The Arkhe Principle

by Maxwell Rudolf

  "Continue your work," Nancy said.

  John's eyes fixated back. "...you will submit to the application process." The deafness and ringing of Nancy's Remi eventually faded away, and he finished filling out several forms. His legs and arms were like rubber bands and across his face, a cupcake-eating grin ran from cheek to cheek. But she just killed two people. Nancy gathered them up and put them on a side chair.

  "I am sure you are wondering why you are not screaming for the door at this point. The air in this room has been flooded with Aspire. You should feel quite relaxed. Again, you have sworn oaths of total and complete secrecy. Any acknowledgment of this event will result in your immediate, extra-judicial zeroing. This is done to protect Pilly's Peak's clientele. Do not run out or you will be next. Now then. Congratulations on officially completing the First Trial. You may leave if you so desire."

  John heard Neil swallow hard. "Were you going to explain what just happened?"

  "What would you like to know?" She smirked.

  "Oh, I dunno? Maybe why those two blokes ran, and you decided to kill them for a start?" John listened to his friend's sarcasm with respect. How was he resisting her? He wanted to say something, question her about what happened and the two dead people at the door, but found it impossible. He wanted to stretch out, and make love with Nancy.

  "Some of you had different paperwork. I cannot say why they ran, only that they did. I gave specific instructions: once you went with me this far, you were not free to leave, and you were given a chance to leave before we continued. Now, I see three people remaining," she said looking over at John, Neil and the other man who remained still without saying anything. "But definitely quality people who possess the fundamental strengths of what it takes to work here. Good."

  Neil lowered his voice so low, it sounded like a whisper. "I only wanted part-time. I work for the city as a..." He shut his mouth.

  "We are aware of your employment situation, Mr. Nirvana. Pilly's Peak has tried part-time employment in the past, but problems always arise. For example, whose loyalty do you serve first, Mr. Nirvana? Please. Are you certain you will not reconsider?"

  "Do not worry. I am not going to say anything about any of this. Quite frankly, I think I want to stay as far away from here as humanly possible. Good day." Neil Nirvana marched towards John. He laid a piece of plastic in front of him with his contact information.

  "Ring me."

  "I will, mate." John folded the note and pocketed it. Then Neil was gone, his friend leaving through another door, hopefully to safety. Thankfully, no one followed behind him.

  Nancy passed out more paperwork. "You may begin reading."

  John inspected the following lines and unscrewed the cap on the pen. The beginning portion of the application was the sort a person reads from every employment form: name, Kingdom Number, blood type, age, gender, tax rate, security clearance, combat experience rank, empathy score, personality type, house name and address, eating habits, sleep schedule, copulation experiences and seduction tactics, weapon proficiencies and scores, reading level, intelligence rating, assets, debt rating, monthly assessed security threat rank, aristocracy score, DNA type, education rank, relationship score, immediate family score, previous residences, previous employment E-numbers, and so on.

  While writing his list, the door shut and the seals on the room tightened, creating a vacuum seal. The stench of the dead who had let their bowls go when they died overwhelmed the room, and John was having a difficult time staying focused. The Aspire gas calmed him though, and a nap sounded spectacular. He yawned again. She actually murdered those two. Would Neil report her? This was insane.

  "Thank you for answering truthfully to the previous questions. Honesty is rewarded here. Trial Two is set to begin. The questions will seem queer to you, but answer them fully. If you do not know the information or are unsure, please leave it blank. What you write must be accurate to the best of your perception." John turned the page. Just a few more pages.

  Do you recognize the name of Gungnir Odinson? If so, fill out the space and describe your experience with him.

  John paused and tried to recall any memories about the name, but nothing sprang to mind. He continued down, but something nulled out in him before he could continue, and he reread the name. Gungnir. Odinson. Wait. He was a Úlfheðnar, one of the remaining ones. They were bound by no law and had supernatural powers from their war god, Wotan.

  He wrote yes.

