The Goddess Gambit

by B Michael Stevens

  "The Network..." The Handler spoke aloud, and its digital, croaking voice sounded almost scared. "It's... gone."

  Understanding came to Miller in a flash. The powers that the Ministers wielded did not come from themselves but were somehow broadcast to them, by something... or someone. That explained the bizarre headgear they all have sprouting from their chrome domes. But if that power is gone, or the transmission was interrupted, then how do they control the Sniffers?

  Uncannily synchronized in their thoughts, the Handler seemed to draw the same conclusion at the same moment Miller did. With panic in its inhuman voice, the Handler tested the waters.

  "Attack him!" he ordered. The fact he used a verbal command instead of a mental one spoke volumes. "Attack him! Kill him!" the Handler urged again. The Sniffers twisted their thick corded necks, looking up at their former master. They began to circle him slowly and utter deep, reverberating growls. The wide, flat, metal triangles that served as teeth in their clamp of a jaw shimmered and buzzed as they began to oscillate back and forth. Miller shuddered just thinking about what those razor-sharp things could do to flesh.

  Bet you wished you carried a conventional weapon now, you cocky bastard, Miller thought as he lay watching. He willed his body not to move, to stay silent. It reasoned that if the Handler’s powers and senses were linked to a network, then the dogs, whose faces were covered with those glossy black lenses, may be part of the same network. They may be blind, Miller thought, but they weren’t deaf.

  "Attack! I order you! Attack!" the Handler screamed, and finally, the Sniffers obeyed.

  Miller averted his eyes the second after the cyber-hounds pounced, but his ears could not hide from the electric screams of the Handler as he was torn apart, bite by bite.

  I think I'll take my leave now. Slowly, as quiet as Lucy on a bad day, Miller pushed himself up off the ground and tiptoed out of the dwelling. He paused for a second when he reached the hole in the wall that served as his getaway. A merciful thought darted to the forefront of his mind; that he should turn around and, using his pistol, grant the Handler a quick death. A typhoon of memories quickly drowned the thought. Friends and allies, long gone, all tortured to death by the hands and teeth of the Ministry of Social Purity.

  "See you in hell, fucker." He spat the words under his breath and ducked out into the streets, leaving the Minister to his pets.

  Colonel Taylor could not believe his eyes. Just when the battle was swinging their way, the entire army of reinforcements transformed into a helpless, confused, unarmed army of naked humans.

  "Useless as tits on a bull!" he growled. "I'll kill everyone myself then!" Taylor yanked on the Heavy’s controls and launched the giant Mech off the highway. He landed on a pre-Storm recreational vehicle, a veritable palace in the Shanty, with or without an engine, and squashed it flat. Frightened denizens, confused from their recent abduction and subsequent return, ran in disorganized mobs, fleeing from the arrival of the Heavy.

  "Get some!" Taylor shouted and opened fire with the four .50 caliber guns that served as arms on the walking battle tank. The ground under and around the fleeing refugees lit up like a string of firecrackers. Clouds of dust hid the gruesome scene as man, woman, and alien alike were shredded. Laughing, Taylor stomped the Heavy onward. The upper half of the Mech rotated side to side on the horizontal axis, spraying bullets everywhere as the legs continued walking forward, crushing everything underfoot.

  He would run out of ammo long before he could kill everyone in the Shanty, but that didn't stop him from trying.

  Taylor had carved a path of destruction several hundred meters long, and a hundred wide, loving his job the whole way when suddenly he heard a boom so loud it rattled his cockpit. Just up ahead of him, off to his left, a crumbling concrete pillar shattered and fell to the ground.

  "What the blazes?" He stopped his relentless march and brought his Mech to bear on whoever was taking pot shots at him.

  "Hey, asshole," a voice called out, amplified by speakers. "How much you wanna bet I don't miss the next time?"

  That voice sounds familiar...

  Perched like a hawk in search of a shrew atop a half-ruined, stagger-stacked pile of pre-Storm automobiles stood a suit of power armor the likes of which Taylor had never seen before, roughly a third of the size of Taylor's unit, but still twice as big as a Hopper.

