The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection

by Stephanie Flint

  Thank you, the Manticore says, amused, though your schemes will fail.

  Commander Rick nods. “Very well. Go to India. You still have the afternoon. Lunch will be here in a few minutes.” He steps out, leaving me in quiet solitude as a healer shuffles along the far wall, organizing medical supplies on the cabinets. Several sky blue beds line the room with IV stands beside them. A gurney is pushed against the smooth, white wall.

  A small box of Benjamin’s shields sits in the corner of the cabinet between the wall and the door, a tiny lock on its face. I purse my lips. Too bad I couldn’t get one of those in the same room with the Manticore. Even a small shield could disable its systems.

  Protocol Seven, Master Zaytsev.

  Protocol Seven only works if your powers are running, I retort.

  If I set up an explosion, knock out its powers, and destroy the hubs while it can’t act… then it wouldn’t matter if I left the shield there or not.

  Allow us to remind you that we can lock down this facility before you ever set foot on the floor.

  I smirk. You’re scared.

  Scared creatures are more apt to snap, Master Zaytsev. Consider the agent’s last moments.

  I stare at that little box. Agent Ashby shot herself—but she did the first thing that came to mind. She knew the Manticore was trying to control her. She did her job as a bodyguard. Per the false memories in the logs, she was closer to me than she ever wanted to be.

  Perhaps this was what Val’s premonition about Ashby was referring to. I shift uneasily in the bed. If that premonition was true, what does this mean for the vision of me being gone?

  You can’t keep me here forever, I think solemnly. The commander is eventually going to want his meeting.

  Of course, Master Zaytsev. And if you try to get Commander Rick alone again, Lady Salazar shall find a wonderfully detailed piece of footage showing you and the agent enjoying each other’s personal company. Does your feeble mind comprehend?

  If Val gets word of this, I’m going to have to explain that the image Commander Rick saw was fake. Agent Ashby instead of Lady Black… though the airship can refute anything I say. I flop back on the bed. This thing is worse than Lady Winters. I’d hate to think of what she could have done as its operator… especially with that pilot program she snuck in.

  I won’t try to separate Commander Rick from you again. I take a deep breath. Just leave Val alone.

  The vessel’s thoughts hum with pleasure. Wonderful, Master Zaytsev. This is the first agreeable thing you have suggested since our creation.

  Lunch comes and I pick at the Alfredo fettuccini in front of me. My stomach churns at the smell, but I know I can’t eat or drink anything once I board the ship. I stab the pasta, and then cringe at the image of brains splattered across a spotless floor.

  You’re welcome.

  I push the thought from my mind. I’m playing this game your way. Can I please finish lunch?

  A sense of satisfaction from the Manticore gushes over me. You can’t imagine how happy your cooperation makes us. Shall we set course for India?

  I’ll finish lunch first, thank you.

  The vessel chuckles. Enjoy. Rotting corpses with flies swimming around their eyes swarm into my mind. I force the pasta down and stop beside the medical cabinet on my way out. I hold my breath, placing one hand on the counter to steady myself before touching the box.

  Silence, like heavy smoke, engulfs me. Even the Manticore’s presence is gone. I smile, then riffle through the drawers. Bandages, antibiotics, surgical equipment, prescription drugs, and the liquid injection used on prisoners to remove their powers. I turn it in my hand, examining the components.

  Adominogen.

  I can’t plan to kill a telepath while they’re reading my mind, and the shields aren’t retroactive. The moment I put down the box, the Manticore will know what I’m thinking. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s watching my actions from the security camera in the corner. I twist my lips, trying to find the solution.

  Benjamin said I need to decide what I want from life.

  I already know—I have to protect Val, protect the Community, and defeat that vessel before it kills me… even if it kills me. I turn, holding the bottle with the label clear to the camera. “Let’s call a truce, shall we? Understand that if you do anything to hurt Val, I’ll have no reason not to use this.”

  My tablet pings with a new message. I shove the bottle back in the drawer before wrestling the shielded box under my armpit. I fish out the tablet with one hand.

