Rune Source: A Virtual Universe novel (Rune Universe Book 3)

by Hugo Huesca

  RUNE SOURCE

  A VIRTUAL REALITY UNIVERSE

  HUGO HUESCA

  CONTENTS

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  25. Chapter Twenty-Five

  26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Hugo Huesca

  To my parents.

  1 CHAPTER ONE

  EMERGENCY COUNCIL

  IT WAS SAID that behind every great man stood a great woman. President Cotton stood in the middle of the Emergency Council of the United Nations and couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Stefania Caputi was standing behind him in the same way a Spartan soldier stood behind his shield.

  “What game are you playing, President Cotton?” asked the President of the EA Conglomerates. “To demand such powers in trying times like these is equivalent to giving a matchstick to a kid and sending him to play in an oil duct.”

  Kids today don’t know what a matchstick is, Cotton thought bitterly. Only several decades of political training kept him from outwardly cringing when he realized he was in the “get off my lawn,” stage of his career.

  He was in his late seventies even if he didn’t show it, so he gave himself a pass this time. The anti-aging operations were supposed to keep him in the game.

  After all, he was just itching to mess with the first Corporation that gave him a good reason. Thirty Emergency Council of the United Nations reunions in less than two months will do that to a man.

  “Keep the pressure, Tom,” the voice of Stefania Caputi appeared in his ear like she was right there by his shoulder—a terrifying idea. Actually, she was sitting somewhere mundane amid the crowd of people behind the circle of UN representatives sitting at the World Table. “EA wants to take over what remains of Nordic. We can get them to play along if you sweeten the pot.”

  President Cotton scratched his suit and instantly adjusted his arguments in tandem with Caputi’s wishes. “We can’t live in the shadows of the Corporate War when humanity is at the frontier of the Future, gentlemen—”

  He saw from the corner of his eye how the discrete, fly-shaped swarm of media drones that encircled the Council chamber almost shook with excitement. They did so every time anyone even hinted at the darned aliens.

  “And we can’t lose track of the middle picture when we’re so close to it. To let Jottun Inc get away with their shameless abuse of the corporate immunity in this vital period of transition would be like a quarterback tripping over his own feet a yard away from the touchdown.”

  He glanced down and smiled to himself as he saw the hologram with his real-time popularity score raise a couple points.

  “—Or like worrying about a sneeze when someone is coming to set you on fire,” snapped back the President of India, who, like EA’s spokesman, really loved her fire allegories. Cotton’s small gains in the popularity rankings vanished as quickly as they had come.

  He again had to stop himself from cursing under his breath. The damn real-time opinion polls and rankings had finished the transformation of the political scenario into the greatest sport of all. He bitterly missed the old times, much to his chagrin.

  “The world could stand on the brink of extinction, thanks to the actions of greedy individuals and starry-eyed kids. This is not the time to hack away at the tensions between us. To freeze the assets of Jottun while it’s being examined would appear nothing short of a war declaration to the other international companies,” said the President of India. Her popularity ranking had risen much higher than Cotton’s during the last month and it did so once again.

  It helped that people liked when someone took a firm stand. Cotton suspected that what the stand was about didn’t matter as much as the passion behind it. And Tira Morar exuded passion. She was also beautiful, even in her eighties. Some people carried the anti-aging operations better than others.

  “What she said. Thanks, President Morar,” said EA’s president. His own popularity ranking didn’t move a bit from the position it had sported during the last few decades, but at this point, the company rivaled a zen monk with how little it cared.

  “Tira’s not going to let it go,” Cotton sub-vocalized for the tiny microphone affixed to his throat.

  It was incredibly frustrating. All they could say about the Aliens (what else were they going to be called? Everyone had their own suggestions!) had already been covered the first ten Emergency Councils. Now it was just rehashing the same trite arguments over and over again, using new analogies and new comparisons and new one-liners, all for the sake of the billion or so paying subscribers to the streams of the media drones.

  It’s not like anyone had time to watch the entire sixteen-hour meeting, oh no. That pleasure was only for the sleep-deprived world leaders. Almost every single subscriber liked to see the content curated out of the boring parts. Meaning, they wanted to see the one liners, the hot comparisons, the smart-ass analogies.

  So, popularity rankings.

  “She has found her niche,” said Caputi from her comfortable spot away from all the cameras. “Apocalypse-mongering is so hot right now. Return the topic to Jottun, Tom, but concede her nothing. You can afford to lose another ten percent in the polls, you’re a charismatic man.”

  Cotton sipped his genetically altered power coffee and cleared his brain.

