The Northern Star Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

by Mike Gullickson

  He stood up and the world spun. He careened into a building. He heard the wet sucking sound of his breathing. He had to find Chao. He knew he was downtown and that Glass wouldn’t leave the city. Unlike Cynthia, Glass had no safe house.

  He found his helmet. Gingerly, he pressed the skin tag that had been his face upward to put it on. His flesh pressed against the visor like raw chicken.

  I’m going to kill Glass. He ran toward the center of the city where Chao commanded the last team of Tank Majors. The open nerves of his mouth screamed, but he channeled the pain into rage. Time was of the essence.

  = = =

  Chao and his team surrounded MindCorp Headquarters. They were waiting for the nerds to repair the damage to the final data nodes. They had been told it would take hours. Chao wanted to puke when he saw Kove appear through the dust and skirmish of the war. His mouth looked like afterbirth. Chao shook his head as he approached, offering no sympathy.

  Glass took Vanessa.

  “You don’t have her?” Chao yelled—fuck the link. Let the newly anointed mute use it.

  I’m in horrible pain.

  “Good. You should be. A fucking Minor beat you.” Two Revos charged Chao and he plucked their heads off like they were chickens. He tossed them aside. “See? Not hard.”

  We need to find them.

  “First you need a coagulate to stop your face butthole from bleeding,” Chao said. “How do you suppose we find them? We got nothing online right now.”

  A heavy ran up to Chao. “I’m down to seventeen Majors. We have to retreat.”

  Chao looked across the wide area of the battle. They held the perimeter, and they could call in artillery strikes to dissipate any attempted massing of Revos. The plan was to hold until Evan ordered them to attack.

  “Why? Things look under control,” Chao said. The heavy, Tank Major Anthony, shook his head gravely.

  “They dragged the other Majors away. I saw what they’re doing to us.”

  Chao waited with an eyebrow up. Behind him, Kove tried to not slurp in blood.

  “They’re tearing us out and putting a controlled Minor in,” Anthony continued. “We have forty downed Tank Majors and no bodies. Soon they’ll be coming.”

  “You’re shitting me,” Chao said. Again he looked across what had become the battlefield. MindCorp HQ remained unscathed. Revos stood around it like a moat, and the buildings around it were like broken teeth. Civilian bodies were everywhere, bloated from the bacteria that feasted on them. Chao’s dad, a bastard, used to say, “Some people’s survival instinct is to run into traffic.” And these dumb fuckers, trained with years of entitlement, proved the point. Literally walking onto a battlefield demanding their fucking Internet be turned on. Fucking retards.

  “How many Tank Majors are we missing?” Chao asked.

  “Eighty-three.”

  Fuck, Chao thought. No way to get in touch with Evan right now. All communication was cut.

  “So they’re regrouping with Tank Majors and we have . . .” Chao looked around. “Twenty with us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re losing,” Chao said.

  “Yes, sir. Any reinforcements?”

  “No.” Cynthia had cut the power to the rail, and the last diesel-powered train that had attempted to come in had been overrun. All the softies were killed and the supplies were taken.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but do we have a tactical nuke?” Tank Major Anthony offered. Chao laughed.

  “It’ll be a tough news conference if we nuke Chicago,” he replied.

  If we retreat, we lose. We have to go in. It’s our only chance before the Tank Majors go online, Kove said.

  Chao had to hand it to his crippled Twin: he was right. They would be disobeying orders, but Evan was still stuck in space. To stay the current course would be to guarantee MindCorp’s victory.

  He turned to Anthony. “Gather the heavies.” Then to a softy commander: “We need suppressive fire as we charge.” Both soldiers ran off.

  They regrouped. The softies pulled up in vehicles armed with belt-fed grenade launchers and heavy-caliber machine guns. Anthony came back with his platoon of Tank Majors. They were badly beaten and hollow-eyed, but functional.

  Nothing escaped the eyes in the sky, and the Minors had already coalesced toward their position. Most of the Minors were biologically dead. Those with modified eyes for night work would stare at them, but the eyes of the others had rotted inward. Their heads hung limp. The hover-rovers guided them as they fought.