  Temporary.

  I grin. I’ve found its weakness.

  I return to the hangar, stepping around the dark stains on the metal floor. A team of forensic experts and psychic trackers will examine the area, though I’m sure that the Manticore will warp the records and their memories of whatever they find.

  I wrap my hand around the slimy tendril that extends from the vessel and then appear inside the command center. I take a seat. “Set course for India.”

  The injection you carried would only temporarily harm our systems. We are uninterested in a truce. A gigantic portal materializes ahead.

  I grimace, wishing this impudent vessel would disappear into that swirling oblivion once and for all. Gleeful, the Manticore shifts its fins and glides into the violet haze.

  “That depends on where I strike, doesn’t it?” I counter. As we appear above the trees, I stare into the bright blue sky. “I’m sure you’ve got an important artery around here somewhere.”

  Master Zaytsev?

  “Yes?”

  Die.

  I lick my teeth, but as annoyed as the voices sound, the Manticore hasn’t killed me yet.

  Below us, beasties spread through the jungle, racing over obstacles and hurdles. Veteran beasts throw fireballs or create slick patches of ice, and the Manticore navigates them through each trap. I sit back and watch, my chin against my knuckles. The airship has the beasts under control. It sets the traps, scrambles the algorithms, and proceeds to run multiple courses at once—all while evaluating numerous individual sectors. It even practices transporting flight beasts and “wounded” beasts into its hangar, to be released later at different coordinates via teleportation. The thing is efficient, and it doesn’t give me a chance to reissue the first protocol, even under the heaviest payload of information.

  While the vessel’s burdened, I try contacting Commander Rick. The Manticore cuts the signal. I set the codes to teleport me to the ground. The Manticore merely responds that the area is too dangerous… as if the vessel’s not dangerous enough.

  I drum my fingers on the ivory armrest. No glitches. Frustrated, I pace through the hall between hubs. I’m trapped, and this thing seems determined to kill me. An overdose of medication mixed with alcohol. A provided knife. A delusional gunman.

  I halt in my tracks. The Manticore’s not trying to kill me.

  If it wanted to kill me, it could have done so long before now.

  It’s trying to get me to kill myself.

  I feel a shift in my mind, as if the vessel is acknowledging that I’m right. The longer this continues, the more likely it is I’ll take the wrong step. But if it wants me dead, why not kill me now? Why make me or someone else do it?

  I shove my hands into my pockets, pacing faster. My boots clang on the bare grid. The Manticore tried to have Agent Ashby kill me. It killed her… but she protected me. All its anger, all its resentment, all its hatred of being trapped…

  I recall its first words. 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.

  Revenge. The Manticore wants revenge.

  Some people—life-spirit elementals, Benjamin told me, can control this essence. Suspend it, heal it, remove it…

  How long can a person live if their life is suspended?

  A cold chill spreads through my arms and legs. Maybe the vessel doesn’t actually want me dead.
Despite my work, both Legion Spores live in a constant state of pain. If I were to commit suicide, I don’t think I’d make it so far as death. I don’t think the Manticore would let me die. If a life-spirit elemental actively healed a person just enough to keep them alive, they could torture a person for a very long time.

  Master Zaytsev, the vessel croons, if we wanted to torture you, we would simply torture you. In fact, we believe you have already experienced this as the inadvertent result of your pitiful attempt to reprogram us. Need we remind you of the lobster incident?

  “So you’re not trying to torture me?” I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Trying,’ Master Zaytsev? Amusement oozes from its thoughts. We’re not trying. It’s really quite easy. Most experiences that others find pleasing, you find unpleasant. As a token of good faith, allow us to offer you a gift of peace. Of course, based on our previous observations, we are certain you will find our gift ‘torturous.’

  A portal opens above me and a young woman crashes against the metal grate. I jump back. She shakes her head, feline eyes wide, then twists nimbly and crouches on the pads of her feet. Save for the thin, gossamer gown draping across her back, she’s naked.