  “All the conversations between the Translator and the States have been recorded and are publicly available.” After heavy editing to avoid any sensitive fact, of course, but it was available nonetheless. Otherwise, people would panic. “All the sensible experts agree there’s nothing that implies the Aliens have either the capacity or the desire to launch an attack on Earth. Unlike Jottun, who has both the capability and the financial incentive to make a power play—”

  “No, our friends from among the stars are keeping their heads low and wondering why any other civilization out there but ours is currently silent and refusing to answer anyone’s calls. I wonder, President Cotton, who are they hiding from?” asked Morar.

  “There’s no evidence that there’s anyone else out there except for them and us,” pleaded Cotton.

  “Oh, bad move,” said Caputi. There was a brief moment of silence at the table when everyone checked their notes and waited for the stream’s curators to show the heated exchange to their viewers. “Lack of evidence is not a valid argument from an emotional perspective. Only a rational one. Now, either Morar or someone else will point out that radio-silence from other species could mean they’re either hiding from our new friends—and they’re faking ignorance—, or from an unseen danger.”

  “I can’t get to them with the public on edge,” Cotton said. “I’m being drawn through the mud here.”

  “You can take it. Tomorrow someone is leaking Morar’s dirty li
ttle hobby to the public, so you’ll recoup today’s losses there.”

  Cotton sighed and glanced hopelessly at his ratings. Right now, they were only kept in the positives by optimists. People around the world who refused to believe humanity would come to an end by the hand of not-humanity.

  And they seemed to dwindle every meeting. Soon, only the mad would remain.

  To add insult to injury, it was Charli Dervaux's lapdog who got the zinger before Morar or EA could answer. Caputi suspected Jottun had made a deal with them, but it would be hard to tell until someone leaked it.

  “Everyone knows the only numbers that need no explanation are zero, one, and infinite,” pointed out the Jottun’s spokesman. “The number of intelligent lifeforms in the universe is now, at least, three. Whoever built the signal, since our friends didn’t—or so insists Digital Dorsett. I, for one, think the extra number of implied civilizations could be hiding from our alien friends, and that Dorsett is either lying or misinformed of their intentions.

  “We’re being lured into a trap, just like a sand spider waits at the bottom of its hole for the bug to wander in,” he finished.

  Someone clapped at the other side of the table. Cotton wanted to glare at them, but didn’t, since such a display would only get them more attention from the streamers.

  It was Russia who came to his rescue.

  “Such a description could be applied to yourself, Monferrer. Jottun’s—or should I say, Nordic’s—abuses are well-documented, as is your friendship with Charli Dervaux.”

  Calling someone sitting at the Emergency Table a spider would get anyone else several points taken from their rankings, since almost all streamers would show them as antagonistic. But Vitaly Panarin’s rankings were firmly in the green no matter how many insults he threw around. Saying the public enjoyed his displays would be a no-no, but Cotton heavily suspected it.

  “I thought he hated the Aliens,” sub-vocalized Cotton.

  “He does,” Caputi told him. “He wants to shut the Signal down and end all emissions into outer space. But he hates Charli Dervaux a lot more than that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s right here. On Earth, I mean.”

  “You’re the one to complain!” said Monferrer. “President Panarin, Digital Dorsett’s manipulation was your own idea. Should we play the video to refresh your memory?”

  “Save it. I know what I said. Unlike you, I think words have as much value as the man who uses them. But I also think the entire human race can focus on two fucking things at a time, Monferrer. We can cut the Signal while also investigating your lady-friend. Hell, perhaps we can handle three things at a time and make all of you meet the good end of a shooting squad.”

  “The ‘wrong end’ you mean,” Monferrer pointed calmly, because correcting an opponent on their grammar was a sure-fire way of proving them wrong to the public without actually addressing their argument. And it started to show on his low ratings slowly climbing…

  But said tactic could backfire.

  “The wrong end puts you away from the bullet,” said Panarin. “Like I said, I stand by my words.”

  That’s insane, thought Cotton while he watched Panarin’s numbers rise as a billion people tuned in on his words.

  Panarin was currently at the lead of the council in popularity. It was great for Caputi’s project of freezing Jottun and taking the Dervaux-shaped cancer out from the geopolitical landscape once and for all.

  But it was also very bad for the Rune Signal and its current, lone human inhabitant.

  “Caputi?” he subvocalized. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. Standard logic dictated never to butt in when your enemies are fighting among themselves, but…

  “Take the loss,” Caputi sighed. “Fact of the matter is, we can’t close the Signal, even if we wanted to. At most, we can close our connection to it and just put a finger in our ears and pretend it isn’t there.”

  “It’s not a decision I want in the hands of a popularity poll,” said Cotton.

