Myst and Ink, Book 1

by HD Smith

  I had no idea how it was possible, but I was beginning to believe I was somehow a descendent of House Zar. Maybe my real mother or father had been exiled to Canis before Aratus disappeared during the Great Cataclysm. But if that was the case, why had they bound my powers and given me up?

  I heard a few loud in and out breaths, reminding me my eavesdropping spell was still locked on Dr. Parker.

  “Okay,” Dr. Parker said, “pull yourself together, George. You just have to figure out why the serum worked on her. This isn’t your first research assignment. You’ve been doing this shit for forty years. You can do this. The hair and the eyes don’t matter. It doesn’t mean she’s a royal. She could be the product of two parents with hidden Zar ancestry who were never on Aratus. Her age is twenty-three; Aratus was gone before she was born. She’s too young to be a royal child, so she must be the product of bastards or genetic manipulation. She’s a very dangerous, deadly anomaly, but a fake nonetheless. Which is why she needs to be committed. To be protected and kept safe. From herself and others. Yes, that’s it. That’s the rationale. Good job, George. Good job, old chap. Now you deserve a fancy coffee from the café on two. Yes, a break would be nice.”

  Great. The doctor handling my care had just rationalized my very illegal confinement. And he talked to himself in third person. He should be the one committed. I had to get the hell out of here before they drugged me or put me in a cell or both.

  I concentrated and turned off the enhanced hearing spell, releasing it back to the spell library. Now I just needed to activate the library, search for the unlock spell, and free myself from this bed.

  My VF was clear of all the spell icons I’d just processed. I tried several mental commands, all with somewhat random results. Years ago I’d watched a vid-tutorial for teaching children to use a VF. Everyone at the orphanage had to watch it, even though most of us would never have a VF. It was dictated by the government as a way to promote technology in a positive light. I’d only half listened as the instructor described the VF’s abilities.

  So far I’d been able to bring up a chat box and the stream, but I didn’t yet understand how to mentally manipulate the interface. I wished I had my Link. That interface I knew well. I could easily search my spell library with my Link.

  As I thought this, an empty text box appeared on the screen. Had I done that by thinking of search? As a test, I thought; unlock.

  “Oh-my-Lucy,” I muttered.

  It worked. The word unlock was typed on the screen. Mentally I thought search to activate it.

  The unlock icon appeared. As I’d done before, I grabbed the spell. A new whisper-light sensation on my arm left two identical tats near the copper cuffs.

  I laughed as the copper cuffs clicked open, releasing me from the bed rail.

  I rubbed my wrists, hoping this good luck was a portent of things to come.

  A flash of light drew my attention to the vid-feed. A Breaking News segment had taken over the station. The ticker along the bottom read: “Explosion at Cortez Towers.” The video showed a window on the 17th floor being blown out from the inside. This wasn’t a live feed like the images I’d seen earlier. This feed was from a surveillance drone during the explosion. The drone advanced toward the window, and the video flashed white as it adjusted to the bright light inside the room. A woman made of light and fire burned icy blue as the video started to shake.

  “The Blue Angel of Death,” I muttered. “Me.”

  A second later, the video feed went dead, and the screen switched to show two newscasters in a studio. I scrambled to find the remote. Turning up the volume, I listened to the breaking news.

  [“As promised, we are replaying our coverage from earlier. Still no update from House Cortez,” a female newscaster said.]

  The footage cut away to a segment that had been recorded earlier. The same reporter was speaking.

  [“As you see, Bob, that’s all we have for video. Our myst expert says the drone lost power when the myst level plummeted to zero,” the female newscaster said.

  “Zero? Is that even possible, Janet?” Bob asked.

  “According to the initial results—which were leaked on the condition of anonymity—the drone was without sufficient myst for five seconds, forcing an internal shutdown.”

  “What about the woman in the video?”

  “Some are calling her the Blue Angel. House Cortez is blaming the incident on a chemical spill. However, that was before the video was leaked. So far we’ve had no new report,” Janet said.]

