Whispers in the Code

by Stephanie Flint

  “Not directly,” I say. “Mind healing me, please?” A cooling sensation floods through my ankle. The noise in my ears fades slowly, and then gives way to the soft breathing of the Legion Spore. I try to reposition myself to help the healing, but my body goes rigid. I try to move my mouth, but it’s frozen. My breath catches in my throat. I can’t breathe. Community—it’s not letting me breathe!

  Please remain still, Master Zaytsev. The healing process requires that you do not move.

  My head swims. I flail in my mind, gasping for breath and faltering like a brick underwater. I send a tech-based command, Legion Spore, let go of me!

  I collapse as my body takes a staggering, automatic breath. My heart rate rackets like a trapped flight beastie. “Don’t do that again,” I say, my voice hoarse. I run my fingers over the smooth bone of the floor, my chest heaving. “Legion Spore?”

  We understand, Master Zaytsev. Our apologies. For a moment, I think the voices actually sound ashamed of themselves. But that’s not possible; it’s just a programmed response.

  I take a tentative step up the ladder. Then another.

  “Legion Spore, are there any anomalies in your records from the past ten minutes?” I follow its progress.

  A two-and-a-half minute gap of nothing, no records.

  So much for my research of the time stones. I have another glitch to fix. “Legion Spore, analyze my thoughts for what I heard you singing, and match it as best you can in Spanish. Then translate that, and tell me what it says.”

  Several minutes later, the Legion Spore speaks. The translation appears to say, ‘Better to flee from your path of birth, and risk your life’s command. Why drive your love to the brink of death, to die in a monster’s hands?’

  I rub my chin, frowning when I find stubble. I’ve been so busy researching and worrying about glitches that I haven’t found time to shave. “Thank you, Legion Spore. Can you cross-reference the lyrics against the Camaraderie’s database to see if the song is listed?”

  Certainly, Master Zaytsev. One moment, please.

  I rummage through the articles while I wait, but there is little of interest.

  Master Zaytsev, there does not appear to be any known recordings of such lyrics in the Camaraderie’s database. How would you like us to proceed?

  I spin back and forth in the command chair, allowing the vertigo to soothe my aching head. “Try looking outside the Camaraderie’s database. Look in the territories.”

  Yes, Master Zaytsev.

  I grimace. The constant use of my name is as monotonous as the Community’s mantra. But that’s a minor concern compared to these glitches. Maybe there’s something about the songs in the files of the individuals used in the Legion Spore’s creation.

  After a bit of reading, I find a number of possible candidates for this particular glitch, and several of them have Spanish listed as their primary language. Still, they could know the song without knowing what it says.

  Half an hour later, the Legion Spore has a result. The song has its origin within the rebellions. The first half dates to 2038. I pull up additional files, and the best I find is that the song loosely, very loosely, refers to a man named Seth Black—Lady Emily Black’s father, the son of Lord Black. I flip through file after file in my mind, and then review the song itself.

  After all you’ve seen and heard, how can you bear to stay?

  Better to flee from your path of birth and to risk your life’s command.

  Why drive your love to the brink of death, to die in a monster’s hands?

  Hunters carry her beyond the fallen. Whispers carry her beyond the grave.

  Here’s to our comrades and our calling, hoping our lives might be saved.

  You will never know where the memories go, if you never think to ask.

  Why not travel by the stars’ fading light, to a place where you’ll someday die?

  A brother carries you beyond the fallen. Whispers carry you beyond the grave.

  Here’s to your comrades and your calling, thanking your life that we’re saved.

  The lyrics give me no clue as to which of the individuals in the Legion Spore might have known the song, especially considering it was written almost forty years ago.

  “At what point did this song get translated into Spanish?” I ask.

  Sometime during the year 2060.

  I rub my chin. Same year as the fall of Lord Black, yet before the Camaraderie funded raids against the remaining “superheroes.” “The song might have been a way for them to record their history or to recognize friends,” I murmur.

  Theoretically plausible.

