Emperor-for-Life: DeadShop Redux (Unreal Universe Book 6)

by Lee Bond

  “Up.” The man in the corner booth’s voice broke through the brittle silence of the slightly angry drunks like a ball through a window… Martine reacted so poorly she sent one of the empty glasses on her tray crashing to the floor, a feat that got Morrie and the boys hooting and hollering.

  “Sorry?” Cal didn’t know what else to say.

  “The volume on this thing you call ‘wall’.” The man pointed to the screen nearest him, mounted on the wall. “I wish to hear what this is about.”

  Cal looked over his shoulder to the small monitor he kept behind him, just in case one of the local stations was airing something that the more puritanical folk in town might take offense to should they come in. He snorted. “It’s one of them Offworld commercials, friend. Don’t apply to us.”

  “Still.” The man raised his voice even louder, loud enough that it seemed like the windows shook from the timbre. “I would like to hear what they’re saying.”

  “Like I said, friend,” Cal looked at Morrie and the boys –still all dusty from their time down the mine- and shook his head very slowly; like most miners, they didn’t trust the onsite lockup to hold their tools while they were away, and so they were packing everything from picks to range finders to cruel looking handmade gewgaws that did things no one thought might need to be done in a mine, “it doesn’t pertain to us, this planet, or even this solar system. Times are tight, as you ought to know, and this here Offworld civ’lization paid a hefty sum of money to most of the worlds in this here neck of the woods to have this long-ass commercial play every hour on the hour. Every channel. It’s why the volume’s down in the first place. Can’t but hear ‘brought to you by FOMA’ once or twice before it grates on your nerves. So I’ll thank you to respect my wishes and either leave my bar or drink your beer in silence.”

  “If I wanted your opinion,” Andros said as he all but materialized at the bar, “you wriggling blob of flesh, I would’ve told you what your opinion is. Now please, turn the volume up so that I might …”

  Morrie was up and out of his chair the second he realized that the man in the corner booth had moved faster than it took to blink, swinging his trusty pick at the man’s temple with all the strength and fury of a man who’d been working the mine his entire life, already envisioning the savage mess that’d be left behind.

  Pick-wounds were the worst, ‘specially ones to the side of the head. Even a badly delivered shot with either end of the simple tool could crack a person’s skull right in half, and Morrie was anything but a novice with his pick.

  Andros caught the ‘weapon’ with his left right hand and held it there. Monkeys. Always, always so violent. It was ludicrous. And coming from a Bruush that was really saying something. Here he was, trying to be as circumspect as possible, using this local tavern as a means of figuring out the best course of action in terms of not only feeding his ship but also of staying out of the locals’ way as much as possible, and they essentially transform a simple request into a reason to start a bloodbath.

  “Friend,” Andros said quietly, the low purr of his voice washing through the whole room, reaching the ears of every man and woman in the place, setting their teeth on edge and stirring their hackles, “I was trying my best to be patient and you've made that very difficult, making the time for calm and patience a thing of the past. Everyone in this room is going to remain in this room until I have an opportunity to watch this … commercial? This commercial, with the volume up, in it’s entirety, at least twice, so that I may apprehend the full totality of what I am actually seeing. Failure to do so will result in quite a bit more mess than young Martine’s broken glass. Anyone using any local device to call out for help will result in displeasure. You. Miner who just tried to kill me. What’s your name?”

  Morrie tried wrestling his pick away from the stranger’s monstrous grip, muscles forged from fifty years of solid, hard labor flexing mightily. He faintly heard sounds of worry and concern from his friends, and they were right to be concerned; Morris Anjeau was one of the toughest, strongest men in the mine, capable of working a twelve hour shift of backbreaking labor without taking a break and coming back four hours later for another full shift.

  The stranger in the weird clothes was holding him at bay without even looking, without even breaking a sweat. It was like his pick was jammed between two rocks.

  “M…Morris. A…Anjeau.”

  “Be a lamb and let go. Very gently. Then, sit down and urge your compatriots to be good boys.” Andros turned and smiled toothily at Morris down the length of the pick’s haft. “Or I’ll kill you and eat you down to the bone.”