  Chao and Kove led. They charged from the blockade onto the MindCorp campus. Grenades led the way, splashing Revos to the side, chewing them up, though they didn’t die. hydraulshocks rang around Chao and Kove like gongs, and Revos evaporated into chunky mists. The Twins sprinted and lunged through and over the Minors like wild stallions, too powerful to be fenced in.

  If they got inside, if they got to the Core, then—ta-da, all done. Thanks for playing. Yes, we’ll take the medals. All this nonsense for nothin’. The Twins and the team of Majors charged head down, as a scrum, toward their goal.

  Revos jumped them, piling high, pouring out of MindCorp and stacking like a wave. Hundreds of hands and feet tearing at their helmets, tons of bionic flesh, trying to latch explosives. One of the heavies tripped, and the Revos pulled him down in a feeding frenzy. The giant drifted away with fifty Revos as pallbearers.

  “Keep going!” Chao screamed. The grenades from the MK19 blew craters around them. Minors, grievously wounded, their biological bodies dead now if they weren’t already, squirmed toward them, or were thrown like living grenades by the few that were still whole. Neither Chao nor Kove could spin like the heavies, and two of the metal hulks sprinted to the wings and started to twirl like tops, clearing the path. They were still two hundred yards away. Another Major went down, drowned in a sea of hands and sneering corpses. And then another, when Minors willfully choked up his drive chains with their bodies.

  The gates were in sight now—just fifty yards away, maybe less. But instead of more resistance, they were getting less. Chao saw empty pockets between groups of Revos. He ripped three Minors apart and looked at the others that were coming toward him. None of them were whole. They were missing limbs, steaming from punctured batteries, on the very edge of functionality. Cannon fodder. Chao watched as Cynthia’s hover-rovers—which normally zipped around the battlefield like hummingbirds—drifted out to the perimeter.

  Chao’s team was closer to MindCorp than any soldiers had gotten throughout the skirmish. They were the last of the giants in the city. And yet the defenses here were perfunctory at best. This wasn’t right.

  Cynthia was smarter than them.

  Chao and Kove thought the same thing, at the same time: Everything is underground.

  When MindCorp was built, the architects hadn’t understood some of Cynthia’s demands. She was patient when she explained the Colossal Core and its need to be underground. That made sense. But why did she insist on twelve stories of foundation when seven stories would do? Why access to the support beams on every tenth floor? The architects weren’t soothsayers, able to see the future and the potential paths that Cynthia’s invention would lead her. But history had shown that progress makes a mockery of previous conventions. And the very implication of creating a new universe was that the old ways were dead. What would a government do when they realized that their hold on society was slipping away in the wake of her invention? Cynthia knew: they would not let it stand.

  Luck favors those who prepare. And so she did.

  As Chao and Kove looked on, shaped charges flashed up the building. The earth shook and MindCorp headquarters imploded, causing the top of the building to ride down the center, spitting out massive sections of structure like a knife down a cob of corn.

  The giants sprinted away, but not fast enough. A slab the size of an apartment building crushed six of the Tank Majors at once. House-sized chunks spewed outward like a meteor strike. Chao and K
ove scrambled, ducking and dodging the massive debris that crashed all around them.

  They ran until they were clear, and then they turned and surveyed the chaos behind them. Wordless shock passed between the Twins. MindCorp headquarters was now just a mountain of jagged edges and immovable mass. Grey dust filled the air. The earth trembled. Traversing a landscape that would look at home on Mars were a mere seven surviving Tank Majors. Tank Major Anthony wasn’t one of them.

  “Is this it?” Chao asked. The Majors nodded, absently. None of them spoke.

  But then two more broad shadows appeared and made their way toward their brethren, the last of the Tank Majors in the city.

  “Good,” Chao said.

  But then the two became five, and the five became twenty. The shadows coming toward them moved in awkward fits.

  They aren’t ours, Kove thought to Chao.

  They weren’t. These Tank Majors’ heads hung like broken flowers, most of their chest armor was missing, and wedged into the body cavities—which once held men—were limbless Revos cut down to fit. Behind them, Cynthia’s Minors followed in military formation as if they were on parade.

  We have to retreat, Kove thought over the comm.

  Chao was stubborn and mean, but not stupid. “Fall back!”

