Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  The subject in charge of this small colony will wake-

  The girl wakes.

  -only to ask-

  “What in the motherfucking hell are you doing?

  The song continues.

  The girl approaches the window.

  The girl will state-

  “Jeez louise. You’re terrifying, you know that?”

  -and then fatigue overcomes the girl. She draws on her power, searching for clues, for information, but everything telling has been set aside, hidden away. Other things are made a focus, to draw attention.

  The Simurgh stands tall. The line of her body, the wings set out of the way and angled to draw shadow. Only one wing catches the light, drawing a straight line from the back of her neck towards the sky. A pale line, stretching directly up. She cocks her head to one side, studying the gun she is crafting.

  The bent head, the body drawn straight, toes only barely touching the ground. It will invoke a memory. Not blatant, but the memory is framed all the same.

  No need to draw on the full force of her feedback when she already has the key elements deciphered.

  The girl staggers back to the couch she has been resting on, attempting to focus on her work, on details that need to be tracked. The song helps her on her way to sleep, and she mutters a swear word before her eyes drift closed. The seeds of her dreams have already been planted.

  It paves the way for more work.

  Two more subjects to deal with.

  The portal opens some time later. The girl had chosen the longer letter. Now she approaches, taking her time. Insect life scouts the area around her.

  Tension, fatigue, a lowered guard. An auditory hallucination was easy enough. Just one. Tap into a critical memory.

  Best to deal with the other subject first. Three minutes before the girl with her bugs arrive here.

  Objects are set down in a specific order, evoking different ideas. A different posture is adopted, wings raised high, stretching.

  Shackle. Syringe. Scalpel. Lens. Lens.

  Some are taking notes, but nothing can come of this. As with the glass case, the subjects here don’t have the right frame of reference to understand.

  The intended target is far, far away.

  It’s too much.

  Hey, are you okay?

  What happened?

  Nosebleed.

  Can you hear me? You need to tell the kid to change targets. Aim it somewhere else.

  Things were getting blurry, indistinct.

  Change targets-

  ■

  A city. A metropolis. It spanned the landscape as far as the eye could see, horizon to horizon.

  Awareness, having just been so focused on one target, extended over the area, seeing how the city simply extended without cease. It wasn’t hard to refocus, to take it all in as a series of countless details, all at once.

  Every building and every balcony had a farm, every vertical surface had a black panel with wires running from it, or trees that were rooted in the building structure. Every individual family had a means of sustaining themselves, of producing an abundance so they could trade any excess.

  Are they okay?

  I don’t know.

  Oh my god. It’s amazing. Look at all this.

  Focus, do as we were told.

  The awareness continued to extend. A whole planet. Not perfect, but the civilized world, largely below the equator, had a different attitude, prizing self-sufficiency. The rest of the world was war-torn.

  It was in one of the war-torn regions that it first appeared. A streak of golden light.

  Destruction. Tearing through a region, then a whole continent.

  His presence blinded, dark. Blurring the images.

  Can’t see. Can’t-

  Moving on.

  ■

  The expansion of awareness continued. Almost as background noise, there were people speaking, echoes of the same word over and over again.

  Not a focus.

  Not their focus.

  Hey, the nosebleed stopped.

  There’s nothing happening here. Shouldn’t we focus on something else?

  Let them rest.

  Some time passed. The images remained somewhat incoherent.

  There.

  The image resolved as they settled their attention on one world, one area within it.

  The hospital room was oddly bright and sunny. The man was broad-shouldered, muscled, with coarse hair on his chest and arms. His chin was unshaven.

  Dramatic scars covered his bare chest, some fresh and some old. A narrow, clean burn marked one part of his stomach. He seemed remarkably at ease, considering the tubes running into the side of his chest.

  Someone was knocking lightly on the door.

  The man looked up, but didn’t respond. His hand reached down to grip the handle of a weapon. His trademark cannonblade.

  He made a face as he lifted it. Pain. He laid it across his lap, the barrel pointing at the door.

  The door cracked open, and Chevalier cocked the cannonblade.

  Ingenue stopped in her tracks.

  “No,” Chevalier intoned.

  “I wanted to see how you were doing,” Ingenue said. She smiled. She’d done up her makeup, and looked ten years younger, easily. Her clothes were slightly old-fashioned, but she’d donned low-rise jeans, showing off a trim stomach. She offered him a light smile. “I find it hard to believe you’d shoot me.”

  His expression didn’t change. “Do you really want to find out?”

  Ingenue made a moue in response.

  “You and everyone else we released from the Birdcage had a tracker implanted in your arm. They’ll be here in a minute or two. If you step out now, you won’t get shot, and I’ll speak on your behalf. If you stay, well…”

  She was already shaking her head, turning to show him her upper left arm. There was dried blood around a band-aid.

  “You carved it out,” he said. He wanted to say it with a note of disbelief, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He settled for adding, “That should have set off alarms.”

  “Found someone willing to do a favor for a pretty girl,” she said, her voice soft. “I wanted to see you, Chevalier. They wouldn’t let me.”

