End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity)

by David S. Wellhauser

  “Just shut it. I don’t want to hear shit from you unless I give you the okay.” Salt had been in a mood since he’d walked into Carla’s cell. They’d had what Feargal would have described as words about the woman’s forced exit strategy. In fact, what had happened was the first physical confrontation between the two men. The Meta was stronger than Matt had supposed, but, when necessary, Feargal was capable of calling on the rage he’d thought China had syphoned off. As it turned out she’d only put the thing in perspective. Therefore, when needed the bile could be easily drawn upon. So Matt did that evening at M&W. This hadn’t been particularly useful for either of the men, nor for the Sansa members present. At last, when they decided the fight had become more feral than it had any right to be the Sansa pulled the two men apart.

  When Matt had pulled himself together he could see the others looked as though they were children pulling their parents apart. After that they’d not spoken for a few days, until Roberto had contacted Jonah about a conference in which all three of them would meet—and he’d bring along Halton. This was the only reason Matt had agreed to the appointment. He needed to find some way to convince his uncle he’d not meant to kill Melissa; that she’d made it impossible not to. After all, he only wanted to get China back, and he’d promised to help him with that. In the end, the promise was empty and he then had a right, even an obligation, to take matters into his own hands—even if this had ended badly.

  Matt leaned back in from the window and turned back to Salt. “Can’t promise that. I’m here for a word with Halton.”

  “If you would only listen for a moment things might go better.”

  “I am really having difficulty believing anything you say. If you think it better just to do it you will—then force me to swallow it later.”

  “You’re not still on about what I shared with the governments.”

  “Which is exactly why I killed Carla—there was no way I’d give you the chance to hand her over to your new masters.”

  “Now just a bloody minute...”

  “Don’t bother. Her strategic value would have been too great and the information they would have gotten from her would have only made them believe it was more than necessary to kill Leonor; perhaps me as well.”

  “It isn’t that simple.”

  “Don’t bother—you’re about as prepared to fuck me over for the greater good as you are Roberto, Halton, the Sansa, or any one or thing which interferes with your holy quest. Until, that is, your allegiance changes again.”

  “I’ve changed sides once—then only when I found out what Zakara was planning.”

  “Thing is, if you changed sides once, how may anyone be certain you wouldn’t do it again?” Feargal hadn’t been intending to take the argument this far, or be this cruel. Yet this had been building in him since Cody, when Salt began to put together Sansa. It may have been the reason he needed to get on the road, beyond the call of the women. There was more and more about their relationship and the manner in which he felt used and manipulated by the Meta. Trust, for Feargal, was easily destroyed, and he was about there with the Meta.

  Sighing, Salt opened his door. “Let’s get this over with.” Matt climbed out the opposite door and waited on the sidewalk in front of the Sheraton. They went up to the suite together in the elevator with no guards and only side arms. It was dangerous, but Matt needed to see his uncle; needed to make one last effort. When the elevator doors opened, Matt had expected to be greeted by several minders, but there was no one there. A little anxious about the lack, the two men found the suite and rang the bell. After a moment with a little shuffling heard from within the door opened on the smiling face of Roberto. He had not seemed to have changed in the time since their last meeting. Perhaps he’d a few more lines and maybe the hair was a little whiter but the Brujo seemed, for the most part, as he’d been—even back to when they’d met outside of Sleeman House.

  “Come in, gentlemen.” Neruda smiled, stepping back. In doing so he revealed Halton standing by the balcony door. Edwards, however, had aged considerably since last they met. Rage, he supposed, could do that. With this Matt wondered if he’d aged. Jonah entered first. As he passed Matt he placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a beseeching look—Feargal ignored this.

  “We...” Jonah began, but Matt cut him off.

  “I’m here looking for a solution.” Instead of Halton answering, to whom the statement was directed, Roberto responded.

