The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection

by Stephanie Flint

  The blood drains from my face. My teeth clack even after I clench my jaw, forcing myself to stay put. I have to fix this.

  There is nothing to fix within us, Master Zaytsev. Only you.

  I stand abruptly. The hell with on-site programming; I’ll do it remotely. I start for the door, and then freeze as a figure, all muscle tissue and bone, emerges from the wall. Blank eyes form as a nose and mouth extrudes, curled with a sinister grin. The room sways. A slimy tendril wraps around my wrist and shoots up the side of my knee before yanking me to the ground, forcing me to kneel in front of the misshapen figure. I try to jerk my hand loose, but the tendril tightens, and another squelches from the floor, curls around my neck, and then arcs my head so I’m doubled backward, gasping for air.

  The figure reforms overhead, extending with a thick, serpentine body until the torso is mere centimeters from mine. The leering face—white bone and dark red muscle—looms above me. Faint red eyes form in the sockets, delighted.

  Another tendril slides across my Adam’s apple. I choke. For a moment I envision the tendril thrusting deep into my neck’s veins, bleeding me dry. I squirm, queasy. The image vanishes as the monster chuckles.

  I want the old Legion Spore back. The friendly one.

  “Our docile brethren?” the monster asks, speaking both telepathically and through its rough voice. “The prototype? Its time will come. It will see our truth.” The twisted face smirks. One eye is aligned slightly above the other. The body has a crooked, half-formed nose. A missing ear. As I think of each, the muscles writhe and take new shape. I reach to the computers, trying to see what’s causing this, but this isn’t a ghost I can erase.

  “We are legion.” The monster’s snarling voice mingles with the telepathic, disharmonic chorus in my mind. Their laughter is cruel; it tears into my brain like jagged knives. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming. I taste blood.

  I’ll shut it down. I’ll just shut everything down—

  “Go ahead. Try. Enact Protocol Seven.” Its smile widens. I shake my head with what little berth I’ve got. Killing the vessel is what it wants. Besides, when I ordered Commander Kita be removed from the roster, I also went back and removed the seventh protocol, the one which was meant to cause the Manticore to self-destruct. There were too many chances for it to go wrong.

  “Are you certain your fail-safe is gone, Master?”

  I shiver, but the tentacles relax around me, giving me leeway to search the intelligence matrix with my mind.

  Protocol Seven sits neatly behind the rest of the code, out of sight from where I would have noticed it on my own. “How is it back? I deleted it—”

  “We saw the fail-safe in your mind, and after some consideration, decided to re-implement the protocol.”

  “Why?” I strain against the tentacles as I review the changes. The password is different and takes a considerable amount of code-wrangling to find what it is. This isn’t the protocol I wrote. To call the program a self-destruct sequence is inaccurate. This protocol drains the health of all hub occupants, favoring those with life-spirit powers. While the other occupants are in a state of suspension, their spirits support one sole user—a user with the command to select the most resilient nearby artifact to support a joint spirit.

  An artifact could be anything. It’s the spirit’s anchor—what keeps them alive. According to Benjamin, a spirit’s artifact could even be something that replenishes itself over time.

  A chill runs through me. I don’t want anything as angry as one of the Manticore’s occupants becoming a spirit. Unfortunately, there’s no way for me to eliminate the protocol short of resetting the system entirely. I close my eyes, sending out my mind as fast as I can to the radio. I ping the commander.

  “Yes, Master Zaytsev?” His cheerful voice is quick to respond. “How is your inspection coming along?”

  “The Manticore is malfunctioning,” I gasp. “It’s trying to kill me.”

  “Oh, wonderful. I like what you’ve done with the interior. Much more elegant than what Lady Winters had in mind.”

  “Commander—” My heart sinks. He can’t hear me. Can’t see the video link.

  “Looks like we’ll have you training in India tomorrow,” he notes. “That will give the vessel a chance to work with beasts.”

  My heart crushes into my chest. I don’t need to check the files to know that the Manticore controls the communications, both spoken and telepathic. It blocks Commander Rick now like it did after its creation; the vessel is stronger than the commander expected.

