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

by Lee Bond

  So it was with a feminine shriek of surprise mingled with an exasperated gasp as that sudden light stabbed into his eyes that Tomas Kamagana, working so diligently on transforming his proteus into the Universe’s very first Trinity/Latelian hybrid –as far as he knew, at any rate- computer system, staggered awkwardly to his feet, dislodging the datalink cables from their precarious housing. One of those cables fell unerringly towards the metal deck plate while the other bounced loose from it’s mooring, then fell directly atop the duronium proteus.

  Tomas flung a particularly vile EuroJapanese curse at the now spark-spitting proteus before turning around to contend with whoever had so rudely interrupted his efforts; he knew he was in a very precarious position at the moment and whatever he said and did in the next few minutes would seal his fate, one way or the other.

  The Latelian, caught red-handed but not necessarily in any kind of trouble, took in the intruder’s uniform and manner of standing in a single glance. Not a soldier per se, but definitely attached to the Army rather than Specter; the middle-aged man silhouetted by the bright lights of a proper hallway wore an actual uniform that bore some signs of having been pressed in the last six months, and there was that air of general hauteur that was instantly recognizable.

  “Now look what you’ve done.” Tomas snapped unhappily, casting a bitter hand towards his prote.

  It might not be completely damaged, as the highly flexible machines were built to take an awful lot of punishment but he couldn’t know that just by looking at the bloody thing.

  Phyllic also took the tiny little EuroJapanese man in with a single glance and dismissed him almost immediately in favor of the sparking device just behind him, and the robotic debris spread around the floor. “What are you doing in here, old man?”

  Tomas hid the grin on his face with a hasty cough.

  People.

  Didn’t matter if they were Latelians or Trinityfolk. They all had a tendency to dismiss the elderly. It was a fact of life that’d bothered Tomas on a daily basis back on Hospitalis quite a bit more than it did here, in this little service corridor, because back home, in addition to being ignored because of his age, Latelians also automatically assumed that because he wasn’t nine feet tall, he was also inferior. With everything happening in Latelyspace these days, it’d been quite a stretch since he’d literally and figuratively been looked down on, but some wounds took a great deal of time to heal.

  Here and now, though, Tomas was more than willing to accept the instant dismissal for the gift that it was. Mind still a steel trap, still flitting with burgeoning ideas popping and flaring in that mental vista, the older man threw a frustrated hand towards the mostly-damaged proteus a second time.

  “I’m with the crew dealing with that ship that was brought in.” Tomas explained smoothly, keeping an eye peeled for signs of disbelief or suspicion. So far, none. His ears picked up a bit of cross-chatter spilling from the man’s ear piece, but the Army man paid it no mind, so neither did he. “This device was found inside.”

  Phyllic nodded slowly, eyes still on the machine. That was where he recognized the odd looking device. From their Latelian files. The Maintenance Engineer didn’t know much more than that about the techno-toy from Latelyspace, other than that the weirdoes wore it on the forearms for pretty much their entire lives and that they used that for accessing their non-AI systems instead of being … normal.

  “Okay.” Phyllic dragged the word out slowly, feeling … feeling that there was something wrong with this whole scenario. He wasn’t able to put a finger on it just yet, though, so he was going to play it cool. If this was all legitimate business, then there was no reason for him to alert anyone.

  If the tiny little man in front of him was somehow not who he was implying he was? One quick call through the walkie-talkie he carried and a veritable horde of Army guys with actual proper guns would swarm the area and Phyllic Sharon Eveilor would be the first Maintenance Engineer in the last thousand years to earn himself a battlefield commendation for bravery.

  “Okay,” Phyllic repeated himself, nodding pleasantly, warming right up to the idea of a medal or promotion or something for this whole situation, “okay, so say you are some guy I’ve never seen or heard of before and say you’re attached to the other side’s detail tasked with,” the Maintenance Engineer waved his hands around, trying to grab hold of some words that’d make him sound smarter so that when he recounted the story to his friends, he sounded awesome, “that whole thing, which I’m not sure I believe yet, what in the hell are you doing in this service corridor instead of, I dunno, in a lab or something?”