  The surviving Majors didn’t have to be asked twice. Chao ordered the softies to retreat as well, and he, Kove, and the heavies ran for their lives.

  We have to find Vanessa, Kove said. Over the comm, Chao agreed.

  MindCorp held the city.

  = = =

  At the Core, Sabot barely felt the millions of tons of rubble collapsing down around them. A light fixture vibrated. One of the monitors bounced. That was it. They weren’t trapped, but they were now nearly impossible to get to. Revos choked the fiber conduits that Sabot had used to rescue Cynthia. They had enough food in storage to last five years, if it came to that.

  “They’ve retreated. Six enemy Tank Majors were killed. We’re now salvaging their bodies,” Cynthia said. “Report. Report. Report. All enemies are retreating in all cities. Sending hover-rovers to surveil.”

  On the huge high-definition monitor, Sabot watched an overhead view of the live battle. The red dots of the enemy were scattering, pursued by the green dots and blue dots—the Minors and Revo Majors. Cynthia controlled their bodies, but it was Sabot who commanded them. They were taking back the data nodes.

  “Team D, flank on Ohio. Teams X and P move to tenth floor of skyscraper marked 332 for cover fire. Team C, hold,” Sabot said.

  The dots reacted to his orders instantly. Artillery rounds fell from the sky. Soft soldiers and tanks zeroed in on their positions. But it was difficult to kill the dead. Sabot continued the drill, exhausted by weeks of this effort, but unwilling to sleep as his love killed herself with her own drive.

  Cynthia appeared on the screen, a vibrant, fiery version of herself. The avatar lived in a construct that was identical to her office. Sabot could even see sunlight shining through.

  “You look exhausted, Sabot. Are you okay?” she asked. “It’ll be over soon.”

  “You’re the one who needs to take a break. I’m worried about you.”

  “Sabot, I’m fine. I feel—”

  “Not your mind—your body.”

  The avatar followed his eyes to her shell. She had been connected in for over two weeks, fed intravenously. The chair wasn’t designed for long-term Sleepers, so Sabot had had to clean her like a baby when she urinated or evacuated her bowels. Deep frown lines were etched into her face like wounds, and she looked much older than her forty-five years.

  “My God, I’ve aged. I had no idea.” The avatar’s grim expression was momentarily mimicked by her flesh. “But no, not now. We’re close. If he doesn’t find Vanessa, and we can push back his hold on the network, he won’t survive. He can’t. The Pieces will destroy him.”

  “You shouldn’t have tried to kill Vanessa. We should have offered them shelter,” Sabot said.

  “If she were dead, the war would be over,” Cynthia said coolly. “You don’t see what I can see, and you can’t feel what I feel. When the Northern Star takes over a node, it kills everyone that is stupid enough to be connected to it. Hundreds of thousands of civilians, maybe more, are already dead. It’ll be their rotting stench that gets the neighbor to knock on the door. Was their life worth less than Vanessa’s? Is her value more, because we know her name? If so, we are foolish leaders, just like the rest.

  “Evan doesn’t seek power—he seeks immortality. And for that, he must have absolute power. He will kill anyone who whispers against him. Anyone that poses even the semblance of a threat. He will hijack minds in a groupthink to increase his intelligence, he will execute atrocities that everyone, including us, will be blind to.

  “He must be stopped.”

  = = =

  The streets were empty. Vanessa stood at an intersection, and she recognized where she was. They had been near here just hours before. She knew what Glass was doing. She ran to Dr. Ewing’s apartment building.

  The building’s front door was knocked down. She raced up the stairs, able to hear the struggle already. When she arrived at Dr. Ewing’s apartment, she found the door torn from its hinges. She charged inside.

  She saw Dr. Rafayko first. He was staring up at the ceiling. His face was deformed—the skull had been crushed. Blood leaked from his ears.

  She heard an “oomph” from the bedroom. It was the sound of a person no longer able to speak. She walked in.

  Glass was holding Dr. Ewing in the air by his face.

  “What did you tell him?” Glass asked.

  Dr. Ewing was sniveling. Vanessa could see his eyes between Glass’s fingers. They darted over to Vanessa.

