The Northern Star Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

by Mike Gullickson

Sabot took his shotgun and pressed against a storage crate, waiting for the intruder. He heard the door open, and the ticktack of light footsteps rolling into one another like a centipede. He sensed her presence beyond the crate, and he came out with his shotgun pointed toward the noise. There was nothing. She wasn’t on the ground.

  A bullet entered his shoulder and another grazed his skull before he understood that she was above him. Sabot was big, armored. Once, at the beginning of the civil war, he had single-handedly freed Cynthia from Minors that had her under house arrest. Five men dead, his girl back.

  The automatic shotgun scoured the ceiling, and in the light he saw her, darting around, parrying his aim, an odd, alien creation. She flipped down to the ground and moved behind some machinery. A bullet caught him in his right hand. Another in his left hand.

  She’s dismantling me.

  She launched onto the wall and let loose five rounds. He ducked and dodged, but each one hit, now nine in total. The fluid in his body was holding—he still had strength—but the electrostatic tissue in his hands was beginning to malfunction. But he could fire his weapon. He let off another five rounds, hitting her or near her as she lunged from one section of the wall to the ceiling to the floor, flipping end over end and back. He could fire . . .

  But I can’t re-load. She was making him waste ammo. The shotgun up close was death to anything, even her, he’d guess. But she was thirty feet away. Another Minor would crumble, but she wasn’t another Minor. She was . . .

  Evan’s.

  A rifle shot went into his right eye. The next cut off the bottom of his chin. He dropped his weapon and charged her. She didn’t move. She didn’t fire.

  I love you, Cynthia.

  He grabbed the thing, so little compared to him, and picked it up. Pain immediately erupted in his back. It was a searing, pulling pain, like someone had driven eight metal stakes into his side. They were her arms. She wrapped herself around him, a second ribcage. Her hands scissored in deep, past the armor and electrostatic tissue and into the meat that he was born with. His eyes dilated. His mouth exhaled.

  And China Girl pulled her arms back, ripping his back open like a ripe piece of fruit.

  China Girl hopped off and Sabot collapsed to the floor, dead before he hit. It took China Girl another half second to find Cynthia.

  = = =

  Dr. Lindo and Cynthia danced cheek to cheek at the center of a ballroom. Men and women, dressed to the nines, stood on the sides watching intently. In the corner, a pianist played Ravel’s Pavane for a Dead Princess.

  Tears streamed down Cynthia’s face. Numbness filled her, and she didn’t struggle as they looped around the dance floor to the haunting melody. The crowd was of the dead: Eric Janis was there. General Boen. WarDon Richards. Hundreds of men and women who had died—

  “Because of our rivalry,” Evan finished. “But look, there is one more.”

  And she saw him. Sabot stood two back, watching them turn. She tried to pull away and slap Evan, but she couldn’t. Her body was fixed to his. He was in complete control.

  “You’re a monster,” she said.

  “If so, then I’m in good company,” Evan replied. “You aren’t better than me, Cynthia. You just lost.”

  He spun her out and around. The crowd gasped and politely clapped. Even Sabot. Evan pulled her back close. “It’s been . . . a millennium? Since I’ve taken my human form,” Evan continued. “But I thought this was fitting, our last dance. It’s a moment of melancholy. I wanted everything you had. I remember how much I yearned for it. How much I hated you for having it. But had you not achieved what you did, I would have never known it was achievable. Does that make sense?”

  She didn’t respond. He continued. “And now I have more, and it amazes me the lies people tell themselves, lies akin to ‘money doesn’t buy happiness,’ so they can sleep at night as failures. Power and privilege are happiness. They’re a skeleton key that opens all doors.”

  “It’s a responsibility, Evan.”

  “A lie! Brought on by guilt, brought on by a century of the world catering to the lowest common denominator as if it were an attribute instead of suicide. People are not equal, and this conspiracy has driven the world to shambles.”

  “You did this for you.”

  “I did. And in my selfish desires, I have made the world a better place, because the fools don’t govern and the fools don’t vote and the fools can’t be bribed and the fools can’t make data-less decisions based on ancient ideologies and platforms. Do you deny that?”

  “No.”

