"Yes," Gungnir snorted.
"Don't say its name. How much do you know?"
"I have a different copy, but the script is impossible to decipher." She studied his gaze. "How did you find your copy?" She landed on a page and read with her finger.
"Why?"
His face was in the middle of the tome somewhere, and she would find it and show him. She flipped to the center and started working her way towards the front. It had been a while since she'd picked it up because when she did, nothing ever was right with her sense of self, and she would meditate into the morning hours trying to shake off those feelings. She turned to look at Gungnir.
"A gothi—err, priest gave it to me after I became a walking death machine."
"And he gave it to you, just like that? No reason why?"
"Are you calling me a liar?" His attitude isn't going to go away, is it?
"We should talk more. I have a zillion questions..."
He laughed, shot over, and snatched the spear from the desk. Before she could move, he opened up his palm, and struck her in the chest sending her to the ground. She kicked her legs out and caught him in his calf, but he planted his back foot and jumped back.
"The mushrooms aren't going to work anymore, Dueva. This was a temporary stop. I would hang you if not for the book." He held the spear, point up, in a non-threatening way and backed up from her. "I'm heading into St. George, deep, and I don't have time to play around with you."
"We need each other!" She picked Arkhe off the ground where she had dropped it. Then she opened it, and handed the tome over. She watched his eyes move across the page she had memorized. The digi-print showed her standing in front of a ten-meter door set in the side of a mountain, and both of them looked haggard and bloody. Below the moving image, the words glowed faintly: "Site 13." Around the five-second mark in the print, characters and numbers moved as if they were autocrafts, stopping at intersections, merging with other letters and numbers, and driving to other pages.
"This thing, this book, this whatever is going on, it has a way of locating specific individuals. And has... had... a certain way of finding me and as you see, you and I were brought together, Úlfheðnar!"
"Let this thing come and find me." He said, caressing his spear like his lifeline and spit. "I fear nothing for I am the lord of war."
"Maybe. You're the last Úlfheðnar. I assume you're not training a replacement..."
"What do you mean?"
"I receive shipments and buy news when they come by. The last of you were killed in a mass terror bombing last month. Another American attack in Koblenz." She reached into her desk and found the digi-print. She gave the print to him, and as he took the report, he shook his head. "Sorry."
"I know another who isn't dead yet. Besides, Wotan chose me. That's the way it goes. I need to get some air." He turned without her answering and stepped to the door, but before he left, he turned around. "What do you expect? Soldiers are meant to die." Then he opened the door and closed it behind him.
But he didn't tell her the last part for her own edification, and she followed him out into the cold. He hadn't left; he was standing outside, letting the breeze blow through his hair, looking into the forest. He was definitely hot, but now was not the time to think that way.
"Alright," he said. "You're resourceful and know how to fight. I could use you, and I don't know why you and I are both in the book we can't talk about. But obviously, Wotan brought us together for a reason. Coincidences don't exist."
"Did I say something?"
"Don't ask me that again." He breathed out.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything, I just thought you would want to know what was going on. But if you leave, I must go, too." Her eyebrows arched. Would she finally be leaving this cave with him? Rachel had said this was the way it might happen.
His gaze started at her feet, up to her ankles, her long legs, and athletic body, and she wanted to touch every part of him. Not like the others. She wanted the sex to be quiet, both exploring each other with their mouths and fingers. But he bit his lower lip and brought his eyes back into the green wilderness and up towards the clouds.
"Okay. But do as I say," he demanded. "I wasn't aware Americans had any tech left for genetic research. I can't think of any other reason you bested me. What else can you do?"
"I'll show you when the time is right. Please, don't bring the tech up until later. I doubt you know much about us other than how we fight, and you likely know nothing about our tech. I say we, but I should say them. I'm not exactly an American anymore. I'm not sure what I am. But there aren't limits to scientific knowledge, and they aren't going to stop their research. Why should they?"
He sneered. "That attitude is the reason Midgard is in this condition. What had taken place during the Pre-Times remains a mystery. We both know the world turned scientific pursuits toward war and tens of millions of people died. If the wars ended tomorrow, all of our economies, all reliant on this endless war, would fail, and everyone would die. You can't name one economist who has said otherwise."
She laughed. "You follow the economic news?"
"What kind of a question is that? Of course, I do. Only peasants don't follow what's going on around them, politically, economically, or whatever else is happening. That's because they're a slave in their mind already and don't think they can do anything. Good. Those people needn't be bothered with the real world anyway. They should go about their day with their head down in the dirt, staring at their shoes. That's all they're good for. I have no use at all for worthless, spineless fucks who don't give a fuck about their own people or nation. Fuck them all."
Victoria heard his tone coming through. His opinions were strong, no doubt. But she liked reading the news, so perhaps that's the reason he talked that way. Was he complimenting to her?
"Alright CEO Dueva, we should go. Go gather your gear."
"Would you do me a favor. Two favors, sorry. Once we get to St. George, there's someone we need to meet, but you will be inclined to kill him. But don't. Don't even hurt him. My second is far more pressing."
"What's that?"
"Call me Victoria Tesla."
