Serpent and the Sun – Chptr. 14 – Xperience Fiction

Serpent and the Sun – Chptr. 14 – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

The Boardroom resonated with the sound of muffled screaming. People were dying in the floors below. Liu couldn’t imagine the agony that was overtaking them, but he knew the form; AV3. It was impossible; the virus at its quickest took two weeks to break the body down, and it took no less than forty-eight hours for victims to become symptomatic. BlackLake had been there less than six hours. The screaming started an hour ago.

BlackLake sat in Liu’s chair, Liu’s chair laughing. Tendrils of him wrapped along the bench, peeking out of each end like the errant hairs of a Medusa.

The screams spiked momentarily. BlackLake waved his hands up to his nose, as if smelling fine cuisine. “Oh, the marvel of German engineering!” Liu stared at him blankly.

“The Germans used to be…,” He started, “Oh, forget it… old expression; before your time…”

“You’re as old as I am, Coulson-,” Suddenly Liu felt a sting across his face. He came to eye-level with the floor. BlackLake was standing over him, if that word applied.

“You are to call me Apep,” BlackLake said, “The words Coulson and BlackLake, I now consider derogatory. Understood?” Liu spat out blood, BlackLake took the gesture as an agreement, and helped Liu to his feet.

“OK, Apep,” Liu wiped the blood-spittle from his cheek, “As I was saying; you’re only as old as I am.”

BlackLake-now-Apep drifted its form back to the High Seat of the High Bench. “Oh no, Liu,” it hissed, “I am ancient.”

“You’re insane.”

Apep laughed, spiking every loose strand of Liu’s hair.

“BlackLake was insane.” It replied. “I know perfectly well what I’m doing.”

“You’re killing people,” Liu said, “If my guess is right, you’ll kill everyone on Earth out of spite.”

Apep smiled, black teeth outlined by intermittent flashes of bright green electrical arcs.

“You’re half right.”

“What good will it do you?” Liu was coming to the realization that he too wouldn’t live. It surprised him that he just realized that.

“I will kill everyone on Earth,” said Apep, “…someday. Someday soon, in fact. But I’m in no hurry; humans can’t harm gods. Your kind pose little threat to me.”

“So why are people screaming downstairs?”

Apep formed human-shape only sporadically, turning snake-like at times, vapor-like at others.

“Revenge, Liu.” It said. “Simple revenge. You took the life of my host; I take the lives of your own.”

“They’re not our host!” shouted Liu, “We don’t have a host!”

Apep put its tendril-finger to its lips. “Hmm…perhaps not,” It pointed out the window, “After all, dare I say who you truly feed off of is the poor fucks out there that are forced to live as animals in the shadow of these crystal palaces.”

“But you’re shareholders allow you to do it; their consent by their silence.” Apep continued. “Your murder feeding on their apathy, their denials and ignorance… I guess I’ll just have more fun killing them first.”

Liu shifted in his seat. Apep appeared to be dissolute. Perhaps if Liu kept him talking, the trend might continue.

“So, if humans pose so little threat to you, why kill us?”

Apep stared out the window, though it was hard for Liu to see its eyes. “Mercy killing, perhaps?” It said as it turned back. “Or perhaps I’m simply preparing the way of my duty…remember that?”

Apep was referring to a lesson taught to Guardsmen in training, a mantra to stress pre-mission preparation.

“And your duty?”

“I thought I told you that already, Liu,” It said, “I am Apep… Apep; the god of darkness, the spirit of the cloud and the storm…the devourer of the Sun.”

Liu was silent with shock. “You’re kidding.”

“In four billion years, the sun will glow red, grow to encompass the earth, frying everything on this rock.” It said. “Four billion years is lifetimes beyond what you and your kind, even the,” Apep formed quotes with his tendrils, “Immortals, like yourself, can achieve.”

“But I will be here,” He continued, “I am the spirit of the dark air, which is saturated with the nano-particles that carry my Presence. The Sun is the only enemy that threatens me…literally.”

B-but wait, you can’t destroy the Sun!” Liu cried, “The planet will freeze into an ice-ball! Not even you will survive that!”

Apep laughed. Even in its multi-timbral voice Liu could sense degradation.

“Re is begat by Kepre, the scarab that prepares the way of His dutiful trek across the sky.” Apep said. Liu was incredulous. Such power run by such insanity was terrifying.

“Yes; I’m insane, I know…” Apep read his mind, “But the Image of Kepre exists, and when I find it, Re will at long last succumb.”