  I glance at the ceiling. Huh. The Legion Spore actually responded to my musing. “Thanks.”

  You are quite welcome, Master Zaytsev.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening sorting through personalities, but none of their records show knowledge of the song. The code is nowhere to be found.

  By the time Commander Rick calls for an update, I’m ready for sleep. I recap the day’s events and the latest glitch, which he tells me we can discuss later since it’s not currently bothering the Legion Spore’s functionality. Still, I’m to portal the Legion Spore to the base tomorrow for an evaluation, which means I get the whole day with Val. Almost the whole day, anyway. There’s one meeting at ten hundred hours, for the Camaraderie leaders, and another one at noon, specifically between me and Lady Black.

  I don’t look forward to it.

  “Have a good night, m’boy. You’re doing fine work,” Commander Rick finishes. “Lady Salazar is at hand. Would you like to speak with her?”

  I nearly bolt from my seat, then take a quick breath to calm myself. “Of course, sir. Thank you.”

  He chuckles. “Thought so.”

  “Tim?” Val’s voice is hesitant, as if she’s not sure how this whole thing works. I wish I could see her face—then I remember there are security cameras everywhere in the base.

  “Hey, Val.” I close my eyes, linking to the cameras through the Legion Spore’s techno sight powers. Val stands in one of the meeting rooms, in front of a holographic projector that shows the Indian jungle I visited earlier. She’s in her usual leader’s attire. Her coppery skin shows through the gaps in her metallic armor. Warmth spreads through me. “You look beautiful.”

  She spares a glance to Commander Rick, and then back to the projector. “How can you—”

  “Techno sight.” I grin. “How’s it going?”

  She smiles mischievously at the security camera. “I’m doing fine. How about you, Mister I’ve Got Awesome Super Spy Powers?”

  I lean back in my chair. “I’m using the Legion Spore, so don’t expect me to be a super spy for long. As for as how I’m doing, I had to deal with a couple glitches, and they were a pain, but everything else is going smoothly.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Isn’t it? I got your message earlier.”

  She crosses her arms and smirks. Commander Rick strides to the other side of the room. Giving us space, I guess. “You forgot about the time difference,” she notes.

  I shrug. “It happens.”

  “Don’t get cocky, mister,” she says, lowering her voice. “Tomorrow you and I are going to a ball.”

  I blink. “This soon?”

  She grins, showing her fangs. Even though I’ve been dating her almost two months now, those fangs send a shiver of goosebumps down my back.

  What I wouldn’t give to be with her now.

  “Yep,” she says. “Lady Black’s been teaching me to dance, and Stuart has offered to teach you once you’re back on the base.”

  “I look forward to it.” I smile, though I’m having a hard time picturing the old servant as much of a dancer. “How was your trip?”

  “Not bad.”

  We continue our conversation for a good half hour after Commander Rick leaves the room, and then finally say goodnight. Tomorrow I get to spend time with Val, and
there’s the upcoming ball to look forward to, but my heart sinks when I remember, before all that, there’s the meeting with Lady Black.

  I sigh and prepare my toothbrush. It’s not that I don’t want her training me, it’s just… she’s known for being the seductress. It’s one of her tactics.

  I look down at the floss I’ve twined around my fingers. Too bad someone else can’t train me. If Lady Black plans to teach me about guarding my thoughts, she’ll use her persuasion powers. And I’m not so sure that having a festive ballroom event immediately afterward is going to be much fun if I fail.

  I’m dreaming. My knees rest against cold steel; my chin’s against my chest. My hands are cuffed behind my back. The air conditioner chills the air and goosebumps run along my bare skin. At least the guards had the decency to leave me with pants. That particular act suggests that I’m not slated for beastie transformation, though there’s no good reason for them to keep me here.

  The door cracks open with a warm hiss of air. A slender woman silhouettes the blue light. Glossy, coal-black fabric hugs her hips as she swaggers in. Her waist-length hair sways in time with her movement. She flashes an alluring smile and traces the edges of the tell-tale pendant resting against her breast.

