The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection

by Stephanie Flint

  I hold the dainty spoon beside the saucer, poking at the metal ball of tea leaves inside my cup. I’ve never been a fan. Too watery. “No disrespect, Commander, but shouldn’t we be doing something? Overseeing the invasion in Japan? Continuing our search?”

  Granted, he’s had his personal tea time each of the past several days, but I took that time to nap. No wonder we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. No progress, no rebels…

  No Val.

  “My dear boy, you have something to learn about commanding. You must take time out of your day to rejuvenate, regardless of how dire the situation. For me, I choose tea. How is yours, by the way? Would you like another lump of sugar? Perhaps honey. Honey goes quite well with chamomile.”

  I flinch. “No thanks.”

  The commander motions to an agent behind him. “How about yours?”

  She smiles weakly and returns his toast. She gives me a pitying look. I think we’re in the same boat. I frown, sipping at the warm water. Something pings my thoughts—something familiar. A transmitter of some kind, though it’s mangled beyond belief.

  Master Zaytsev. Commander Rick narrows his eyes and I jump, sloshing burning liquid onto my hands. I gasp, snagging a cloth napkin to clean the mess. “Now is time to relax. No techno sight.”

  “But sir—”

  “No buts. Whatever you’ve sensed can wait. Taking your rest is vitally important to keeping your mind sharp.”

  “Sir—I recognized a transmitter. It could be the rebels.” I gnaw at my lip, getting a better read on the transmitter. The signal is the rebels’. One of their radios, I’m sure of it.

  The commander lifts his head, thoughtful. “Indeed,” he murmurs. The trio of agents still standing dart off in the direction I sensed. “Those agents will have their break later. For now, we shall rest and let them do their work.”

  “Yes, sir.” I sigh as the transmitter’s signal blinks out of range. Gone. Just like that.

  They must have portaled out, and with them, our lead.

  Special Forces confirm that a pair of rebels had been present in a nearby alley, listening to our conversation. Thanks to their ability to portal, we lost them after their first jump. If it weren’t for our “mandatory” tea time, and Commander Rick’s insistence that we take a break, I would be home with Val. Instead, we take another five days to gather information from a nearby merchant who saw a man sell the rebels mechanical parts, and then we track that man into hiding. Turns out he was a bit of a rebel himself, and though I’m not present for the interrogation, I hear the crack of gunfire that concludes it.

  I wrap my arms around me. I can’t get the sound out of my mind. It puts me into a memory. I feel the heft of Crush’s gun in my hand, still warm from being fired, and the pool of blood, unbelievably red blood, spilling from Lady Winters’ head. It soaks her white hair. I fired the gun, I killed her, and now here is a man who probably hasn’t done any of the horrors she committed, and he’s dead. My chest feels constricted, my muscles tight, and the same thing is likely to happen again once the rebels are captured.

  They might be rebels, they might be detrimental to Community society, but still…

  I close my eyes, the sun warm against my shoulders. I’m a Camaraderie leader now, and I have to put the Community first, never mind the friendships I might have had.

  We have no new leads from the dead man.

  Several hours later, our only chance of finding the rebels comes from a glimpse of an oasis the tracking beast provides. But even with satellite surveillance, there are more hideaways than we can cover. We’ve checked through a dozen sites already.

  Too soon, our jeeps shudder to a halt several kilometers outside an oasis. Commander Rick hands me a pair of binoculars. Through them are a couple earthen houses and a small girl tending to a garden. An older man and someone my age tends a herd of goats across the nearby hill.

  The commander rests quietly, his eyes closed. “It’s them.”

  A chill runs through me.

  “The Coalition left earlier via a jet—South African make.” He lets out a slow breath. The boy has life-spirit, he sends to everyone. Take him alive. Capture the others for interrogation, but if they put up a fight, kill them.

  I jerk to attention. “Everyone? Even the child?”