  Tomas wondered if all Trinity people paused for so long before talking or if it was just this particular idiot’s problem; the buffoon in the wrinkled olive green uniform was giving him so much time to think his way out of this situation that it was a miracle he wasn’t in direct control of the whole ship by now. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but they captured a God soldier. Somehow he popped right through H … the Shield in an escape pod. When they opened it up, he barged right out and started demolishing everything.”

  Phyllic decided right there on the spot that when he got his promotion, he was going to do everything he could to upgrade his security clearance so he could access all the really juicy stuff because seeing footage of that fight was just the sort of thing to kill an afternoon.

  Tomas saw the flame of interest in the other man’s eyes and grabbed hold of it with metaphorical hands. “It was pretty intense, let me tell you, sa … sir. The man … the thing was like an enraged animal, maiming and killing everything in it’s path.”

  “Yes,” Phyllic almost stammered the word out, but he was in control, “but you’ve not said why you’re in this corridor. In the dark, destroying one of my cleanerbots and doing weird things with that other … thing.”

  He was definitely going to spend some time punching up his side of the conversation when he told this story to his friends. There was no way he was going to come off like an idiot. No way.

  “Oh.” Tomas looked at his prote, pleased to see that the electrocution of his much-loved, much-used device was over at long last. His spry eyes caught sight of the screen, saw that it was stuck in the middle of a boot cycle.

  Not bad.

  If he could get some time alone, it’d be a matter of ten, perhaps fifteen minutes, of patient work to sort everything out.

  “I thought that was obvious. While the big boys were dealing with the rampaging God soldier, I entered the escape pod to take a look around. I found this odd-looking thing and decided to take it with me. Right when I was climbing back out, the Goddie was just about to be captured. He kicked the escape pod … with me still inside … right into a wall. Through a wall. When I came to, I saw right away that I just wouldn’t be able to get out the way I’d come, so I started looking for the right corridors that’d take me back to civilization. So to speak.”

  Phyllic decided he didn’t like the old man’s answers. They were coming too quickly and they were so reasonable. Everything out of his mouth made a particular kind of sense, and if there was one thing Phyllic knew about people from Specter –the old man was obviously some semi-retired Special Services operative because there was no way in this or any Universe that Army would keep a walking skeleton on the payroll- it was that Specters rarely made sense.

  “And the …” The Maintenance Engineer indicated the pile of discarded robot parts and the homemade device attached to the … other device. “… all of this? What’s this about?”

  Tomas steeled himself for this part of the lie. After having used a proteus for most of his adult life, he figured it'd be a difficult -if not downright impossible- task to keep from sounding more knowledgeable about the device than he actually was; the still-unnamed Maintenance Engineer still carried an air of supreme suspicion, and Tomas didn't care for how he was peering around, trying to get a better look at the prote.

  "This?" Tomas tried a negligent shrug on for size and felt co
mfortable enough with the gesture. "Some kind of wearable computer, I believe. When you barged in, I was attempting to use pieces from the robot here to hack into the interface. I was pressed for elegance, of course, working nearly in the dark and with salvaged tech, but the interface wasn't perfect. When you startled me, it got damaged."

  "I can see that." Phyllic stepped further into the service corridor, noting that the old man didn't shuffle backwards. No big deal. Under normal circumstances, at any rate, and the Maintenance Engineer still couldn't rid himself of the queer feeling in his guts. There really was something off about this whole situation. "Why didn't you just go through the access panel?"

  Tomas cast about for his walking stick, suddenly brutally aware that he was in cramped quarters with a man who definitely couldn’t be considered friendly. He didn't quite know what he'd do with the walking stick should the other man resort to violence, but he did know he'd feel a great deal more comfortable with it in his hands.

