Apotheosis Boom (The Feedback Loop Book 8)

by Harmon Cooper

  Sophia: Are you awake?

  Sophia: ARE YOU AWAKE?

  Sophia: QUANTUM, WAKE UP!!! Strata’s forces have gathered outside of Ultima Thule’s capital city. Thulean royalty have been keeping an eye on them from the sky, but they also have marauders up there, and there have been a few small skirmishes. Why aren’t you up right now? ARE YOU AWAKE?

  Sophia: STRATA HAS SENT A MESSAGE TO THE SAGE OF GOTHA SAYING THAT THEY’LL DETONATE A SOURCE CODE BOMB IF THE SAGE DOESN’T HAND LUTHER OVER TODAY.

  Sophia: ARE YOU THERE?

  I finish my first waffle, get my happy ass up, and limp over to the waffle station for round two. I decide to get creative this time, and I throw some chocolate chips into the batter. It’s gonna be nice and gooey when it’s finished, and I figure that should give me the carbs I need to handle whatever messages Sophia throws at me next.

  Besides, if things are really that serious, Doc would be messaging me. And as if he can read my thoughts, Doc sends me a message just as I sit down to enjoy more waffalage.

  Doc: Are you up yet? Things are really starting to heat up.

  Me: So I’ve heard. Sophia already dropped the CAP bomb on me this morning. I’ll be ready to log in shortly, but I got to get me a balanced breakfast first.

  Doc: Waffles?

  Me: You bet your ass. Without Evan monitoring me, my eating routines are finally starting to be enjoyable. I wish we could just keep them under the next couple weeks, so I can gain some of my weight back.

  Doc: Last I checked, you already reached your target weight.

  Me: According to who? Sophia’s charts? Look, I’m not trying to be racist here, but her charts are more aimed at someone from the southeast Asian variety, not a corn-fed boy from the Midwest.

  Doc: I don’t know how you put up with yourself.

  Me: I do what I do, and as I’ve said before, I yam what I yam.

  Doc: Please contact Sophia so she will stop contacting me. I’m getting prepped as we speak – a five-star breakfast with buttermilk pancakes slathered in Vermont maple syrup, sausage, eggs benedict, crispy bacon, and a side of oatmeal glazed with brown sugar and cinnamon.

  Me: Why am I not with you?

  Doc: Because you test me, especially in the morning. Anyway, Aiden and I are ready to pull off this operation at a moment’s notice. As we discussed before, everything has to line up perfectly for your attack to work against Strata.

  Me: All right, I’ll finish my breakfast and log in. I noticed that Frances’ room has pretty nice-looking dive gear.

  Doc: You catch on quick, junior.

  Me: My mom used to say I was the sharpest crayon in the box, little did she know I would use that crayon as a shiv.

  Doc: There are a lot of things our dear Mrs. Hughes would be surprised to learn about her son, the fact that he’s assaulting kindergarteners included.

  Me: Like what?

  Doc: I’m sure Mrs. Hughes would love to hear about the fact that you had a digital girlfriend, and were stuck in a noir fantasy world for eight years. I would start there if I were giving her the lowdown.

  Me: Two subjective years. And she obviously knows about being stuck in the Proxima Galaxy. Dolly, not so much. Besides, I’m over Dolly. It’s all Big Euphoria from here on out. She’s the bee’s knees, the hottest thing this side of the sun.

  Doc: No, that would be Qatar, followed by Arizona. As much as I’d like to sit here, eat pancakes, and have this conversation, I need to get ready for today’s mission. You should do the same. Sophia is already in, so spawn wherever she is. Frances will come here, as she will be our real life in-game monitor, if you get my drift.

  Me: Not Sophia?

  Doc: Between you and me, Frances is better at this kind of stuff than our dear Dr. Wang. And Frances has been in these operations before, like the last time that we broke into the Strata’s McMansion. Sophia is better in the digital battle.

  Me: So it was good that I came to Colorado.

  Doc: Sure, I’ll give you that.