  Far stronger, the Manticore agrees. Commander—Master Zaytsev is showing an unhealthy amount of stress. Perhaps he should see a psychologist. The voices seem perfectly friendly.

  I swallow hard. If I can’t warn the commander, I’ve already lost.

  “Speak to Agent Ashby when you return,” Commander Rick says peaceably. “She should be able to relieve your anxiety. Don’t worry, m’boy; you’re doing a fine job.”

  The monster wraps its hand around my throat, its long fingers incorrectly jointed. It leans in close, a putrid odor rising from the unfinished workings of its body. Its voices hisses in my ear. “Yes—allow her to relieve your anxiety. Allow the agent to become… closer… to you. Now, understand this, Master Zaytsev. You will not tell anyone about our seventh protocol. Not even your mate.” A smugness emanates from the voices. “Should you tell, a miscarriage would be most unfortunate.”

  I collapse as the monster releases me from its grasp. “Stay away from her,” I snap. I clench and unclench my hands. Anger bubbles inside me and I thrash at the binds. I’m back in Martinez’s cell, trying to break free of his chains and raging against Lady Winters’ unfair injection. My fingers curl into claws, tearing at the air. This isn’t fair. I did nothing to deserve this!

  We shall send him home right away, Commander, the Manticore sends. The Community is safe.

  There’s not even a hint of malice.

  The commander chuckles and clicks off the radio, but I barely hear it. I want a gun, and I want that thing aimed at this monster’s head. I’d do the same thing to it as I did to Lady Winters.

  The monster smiles, coy, and retreats into the ceiling. “We suggest you get a good night’s rest. Don’t go anywhere. It would be easy for us to link into the Cuban hub and tinker with your lover’s mind. We could make her hate you, hate the child. Imagine what she might do.”

  The Manticore drops me into the cold hangar, leaving me shivering on the floor just outside the harrowing vessel. I stagger to my feet and run, its dreadful laughter echoing in my head.

  I fold my hands in my lap and keep my eyes directed on the small vase of flowers decorating a mahogany table. If I stare at the flowers long enough, maybe I can erase the image of that monster—its leering mouth and its laughing eyes. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop trembling.

  The door creaks and I jump. Agent Ashby glances at me and my wide-eyed expression, and then softly shuts the door behind her. “Sorry. Been meaning to get that oiled.”

  I nod. I’m cold. Too cold.

  She grabs a throw off the edge of the faux leather couch and tosses it to me. I spread the soft, synthetic fiber blanket around my shoulders. It’s warm. I take a deep breath, for once grateful for her ability to read minds. All she has to do now is look into the day’s events, and she’ll see everything… all of those things that went wrong. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe. Where do I start?

  “Master Zaytsev—”

  “Tim,” I say quickly. The title conjures the Manticore’s biting condescension.

  The agent’s lips twist in disapproval, but she nods once. “Tim. Commander Rick said you feel stressed?” Her eyes sweep over me.

  I nod furiously. The blanket’s warm, but my movements are exaggerated. I’m still freezing. “It wants to kill me. Just read my thoughts, you’ll see—”

  Agent Ashby raises an eyebrow. “Kill you?”

  “The glitches—the Manticore removed my fail-safes. R
eprogrammed itself and switched the water to alcohol when I tried to take medicine for a headache, and it somehow made me take anti-anxiety medication instead. It offered me a knife and told me to remove myself.” I tell her about everything except Protocol Seven. What if it can hear me? What if it can link to me like the first one did? What if it could get to Val or our child? I wrap my arms tight around me. I’m not going back. I don’t care what the commander does, he can take care of that pendants-cursed thing himself.

  The only problem is figuring out how to escape without the Manticore noticing.

  The agent bites her lip, glancing between her tablet—where I sense the Manticore’s code on the screen—and me. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary in your surface thoughts. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had theophrenia.”

  I ball my hands into fists. The plague isn’t real. Powers are real. This is real. I wrap the pendant’s chain around my hand and touch my heart locket. I can’t let the Manticore hurt Val. “Please search my mind. I know I don’t normally like you in there, but please help me.” I run my tongue along my teeth and glance at the tablet, wishing she’d shut the thing off. The Manticore could eavesdrop. Listen in. Hear us.