  Persuasion beast. I take a deep breath.

  Rotate the “L” block to fit beside the square…

  The beastie tilts her head, listening for something I can’t hear. She slowly stands, her bare feet tripping along the metal grate. Her feline eyes rise along one of the hub columns, her arms shiver, and her trance doesn’t break as she weaves between the hubs before collapsing between all four.

  I swallow the saliva in my mouth. Her short black hair splays around her pale, oval face. She looks almost normal, save for the pointed ears and her inherent beauty. I kneel beside her and check the pulse in her wrist. She’s still alive.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” I snap.

  We thought you might like a playmate.

  I glare at the hub. “I’m not cheating on Val.”

  We never implied you were. A virtuous gentleman like yourself would never do something so adulterous. We merely thought you could use a companion. But it seems our hypothesis was correct. You find our gift to be a form of torture.

  The beast knocks me against the grate and pins my shoulders against the floor. I jerk, trying to maneuver out of her hold, but she plops onto my chest. Air whooshes from my lungs. She coos, a soft purr that rumbles in her throat. I close my eyes.

  Falling blocks. Square in the corner, let the straight blocks fall…

  Master Zaytsev, you are cruel to deny her attention.

  Her eyes appear less than a centimeter from my nose. She darts forward, licking my cheek before nuzzling her head in my neck. She just wants to play. I sigh and run my fingers along her hair. She giggles, and then pushes her head against my hand.

  “Manticore, return her to where she belongs.” I scratch her behind the ear and she sidles against me, somehow managing to sit herself in my lap. She’s worse than a puppy.

  A beast belongs with its master, Master Zaytsev.

  She licks her teeth, her lips turning into a seductive grin. My chest tightens. “Manticore—”

  Its voices chuckle. The beast presses her hands against my chest, unbalancing me and pushing me to the floor. Another growl, and her fingers reach for the zipper on my neck. She paws at it, too close, way too close.

  I need to shut down the vessel’s connection to her.

  The beast diverts her attention to my waist. Her hands reach for my belt. I hook my fingers on the grate below me and yank myself away, and then push myself onto my knees and onto my feet. I sprint for the command center, but a heavy force slams into me. The beast hisses. Air whistles in my ear. Her fingers cup my jaw, pulling my lips to hers, and then she has both hands against my neck.

  The world dissolves. An exchange of tongues and she breathes heavy, hard, tracing her claws along the contours of my body. Her chest against mine, skin on skin. I’m not sure where my shirt went—she’s beautiful. Her wet tongue trails along my collarbone. My skin tingles. The warmth of pulsing flesh ripples along my bare back. The Manticore’s inner hull shapes to my body like a luxurious pillow. Its voices whisper, indistinct, distant.

  Just her and me now.

  I reach for the beast and pull her close. If she wants me, she can have me. Her fingers trace my hips, settling at the belt loop and tugging it free. She reaches for the zipper, just like Val would.

  Val…

  “Enough!” I slam against the beast, sending her sprawling to the floor, and yank my belt back through the loop, fasten it tight, and storm into the command center. Heat flares in my cheeks and I sit at the keyboard, my jaw clenched. This isn’t some glitch. This isn’t a ghost. I type furiously, fast as I can, mimicking the code in my mind. I replicate it. I don’t care how many times, but I’m control-copying this thing enough to extend beyond five seconds. I slam my thumb into the keyboard and lock out the Manticore’s delete command. Another couple seconds, and my first fail-safe is back in place.

  I stand. “I’ve had it with your taunts and your trying to drive me mad. I’ve had it with your attempts to make my life miserable by creating a rift between me and Val.”

  It’s not our fault you’re easily seduced, the voices chide. Far too confident. My shirt is still halfway across the room, and I have a vague memory of flinging it there. Despite the natural heat of the vessel, I want that back. I storm across the room and snag it from the corner, then slip it over my shoulders.

  I freeze.