  “You should trust people more. Society is scared right now, but they’ll get over it. We just invented immortality, after all. That’ll shape their opinions real quick.”

  “For one single person?”

  “Don’t let their silence fool you. Everyone and their mother are trying to get their own versions of the Device to work without Rune’s software. Including us, of course. After that’s done, the next step would be to figure out how to make sure it’s actually us in a cybernetic brain, and not some digital emulation with our memories. And you’d be surprised how far we already are in said aspect.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Cotton with an edge to his voice that the microphone failed to register. “I know how drones are made, Stefania. I don’t have to point out just who is the leading world-industry in drone innovation, do I?”

  He was staring intently at Monferrer, who was still going at it with Panarin. It was almost like Cotton could see the ghost of Odin Inc standing behind Monferrer.

  “And I’ll never forget it,” said Dervaux with an amount of determination in her words that surprised Cotton. “All the better reason to destroy Jottun and loot its corpse, don’t you think, dear Tom?”

  President Cotton said nothing, but got mentally ready to lose this Council round to Panarin. It pained him, given the stakes at play, but there’d be more meetings. Even if Caputi appeared to be made of ice, he would never refuse the strategy of his Battlemind.

  The image froze on a close-up shot of President Cotton’s worried expression. The stream’s automatic purple and pink filters turned his distant eyes into a picture that wouldn’t be out of place in a synthwave’s cover album. The effect, though, was broken when the camera panned out of the image and revealed the hideout of Spark Bandit and her Elite Liquidator Alliance.

  The hideout was built to match the filter’s aesthetic. Although it was built in a secret gas planet somewhere near the Eta Carinae Nebula, the place looked like an abandoned parking lot filled with graffiti, non-functional eighties cars, arcades, Dance Dance Revolution machines, and even a smog effect clouding the purple and pink simulated landscape that was the ceiling. There were little science fiction devices that the camera could see, but they were there. A hangar with a set of fighter jets, a row of vat-tanks, enough weaponry to turn an asteroid into glass. And the dinosaur pen.

  The Liquidators were out of sight of the camera, but close by on their own retro-themed couches, wasting time on their own streams or someone else’s. Spark Bandit herself was laying lazily in a reinforced leather couch that had patches of fabric falling out—to give it a classy, worn-out effect.

  “As we can see,” she said to her sizable audience that was represented by the red light of the virtual camera drone (the real camera was her mindjack, of course), “President Cotton’s getting his ass railed harder than your mothers on a working Friday night.”

  Her stream had her own popularity ranking, and it was high. She treated her audience like she treated anyone else, and that was a breath of normalcy in a time where people behaved like the Internet was made of glass.

  Also, she and her family were deep in the middle of the Rune Events and months ago she had even streamed her brave rescue of her brother, Cole Dorsett, from a literal, honest-to-God, evil, corporate secret base in Rune Universe.

  But a notable number of people argued that her biggest claim to fame was having single-handedly brought dinosaur mounts to Rune.

  “The assholes aren’t running out of steam anytime soon, you know. They sure love to cry about how scared they are of the bogeymen aliens out there, while they slowly get more and more power here on Earth. Do they think everyone has their heads up their asses?”

  Her stream was in the top ten most viewed of all time, which was absolutely terrifying when someone sane thought about the implications of giving a seventeen-year-old girl such influence. For example, two days ago she accidentally caused millions of dollars in damages to a dozen high-fashion companies when someo
ne leaked her the Rune-themed couture designs of winter and she said, “Eh, it’s trying a bit too hard for my tastes.”

  She had come a long way away from the spandex uniforms she had originally proposed for her channel.

  The discussion with his brother had ended when she realized there was another thing her public enjoyed more than spandex almost-bikinis for her crew’s uniform.

  It was nostalgia. As it turned out, the allure of past trends was orders of magnitude stronger than sex-appeal.

  For example, right now her custom-made power-armor looked dangerously close to a lawsuit from Voltron’s creators. It wasn’t her only one, either. She could do Gundam, Mazinger Z, Patlabor, and many others.

  “It just fucking drives me murder-mad every time they talk about shutting down the Signal. Do they even know it’s not from Earth? Like, what, they’ll send a nuke into space and hope to hit a server?”

  Her own brother (kind-of) lived right inside it. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone which side she took. In this new opinion-axis, Van Dorsett clearly belonged to the “Rune equals Good” side.

  Spark Bandit sighed in her transparent helmet and turned to her show’s co-star. “What do you think, Rex? I kinda want to raid Sleipnir’s—I mean, Jottun’s—secret spaceship base again today, blow off steam over all this. But they haven’t really rebuilt enough to make it interesting.”