  Me: But to be clear, I’m stuck with Sophia in Tritania, without Aiden, and without you? What did I do to deserve this?

  Doc: I’m sure there will be others, some of the Loop NPCs have already volunteered to join you.

  Me: Great, and I mean that sarcastically.

  Doc: Chrono will be there too.

  Me: Okay, him I like, he smashes things, gets the job done. Got to love that.

  Doc: This conversation is seriously impeding my ability to enjoy the short stack of buttermilk pancakes Arnie has just placed before me.

  Rocket: What did I miss?

  Doc: A lot. Glad you could finally join us.

  Rocket: I was in Steam, visiting my girlfriend.

  Me: More like making digital babies.

  Rocket: You’ve got to come up with some new ways to give me shit. Besides, we’re saving ourselves until we meet in the real world.

  Me: That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.

  After dropping the truth bomb, I ignore the rest of their messages and focus on stuffing my face with waffles. A little butter never hurt anyone, so I add a lot, taking my sweet time to get healed up, ready for the day. Wish there were a beer or two around, but there is burnt coffee, which will suffice. The eggs look like they were poured from a carton, but the sausage ain’t half bad.

  As soon as I put that visor on, not only will the world change, but whatever happens today will likely affect my future, so I’m taking my sweet time, enjoying what feels like it could be my last meal.

  And who doesn’t need a little luck? I go for a bowl of Lucky Charms, and since there’s no milk, I have to use soy half and half for the bowl of cereal. It ain’t great, but I try to pretend it is.

  They got the local news station on, the television flickering in the corner.

  Weather seems like it’s gonna be nice for the next few days, and the anchorwoman is a pretty good-looking broad, caramel skin, long hair, a little bit too much makeup, but what do you expect?

  It’s crazy to think that all across America, most people are just going through the motions, living through yet another day. But not my day. It’s been a long time coming, but my raison d'être has finally come to roost.

  Funny that. Sometimes you never know your calling in life until it whips you out of bed in the morning, hogties you, and sucker punches you in the back of the head.

  What a life.

  Here I am eating waffles, thinking about waging digital war, everything hinging upon timing between this world and the Proxima Galaxy. If we can get Strata’s defenses down, I can give him a smack that would make Babe Ruth roll out of his grave, stand, and salute me.

  But we got to get the timing right, that’s imperative.

  ~*~

  “I hate to break the bad news, but there are no more waffles left downstairs,” I tell Frances as I enter the hotel room. “The schmucks ran out of batter.”

  “Oh, please, you know I don’t care about waffles.”

  “That’s my girl, a pancake girl,” I say as I sit down on the edge of the bed. Frances is already dressed to the nines, geared up, ready to go, clean as a whistle to with her hair slicked back, her face still red from the shower.

  “Don’t you want to take a shower?” she asks me.

  “Why would I take a shower before I dive to the Proxima Galaxy? That seems counterintuitive.”

  “Gross.”

  “You like me because I’m dirty, or old, or a little bit of both, but I’m not quite a dirty old man, give me another year and I’ll let you call me that.”

  “My taxi should be here any minute now.”

  Frances sits next to me, and places her hand on my cheek. Boy do I like looking into her peepers, and I could easily stare into them for another hour, just trying to remember the song by the band Postal Service I once heard in a commercial.

  Something about reflection in someone’s eyes, nice little jam.

  “We got time for a quickie?” I ask. “Kidding, don’t give me tha
t look.”

  “That’s a terrible noun to describe what we do.”

  “What would you prefer? Longie? That’s an example of parapraxis if I’ve ever heard one.”

  “How about we not use slang terms for sex.”

  “Frances, ‘quickie’ is hardly a slang term. If you want me to use some slang…”

  “Stop it,” she says, playfully slapping my cheek.

  I bring her into my arms, and she pushes back, holding her nose up. “You smell. You need to take a shower.”

  “I swear, it’s the waffle station. The whole area had me sweating. I was making a lot of waffles down there. Fueling up,” I say as I slap my gut.

  “Promise me you’ll shower before you log in.”