  "That ain't Republic..." Taylor mumbled to himself. He quickly took stock of the Mini-Mech's pea-shooter. "I'll be damned. A railgun." Taylor began priming the laser cannon, even as he thumbed the .50 cals to life.

  "This is for the villagers," the Mini-Mech called out, dropped into a half-squat and fired a second time, ignoring the incoming bullets.

  The two Mecha, large and small, both ripped apart at the same time. Taylor's bent over slightly, looking like a biped with stomach pain, then its back exploded, ripping one of the gun-arms off in the process. The legs stayed where they were, even as what remained of the torso twisted and spun out, showering pieces of both Mech and pilot across the neighborhood. The Mini-Mech, its super-sonic slug having already found its mark, rocked back and forth as a hundred finger-sized bullets riddled it. By the time the Heavy exploded, the Mini-Mech was unrecognizable, a jagged-looking assembly of metal, oozing hydraulic oil, coolant, and blood. The suit staggered, took one step backward, and then collapsed.

  Please work, Jon thought and goosed the throttle of the Easy-Rider. He sped down the longest, straightest street he could find, past smoldering wreckage and dazed onlookers. Readjusting his wrist, Jon found new purchase on the bike's grip and twisted it as far as it would go. The bike gained speed, the tachometer deep into the red. The slope of the Zigg was approaching like the ground rushing to meet a falling stone.

  Come on! Come on! Jon gritted his teeth and swallowed the impulse to turn away. Wait for it... wait for it... now!

  Pulling back on the handles, he pushed off the foot-pegs and popped the Easy-rider into a sort of bunny-hop onto the sloped wall of the Ziggurat. Without pausing, he revved the throttle back into the red and began to climb.

  "Yeah!" he exulted. Just don't slow down! He crouched and leaned forward, trying to keep his center of mass as close to the wall as possible. If he leaned out too far or slowed down too much, he and the bike would surely fall over backward. At the moment right before he started his climb, the bike had been clipping along at a screaming two-hundred klicks per hour. Now he was already only at one-hundred fifty and dropping. With growing nervousness Jon watched the digital speed readout count down like a bomb’s timer. Looking up, he saw the junction where wall met arch—the arch that extended out to the last obelisk. It seemed so far up still. Come on! Come on!

  The bike bled speed the higher it went. The higher it went, the closer he got to the arch. The factors slowly came together like infinitesimally non-parallel lines on an infinite plane. Jon growled, trying to will the machine to go on. Just as he reached the point where gravity and his mass began to overcome his momentum, Jon cleared the arch.

  "Hnnng!" he grunted as he yanked on the handlebars, twisting the bike even as it began to pull away from the wall and fall. Like the proverbial cat who lands on her feet, Jon finished the twist before the arch caught up to him. The two tires of the Easy-Rider barked as they connected with the narrow sky-bridge and Jon shot off like a rocket.

  Too fast, he realized after nearly flying off the edge and so let up the throttle just a touch.

  There, ahead of him, was the last of the obelisks. Even now, he could see the smear of polychrome Weaver dripping down its curves. Relief flooded his heart with the knowledge that his last aerial bombardment had hit its mark.

  Only one thing left to do.

  Carefully keeping the motorcycle balanced, he reached around behind him and unslung his war-hammer.

  Without warning, a flurry of plasma discs appeared all around him, some missing him by a hair, others splashing onto the arch the second his tires passed over.

  "Shit!" Jon yelled, stru
ggling to keep the bike upright against his momentary reflex to evade the assault.

  The hail of plasma stopped, and a Hopper screamed by.

  Hegna.

  I'm a sitting duck here!

  To his left the flying armor was already banking, coming around for another pass. Jon gunned it, and the bike lurched with renewed speed. Almost there!

  Hegna came barreling in and opened fire with both guns. His shots having trailed behind Jon on the last run, Hegna adjusted, leading Jon more. To Jon's instant relief, the shots landed well ahead of the racing bike, Hegna having miscalculated. The second the salvo came to an end, however, Jon saw that the missed shots had not gone to waste.

  The arch ahead had been blown to bits.

  There was no time to react; Jon was on the gap the second he noticed it. To make matters worse, Hegna resumed fire, with the leading disc slamming into the side of the Easy-Rider.

