Questor

by Alastair J. Archibald

  "What is happening, Armitage?” Xylox asked, standing at his shoulder but understanding nothing of the cybernetic struggle that was under way.

  "He's trying to get hold into the main control system,” the Administrator replied, perhaps simplifying the technical jargon for the benefit of the technologically ignorant magic-user. “Nothing I do seems to work. I keep getting ‘ACCESS DENIED’ messages; I think he's disabled my system operator status."

  "Perhaps this is just one of your freed slaves, taking his righteous revenge upon you,” Xylox suggested, a sneer on his lips. “It would seem that our compact is at an end."

  "You ignorant savage!” the irate Administrator exploded, his face a mask of contempt. “Whoever he is, he doesn't need access to the master security protocols to disable my access. This is a hardware interface assault; he's trying to get unrestricted control of every door, alarm, terminal and online system in the complex, you fool!"

  "Watch your mouth, scum!” Crest snapped, toying with a wicked-looking dagger in a threatening manner.

  Xylox was not one to ignore an overt insult, and he raised a hand to blast the white-coated dictator into oblivion, but something in Armitage's tone warned him that he needed to keep the arch-Technologist alive for at least a little longer. He began to sweat: the air was becoming a little stuffy, despite the gaping hole where the Control Room door had once been. Something unusual and disturbing was afoot here, he realised, and he lowered his hand, dispersing his magical energies within his body.

  "So you begin to see the problem!” the Administrator said. “Terrence closed off all the ventilation baffles in this area when he ... when you were trapped between the security barriers. We're at the hub of the complex, and it looks like all the barriers around this area are closed as well. We'll run out of air within a couple of hours, and I doubt that even all your mighty magic will help you when that happens, unless it includes the ability to manufacture oxygen. You need me, mage."

  Xylox felt unaccustomed, cold fingers of helplessness tickling his spine. He yearned to be back in the world he knew, battling demons and spirits, destroying stone walls ... anything that did not involve this cursed, ancient art of Technology. His frustration boiled over into furious anger.

  "It seems to me that this marvellous system, of which you are so proud, is nothing more than a flimsy house of cards, vulnerable to the least breeze that should come its way!” he snarled. “You think that Technology holds all the answers to life's problems, and would foist it, willy-nilly, upon all. You think you control your destiny, but you can only do so by holding human beings in foul bondage. You despise me for my ignorance of your evil art, but I revile you for your arrogance and your callous disregard for life and liberty!"

  "Be patient, Questor,” Armitage pleaded, all defiance gone from his voice. It was evident that he now realised just how tenuous was his position. “I've still got a few tricks left that this moron can't even begin to guess at. We're not finished yet."

  * * * *

  Grimm balled his fists in sheer frustration. He could be no more than fifty feet from where Drex was being held, but it seemed as if he might just as well be a hundred miles away from her. He pounded his staff on the wall, in a subconscious attempt to stimulate his intellect, and the ringing sound it made struck him; this was not the dull clang he associated with the walls of the armour-plated cell in which he and Xylox had been imprisoned.

  Of course!

  His mind's eye called up the battered, warped walls of the test laboratory in which he and Xylox had been forced to fight. The thick, unyielding armour plating of the security barriers would never have crumpled in this manner.

  Of course! The shield descends as a four-walled unit. Without the armour in place, the walls must all be like these, and not all the corridors are armoured. If there's a route I can take through flimsy inner walls like these, things would be so much easier!

  "Tattler, Emerson;” he said to the guards at his side, “is there a way I can reach this laboratory through the thinner walls, bypassing the armoured barriers? I am strong but not omnipotent. I cannot breach many more of those sheets of armour."

  Neither of the men-at-arms seemed to be possessed of a dazzling intellect, and their brows furrowed in thought.

  "Well, mage,” Tattler said, in halting tones, “I guess you could get through the wall here easily enough, and through some of the other rooms, but corridor seven's lined with a whole series of the security barriers. You'll still have at least two more to get through—four walls, that is—but it'd be easier, I guess."

  Grimm rubbed his temple. He felt unsure even of his ability to breach even two more of the obdurate walls.