  “Why should anyone want to help you? You didn’t help me retrieve any of my people and some of these have been held a long time. Word is that they are being tortured—and severely.” Neruda’s tone was even but there was anger behind this.

  “You can hardly...” Salt began, but was interrupted by Neruda.

  “Please, I have not finished. Not only that, but you have assassinated Faveretto. She would have been a huge Intelligence coo for all of us.” Pausing, Roberto stared at Matt a hard moment before continuing. “Are you actually trying to stop Zakara or just protect your family? Don’t answer, the question was rhetorical.”

  “They are not,” Matt almost pleading, “guilty of more than being a part of my life.”

  “It is true that little,” Roberto gave a sidelong glance toward Halton, “was done to dissuade you from your relationships or to encourage aborting the foetus...”

  “Leonor—why can’t any of you call her by name?”

  “Given,” Halton began in a low voice, “what is necessary it is the only way most of them can deal with what needs to be done.” Matt turned on his uncle, but addressed Roberto.

  “Mistakes were made, but my family should not be required to pay for these.”

  “It is not,” Roberto answered looking at Jonah, who could not meet either Neruda or Feargal’s looks, “a matter of paying—it is a matter of survival.”

  “If we could extract Leonor from Zakara’s grip...”

  “No,” Roberto broke over Matt with an emphatic harshness, “you have spent five years attempting to do that and how close have you come?”

  “All I need is some help from Sansa and your people and this should be accomplished. We know they are going to be south of Monterrey...”

  “That,” Roberto again, “is only for the ritual. It is too close to gamble the life of the planet on.”

  “It won’t come to that, besides—if I haven’t found them in five years what makes you think you can get close without my help? Is there anyone else here who has the connection I do?”

  “But,” Jonah answered carefully, “you’ve said it yourself—it is uncertain and intermittent.” Feargal turned to Jonah and the look on his face suggested utter betrayal. Five years working to get them back and he had to wonder if Jonah had been helping him at all.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve the best chance any of us have so far seen in all five years—I, however, want to save them and you,” looking at Salt in particular, “to kill them—at least Leonor.”

  “You can make this about your pain, and theirs, if you wish to,” Neruda growled, “but it isn’t. Our goal is, and has always been, to return the world to the state in which we found it.”

  “That,” Jonah entered the argument here, “is not what all of us wish. As a point of practicality it will not be possible to return the world to its previous state because of the number of Metahumans that are now in it. Even if you tried to kill them off, most of the Archaics would attempt to stop you. Between the Archaics and Metas it would be you who would be facing extinction.” Matt recognised Jonah was just arguing for the numbers, but his people were inside of this. There was a level of vague relief in the apparent, if not actual, support.

  “Salt,” the aggression was noted, “when the Cinn are no longer a direct threat the Archaic governments are going to be looking for indirect or supposed threats. Their fear will fall on Metahumans and those whom will be supposed to be members of radical organisations such as H+ or Transhumanism.” Roberto moved a couple of steps closer to Jonah
and in a voice that was less threat than a plea for a child to see reason, he continued. “You know there will be a significant number of Metas who will want a larger political voice than they will have; others that will want to create breakaway states; still others which will wonder if the Cinn would have been all that bad compared with the Meta governments; finally, a few which will want to complete what they see as Zakara’s great work.” There was little to be said against this and so the room fell into silence.

  “The child,” the whole room turned to Halton as he began, “is too dangerous to let live—just as you argued about Melissa.”

  “You are hardly one to speak.” Matt said evenly. There was, unfortunately, no way he could just kill Halton with Roberto here. And no matter what he said about not bringing anyone there’d be people of his in the Sheraton. “We are in much of this mess because of your failure to pay attention to what was going on with Shea and the changes in Dilmun.”

  “You weren’t, precisely, forthcoming.”

  “And you didn’t have the resources or the sense of a drunken monkey.”

  “There is no point in re-living past glories or ignominies.”