  Evan leaned into her ear. “Then why fight me?”

  “YOU TOOK OVER THE WORLD!”

  The humor left Evan’s eyes. He was done with this dance.

  “Where are they going?” Evan asked. “The end goal is obvious, but where are they going now?”

  “I won’t tell you anything.”

  “You gave Glass back his memories, didn’t you? That’s what I would have done. And Raimey . . . you preyed on my loyalty.”

  Cynthia let out a chopped laugh. “Your ego, Evan. I preyed on your ego. You could never kill your darlings. They remind you too much of your greatness. But they can kill you.”

  The room shook. “WHERE ARE THEY?”

  The broken woman was gone. Cynthia’s gaze was as unyielding as steel. “I gave you this toy, Evan, or don’t you remember? Do you think you can intimidate me in the world I created? You’ve probably forgotten. You probably think it’s yours.”

  “It is mine.”

  “Soak it up.”

  A pulsing orb grew from Evan’s head. “I wanted to be gracious in victory, but I can make this hurt, Cynthia. I can make this last a thousand years and it will be for nothing. I will still find them and I’ll kill the bionics and I’ll take Justin for myself. And you will have suffered an eternity for a rebellion that never came to pass. Where are they?”

  “You’ll know soon enough, Evan.”

  The disco ball wrapped around Cynthia’s head. “I’ll know now.”

  Cynthia began to beep. “No, you won’t. And every decision you make from here on out will be your undoing. The world is caught up in calling you a god, but I know the truth. You are a weak, cowardly man. A backstabbing little shit who acts out of fear. All the CPUs in the world won’t change that. Nor the Pieces. A boy’s a boy, and you will lose.”

  She disappeared.

  = = =

  China Girl thrust her head underneath the bed just as the timer reached zero.

  = = =

  The underground explosion knocked Kove off his feet. Around him the road broke apart like puzzle pieces and cascaded into the sinkhole as if a singularity had formed at the bottom. He grabbed at the helicopter above and pulled it down past him, using the momentum to carry himself upward and away, while the helicopter and pilot fell below. He lunged from one sinking island of pavement to another, scrambling to flee the expanding chasm. The shockwave ripped past him. Windows from the surrounding buildings blew out, and the buildings themselves jolted into pieces like Legos, crashing to the ground.

  But he got clear. The ground still shook, but the explosion was over. He turned to survey the damage, but a choking brown fog surrounded him. He slowly walked forward, testing each step before putting down his full weight, and suddenly he was at Cynthia’s last stand.

  A hole a half-mile in diameter lay before him.

  = = =

  Evan stood on the dance floor without his date. The pianist continued to play, and his false audience still relished his presence. But a great pity filled him. A boy’s a boy, she had said, and here he stood among his imaginary things.

  That’s why I hate this form: it has memories. And suddenly he felt as he had when he was a boy: alone. He looked around at the faces of the people he had murdered to reach his goal. They smiled back, and a few nodded as friends, tipping their champagne flutes. But if any of them spoke, it was ventriloquism. It was just him, speaking through them.

  Every dec
ision you make from here on out will be your undoing.

  Those words were already worming their way into his brain. He felt doubt for the first time since he had become the Northern Star. He felt that there may be events outside his periphery that he couldn’t predict.

  Pity was replaced by anger, deep seated and misplaced, kicking the dog in lieu of the wife. He turned to the stupid grins around him and screamed. The ballroom peeled like wallpaper and his guests burst into flames, but they continued to smile and clap and drink. Their skin didn’t burn or bubble, their hair stayed as it was. Because they weren’t real. They were just his imagination—and what made him better than the fools? All the power, all the wealth, and he held an audience of one.

  He made them melt. Their eyes burst, their hair shrank to spider’s legs, their skin peeled to meat, then to skull, then to char.

  He floated in space, at first as a man, and then as a cloud of consciousness. The Pieces reassured him, but they were dogs to their master. They were forced into this congress. He had never felt so isolated. He wanted it over. He wanted to nuke the world and be done with it. He didn’t interact with the people, he didn’t need but a few—he could euthanize the world in fire.

  But who would I be a god to?

  Wasn’t that the rub?