  But there were no experiences... of this villain. No, there had been experiences, or had there? He didn't know if he was remembering something or imagining a memory of him. He was in a lush forest with a woman and they were fighting. He didn't write anything else about him and the questions continued.

  CEO Katherine Dueva? Apache Vick? Personality 4,073,472,234? $$Pol_Pot_)@LOL.com? Clerk #001,999,666.!^$$%? Registered Model GVR-234s23d;? Consumer Number 345,345? Marshal Isoroku Yamamoto?

  None of the names sounded familiar. Katherine Dueva. That wasn't her real name. He turned back a page. The name of the Saxon further drew John's attention. Who was he? This man is important. Dueva?

  His sight swam with squiggly imperfections and he gripped the desk. The letters on the page twisted back and forth, ratcheting up and down, going into a miasma of chaos. More words moved off the page, the ink disintegrating in the air.

  John slowly flipped over the page. "Sign below and hereby swear on your own being and your own potential rebirth that the above information is true so help you St. George."

  John's shook so hard, he could barely scratch his name. Fractals bloomed. Beautiful maelstroms of washed-out color meshed into twisted patterns all looping and exploded around him, and soon, everything that was real became unreal. The unrealness bled into his view and molded it. His vision wasn't his own, and he was keenly aware of it.

  He heard a trickling of acid splattering in his ear transforming into rusty static and a voice called out to him from beyond reality.

  37 Seduction and Sex

  Victoria dragged the huge man inside, securing his spear along the way. His weight was certainly an issue. Who fed him so well? She would love some of whatever he was eating. And with that, she dug in his pack and found his goodies. Yum! She couldn't decide on what to eat first, or whether or not any of it would be expired or tainted, but she risked a pack of BBQ American sunflower seeds and spit the shells in her small bio-recycler for later.

  The fight lasted only a few moments, and Victoria had strained herself landing the critical blow to his head, knocking him out. But now she was safe from this man. She pulled a vial of XC-7 from her shelf and inserted a few drops in his mouth with a dropper to make sure he would stay unconscious for a while. No need to have this thing get up and start attacking her like he already had.

  She patted him down, withdrew a silver necklace with a heart pendant, and stared at the man and woman looking out of some sort of window into the stars. Interesting. And the silver would be worth something. It fit nicely around her neck. She also discovered a long dagger and stored the blade in her desk. But he didn't carry a gun of any kind, and only a total moron would venture out this way without one. Unless...

  Her fingers decoupled his armor and she breathed out her mouth. When was the last time he bathed? His pungent musk gagged her, and without thinking, she took a wet cloth and scrubbed his feet, groin, ass, and armpits with cleaning oils taken from a feral she'd killed dozens of days prior. And when she started to wipe down his chest, she saw the valknot tattoo, the triple triangles—the symbol of Wotan, darkening his flesh.

  So, he was a Saxon. Well, that made a lot of sense, his size and everything. Americans, Romans, and St. Georgians didn't come this big, unfortunately. Using a scrubber, she cleaned the black, brown, and green camo-insect repellent from his face and put another drop of XC-7 in his mouth to make sure. His face looked familiar and quite handsome, though his beard had dead snow fleas interwoven inside and his blond hair lacked her perfection. Still, a very attractive m
an, even if looking slightly roguish. Too bad he's one of them!

  Looking closer, she brushed her hand against his face looking at his nose. Then she moved to his chin, his cheekbones, then his forehead. Something about him scratched her memory. His strength and beauty couldn't be denied, but he was a member of that awful race of men whose only purpose was violence.

  She'd been told to come here, over 180 days ago and to wait. But for what? Victoria had been in her cave, hunting game, and retrieving shipments from American Demonic Tradesmen every 14th day. The soap, shampoo, and most of all toilet paper were absolute necessities. So were the reusable tampons. They required a bit of cleaning and a thorough soak in cleansing fluid, but other than that, no problem. The cotton swaps they left were useful for cleaning her weapons and her ears. She kept her fingernails short, her hair cut above her shoulders. She missed the comforts of living in The Land of the Nothing. Site 66 seemed so far way.