Liu needed to keep him talking. As they sat there, he could hear the screaming intensify. People were dying, suffering horribly. Liu didn’t know whether or not Everest was alone in the infection, but it was well out of his hands at that point. Liu’s only focus then was his own survival. As he observed Apep’s changing form, he knew it would be a matter of time before Apep lost coherence. He could tell; he just needed to bide his time, keep it talking. But about what?

“So why are you telling me this?” Liu asked. At once Apep tightened its form, becoming nearly human-like. Liu suddenly became unnerved.

“I thought you’d never ask!” Apep hissed. “As you’ve noticed, Coulson BlackLake’s not doing so well…”

Tendrils oozed off of Apep, vines that crept along the edges of the High Bench. Liu suddenly felt dizzy. The Boardroom felt like it was closing in. Sweat cooled him to a chill as he looked down to see black vaporous tendrils wrapped about his arms, securing him to his seat. He looked down and saw his legs, also bound. He didn’t bother to struggle.

“I guess you’re not the only parasite in the world, Liu.” It said as the tendril covered Liu’s face, filling his lungs with vapor until his heart beat with black blood.

“Welcome to divinity.”

 

***

 

They stared at the screen speechless, surrounded by a dozen or so workers, equally speechless. The Sanctuary continued to seethe and pulse, seemingly concentrated at the top of the spire; the boardroom.

“What’s going on there?” asked Sarah, “Where is that?

“That’s the Everest Sanctuary,” Jameson replied, “…and I’m not really sure.” Sarah’s hands were clamped gently on Daniel’s shoulders; one of Jameson’s, to his surprise, was on Sarah’s shoulder. He quickly withdrew it to the sound of Adams simulated beeps and whorls.

“Shut it,” Adam chuckled. Sarah looked back curiously. Jameson chuckled nervously as he waved her off.

“Nevermind,” He said, his face flushed. Sarah smiled. Despite their age difference, Jameson couldn’t help but notice how attractive she was. An uncomfortable silence passed between them; not even Adam attempted to break it. Laura was his angel of mercy, switching the channel to give them something to talk about.

Jameson would’ve preferred silence to the new distraction; it was horrifying.

“This is the Second Tier Main, at Everest,” Laura said, “We’re not usually able to get feeds from inside, but, as you can see, they have other problems right now.”

Did they ever.

The shrill pitch of screams threatened to blow the monitor-speakers. People were running to and fro’ aimlessly. There wasn’t anywhere they could run, except over the rail of the mezzanine. Many were doing just that. There was an eerie sound in the background, almost like sizzling, or the crunching of leaves. When a grey-haired woman passed close enough to the capture-screen, they realized what was causing it.

“Oh my God!” Sarah said as she put her hand to her mouth. In one move she spun Daniel away from the screen, at the same time herself vomiting on the floor.

“They’re…dissolving?”

“They’ve been infected with AV3,” Laura said, “Likely the whole Sanctuary…”

“That dirty Coulson BlackLake!” Adam’s features hardened as his background grew dark. “His doing!”

Jameson drummed his fingers absently on Adam’s casing “I think so, bud…”

“I know so!”

“Calm down, Adam…”

“No, Jameson!” Adam fumed, “I won’t!” Once again the lights dimmed in the Command Center. Once again it caused a commotion, made worse by the panic of Everest.

“Calm down, Adam.” This time it was Laura who spoke, and Adam calmed down, returning the Command Center to her command.

“We’ll stop him, Adam,” she said, “we’ll have to; we’ve no choice if we want to survive. But losing our calm becomes his advantage. He’s emotionless…”

“…always calm.” Jameson finished. Laura nodded.

“I have to meet with Commandant Mobley,” she told Jameson in a hushed voice, “We’ve picked up nuclear activity in Alaska, just north of Anchorage.”

“Roger?”

Laura let out a laugh. “No,” she replied, “Sam Lowery. He’s a Reb’, oversees a depot of captured equipment. We trade with him on occasion.” She motioned Jameson to one side.

“Adam, sleep.” She said. Adam’s panel dimmed immediately.

“I’m impressed…” Jameson remarked.

“It won’t work a second time,” she replied, “…he’s like that.”

Jameson let out a laugh, scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah…”

“He’s a bit of a tinkerer,” She said, “I’m talking about Sam now, J’.” She paused, biting her lower lip. Jameson looked back to Sarah; damned it he didn’t pick up the twinge of a dirty look.

“Jameson, you put a research archive together about religious apocrypha. It included Egyptian religion and mythology, correct?”

“Don’t you have a copy of it here?”

“We did.” Laura folded her arms. “It was synced to the New Rochester database. When Coulson destroyed New Rochester, he was able to exploit the sync for a very brief moment…”

“How bad?”

“Ten percent average degradation of all synced files.” She said.

