by Lee Bond
Nevertheless, Barnes’ blackEyes detected so much more. So very much more, and all of it was terrifying. It was said Trinity never did anything -never allowed anything- that did not serve It’s purpose, and staring at the illuminated, angular vision of Chadsik al-Taryin, Alyssa shivered. What need could the monstrous and apparently eternal machine mind have for such a one?
Metal and flesh and who knew what, fused and molded together in ways that defied science and betrayed logic was how best to describe Chadsik al-Taryin. Barnes’ blackEyes were military grade, programmed to differentiate between Latelian and Trinityfolk and configured to identify every form of enhancement known to either group, yet they failed to list more than a dozen such modifications. The ones so identified had her stomach quivering. The ‘man’ was a monstrosity and she knew all about monsters.
There were hundreds of enhancements nestled within the lifeform calling itself Chadsik al-Taryin and Doans rather suspected that there could be hundreds more too alien, too … weird … to even be found.
What need did Trinity foresee? Chadsik al-Taryin was frightening, a true terror, and she’d allowed him onto her planet to deal with a man who was just as worrisome.
Alyssa wondered if she’d made a mistake. For the first time, the Chairwoman doubted. Her mind turned to Garth Nickels.
Of the two, it was honestly hard for her to say which was more dangerous. With his weapons and insanity, Chadsik was blatantly the more destructive, and yet Garth, with his ties to The Box and the carnage she knew he’d caused since landing, seemed somehow worse. “Is it … is he killable?”
“Unknown.” Barnes admitted with slight hesitation. “And I honestly suggest we do not try. I’ve detected a non-LINK feed passing through unused frequencies from him to Penzengraaf. There is little doubt that if he dies, is seriously wounded, or if the signal is manipulated, the Hungryfish will launch her payload.”
“Can that happen? Why would he consider … What about the laws …” Alyssa closed her eyes. Chadsik al-Taryin followed no rules at all, so why should he be concerned about violating those concerning the machine/mind interface? He was mad. Probably the maddest thing in all creation. And she’d let him on the planet to deal with Garth Nickels. Was she going mad? “Continue. Don’t get in his way. Other than Vasily, you are my most valuable asset.”
Barnes eyes, the absence of color, glinted brightly. “Absolutely, Chairwoman. I’ll stay out of his way altogether.”
Chad Begins Proselytizing
Chad waggled his finger at Barnes, a schoolmaster admonishing a naughty child. “Goodness gracious, my son, you should see the look on your face.”
“What are you going to do with me?” Barnes asked patiently.
Death was a certainty, so there was no point in belaboring their conversation with useless pleas or fruitless bargaining. Sitting there, gazing upon the manufacturer of his death, Barnes marveled clinically at the man’s techniques: the cybernetic assassin, appearing out of nowhere, had efficiently severed all communication lines to the ‘LINKS with a powerful, directed EM burst. Following that, Barnes was unashamed to admit that Chadsik had beaten seven different grades of hell out of him without -he was regretfully certain- even trying very hard.
“Oh, my son, that’s no way to talk.” Chad tsked. “Wot if I decided I was goin’ to let you live, hey?”
“I find that impossible to believe, Chadsik.” Barnes gestured at his bonds. “Even though I am still affected by the EM pulse, the damage isn’t permanent. Eventually, I will restore my connectivity, and then I will rain fire down upon your head. I doubt even your alien body could withstand such punishment. Even now, internal systems are repairing themselves.”
“You would be surprised at wot I can ‘andle, mate.” Chad replied gloomily. The Voice was nattering in the back of his head again and he’d only just popped some drugs. Either it was getting stronger or the drugs he was taking were getting weaker.
Chad gloomily suspected the truth lay somewhere in the middle. He’d been taking so many different narcotics for so very long that his damnable Offworld cybernetics had probably chosen to take the high road and were now working against him.