  Jon pulled up and pumped his legs with all his might, re-creating the bunny-hop. Half launching, half falling, his bike flew into the air above the ruined arch. Plasma flew all around him, painting his Rider but miraculously missing him. He felt gravity begin to take hold, just as it had when his bike had reached the arch's junction. He stood up halfway on the pegs, let go of the handlebars, and jumped with every ounce of serum-enhanced strength in his being.

  Time slowed down as Jon sailed through the air. No thought of what would happen next or of the hail of enemy fire around him passed through his mind. There was only one mission, one goal. With both hands wrapped around the haft, he raised the hammer behind his head, and as he reached the orb, he brought it crashing down.

  There was a final explosion of light, followed by a gale-like breath of supernatural wind. Thousands of souls, freed from the orb, floated down behind Jon as he plummeted to the ground.

  "Meals-on-Wheels," Hegna said, shaking his head as he approached the glowing form. He was sure it was Jon; he had tracked his fall. But when he touched his Hopper down he was shocked to find a glowing, but otherwise perfectly intact, human body instead of the splat of gore he’d expected. "Don't know how you survived that fall. Some kinda Strange..." Hegna tapped the outside of his Hopper’s face-shield, and it popped up. His eyes squinted at the natural light, but he didn't want to witness the demise of his nemesis from behind a digital HUD.

  He strolled over to Jon's motionless form. Jon was still glowing, though softer now, pulsing, and the glow got softer and softer with each throb. When he got close enough, Hegna could see that the light came from inside Jon, making his skin look like a paper lantern. Hegna could make out the faint lines of Jon's arteries and veins, standing out from the glow like sunspots.

  "Well, whatever it is, I bet it won't work on this," Hegna smirked and leveled the barrel of his plasma launcher at the back of Jon's head.

  He heard a sound, one part thud, one part squelch, and felt like someone hammer-fist sucker-punched him in the back of the neck. The softly glowing form of Jon was suddenly splattered with drops of red. The ground, too.

  Hegna tried to vocalize his concern but only gurgled. Looking down, he saw a blade, black and curved, jagged with barb-like teeth on the backside, protruding outward from his throat. His last thought was to take Jon with him, and he tried to squeeze the trigger in his suit's fist, but nothing happened, his spine being severed.

  A voice like rusted barbed wire whispered in his ear. "Now, now. Can't have you spoiling all the fun. Not when I've waited so long for this."

  Hegna couldn't feel the arm wrap around him from behind. Nor did he feel the sword as it was pulled back out of him. He was numb, and growing cold. With the blade removed, his heart began to pump his blood out of the hole where his throat used to be and down the front of his Hopper. His vision faded to black, and he fell asleep before his body even hit the ground.

  Umbra wiped his sword on his sleeve, cleaning as much of the sticky ichor off it as possible and then sheathed the wicked thing. Stepping to Jon, he knelt down and touched one hand to Jon's head.

  "Oh my, well this certainly is interesting," Umbra said, his eyebrows rising. "You haven't figured out who you are yet. That can only mean..." He stood and laughed out loud. "She is keeping it from you! Too rich!" Umbra wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes and then collected himself. "You will live. And you will go to the Morning Star. We expect great things from you. Please do not disappoint."

  Without another word spoken, Umbra reached into the heavy folds of his cloak and withdrew a small glass orb. He gently closed his eyes as he held the sphere. A second later, there was a small green flash, and then Umbra and the orb were both gone.

  EPILOGUE

  IT WAS HER VOICE. The voice of Maya, of Lily Sapphire, of the goddess that pulled him back from unconsciousness. Like a ray of warm sunshine after a long winter night, it was the most pleasant thing he could imagine waking up to.

  "People of Home. Ziggurat and Shanty. Most of you know me as Lily Sapphire. Please stay calm and allow me to help soothe your confusion."

  Jon knew he was lying on the ground, could feel it. Slowly, he rose, pushing himself up and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. The aftermath of the battle was obvious all across the Shanty. Smoldering wreckage, burning dwellings, bodies of the slain.