“That’s not too bad-,”

“That’s not spread out evenly.” She said. “The most heavily-corrupted archives experienced over three-quarters loss, where much of the archive barely lost a character.”

“The religious apocrypha?”

“Heavily degraded.”

Jameson reached into his breast-pocket and pulled out a data-cube, gently tugging Laura’s hand open as he placed it on her palm. He folded her fingers over it for dramatic effect.

“I was saving it for just such an occasion, dear Laura…”

She laughed. “Such a gentleman,” She said and then paused. “Thanks.”

Don’t thank me,” Jameson replied, “Tell me why it’s important to you.”

Laura motioned Jameson even further down the main corridor. He looked back; Sarah and Daniel were talking to a horn-rimmed tech drinking coffee.

“We have reason to believe that Sam’s gotten hold of an iridium scarab.” She said. “I need you to go to Alaska as soon as arrangements can be made. You know the science and the history of it.”

“We need you there, J’’; I need you there… even if I don’t yet know why…”

Jameson quietly nodded. It was understood, and as such, finished business. They reached Sarah and Daniel as the tech found something technical to do. Laura graciously took her leave, with other matters requiring her presence.

“Did you miss me?” Jameson joked. Sarah smirked.

“No, actually we found a nerd to act as your surrogate…”

“Ouch.” Jameson rubbed his chest. “But I couldn’t help but catch you looking at me a moment or ago when Laura and I were talking…dare I say a jealous look?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. Jameson suddenly felt embarrassed; he was acting like a jerk, way too forward. This notion was reinforced by Daniel, who stood in front of him, arms folded and scowling.

“Mr. Jameson, you don’t have a chance with my momma,” he said, “She loves Michael and I love him too. He loves us both and when all this moving around is over he’s gonna’ be my daddy and we’re gonna live in a big ole’ house with horses and a dog and-,”

“That’s not going to happen, Daniel.” They looked up to see a tall, muscular black man with a glowing Omega symbol tattooed on his neck.

“Tact goes a long way, Blake…”

Sarah got up to confront him.

“Who the fuck are you!?” She asked, her arms folded like Daniel’s. “And more important; who are you to tell my kid it ain’t gonna’ happen!?”

Blake scratched the braids of his goatee with one hand and he rubbed his head with the other.

“I’m Blake Chaplin.” He addressed Sarah. “I’m Michael’s best-friend. I was, anyway…”

“Was!?” Jameson ‘s eyes got wide.

“Was;” replied Blake. “He died in quarantine about an hour ago.”

 

***

 

“What the fuck was that all about!?” Jameson whispered harshly, his voice drowned out by Sarah and Daniel, whose heavy sobbing brought the consolation of the surrounding techs. Jameson had drawn Blake off to the side of the corridor by the arm.

“He’s dead, J’; what the fuck did you want me to say?”

“You could’ve used a little tact,” said Jameson, “He’s a fucking kid, for cryin’ out loud!”

“Yeah, well how ‘bout I send a doctor in a crisp white coat next time one of my friends dies!”

Blake’s voice was also hushed, but barely. He rubbed his wrist, turning away from Jameson to face the yellow strip that lined the wall. Then it struck Jameson; Michael was dead. He let his eyes hit the scuffed concrete ground to anchor himself against the dizziness that was gathering within him.

“Were ya there when it happened?” Jameson murmured. Blake nodded.

“Was he conscious?”

“Right till the end…” A cold laugh escaped Blake’s lungs. “He actually bet on his time of death.” He said, “…bet me my old badge.” He looked up, a single tear meandering down his hardened features to darken his collar.

Jameson knew he’d hate himself for asking, “Did he win?”

“2:30 p.m.,” Blake said without missing a beat. “He was pronounced dead at 2:31.” Blake looked at his watch unconsciously. “Yeah, he won.”

“Only Michael would bet on something like that.”

Blake pulled out his badge. “I’ll have to bury it with him,” he said, “fair is fair…”

“You alright, Blake?”

“Nah, man…” Blake wouldn’t bring his eyes from the wall. Jameson didn’t know what to say.

“Sorry, man… I didn’t mean to-… it was just a shock, is all…”

“I could’ve handled that differently.” Blake said. “Apologize to them for me, will ya?”

“Yeah, sure thing…” Jameson looked over at Sarah and Daniel. “So what’re we gonna do with them, Blake? Michael brought them here…”

“They’re your responsibility now.” Blake said.

“Wha’-huh?” Blake rolled up his sleeve, and Jameson saw his bare arm.

“Why’s it bronze like that?” Jameson strained to get a better look. “What is that stuff?”

“That’s me, J’,” He said. “The virus dissolves most people. Except if you’re infused. Then it turns all those nano-particles holdin you together and it turns them to metal. Bronze, copper, fuckin’ gold; who knows… Shit’s a motherfucker, J’.”