  Morrie licked chapped lips nervously before loosening rough, calloused hands from around the haft. He visibly relaxed when the stranger smiled and nodded encouragingly, then, eyes still on the unwavering pick, he backed away and settled himself into his chair. A heartbeat later, the stranger –without looking- threw the pick at one of the solid walls at the other end of the bar. The pointed end sank into the resilient wood all the way to the end.

  “Now.” Andros turned his attention back to the barkeep. “Volume. On this commercial. All the way up. I see that it’s ended, which means we are going to sit here in friendly quiet until it resumes. Martine, if you would be so kind as to lock the doors and shutter the windows so no one else enters, that would be quite the help. While we sit, if anyone of you knows a place where I might acquire a large amount of fresh meat in a hurry, please, speak up.”

  Martine scurried to do as she was told. Morrie and his friends picked up their beers and started drinking in silence. The few other people scattered here and there in the bar did precisely as they were told. Cal scrambled to find the remote and turned up the volume.

  Andros stood there, watching the ‘wall’ with pensive eyes.

  ***

  “This doesn’t bode well.” Andros rumbled.

  “Tell me about it.” Calvin said quite honestly. “You’re gonna be in a helluva lot of trouble when you get out of here. Even if you … if you kill us all. You can’t get away from this. You’ve held us all captive for over an hour. People … people who’ve come in here for years were at those doors, stranger, and more'n one tried to call through. I’ve never closed so early in a…”

  “I could care less about the people at your doors, or the people on this planet, you stinking, wriggling grub.” Andros growled the words deep in his chest. Calvin blanched and shied back from the counter. “This … Friends of the Mycogene-Alzant commercial, do you understand what it is? Are the folds and whirls in that thing you call a brain capable of comprehending what it is this species is asking?”

  “It’s a hit, is what.” Morrie waved his friends away. “They’re looking for this man … Nickels. Whatever his name is. They want him dead. Or alive. Never seen nothing like it.”

  Andros pressed his lips firmly together, desperate to keep a roar of vexation from escaping. He was infuriated. Beyond angry. Garth N’Chalez was precisely the sort of man who generated a lot of ill will and enemies by the handful, but this was the first time he’d actually had a Universe-wide manhunt leveled at him; as far as his investigations in to Nickels had gone, every other person, system or civilization that’d fallen afoul of the man’s ministrations generally chose to do the wise and sensible thing, which was bury their dead, pave over their shattered cities and pretend that the odd things happening to their atmosphere were entirely under their control.

  They pretended the thing that was Garth N'Chalez had never happened to them.

  But these Mycogenes … Nickels must’ve done something truly and stupendously horrific to engender such animosity. Ignoring the fact that sooner or later Trinity Itself would almost certainly step in and bring the originators of the contract to task for their Universal stupidity, the fungal Offworlders were offering a bounty high enough to purchase a planet. Even with Trinity's eventual displeasure, the Universe was full of madmen and fools who'd be chomping at the bit, eager to land such a valuable contract.
/>   “Who is this man to you?” Calvin asked softly, not liking the thoughts betrayed in Andros’ eyes.

  “He’s my only way home.” Andros answered absentmindedly. He needed to get on the hunt himself now, could no longer trust that Jordan Bishop would find the kinds of answers as to N’Chalez’ whereabouts fast enough for his liking, not with a Universe of madmen, women and Offworlders lurching out into space to hunt the man. With characters like Chadsik al-Taryin and others out there … N’Chalez would be found, sooner rather than later, and unless he wanted to be trapped in this execrable Universe until it was destroyed, decisions had to be made.

  Decisions that'd ultimately attract the attention of the machine mind. Hopefully he’d be long gone by then.

  And if not? Well. There were ways to disguise his presence.

  “Morrie. You seem to be a veritable font of information. How many men and women would you say there are in this … Frengton?”

  “Last census says just above a hundred sixty five thousand, give or take.” Morrie squinted, trying to figure out what use that information would be to anyone. “Why?”

