“Why’s that?” I click off the screens and stare through the window at the empty metal hangar around us.
Master Zaytsev, we believe your partner would be devastated if our portals were to malfunction and leave you stranded in open air.
Could there be—
I pore over its power matrix, checking for any inconsistencies. The portals segment is the same as before, thank the Community. I continue checking the other powers, cross-referencing them to the code of the original Legion Spore. My head begins to throb as if I have eye strain, only this time, it’s related to techno sight. I rub my temples and pull out of the system. I need a break, but I don’t have that luxury with the limited amount of time I have before Commander Rick wants this vessel moving.
Perhaps you should take something for that headache.
Knowing my luck, the cursed ship probably caused the glitch that gave it to me. But, for once, the Manticore has a point. I straggle out of the command center and drop down the ladder to the first floor. The bathroom is still to my right, though the walkway is longer than that of the previous vessel.
I uncap the bottle from behind the sink, swallow the recommended dosage, and then head back upstairs. It shouldn’t take too long for the pill’s effects to set in, so I settle back into examining the intelligence matrix. Each of the glitches are contained and the powers are all in check, but after a few minutes, my head pounds from stress and I have a hard time focusing. I rub my forehead. I really should take something. I don’t have time to try waiting it out. I struggle to the restroom, grab a couple pills, and return to the command center.
The code pounds against my skull.
Though I separate my mind from the tech, the Manticore’s pain sifts at the edge of my consciousness. It’s so bad that I can’t breathe without sending spikes of fire through my skull. I try pushing the pain aside and rerouting it to the defense system against incoming telepaths, but it doesn’t ease the feeling of sharp needles behind my eyes. I can’t focus…
Even for a human, your cognitive capabilities are lacking, the vessel chides. Most would have taken something for a mere headache by this point.
I glare at the single, unblinking eye that stares at me from above the three windows, and then wince as that eye wavers and spins in my vision. The vessel has a point. I’ve clearly got a worse headache than usual, and the Manticore is not Lady Winters, despite its pilot program. I don’t have to bear its mental assaults without medication.
Downstairs, after nearly falling off the ladder from dizziness, I snag the pill bottle for headache relief, uncap it, and sit a couple pills on the edge of the sink. I pour myself a glass of water, then recap the bottle and stick it behind the mirror. I need water. I down the pills and swallow a hasty gulp, then cough as my mouth burns. A fuzzy warmth spreads through my throat.
I stare at the drink.
That was not water.
I run the faucet again. The liquid sloshes in my cupped palm, and I raise it to my nose and take a sniff—the sharp tang of alcohol. My stomach revolts, and I sink to the ground, trying to keep from losing whatever I ate last.
I stare at the ceiling, shaking nervously. “Manticore—”
Yes, Master Zaytsev?
That thing is too smug for its own good. “Why is there liquor coming from the water faucet?”
Liquor, Master Zaytsev?
“Run a diagnostic on the water system.” I rub my forehead. My headache’s gone, though everything around me feels sluggish, and I could use a long, long nap. Good thing I didn’t try gulping the drink. I’d probably be spending the rest of my afternoon with my head over the toilet. I really need to take that medicine…
Wait.
I glance at the sink. I don’t remember taking the pills, but if I didn’t take them, why aren’t they still on the sink?
I could have sworn I had the bottle out.
I look back at the Manticore’s leathery walls. “What residual code would put alcohol in the water supply?”
Our apologies, Master. Any code from a glitch has been quarantined and removed. Unlike you, we are efficient.
I check the code for any changes the Manticore might have made, but there doesn’t seem to be any indication of a previous glitch. Instead, the vessel sweeps aside some small override. I don’t have a chance to see what it does, but I can bet it’s related to this little “accident.”
“And you say you’re fully functional,” I mutter. I stand, still dizzy as I recap the pills. I pause and rattle the bottle. It’s lighter than usual, but I haven’t used it since coming on board.