  Commander Rick sets his jaw. “The boy will be useful, and the others may have information. Take what we need, then eliminate the threat. Don’t leave anyone who might want revenge later.”

  My throat constricts. I’m pretty sure this is why the rebels don’t like us. Jenna, at least, wouldn’t agree with this, and killing the whole family is definitely the reason the Coalition’s field leader hates us. From what little bits of his past I’ve gathered, he’s the prime example of the one who got away… the one who wants vengeance.

  See why tying up loose ends are so important?

  I see what he means, but I don’t like it.

  You don’t have to like the method, m’boy, as long as you understand the purpose.

  “Yes, sir,” I murmur. My hands shake as I hold up the binoculars. My heart drums in my ears.

  Special Forces close in on the family and the girl runs for the houses. A portal swirls in front of the goat pen, but disappears when the older man drops. I can’t tell if he’s dead or sedated. The ground shifts and cracks. Our agents scatter as water floods the sand and then lashes around an agent’s leg. He drops his gun, dragged toward the shimmering lake. Another agent aims and fires. The water spills. The ground rumbles, then subsides as the agents disappear inside. A figure darts across the ground—the young man with the goats. He’s followed by a beast—I do a double take. She’s dressed in a simple, protective garment not unlike how the commander treats his own beasts. Her bright red hair glints in the sun, and she bares her teeth as she leaps for an agent’s throat. The agent knocks her aside. She skitters to the ground and rights herself.

  Commander Rick raises his chin, his expression solemn. The beastie freezes and, as the young man turns to beckon her forward, she snarls, advancing. He waves her away, but when she lunges, he drops to his knees and she falls unconscious, lying in a heap on the sand.

  I should’ve taken him out first, the commander notes. He reaches over his seat and grabs a tranquilizer gun. He spins the wheel and the jeep shoots forward, zooming across the dune. I dig my fingers into the seat. Sand spits under our wheels as we grind to a halt. The young man turns, his eyes wide. The commander mounts the rifle over the windshield, checks the scope, and aims. The young man leaps for cover. Commander Rick fires. He then hops out of the jeep, slams the door behind him, and strides across the sand. The young man scrambles for the house, terrified. He collapses less than a meter away. The commander poises above him. Master Zaytsev, get this boy secured. He’s going to need medical attention since he’s lost his powers, but I need to check on the agents he knocked unconscious.

  I slide out of the jeep, shaky. The beast still breathes, but the man on top of the hill does not. Neither do any of the other people—and I clench my teeth at the sight of the child. Her brown hair is matted with blood. The thin covering of fabric on her head is caught in a mess of sand. She’s fallen so haphazardly, to look at her is strange.

  Dead, same as the others.

  I look away from the child, numb. None of this would have happened if we had checked my lead when I first sensed the transmitter.

  I turn my attention to the young man, the only one of his family who is still alive. I blink from the shock of it all, and then haul him into the jeep, half dragging him because he’s taller than I am, though about my age. I check that the tranquilizer dart had a firm hit. Then I bind his hands and feet, and cover him with a light cloth for shade.

  Hopefully that’ll make his next journey a little more comfortable, at least. Though, given that he’s effectively a rebel and has powers the Camaraderie has been collecting, I doubt he’ll remain comfortable for long.

  The windows of the lobby reveal snow-encrusted tundra beh
ind a faint white mountain. I’m happy for the reprieve from the sun, but I shiver from the temperature difference of the intense, dry heat of a desert to a barely-heated research facility in the middle of Siberia.

  I turn away from the window and continue the game of solitaire I’m playing in my head.

  Black three to red four. Red nine to black ten—

  The little girl’s dirt-streaked face stares back at me in my memory. Matted hair, clothes filled with sand…

  I clench my jaw. The room around me consists of a rounded, unmanned receptionist’s desk, along with a row of firm plastic chairs on the opposite wall. Almost everything is reflective with indiscernible shadows of movement. Below the floor is a massive complex of tunnels and elevators, all manned by a cold, collected hub—a hub that whispered soft calculations while I attempted to sleep last night. After staring at the emergency light for two hours, I finally found a spot on the row of chairs in the lobby, just out of the hub’s telepathic reach.