  To sell the bit, Tomas nodded towards the antique wooden walking stick, saying, "Do you mind? I'm an old man and my leg is bothering me."

  Phyllic followed the man's gaze until his eyes fell on the piece of wood. Doing a bit of math in his head, the soldier eventually decided to let the old man have his stick; even on the off chance that the doddering EuroJap went all sorts of crazy and attacked him with it, Phyllic figured he could acquit himself well enough. "Sure, fine, go ahead. No reason to have you uncomfortable while we get to the bottom of this."

  Tomas detected a sudden chill in the air. Something was off. It took him a second or two to realize what it was, but by then it was too late; he was already in the process of stepping over to where he'd put his walking stick, and as his hand reached out to close on the well-worn aid, he felt more than saw the Maintenance Engineer's reaction.

  The prote. The other man had been trying to get a better look at the proteus this whole time, and because he was a Trinity soldier currently engaged in a protracted war with the Latelian Commonwealth, he was at least marginally informed about the various things the Army might come into contact with.

  Like a proteus. And because the Maintenance Engineer was neither a complete moron or utterly blind, he was also undoubtedly aware that the average adult Latelian stood at a minimum of eight feet tall, and that any wearable computer belonging to this theoretical Latelian would be properly sized.

  "Shit." Tomas Kamagana slapped his other hand on the stick and brought it around just in time to smack the man's wrist hard enough to knock a standard issue stunner free.

  "Proteus is too small, old man." Phyllic hissed at the bruise already growing at his wrist. "I don't know how you got one, or where you came from, but this is going to net me two promotions."

  Against better judgment but knowing also that if he didn't make some kind of effort to deal with this impossible visitor, he'd be staring at dishonorable discharge papers before the end of the day, Phyllic juggled his options. With sudden career suicide looming much larger in his mind than any theoretical promotions, the Maintenance Engineer advanced, prepared to thrash this old man to within an inch of his life if necessary.

  Then he'd stun the old fucker until his heart stopped.

  "I really don't think so." Tomas announced with a confidence he was completely surprised to feel growing inside him. Those sparkbulb ideas percolating through his mind seemed to be taking control! He spun his walking stick smoothly between his hands and stepped closer to the suddenly paler Trinity soldier.

  "What the hell!" Phyllic took a nervous step backwards, raising his hands to defend himself against the whirling stick. "Back up old man!"

  "At this moment," Tomas replied confidently, “I am feeling anything but old. I have a mission to accomplish, Trinityman, and I will not let you or anyone else stop me."

  Lashing out with his walking stick far faster than was expected, Tomas smacked his opponent soundly in the shin. Then, when the soldier stumbled sideways, pain turning him bright red and mute besides that, the Latelian beaned him thoroughly on the side of the head.

  The sharp smack was enough to have Tomas' stomach flip-flopping, and the grisly way the soldier simply slid to the ground, drooling and unconscious, in no way made him feel any better.

  Sparing a few moments to make certain he hadn't actually killed the man, the burden that'd already settled into his soul dissipated as quickly as it'd come; the still unnamed Trinityman was merely out cold, though when he woke up, Tomas knew for certain that he'd be waking up with the worst headache he'd ever endured and a bruise big enough to qualify for a second head.

  "Thank Pete." The craving for a pull on his pipe doubled in intensity. Just a quick puff, just enough to soothe his nerves. Surely no one'd noticed one brief flash of good Latelian tobacco, right?

  Tomas sighed miserably. He couldn't take the chance. He needed to get out of this service corridor and on his way off this ship altogether before his unconscious friend came to or someone started missing him.

  "Well, soldier, let's take a look at what you've got in your pockets. Since you fried my prote, I hope for your sake you've got some things that can get me gone from this place in a hurry." That being said, Tomas started rifling through pockets in search of something, anything, that could help him…

  ***

  Tomas couldn’t decide which had been a more frightening moment in his life. Asking Maurna Tizhen out on that very first date –while doing so under the withering yet still not quite as intimidating glare from Vasily- or wandering through the brightly lit, far too crowded hallways of the TMS Pratfall wearing a uniform stolen from a Maintenance Engineer who was presently bound and gagged in a service corridor.