  “Make him stop,” he pleaded.

  “What are you doing?” Vanessa asked.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Glass said. “But I need to know what he told Evan.”

  “Vanessa, please!” Dr. Ewing said.

  “My dad is in New York,” Vanessa said. Glass turned his head. She continued. “I heard it on the radio.”

  “He was based in South Africa,” Glass said. Dr. Ewing was clawing at his face, but Glass barely even noticed. “He’s come here for you.”

  The chronic disdain she held for her father wilted, and a strange warmth, akin to hope, filled Vanessa’s stomach. “Do you think?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “Please, Vanessa,” Dr. Ewing pleaded. They ignored him.

  “If we get to him, we have a chance,” Glass said. “The Twins can’t take him. They think they can, but they can’t. Evan won’t kill you.”

  “Please, Vanessa,” Dr. Ewing said again. “I HAD NO CHOICE! Evan will kill me.”

  Vanessa walked up to Mike. “What about me?” she asked.

  She hugged Mike from behind. She felt her shirt soak with blood, both the doctor’s and his. She felt his incredible strength. Fine, he was a monster. But the world needed those, and did they not deserve love? If they gave you their life, did they not deserve that in return? She felt Mike’s body relax for just a moment. Maybe her acceptance was a sanctuary. Not changing the man—the man could not be changed—but giving him a momentary reprieve from his nature.

  But it was momentary. Vanessa felt Mike’s body return to steel, and he resumed the interrogation.

  “You don’t have to worry about Evan anymore, doctor,” Glass said. “I’m going to kill you first. Now—what did you tell him? What don’t I know?”

  Dr. Ewing whimpered. “Please, please . . .”

  “Shhh. Don’t beg. I’ll be quick. Just tell me, what don’t I know?”

  The satellite phone in the living room rang. Dr. Ewing shook in fright. The harsh tone carried into the bedroom. Glass leaned in, his green twirling eyes an inch from the doctor’s bloodshot brown ones.

  Dr. Ewing confessed, “I put Vanessa’s bug inside you. He can find you anywhere.”

  Brring, brring, brri
ng. Brring, brring, brring. The phone would stop, just to ring again.

  “That’s him.”

  “You don’t want to be here for this,” Glass said to Vanessa.

  “Yes, I do.” She hugged him tighter.

  She felt his body contort, the electrostatic tissue bunch in his chest and shoulders, as he crushed Dr. Ewing’s skull. When he was done, they went into the living room, and Glass answered the phone.

  For a moment there was just silence. And then Evan spoke. “I had no choice, Mike. You’re doing exactly what I thought you would do. Is Dr. Ewing dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Rafayko?”

  “Yes.”

  “Her life won’t be as bad as it is for the others. She isn’t a Forced Autistic. It’s just her as herself, guiding the Pieces.”

  “Do you think you’ll convince me, Evan?” Glass replied.

  “I hope to. Unless you kill her, she will come here.”

  “You could have chosen anyone else.”

  “No, Mike, that’s not true. There are others, sure, and maybe if you had told me about the two of you, I could have done something different. But I can’t profile anyone else now, and we are in the inevitable: either MindCorp takes over, or I take over, or someone else takes over. The box is open, and it can never be closed. The idea exists with the means to execute it.”

  “She’s mine,” Glass said.

  Evan was quiet. “You’re fine with the world going down the toilet?” Evan finally asked. “You reptilian psychopath. When you look at her, do you see round edges, do you feel her warmth and fascinate at the discovery? Do you acknowledge that her heart beats, and that at some point it will go still—and will that be sad? Can you articulate those thoughts, or are they mysterious syllables that you can form in your mouth but never feel in your soul?

  “She romanticizes what you are because she doesn’t understand it. The buzz will fade, Mike. You know it will. And when it does, she’ll see what I know and accept and appreciate: that you’re a monster. You were before you killed your first man. You still are, after the thousands that have had you as their witness when you blinked their life away. What do you think is going to happen? Are you going to get an apartment together? Are you a ‘project’ she can work on?” Evan laughed at the thought. “Are you going to become a perfect husband? Maybe get some similar hobbies? What sanctuary can you provide that isn’t absolute zero?”