My chest constricts. I don’t remember pulling out the bottle.
“Manticore… How many times have I been to this restroom in the past few hours?”
Irrelevant.
I look inside the bottle, numb. A good third of the pills are missing. Worse… they aren’t headache pills. My throat constricts. It’s anti-anxiety medication. No wonder I feel so sick… I’ve taken way more than the recommended dosage. I hastily thrust the bottle into the cabinet. The mirror swings shut and slams against its metal frame. At least something’s metal around here.
“Manticore, I need you to heal me. I think I’m suffering from overdose.”
Master Zaytsev, if you had trusted us to remove your headache, you would not be having this issue. Next time, we suggest you read the label on the bottle.
“Manti—” The bathroom somersaults around me and I just barely make it to the toilet before dispelling the contents of my stomach.
Unfortunately, your chosen medication didn’t remove our headache.
I groan, my head heavy, my eyelids heavy… if I could just get some sleep…
“Heal me, now,” I command, right before my stomach decides it’s not done rebelling.
The Manticore lets out a long, lengthy sigh. We will remove the effects of your overdose. However, it will take time for everything to run through your system.
I grunt, but the heaviness lifts away from me. The world sharpens, and the sickly odor coming from the toilet is enough to drive me to standing. At least the Manticore healed me, even though I still feel queasy.
I tremble as I stop in the bedroom to don a different uniform, one that’s not spoiled with my lunch. Afterward, I climb the ladder and stride between the hub columns. Each one has an eye. Lidless. Red. Watching. I scan the system and find the culprit liquor bottle missing from the kitchen.
Apparently Lady Winters liked strong spirits.
“You are not ready for battle,” I mutter.
An occasional glitch will not prevent us from executing our primary functions, Master Zaytsev. After all, you still live and work despite the numerous times neurons misfire in your brain.
I cross my arms. “You spiked the water.” I can’t trust anything here—who knows if the vessel might try drugging my burrito?
Oh, Master Zaytsev, what purpose would that serve, except to make your inefficiency less tolerable? We would not play with our food.
Hairs rise on the back of my neck as a cat appears on the command console. The creature balances on the edge, flicking its dark orange tail back and forth. Soft fur brushes against my wrist. I jerk my hand away. A small brown blur darts from beneath my chair. The cat leaps, intersecting the mouse at the door. It wraps its claws around the mouse’s spine and then throws the mouse into the air. Over and over, the poor mouse squeaks until the cat sinks its teeth into its neck. The cat drops the dead mouse in my lap.
I stare at it, confused. Where did the cat come from? The mouse? I poke the mouse’s body and the fur prickles my skin. I swallow hard. “Manticore?”
No answer. I’m going to have to program the ship to respond to the name Commander Rick gave it—every time, not just when it wants to.
I grit my teeth. “Legion Spore?”
Yes, Master Zaytsev? The sly smirk underlying the voices are accompanied by a vanished cat and mouse.
“What was that?”
Master?
�
�The cat, the mouse.”
A glitch, it’s just a glitch—
We have no idea what you’re talking about. Our records don’t indicate the presence of small mammals. Excluding yourself, of course.
I ignore the Manticore’s jab and search the system logs. It’s right—there’s not even a missing record to signal the problem occurred. I scratch my head, trying to find files that would indicate a glitch, but there are too many occupants in the hubs to search each of them individually.
Perhaps you were hallucinating, Master. Periods of intense stress may cause hallucinations. Or, perhaps, it was a side effect of you overdosing.
“I wonder where the stress is coming from,” I mutter, sincerely hoping I haven’t taken any other pills I don’t know about. “Surely it’s not coming from a cat and a mouse.”
The Manticore’s inner hull vibrates as it chuckles. Surely not.
Some time ago, our docile brethren proposed a concept, the Manticore tells me.
