Apotheosis Boom (The Feedback Loop Book 8)

by Harmon Cooper

  “Well said, Doc.”

  “And you know what you’re doing?” he asks, cutting his attention to me.

  “I’m just trying to keep on the up and up. Oh, you mean for Operation Game Over? Yeah, I can’t say I like what I’ve been tasked with doing, but since when do I get things my way?”

  “You always get your way,” Frances says, a hint of animosity in her voice.

  “Whoa, let’s bring it down a notch there, Frances, you and I both know that if anyone gets what they want around here, it’s Rocket. He’s a real mastermind.”

  “Damn straight!”

  “But to be honest with you, Doc, I just don’t like the fact that I don’t get to make the real-world arrest.”

  “Quantum, you can barely walk,” Sophia reminds me.

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t kick someone’s ass.”

  Rocket snorts. “That’s exactly what it means!”

  “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Fine, you’re in charge, Doc. Let’s get geared up and log in.”

  Doc nods, his form wavering as the live feed clips out. “Remember, Sophia will be in-game until she has to go to the airport, then I’ll run in-game, and when she’s in the air she can run in-game again.”

  “Got it.”

  “This is it, people. Operation Testicular Torsion is in full swing.”

  “I thought it was Operation Game Over,” I say.

  “That’s right. Okay, now it’s Operation Testicular Torsion. We good?”

  “It doesn’t matter what we call it,” Frances says, some finality in her voice. “The point is to get Strata Godsick once and for all.”

  “That’s what she said!”

  I snort at Rocket’s terrible comment. “That’s not how that joke is supposed to work.”

  ~*~

  Vatted up, Brian Eno choon, one dive later, and Frances, Rocket, and I spawn in Steam, in Akrasia of all places.

  We stand on the roof of Steampunk Santa’s toy shop, and I get the notion to go down there and see what’s for sale. If ever you get a chance to get some kablooey, get you some. Besides, last I heard, Steampunk Santa was rolling back prices like WalMacy’s, getting ready for EBAYmazon Prime Day Two, in preparation for EBAYmazon Prime Day Three, which happens in the winter.

  “The place still looks like shit,” I tell Frances.

  “Yes, it does.”

  “I wish I could have been part of that battle,” Rocket says. “My lady told me everything about it; I’ve seen your feeds too. Those Steamsuits are awesome! It was funny that you were the leg.”

  “Yeah, real funny,” I tell him as I check out my steam avatar. Useless buckles and brass pins? Check. Feeling less like a bruno and more like a bunny? Check.

  “You play around with our avatars again?” I ask Rocket. I catch a top hat pin on my lapel and notice that I’m wearing a single epaulet big enough to land a drone.

  One glance down at my arms and I find a shooting iron for a left hand – not gonna argue with that – and a leather glove with an embroidered star on my right hand. Plus a puffy pirate shirt the likes of which Kramer wouldn’t even wear. For kicks I got big ol’ boots decorated with gear and, thankfully, spikes jutting out of the toe of my boots.

  “Like it?”

  I smile at him. “You know, Peanut Gallery, you are really starting to understand my style.”

  “You haven’t called me that in forever.”

  “Can we take the bromance somewhere else?” asks Frances.

  Frances takes a few steps in front of me and my eyes follow the curves of her figure. Talk about hubba hubba. Our Lady of the Guadaloop wears a little red beret, a sleeveless top à la Cammy from Street Fighter, a corset pulled tight, and a skirt that just barely covers her derriere. Add some fishnet tights and shiny black leather boots and you’ve got a reason to stay in the shower a bit longer.

  “You dress Frances too?” I ask Rocket.

  “I dressed everyone.”

  For his part, Rocket has gone for your classic steampunk getup, a black and red number that matches the goggles on his head.

  “What’s the goggle do?”

  “Not a lot, but it looks cool.”

  “All right.” I clap my hands together, deciding not to comment any more on his attire. “Ray Steampunk. Where you at, pal? And why the hell did you have us spawn in Akrasia?” I take a quick look above me to confirm his airship isn’t floating over the famous Marauder city.