  Red two to black three. Red five to black six.

  I stretch my arms above me, relieving the crick in my back. I may be sore now, but at least I didn’t have to hear binary calculations all night.

  And I didn’t have to worry about the hub catching my stray thoughts.

  I see the young man running across the sand. He drops after the tranquilizer finally takes hold. Shivers spiral through my arms and end in tight pangs in my chest. I don’t know if it would make a difference if I didn’t know Val was pregnant—

  Reveal new cards. Put the ace on the home deck.

  I square my shoulders. I won’t let our future child suffer the same fate as the girl at the oasis. We’ll protect her.

  We’ll protect her together. I’ll be there for her.

  Move stack to different stack. Place new red nine.

  The beastie runs to protect the young man… he can’t be much younger than I am.

  Black two to red three…

  Master Zaytsev? The commander’s thoughts hum with approval. Your ability to block is improving. Keep up the good work.

  I nod absently. Black eight to—

  Time for the interrogation.

  I flinch.

  The elevator is just around the corner, a security camera mounted overhead. I type in the passphrase. The door slides open with a slight hitch, and then closes behind me. I jab the button for the tenth floor and the elevator descends.

  Let’s see… black eight to red nine.

  First floor. Second. The gap between me and the surging technology closes quickly, and I forego the solitaire game for a mental block to keep the tech from getting too loud. The elevator slows and stops, opening to a metallic corridor with periodically placed strips of empty light.

  I take a deep breath and head the direction the commander indicates with his thoughts. A pair of swinging doors lead into the room, and they swing silently closed once I’m through. Commander Rick stands in front of the prisoner. The young man slumps against a simple metal chair. He looks even younger in this unconscious state. An IV has been hooked into his arm while a cloth cap attaches electrodes to his scalp. His chest rises and falls. He’s likely in a life-spirit induced coma.

  “Master Zaytsev is here.” The speaker is a petite woman who stands beside a large computer. The screen is divided into sections, and the main section holds a stream of command codes while another highlights a map of the facility. Everything is green, clear of danger. Another window lists the prisoner’s vital signs, and the final one flickers with static.

  “Thank you, agent. Please leave us.” The commander turns to me as the woman disappears through the doors. He watches until they swing to a final stop. “I would like you to manage the computer while I proceed with the interrogation,” he tells me. “It shouldn’t be much different from working on the Legion Spore, except everything must be input manually.”

  I keep my face blank. I wish I was anywhere but here. “Yes, sir.”

  He nods briskly. “Let us begin.”

  Though I mentally check the placement of the files, I prepare to type everything by hand. I don’t want my mind directly linked to the hub.

  “Revitalize him. Use the protocol meant for life-spirit elementals.”

  I nod. The young man’s powers have been removed via adominogen injection, but the maintenance system of the hub prevents him from getting sick. He’s being stabilized by donor powers. As the protocol kicks in, the young man stirs. His head lolls. He groans something in a language I don’t recognize, his speech slurred from being in the coolers overnight. I mentally key into my tablet’s translator and search for the appropriate language—a form of Arabic.

  Commander Rick clasps his hands behind his back. “What is your name?”

  Lady Black sits next to me, softly murmuring into my ear. ‘What is your name?’

  My fingers tense and I involuntarily step back from the command console. I bite my lip and count to ten, this time picturing one of the rebels’ video games. A simple one—Pong does the trick.

  Another window pops up with Ibrahim typed across the screen. “His name is Ibrahim,” I say. The young man twists his head sharply. The screen fills with a series of script I can’t read, and I set the translator. He doesn’t understand where he is, or what’s happening. He thinks this is a nightmare.