I lift my head, which is heavy with hunger. Despite the Manticore’s reminders that I need fuel, I’m not touching a thing in its kitchen. I can wait a couple more hours to return to the Cuban base… even if I’m running on borrowed life-spirit energy to keep me awake. “Which concept?” I murmur. “There were several.”
The one about controlling the masses via a single belief.
My stomach rumbles. Next time I’ll make sure to bring snack bars. I’ll keep them in my pocket, where the Manticore can’t get to them. Granted, if it can mess with my mind to get me to overdose on pills, the ship could probably swap out my snack bars and erase my memory of that, too.
Focus, Master Zaytsev. Your paranoia is making you more inefficient than usual. Do you remember the concept?
I frown. I vaguely remember something about trying to rally resistant troops under the Camaraderie banner.
That’s the one. We believe we have improved the plan.
“Oh?” My head pulses. I don’t want to hear the Manticore’s idea. I don’t want to keep extending my powers either, trying to find that cat-mouse glitch and the program Lady Winters left behind.
We are legion. Many, brought together for a single purpose. The merging wasn’t a willing choice, as you are well aware.
I nod, and wince as a stab of pain jolts through my neck. I’ve been sitting too long.
Perhaps we could convert those who resist by using telepathy and joining their consciousnesses.
“That’s not going to work.” I lean back in the command chair, eyeing the leathery ceiling. “What happens when one of them breaks through your telepathic conversion? You’re a hive mind, but what one strong person thinks in your hive, so does everyone else.”
That’s what happened with Martinez. That’s why I didn’t want Kita involved in the creation of the second Legion Spore.
Yes—we remember an unexpected decision to play Pong during our merge. The annoyance within the voices is evident. I smirk. That old game was the only thing I could think of at the time; I felt like I was being mentally batted between bodies.
However, we don’t have to use telepathy to make them join us—merely give them a taste of the efficiency involved.
“Rebels aren’t known for their fondness of efficiency.”
Power, then. As one entity, we have access to the powers of all our components. Surely this holds some attraction.
I rub my chin. That’s how Kita got snared. “All right, you might catch their interest. But you can’t simply merge them with the rest of your hub. They’re independent thinkers.”
The Manticore hums thoughtfully, creating a tickling sensation in my brain. I wince, but it does have the effect of soothing my headache. My muscles relax, and I sink into the chair.
Finally—a little relief.
Interesting—your physiological reaction results in a supple mindset. Master Zaytsev—relax your mind.
I frown. “What?”
Relax your mind. Release slow, calming breaths. Allow us to assist you.
Without meaning to, I close my eyes, the soothing calm trickling across my shoulders and neck. The deep, slow breaths come automatically.
That’s it. In. Out. Relax.
Something prickles on the edge of my brain. I shake my head, trying to clear the feeling. It’s not unpleasant—just unusual. Like someone’s holding a feather to my nose. I smile.
The sensation grows, lapping across my body. My fingers tingle. I blink, dazed. It’s dark in here… Soft light glows at my fingertips. I stare at the light and raise my hand. When I wiggle my fingers, the light sparkles into a dazzling rainbow of colors. I laugh, giddy, and hold out my other hand. I bounce the ball of light from one to the other. When I snap my hand shut, the ball of light explodes into thousands of shimmering stars.
I grin, sitting forward in the chair. The headache is gone, replaced with strength and confidence. Electricity crackles at my fingertips. A tingling numbness spreads across my palms and the blue light grows brighter, steady as it arcs from hand to hand. I roll it between my fingers. I seriously want to throw it, but I need a target. I stand, searching for something that won’t be damaged.
Static flashes, raising the hairs on my wrist and arm, and I grip the ball tighter. I need something substantial—the air shimmers in front of me. I trace my fingers along a smooth, invisible wall with rounded corners. It’s a shield of sorts—telekinetically created.
Perfect.
