The Northern Star Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

by Mike Gullickson

Dreaming glory, but there is no more

  What bloody hell we’ve birthed.

  “Stop it, Cynthia. There’s nothing you can do,” Sabot said, touching her face.

  And that was the problem. There was nothing she could do.

  The military was adapting to this new warfare. While Cynthia controlled the infantry bionics, over eighty percent of Armed Forces were softy, and they were learning to leverage their non-bionic arsenal. Cynthia had shut down all electric rail inter-city when the war began, and they had quickly adopted diesel trains to counter. Navy ships were approaching New York and D.C, and heavy weapons were being deployed in all major cities.

  And she and Evan were locked in a stalemate. She could see the Northern Star—she knew it was located somewhere in Washington, D.C. When she had turned on the network to control the Minors, it had forced its way through the MindCorp firewalls in the D.C. area and instantly created a presence overseas as well—in Africa, Iran, India, and Europe. She had seen a block of cyberspace collapse into a sinkhole with the churning violence of a waterfall. The same pit that had sucked the soul from the Sleepers; the same that had torn the moors from the Sumps and had tripped MIMEs into immersion. The Northern Star was a massive, pulsing orb. Tangled tentacles like the hair on a pubis, a multi-headed demon that would congeal into one. And through it all, she could see him: Evan screaming for control.

  “My God,” Sabot had said, watching the monitor.

  “Even weak, he’s more powerful than the King Sleeper,” Cynthia replied. “He’s creating a dueling universe. I’m cutting off all pathways out of the area.” The screen went black.

  “So we’re blind to what he does?”

  “Until he finds another way in—and he will. We have to find ‘Mother.’ Without her, he’ll go mad. It’s the only way we can win.”

  “Why can’t he just disconnect?” Sabot asked.

  “If he does, I can shut him out completely. Neither of us can.”

  = = =

  Through the blinds five stories up, Glass watched the street. They had been at Dr. Ewing’s for nine days, ever since Cynthia had taken over the infantry bionics and started the war. The first few days, a river of civilians had marched out of the city. Then it had been roving bands of gangs looting. To quell that, trucks with softy soldiers had made the rounds. And now the salmon rush was on again, as the civilians who’d thought they could wait it out ran out of food.

  “Anything on the TV?” Glass asked.

  “The same,” Vanessa said. “Cynthia is telling everyone to leave Chicago.” The networks were IP-based and rode over MindCorp’s network. They were Cynthia’s now.

  “You should rehydrate,” Dr. Ewing said to Glass. He sat back in his recliner with a book resting on his chest. Two stacks of books were next to him. Those he had finished, and those yet to be read.

  Glass raised a bucket of brine above his head. A hose from the sink had been jury-rigged to the base of the bucket. The other end terminated in Glass’s chest. Salt water seeped out of the repairs Dr. Ewing had put in place to keep Glass alive, so regular replenishment was necessary.

  But they had run out of actual salt days ago, so Dr. Ewing and Vanessa had contributed their own to keep Glass functional. The smell of urine wafted off of him.

  Glass had hoped that without Vanessa, the war would end quickly. But he couldn’t wait any longer. His bionic body was failing, and his prosthetic face withheld another secret: he was starving to death. The nutrient puck that fed his biomass had run dry.

  The streets had been too empty in recent days, but this second wave of refugees would do for cover. “We’re going,” Glass said. He put down the bucket and tore the tube from his chest. He almost fell over—his body barely functioned. A fit man in his eighties could take him. Glass looked at Dr. Ewing, who had been docile and obedient this whole time. Even Dr. Ewing could take him. Glass gestured with the pistol. “Don’t do anything.”

  Dr. Ewing’s knees popped when he stood up. “I’m on your side, Mike. I don’t know how many times I have to say that.” He grabbed his bag. Together, the three of them left the building.

  They moved against the current of people, cutting across and going into the city.

  “Don’t go that way,” they were warned.

  “Cynthia Revo took over the Army!”

  “The giants are fighting back. It’s a battle zone.”

  Faint claps of gunfire echoed down the street.