  The ground beneath us morphs as a stairwell takes shape, each stair grinding into place as if set there by an invisible gear. This is followed by an impressive display of mist that smells of wet oak.

  “I guess that answers your question, Q Daddy.”

  “You know, Rocket, I like your nicknames, really I do, but calling me ‘daddy’ just doesn’t sit right with me. Now Frances…”

  “I’m not calling you daddy.”

  Rocket snorts as we take to the stairs. “Would you rather me call you mommy?”

  “Are you talking to me or Frances?” I ask.

  “You!”

  Even Frances laughs at this, not because it was funny but because our usual in-game monitor is giving me shit. But I’m not about to give him shit back. The kid has been through a lot and everyone deserves to get a jab in every now and then. Besides, changed man and whatnot – that’s the new me, no longer going for the OP, shoot-first-ask-questions-later Quantum.

  Being in Evan’s humandroid carcass really put the fear of God in me.

  “Ray,” I say as we continue further down the stairs.

  We’ve gone several flights now, which would put us in a garden apartment if Steampunk Santa had such a space in his Marauder shop. Speaking of Santa, where is the old bastard and his nice shooty things when we needed him the most? The biggest battle this side of the Proxima Galaxy – a tongue-in-cheek joke because every side of the Proxima Galaxy is this side of the Proxima Galaxy depending on where you stand – is set to take place.

  As usual, and even though I don’t see a Festivus stick in the vicinity, I air my grievances: “You know, Ray, as much as I’d like to work on my cardio, we got places to go and Reapers to kill. Howzabout we cut the bullshit, and you just mind-port us to wherever you are?”

  Like quicksand, the floor melts away from us.

  Frances, Rocket and I fall into a dark vortex, my vision pane lit by a message from Sophia telling me to behave myself and have some respect.

  “Respect my ass,” I grumble as I land on my ass in Ray’s throne room.

  Best behavior, Quantum, the sexy little angel on my shoulder says.

  Show him what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a tommy gun, the devilish female on the other shoulder says.

  “So we got a harem then, huh?” says I. Might as well call it like I see it. Come to think of it, I almost had a little bit of a harem thing going on when Frances and I were hooking up at the same time Dolly and I were regularly making digital babies. Well, that was more of a love triangle, but if either of them were more open to it, it could have bloomed into harem territory.

  Again, that was then, and this is now.

  The thought of Dolly strikes a sad chord in my heart. It’ll take a lifetime of beer and a good number of pancakes to suppress the feeling I get when I think of my very own Jessica Rabbit.

  “Did you say something about a harem?” asks Rocket.

  “Me? Nope. Must have been Frances.”

  Frances laughs as Ray Steampunk, sitting on a throne of shiny brass pipes, materializes into existence.

  “What?” I ask Euphoria.

  “You’ve been talking to yourself a lot lately.”

  “What can I say? I’m great company. Ray, let’s get this over with. I’m not trying to bust your bolts here, but we’ve got places to go and Reapers to kill.”

  ~*~

  “And this is Doc’s plan?” Ray asks without moving his lips. I swear to all that is holy I’m sick of this pompous ass giving us the telepathic speak treatment. I get it, you
wanted to be an X-Man, but died instead, and now live eternally in the Proxima Galaxy.

  Shit doesn’t make you a God, and truth be told, Steampunk’s high falutin asshattery has only just begun. We’ve got plenty more higher ups to offer tithe to. Hell, Ray may be the easiest of our visits today.

  “I haven’t been there in quite some time,” Ray says after a moment of reflection, at least that’s what it looked like he was doing.

  “Well, shit, Ray, the clock’s a-ticking. I have it on good authority that you’ll be welcomed like any god, demigod, or Proxima Developer, even if we’re doing this low-key. You’re the King of Proxima. The godfather. The creator guy. The man pushing all the buttons. The man behind the curtain, the big chief, the big kahuna.”

  Frances elbows me.

  “What? He would, and he is. He’s freaking Ray Steampunk. I’m not trying to go all fanboy here, but some people, and a good many ‘some people’, would give their left digital nut to meet the man himself. Hell, Proxima brats the galaxy over have his name tattooed on their arms in Old English, and that’s in the real world. He’s the king of the show, the one, the only, the man, the myth, the…”

  “Enough,” Ray says, standing from his brass throne. “I’ll go. It is time we put an end to all this. Shall we port together?”