  The video cut back to the live broadcast.

  [Bob nodded, then faced the camera.

  “In other news, Heleo Corp is launching a new helper bot that rides dangerously close to AI. It’s also unclear how today’s Supreme Court ruling will impact—”]

  I clicked off the newsfeed.

  I now knew why Marissa Cortez had called me the Blue Angel of Death, but the drone video wasn’t the full picture. I had to know exactly what had happened. Marissa had implied that more than one person had died. The hospital had to have other surveillance. Wait—when Dr. Beverly suggested she review it, Marissa admonished her. There was no additional surveillance because my personal holographic knew how to follow orders.

  “Interface. Show yourself,” I said.

  Susan9 appeared in the room. “Welcome back, Genevieve,” Susan9 said. “Have you rested?”

  I ignored the attempt at small talk.

  “Interface. Did you record the incident with Dr. Monroe when he died?”

  “Yes. I have all the video from your incident.”

  “Interface. Show me what happened.”

  Susan9 pointed to the vid-panel I’d just turned off. It activated, displaying Susan9’s vid-feed as she followed my convulsing body from the M13 lab to the hospital ward on the 17th floor. I was wheeled into a sterile exam room. I watched as my body started shaking as they strapped me down to the bed in the new room.

  [“Her temperature is rising,” Jeff said. “Dr. Monroe, what should we do?”

  “Nothing. It will burn her out. We’ll cremate her as soon as she’s dead. No one will know the difference,” Dr. Monroe said.

  “What the hell?” Jeff yelled, as my skin started to spark.

  My hair changed to dark pink and grew long to below my shoulders. A shine ran over my eyes as flecks of gold emerged and the irises turned violet.

  A snowflake icon on a panel over the bed displaying my stats started flashing, indicating the myst level in the room was low. Almost immediately it started to beep, which meant the myst level was dropping.

  “What’s happening?” Dr. Monroe said, pushing past Jeff to get a better look. “Set up the phlebotomy equipment.”

  “You want me to drain her blood?” Jeff asked, grimacing in horror.]

  “What the hell,” I muttered.

  [“Yes, that’s an order,” Dr. Monroe yelled.

  Jeff and the orderlies left the room. Dr. Monroe continued to watch as the sparks on my skin began to arch higher. He tapped the display panel above my bed, entering a coded sequence of numbers. The snowflake warning subsided. A few seconds later, a pulse surged out of my body, breaking the restraints that were keeping me on the bed. As if by levitation, my body floated above the bed then came down to stand in front of Dr. Monroe. My dark pink hair floated around my head like a halo of fire, and my eyes were lit with an eerie glow.

  “What have you done?” I said]

  It didn’t sound like my voice. I shivered, unable to look away from the screen. If I weren’t so scary-looking, I’d think the new version of me was beautiful.

  [“You need to lie back down,” Dr. Monroe said. Turning his head to yell back toward the hallway, he said, “Jeff, get back in here!” My skin erupted into blue flame, pushing a burst of energy out in all directions. The window vibrated. Dr. Monroe was slammed against the wall. Sparks swirled around me. The snowflake icon beeped again. Another pulse erupted, this time blowing out the window and crushing Dr. Monroe’s body
into the wall.]

  I watched in horror as the drone that had taken the footage of me as the Blue Angel approached the window from the outside. A moment later, it dropped from the sky.

  Susan9’s recording ended.

  “Interface. What happened?” I asked.

  “Myst reserves in the room were depleted beyond a functioning level. I was unable to record the events.”

  I pushed the top sheet back, ready to get up, when I heard the door click. Lucy-damn-hell, I’d missed my opportunity to slip out before someone noticed.

  “Interface. Hide.”

  A balding man with dark sideburns and an aggressive set of House tats on the left side of his face walked in with a steaming beverage. His eyes were staring down at his Link. He hadn’t yet noticed I was awake.