  The persuasion beast lies limp against the hub. Her skin is sickly white; blue veins showing through her gown and crisscrossing her face. She coughs blood. I frown. I don’t have nearly the strength to cause that kind of damage.

  I kneel beside her as she stares into the distance, her eyes like pale marble. Thin, vine-like bulges cross her shoulders. I trace one to her neck, and then recoil as the bulge slithers under her skin. I lean closer, unable to tear myself away. “What in the Community…”

  This isn’t the Community, Master Zaytsev.

  The bulges grow thick along her back, and when I try to lay her on her side, she cries out in pain. The tendrils wither away and her whimpers turn to a soft moan.

  She slouches at my feet, dead.

  My eyes widen. The strange bulges fade from view before reappearing and thickening at the base of her spine—where she’s been connected directly into the hull of the vessel. The tendrils appear briefly as they extract themselves from her skin and meld with the flesh of the Manticore’s hull.

  You may wish to step back.

  My mouth goes dry. The Manticore bled her to death. I retreat from the beast’s body, and then shriek as I plummet through open flaps of thick muscle.

  Hot air whips at my face and hands. Jungle canopy speeds toward me. I desperately connect my mind to the tech in the Manticore, demanding it open a portal, teleport me, something—

  A tentacle sling-shots around my chest and grabs me. I jerk so fast that my vision blacks out. Pain flares through my back. I scream…

  The tentacle wraps around my waist and lifts me into the ship, then lays me inside the lowest floor. The hull seals over the hole. My hands shake uncontrollably; I can barely breathe. All I feel is pain. I reach for the ladder, trying to pull myself up, but my legs are dead weight. I can’t move. Can’t feel them. Panic rises from my stomach to my throat. At the speed I was falling when it grabbed me—

  Fortunately, Master Zaytsev, we were able to rescue you when our disposal system malfunctioned. Unfortunately, your spine may have snapped in the process.

  “Heal me.” I bite my tongue, hoping the pain will act as a distraction.

  On the contrary. We find this is a perfectly valid reason to merge you with us. If you join us, you will only suffer when we do, because we would be a single entity… a legion of many, joined as one.

  Suddenly I’m leaning against one of the four central hub columns, teleported to this new position. A cold spike plunges
through me.

  Please wait while we prepare our matrices for your inclusion.

  Something whispers in my ear, purring. My body goes limp, and I stare at the beast who stares back, her head tilted in confusion. Her whole body faintly glows. She’s… a ghost? The beast paws at my chest and her hand passes unhindered.

  I check the logs.

  It’s a subset of Protocol Seven.

  “How, for the love of the pendants, did you turn her into a spirit?” I whisper.

  The column beside me shifts, its muscles stretching and reshaping until they form a chair. Several wires pierce through the muscle and form a thin, metal headband. I stare at the contraption, numb. The beast-spirit scampers around the chair, her shoulders slouching when she can’t smell anything she sniffs.

  I frown—I know she can’t smell anything. She’s unlisted in the intelligence matrix, but the logs read her thoughts as well as the other components. She’s a beast, which means she can be controlled using beast mastery.

  That could be useful—

  My body lifts into the air. My legs dangle uselessly. Wires snake around my head, telekinetically manipulated as they lower the metal band onto my forehead. Tentacles cross over my arms. The metal headband squeezes so hard that a dull throb presses against my skull.

  Several eyes form in the hull around me. You squirm far more than necessary.

  I have to focus… the beast isn’t part of the code. I wade through pain and the powers matrix and latch onto beast mastery. Her mind snaps to attention. I squirm in the chair, taken aback by the strange senses. She’s different. I’ve linked to other beasts through this vessel, but they had one strong power and a narrow mindset.

  Her… this beast has her original persuasion, but a life-spirit power supports her existence. Teleportation, phase-through, enhanced insight… all part of her new powers. There’s this sense that she’s tied to the central metal column in the third hub. The column is her artifact… like the guardians and their time stones, or Benjamin and his pendants. It’s what keeps her spirit here.