  Vanessa helped Glass along. He wore a trench coat over his shoulders and a hat pushed low. The people around them would never have believed that this broken man who shuffled past them could, when healthy, flip a car and chase down a gazelle. Even with the confusion and fear of the new reality upon them, many stopped and let the invalid pass.

  Glass had told Dr. Ewing to walk ahead of them. He started drifting right.

  “Stay in front, doctor,” Glass said. His tone lacked threat, but he had never needed it. Dr. Ewing corrected to center.

  It was two miles to the Derik Building. People were on every road, like rats leaving a sinking ship, and when they got within eyesight of the wide, fortified structure, the crowds made it easy for Glass to case what was ahead of them. They walked with the crowd past the front entrance.

  The Derik Building’s power was out, and the front was guarded by a dozen softy soldiers. Machine gunners were posted on each side of the entrance behind sandbags. The entrance itself was badly damaged—one door was nearly pulled from its hinges. Rifle casings littered the steps down to the road. The Minors that normally guarded the building had turned . . .

  They passed buildings with power before circling back. “Why is it only the Derik Building that lacks power?” Vanessa asked.

  “It’s on the grid. Cynthia,” Glass replied. To Dr. Ewing: “You can do the surgery with the backup power, right?”

  Dr. Ewing was visibly agitated. He didn’t want to be there. “Yes. But how are we going to get in? We can’t just walk through the front.”

  “I don’t think we have much choice,” Glass replied.

  They walked up the stairs. Rifles were on them as they approached.

  “Do you recognize the soldiers?” Glass asked Vanessa, who led the way.

  “No.”

  “Then just show them your card. No eye contact.”

  “Stop!” one of the soldiers called out. “What are you doing?”

  “I work here,” Vanessa said. She held out her ID.

  “Step forward, ma’am. Away from the other two.”

  Vanessa glanced back to Glass.

  “Do it,” Glass said.

  Two soldiers came down and checked her card.

  “You could just scan it,” she said.

  “Everything’s down,” the soldier said.

  “I thought Bethany could use help. She’s here?”

  “Black, thick?”

  Vanessa nodded her head. “Sure.”

  “I don’t mean it in a bad way,” the soldier said. “I like ’em both.” The other soldier shook his head and then hitched his chin toward Glass and Ewing. “Who are they?”

  Dr. Ewing cleared his throat. “I’m here to help. My name is Dr. Ewing. I trained Dr. Rafayko. You can ask him.”

  “And him?”

  Glass’s stillness felt the same as a bowstring pulled to the cheek, before the breath was released and the arrow flew.

  “He’s an anomaly,” Dr. Ewing said. “Didn’t they radio in?”

  “Nothing’s working,” the soldier said. “We were sent here from the base.”

  “He’s an L2 Minor who’s had coding problems his entire service. Cynthia Revo’s override doesn’t work on him. We need to figure out why.”

  At the word “Minor,” the soldiers became agitated, the machine-gunners’ aim a bit more steady. Glass didn’t move. “I’m dying,” he finally said. He dropped the trench coat and showed his entire body.

  The soldiers recoiled from ghastly sight. Glass looked as if he had been ground through gea
rs and fermented in the sewers. And more importantly, he looked harmless. “The Minors attacked me. Most of my face is torn off. Please.”

  The soldiers radioed in to Dr. Rafayko. He didn’t know about the Minor, but he was relieved to hear that Dr. Ewing had shown up.

  “Joseph!” Dr. Rafayko said over the radio. “You chose a lousy time to unretire.”

  Glass and Dr. Ewing watched each other. “I thought you could use some help,” Ewing said through a clenched jaw.

  “Can I. Let them in.”

  The soldiers did.

  Inside, there were four more soldiers.

  “Everyone’s up on two or higher with the patients,” one of them said.

  “Thank you,” Vanessa replied.

  They walked down the long corridor to the main station where Vanessa worked. Security lights were spread throughout the building, but their sickly light did little. Most of the floor was deep in shadows. Some of the halls shooting off were like peering into a water well. They were conserving power.

  “That was good,” Glass said to Dr. Ewing when they were out of earshot.