  “For good reason.”

  “I’m not a bad girl, Chev.”

  “Regardless, I think you should leave. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

  “I’m a little in love with you, you know,” she said.

  “I know,” he said, his voice grim.

  “Not a lot. Enough.”

  “You fall in love with everyone you use your power on,” he said.

  “That’s not true. You’ll make me sound unfaithful if you talk like that. I’m just-”

  She took a step forward as she spoke. Chevalier shot his cannonblade.

  The door was demolished. Ingenue shrieked and backed up, her face white.

  “Others are coming now,” he said.

  “I’m… I’m hurt,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “I can see you. On a lot of levels. I can see your power, and I can see what you’ve made of it. You’re something special, putting it to uses like you do. Brave.”

  He frowned.

  “I know about your special sight.”

  “My sight is classified,” he said.

  “I asked someone on your staff for a favor. She obliged,” Ingenue said, lowering her eyes to the ground. She had her hands clasped behind her back, took a step to the side, so her back was to the ruined door.

  “I’m thinking,” Chevalier said, moving the cannonblade to keep it aimed at her, “We should stop leaving you access to anyone willing to do you any favors. I don’t want to order that you be put in solitary, but you’re not leaving me many alternatives.”

  Ingenue pouted. “We’d be good together, Chev.”

  “Very possible.”

  “See?” she smiled shyly. “I’d make a good partner, or a good subordinate, if you’re into t
hat.”

  “You would. It’s a natural talent of yours.”

  Her smile faltered, as if she saw what he was going to say next. There were footsteps at the end of the hall.

  A forcefield appeared in front of Ingenue. A second later, she was heaved out of the room, sandwiched between the field and the wall.

  Chevalier shifted his sword to one side, then slid his legs over until he could lower his feet to the ground.

  Exalt appeared in the doorway. “Don’t-”

  He continued trying to stand.

  “Idiot.”

  He was lifted into the air by strategically placed forcefields, one beneath his thighs, another behind his back. He stumbled a little as he touched ground, and another field kept him from falling flat on his face. The tubes reaching to his chest were taut. If he’d fallen, they might have pulled free.

  He found his balance, then nodded. Narwhal banished the fields.

  “How the hell did she get this far into the hospital?” Narwhal asked.

  “Let me go.”

  The forcefield disappeared, but another set appeared, pinning the woman against the wall by the throat alone. Narwhal started patting Ingenue down.

  “Don’t touch me! Chevalier, please!”

  “As I was saying,” Chevalier said. “I imagine it would be wonderful. Better men than me have fallen for your charms. You’re a chameleon, and you can mold yourself into whatever sort of woman your man desires. I don’t like what comes next.”

  “You’re judging me based on what happened before? There’s a streak of cruelty in you.”

  “You’re ill, Ingenue. Let’s not pretend you’re pure of heart. You don’t run a cell block in the Birdcage if you’re a genuinely good person.”

  “You survive,” she retorted. “Tell me you don’t understand that.”

  “I understand,” he sighed.

  “Chevalier,” Narwhal said. “Maybe talking to her isn’t the best idea.”

  He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

  “Nothing in her pockets except a phone.”

  Ingenue spoke, her tone fierce and desperate. “You’ve read my files. You know I’m a survivor, too. You know we see the world in the same way, we see powers. But you use your power to manipulate physical things, and I’m fixed on the… incorporeal. There’s a duality there.”

  “Duality,” he said, his tone flat.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t see a romantic element to all of this. You wouldn’t dress yourself up like a gallant knight if you didn’t. Good and evil, man and woman, physical and magical. But we share common experience. I bet you’d find more parallels if you looked for it.”

  “I bet I would,” Chevalier said. He sighed. “But you can find parallels between any two things if you look for them.”

  “You’re a cynic,” she said. She smiled a little. “A little magic could temper that, and if you wanted to return the fav-”

  “Check her phone,” Chevalier said.

  Narwhal did. “Password protected”

  “She read my file, and I’m betting she picked a password that came from there. Try my middle name. Michael.”

  “No.”

  “My birthplace. Cicero.”

  “That’s it.”

  Ingenue frowned. “I don’t know whether to be delighted you know me this well already, or upset that you’re invading my privacy.”

  “Let’s see what’s on the phone and then decide,” Chevalier responded. “Narwhal? Anything in email, texts, notes?”

  “No, no… yes. She downloaded your files onto the phone. seven point font on a phone screen, every non-letter character’s just a string of gibberish.”

  “I’ll confess I spent all night reading up on you,” Ingenue said.

  “I believe it,” Chevalier said. “But the cynic-believer relationship, that was something Myrddin and I joked about. Word for word, your quip just now, you borrowed that from the files.”

  “A news interview with top members of the Protectorate,” Ingenue said. Her head hung.

  “Ten years ago.”

  “Eleven.”

  He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment.

  “I know I’m fucked up, Chevy. Not going to pretend. I’ve been pretty ruthless, running my cell block.”

  “Prostituting members of the Birdcage, men and women.”