  “You had me at hello, Ray, you had me at hello!”

  ~*~

  Sophia: The way you just spoke to Ray Steampunk was not only disrespectful, it was also rude.

  Me: I thought those were the same things. Dr. Wang, you know I love you, love as in love-hate, and more as in hate. You know I hate you. There, I said it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re a great contribution to the team. All that to say: no need to bust my…

  I glance around, watching as we spawned in the courtyard of a grand castle somewhere near Porthos. I’m a sucker for getting my references right.

  Me: No need to bust my morning star here, or shit, that doesn’t work. You get my drift. Dragon ball? No, it just sounds odd without a Z. Sophia, you mind yours and I’ll mind mine.

  Rocket: And I’ll just mine. Cryptocurrencies are back in vogue, baby, and we’re about to be RICH!

  “Rocket,” I laugh, shaking my head as his Tritania avatar takes shape. Talk about Shredder from Secret of the Ooze – Rocket’s Tritania avatar had enough pointy parts to keep Edward Scissorhands on his toes or …hands. Yeah, hands is better.

  “What? You no crypto?”

  “No, I no crypto because crypto will leave you broke-o. I know you’re busy with your Steam squeeze, but check the value of various cryptos over the 2020s. You’d be better off to short cryptocurrencies if you want to come out in the long run, but that’s just me, and I’m no financial advisor, CPA neither, especially one with fiduciary responsibilities.”

  “Early versions of the Proxima Galaxy were built using blockchain currencies,” Ray Steampunk says as he steps in front of us. He’s gone with more of the same: gold armor out the wazoo and a flowing red cape that says he means business and that he should be respected.

  He ain’t the only one here. Luther Godsick, also dressed in armor and surrounded by his closest Lost Boy – Humboldt, I believe – stands on the other side of the garden. The two turn to us and wave.

  It’s just about this time that the show kicks off, and Empress Thun’s bullshit kicks up.

  Lots of magic carpets, floating griffin statues, high elves with pointy ears and recently dry-cleaned robes, matching buttons. Wowsie-wow nonsense that one would expect from a person who thinks she’s bigger than Tritanian Jeebus.

  Hell, gray clouds filter away as the sky parts, allowing a ray of light to guide the Empress across a grassy knoll not unlike the one JFK was shot from (ostensibly by Ted Cruz’s papa, but those docs haven’t been released to the general public yet).

  If ever there is a time to get out item 44, my XXL Bucket of Cheesy Garlic Alamo Drafthouse Popcorn, and item 321, my monocular, now is the time. “Damn, she’s coming in fast, boys,” I tell Rocket and Ray, stuffing popcorn into my mouth.

  Sophia: I thought you were done with showing off.

  “I swear, we need to add someone to our group who is way worse than me, like a goblin that curses and farts all the time or something,” I tell Rocket, as I munch the popcorn. A kernel digs into my gum, and I try to get it out with my tongue. “Maybe he’d be a lazy schmuck too. Just someone to take the pressure off.”

  “A lazy goblin who curses and farts?” Rocket shrugs. “I guess that would be worse than you.”

  The Empress sees Ray Steampunk and stops dead in her tracks. A smile forms on her face, and judging by the time it takes for the smile to fully form, you’d think the hoity toity broad hadn’t smiled in a millennium.

  “Hello, Annie,” he says with his actual voice.

  I look to Rocket and give him the “I think they hooked up in the past” eyes, which I imagine looks like Robert De Niro doing his patented head nod.

  “We will speak after this,” she says, her smile shattering.

  “Damn, Ray,” I mumble under my breath as I step forward. “Hiya, Empress.” She lifts her foot as if to suggest she’s going to put her stomper on my head, like she did the first time we met.

  Sophia: Respect Tritanian authority!