  However, other than the gentle voice of Maya, the air was quiet. The battle was over. They had won. Jon looked up to the Zigg and saw that on all four sides, projected somehow, were colossal holo-vid screens that each bore the face of the goddess as Lily Sapphire. Jon knew without a doubt that the same image was being broadcast all throughout the inside of the city-fortress as well. Jon didn't know how they were doing it, but he suspected the whiz-kid Ratt had something to do with it.

  "I know this won't be easy to understand or believe, but what you all just experienced is the proof I now lay at your feet. Most everything that Chairman Warbak has told you is a lie. Most Invasives, or Displaced, to be more accurate, are not your enemy. They, like you, simply want to live in peace and safety. They have been brought to your world against their will, and by and large, mean you no harm. Yes, there are dangerous Beasties, and yes, the Harvesters are a threat, but this is what you must know. Chairman Warbak was working for the Harvesters."

  Jon sat and listened to Maya's delivery and wondered if any would believe her. It can't be that easy, he thought and knew it wouldn't, but they had to try.

  "This," the image of Maya spread her arms wide, as if she were blessing all of Home, "all of this, from the design and creation of the Ziggurat to the controlled opposition in the Rough that drove the Displaced to the Shanty; it was all for what just happened. The Purge. The Harvest. You were all meant to be fuel for Warbak's masters, Umbra, and the Harvesters. All of you, except the New Breed. Look into your recent memories, past the fog of confusion, and you will know what I say is true. New Breed, each of you were transformed into killing machines. Warbak preached of the human master race, and of a return to the utopia of the past, but all that was a lie. You know it was a lie. You were built to be his mindless slaves." She let the statement hang in the air, staying silent for a minute, a look of motherly sympathy on her face.

  No doubt every soldier that survived the battle would be entering a new one right now. A fight to the death with their own hearts. Cognitive dissonance the soup de jour. To a one, every man and woman in the Zigg had either transformed into a Spartan, and knew they had, or had been swallowed up by the Purge, and knew that too. Lily's proclamation was tough to swallow, but they all secretly knew it was the truth. Having suffered his own schism over the last few days, Jon did not envy them one bit.

  Maya went on and talked of a better future, a future where citizens of Home could work with and help the denizens of the Shanty. How they may be able to help the Displaced find their way back to their own worlds someday, and how they had to band together now to defend themselves against the Harvester threat that was still out there somewhere.

  Jon picked himself up off the ground and began walking
as he listened. He didn't know the Shanty well, or at all, and so only hoped that he might come across a familiar face; Carbine, or Miller perhaps.

  As Jon walked he spied a myriad of Shanty-dwellers, human, Displaced, man, woman, and child, all slowly crawling out from behind and under whatever shelter they had managed to find. Some were armed, clearly rebels from the Underground. Others were marveling at their bodies, amazed and bewildered by their mystical abduction and subsequent return to flesh. Others still were shaking the hands of their neighbors or hugging their offspring tightly. A lump formed in Jon's throat and his chest swelled with a pride he had not felt since his graduation. He smiled as he went on, for he saw something in the Shanty he had never seen before.

  He saw hope.

  "Incredible," Jon breathed, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "And you have no idea how you did it?"

  "No, I don't," Maya answered. "I felt the presence of, um, well, I'm not sure. But it reminded me of someone I lost a long time ago."

  "Your late husband?" Jon guessed, trying not to grimace.

  "Yes," Maya answered softly, looking into his eyes. "It came from nowhere, just as Warbak was about to destroy me. It just... took over."

  "Well, it's remarkable either way. Warbak is finished, and you're safe. So, now what?" Jon leaned back and addressed the group at large. They all sat in the café Jon and Carbine had first visited after their graduation; Jon, Maya, Lucy, Miller, and Private Quiteke.

  "We secured one transport. The others are all gone. Citizens that couldn’t handle the change loaded up and left. I suspect we haven’t heard the last of them," Lucy said. "Miller, Quiteke and the others will rebuild and hold down the fort, while Wyntr shows us where the Morning Star is, and then we go to it. Right, my Lady?"

  "Yes, that's right." Maya nodded. "But I think we need to wait a bit. Help out around here. There is a lot of work to be done, to repair and to unify. We need to form a government. Assign duties. Don't forget that not everyone was so willing to accept the obvious. Even now, the loyalists are forming their own group. Things could turn hostile and—"