“Is Michael … like that?”

“Yeah; he looks like a statue.” Blake replied, holding his hand over his eyes. “God, I don’t even wanna’ think about the way he looked when he kicked, J’ – it just wasn’t right.”

They stood there without speaking, letting the background fill their ears. Sarah and Daniel had stopped crying. Jameson periodically looked over. They were just sitting there stunned; the attack on Everest may as well have been a blank screen.

“What are they saying about you?”

Blake glanced at his arm. “They’re clueless, He said, “Mike didn’t have bronzing until today; it just came on him.” He waved his arm towards Jameson. “I’ve had this since I picked you and Adam up from New Roch’…”

“Fuck.”

“Tell me about it,”

“So what now?” asked Jameson, “I didn’t even have a chance to talk to Michael.”

“I did.” Blake lifted his finger toward Sarah and Daniel. “Mike said they’re your wards now.”

“But Laura said I need to go to Anchorage; how am I supposed to take them?”

“They might just be safer there.” Blake replied. He pointed to the monitor screen. Everest continued to seethe black.

“BlackLake’s wiping out the Sanctuaries; it’s unlikely we’ll have a problem from them.”

“Why am I not relieved?”

“BlackLake’s far more powerful than we previously thought.” Blake continued. “Fuck, it’s not even BlackLake anymore, ‘calls itself Apep. He, it; it’s gonna make a run at Seattle. Only a matter of time.”

“What the fuck’s going on with it?”

“Who knows…UEC has a proven track record of creating things that kill.” Blake said. “I talked to Mobley earlier. He couldn’t give me much intel’, but I’ll pass it on.”

Jameson pulled out a notebook. “Shoot.”

Blake pushed the notebook down. “I only got four things for ya’; Laura tell ya’ about Sam Lowery?” Jameson nodded.

“Sam’s a good guy; I’ve dealt with him before. He’s got a dynamo-,”

“Iridium scarab,”

“Whatever; it powers shit without running out of juice. The UEC hasn’t been able to dig it up; that may be partly why they released AV3 – burn the haystack in the hopes of findin’ the needle.” Blake leaned close.

“BlackLake, Apep, whatever he calls himself; he wont have that problem. We gotta get there first.”

“…and do what?” Jameson asked. Blake laughed.

“Ooookay…” Blake patted him on the shoulder.

“That’s why we’re sending you, genius.” He joked.

“Two more things,” He said, “Guy named Gerhardt. Gerhardt Schoern. Transferred recently to Anchorage from Pacific Sanctuary,”

“Spy?” Blake shrugged.

“Assume so,” He said, “Leaving isn’t usually an option; he’d need authorization to leave. He’s working with the Security Force. Just watch out for him, that’s all.”

“Gerhardt…”

“…Schoern. Don’t worry; we’ll send an image into your visual reference file.” Blake said. “Other guy; his name’s Kenny Boejke. He used to work for the Security Force. He pulled a Borland. We’ve been able to track him to Chickaloon.”

“Chickaloon, OK…”

“That’s where Sam lives.” Blake said. “He’s probably with Sam.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Depends on why he left Anchorage.”

“Yeah, point.” Jameson took his spectacles off to wipe the dust off them.

“Lastly, that…thing…I got in Albany… killed Cyrus; they’ve reverse-engineered it already. It’s just a laser filter. They made a big one to put on the pulse cannon… Don’t know what it’ll do, but…” He pulled the original out of his pocket, handed it to Jameson. “Take this one with you. May come in handy…”

Jameson flipped it through his fingers. “Alright.” He said.

“Better get back over there.” Blake said, pointing to Sarah and Daniel. “J’, if I don’t see you… ya’ know….” He put his fist to his heart. Jameson had a million things to tell him. He took those million things, balled them up into his fist and thumped his chest.

“One last thing,” Blake said as Jameson was walking away. He turned back.

“Mike brought them here ‘cause they’re immune.” He said. Jameson nodded.

“Yeah, I know.”

“…and that’s why I brought you here.”

Without another word, Blake turned, his black trench-coat flapped in the breeze of his pace as he walked away.

 

***

 

Haze hugged the ground of the outer ring as Elle tried to make a break for the ground service level of the Sanctuary. Her nerves were frayed by the friction of panic, her never having been witness to such craziness. She’d only encountered three people since she escaped her apartment. Their skin bubbled, lips cracked as if the foam pouring out from them was acid. Their eyes were dilated, lids upper and loader dissolving to reveal the engorged blood vessels that lined the ocular periphery.

Elle tried to shake off her revulsion. She saw three; three was enough.