41 Bernuts
Domain of King Edward
Day 236
"When are you going to tell John?" Reginald asked. He was staring at the wonderful white rose in Rosie's hair. She curled her hair for him, and her soft brown locks fell down to her shoulders. Dark makeup highlighted her cheekbones and heavy black mascara made her eye lashes more pronounced. If only he knew how long she'd stared at herself in the mirror before telecasting him.
"Soon. No doubt, he will want to know his mother is getting remarried," she said, touching the tip of Reginald's nose and smiling. "Your nose is so perfect." She didn't like to lie to him, but he was so self-conscious about it...
"Thank you, I guess?"
They waited in the corner of Tamberlay's for Roger Peters, a proprietor of unusual Pre-Times artifacts and myths who she'd known for years. He was also a cutthroat assassin, career criminal and couldn't be trusted. The man was wanted all across the Kingdom for his wantonness. He bought off the local coppers and kingpins and walked around as freely as an aristocrat, even waving to curious onlookers. She'd read up on him before showing up and wasn't at all surprised to see people stopping to ask for his autograph or to take a digi-print with him. His ego showered in that kind of stuff.
Roger walked through Tamberlay's, nodding to customers as he walked in sitting down next to Reginald. He wore a leather vest like a champion of fashion, Saxon camo pants, mirror-shined riding boots, and short, cropped hair. His golden St. George cross hung around his neck, showing off his wealth.
"Greetings and salutations," he said.
"Good evening. Here is your book, Ms. Rex," he said not even bothering to look at him. What a jackass.
She tapped Reg's pants when she saw him grimace at him. "Will you join us for dinner?"
"Sure. Thank you. I was not aware there would be
someone else here..."
"This is Frank, Frank this is Roger." She watched his eyes as he spied the concealed 10mm hidden in Reginald's coat. "He is with me."
"What is this?" Roger tried to get up but she outfaced him and glared back down on the seat.
"Now, the book... Here is your payment." She handed him a small stack of 500 Edwards and he slid it, cloth-wrapped, across the linen over to himself. "Thank you. Now, for dinner. I hope you like seafood. If you have not been here before, let me tell you, Tamberlay's has some of the finest shrimp cocktail sauce in the Kingdom, and their crab cakes are to die for. I am serious. Here."
She handed him the digi-menu, and he pressed several prints, watching the presentation of the various dishes in digi-res. He put the menu back in the slot on the table and glowered down at cloth-wrapped money without touching it. His eyes moved back at the pistol. He grabbed the wad and set it in the middle of the table. "Keep it. Call us even."
"No. We are not adversaries."
"Fine," he said palming it back. "But the next time we meet up, you tell me about any extras. Get me?" Roger said pointing directly at the pistol.
"Easy. Sure, fine. No problem. Now, seriously, look at the menu."
He stuffed the money into his pocket, grabbed the menu, and ordered ten minutes later, constantly staring at the gun. Why should he be so worried about a simple firearm? If she wanted him arrested, or even killed, she would shoot him on the spot and worry about explaining the meeting later.
When the food came he stopped everyone from eating by waving his hand around the table. They all bowed their heads as he said his Eating Prayer aloud. "St. George. Bless this food and those who eat it. Amen."
"Amen."
Roger dipped a shrimp and shoved it in his mouth. "Mmm." He kept his head parallel with the floor and edged his eyes forward. When he chewed, he did so 12 times, every time, and swallowed. He nodded his head and shrugged.
"Told you." She said, poking a crab cake with her fork and eating it.
"You were right about the shrimp. I wonder if this place is for sale? So..." He peered over his shoulder, but all of the adjacent booths were empty. "I was not aware you had an interest in the esoteric and the Pre-Times."
"I never said I did. Stop fishing for information. Look who you are talking to." She ate more and followed it with some wine. Some people in the restaurant stood up, looked over at their table, paid their bill, and left out the front door.
"True enough. I have a line on some really heavy stuff found nearby Labor's Park last week. They have shut the whole place down now. But yeah, sure, I have come across some artifacts found close by. Tech stuff. Other oddities." He ate three more shrimp. "If you want more information, just ask." A tail stuck out between his lips, and he bit it off.
"Will do. And thank you."
He gobbled up more and ordered himself a bottle of Henry's Cherry Stim Wine. "Sorry for being so jumpy. Life is stressful lately. I think the King has his own special task force with my name in it."
"Of course, he does. You have some cocktail sauce..." she reached over with her napkin and wiped his chin. "There. Got it." After eating for a few more minutes, she placed her napkin on the table. "I appreciate you bringing this book by. Mind if I ask you something else? I could use your help."
"I will answer what I can but information costs," he said, winking. He poured some wine for Reginald and clinked glasses with him.
"Ever come across something that seemed out of place or did not belong?" Reginald asked, trying to hide his pistol, but the jacket was too small for his massive chest.
"Hmm. I am not sure how to answer that."
What a liar! Of course, he did. "Sure you do. Quit playing around. When you go digging around, have you ever found something out of the ordinary that made you stop and ask yourself what you were looking at?"