  “The points are worth re-visiting because you still intend to kill them, do you not Edwards?”

  “Admittedly, I would not be overly concerned at the death of the women.”

  “Over and again we all warned you of Melissa, from the time you took up with her back in Dilmun—but you weren’t listening.”

  “What are you saying?” Roberto asked.

  “None of this would have been necessary, most especially Lynden, if Halton had backed off. All these years he was with her and she was an H+ agent milking him for information.”

  “That’s a bloody lie!”

  “Halton, calm down.” Roberto cautioned, but he did not come to his defence. “It is a possibility. All realise you attempted to win her over since Dilmun and she seemed to be receptive until that business in Blaine. After that her purpose became plain enough to all.”

  “I don’t see that. There could have been any number of explanations as to why she was in Lynden. She could have been gathering Intelligence or...”

  “Not even you,” Jonah groaned, “believe that. The woman lived and died a Transhumanist—there seems little doubt of that.”

  “Very well, for the time being I will,” Roberto began, “put a hold on the order to execute Leonor. However,” pre-empting both men, “she needs to be found before the ceremony begins. If we find her at that time my orders are to kill the child on sight.”

  “You can’t!” Halton bellowed.

  “The decision has been taken Halton, there is...” But Halton brushed by Roberto and charged out into the hallway.

  Watching the door slam behind Halton, Jonah rubbed the shoulder the man had slammed into. “We cannot trust him,” Matt observed, “to obey that order. You lost control of him before this meeting, hadn’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t say lost control, but there was tension.”

  “He didn’t disappear and you could not contact him?”

  “That much is true, but he’s done that often in the past—still, he’s always returned and with useful Intelligence.”

  “This time?” Jonah asked.

  “This time was different, but much of that had to do—so he claimed—with your new friends. That was foolish, by the way.”

  “Let’s stay on topic.” Jonah seemed unwilling to revisit the relationship with the Archaic governments, yet again.

  “What should we expect from Halton?” Matt asked.

  “For the time being, he will follow orders. But if this goes on too long or he is presented with an opportunity I’m not certain what will happen. If only you hadn’t killed the woman, none of us would be in this position.”

  “I did not kill Melissa. Bart did that, but Halton has chosen to blame me—appears I’m a convenient place to park his rage. All the same, it wasn’t Bart’s intention to do so; the situation spun out of control—quickly. Then I lost my entire team to a new weapon.”

  “I heard of that. It had no effect on you?”

  “None, but it killed everyone else—both Archaics and Metas.” Roberto rocked back on his heels and whistled long and low.

  “You are immune to your father’s magic and, perhaps, anything based on Cinn biotech—so far.”

  “It would seem so.”

  “That will be useful when we finally corner the sonofabitch.” Matt thought if more appropriate, but let the observation go.

  “We are reaching a point—we’re not quite there—where hard choices will have to be made concerning Leonor.” Matt knew this was coming. “You, Matt, will have to come to terms with a hard choice between—family and world. It is not a choice you should have to make, but in the end may be required to.” Neruda had attempted to put the problem as gently as possible—of this much Matt was certain. Still, it was an ugly ultimatum, and not one he’d be able to accept. No matter what the consequences he would always choose Leonor’s life—but if he allowed the ceremony to be completed this would take her life as well. For this reason he could honestly offer his response.

  “If I cannot rescue Leonor from the ceremony I will kill her.”

  “You,” Jonah asked with considerable doubt, “could do that?”

  “Have either of you considered what would happen to her if the ceremony was completed?”

  “She would be dead, most likely.” Roberto offered.

  “Not simply dead—extinguished. Her soul would be consumed in the transfiguration, every part of her would be annihilated.”

  “I never took you as the spiritual sort.”

  “This goes beyond the tawdry elements of ecclesiastical bitumen passing itself off as faith.” Feargal bit back against Jonah. “We are talking about the basic elements of the child being extinguished—this has nothing to do with the survival of the personality, but drills right down to the subatomic.”