She didn’t know what she was going to do. She had a goal; getting off the Sanctuary. Finding Gerhardt in Anchorage, living the rebel’s life he surely was living right then. But it was a big difference between contemplations induced by house-arrest and dodging corpses pending. Elle was mere yards from the TPT Terminal when she saw someone she knew; Kylie Janeau. Slumped against the wall, Elle only recognized her outfit. Kylie was a trend-setter. She wasn’t recognizable. Her body was following its own trend. Elle had to hug the opposite edge of the outer ring to avoid stepping in Kylie’s bubbling remains.

She slammed on the TPT Open button, hot tears making her eyes itch. She couldn’t stop checking her arms in mortal fear that she’d see her flesh bubbling, but each glance brought a second’s relief. The TPT wasn’t responding. She pounded repeatedly on the button, eventually crying out in frustration.

“The main’s out,” came a voice from the shadow-rimmed edge of the ring, “You’re gonna’ have to take the stairs.” Elle strained to see as the figure moved into the light, but she knew the voice.

Albrecht was dressed in a white protective suit. He was infected; the suit didn’t cover his face. Elle could see a few spots on his arms where the suit had been ripped open, his skin bubbling, but not as bad as the others Elle had seen. He had a splotch on his cheek that was bubbling; again, not as bad as she’d seen. He had a small plastic bag in his hand. He reached in, grabbing out a pinch of some kind of beige powder. He proceeded to rub it on the infected spots. Elle was amazed to see the bubbling lower in intensity as he did that.

“It won’t last forever,” he said, “…even if I had an endless supply; it’s a salve, not a cure.”

“I thought you were dead!” She said, her voice wavering, “You’re apartment… and I asked my father!”

Albrecht motioned for Elle to follow him.

“I don’t know about your father,” he said, “As for the apartment; I left it after you stopped by. I figured I’d be a marked man after you played that recording.”

“Oh Albrecht, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be,” He said, dipping into his bag for another application, “Every time I saw Gerhardt, I’d tell him one day I was just gonna’ disappear, apartment cleaned to the bare whites, no trace…”

“…and every time he left, I thought; who am I kidding?” a laugh escaped him. “I should thank you for giving me a reason to follow through.”

“I’m still sorry…”

Albrecht rubbed his cheek, “I’m beginning to think the same thing. This virus is diabolical.” Elle laughed.

“Glad you think it’s funny,”

“No, it’s just that Gerhardt used to tell me that was your favorite word.”

“I don’t know about favorite,” he said.

They walked about two-hundred yards until they reached a service corridor. It wasn’t marked; most of the service infrastructure wasn’t.

“Stairway B.” Albrecht pulled a set of pins out of his pocket and went to work using two pins to pop the tumblers. The door clicked, slowly creaking open. The stairway was empty; they descended in eerie silence.

“How come you’re not as sick as the others?” Elle asked to break the tension, “and what’s in the bag?”

“Its talcum powder, with some other stuff mixed in.” He said, “It helps; I think it absorbs the shit that’s bubbling off me.”

“Won’t work forever,” He added.

“Al, you don’t look nearly as bad as some of the people I saw on the way down the outer ring.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

“That’s not what I mean…”

“I know, but it’s true.” He said. “Whatever it is, it’s in the air. Maybe all those filters I had in my apartment did something, I don’t know…”

They rounded the curve to the top level of the First Tier. She knew there were nine levels to go before they hit the ground service level.

“So where’d ya go?” Elle asked.

“It’s a secret-,” Albrecht stopped in mid-thought. “Fuck it,” he said, “Guess it doesn’t matter now… There’s an air duct in the service structure; a big one. Some of the First Tier techs use it when they’re fucking around on their wives. It gets air from the outside.”

“What about contamination?”

Albrecht laughed. They reached the landing to Level 1-5. “You’re kidding, right?”

Elle thought about it. “Point…”

They quietly descended the remaining flights and reached the ground service level. Elle had never seen the core of the ground service level, only the outer edge when she and Gerhardt would meet by the eye-wall. The core was a labyrinth of monolithic black metal and thick flame-gradient cables, some the size of her wrist. It would have been awe inspiring to see that city-within-a-city alive and bustling with techs and service personnel.

The masses of clothing stained dark with foam and ooze haphazardly dotted the labyrinth, inspiring Elle to dry-heave only inches from a once-filled grey jumpsuit. In the background she could hear Albrecht coughing. It brought her back to her senses, and to a realization.

“Al, how come I’m not sick?”

Al dipped his fingers in powder. “You’re asking me?”

“Kylie Janeau’s-,” Sick? “-dead. Her father’s a Board President. If it got her…”

“It’s not discriminating.” Albrecht said. “Was she infused?”