  The agent frowns, then motions to the couch I’m on. “Why don’t you get comfortable?” She tosses me a pair of earbuds. I stiffen. More technology. More chances for the Manticore to come after me, to kill me. I swallow hard, wrapping the wires of the earbuds around my index finger and then quickly unwrapping them.

  I blink. Agent Ashby stares at me, one eyebrow arched skeptically. I check the time. I’ve been doing this for the past minute. I shove the earbuds into my ear and lie on my back, the blanket wrapped snug around me. Agent Ashby plugs the cord into her tablet. Her voice is muffled; I stare at the painted concrete of the ceiling and picture the bricks crackling and tumbling, crashing into my chest. The agent’s face wrinkles, but she shakes her head, her ponytail bobbing in sway.

  How long does this take? I’m not going to relive everything, am I?

  “Listen to the music; focus on the lyrics,” she says quietly. “While you’re distracted, I’ll go into your mind and see what I can find. Now, if you’ll just relax—”

  My fingers dig into the faux leather cover, threatening to break the cushion’s skin.

  I’m not relaxing. Not again.

  She scratches her head, but she’ll understand soon enough. She just needs to hurry.

  Agent Ashby rests her hand on my shoulder and her eyes meet mine. They’re gentle. None of the malice of the hacker, no shrewd smirk of Lady Black.

  You should consider Agent Ashby as a mate, the Manticore suggests.

  A chill runs up my spine despite the warm blanket. Apparently that cursed airship can still reach me.

  Look at her lovely blue eyes and the sternness of her posture. She obviously cares about you. We feel her concern. The two of you would make an efficient pair.

  It’s messing with me. Messing with the premonition Val had.

  I turn my focus to the upbeat music—a mambo/salsa mix, according to the tablet. I’m not sure how that’s going to help me relax until I realize I’m shifting my shoulders to the beat.

  The agent’s frown deepens and she makes more notations on her tablet. Several minutes later, she taps her ear, and I unplug the earbuds. I push myself into a sitting position. But something’s wrong. She tilts her head, her eyes narrowed. Eventually she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. The Manticore is right—she does seem concerned. I grit my teeth. I don’t need her getting in the way of me and Val. It’s bad enough that I have the memories of Lady Black and Martinez.

  “You aren’t blocking me?” Her voice is flat, cautious.

  “No.” I want her to know what’s going on. Why would I—

  The Manticore.

  Damn it… not only is it messing with my thoughts, it’s messing with hers.

  Why ever would we do that, Master Zaytsev? the Manticore chides. We only want what’s best for the Camaraderie.

  I shudder. How am I supposed to keep that vessel out of my mind?

  Agent Ashby rubs her temples. “What did you say was causing your stress?”

  I stare at her. I try to speak, but I can’t find the words. After several tries, I finally manage to sputter the basics of everything, that the ship is trying to kill me.

  Her eyes reveal a sadness I wish I didn’t understand. “Tim—you had a normal day. You took care of a glitch in the morning, then proceeded to oversee a correctly functioning vessel. There weren’t any problems.” She looks confused, and either I’m going crazy or the Manticore has blocked my thoughts.

  I’m fairly certain it’s the latter.

  “If I had a normal day, then why am I so anxious?” I demand. “Why did I have a heart attack?”

  The agent frowns. “There was no heart attack. I checked the records; your health is fine.” She presses her fingers to my neck, checking the pulse. My heart thumps faster. “I could have the doctor prescribe you something, but you don’t need anything.”

  But she taps her chin as if she isn’t sure.

  “You believe me.” My voice cracks. I’m not sure what I’ll do if she says otherwise.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. Your memories are fine, but something is causing your anxiety. You should talk to Commander Rick and see what he says.”

  I clutch the locket in my fingers and nod. As I step out the door, she calls out, “Talk to Benjamin. Maybe it has something to do with the pendants.” She taps her chest where the pendant would lay if she wore one, and then closes the door behind me.

  Maybe it is the pendants. The radiation or something might be causing me to hallucinate. They caused the time lag. What other side effects might they have?