  “They would have shot us. I want to live, Mike,” he replied.

  Aside from the guards at the entrance, the first floor appeared deserted. They walked past a group of desks that had been pulled into a square. Blankets and rolled-up towels were on the ground. It looked like this was where the remaining staff slept between rounds.

  “Are we going to find Dr. Rafayko?” Ewing asked.

  “No. We need the parts first. Where are they stored?” Glass asked.

  “This level, toward the back. Near where they build them,” Vanessa said.

  Glass checked to make sure they weren’t being watched, and then they veered toward a sign that read “E.T. Processing and Minor Assembly” and followed an arrow into a pitch black hallway. Dr. Ewing banged his shin on a trash can.

  “Dammit. I can’t see anything.”

  “Quiet.” Glass listened. Nothing. “Follow my voice.”

  Glass guided them through the halls. One eye was shattered, but the other saw just fine. Vanessa helped him. She could feel how weak he was, his body shifting like dry newspaper in her arms.

  “How long will the surgery take?” he asked Dr. Ewing.

  “If we don’t fix your face, a few hours, once we get going.”

  They made it to the manufacturing lab. Glass could see Tank Minor bodies hanging down the line in various states of assembly. When things turned, the workers must have jetted—they hadn’t even put rubber over the bodies to preserve the tissue. Glass tried the door, hoping they’d left it unlocked, but the handle was firm. A small red light was next to it. A keycard scanner.

  “Try your card,” Glass said to Vanessa.

  “I don’t know if I have permission.” She swiped the card and the light turned green. They went inside.

  The room was vast, more a factory than a lab. A floodlight toward the back cast horrifying shadows. It was a stroll beneath the gallows. A row of bodies hung over them and curled back and forth along the assembly line. Vanessa didn’t know which was worse: here in the dark, or here with just enough light to trigger nightmares.

  “Any of these?” Glass asked.

  Dr. Ewing pushed the bodies around like they were slabs of beef. “These are Level 4.”

  “I’m Level 6.”

  “You’re the only one, right?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “It won’t be out here, then.”

  They made their way toward the back. Under the floodlight, through a two-stage contamination door, they walked into storage. It was equal in size to the lab, but filled with rows that reached to the ceiling. Glass saw a forklift in the corner. More bodies were hung like suits, but these were properly stored, brined in polarity oil and shrink-wrapped. They could be shipped anywhere in the world.

  The three of them worked their way down the aisles. Everything was arranged logically: full bodies on the right side, their parts grouped by function through the preceding aisles. They grabbed a cart and went shopping.

  “What about this?” Vanessa said. She stared up at a row of empty giants. Five hung side by side, their lax forms almost ape-like in proportion.

  “Not my style,” Glass said.

  The primary damage Glass had incurred was to his front and above the hips, when he’d crashed into the window at one hundred and fifty miles per hour. So they ignored the aisles for legs and back, but after that went row by row. There wasn’t a Level 6 arm assembly, so a Level 5 would have to do. But they did find a Level 6 abdominal sheet— two to choose from, even. And they found a chest assembly. They grabbed a new battery.

  “They keep them at a thirty-percent charge,” Dr. Ewing said.

  “Hold out your hand,” Vanessa said. Glass did—he was missing the last two fingers.

  She fished through a bin of digits, individually pickled and bagged, until she found the right ones.

  They had what they needed.

  The power supply kept the elevators working. They left the dollhouse and went up to the second floor where the surgery would take place.

  Bethany ran to Vanessa when she saw them coming down the hall. They hugged.

  “Thank God you’re safe! I didn’t know where you were—there was no way to get a hold of you.”

  Then Bethany saw Dr. Ewing and Glass.

  “Bethany,” Dr. Ewing said. She had been there during his tenure.

  “This is Mike,” Vanessa added.

  The shakes were taking Glass again. He gave a curt nod.

  “You’re ‘Mike’?” She and Vanessa had talked about him.

  “Yeah.”

  Bethany put a hand on her hip. “Your boyfriend’s Mike Glass?”

  Dr. Rafayko came down from the 4th floor. “Joseph! Vanessa! Thank God—we’re drowning.”