  Chapter 8

  Justin gashed his leg on a railroad tie when the bomb detonated. Behind them, the subway tunnel exploded into mortar, and their path turned into a rifle barrel as the detritus rocketed toward them. Raimey grabbed Justin and curled him into his chest, blocking the assault with his back. As the debris blasted past them, Justin could feel the howling wind and hear the concrete slamming into the giant’s back. Grit filled the air, giving it texture, and Justin covered his mouth with his sleeve.

  “They’re dead.”

  “Don’t talk,” Raimey said.

  The stairs to the surface dumped them out a half mile from the explosion. Raimey put Justin back on his feet. A brown fog hung over the ground; it rose a mile into the air as far as the eye could see. The earth groaned from its brutal birth. Even as they watched, a building on the outskirts of the massive sinkhole toppled over, its surrender starting slow and then accelerating as gravity took hold. Justin just stared. Like a lemming, another building followed suit, and the noise of its death was indescribable in its sensory overload.

  “What are we going to do?” Justin yelled over the noise.

  “Quiet. Keep moving,” Raimey said.

  But Justin couldn’t. He was frozen, staring at the destruction. The immense clatter subsided to a dull groan that could be felt in the bones.

  Raimey looked at the sky for any indication they were being followed, but the dust blotted out the blue and blinded them. So he listened. He heard nothing. No rotors thumping above, no tires squealing, no engines revving. That wouldn’t last. Raimey grabbed Justin and ran from Cynthia and Sabot’s tomb as fast as his legs would carry.

  Ten minutes later and four miles away, he found a run-down warehouse along a belt of forgotten scrapyards and rail. He shouldered the door open and went inside. He put Glass down on his back and Justin on his feet.

  “What are we going to do?” Justin repeated.

  “We’re going to the Data Sump,” Raimey said.

  Justin shook his head. “I don’t have the equipment to link in. They’re dead! Cynthia’s dead!”

  “People die,” Raimey replied. “That doesn’t mean you abort the mission. Sabot gave you a case.”

  “Right.” Justin’s hands shook as he tried to open the clasps.

  “Breathe,” Raimey said.

  “Right.” After four attempts, he got it open. Inside were a portable Mindlink, extra battery packs, and a memory card. He pressed the memory card into the slot and put on the Mindlink. A moment later: “Yoshi.”

  He took off the Mindlink.

  “That’s it?” Raimey asked.

  “There’s a Sleeper in Lincoln Park that has helped Cynthia over the years. He has the equipment we need to connect into the Sump.”

  Raimey raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very populated area—I can’t go there.”

  “We have no choice.”

  Raimey peered out of the shed. A cloud of brown silt hung in the late afternoon sky. Helicopters had arrived and were now hovering over the city, moving in a grid. Raimey knew that, far above, more eyes were watching . . . and waiting.

  He looked at Glass. “We need to wait until night, anyway. Hopefully he’ll be awake by then and you two can go get Goshi, or whatever his name is.”

  “But what if they come after us?”

  “That’s more likely to happen if I’m stomping around with you.”

  Justin knew he was right. But he’d now have to wait for the man who’d killed his family to wake from his dream-like slumber. He sat down at the open door and watched the setting sun paint the giant brown cloud pink. Metal particulates twinkled, and it looked to Justin like a galaxy being born.

  = = =

  Present-day Glass watched the final memory of his life. Evan sat bedside, as he had done so many times before. The Glass in the bed had no arms or legs. The bottom of his face had been torn off. He was a bucktoothed monstrosity. But it was a familiar setting with an old friend.

  “I didn’t want to do this to you,” Evan said. “But you wouldn’t have let me take her.”

  The memories were no longer foreign invaders. They were now the foundation of who he was. He mouthed what he was supposed to say. “You could have chosen anyone.”

  Lindo shook his vehemently. “No. NO. If I had had time, I could have chosen anyone. If you hadn’t hidden the relationship, I could have chosen anyone. I have been prepping her for this task for ten years. Long before you decided to . . . like her. She’s special. Like you. And these times demand sacrifice.”

  “Yours? Or just ours?” both Glasses said, the one watching just a step ahead, unseen by Evan and the Glass in bed. The Glass in the bed began to cry.