  Think, Afelnor, you loathsome toad, he chided himself in the manner of one of his former tutors, Magemaster Kargan, at the Arnor Scholasticate.

  "What of the ceiling?” he asked, brightening.

  It was the older guard, Emerson, who spoke first. “That doesn't help, I'm afraid. The corridor ceiling's armoured as standard, and then you'd still need to get through the one in front of the door."

  "I don't want to get into the bloody corridor!” the Questor shouted, forgetting his formal Mage Speech. “I want to get into the damned laboratory! Can I get into the ceiling here and crawl over to there, and then break in through that ceiling?"

  Emerson tweaked his chin. “Well, I don't think the room ceilings are all armoured, so there's a chance, but it'd be a tight fit. You've got ventilation conduits, power and signal cables, not to mention the mechanisms for the shields and the air control baffles."

  "So it's tight, but is it possible?” Grimm was almost beside himself with frustration at the two guards’ slow mental processes. “Think, man!"

  "Well, I don't know; I never tried it,” Emerson sniffed, shrugging. “Take a look, if you want. You've got a maintenance access panel right here."

  The ceiling was just out of the mage's reach, and he was inches taller than his two chaperones. Regardless of any semblance of dignity, he jumped, arms outstretched, and the panel bobbled, but settled back into position. Crouching down, he leapt upwards once more and, this time, the metal sheet clattered clear of the square opening.

  "Don't just stand there,” Grimm snapped. “Give me a hand up, one of you!"

  Tattler knelt, and clasped his hands like a basket. “Here you go, Questor."

  Grimm placed Redeemer on the ground and put one foot into the guard's hands. With an obliging shove, Tattler propelled him towards the ceiling, and Grimm took firm hold of the rim of the aperture. With some effort, he hoisted himself into the ceiling void, curling like a worm in order to scramble inside.

  Once safely inside, Grimm summoned Redeemer to his side, and it disappeared from the room.

  "How'd you do that?” Tattler asked, his eyes wide in astonishment as the staff disappeared from the room.

  "You don't want to find out,” Grimm replied. “It wasn't an easy thing to learn, I can assure you."

  Emerson's description of the ceiling void as ‘cramped’ seemed to be an understatement. Everywhere Grimm looked, he saw a snarl of tubes, pipes, boxes and cables, and he could not see a way through.

  There's always the roof...

  Grimm smothered this thought at birth; he knew this would plunge him into the frigid, thin, debilitating atmosphere of the mountaintop, and he had fallen foul of this hostile environment before. He edged forward with care, seeking an opening.

  "Watch what you are doing, human!” came a muffled, indignant squeak from his pocket, and Grimm remembered the small passenger in his pocket; it was often so easy to forget that the tiny demon was concealed in his clothing.

  Nonetheless, the resourceful Thribble had, on occasion, proved himself to be a valuable addition to the retinue. He might be of considerable help in his search for a suitable route. The demon could slip through the tiniest aperture.

  "Thribble, would you be so good as to try to find a route for me through this metal jungle? I would surely appreciate it."
/>
  "Work, work, work!” the imp twittered. “Thribble, kindly do this; Thribble, would you mind doing that?” he grumbled, his stubbly head bursting from Grimm's pocket. “Very well, human, I will see if there is a space sufficient for your gargantuan bulk."

  Extricating himself from the folds of Grimm's silk robe, Thribble dropped to the metal floor with a faint thump. He leaned back to look the mage in the eyes, his expression dark.

  "I am sorry to sound peremptory to you, Thribble,” Grimm said, forcing his voice to calmness. “It's just that I have an awful lot on my mind at this moment. I would very much appreciate your co-operation in this matter."

  Thribble snorted. “As you will, human; I expect some good tales from this little adventure, mind you."

  "As quickly as you can, demon,” Grimm said, his voice almost strangled by his emotions. “If you would be so kind,” he added, seeing the netherworld denizen tossing his head in nascent affront.

  Thribble opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without uttering a word. He darted away with surprising speed, hopping and bounding like a rubber ball possessed by some restless spirit.