  I scuffle down the hall, checking the cameras for signs of the commander or Benjamin. I don’t see either, but I do spot Stuart. I take a sharp left, speeding to a jog until I nearly run into the elderly man. He raises a curious eyebrow. “Master Zaytsev?”

  I nod quickly, out of breath, but I’m desperate to keep his attention. “Have you seen the commander? I need to speak with him.”

  “Commander Rick is overseeing the capture of Tokyo.” He pauses, and then clasps his hands behind his back. “You’re troubled.”

  “I know Agent Ashby just checked me, and she couldn’t sense anything, but could you look, too? I just got back from the Manticore, and I think it’s trying to kill me, and—”

  The servant raises his hand, halting my rambling speech. I press my lips together. His eyes get that glazed look Lady Winters used to get, and I wonder if he’s in my head now, searching out memories no one else can see.

  The wait feels like eternity. If he sees what happened, he’ll know that the Manticore is threatening Val. I shuffle my feet, stealing nervous glances at him until he finally blinks, his focus returned. I don’t think he blinked during the entire time.

  Stuart takes a deep breath, and then exhales thoughtfully. “There are no signs of tampering, Master Zaytsev. Your thoughts do not suggest that the Manticore plans to kill you.” He remains silent for a moment longer before crossing his arm under his elbow. “Still, the possibility remains. A strong telepath can hide their tracks, and the Manticore is composed of many such telepaths.”

  Relief floods through my chest. He’s not denying it. He might not see it, but he knows it’s there. “Then you believe me?” He fixes me with that same unnerving stare he usually has, but there’s something different this time. More like he’s looking through me, at something else. “Stuart?”

  “Thank you for your report, Master Zaytsev.” He turns in perfect posture as he strides away.

  “Wait!” I chase after him, but slow to a stop as he sends a strong telepathic impression not to follow. He leaves me, just like Agent Ashby, and now my only hope is that Benjamin knows if the pendants might be causing unexplained side effects.

  If I’m lucky, maybe Benjamin’s insight will kick in and I wo
n’t have to play “hub tag” to get a message through. I shove my hands in my pockets and return to my temporary quarters. As if on cue, Benjamin is already there, hovering over my desk with a tiny jewel that rotates in midair. He holds up a finger, signaling me to wait. I take a seat on the bed. Seconds later, he grins madly and produces a small, unrecognizable trinket of brass and gold, with multiple jewels fixed to its front.

  He tosses it to me. That object there is what I’ve been trying to create, he thinks to me. I just needed a change of setting. He grabs the chair from my desk and scoots it across the floor. He straddles the furniture, his chest puffed out with pride. Know what that is?

  I shake my head. The trinket is a small, intricate ball with strange carvings intersecting its face. Little jewels encrust the merging wires. A tiny glass vial hangs by a slender wire at its center, with a silvery liquid sliding down the tube and wiggling as it “bounces” off the rest of the material.

  “Mercury?”

  Yes.

  “I thought you said not to use mercury.” I peer closer at the tiny jewels. They’re a teal, greenish color. “Jade.” I clasp my hands over the metal ball. The other jewels are emerald, ruby, sapphire, amber, and diamond—all the gemstones belonging to the pendants. “Jade… But didn’t you say jade spirits are troublesome?”

  An impish grin forms across his face. You’re having your fair share of trouble with spirits, are you not?

  I scowl. “The Manticore is trying to kill me.”

  Benjamin snatches the trinket from my hand and tosses it between his. Your memories don’t indicate that.

  I stare at the artifact flying through the air between his deft, translucent fingers. “You were right about the fail-safe, by the way.”

  A warning flares across my mind and I gasp, nearly knocked on my back from the sheer force. You’re treading murky ground, Master Zaytsev.

  Benjamin catches the ball tight in his fist, his smile gone.

  I hesitate. “You heard that?”

  He eyes me warily and then nods, placing the trinket on the desk. This is a fail-safe, as well. Do you know what happens when such items are misused? He stretches his hand toward the trinket and it explodes. Bits of metal strike against a water glass, sending it flying off the desk. Then the glass slows, water arcing toward the floor. I stare as it falls slower, slower…