“I ‘ave been back and forth betwixt ‘ell’s bloody gates more times than I care to remember. But,” the assassin looked over the edge of the Eising Bank and down at the God soldiers, “you are right. I is not letting you live, and exactly for the reasons wot you pointed out.”
“A wise decision.” Barnes tried vainly to detect any of the relay stations in the neighborhood, but could not. He hadn’t lied: his systems were repairing themselves, but he would be long dead before they’d be of any use.
Barnes wished Doans had been a little less distracted during their final conversation; if she’d focused on the conversation, the Chairwoman couldn’t have failed to notice he’d been transmitting along ‘normal’ channels. That he had relayed his image through the ornamental –and mostly useless- proteus at his wrist. Failing that, she should’ve noticed that the footage he’d sent of Chadsik al-Taryin had been a recording.
Chad lit a cigarette and offered it to Barnes. When the superspy declined, the assassin shrugged and took a thoughtful drag. “Now,” he blew a puff of smoke, “wot I is wonderin’ is, is you the best this world ‘as got to offer?”
“No.” The look on Chad’s face was comical. He’d clearly thought otherwise. Barnes explained. “My tasks were … janitorial, so to speak. I watched the watchers, made people and things vanish, accomplished goals that the Chairwoman couldn’t have associated with her good name. As such, many of my modifications aren’t combative but intrusive. I have armaments, to be sure, but your EM burst disabled access. I am a ghost.”
“Explain.” Chad sank to his knees and stared directly into Barnes’ colorless eyes.
“I leave no fingerprints in the digital world, Sa al-Taryin. The only people who know me know me by face. I am a ghost.” Barnes said again, thinking of everything he’d done in service to the Chair through the long years.
“So … wot you is sayin’ is that there is people out there wot is built for mayhem?” Chad jerked his head towards the square where the God soldiers stood guard. “Worse than that lot?”
Barnes nodded. “Believe it or not, the soldiers down there are the lowest of men. They are cannon fodder, designed to plow through massive fortifications and build up terror. A stage two God soldier, who receives his commands from a non-augmented ranking officer, commands them because they are literally incapable of forming anything but the most rudimentary of thoughts. Following that, there are third stage soldiers, warriors built for long-term engagements, death dealers capable of surviving in dangerous terrain for weeks without assistance, backup, or sustenance. They function on their own most of the time and can achieve quite a bit without communicating with their superiors. They are as nothing to the next phase, a stage four God soldier.
Those are men and women outfitted with enough onboard armaments to take down enemy platoons without danger to themselves. There is one stage IV God soldier for every hundred thousand subordinates and if you see one, you will be in a conflict you cannot hope to win. It is believed that a single Foursie can conquer an entire planet. Certainly, if you know where to look in our history books, there is evidence to support these wild tales.” Barnes struggled pointlessly against his bonds for a moment before continuing. “There are … there are rumors of other augmented soldiers, but they aren’t seen anywhere but on the battlefield, and only by authorized personnel. And the dead, of course, but they cannot speak. I couldn’t tell you a thing about them that is not rumor, speculation or lies. Ghosts know only what they know.”
Chad pulled a knife out of his boot and displayed it for Barnes. He held it between them. “I reckon these ‘other’ soldiers ‘ave never been seen wanderin’ about this luvverly planet, hey? I reckon I is goin’ to ‘ave to avoid these level 4 fellas, though, hey?”
“It would be in your best interests, yes.” Barnes ignored the knife. His
body was only flesh. The flesh was made to pass. He smiled. “If you wish to complete your task, that is. You may find that difficult, Chadsik al-Taryin. Garth Nickels has drawn the interest of powerful people.”
“Hamilton Barnes, are you ready to have your soul prepared for the final crossing?” Chad clenched his jaw tightly. The Voice. The Voice loved Hospitalis. Try as he might, it seemed there was nothing he could do to keep it quiet. Chad loathed The Voice, hated the excesses it pushed him into; it affected his Art and that was intolerable. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. The Voice was … the Voice was… the Voice was.