  They both had their extreme merits when it came to terror, but as the elderly escapee took a sharp right corner –with his eyes on his feet the whole way- Tomas inevitably decided that the most terrifying moment now or ever had been the very first time he’d ever held Naoko in his arms. Also the most proud, the most wondrous, and the most memorable, but … yes, when he’d held wee Naoko close to him, feeling that tiny bundle of life that would one day blossom into the woman he was now hunting for, he’d been equal parts horror and divine glory.

  It was also the one memory that was inscribed into the very atoms of his essence, carved into his soul. The room had smelled like baby formula and that indescribably sweet, unnameable scent of newborn. Mingled in with the smell of their firstborn and wholly perfect child were tendrils of Maurna’s perfume, the lingering odor of pipe smoke and a curious hint of borscht.

  The best day of his life, that. Tomas remembered looking up from losing himself in Naoko’s perfect eyes to see his wife quietly sobbing, tears of pristine joy streaming down her face.

  He would do whatever it took to rescue the source of that joy from whatever darkness had befallen her, no matter where he wound up, no matter what the Universe demanded in return for success.

  Strolling through a corridor surrounded by nameless and mostly faceless Trinity soldiers –all of whom acted the same as he, faces down, purposeful stride, no intention of talking to anyone else, at all- was nothing compared to what he was willing to do to complete his mission.

  He did feel a bit bad about the man in the corridor, but there was no way in hell he was going to go back and ask for an apology. Trinity had started this war all on It’s own. Without the machine mind suddenly deciding it wanted Garth Nickels and the Latelian people wiped off the face of the map, Huey wouldn’t have thrown up the Shield. They could’ve all gone on and done what needed doing without any of this crap thrown into the middle, so if that Maintenance Engineer wanted to hold a grudge against anyone, the man had damned well better send out any memos addressed directly to Trinity Itself.

  “What I wouldn’t give for an unguarded terminal right now.” Tomas grumped to himself as he took yet another corner. All the bright and shiny uniforms –he’d counted nearly three dozen various shades of blue, white, green and some kind of awful yellow that made his eyes yearn for s
oap- were making him distinctly uncomfortable.

  Were it not for the fact that –overheard in bits and pieces as he pretended to know what he was doing and where he was headed- that the ‘space station’ they were in, officially named Tarterus, was a boiling cauldron of chaos and discord at the best of times, Tomas would take the Trinity soldiers’ attitudes under concern, but he got it now; unlike the freewheeling Specters and their absolutely loose understanding of hierarchy and propriety and who therefore lived for this kind of madness, the soldiers he was mixed in with were all feeling the pressure to maintain the so-called rigorous … no, virtuous appearance of Army.

  They were keeping their heads down because they were either afraid they were being watched by their commanding officers or they were certain they were being watched. Even if they weren’t, it was a wonderful method of keeping underlings under control.

  Tomas chuckled. The things his father used to say about Trinity’s Army and how they conducted themselves contained words children shouldn’t hear, but if there was one thing you couldn’t tell Elder Kamagana, it'd been how to raise his children.

  A rank whiff of something obscenely organic crawled into his nostrils and took up residence right smack dab in the middle of Tomas’ brain, forcing the old Latelian to reduce his already leisurely pace to a point where he was barely moving: somewhere up ahead, Specters lurked. It was the only answer for the unbearably rich odor literally tearing down the halls.

  The last thing Tomas wanted to do was run into anyone from Special Services, especially aboard an Army war vessel; unlike their stoic counterparts, it was a solid bet that the Specters down the hallway were looking everywhere, ready to shoot or detonate or outright murder anyone or anything that got in their way. Or, in some cases –as pointed out by Garth- just because someone was ‘weird’.