  His lab coat read Dr. George Parker. My new jailer had arrived.

  13

  City Center, Tau, Tuesday, 13:00 LTZ

  Liam

  My shadows had followed me to Guild HQ, where they not so casually waited for me to finish my business. I continued to ignore them, but had Dexter monitoring the feeds to keep track of their locations.

  I registered Ancient Antiquities with the guild association then left Guild HQ with Mr. Pink Pants and Mr. Track Suit following closely behind me. We picked up the third shadow, The Biker, when I left the courthouse and turned away from the northern entrance where I’d entered City Center.

  City Center was the engineered heart of Tau’s Sector 1 municipality, but it still had a few blind alleys where someone could get boxed in if they didn’t know what they were doing.

  After my first clumsy attempt at pretending to be lost, I let the three shadows intimidate me into making several bad choices that trapped me in a dead end. Of course this was exactly what I had hoped would happen the first time I changed direction because The Biker put himself between me and a major street.

  I messaged Dexter and dropped two spider bots in the alley as the three men moved to ring me in.

  LIAM: Get all of this on video, just in case we need it and ID The Biker

  DEXTER: 10-4

  “Hey guys, I’m not looking for trouble,” I said.

  The three men laughed. I’m sure they thought they had the upper hand.

  “Look, buddy,” Mr. Pink Pants said. “We just want to talk.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” I said.

  The Biker cracked his knuckles and tried to look like he wanted to break me in half. He did a good job, but I had too many Peacekeeper tricks up my sleeve to be frightened. Not to mention all the advanced evasion and self-defense classes I’d been subjected to my entire life.

  The Biker smiled. “We work for an organization that would like for you to end your relationship with Mrs. Donovan. We’re aware she has hired you to take something that doesn’t belong to her. It belongs to us, and we don’t plan to part with it.”

  Dexter texted exactly what I was thinking.

  DEXTER: These guys want the CME? And apparently they don’t work for Donovan … plot twist

  LIAM: Have you ID’d the Biker yet?

  DEXTER: I just got a hit. Ace Larson. A rap sheet a mile long, but his connections are with Storm

  Holy hell.

  LIAM: Oliver or Byron?

  DEXTER: Why does it matter?

  LIAM: That’s complicated

  DEXTER: It’s Byron … Harko Royale paid the guy’s bail two years ago

  LIAM: Interesting. Why is this old guild coming up now?

  “Did you hear me?” The Biker asked, I ignored him.

  DEXTER: Well, it isn’t … I mean I found it after back-tracking through a bunch of trust filings … you know my theory that all trusts are now owned by Storm, so I dug deeper on this guy and found that his first bail out was paid by the guild, not the trust

  LIAM: That’s odd, right?

  DEXTER: More like sloppy … someone in their accounting department probably screwed something up … most wouldn’t have found it … but of course I’m the best ;)

  LIAM: Yes, you’re the best … and Harko Royale is 100% connected to Byron

  DEXTER: Yep

  At least I didn’t have to worry about Oliver this round.

  “Hey, idiot,” Mr. Pink Pants said, “we’re talking to you.”

  “Oh, sorry. I was checking my grocery order. Who the hell are you three?” I asked.

  The Biker raised a questioning eyebrow at Mr. Pink Pants and Mr. Track Suit, with a ‘Can you believe the balls on this dead guy?’ look.

  DEXTER: You will try to get answers from them, right?

  LIAM: Yes, of course … just having some fun first

  “Look, dumbass,” Mr. Track Suit said. “You need to back off this case.”

  “What case, the one Donovan tried to extort me to do? That case?” I said.

  Mr. Pink Pants looked confused, then he said, “Yes.”

  “Right,” I said. “You see, I don’t work for Donovan. I refused to take her job. I’m not a thief. I have no desire to steal anything from a lab in Sector 19.”