“What?” The agent laughed against his better judgment, marveling even as he knew his life was over at the … at the change in his captor.
“Are you willing to admit Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior into your life?” Chadsik sheathed the knife and pulled out an ancient Bible he’d found during one of his many trips into the world beneath Ground Zero. He’d been lugging it around for no particular reason beyond it was funny, but now that he was on a planet filled with anti-religious nutcakes, Chadsik realized he had been given the Good Book in order to spread the faith. “I can see by the stunned look in your eyes that you are indeed ready to receive the Lord. We will begin with a passage that should be of particular interest to you and your people. Before you pass, it would benefit you to emulate His life.”
Barnes tried to close his mind, to blot Chadsik al-Taryin out, but couldn’t. His sole reason for existing was to pay attention.
Chadsik licked his finger and opened to the passage. He began reading aloud. “’And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with thy entire mind; and thy neighbor as thyself…”
Naoko Sees the Ugliest Prote Ever
Garth looked out the corner of his eye to see if Naoko had both of her hands on the wheel.
She didn’t. Still didn’t.
In his many years in SpecSer, he’d only ever run across one woman who drove with less concentration than Naoko Kamagana, and that person had been Lieutenant Marcy Cakes, a disgruntled tank instructor doing her damnedest to get fired or killed or both, thereby ending her career in SpecSer.
Garth grinned at the thought of Marcy Cakes, piss-blind drunk, hair disheveled, blinking blearily … even as she drove through a building on her way to buy more booze. She’d finally gotten her wish. Thinking about that threatened to turn him morose, so he turned his attention back to his date.
Naoko was a close second. She sped, which was acceptable, given the stipulation that both eyes stayed on the road and both hands were on the wheel. She took corners at speed, though, relying on the remarkable technology of her car to keep all four wheels on the ground. That was unacceptable. She stopped short, which had him flinching like he was having seizures. She antagonized other drivers by taking up residence less than an inch from their bumpers, forcing him to prepare for anything from an accident to straight-up fisticuffs. Worst of all, Naoko seemed to change lanes to match –and he grew more certain of this with each passing second - to match the position of the moon. He was sure of it. Entire lifetimes flashed through his mind and he refused to believe for one second that he saw her with her eyes closed at times. No one drove with their eyes shut, not even Marcy Cakes.
Not only did Naoko not pay attention to speed limits –there weren’t many but she ignored them all with aplomb- she talked about everything and anything that caught her attention, from street signs to birds flying in the air.
Theoretically, she was giving Garth a high-speed driving tour of Central City, bestowing upon him the wisdom of her many years on Hospitalis.
In truth, she was giving him a mild heart attack.
He’d seen a Gamma Plateau firing down on him from the heavens, but a simple drive in the city with a woman had him doubting his own survival.
As they roared past a cab so fast it seemed to be standing still, Garth’s legendary steel will buckled. “Naoko, could you either slow down a little bit or put both hands on the wheel?”
“Sa?” Naoko swerved to avoid a slow moving intercity bus. She caught sight of Garth gripping the passenger door handle tightly, and laughed. “We are in no danger. The car is running a background avatar programmed with my driving skill. It watches out for anything dangerous. I could let go of the wheel and we would be fine.”
The crazy broad looked like she was about to demonstrate her absolute faith in avatar programming. Garth considered the likelihood he’d get out of the car with his hair turned bone white. Chances were high. “Still … still.” Garth seesawed his hand. “You know what I mean?”
Naoko stuck out her tongue, but relented. In deference to her passenger’s wishes, she not only slowed down to a more comfortable speed but put both hands on the wheel. “There you go, sa! Nice and slow for an old man.”
“Thank you.” Garth let go of the handle and smiled. He heaved a sigh of relief. “So. Our plans for the day?”
Naoko was proud of their day. Owing to his nature, Garth probably wasn’t considering their outing as a ‘date’, but regardless of his thoughts on the matter, she’d given their first date together a great deal of consideration; she thought of it that way, and as far as Naoko Kamagana was concerned, that was the only thing that mattered.