  * * * *

  "Ah, now you are mine,” muttered Deeks, smiling. “Open up, my darling; submit to your lord and master."

  A screen appeared on the monitor, bearing the simple words ‘SYSTEM ACCESS GRANTED. ENTER OPTION.'

  Deeks, humming to himself, selected the option ‘SECURITY', followed by ‘MODIFY PARAMETERS'.

  I'm in!

  The Tech had all but forgotten the scalpel-wielding girl, revelling in the feeling of power his technical prowess gave him.

  "Let me out, right now!” Drexelica screamed, bringing Deeks back into the real world. “I'll use this thing if I have to,” she added, brandishing the wicked-looking blade.

  Deeks eyed the scalpel and swallowed; the girl's eyes were wide, and he could not be sure if she were blustering or not.

  "Drexelica, my dear,” he cried, waving his hands in growing panic, “don't do anything stupid! The security barriers are still down, and we can't get out just yet."

  "Then I'll kill you!” the girl yelled, stepping towards him with a purposeful air. Deeks waved his hands in sudden panic, feeling his heart pounding: he hated blades.

  "If you kill me, you'll never get out!” he screamed. “I can do something about it, if you'll let me."

  "Very well,” the girl said, her eyes hooded. “I'll be watching you, so don't try to trick me."

  Deeks suppressed a smile; she would have no idea if he were tricking her or not.

  "Here we go,” he said, crossing his legs in a casual manner; in fact, he was ensuring his feet were not touching the floor.

  He tapped on the keyboard before him. Drexelica stiffened and dropped the silver blade and the comb, shuddering as the high voltage gripped her body. Deeks knew she would not be seriously hurt, since the low-current shock was intended only to kill vermin. Nonetheless, she staggered, disorientated, when he cut off the charge.

  "Now, there's no need for all that unpleasantness, darling,” he crooned, rising to his feet. “You and I could make such sweet music together."

  Deeks ran his hand through his thinning hair, as if this might make him appear more attractive to the girl. With a decisive swing of his right foot, the Tech swept the comb and the scalpel to the far wall, out of her reach.

  "I ... I h-hate you, you f-fat, ugly, horrible pig,” Drexelica spat, reeling a little as she struggled to control her voice. “I'll never lie with you, for as long as I live!"

  "That's no way to greet a friend,” the red-faced Technician said, with a nasty smile on his face, “especially a friend who cares so much for you. It's so nice to hear that you care so little for Questor Grimm, since he may die very soon. But, of course, you won't care about that, will you?"

  "What do you mean?” the girl gasped. “I only want to be free. I don't care about them."

  Deeks knew she was lying, since she would no longer meet his gaze.

  "In a few keystrokes, I can take control of the whole troop of security guards,” he said. “I hold their destinies beneath my very fingers. They'll be like putty in my hands, and they'll do exactly as I command. They have all kinds of unpleasant weapons, and they'll fight until death, if I tell them to. There are over seventy-five people I can control with a single command. They'll all attack at once, and I wouldn't care much even for a magic-user's chance against that sort of massed assault.

  "Your mage friends may become thorns in my side at some time in the future, so I'd really rather dispose of them now. Since you care nothing for them, this won't pose any hardship to you. I can do that with a single voice command, which I can give from this microphone before you can move a muscle."

  Deeks tapped the microphone stalk at his side. “Just say the word, Drex, and they're dead. Just say the word.” He brought his mouth close to the metallic bulb and looked into her eyes.

  * * * *

  Drexelica had survived for a long time in the roughest regions of Griven, stealing and cozening what she needed to survive, but, in truth, she had had little time to care for anybody or anything. Since her parents had died, five years before, she had lived on her nerves and her will to survive, living from hand to mouth; she had never had any time to spare for others.

  Since her whirlwind rescue from the tender mercies of the Griven city guards, she had begun to regard Questor Grimm with something approaching adoration. He appeared so strong and confident, but she could feel the undercurrent of unease he felt with the world and, in particular, with women; she had decided that he needed a woman in his life, whether he knew it or not. More than that, she needed him.

  For most of her short life, she had concerned herself only with the problems of day-to-day survival, but now she felt other emotions stirring within her.