  I turn my gaze to the floor, but even cold steel isn’t safe from her image. Her blurred reflection comes to a standstill a meter away. I sense her proud spirit being guarded by some life elemental’s powers.

  They’ve left me with my own powers for reasons I can’t explain.

  The lady kneels beside me and brushes her index finger against my cheekbone. “You’re a handsome one, aren’t you?” Her voice is smooth—tugs at my chest.

  I curse and jerk away.

  I have the advantage. I’m a life-spirit elemental. She’s not. My will is stronger than hers.

  She lifts my chin with her finger, forcing our eyes to meet. “Do you know who I am?”

  Her full lips, pale red lipstick conservatively applied, widens into a smile. She has olive skin, and light brown eyes a shade of amber quartz. She blinks seductively, fluttering her dark eyelashes.

  I snap my eyes shut and stumble away, crashing against the wall and landing with my hands twisted behind me, the freezing chain between handcuffs pressed against my lower back. I breathe hard, trying to catch my breath. It’s not the most comfortable situation, but it’s better than succumbing to that shapeshifter’s guile.

  She chuckles and lays her hand at the base of my neck. The hairs rise there, stirring with repulsive interest. “They said you would be a rebellious one.”

  Rebellious? Damn right I’m rebellious. She wants to use her persuasion on me? I smirk. She’s never tested my powers. Never tested her wit against mine. The bitch won’t weasel my secrets from me unless they inject me first, and even then, they’ll be hard-pressed to get into my head.

  “What’d you expect, my lady?” I spit at her hand.

  She yanks her hand away, then narrows her eyes. “You’ll break eventually. You all do.”

  I take a deep breath. I’ve evaded their telepaths. They haven’t gotten into my head, and they haven’t used the injection. Why waste it? That must be why they sent her. I can’t let down my guard. I can’t forget who she is—what she wants.

  “Don’t count on me breaking, ‘my lady.’ I’m not one of your playthings.”

  She leans into my ear, her breathing hot and heavy. Time to wake, Master Zaytsev.

  I sit abruptly. The cool sheets rustle against my bare legs while a warm, thick breeze passes over my shoulders. My heart’s pounding—what was that dream about? There was so much hatred toward Lady Black. I don’t trust myself around her, but I don’t hate her, either.

  I take a deep breath, reorienting myself with my surroundings. My bedroom has a reddish glow, a far cry from the blue LEDs of the prison cell in my dream. Community… bile rises in my throat at the thought of Lady Black, a mounting anger that leaves my muscles tense. But it wasn’t real. I don’t have anything to worry about. It was just a bad dream.

  I unclench my fists, trying to relax. Val told me it’s better to just take a moment to catch my breath and relax, rather than let something bug me for the rest of the day.

  Still, the whole dream was so clear that I’m thankful no one in the Camaraderie participates in the telling of dreams at breakfast, like we do in the Community. It’s deemed too personal, and now I see why.

  I glance at the leathery wall. Too bad Lady Winters didn’t think to put a window in here. After the dream, everything feels terribly stuffy.

  The wall squelches, and an angular window from the command center emerges as the flesh trickles away. Pale, predawn light spills into the bedroom. I blink at the sudden brightness. The vessel’s listening to my thoughts, trying to anticipate my needs.

  So much for keeping anything to myself.

  “Thanks,” I murmur.

  You’re welcome, Master Zaytsev. We are happy to be of assistance.

  I frown. The Legion Spore can’t be happy… it’s not human. But I shake my head of the thought.

  It’s just a phrase.

  I push myself from under the covers and cringe as my feet meet the cool ridges of the ivory walkway. I need to start the Legion Spore back toward the base. Though the Legion Spore can use its powers to create a portal large enough to accommodate itself, it’s not quite powerful enough to make it all the way back to Cuba in one go. It’ll take a few portals to get back. Once I’m there, all I have to worry about is the Camaraderie’s council meeting.