  “Frances…”

  “Promise, and you’ll get your quickie later.”

  “Dunzo.”

  Frances kisses me, and stops just as she reaches the door. “Good luck, today.”

  “I was about to say the same to you. I don’t really know where you’re going, so go ahead and write down the address for me. I know Doc won’t want you sending it over iNet. Worst case scenario, I’ll at least know where you are.”

  She bites her lip. “You’re right,” Frances finally says, concern wrinkling her brow. “Worst case scenario.” She moves to the nightstand and checks in the Bible drawer for some hotel stationary. She finds some, scribbles an address, and places it back in the drawer.

  “Don’t look at it with your iNet feed on. That is something Doc would say. Only look at it if something happens and we need to get there. Capisce?”

  “Ha! I like the way it sounds when you talk like me. Real classy, Euphoria.”

  She blows me a kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

  With that, Frances is out the door before I can call out, “I love you.”

  I do so anyway, but she doesn’t respond, so I do something I haven’t done yet, and fire off an iNet message of endearment.

  Me: I <3 you.

  Doc: Gee? Glad to hear it.

  Me: Wrong channel.

  Me: I <3 You.

  Frances Euphoria: Can’t spell ‘love?’

  Me: You know what I mean.

  Frances Euphoria: Let’s just get through today.

  “With pleasure,” I say as I skip the shower, and head straight to the haptic chair in the corner.

  ~*~

  Feedback Proxima riven.

  Mind-river airport hum feedback drum digital wounds.

  Apotheosis boom.

  Bloom.

  ~*~

  I awake on the other side of mind.

  I’m in a room with impossibly tall ceilings decorated with painted images of dragons battling giants. Swords and spears, slightly dicey on display, a call to arms, vertical Thulean script lit at the corners – the room is grand, circular, and a decent place to plan a battle.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” I say to Sophia instead of hello. Decked out in white, she’s float-pacing, speaking to a Thulean man with a trailer park haircut.

  “Indeed,” she says without looking at me.

  Standing before me are Chrono, Croc, Burley, and Dirty Dave, his eye twitching just a hair. I also notice that Dave has a Thulean tattoo running up his neck now.

  “Where are the rest of the Brits?”

  “Aye, they be at one of the smaller battles in Polynya,” says Burley. “Sophia asked, and I bloody obliged. Owed the good doctor one, seeing as ‘ow she’s always been there for me and whatnot.”

  Sophia cringes. I recall that Burley had been giving her hell at some point, and shrug it off. Everyone gives Sophia hell at some point, and she’s usually asking for it.

  “And Dave? What brings you around?”

  “Quantum! Just here for the cause,” he says hurriedly, “and to support the Sage and all, and all of Tritania. Good place. Great people. Great place. Good people. Easy to sell to. That’s not what I meant to say. I meant to say: it’s easy to like a place like this.”

  “And no one had to offer you some type of payment to come?”

  Burley and Dave exchange glances.

  “That’s right,” says the big Brit, a grin cracking across his bearded face. “Dave ‘ere came of his own accord.”

  “Nice to see you, Croc,” I tell the big man, going for another fist bump.

  “Quantum.”

  “Easy, big guy, and glad to see you could join us. Who’s in charge here anyway?” I ask those who have gathered, which includes a slew of royal looking Thuleans, some of the Empress’ knights, and…

  “Commie Cupid?”

  “Come again? I am just a regular cupid,” says that flying little bastard. He looks like Commie Cupid, well, not as much of a Pol Pot Twitler attitude going on, and come to think of it, he isn’t wearing any red nor does he have any classic Communist symbols. In fact, this little cherub is in purple, gold too, with DisNike sneakers to boot.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “I do, but you won’t be able pronounce it, and I don’t want to hear you try,” says the little turd. “Besides, I’m here representing the Sage, not here to converse with you.”

  “Ever found yourself caught up in a net? Because I got this one little weapon in my inventory list…”

  “Quantum!”

  “Relax, Sophia,” I say under my breath, much to Chrono the Blacksmith’s amusement. “I’m just establishing dominance here.”