  Mr. Pink Pants narrowed his eyes. “The lab’s not in Sector 19.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you telling me you’ve got my office bugged and you heard Donovan tell me the package wasn’t in Sector 19?”

  “No, no,” Mr. Pink Pants said. “I’m saying—“

  “Enough,” the Biker said. “He’s fucking with us.”

  I raised one of my eyebrows, but didn’t deny it. “Okay, now that I know who’s leading the pack,” I said to the Biker, “I want some answers.”

  The Biker curled up his lip in a half sneer. Cute.

  “Who else wants the product? Who are you working for?” I asked.

  “That’s none—” Mr. Pink Pants said, but stopped when The Biker held up his hand.

  “Why do you need to know?” The Biker asked.

  I smiled. “Donovan is going to be a pain in my ass if I don’t bring her the product. I might have to kill some of her people. I’m curious who might have my back if I walk away.”

  The Biker appeared to be thinking. I could tell he didn’t trust me, but I was sure he had no clue who the hell I really was either, so he didn’t know what I was capable of. The only thing he did know was that Donovan wanted to hire me.

  “Why should I tell you?” The Biker asked.

  “It will save me the trouble of beating it out of you,” I said.

  He laughed, shaking his head. “You got balls, kid.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve got skills, Ace.”

  The Biker stiffened. I’d tossed out his real first name on purpose. The other men didn’t catch the reference. Were they all three independent guns for hire?

  “I already know it’s House Storm,” I said. “What I don’t know is, why is Byron interested in CME? As far as I know, there aren’t any real uses for it.”

  Mr. Track Suit bristled. “Donovan has no claim to our product.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Blade,” The Biker said.

  DEXTER: Mr. Track Suit has a new nickname, Blade … I like ours better

  I smiled. “Interesting,” I said. “So, somehow Storm got K12 to make the CME. Or did he just buy it after the fact?”

  The Biker kept his mouth shut.

  I activated two of my illegal-as-hell interrogation spells. One to detain a person, but it only lasted ten minutes, just long enough to get them secured in cuffs, which I didn’t have. And the other to force The Biker to tell me the truth.

  “I’ll ask again,” I said. “Did Byron Storm have the CME created or just buy it after the fact?”

  I could see The Biker trying to hold his tongue, but the spell made that impossible.

  “Created,” he spit out through clenched teeth.

  I glanced over at the others, Mr. Track Suit and Mr. Pink Pants were both struggling to move.

  “How?” I asked The Biker, because there was no way House Cortez was creating something like that for House Storm

  “It w
as a deal with Dr. Lyle, who runs the study,” The Biker said.

  “Is this a House Storm venture or just a Byron Storm project?” I asked.

  I was sure I already knew the answer, but I wanted confirmation.

  The Biker’s internal struggle intensified, but he eventually broke. “Byron.”

  Hmm. Byron hired a doctor who worked for House Cortez to create him a dangerous byproduct, but obviously something went wrong.

  “Why haven’t you already picked it up?” I asked. “Why is Donovan even in play?”

  The Biker didn’t struggle this time. He answered the question with ease. “The lab is locked up. Dr. Lyle is in the wind. Donovan was contacted first about the job, but she wanted too much money. She was told to back off, but refused.”

  “So you’re here to intimidate me so I’ll leave it alone until you figure out how to retrieve it yourself?”

  The Biker struggled again before answering. “No,” he said, breathing heavy. “We have our plan, but it will take another day. We just need you to back off. She won’t be able to hire another crew before we can retrieve the product.”

  I laughed. “You guys are in a real jam.”

  The Biker’s eyebrows drew together. Obviously he wasn’t up on late twenty-first century lingo.

  The Biker struggled again, this time to physically break free from my spell. I was running out of time, and we all knew it.

  “Lucy-damn-hell. B’s going to kill us,” Mr. Pink Pants said.

  His struggles were starting to pay off. The spell was weakening.

  The Biker stretched his neck. The hold wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Who’s helping you get the CME?” I asked.