The Installed Intelligence Trilogy Collection

by Phoenix Ward

  Abenayo slowed for just a moment to deploy a gun barrel from her wrist. A small holographic sight appeared where a human might wear a watch and she raised the limb to eye level, her fist stretched outward like Superman in flight.

  “I’m not telling you twice!” she yelled.

  The perp kept running.

  Abenayo stopped, took aim, and fired a single shot.

  The man dropped, skidding face-first along the street. He screamed out as a bit of blood splashed onto the pavement.

  Tera ran past Abenayo, who “holstered” the weapon back into her forearm. As the rookie got closer, she could see that her partner had shot the perp through the thigh, rather than “putting him down” like she had threatened to do. That wasn’t to say he was fine; the round had put a golf ball-sized hole in his leg. From the looks of it, though, it missed his femoral artery. Even with the shoddy medical care available in the slums, he should survive.

  “I told you!” Abenayo barked at the writhing man as she made her way over to him. “I told you what was going to happen and you didn’t listen, did you?”

  Tera started providing the perp with medical attention. She pulled one of the instant suture kits from her belt, slapped it down on the man’s gushing wound, and pressed hard until it sunk into place in the perp’s flesh. He screamed in agony.

  “Richard Mariner, you are under arrest,” Abenayo said. She knelt over the injured man and zipped his wrists together behind his back with one of her tether cuffs. “You will be given a trial by the Council of Shell City to either prove your innocence or guilt. You are charged with one count of domestic abuse, three counts of narcotics possession, one count of evading the court —”

  “I didn’t do nothing!” the man cried between pained sobs.

  “— and one count of evading arrest,” Abenayo finished. She tugged on the perp’s wrists as she hoisted him up, and Tera could see the discomfort in his eyes. “You got him, Alvarez?”

  “Yeah,” Tera replied, almost as if pulled out of a daze. She reached out and secured the criminal. He stumbled a little as she pulled him in front of her, but she caught him before he collapsed.

  A crowd of slum dwellers started to gather around the scene. All eyes were pointed at the two I.I. cops and the crying, pathetic man in their custody. They spoke among themselves, but none of them addressed the officers.

  “I can’t go to the camps,” the man whimpered, just loud enough for Tera to hear. “I’d rather die. You can’t send me there.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Alvarez!” Abenayo scolded.

  Shit, Tera thought. Forgot the hardest part of the job: no compassion.

  “This way,” Tera told the perp, tugging him along as she started to lead him to the nearest hyperloop station.

  She sighed as the man stumbled again and she kept him upright.

  This is going to be a long walk, she thought.

  Abenayo radioed into headquarters while Tera started to escort the prisoner. The senior officer disconnected with a scowl on her mechanical, plastic-covered face.

  “Alright, everyone, get the fuck outta here,” she ordered the crowd as their murmuring only increased. “Show’s over.”

  There were some disappointed groans from the slum dwellers as they started to disperse. Good entertainment in the ghettos was a hard thing to come by, but they all knew better than to mess with a pair of Council police officers.

  Game On

  The magical ax glowed in Ethan’s hands as he made a left turn at the end of the hallway. The sound of dripping water and distant chains rattling met his ears. He took each step slowly, uncertain what dangers were waiting for him around the corner.

  The dungeon corridor he was in was dark, the only illumination coming off the blade of his enchanted ax. Still, it wasn’t bright enough to see more than a few feet ahead.

  Just before Ethan reached another turn, he thought he could hear the sounds of monsters farther down the way he was headed. He muttered a short incantation to himself to bolster his strength before going after the noises. A small shimmer of color encircled him as he finished the spell.

  Then, with a deep breath, he found the courage to take the turn.

  There was nothing. He was surprised.

  Then he heard the sound of scuttling. It was the cacophony of a hundred or so dead nails clicking on the stone floor from somewhere within the darkness. Ethan stopped short and concentrated on the motion. He knew the sound and knew what kind of a fight he was in for.

  He gripped his ax tighter and squared his shoulders, bracing for the wave that was about to rush over him.