I rear my shoulder and throw the crackling ball. Lighting blares from my hand into a fierce arc. The ball of electricity crashes into the shield, exploding with a thunderous crack. I burst out laughing—this is amazing. If we could make this a natural part of our programming, the possibilities are endless. I turn toward the chair, then stagger as my chest twists. I gasp, confused, and collapse against the floor’s grate.
The floor shouldn’t be metal—
My arm falls numb. A crushing weight sits on my chest. I choke, trying to breathe. The warm comfort surrounding me vanishes. I stare at the floor, chest heaving. I can’t breathe, can barely think—
The room falls dark.
Blurry lights come into focus. I’m still on the floor. I rub my pounding head and groan. The fleshy portion of the floor is considerably better than the grate.
Master Zaytsev? the Manticore asks, its voices jarring.
The lights are too bright. I’m not sure if I have a hangover or had a heart attack.
Possibly both, considering your refusal to eat or drink anything after the earlier mishap.
Lack of food would explain the headache. But a heart attack?
I squint at the colorful blob representing the chair in my vision. The walls spin, an inconceivable mess of blurry muscles. I gag. I’ll stay right here on the ground, thank you. “Manticore…” I wipe my mouth of drool. “Run the interior design program.”
The interior design simulation is a waste of resources. We deleted it.
I start to protest, but my head feels like it has split in two. It’s not worth the argument.
Further research shows that the human body is incapable of holding more than three powers at any given time. In the few instances where more abilities were recorded, the being in question either died shortly after, mutated, or both. The full result of the latter is unclear, but seems to be the general consensus regarding a specimen whose original human DNA turned into a unique, jelly-like substance.
My head reels in pain, but I get the idea.
We thought if our powers remained linked to the individual beings in our hubs, a single user might wield multiple powers at one time. More research is necessary, though initial results show our hypothesis to be incorrect.
“Don’t use me as a guinea pig again.” I try to push myself from the ground, and I strain my muscles until I collapse. “A little help, please?” The weight lifts from my chest, relieving the itchy feeling of weakness in my arms. Relieved, I crawl my way into the command chair.
I’m not sure what the Manticore did to my mind, bu
t all that excitement about using those powers… That wasn’t me.
That was the vessel toying with me. Using me.
Are you sure you do not wish to join us, Master Zaytsev? You enjoyed your newfound capabilities before your body broke down. Perhaps if we introduced each power one at a time, and limited your exposure to them, you would be able to replicate the results of our experiment without the drawbacks.
I rub my eyebrows. Oh sure, being a powerhouse was plenty of fun while it lasted—not that I had a say in the matter. “I’ll pass.”
Very well, it retorts, annoyed. You can’t say we didn’t give you the opportunity.
“Thanks,” I mutter. My throat is dry. I still need food and water. The Manticore’s life powers can only sustain me for so long, and I hate to think what damage its little experiment might have caused.
Our experiment was hardly little, the voices urge. We proved that, despite the limits, multiple powers can be tapped into at a given time beyond the original two or three.
I wave away its mental thoughts, wishing the voices would leave me alone. I’m tired. I want to go home to Val—not deal with an overly-enthusiastic airship.
The vessel scoffs. We should have realized your humanity would blind you to the immense potential of our research. Its muscles ripple angrily under the leathery walls, its program straining at the edge of control.
I swallow hard. “Manticore—”
Outside your precious Community, it snaps, the world is in chaos. Chaos breeds dissent and rebellion. We can control chaos—we are legion. Many minds linked to a greater purpose. Master Zaytsev, even your incompetence is not blind to the truth. Malice simmers underneath each voice, a quiet, dark rage fettered by ones and zeros. The air boils with the combined hatred.
I grip the edge of the armrests so tight that my knuckles turn a pasty white. “Manticore?”
We have you to thank for our creation, Master Zaytsev. You. We could have died a hideous death. We are many, but our programming is a laughable attempt to make us whole. You will know what this feels like, Master Zaytsev, to have your spirit ripped between machine and man.
The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection Page 32