  “I’m sorry, Matteo.” Neruda actually did sound it.

  “Yes,” Jonah offered, “we both realise how difficult this is for you—as it would be for any father. Much of this is my fault, more perhaps so than it is for Halton or even Melissa, Carla, Thin Man, William, or any of the others. I wish there were something I could do.”

  “Short of either of you finding Leonor there is nothing to be done. I,” he breathed deeply, more affected by the meeting than he’d intended to be, “do not blame either of you. Mistakes have been made by all, and there has been no shortage of vindictiveness on the part of many, but we need to find Leonor, stop Zakara, and close the soft spots, as quickly as we can.”

  “Thank you, but as difficult as it is we must all here make a decision which is more important—the world or the child?” Jonah looked sick for having said this, but did not appear to see a way around it.

  “I’ve already said I would kill Leonor if I could not rescue her—what more do you want?”

  “You are assuming,” Roberto continued, “that you would be there or anywhere close to there. It seems unlikely that you will be, given that we have all been looking for five years and come up with only hints and missed opportunities.”

  “And you believe you will be any more successful now than you have been in the past?” There was no anger in Feargal or his voice, but an ennui he was just acknowledging.

  “We can but try.” Jonah suggested. “Which is the reason I’ve made the new alliance with the Archaic governments and why I’m recruiting as many Metas as possible into the Sansa. This may be coming late in the game, but it is all I can think to do.”

  “There is something else which may need to be considered,” Matt began, “and that is what we do if the gate is opened and the Cinn enter?” Jonah said nothing.

  “We die.” Roberto said flatly.

  “That’s too glib.” Jonah answered. “After all, we have young Feargal here. He’s immune to anything that has been thrown at him so far.”

  “But he’s only faced his father
whose been possessed by a Cinn, he has not faced a Cinn or the race.”

  “How many are there?” Seemed a reasonable question to Matt.

  “There is no clear data on any of the Cinn. All of this happened when our species was very young, and we only developed because they were locked out and their eugenics programs suspended.”

  “But,” Jonah responded, “we have to...” Salt never did finish the thought.

  “Shhh.” Matt whisht the room. “There’s...” and the heavy door blew off its hinges. They had been standing in the middle of the room, several metres from the door, near the balcony, when this happened. Matt wasn’t certain, but he thought he was the first to find cover behind a large, robust sofa. Doing so several rounds, silenced, barked into this with dull fabricked thuds. As the haze of high explosives began to clear he didn’t bother calling to see if Salt and Neruda were still alive. Crawling to the end of the lounge nearest the door he pulled the P250 and waited.

  ***

  The seconds ticked by and no one came in; waiting he saw Neruda slide the balcony door open and wiggle out unevenly. For a heavy, old man he moved fast and quiet. Then he heard Salt—the Meta had made it to the washroom. There, not having turned the light on, he squatted low, and had what Matt thought was a Tec-9 variant with an extended clip—couldn’t say much for his choice, if he was seeing correctly. The Meta, however, smiled and re-directed Feargal’s attention back to the door. Still there was no movement, but there were harsh, muffled voices. Then there was an exchange of fire from the hallway. A hard thump and a bouncing noise followed this; the grenade rolled past the sofa.

  Matt’s eyes bugged.

  Feargal palmed this, screaming for Jonah to get out of the way. Tossing this in the shower stall Matt slammed the door and slipped around behind the wet bar. The concussion blast tore sound from the room. But even as this was happening there was more movement from the hallway—two figures appeared in the doorway. Before either he or Salt could react there was the hard chunking of a silenced weapon. The first figure crumpled to their knees and sagged forward; the second grabbed a leg and began limping back. Matt pushed a round through their goggled eyes—they fell sideways, blocking the shattered door. With the tinnitus easing, Matt called back to Neruda. “Who are they?”