  “Only if they were willing!”

  He didn’t respond to that. She withered under his stare.

  “I don’t take responsibility for what my lieutenants did,” she added, her voice small.

  “No, I don’t imagine you do.”

  “I had to give them a measure of power, to keep them from turning on me. Just like I had to keep some boys strung along, to protect me. Peaceful cell block, no murders. Maybe I turned a blind eye if one of my lieutenants used torture to keep some people in line. But I had some of the nastier residents in my block. Dragon kept giving them to me. I made the most of a bad situation, but all the ugly stuff, that’s a side effect of me being where I was, it’s not me.”

  He stared at her, and this time, she held firm. Her jaw was set, her gaze unwavering.

  “What do you want to do with her?” Narwhal asked.

  “I want to put her in solitary, so we don’t need to worry about her until everything else is over and done with.”

  Narwhal glanced at the woman. “That can be arranged. Except I’m sensing there’s a but in there.”

  “The world’s ending,” Ingenue said, “What use is it worrying about what happens between us in the future? We could have something beautiful now, and I could help you, help everyone with my power.”

  “This isn’t the tack to take if you want to convince me, Ingenue,” Chevalier said.

  Ingenue’s tone grew increasingly desperate. “It’s the kind of power you need, if you’re going to hurt Scion. And let’s not forget my other power. Political, power of arms, whatever you want to call it. I have a small army.”

  “Four lieutenants and five underlings,” Chevalier said. “Yes. What she said.”

  “Let me go, and I’ll be good.”

  Chevalier glanced at Narwhal.

  “You’re too soft,” Narwhal said.

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “I would, but I still think you’re too soft.”

  “I’ll be perfect,” Ingenue said. “I promise.”

  “No,” Chevalier said. “You won’t.”

  Ingenue stopped.

  He let the words hang in the air.

  “You… want me to be bad?”

  “I want you to be acceptable. Perfect is too high a bar. So I’m only going to ask that you toe the line.”

  She didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”

  “You could have taken time to think about that,” Chevalier said.

  Ingenue shrugged. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

  “Up until you start feeling like your selflessness should be reciprocated. Asking very reasonable favors of me.”

  “No,” Ingenue said.

  He sighed. “Go with Narwhal. Pick up the package. Come back, and then we’re going to experiment. I’ll need your power for this.”

  Ingenue smiled wide.

  Narwhal grabbed her by the arm and steered her away before Ingenue could start talking again.

  Chevalier remained at the side of the bed until the two women were gone, then sagged, finding a grip on the bed to support himself. He had to walk himself up to the head of the bed at half-foot increments, before he was in position. He allowed himself small huffs of pain as he lowered himself down, then used his hands to pull his legs up onto the bed.

  “You could get yourself fixed up in a matter of minutes,” Exalt said.

  “I could,” Chevalier admitted. “I won’t.”

  “I’m not going to nag, don’t worry.”

  Chevalier nodded.

  “The golden bastard did a number on you, huh?”

  Chevalier nodded again. “Some of the best armor out there,
and I still dropped from a hit that wasn’t even aimed at me.”

  “And yet you instinctively shielded Ingenue with your body.”

  “Old habits.”

  “If you want a harder, tougher, leaner Protectorate, you can’t pull stunts like that. Hurts the new image.”

  “Image is the last thing on my mind.”

  “You say, as you refuse healing, supposedly so it can go to other deserving people.”

  “No nagging, remember?” Chevalier asked.

  Exalt smiled.

  The hero stepped around the bed to the little table with the pitcher of water and cup. He took the pitcher to the sink in the corner of the room and filled it with cold water, then poured a glass.

  “We’re estimating he’s forty percent of the way through,” Exalt said.

  “Through…”

  “Earths. He’s waiting before he confronts us again. Lots of guesses going around as to why.”

  Chevalier nodded.

  “We’re aware of how little time we have left. Some of the others are going to be coming soon. They were five or ten minutes behind me.”

  “Okay,” Chevalier said. “I guess I can’t fend off the guests forever.”

  “Your door doesn’t even shut,” Exalt said, noting the door the cannonblade had shattered.

  Chevalier chuckled, then winced. Laughing hurt.

  Exalt’s smile faded slowly. When he spoke, it was more serious. “Some of them are Protectorate members.”

  “And?”

  “Present members and… past members.”

  “We lost someone? Or- Oh.”

  Exalt glanced out the door to the hallway. “If it comes down to it, I can ask him to leave.”

  “That would be petty. We’ve allied with them anyways, right?”

  Exalt nodded.

  “Is it a testament to our ability to cooperate?” Chevalier wondered aloud. “Or a sign of how willing we are to deal with the devil?”

  “Devils, plural,” Exalt said. “Do you need anything while we wait?”

  “Get me a shirt, at least. And a doctor to take out these tubes.”

  This way. Something’s going on over there.

  ■

  The portal opened slowly, but it was larger than was usual. Nine rectangular portals, neatly set in a three-by-three formation, no gaps between them, in the middle of a dirt road with farmland on either side.