  For the first time since her parents had died, Drexelica had seen another human acting out of compassion for her. She knew Grimm could have left her in that cold guard-house without a second thought; by the laws of Griven, he had every right to do so. She knew she had lived more as a fearful, suspicious animal than a human being for those long years, but Grimm had opened her eyes to the prospect of a better life.

  The young mage might be gruff at times, and distant, but Drex's natural empathy told her this was only due to his lack of familiarity with members of the opposite sex. She considered Grimm's older colleague, Xylox, a sour, crabbed man, and she saw little warmth, or even humanity, in his soul. Although she might not have felt too bothered to see the haughty, disdainful man hurt, but she regarded Grimm in a different light. She yearned to make him react to her, and she could not bear the thought of his untimely death. She no longer saw her relationship with the Questor as an obligation: she loved him with all her heart, and she would do anything she could for him.

  * * * *

  "Please don't."

  A faint, mumbled phrase tumbled from the girl's lips; a soft plea.

  "Why is that?” Deeks taunted. “Perhaps poor little Drex doesn't want her darling Grimm hurt. Is that right?"

  After a few, uncomfortable moments the girl nodded, all traces of defiance gone from her face and her manner. She looked young, defenceless and quite delectable, and Deeks wanted her to surrender to him. That would make his conquest all the more satisfying.

  "Well then,” the Technician said, his voice low and lascivious. “What can you do for me to make sure that nothing nasty happens to poor little Grimm?"

  "You couldn't hurt him,” she said, bluffing. “He'd blow you apart."

  "Oh well, in that case you won't mind if I just say those few little words, will you?"

  "Don't.” Drex's voice emerged little louder than a soft breeze, and she trembled with evident emotion.

  This made her appear all the more desirable to the lusty Tech. “We'll just have to see about that,” he breathed. “Why don't you try to change my mind?"

  Drex did nothing, and Deeks strode towards her, his brows lowered. “We
ll come on, then; I won't wait forever,” he snapped. “Come on!"

  At that moment, the ceiling collapsed in a hazy shower of metal, plastic and plaster. Deeks’ heard a single word: 'Sh'k'krar'eka'.

  His eyes opened wide as he made out the figure of Questor Grimm, standing within a pale fog of particles. It was the last thing he ever saw. Deeks’ eyes bulged, and he pressed his hands to his chest, his face purpling. The Tech thrashed for a few moments, his darkening face twisted into a ghastly rictus, and he then fell to the floor like a toppled pencil.

  Agony filled Deeks’ world, and he found himself drifting towards a distant light. As the blazing circle grew larger, he felt his pain melting away in its fierce heat. Now there was only peace and contentment.

  It's lovely, he thought, appreciating true beauty in the abstract sense for the first time in his life. His hatred for Terrence, for Armitage, for everyone who had ever slighted or belittled him faded with the light, and Deeks knew peace at last.

  * * * *

  "It's over, Drexelica,” Grimm said, as the girl rushed into his arms. He stood motionless, awkward and stiff as she hugged and kissed him, tears in her eyes.

  "Thank you, Grimm, thank you,” she sobbed. “I knew you wouldn't leave me. I knew it. You're stuck with me now, no matter what."

  "I imagine so,” the mage replied, with just a trace of emotion escaping into his voice, betrayed by an almost subliminal tremor. Drex caught it, but she chose not to embarrass the young mage further by acknowledging it.

  As she disengaged herself from the young mage's unresponsive arms, she noticed his red, sweaty face.

  "Is it just me, or is it getting stuffy in here?” he asked, perhaps seeking to cover his embarrassment over his enthusiastic reception, but Drex had to acknowledge the feeling of claustrophobia she had begun to feel was getting worse, rather than better. She realised how fast her breathing was, but she felt unable to control it.

  "It's not just you,” she replied. “It is muggy. Can you get us out of here, Grimm?"

  "I am feeling short of breath, too,” Thribble chirped, his head peering down from the ragged hole in the ceiling. “It must be because this room is closed off, and there is not much air up here. We need to get back into the main corridor, and back to Questor Xylox."