  “Mm?” Andros blinked. “Oh, my own scanners were inconclusive. I couldn’t risk wasting scant resources by sending my spies here, into town, not without pushing my child past the threshold. And I’d originally planned only on harvesting a few tons of organic material, just enough to leave this planet for another, so that I might begin again without the pressure of possibly being discovered. But this bounty on N’Chalez…”

  Martine piped up. “How’s that?” How did you … that didn’t sound right. It sounds almost …”

  “Quiet, girl. No one from this Universe can properly say it, not without long term exposure to the man himself.” Andros nodded, mind made up. “So let us say one hundred sixty five thousand people at roughly two hundred pounds each… of course, that’s just an estimate. About … thirty three million pounds in the rough … say, about half turns out to be viable … more than enough to grow my child a nice, fine body. Such a mess, though. Might as well hang a sign on the planet that says 'Here be Dragons'. Oh well.”

  Cal had had enough. He’d been more than willing to put up with the strange man’s antics in order to keep the peace, but this strange talk of how much an entire town weighed and mysterious children … it was too much for him to bear. He reached under the counter, grabbed his gun, and pointed it at Andros’ head. “Time for you to leave, mister. I’ll give you a ten minute head start, then I call the police.”

  Andros reached out –almost tenderly- and slapped Cal so hard in the head that the poor man’s skull cracked wide, spraying blood and brain matter all over the racks of semi-expensive alcohol. Amidst screams of pure terror, the Bruushian Warlord turned and punched a few of Morrie’s cronies in their chests, cracking bones and bursting hearts.

  “Assuming I hurry, assuming everyone is easily locatable, shouldn’t take more than a day. Too long. Going to have to bring my child here. That’ll draw you fools out.”

  Andros picked up the pace, slaughtering everyone where they stood, dispatching them as efficiently as possible so that when his child came to feed, there’d be ample enough food to grow from a larvaship into the first Bruushian warship to ever travel through the Unreal Universe unimpeded.

  “I might even take my skin off for this.” Andros mused, enjoying the thought of roaming free. “It’s been quite some time.”

  A Little More Huey, A Little Less Chad, If You Please?

  “D’you wanna talk about it, mate?”

  Gwyleh didn’t even bother looking up from the control panels and monitors he'd surrounded himself with; this new black hole engine technology was by far and away some of the most complex and complicated science he’d ever come across, and were he not in possession of an Enforcer Suit that’d gained sentience, the engines would definitely be at the top of the list. He needed to figure out how to make them work without turning himself and the garrulous Suit into atoms, so that was where his focus lie.

  Also, he was pissed at Suit.

  “No.” Gwyleh finally said, moving on to the next series of schematics and diagrams. Yes, the string of AI minds located in a tamper-proof –and nearly indestructible- case in the engine rooms were responsible for doing all the heavy lifting, but Gwyleh'd be damned if he was just going to blindly trust them. He needed to understand what was happening in the ship. “Yes. No. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “Come on, lad, it weren’t all that bad, were it?” Suit demanded from the spot it’d chosen as ‘it’s’; nestled into an alcove, it could quite comfortably lurk there for hours on end. As an added bonus, if they were somehow mysteriously boarded, everyone would ignore it until it was well too late. Suit had fantasies about that sort of thing, skulking through a quiet ship, deftly murdering invaders.

  If only he had a proper mouth. Then he could also, like, drool or summink all over the place, make everyone well and properly terrified. For certs he'd be growlin' an' moanin'. Were all about ambience, hey?

  Gwyleh slapped the monitor nearest him with an open hand. He fiddled with the controls for a second, sitting back with an impassive look on his face as the cockpit filled with news footage from their efforts in securing a black hole ship from the local government.

  “Phwoar!” Suit stepped forward lithely and dropped down into the co-pilot’s chair. “This is well wicked, squire. I din’t even fink to get hold of local footage. Got me own memories, o’ course, but, blimey! This is well wicked. Boom, hey! Look, there, where I is pretendin’ that you is punchin’ me through that buildin’ there, hey? All that glass and steel and all?”

  “Local business, put out of work for upwards of a month.” Gwyleh commented dryly, watching the onscreen antics with a considerable degree of embarrassment. “Picked up the thoughts from the shop owner in the crowd. He’s behind on his insurance payments. He might not be able to open up again.”