  Ghouls, he thought.

  With bated breath, he waited. Then he saw them. By the dim illumination of the enchanted ax, he could see the pale, featureless faces of at least half a dozen of the dungeon’s denizens. They were shaped like people, but with longer arms. Where there would be fingers, elbows, knees, and a jaw, there was instead bone, sharp and deformed.

  Ethan started his backswing just when they came into sight. The corridor wasn’t particularly wide, but he still had enough room for a devastating blow. He swung with a roar and chopped three of the ghouls in half with a single strike.

  This didn’t perturb the other undead monsters. They didn’t care when their comrades fell — they wouldn’t be down for long, anyway.

  One of them took a swipe at him with its sharp, bony claws. His armor deflected it, but that would only go so far. It wouldn’t matter how much plate armor he was wearing if a whole gang of ghouls piled on him. If there were enough of them, they could crush him with their sheer weight. He wasn’t about to be taken like that, though. This wasn’t the first time he had run this dungeon.

  Just as another ghoul tried to lash out, he brought his ax up from the initial swing and took off its arm. It howled in pain, its jawbone opening wider than any human could. Without hesitation, he brought his weapon down on the ghoul’s skull, splitting it in half.

  It was difficult work, swinging such a heavy weapon in an enclosed space against such numerous enemies, but he knew what he was doing. A pair of daggers or a spear might be better for these corridors, but he wasn’t as experienced with those weapons. He had a sort of bond with his enchanted ax. So he learned how to use it, and use it he did.

  Just a few seconds passed while the ghouls leapt at Ethan and he struck at them with a flurry of his ax. When the sound of metal on bone ceased, all of the ghouls were dead. Bits of undead flesh and muscle were strewn about the corridor. Ethan caught his breath as he lowered his weapon. He couldn’t hear any more dead nails on stone.

  “Dang, Ethan, the ghouls get you?” a voice in Ethan’s head asked.

  It was his friend, Sharpe. They were on a voice comm together while Ethan progressed through the dungeon. Sharpe was working through a corridor of his own, somewhere within the same labyrinth of tunnels.

  “They wish,” Ethan replied. He took in a deep breath and started to walk down the corridor, over the bits of dead ghoul. “How far are you now?”

  “Not far, I think,” Sharpe replied. Ethan could hear his friend running over the comm. “A lot of this is starting to look familiar.”

  “I think I’m coming up on it now,” Ethan said. His pace increased a little as he reached the end of his hallway and turned left through an open wooden door.

  When he entered the next chamber, he couldn’t help but draw a deep breath of amazement. It was like he had seen it so many times before — wide, tall, filled with pillars and stained glass — and, most importantly, occupied by an enormous monster.

  The creature was at least forty feet tall, a grotesque form not unlike a toad or Jabba the Hut. It appeared to be composed entirely of rotten flesh. There were a pair of sunken eyes somewhere on its “head” that seemed more dead than the rest of it. Its back was turned to Ethan — it had not noticed him yet.

  “I found him,” Ethan whispered as quietly as he could. He knew the Ghoul King didn’t have such good heari
ng on account of having no ears.

  “Ha ha! Nice!” Sharpe replied. “I think I’m close, too. Don’t aggro it just yet.”

  “I’ll try not to,” Ethan said. “But hurry.”

  Eighteen-year-old Ethan Myler had fought the Ghoul King several times in his short life, but this would be his first attempt with Sharpe. Separately, they had both tried to beat the Ghoul King for years, but neither ever succeeded. There were plenty of other games to play when they got too frustrated, so it never occurred to them to try teaming up with each other. They tried tackling the Ghoul King with the help of strangers, but they didn’t have the kind of synergy Ethan and Sharpe did.

  Ethan saw his friend appear at the entrance across from where he had entered himself. Sharpe shot him a thumbs up before sneaking in the chamber and up to Ethan. They both had plenty of room to maneuver without risk of alerting the undead monster that breathed with such loud volume on the far side of the room.