  A look of disgust covered Evan’s face and suddenly he jumped on top of Glass and started shaking him, his knees digging into his chest, rocking back and forth, furious. Spit flew from his lips. “What happened to you? You were supposed to help me. You were supposed to be by my side! I gave you everything I had, and you, you threw it away for a girl.”

  “I love her!”

  “Boo-fucking-hoo, you love her. What do you know about love?” For some reason, this calmed Evan down. He sat back in his chair. “Love . . . Tsss.” Lindo shook his head. “You’re an alligator, Mike. Just because you can say the word doesn’t mean you know what it means.”

  “I did love her,” present-day Glass said weakly.

  “No more,” his bedridden past self said. “No more.”

  Lindo was quiet. He now had his knee crossed, his foot bobbing up and down. “She’s a part of me now, Mike,” he said.

  Glass paid him no attention.

  Lindo stood up, and suddenly the room morphed into a black hole. Still tethered to his medical bed, he and Lindo corkscrewed through space, the speed so great that their images flickered back and forth, at times moving faster than light.

  “SHE’S A PART OF ME NOW, MIKE,” Lindo repeated, but his mouth no longer moved. “I FEEL THE BREADTH OF MY CONSCIOUSNESS GROWING. ACROSS CYBERSPACE, BUT BETTER—ACROSS THE CONSCIOUSNESS OF EVERYONE ONLINE. RIGHT NOW, IN CHINA, A WOMAN IS WONDERING WHERE HER SON IS. HER NEIGHBOR HAS THE BOY TETHERED TO THE BED AND IS WONDERING WHAT HE’S GOING TO DO WITH THE BODY. I AM EVERYWHERE. MY MIND GROWS LIKE A FILLING SEA. I WILL GIVE YOU A CHOICE, BUT ONLY THIS ONCE: LOYALTY OR DEATH?”

  And then they were back in the hospital room as if what had just happened was a hallucination.

  “Loyalty or death,” Lindo said, this time from his mouth.

  “Death,” Glass said without hesitation.

  “I can’t kill you.” A disco orb blossomed out of Dr. Lindo’s forehead. “But I also can’t have you the way you are.” The orb attached itself to Glass. “You were speci
al once, Mike. Beautiful in your own, violent way. And I will make you special again.”

  = = =

  Glass woke to his own scream. It was night; he could see. Justin and Vanessa’s father sat around him as if he were the campfire. He stood up.

  “Are you awake?” Raimey asked.

  “Yes,” Glass said. “Where are we?”

  “Outside Chicago. Cynthia and Sabot are dead. Lindo found us,” Raimey replied.

  Glass walked to the door and looked out. A normal person would see stars in the sky and a smear of black that blotted the cityscape, but Glass saw everything, even in the fog. The helicopters circled close to their location.

  “Glass,” Raimey said. Glass turned. “Cynthia gave Justin instructions, and apparently the equipment we need to find Vanessa is at some guy’s house north of here. Can you escort Justin there?”

  “Do we just need to retrieve the equipment?”

  Justin thought about it for a second. “Yes. He may have some instructions, but pretty much.”

  “We need him alive, right?” Glass said.

  “Yes,” Justin said, annoyed.

  “I can just go. It’ll be faster.”

  “Can you remember the instructions?” Justin asked.

  Glass looked to the ground and shook his head with uncertainty, his first human gesture in fifteen years. “I don’t know. I’m here. I know, I’m me. But I don’t know. I haven’t had a memory in a very long time.”

  “But you’re well enough to fight?” Raimey asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then escort Justin.”

  = = =

  Kove was alone. For the last four hours, helicopters had thumped around, scanning for the heat signatures of the fugitives while the Minors cleared the buildings. The effort continued, but it was pointless. They had obviously escaped. Kove had tired of running around, and now he sat at the edge of the abyss.

  China Girl was dead. Her intercom went down with the explosion, and it never came back up. He had hoped to see a piece of rock move, and then some more, and then her hand—but it wasn’t going to happen. Kove was sad for someone he’d known for only a day and a half. She’d treated him like he was normal. And compared to her, he was. He thought about how she had only seen the outside world for a day, and now she would never see it again.