Smiling at Garth, Naoko spoke, “Well, since I promised you I would help you to understand the Game as only a Latelian can, we are going to pay a visit to The Museum of Natural History. It is a very interesting place, sa. Our past is quite exciting!”
“Oh yeah?” That was exciting. He’d spent a lot of time working out how he was going to get to The Museum to see ‘The Box’. None of them had included just wandering in with a native. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? Grimly, he suspected Bravo’s intrigues; if the thirty thousand year old machine could make him Hulk out at a moment’s notice, surely it could make him miss things, obvious things, that could help him in his pursuits.
He hated himself for automatically weighing Naoko’s presence against the prying and spying eyes of Chairwoman Doans and any other institution that found him interesting, but that’s what he did.
Being with Naoko would not only get him through the front doors, her obvious exuberance over The Museum would allow the two of them to wander throughout the entire place without attracting attention. He was guiltily pleased at the amount of cover the Latelian would bring.
He’d just have to remember to treat Naoko –whom he already liked more than was rational or even wise- like they were on a date, and not as though she were an employee or underling.
Calmly, then. “What all’s in there?” He wanted to shriek that he knew damned well what was in there, but managed to refrain.
“It is too much to go into right now, sa, especially if you wish me to concentrate on the road.” Naoko changed lanes, taking a road that would take them to the old Guillfoyle building. “It covers our entire history here in Latelyspace but the most important thing it covers is the entire History of the Game. For me, the most interesting part is The Tomb, though few people go into that hall any longer.”
“Why’s that?”
Naoko shrugged. “People today aren’t interested in what Players thousands of years ago looked like, and are even less concerned with what they did! It is very unfortunate. Most everyone has forgotten that The Game was much more … hmmm … artistic? Yes, artistic.” She laughed at Garth’s perplexed look. “Do not get me wrong, sa. I love The Game. As I warned, I’m a passionate Gamehead. My areas are the mechanics, the fluidity of probability, not on the mayhem. There is very little beauty in pulling someone’s head off.”
“I get what you’re saying.” Garth felt his hands flop around on his lap. His left hand wanted to breach the gap between him and Naoko, crossing what he was referring to as the Great Gear Shift Divide while his right was currently following orders to attack and detain the traitorous left. Hopefully, the traitorous left would fall back to a neutral position and follow o
rders. “So everyone way back then was different?”
“Oh yes.” Naoko turned down the road that would take them to the parkade nearest their destination. “Five more minutes and we’re there. For one thing, old-time Players hardly ever died in the Arena. Wins were mostly either by submission or knockout. Things changed a few thousand years ago when God soldiers joined in, though … These days it is just an honor to win in your weight-class. Not a single person in any division other than Heavy has a realistic chance of winning anymore, and the Game Promoters see no percentage in allowing anyone other than the title winner an opportunity to open The Box. It would invalidate the entire purpose of The Game.”
“I get the feeling that you think I shouldn’t fight.” It was going to happen, though, God help him. He was going to do his best to battle –and win- against a God soldier and he was going to open The Box. He had no other choice.
If, of course, the one in The Museum wasn’t a fake, if it was real … the whole damned day would change. Dramatically. Never one to put unreasonable hope on something so intangible, Garth nevertheless found himself fervently praying that The Box in Naoko’s Museum was the real one.
“You are right, Garth. I don’t.” Naoko clutched Garth’s hand impulsively for a moment before letting go, cheeks flushing. “But since it seems that I cannot stop you from your course, I must instead do my best to make sure you live.”
“Th…thank you.” Garth’s hand burned with the sensation of Naoko’s skin. He wanted to ask the beautiful Latelian why she insisted on helping him commit suicide, but was afraid of the answer.
Confronting their connection meant having to deal with things that made very little sense, even to someone who’d been through an endless cavalcade of impossibilities. Garth wasn’t comfortable expressing emotions he’d never felt before. At least no so early in the day.