“No, not yet,” Elle shuddered, turning away, “She was in my class; we were supposed to go through it later this year.”

“What about your father? Isn’t he infused?” asked Albrecht as they approached the outer service dock. “Is he sick?”

“I don’t know,” Elle replied, “I haven’t-,”

Elle’s words froze in her mouth as they stepped out onto the dock. There was a fleet of freight skiffs; deserted, save for more soaked and empty jumpsuits. Victims. A steel rail separated the dock from the water, lined with a bench to give skiff drivers a place to sit between pick-ups and deliveries. It was lined with bronze statues, suspended in states of nervous agitation, as apparent by the facial expressions made metal. Elle recognized every face.

One of them was her father’s.

 

***

 

The Receiving Station was saturated with the smell of sweat and the sound of the herded masses hoping for a clean pass-through. Many hadn’t eaten; a few of them stood transfixed, nearly salivating over a bowl of soup that one of the Entry Guards left at his station to cool. Gerhardt whispered to Dalton, asking why the Guard didn’t have the decency to use the break-room. Dalton’s reply was that the soup was there on purpose; just bait to get hungry people to cross the line and be denied entry.

“We can’t let ‘em in if they don’t have table manners, after all,” Dalton said, “you’ve been in the bar… ya’ know we have our share…”

The old Gerhardt staring out from behind the shielded windows of Pacific Sanctuary would’ve been amazed at the cold-hearted explanation. New Gerhardt, armed and invisible against the broken backdrop of slack-faced, battered refugees, was just blank.

It was their third day undercover in the Receiving Station, and that day was the culmination of the assignment. They were expecting President Liu to arrive in Anchorage, to begin a sight tour of the Denali Diamond. He had recently taken over the Everest Sanctuary, deposing President Quan. The cause was unknown, and whatever changes it meant were likewise unknown; the live video-link was down system-wide. Dalton damn-near threw a bottle at the panel-screen in Apep when it went out during the Regional Death-Match. He had money on one of the fighters.

Dalton joked about Liu’s tour of the Diamond. Most of it would be a cloaked fly-over. Liu wouldn’t dare prowl rebel-held land. He was well protected in Anchorage, from the Receiving Station to the Armor Transport Depot off Old Glenn Highway. Truth is he had no need to tour anything. The Denali Diamond was the most heavily mapped, monitored and tracked geography on earth.

Something else was afoot. Dalton was sure of it, pointing it out the night before over the last round of ‘scrape. President Liu was making a statement.

“He’s makin’ a show,” Dalton said, “Denali’s got a Lander. He can bypass Anchorage,” He belched, “This is about face-time. Fuckin’ symbolism…”

“What about the rebs?”

“’Prob’ly wanna’ a slice o’ the big cheese.” Sylvia shouted last call as Dalton downed scrape dregs and lit up a hand-rolled.

“That’s OK, Syl’; I’ll clean up,” He smiled. Sylvia flipped him off.

“Clean up all the alcohol, you’…”

“Love you too, dear.” Dalton tapped Gerhardt’s shoulder.

“Pay up the tab tonight,” he said, “If I won that bet, I’ll square ya’…”

The taste of scrape was still on Gerhardt’s breath the next day. He was becoming immune to Dalton’s hangover remedy; the dull pounding was marking time like a clock. Suddenly the Receiving station became quiet. Gerhardt’s gaze darted left to right.

“That’s him.” Dalton said quietly. Gerhardt felt Dalton’s hand on the back of his head, turning it to one of the Security Service doors.

“Somethin’s not right with him,” Dalton whispered, “I’ve seen him before; he’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know…” Gerhardt could feel Dalton moving forward slightly, though the Shimmerite obscured his outline.

“It’s like he’s not human…”

“He’s infused, right?”

“It ain’t that,” Dalton said, “He was infused the last time I saw him.”

Liu was surrounded by five men all dressed in the black-and-gold trim uniforms of UEC Guard. He was dressed in pure black, but there was more. From where Gerhardt was standing, it seemed that Liu’s eyes were black, no distinction between the corneas, irises and pupils. Just pure black. He turned his head, and Gerhardt could swear Liu was looking straight at him. This notion was confirmed as, after a brief exchange with the Head of Entry Security, Liu traversed the Receiving Station in the direction of his and Dalton’s post.

“Will ya’ look at that?” said Dalton. Gerhardt didn’t have to ask what he meant. Liu wasn’t walking around people as his men were; he was drifting through them, leaving the people in line shocked and bewildered, to put it mildly. One little boy was terrified, screaming as Liu passed through, bathing him in black mist. Soon he and Gerhardt were face-to-face. He then realized the Shimmerite was off.