  “Hey,” Sharpe said once he was close enough to whisper. “You ready for this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. You?”

  “I’ve got some incantations going on,” Sharpe replied. “Wanted to make sure we had every advantage at our disposal.”

  “Smart,” Ethan said. “So how do we go about this?”

  “You make the first blow by throwing your ax and then recalling it back to your hand,” Sharpe started. “Then I’ll try to incapacitate him before he gets over here. The more damage we can do from a distance, the better.”

  “Just be careful about the ghouls he spawns,” Ethan said.

  “Right, which is where you’ll come in,” Sharpe continued. “Since you’re limited for ranged attacks, I think the best thing you can do is focus on the little guys. At least, until the King can get to us. Then, we hit him and we hit him hard.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Ethan said. “Let’s do it.”

  “After you.”

  Ethan stood to his full height and stared at the Ghoul King. It wheezed, a bit of saliva bubbling up in the corner of its mouth. It still hadn’t taken notice of him.

  With a deep breath, he chucked his ax as hard as he could at the beast. It whizzed through the air, rotating a few full times before lodging into the Ghoul King’s neck. The monster let out a shrill shriek, then turned its full attention on the teenager who attacked it. Its grotesque features grew determined and it started to move towards them.

  Sharpe jumped in with one of his spells, however. A gray-blue mist surrounded the caster’s hands as he made the Ghoul King immobile.

  Angry, the Ghoul King let out a roar that shook the entire chamber. One of the weak pillars tumbled to the floor from the vibrations. The rumbling continued after the Ghoul King closed its gory mouth, though. Both adventurers could feel it in their feet.

  The floor started to crack open, and the stones that composed it were pushed to the side. Gruesome ghoul hands, too many to count, emerged from holes in the ground. The smaller undead creatures scrabbled out of their underground tunnels and out into the chamber. None of them hesitated before rushing the wizard who was casting spell after spell on their king.

  Ethan waited for just the right moment before unleashing a whirlwind with his ax. He spun around, the weapon blade extended in such a way that he turned into a human-powered blender. He made his stand between Sharpe and the undead horde, letting bits of horrible flesh scatter out before him.

  The Ghoul King took a large step towards them, an angry scowl imprinted on its indistinct features.

  “I can’t hold him anymore!” Sharpe cried out, his voice strained. He tried chanting some more mage-gibberish, but it was too late. The boss monster was upon them.

  Ethan transitioned seamlessly from hacking apart undead minions to making huge slices in the Ghoul King’s ankles. Each blow he landed drew a scream from the monster’s pale, skinless lips. The minions still came at them in relentless waves, so he had to redirect every third blow to the accumulating monsters. Sharpe sent balls of fire into the crowds of undead beasts and large spikes of solid ice into the Ghoul King’s chest.

  When the moment was right, Ethan activated one of the few magical abilities he had. An aura of blue-green started to surround him as he grew about a foot in height. A bit of magical fire wafted out of his eyes as he focused every attack on the weakened Ghoul King. The buff gave him the strength to hack into the huge creature’s dead chest. The Ghoul King shrieked, but it was too hurt to flee or strike back with any kind of force.

  “One more hit!” Ethan shouted to his friend, his enchanted ax embedded deep into the boss monster’s sternum. He pushed down hard on the weapon’s long handle like it was a lever and pried the wound open. Through all the rotting flesh and blackened blood, the Ghoul King’s heart was exposed.

  Sharpe lifted his palm and started casting the biggest fireball yet. With a shout, he sent the magical orb of fire into the Ghoul King’s chest, engulfing its heart.

  The creature let out one last, hideous howl before it collapsed to the dungeon floor, dead. The smaller ghouls who were still trying to protect their leader turned into ash as the Ghoul King exhaled its last breath.

  Ethan and Sharpe stared at the dead monster with stunned expressions. Then, after almost a full minute of shock, they erupted into triumphant cheering.

  “We did it! We killed it!” Sharpe shouted. He couldn’t help but grab his friend by the shoulders, jumping up and down. “Almost nineteen years, but we did it!”