  "Do you understand now why it's so important for you to succeed in rounding up as many as possible? Without their assistance, we'll be sorted out one by one. I want you to know how proud we are of you and how much we value what you're doing. Without you, we would all be lost," Rachel, one of her Alpha mothers, said. She brushed the back of her hair, combing out the tangles. "You didn't get my hair."

  "I like yours, anyway. So, you really think I can make a difference?" She watched her neo-Labrador, Snuggles, chew on a bone with his usual veracity. "How am I supposed to find any of them? It's impossible, mom."

  Her room had been painted baby pink at her request, and the furniture programmed to mimic the Institute's style of military furniture despite strong protests from her mothers and fathers. They insisted she embrace American fashion, but their decadent style carried little form or function. The drawers were segmented, the handles placed in odd places, and the knobs couldn't be more ugly. Why would anyone ever want to have furniture like that?

  "Regardless of the probabilities, the data we've reviewed has only one possible conclusion. Timothy is going to give you a few maps on your E-Reader so you can find places to locate them. This whole affair is outlandish, I know. But The Great Arkhe's plan is in motion. Whatever you do, make sure you find and meet with Captain Johann Edward Rex."

  "Mom, you've said that a billion times."

  "And I'll say it another billion if I must. Watch your tone, Vicky. Please." Rachel braided her hair in three parts and let the two sides fall on her face. "You look absolutely scrumptious. You're going to melt all the boys tonight." Her mother admired Victoria for a while and smiled. "And I'll leave you to put on your own makeup. Be careful not to overdo it. Easy to do the first time, and the whole affair will turn you off to ever trying to use it again. Believe me. Women wear it for a reason, and not for vanity." She kissed the top of her head and left.

  But her mom didn't warn her enough. 20 different styles to choose from with 40 colors and 25 brushes. She had grabbed the wrong ones and made herself a clown. If boys didn't like the way she looked without this crap, then what was the point anyway? Seducing young boys and even grown men was as simple as eating, and most of the time, just as boring. A few pheromone sprays from her glands and they always came flocking to her like hungry ovr's to a fresh bale of spring grass. But this night she was to play fair and do the man dance the old way—by actually talking to them and flirting. Yawn. So she could then have sex?

  Big deal. Victoria had gone through four boyfriends and three of them were virgins without the slightest clue as to how to please her. And she hated being a walking instruction manual. Touch here. Do this. No, not like that! Slow! Down! Sigh. And the sex always ended before it started. Not only did the poor boys lack any form of stamina, their ability to withhold an orgasm made her laugh, sometimes in their face right when they finished. This would sometimes have the unfortunate side effect of making them limp and complaining to her Alpha Parents but so what? Victoria was not one for second chances. So, after they cleaned up, she kicked them out and didn't talk to them again no matter how much they nagged and begged her.

  But maybe this man, lying on her cave floor, looking like a hunk from the wildest of her fantasies could be something. He matched the description—exactly—of Gungnir Odinson, but his wrinkles and mouth weren't the same as described. He looked somehow older than what she expected and not in a positive way. At least he wasn't as old as Dr. Bells, that disgusting man-animal she wanted to kill. Most nights, she took out her throwing knives and practiced hitting a wooden stump she pulled in from outside and imagined his face, dead center.

  She grunted, pulling him up, set him in a chair, and tied his hands and feet so tight, if he moved, the Plasstien would cut off his circulation. And she had programmed the Plasstien to react to her hand so when the time was right, she could release him at a safe distance. The fight had taken almost everything she had, and if he woke up and started berzerking on her, in all likelihood, her best option would be to run away and fight another day.

  Victoria placed a few caps of dried Deadwood Mushrooms around him. If he tried to concentrate and use any of those Saxon runes on her, well, he could try... She cocked her head and ogled his chest. What a waste.