“Aren’t you an interesting figure…Gerhardt Schoern.” Liu more hissed than spoke, “A self-sacrificing enigma. Not easily understood.”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. President-,”

“Don’t be. And don’t call me Mr. President.” He said, and then his voice trailed. “That office has been abolished.”

Gerhardt looked back at Dalton, who shrugged slightly enough to indicate his being correct – something strange was indeed happening. Liu cast his onyx eyes to Dalton.

“Insubordinate,” He said. “Flat-spirited, dispassionate if there’s not a wager at stake.” Dalton lowered his head slightly; he was pissed.

“Killer without conscience,” Liu continued, “…duty-bound, not honor-bound.”

“Dalton Henry,” Liu extended a sinewy hand whose veins held an inky black pulse. Dalton shook it uncertainly before Liu offered the same hand to Gerhardt. The Guardsmen were motionless, expressionless. They almost didn’t seem real.

“You gentlemen will be my escort through the Diamond.” He said.

“I’m not qualified to fly a Security Escort.” Dalton replied.

Liu smiled. His teeth were brilliant white, offset by the extremely dark hue of his tongue and gums.

“Who said we were flying?” He asked.

“You wanna’ do a low-float through rebel-held territory?”

“Low float?” Liu laughed; more of a cackle. “I was thinking of walking.”

Dalton smiled, waiting for the punch-line.

There was none. By the look on his face, Liu was quite serious.

“The rebels will try to kill you.” Dalton said, “You’re going to make it easy-,”

Dalton was interrupted by an explosion that rocked the receiving station, opening the roof and half of the far wall. It knocked Gerhardt off his feet. He rose to a high-pitch squeal in his ears and the whip of bitter Alaskan wind stinging the tip of his nose. His equilibrium returned to a scene painted in charred concrete and blood. People were screaming. Laser-fire erupted from the breach as men fired DE in Liu’s direction, clipping one of the Guardsmen on the shoulder. Liu was still standing where he was; he hadn’t moved an inch the whole time.

“Gentlemen,” said Liu, “Your assignment begins now.”

 

***

 

Frequencies shifted, forming micro-frequencies, anti-frequencies making antimatter infiltrating matter like the spark that turned gas fumes to fireballs. Kenny sat on a worn-out, sweat-encrusted office chair, concentrating as two notes poured into his ears from the buds of Sam’s headphones. Two pure tones; frequencies, nearly identical, only a hair’s slice of difference separated them, not enough to cause Kenny comprehension, just unease. He was a bit nauseous, and though he’d have gladly attributed it to the tones, he knew the real cause was Sam’s absence.

Kenny stood there, slack jawed, dazed as Sam prepared to take his leave.

“You alright, Kenny-Bo’?” He asked, his usual smile on his face, “Look like the cat’s got your tongue.”

Sam had to explain the expression; Kenny had never heard it before. But it wasn’t a cat that had Kenny’s tongue. It was guilt.

“I killed your boy, Sam. I’m sorry, but I can’t hold it in any longer. I have to get it off my chest.”

That’s what the cat had hold of. Kenny cleared his throat and feigned nervousness at being in the depot alone. Sam reassured him it was in good hands and left the way they’d come in. Static crackled softly in the background; Sam called it a ham radio. He said it was dialed in to a channel they’d be using in an emergency. Kenny hoped and prayed it wouldn’t go off.

Sam had a framed picture of Alex on the desk. Kenny wished that he could’ve turned it around, but the desk had a fine layer of dust on it; Sam would’ve noticed its movement. All Kenny could do was to keep his eyes on the plans and absorb the shearing monotones in the headphones.

There was a point to listening. The audio signals were even multiples of the frequencies the scarab used to shift the matter balance. Kenny had to have an understanding of how it worked. The frequency was being programmed into him; all he needed was to memorize the multiplier. The materials and schematics were all drawn out. Sam was right in the fact that Kenny didn’t need to understand the scarabs to create them. The fact was no relief.

Sam was planning on not coming back. He was jovial upon his departure, but Kenny had spent a week with him. He was in many ways a minimalist, doing only what he needed to get the job done. It made sense in Chickaloon; wasted materials couldn’t easily be replaced and wasted energy could differentiate survival from death. Sam wouldn’t waste time teaching Kenny what he didn’t need to know. The full effect of this was made plain during their last conversation.

“This is the main power relay.” Sam had a thick metal door pried open and was pointing to a series of buttons and levers. “See this here?” He pointed to what looked like an empty, odd-shaped socket. Kenny nodded.

“The first, copy, you make of the scarab goes in here,” He said, “Note, there’s no actual connections in the socket, see?” Kenny looked over Sam’s shoulder.