Roger kept chewing. "I, uh... if you go and buy things in the Underworld pocking around places, you will eventually find something. Honestly, I do not want to get involved in any business which could paint a bigger bull's-eye on my forehead. I am high up enough on the King's list of wanted criminals. No reason for me to anger him any more than necessary."
"Can you put me in touch with people who can help? Specialists?" Rosie peeled off 600 more Edwards from a roll of bills and tapped it.
Roger reached over, picked the bills up, and started counting. "Yes. Sort of what I do."
Rosie looked over at Reginald and nodded. "We are looking for the best. There is something specific I need looked into."
"Yeah, I got ya. You are not exactly paying a lot. But for this, I can relay something that has come up on my scanner. I am friends with a few pickers who went poking around Labor's Park. They all said the same thing—the Kingdom's expeditions unearthed something they are keeping tight-lipped about. Site something. Site 13. That was it. Oh, was there something that you could tell me about what you are in need of? You know—to expedite this?" He grabbed a shrimp off Reginald's plate and finished off the rest of his cocktail sauce. "What I just handed you was found there."
She heard his voice now, clearer, more distinct. Well done. He was masking his native accent well but couldn't hide his distinctive southeast South Side all the way. The wine made him sloppy. Rosie chuckled to herself and stole a crab cake off his plate and put it on Reg's plate. "Interesting. Well, not really."
"Heh. Open it up and tell me what you think, Ms. Rex."
She moved the book on her lap, hiding it with the linen on the table. Hmm. No title, no author. The hardcover was a two-tone split across the center and stank of mothballs and burnt Plasstien.
She flipped pages back to front, perusing the contents. She pored over the area she sought after. Plants. She turned to the bernut entry and observed a four-panel photograph. In the upper right corner, she saw the green one, the same from the other book. She had never seen a green bernut plant before, and the image looked wrong. The palm-like leaves showed dark green fibers within the leaf. Below the picture was a label: Bernut Ver 1. Then in the left corner was a pinkish bernut with bright red veins running through it. The plant was adjacent to others, and they resembled one another. The print was taken in an old greenhouse, and the men tending to the plants wore, what looked like, advanced Plasstien full body with white enviro suits with air tanks on their backs. The caption Below said: Bernut Ver 2. There was an orange one labeled Ver 3 in another corner and a yellow one matching the one in her house labeled Ver 4.
"Are you listening to anything I have said?" Roger asked.
"No, sorry, I was looking at this book. What were you saying?"
"This whole country is going downhill fast because the King has issued these latest proclamations. In the Underworld, you can find lots of things. Despite whatever you people think, the King cannot squeeze the black market away, he can only move it and make it harder to find. What's that going to do? Just going to make my life harder, and the lives of my customers more difficult. People want things the Kingdom cannot provide, and we offer things they cannot get otherwise." Beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip, and he wiped his forehead.
"No, I agree with you. The King is not making the life of criminals any easier." Who did he think he was talking to? She flipped the page. A tall, orange leafed tree with leaves the size of autocrafts sprouted from the top.
"And what does he think is going to bloody well happen when he moves in to get people like me off the streets? You create a bunch of little punks running around who will turn the whole area into a giant fucking disaster."
She hadn't heard that word in years, and everyone became speechless. He cleared his throat. "About that time for me to be leaving. You take care and I will let you know when I can get in contact with those people."
"No problem, Roger." She paid the bill, and Reginald drove them back to her house.
"Was that the book you were looking for?" Reg asked.
"Yes and no."
"What do you mean?"
"No date. No a
uthor. No title. But from what I saw inside, I think I know where those other pictures are coming from, and I want to see exactly what is going on over there."
"Where is that?"
"Labor's Park. Remember what he said?"
"Can we get clearance to go there?"
"Did you think I was going to ask?" Rosie smiled.
42 The DNA Lab
The Burgerhouse seared into his mind, deep into a memory pit where he dared not remember. It was surreal and real at the same time, both mixing together in a vial of otherness. Apache Vick, in all his vile Americanness was like a torrent of nightmares flooding all at once into him.
"Follow me." John blinked askance and nodded. Where else could he go?
She guided them to the right, still opening doors down long and winding hallways. They never ended, and as he passed by the endless entryways, he was sure she was leading them in circles. People milled about dressed in the latest Kingdom fashions. Everyone got out of Nancy's way, and every so often, they would bow their heads.
Cleaning scents clung magnetically to the floors; the windows all spotless. The walls sparkled Oracle White with varying stripes of different colors painted down the middle. They climbed up and down flights of stairs and stopped in a hexagonal room with dozens of machines and bored lab technicians gawking at him as if they had taken too much Aspire.
"Go ahead and sit down over there. This is our own DNA lab, something we are quite proud of here." Huge racks of devices whined and gurgled with complex infusion tubes and mix vats, and the floor had a Plasstien grate with liquid seeping and draining below a few of the machines. John's eyes wandered over to Anderson, and they both scowled back at the door.
"Go ahead and relax. You are breathing heavy, but the air is purified. There is no Aspire gas." Several wall-sized pressurized steam collectors pressed next to the front desk, and Nancy walked over and flicked a switch.
The Arkhe Principle Page 27