  38 Mushrooms

  Gungnir opened his eyes, feeling the strips of rubber Plasstien around his arms, hands, feet, and legs, as he pulled hard, smelling the odor of the cave and the occupant. He kept his head straight, eyes darting around to the sides. Yellowing old St. George war recruitment posters hung like family digi-prints from the walls, and the old propaganda styles still held a annoying quaintness about it. Wooden bookshelves took up the right wall with books, stacks of paper, and flat Plasstien on them. The place was clean, and that said a lot about who the woman was standing beside his spear, Asger, with her folded arms and an evil smirk on her lips.

  "Who are you?" She was prettier now that he could observe her without trying to kill her. Her blond hair matched the color of wheat, and her nose was narrow but fit her oval face. She couldn't be much older than 21. Certainly would fit in Saxon society without anyone asking questions. Perhaps that's where she learned her Saxon. She was also wearing the silver necklace, but it looked right on her so he didn't mention it.

  His wounds had been stapled, and treated. He was without pain. And for now, at least, he was safe from torture. The sound of dripping liquid and the churning and clumping of a machine off in the background pounded his head like an ice smasher.

  "You should've killed me." Despite his grogginess, his anger and spite roused him, and he felt the urge to gut this pretty bitch again after a nice long rape. Well, she didn't smell bad at all. Her scent made him quiver in all the right places. But who was this person who thought she could restrain him?

  "What makes you think I still won't?" The machines banged and clattered, and he forced himself to listen over them. He sniffed again. Something else... like a mushroom...

  "You want something from me. What do you want?" He pulled at the restraints, but they didn't move one millimeter.

  "You're a Saxon. And kind of annoying. You attacked me for no reason. Is that what your kind engage in? Acting like some human-feral hybrid out for blood?" Her coyness was fun, but being tied up wasn't. Raping her was going to be dangerous. Would it be worth it?

  "That's right. What do you want?"

  Her face twisted. The way she looked at him begged her death. She was taller than she should be. Or was she? He rumbled his head and inhaled. What was in the air? Some kind of mushroom? He couldn't focus, and his vision doubled.

  "Let us start with introducing ourselves then. What's your name?"

  "Gungnir Odinson. You should know who I am. I'm infamous."

  Her eyes opened wide and she smiled. "Your name..."

  "That's what I said." He tugged again at the straps, straining but nothing. Whoever had taught her how to tie a prisoner had done an excellent job. He couldn't get any leverage.

  "Then we might be able to help each other out. Were you on an op?"

  "None o
f your business." The restraints dug into his flesh. "Okay, let me go. Give me back my spear, and I'll be on my way." Uruz! He saw the rune in his mind, a burning symbol of strength, courage, and freedom, but his concentration collapsed like a deflated balloon. He held his breath, hoping to free his mind.

  "I don't think so. Last time, you acted mean. So, now I'm thinking about what I should do with you." She strutted over and picked Asger up off the wall. "I like this. What do you think? Do I look great with a Pre-Times spear or what?"

  "It's bio-locked and won't work for you."

  His weapon sparked. She flicked it on, holding the spear horizontal to the ground in the center. "Funny thing about tech. It can be overwritten." She nulled the display. By Wotan, what had she done? "So. You talk, and if I like what you say, I will let you go. Tell me something amazing and perhaps I will give this back. I've no use for this other than trade, anyway. What kind of a warrior would use something so primitive?"

  "Beg my forgiveness on your knees! I will let you live but beat you within an inch of your worthless, pathetic existence!" He chomped down, wanting to kill this wench, this nothing.

  "Okay, good start. What were you doing here?" She pressed a button on Asger and looked at the display, watching the data stream.

  "I will make you bleed for years underneath my seax's blade! I will sodomize you and terrorize your dreams! You will have nightmares within nightmares always running from me but never getting away! I will hurt you in ways you cannot dare imagine, for if you even thought about how it would feel, you would fall down and weep in fear!" Uruz... Nothing happened.

  "How long have you had this problem?"

  "I will crush your American skull beneath my Saxon jackboot and laugh as your brains spill from your nostrils! I will gouge out your eyes and shove them up your ass! I will make you beg for..." His neck strained, his veins ready to burst.