through one of the doors and deposited him in a hard-backed chair that made him long for the leather of the chair in the lobby. As she walked to a window that separated the outer waiting room from whatever offices lay beyond, he watched and knew that he would give up any sort of comfort to keep his eyes on the vision of beauty he saw in front of him. Ana stood, talking to another gatekeeper, her sleek brown hair falling on the strong shoulders that had carried him to where he sat. The muscles in her shoulders formed the cliff edge of a rock wall that trailed down her back to meet her legs at the two round muscles that rolled back and forth as she moved her weight from one foot to the other.

  After a dialogue that he couldn't hear, Ana returned to Jrue and took him through another door.

  --

  Inky black resolved into abstract dimness as Jrue opened his eyes. The lights in the room grew stronger, just slow enough to allow his eyes to adjust. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized there was another warm body in the bed with him. Ana’s arm was draped across his chest underneath a blanket that covered both of their bodies while their heads shared a pillow. Her breath was soft, calm, relaxing, and gentle next to his ear. Her body warmed the air trapped beneath the blanket; the air in the rest of the room was a well-regulated temperature, perfect for inducing sleep. One of Ana's legs overlapped his, causing a small accumulation of sweat at the point of intersection.

  Jrue lifted the cover and saw that both of them were still fully clothed. Should he be happy he hadn’t missed anything important while in his state of mental incompetence? Or was the fact that Ana was lying in bed with him proof that his mental faculties were not yet fully recovered? Was this just a more cogent, plausible dream?

  Ana looked up at him, sleep still tugging at her eyelids, a small smile perking her mouth up at either end. Then her arm vibrated on his chest. It had to be a dream. A muffled alarm sounded, and Jrue sat up, searching for the source. The dream hadn’t ended, but he was awake.

  Ana pulled her arm from under the blanket and the sound got louder. She tapped the screen on the comm strapped on her forearm and the alarm stopped.

  “Malcolm,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Ana, we have an agent who has killed seven people in the Gallery 37 food court and has barricaded himself inside one of the restaurants. We need you to go in to help anyone who might still be inside. Since you’re already in the Hotel, I want—hm, that’s odd. I have you in a room registered to one of the Agency pilots, Jrue Gueye.”

  Ana froze for a moment. A very short moment. Her ability to fabricate truths kicked in quickly.

  “Yeah, he was having some trouble sleeping, so we had him analyzed and put him in here. I was just checking on him.”

  “Fine. Well, get down to the car pool. There is a transport prepped and waiting. I’m sending Alando Piscina’s file to your comm now.”

  Malcolm cut out and Jrue broke in.

  “Did he say Alando Piscina?”

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “I went through orientation with him. We’ve been on a bunch of assignments together. He’s a great guy. I can’t believe he would be responsible for killing any innocent people.”

  “Come on then, let’s go.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready. How long did we sleep?”

  “Long enough. Come on!”

  Ana bounced up from the bed and pulled on Jrue’s arm. He had not told her about his hallucinations, and worried that he would not be able to tell what was real if he started imagining things again. But if it was really Alando involved, Jrue knew his presence could have a positive influence on the outcome.

  He followed Ana down to the car pool, but refused to take control of the hovercar when she offered.

  “Seriously?” she said.

  “I don’t know how my reflexes are holding up right now. I remember tests being run. Did you get the results?”

  “No,” Ana said. She jumped into the pilot’s seat. “Let’s go.”

  "No results? How did you get me to sleep, then?" he asked, taking his place in the seat next to her.

  "A little cocktail the doctor created based on preliminary analysis and educated guesswork."

  "So they just guessed what was wrong and threw some drugs together to see if it would work?"

  "And it did."

  "Do you know what was in this wonderful cornucopia that worked so well?"

  "No. I mean, I have a vague idea."

  "So, if this happens again, I just have to come back to the doctor to get another knockout punch?"

  "No, by then we should have some more definite answers. Also, that's a great name for a drink. What do you think would go into a Knockout Punch?"

  Jrue threw his hands up in exasperation and Ana touched the screen between them to bring up the record of Alando Piscina's life.

  The onboard computer read them the highlights of Alando’s file as Ana flew down the express lane. The short trip left them without the time needed to hear the situation recap. They’d have to be brought up to speed by someone on site. The information would be more up-to-date there anyway.

  The building was another glass and steel relic from the early 2000's with late-century durosteel and durocrete piled on top as though poured from a giant melting pot into a hastily constructed mold. It had been locked down, but an agent posted outside the lot at ground level opened the security door to let them through. The lot occupied as much space as the streets outside were willing to give and had been all but cleared of civilian vehicles. It served as the situation room for the Agency and local law enforcement.

  “Ana Callif here,” Ana said as she stepped from the vehicle. “I’ve got Agent Jrue Gueye with me. He went through training with Alando and has been on assignment with him. I think he may be able to provide insight for negotiating with Agen
t Piscina.”

  Jrue stopped at the side of the car, the door still open. His stomach soured and his vision blurred for a moment. After suffering debilitating insomnia for more than a day and a half, would he be able to pull himself together enough to be as important as Ana thought he could be? Did he have a choice but to try?

  “Hello, Agents Callif, Gueye.” A woman in black military armor with a helmet of matching short black hair approached. “I am Agent Han, coordinating director at the scene here. As you can see we have the Chicago Police here with us in addition to our Agency reps. We've got a few more combing the building for any additional civilians who might be hiding out. And obviously, we have a team in the food court with Agent Piscina. He's pinned inside the Best Burger up there.”

  “Any line of communication open with Piscina?” Ana asked.

  "We've tried," Han said, "the agents up there now say they've only heard incoherent babbling from him thus far."

  "Does he respond to attempts at communication?"

  "He might be, but they're not sure if his rambling is a reaction to their contact or just random. There has been no direct response."

  Ana looked at Jrue, a look of compassion, understanding, sympathy, and hope fixed in her soft brown eyes. Did she know what he did and what he'd gone through? Could she have any idea?

  “I think we should get up there,” Ana said. “Jrue, you ready?”

  The pace of events continued to make his head spin. Ready? He had woken up barely an hour before after not sleeping for almost forty-eight hours and now he was expected to talk an old friend off a ledge?

  Yes. Yes, he was. Now was not the time to back down from a challenge.

  He nodded with a conviction that belied his shaky self-confidence. They left Agent Han with her team and headed across the cold gray cement to where the cold gray elevator doors waited. Their footsteps echoed against the distant walls, the voices behind them audible, but indistinct. The musty smell of concrete leaked through every crack in the pavement.