  Except…

  Lady Black will be there.

  I splash water on my face and gasp at its coldness.

  There’s nothing to worry about. Commander Rick won’t let her do anything questionable. At least, not during the meeting.

  I stare at the drain and the remaining droplets of water. The commander didn’t have any qualms with Lady Winters torturing Val and me, especially before Val’s official induction into the Camaraderie. That was before I was allowed out of my temporary cell, back when Val first brought me here.

  I rub my arms uncomfortably and dry my face with a rough towel. I guess that’s why they call themselves the Camaraderie of Evil. It’s for leaders like Lady Winters, a leader I don’t regret killing.

  Three portal jumps later, the Legion Spore returns to the hangar in the Cuban base. The vessel teleports me onto solid ground and Val practically launches herself at me in a hug. I wrap my arms around her, thankful my uniform protects me from the metallic bits of her outfit and the little zaps of electricity.

  She beams. “How’d it go?”

  “Getting there.” I smile weakly, remembering this morning’s nightmare.

  Val’s frizzy hair bounces as she grabs my hand and pulls me through the inner chamber between the hangar and the main hall. “The council is waiting for us,” she says. She flashes a smile and my heart flutters.

  “We’ll be sitting together, right?” I ask. I can’t help wanting to be next to her… protected by her.

  “Of course! And you should see the room!” She stops in front of a door, which she gracefully swings open into an ambassadorial suite. The ceiling is painted in a mural of thick oil paint with dark orange flames surrounding the remnants of a city as Special Forces fires weapons on a disparate band of costumed rebels. Oil lamps burn a yellow flame, their flickering light causing the flames to look like they’re moving. Glass chandeliers hang from the low ceiling. Their pointed, dangling ornaments nearly reach the long table, where crystal glassware adorns the surface, complimented by bouquets of baby’s breath and rubies tied with jet black ribbons. The oil lamp’s light casts shadows across striking marble statues of the first five Camaraderie members. With the low light and angular décor, the statues look ready to battle.

  Lady Black sits on the other side of the table. Her black hair flows freely across her shoulders, and her crimson gown clings to her frame, exaggerating her curves. My chest tightens and anger
spills through me. I picture her standing in the prison doorway, taunting me…

  I quickly look away, hoping that the others haven’t caught my thoughts. It was just a nightmare… I shouldn’t let it affect me like this.

  “Welcome, Master Zaytsev.” Commander Rick gestures to a chair before him and Stuart removes it for me. “Please, have a seat.” Val tugs at my elbow—she’s already seated herself. I relax against her. As long as she’s here, I’ll be fine. “Do you like the décor?”

  “Impressive,” I choke out, forcing a smile. The décor—that’s easy enough to focus on. It’s a tad disturbing, given its warlike nature, but impressive nonetheless.

  I thought so, too.

  I start at the voice in my head, then notice Benjamin sitting in the chair at the end of the mahogany table. An assortment of tiny jewels litter the table around him as he fiddles with some sort of brass contraption. A small ruby from the cluster of flora lifts into the air and lands in his hand.

  That’s better. Just the right size.

  I open my mouth to ask him what he knows about the Catonian relics, and then think better of it. I doubt the commander wants me to use my time here for research, never mind that the meeting involves the primary council.

  “What would you like to drink? Tea, water, or coffee?” Stuart leans in beside me. He carries a crystal platter with three pitchers. Even though I’m sure he’s read my mind and already knows what I want, the formality remains.

  “Water, please.” I glance at Val, and she raises her glass in a toast. As Stuart pours the drink, I return my attention to Benjamin. A pale light emanates from him, casting his work in a white-blue glow and revealing the contours of his form despite his lack of substance. The spirit twists his lips at the same time as he twists the set of brass wires around the ruby.

  “Well, m’boy, it appears the CLS Legion Spore is ready for active duty.” The commander stirs a sugar cube into his tea. “Congratulations.”

  I frown. “But the Legion Spore still has glitches.”