“How does it connect?”

“Just put the bottom end close enough to the socket; they’ll pull themselves together.” Sam shut the door.

“The scarab provides what’s known as a feeler field,” He continued. “It’s a static field, and when it finds an empty electrical load, as in that socket or the battery contacts on a skiff, it narrows the feeler field to form a direct connection.”

“It does all that on its own?”

“Yup’,” Sam smiled. “It supplies voltage, current, heat; whatever the things runs off of.”

Kenny had the scarab in his hand. He could still feel the warmth of radiation. “Wow.”

Sam walked over to the desk, muttering to himself; Kenny couldn’t make it out. He opened the top drawer, pulling out a thick folder, near to bursting with papers.

“These are the manifests of what we have here,” he said, “We trust precious little to electronic media. We have dealings with Seattle on occasion; they buy some of our captured equipment. Lord knows what they do with it—they probably take the shit apart, I imagine…”

“Sam, why are you telling me this?” Sam walked over to one of the three tall filing cabinets that lined the east wall and pulled open the top drawer.

“…you’ll need to know how to fill out our portion of the Transfer Request Form…”

“Sam, answer me,”

“…they’re not hard; they’re just headache to-,” Kenny walked over to the filing cabinet, slamming the drawer Sam left open.

“Goddamnit, Sam!”

Sam stopped, setting the forms down on his desk, sighing, not meeting Kenny’s eyes with his own.

“The President of Denali is taking a tour of the Diamond,” Sam said, “we’re gonna’ try to intercept him at the receiving station.”

“And by intercept, you mean-,”

“Kill.”

Kenny carefully set the scarab down on the desk. “Sam, isn’t he immortal? Infused or what-not?” Sam dug in his pocket, pulling out a small white plastic device. It looked like a tiny old flashlight. It was a hack-cover; Kenny had seen a few as a Security Force member.

“I got this thing a year ago, from our sister depot in New York, place called Albany.” He said. “As far as I know, they only had one other copy. And I say had because last week we stopped receiving signals from Albany.”

“You think they got wiped out?”

“Me and Ralph used to play chess every couple days over the ham,” Sam said, “Ralph’s the, well, the me over there. I haven’t heard from him in a week.”

“Maybe something came up.”

“No.” Sam said. “Mitchell’s a better chess player. That was our link, me and Ralph. Ten years without a week missed. What’s that tell you?”

“Sorry, Sam…”

“…so you’d be well advised to learn these forms.” Sam said. “This depot was here before I moved up here; it’ll be here after me.”

“Aw, Sam…” Kenny nearly teared up, “What about Alice? The boys?”

“They’ll do,” He said. His eyes were dancing with the floor, “we’ve had our experience with loss…” Kenny felt the last sentence stab into him. It was then that a cat kept him from confessing.

Kenny pulled the headphones off. He was getting a headache, and he leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eye-sockets with the bases of his palms. He opened his eyes and cast them down at the desk. There, poking out of the corner of a stack of Transfer Forms was something Kenny missed. It was an envelope, old and stained, with the handwritten words KEN-, he pulled it out, -NY. He ripped it open and pulled out a piece of folded notebook paper, the lines barely visible. Kenny read it aloud. It was a simple note from Sam, nothing complicated. Kind of like a sledgehammer.

Kenny-Bo’,

The day you were captured, Roger Borland sent dispatch to my house, telling me they’d captured the man who killed Alex.

You. Yes, I know. I’ve known the whole time I’d known you. I was offered your life, to do with as I pleased. Had I wanted to, I could’ve killed you. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought about it. I didn’t have you mow the lawn because I needed you to. It was a waste of your expertise, and plus it was Mitchell’s chore. I did it so you would have to see Alex’s grave every day.

Then I noticed that you spent extra time making sure that not so much as a blade of grass was awry, not one petal of one flower showed a twinge of wilt. And I saw you pray at every pass.

I know you’re sorry, and I know you’ve wanted to tell me. That cat’s got claws. But I want you to know one thing;

I forgive you. So does Alice. Jimmy and Mitchell too (they found out the night I did.)

Kenny wiped the tears from his eyes to finish reading.

I may not return. Please take care of Alice, Jimmy and Mitchell. And please keep the depot open, if it’s the only thing you do. And I have one last request of you.

Pray for me, Kenny-Bo’. Pray for us all.

 

Sam.

Kenny wiped his eyes. He breathed hard, his bleary gaze locked on the ham radio as his head reverberated with sorrow. In the white noise of static and the dying fluorescent light of Sam’s lab-turned-office, Kenny brought his hands together and prayed.

 

 

 

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