  It might as well be.

  The commander asks our prisoner a series of questions, each met with confusion. After the first few responses, I have the program properly calibrated. We’ll be able to see and read his thoughts. Commander Rick towers over the hostage. “Tell us about the Coalition.”

  Confusion—he’s not sure what the commander is referring to. I lower my eyes momentarily. Ibrahim doesn’t know what happened to his family, and it’s better that he never will.

  Black two to red three.

  “Ask him about Jenna,” I whisper. “She was there.”

  Ibrahim frowns at me, and a blurry image pops onto the upper right screen, forming the face of a girl my age. I take a deep breath. The rebels were at the oasis, and we missed them.

  Now this guy’s family is dead.

  Two of spades to ace of spades.

  Commander Rick nods at my minor success. “Who were the others with her?” he asks. The screen flashes, and I have to backtrack at a slower speed to find each image the computer records. I recognize a couple of the faces, but some of the rebels are new. Commander Rick pauses to look at the screen. “Their powers?” The bottom half of the screen fills with a list of known powers, not attributed to anyone in particular. “Where did they go?”

  Both screens change at once. South Africa. A jet. Goats and credits—an exchange meant in payment for the caring of the fugitives.

  Black five to red six.

  A better payment would’ve been relocation and training to resist interrogation. I can’t blame him for his inability to fight this, especially after the Martinez dreams.

  Black four to red five.

  Commander Rick turns from the prisoner, his hands behind his back. Despite the severity of the situation, he looks amused. “Master Zaytsev, I commend you for taking the initiative to practice mental blocking, however, now is not the best time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His mustache twitches over the corner of his mouth. “You are in friendly company, and this boy cannot read your mind. In the future, you should practice techniques that require less concentration. I would personally suggest memorizing a few ballads or ditties.”

  “Uh… yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

  Lady Black did mention him liking ballads.

  She whispers softly in my ear…

  I take a long, deep breath. I’ll stick to Pong, then. That’s easier to picture than solitaire, anyway.

  Commander Rick shakes his head, then returns to his interrogation. I try to distract myself by working the equipment, but Ibrahim either has a better grip with reality than he’s letting on, or he really doesn’t know much about the rebels. All we can say for certain is
that the rebels returned fully healed to the Coalition’s airship, and that they had the Egyptian time stone with them.

  “Put him under.”

  I type the commands, and the hub again removes Ibrahim’s consciousness. The commander calls back the technician. She cleans his forehead of the conductive gel underneath the cap and wires, and then unfastens his restraints. Two Special Forces agents carry him out. Commander Rick beckons me to follow. Our boots echo through the corridor, down the elevator, and down another two floors. The door opens to a dark room that glows with row after row of frosted tubes. Blue lights ring each occupied cooler. I catch my breath. This is a lot of people to have in stasis at any given time—even by prison standards. Ibrahim is placed in a tube at the end, and the door shuts with a soft hiss. LEDs light the cylinder, and crystalline ice works its way up the curved glass. The agents both give the commander a nod before disappearing from the room.

  I link to the tech and read the prisoners’ occupations and powers. These are the people from the Oriental Alliance, the ones I saw taken hostage. Halfway across the room, I stop in front of a cooler with different coding from the others.

  There’s a beast here, also locked in cryogenic freezing.

  Commander Rick comes up behind me. “Some of the prisoners were moved here. Others were sent to beast plants, while others were interrogated, and others executed. Some of them seem willing to work with us, and they’re being held elsewhere for evaluation.”

  “But this—” I open my mind, checking the powers of the occupants. Fire. Water. Air. Telepathy. Life-spirit. Techno sight, and so many others…

  This is every beast and human we’d need to create a second Legion Spore. A considerably larger one.

  The commander smiles. “The plans were laid out for a second vessel before you joined us. We determined that if the first vessel worked, we would create a stronger one. With Ibrahim, we have the last life-spirit elemental we need.”