  Glass raised his pistol. “Enough of the meet-and-greet.”

  = = =

  The apartments Nikko searched felt haunted. Doors stood open, and ripe smells wafted into the hallway—the aroma of a society of shut-ins who had gotten used to their own odors, like a field fertilized with shit. Other doors were closed and locked, residents trying to wait it out. Nikko couldn’t bring himself to knock. The reality was that those who could leave, had. Those that couldn’t would only add to Nikko’s burden—or worse, take what little he had left to survive.

  On the third floor of one building, Nikko saw his first dead body. A boy a little older than him sat across from a broken door, holding his stomach. He was ghostly pale, covered in blood, staring at the ceiling. Then, inside the apartment, Nikko saw his second. An old man. He was face down, and the back of his head was shaped funny. The man’s right index finger was broken, oblique to the rest of the hand. Nikko was about to move on, but then he saw that the kitchen and the cabinets were closed. Whoever broke in didn’t break in for food. He stepped over the old man.

  There was food. Not much, but some. He put the handgun into his pants pocket and stuffed the bag with some dry pasta, one instant mac ’n’ cheese, and some canned soups and beans. In the fridge he found fruits and vegetables. They were wilted but edible, Nikko thought. He bit into a tomato—it tasted better than a candy bar. He put the rest on top of the cans, hoping they wouldn’t get crushed on the way back home.

  As he searched the rest of the apartment, he realized why the man had died: he had his own private armory. Empty gun racks leaned against the walls, and a reloading press sat in the corner. A large safe had been opened. One lone bullet lay where a thousand or more must have been. A gang had come for the guns.

  “Someone he knew,” Nikko said aloud. His own voice gave him chills.

  No more apartments, Nikko decided. Too narrow, too hard to get out of. Maybe downtown the stores will have food, he thought. If everyone was running away from the war, they wouldn’t have time to loot.

  = = =

  Ewing and Rafayko prepped for the surgery while Bethany went about her rounds. Glass handed Vanessa
the pistol. “Have you ever shot one?”

  “Once.”

  Glass took the safety off. He kept a round in the chamber. “If they do anything, use it.”

  “Mike, they wouldn’t.”

  “They are beholden to him, Vanessa. They win if we fail.”

  Vanessa looked past Mike. The doctors were talking quietly in the adjacent room. Dr. Rafayko’s eyes darted over to them and quickly turned away. He put on a smile as if Dr. Ewing had said something funny.

  “This isn’t about me,” Glass said. “I don’t care about me. It’s about your safety. I know what Evan does to the people he takes.”

  “How?”

  Glass paused. “I’m the one that takes them.”

  Her brow pushed against her eyes. “You abducted those people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you kill their families?”

  “Some.”

  Her mouth bent in a frown. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “It was my mission,” Glass replied.

  “No excuse. That’s no excuse.”

  “What did you think I do? I know what people say. Even your nurse friend. I could see it in her eyes.”

  “And what makes me so special, Mike? Why not finish the job?”

  “You’re mine.”

  A chill ran down Vanessa’s spine. He didn’t say it with passion. He didn’t say it with love. He spoke of her as property. She had become his possession.

  Dr. Ewing poked his head into the room. “We’re ready.”

  Glass gripped the gun in her hand. “They’ll try to kill me,” he whispered. “And if they do, you’ll be put in a pod underground for the rest of your life.” Then he dragged himself into the room.

  Vanessa watched from the corner as the doctors worked. She kept the gun pointed in their general direction. Glass’s chest and stomach had been stripped to the metal skeleton. Inside his chest, she could see bundles of wires that ran to his limbs, and little armored boxes that helped distribute the current. And directly under the chest plate was the organ capsule. It was black and armored, like a cast iron kettle. Between that and the head was the implant that connected Glass’s brain to his body.

  They had finished attaching the arm. Dr. Ewing was prepping the new electrostatic tissue and Dr. Rafayko had both of his arms inside Glass’s exposed abdomen, checking something with a meter. “Tsst.” He withdrew his hand and pulled off the glove. It was smoking. “The battery’s leaking,” he said.