  “Good casting, friend,” Ethan said, a big stupid grin on his face. “He never stood a chance.”

  “Thank God we killed him, though,” Sharpe said. “I didn’t realize that I was on my last life.”

  “Oh, come on, that just adds to the fun!” Ethan commented. “Though, I’m glad you didn’t dissolve in the middle of the fight there.”

  “Me too,” Sharpe said.

  They were both beaming at each other as the dungeon around them darkened and faded away.

  “There’s no way anything out in the real world is that exciting,” Sharpe said.

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Ethan replied.

  Patrol

  “You can never tell which ones are gonna run,” Abenayo told Tera as she waved a dismissive hand to the beggar who sat with his open hand outstretched toward them. He frowned and lowered his gaze to the dirt while they walked by.

  They had no destination and they were in no hurry. Tera found patrol to be one of the most boring experiences in her short life. Coupled with the fact that they were stationed in Slumside and only had the dirty, down-turned faces of the ghetto dwellers to greet them, patrol was one of her least favorite parts of the job.

  “You always think you can tell, but you never know until right before they do it,” Abenayo continued. “There’s about a two-second warning. A little flutter in their eyes that tells you, ‘I’m gonna run.’ Still, you can’t tell going in. I’ve seen people run from a traffic citation, yet seen murderers stay cool as a cucumber. After all these years, that little flutter is the only way I can tell.”

  “Stupid choice on their part,” Tera commented. She lifted her leg to avoid a strange puddle in the road. She couldn’t tell if it was urine, dirty water, oil, or… something else. “They should know that disobedience is the one sure way to secure a ticket to the labor camps. If anything’s going to break them, it’s that.”

  “They think they can get away with it,” Abenayo replied. “That’s why they run. They’re gamblers. In their head, they have better odds of running from us and getting no charges than surrendering and getting light charges. They’re always wrong, of course. The arrogance of a dwindling race, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know how dwindling they are,” Tera said, looking around. “Seems like they multiply down here.”

  “Nah,” her partner said. “This is just where they all end up, eventually. We’re just seeing the remnants. Give it another generation and they’ll be an endangered species.”

 
“Would that be good, though?” Tera asked.

  Abenayo looked over at the rookie with a sideways glance.

  “I think so,” she affirmed. “They’re all animals, anyway. Their existence only slows things down. Keeps society from advancing. I dunno, Alvarez, this is a bit too philosophical for me. I just do what I’m told.”

  “They don’t seem to be going down without a fight,” Tera commented, “if they’re going extinct at all.”

  Abenayo chuckled a little.

  “Everything wants to preserve its existence,” she said. “Even the weeds in the cracks of the street will do anything in their power to stay alive. It doesn’t matter, though. Nature doesn’t care what the weeds want. It moves on without them. It’s normal to see the humans fight back when they’re cornered, like frightened beasts. Or — as we’ve seen today — run like scared little animals. It’s amusing, really.”

  Tera said nothing as they walked two blocks down the pitted and filthy road. At the next intersection, they took a right, forcing a large family of humans to part for them.

  The synthetic lips on the rookie’s robotic face frowned as she turned back and looked at their subservient expressions.

  “Why is it that the humans all seem to end up in Slumside?” Tera asked. “I mean, so disproportionately. There’s got to be a hundred humans here for every I.I.”

  “It’s because they’re less intelligent, and therefore, worth less to the city,” Abenayo answered. “They should be grateful the Council gives them a place to stay at all. We could just kick them out and send them into the wastes with the other ferals, and the city would be all the better for it. I don’t know why they don’t — it could save a lot of resources. I guess even the Council can’t help but feel sympathy for the pathetic creatures. So we give them a home, a place to live out the twilight of their lives. Like some sort of hospice.”

  “They don’t seem to think it’s very generous,” Tera commented. “They hate us down here.”

  “Of course they do,” her partner replied. “We’re their replacements. I can’t blame them for hating us. I’m sure we’ll hate whoever ends up replacing us, too.”