  Suit shouted incoherently at the image of itself on-screen, gearing up to deliver a lethal blast of radiation from one of it’s wrist-mounted cannons. A few seconds later –just as the weapon were gleaming a nice, violent orange- a giant missile clanged into it’s side, sending the blast off-course. Camera footage lurched violently for a moment, then reoriented on a nearby clinic, gutted, billowing smoke and vibrant flames guttering out the shattered windows. A heartbeat later, an almost reluctant explosion blew all the doors and remaining windows clear of the structure.

  Suit turned to Gwyleh. “You know that weren’t my fault, yeah? Like, I is not ready for bein’ shot at by actual mil’try people? I is well sorry that clinic went up like that, I well and truly is. I thought you told them mil’try men, them wiv the funny hats and all, that they is only make fings worse if they is try to do me in, yeah?”

  Gwyleh fiddled with his hands for a moment. “Of course I did. They all claimed to understand that I was the only one on the planet capable of bringing you down.”

  “Which you totally did, my son, which you totally … oh, crikey, this are one of my favorite parts right here!” Suit turned his attention back to the on-screen carnage. “Like summink out of a movie! When you is take control of that hellycopter pilot’s brain and started shooting at me like that wiv them Blisterbullet cannons, cor, I thought we were goin’ at it for real. Oh! Look right there, hey, some of your own collateral damage, yeah? Reckon President Funnyhair weren’t too pleased at his favorite statue getting’ cut in half, hey?”

  Gwyleh said nothing, merely pressed his mandibles tighter together in a display of disappointment. Following Suit’s ‘accidental’ destruction of the clinic, he’d lost his temper at the increasing level of destruction being wrought on an innocent city and had reverted to base Enforcer temperament by taking control of the helicopter pilot. The first few Blisterbullet salvos had been fired in absolute, furious anger and with a serious intent to cause the reckless Suit some type of damage.

  Of course, injury from something as basic as a Blisterbullet –scorching hot liquid metal rou
nds designed to disable fleeing vehicles in a most permanent manner- against the impenetrable outer layers of an Enforcer’s Suit was impossible, but the intent had been there. Gwyleh was ashamed to admit that he’d destroyed the President’s statue as a way to distract Suit from the fact that, for a moment there, he really had been trying to kill his ‘friend’.

  From there, the mayhem-filled shenanigans had grown. Exponentially. Gwyleh snapped the news feed off, much to Suit’s disappointment.

  “Oi! They was gettin’ to the part where you is acquirin’ the power o’ flight thanks to my subtly used antigrav beams! More than half the people watchin’ that shit themselves, squire. Giant space bug suddenly launchin’ hisself into the sky like that? We put on a wicked show, lad, you should be proud o’ wot we did, not pissin’ and moanin’ like a girl.” Suit tilted it’s head, a thought suddenly percolating. “You know, we is not ‘ave this sort of fun since we is wiv Huey and Chad. Is that wot this is all about?”

  “What?” Gwy shook his head defiantly. “No. Not at all.”

  “D’you not remember landing on that planet, and like, chasin’ the two o’ them ‘round and ‘round? You were in full Enforcer mode that day, my friend. Blastin’ out great huge chunks o’ continental stone and fillin’ the skies wiv all sorts of blackness. Regular hoot it were. I don’t mind tellin’ ya that at all, my son. ‘course, I were only a little tiny smidgeon o’ consciousness back then, true enough, but it were thrilling, battling a couple of maniacs as were nearly impossible to bring down.” Suit’s voice was full of misty reminiscence. “And then, naturally, they got the drop on us, quite lit’rally. You remember what they did, right?”

  Gwy tried to keep the humor from creeping into his voice and failed. “They dropped a satellite on us. Pinpoint accuracy. Never saw anything like it.”

  “Too fuckin’ right they dropped a satellite on us!” Suit laughed and slapped a metallic knee. “That’s what the First Me is doin’, right? It’s like, ‘is job and all that. And then Huey in his miraculous meatsuit come up and explained what were what and then it were like a switch was flipped in your head, right? Innit the truth?”