  A message flashes across my pane of vision.

  Rocket: I’m rooting for you, Q root! Also, once you’re done establishing dominance, you should probably look at the table they have in the room that shows the live battle feed.

  “Holy schnikes,” I say once I see the map and all the red spread out across it.

  It’s pretty easy to tell that red is bad, green is good, and from what I can easily decipher, our asses are surrounded. The capital of Ultima Thule presses up against the edge of the continental shelf, so we’re locked in.

  I notice the green of the Empress’ forces that are moving through the catacombs beneath Thule, but they’re still a ways off. So that’s my first question. “How long until our backup arrives?” I ask, glancing around the room at everyone present. There are Thuleans here too, including that orange-haired teen that wants me dead. Princess Zelda, or whatever. Maybe it was Zaena.

  “It could be hours,” says the cherub, his little wings fluttering.

  “And as you can see, Quantum,” says Sophia, “their exit is also surrounded, meaning that the backup forces will face a battle once they emerge from the catacombs.”

  “And you think they’re going to emerge…” I point out several places on the map that look like catacomb entrances. Truth be told, they could also double as caves, I have no idea, but as I point around the map, I think about the Chilean miners who survived sixty-nine days underground back in the Aughts.

  Tough bastards.

  “From this catacomb,” says the cherub, fluttering his little ass over to the cave exit in question. I’d like the guy if it wasn’t for the fact that he keeps looking at me funny, like I’m some sort of snake oil salesman that has just showed up to town.

  “Got it. Well, it’s clear that they think we’re up to something, otherwise they wouldn’t have this squad here separated from their main forces. Now, it’s not too far from that catacomb, which means when the forces come out, they’ll probably have to fight through them first, before coming around from behind. To clear up what I’m trying to say here: we hit them first. Let’s take out this flank, wham, bam, thank-you-ma’am, and that’ll allow backup forces to easily come around.”

  “It’s not that simple,” says one of the Thulean princes, a buff lizard man in a loincloth looking thing, his hair in a yellow mohawk, and a pair of long, dangly earrings hanging from his elven ears.

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, buster, but it is that simple.”

  “Quantum, that is Prince Zagra you’re speaking too.”

  “I don’t care if it’s the head o
f customer services at Zara. If we want to save our asses here,” I say, pointing to the main battle, “we have to allow our asses to be saved here, at the catacombs’ exit. Everyone standing around this table think about that for a moment, you included, Prince Viagra.”

  The prince says something in Thulean to one of his lackies, a scowl on his face.

  “Common tongue, Prince, we got to be able to communicate here, or we’re gonna lose today’s battle. And you guys know what happens if we lose the battle, they come into the city, they destroy the Sage, then they drop a source code bomb, just to add insult to injury. Now, I don’t like this world, doesn’t take a rocket scientist or a neuro-physicist to figure that out,” I say as I nod my head at Sophia, “but I know a lot of people do like Tritania and I’m here to help them. Besides, I have a few friends I’ve made here. Well, come to think of it, maybe that’s not true. Well, there was King Coromon, but I don’t know if he was really a friend or not.”

  “Enough, commoner,” says the Prince. “All of our forces are stretched thin. How do you plan to take out this flank?”

  I start to laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I am not joking,” he hisses. Princess Zaena is next to her brother now, giving me the ojo.

  “You want this flank of skull kids gone? You send in the A-Team, and by that, I mean you send me and a couple of bruisers. Here, I’ll help you pick some. Croc, Burley, Chrono, and hell, Dirty Dave, you four are up. Plus me. So five.”

  The cherub laughs. “There could be hundreds of Reapers and Marauders in that flank. Mechanical creations too.”

  “Well, you’ve got five of the toughest guys this world has ever seen at your disposal, so how about you throw us a bone here.”

  “You’re going to need more than that,” Prince Zagra growls.

  “We can bring Jim,” Dave offers, now scratching at his arm.

  “The Doorman? What the hell is he going to do?”

  “He’s the same level as the rest of us, plus he’s pretty good with a gun.”