  “Nope,” I tell her, “you know I don’t do the king-queen shit. No American should, which leaves much to be said about growth of power in the Executive Branch over the 20th century, but that’s neither here nor there,” I say, looking to the sky. “We have information, sensitive info, and I don’t think we have a lot of time to go through the rigamarole of royal asshattery. Furthermore, for our plan to really work, we’ve got to coordinate with a timeline in the real world as well.”

  Wooden chairs with ergonomic seats rise from the ground.

  The Empress approaches and sits on the chair in the middle. Once she does, one of her lackeys steps forward and motions for us to sit.

  Four chairs? I do a quick headcount.

  “You go, Frances,” I tell the beautiful gal. “You’ll behave yourself better than I will.”

  Frances considers this for a split second. She’s gone from sexy steampunk to her Tritanian avatar, sort of like a female cosplay version of Link’s outfit, which is a lot more modest and definitely hasn’t been tampered with by Rocket.

  Sophia’s message appears saying something about how this is the best idea she’s heard in years.

  “See? I can play nice,” I tell Frances.

  So like a good boy, I take my place next to Rocket and Humboldt, waiting for Steampunk, Frances, and Luther to join Empress Thun. Once they have, another seat, albeit one that’s a little shorter, grows from the ground next to Frances.

  “That for me?” I ask the Empress.

  She nods, and I approach the group, ready to mind my Ps and Qs. Rocket and Humboldt stay back, both of them snickering at the look on my face.

  ~*~

  “So as you all know,” Empress Thun says, “the Reapers have begun building their forces east of Athos, the Thulean capital city in Ultima Thule, and Aramis, the capital city of Hyperborea.”

  “Why not Porthos?” I ask.

  Sophia: I’m so proud of you right now.

  Me: Why? Because I know a location on the map?

  Sophia: It is quite impressive, coming from you.

  Me: Hey!

  “While there is more property wealth in Porthos,” the Empress is saying, “Tritania’s financial wealth is mostly in Aramis. It is where the financial district is, and many of those assets can be cashed out for real money in your world. And Athos, as you should be very well aware of, is where the Seed of Gotha is.”

  “So he’s bringing Strata Lame Street to Wall Street, and at the same time, he’s trying to put the pressure on the Sage.”

  The Empress glares at me, which looks kind of cool considering the fact that she wears an asston of white makeup, most of which is stretched by the crevices of her face as she glares.

  Fr
ances finally snickers. “Lame Street?” she says under her breath.

  “I thought it was funny…”

  “But the Reapers aren’t interested in wealth, are they?” Ray Steampunk asks, moving the conversation along. “It is a distraction.”

  Luther sighs. “They’re interested in me, plain and simple. My dad is threatening to release a source code bomb in Tritania if I’m not returned to him.”

  I don’t quite gasp at this because Doc has already briefed us, but hearing someone say it out loud definitely gives it some clout. “Then why are they trying to put the squeeze on the dough?”

  “That’s preliminary,” says Steampunk. “Just to show they mean business. The Reapers, and the Revenue Corporation for that matter, aren’t stupid. They know they’ll stir up some serious trouble if they drop a SCB in Tritania. It’ll bring the ban hammer out like nobody’s seen before, likely followed by a lawsuit. Cyber Noir was already a dead world when they dropped it there; Tritania, not so much…”

  I give His Steamliness the stink eye. “Watch it, pal. For a dead world, I felt pretty damn alive in the two subjective years my tookus was trapped there.”

  “Eight,” Rocket coughs into his hand. “Eight years.”

  “Eight years with Dolly,” Frances adds.

  This shuts me up real quick. Sad to see that this has become a trigger word for both of us, but what can you do? Not like I can take a bunk; the Big Euphoria is practically my caretaker.

  “They’ve given us just a few days to return Luther to them,” Empress Thun says. “They will attack Aramis tomorrow to show they mean business. This will put a lot of people, both in your world and here, at odds with the wishes of the Sage of Gotha, who, like I just said, has Reapers on his border as well. A large group, actually, amassing outside of the capital city of Ultima Thule.”

  I recall the tree with the lion face, the NVA Seed of Tritania, Mr. Sage of Sageville. He really put me through the wringer, and I don’t know how I’m expected to just trust him willy nilly.