DIRE : SEED (The Dire Saga Book 2)

by Andrew Seiple

  “YOU MUST BE JO—”

  I never saw him move. Didn’t see him swing it either, but suddenly the ball of the cane was crashing against my mask, damage alarms were going off, and I was knocked backward into the wall, crunching through the hardwood paneling to find heavy steel beneath. I reeled, pushed myself free... and the fat man moved like a leaping ballerina, crossing the distance in a flicker, and swinging the cane like a baseball bat, cracking against my arms repeatedly as I raised them to fend him off. Steel groaned and deformed under the pressure, as I watched half-inch thick reinforcing plates buckle and dent.

  “WHAT THE HE—”

  He twisted, hooked my leg with the tip of the cane, and tumbled, twisting as he did so and sweeping it out from me. I kicked on the gravitics just before I hit the floor, jetted away, and he pursued, leaping over the desk with a nimbleness belying his bulk.

  “My property!” He roared, catching me one-handed just as I straightened upright, and landed a blow to his midsection. It should have broken bones, but it phased him not an inch, didn’t even budge him. “You come to my property, and harm my people!” The cane descended once, twice, thrice, hammering my left shoulder joint in the same spot, and with a grinding CRUNCH, my shoulder pauldron went flying away.

  I hammered my right hand toward his face with a punch that could pulverize concrete, and he spun the cane, deflected my forearm a few inches, and jammed the pointed end of it under my right pauldron. Damage reports flickered to life, and I struggled to move my arm, couldn’t. He’d jammed the motivator.

  “And for what? Money? A pathetic and paltry sum!” I brought my left arm around, grabbed for him, got the suit, but he tore free. He twisted his legs into mine, seized the oaken desk behind him for leverage, and rolled. And with incredible, inexorable strength he brought me to the ground facefirst. I barely managed to arrest my fall one-handed, before scrabbling, trying to free the cane from my shoulder motivator.

  WHAM!

  I shook, as he brought something heavy down on my weakened back plates.

  “Really, you know what gets me the most? Shoddy craftsmanship.” He remarked, conversational now as I watched yellow damage indicators flare red, and circuits give. “That steel plate you’re using is utter trash. Titanium would be better.” I grabbed for the cane again.

  WHAM!

  Fragments went flying, and I bounced off the ground, rattling around in the armor hard enough to bruise.

  “HOW ARE YOU—”

  WHAM!

  “Ah, a hardened mono-ceramic underlayer. Not entirely idiotic. Wait, I think I get the principles at work. The outer layer’s ablative, hm? Saves resources on replacement.”

  WHAM! CRACK!

  My face smacked into the mask, leaving a spray of blood as my nose crunched into it. Ow! The pain shook me, and I gave up grabbing for the cane, braced as best I could for impact.

  WHAM!

  CRUNCH!

  “Tch. They don’t make coatracks like they used to. Hold still, Doctor Dire.”

  Like hell! I got my hands around the cane, popped it free— and Morgenstern grabbed it, twisted, and I screamed as he broke both gauntlet and fingers as he ripped it from my hand.

  “Ah, just the thing to continue your beatdown. Good idea, Doctor!”

  CRUNCH! CRACK! THUD!

  I rolled, cradling my broken hand, as pain roared and pulsed up my arm. But there was no escape, as he hammered blows into my side, my front, my legs, wherever he could reach. And every blow dented or warped armor.

  I needed respite. I needed to seize the initiative. I needed to stay conscious!

  And in the hell of my pain, an idea occurred to me.

  As I fetched up against the desk, and he started working over my shin joints, I turned to glare up at him, holding out my unbroken arm like a shield over my mask. I coughed, and spat out blood until I could speak. “GOOD ANALYSIS ON THE ARMOR.”

  He actually stopped to grin, the cheeky bastard, leaning on his cane as he removed a handkerchief from one pocket, and mopped his brow. “Thank you. Glad we agree.”

  “HOWEVER, YOU MISSED ONE FEATURE.”

  And he couldn’t see me smile under my mask, as I triggered every explosive charge along the front of my armor.

  KRAK-KRAK-KRAK-BOOM!

  A cloud of shrapnel ricocheted off my armor, depleting the last of my forcefield. It studded the desk, ripped through the shag rug, slammed into the ceiling, burst lights, and tore toward Morgenstern.

  The bastard wasn’t surprised, though I don’t know how. He jumped straight up, tucked himself into a ball, and twisted to cover his face... but couldn’t escape. I watched him get blown back into a fish tank, and collapse into the water, torn and shredded. In the now-dim light of the penthouse, his blood looked blue.

  I panted, and my busted nose throbbed. My hands braced underneath me, and I hissed as red-hot pain ran up my arm, from my broken fingers. I braced against the desk, and my steel digits left grooves in the top of it as I ground to my feet. I tried the gravitics, and they stuttered a bit, hummed to life. I floated into the air, and headed toward the nearest window, at a quarter speed.

  “All right. I suppose I had that coming.”

  I froze, and turned. No fucking way.

  He was standing up in the ruins of the tank, goldfish flopping and dying around him, his front smeared with blue. Great, jelly-like oozing globs of blue goo, wobbling out from slashes in his abdomen and chest and legs.

  “WHAT ARE YOU?”

  He barked laughter, rubbed a hand along his face, and studied the red blood that smeared it. Some of the shrapnel had nicked his face.

  “Human. Simply human. With a few tricks, mind. And some impact gel. Lovely stuff, that.”

  He shrugged out of the ruins of his suit, and I gasped as I saw what was beneath it.

  There were a series of bags, black rubber or some similar substance, all full of the blue goo if the ruptured ones were any indication. What I had taken to be a rather impressive gut was actually a large bag of the stuff. Beneath it was something like an exoskeleton, only I saw no motivators, motors, or pistons. The only thing there were weights, solid iron ones that he dropped piece by piece, until he was clad only in a pair of briefs. Beneath the frame of weights and the sacks of goo he was wiry, muscular, chiseled like an athlete. There were still signs of age on his body... a few liver spots, a few wrinkles, but he seemed to shed decades as he shed his disguise.

  “YOU’RE A COSTUME. A METAHUMAN.”

  He barked laughter, hooked a toe under his cane, and flipped it up to his waiting hand. “No. I was correct the first time. I’m human. Peak human, mind you, in every way. I’m everything a human could be.”

  I looked at the few bits of shattered steel armor left on my front, and the cracks on the ceramic underlayer. “SHE BEGS TO DIFFER.”

  “Oh, well. That’s just simple Maula-maula warclub technique. Learned from the Gorilla warriors of the Mistwarrior tribe, last time I was over there. And I’m controlling the pain from the few injuries you’ve inflicted on me with hypnotic biofeedback techniques acquired from the ancient mystics of the Seventh Gate. But at the end of the day, you’re going to die at the hands of a human.” He bowed, extending an arm, and never taking his eyes from me. “Just a very good human. Unlike you, I’m afraid.”

  “YOU MAKE LITTLE SENSE.”

  “Metahumans!” He snarled, stalking to the side, eyes never leaving me. “Your kind. Weak. Pathetic. Given undeserved powers, because in your moment of trial you broke. And look where that’s gotten us now, hm? The world a mess? Looking to golden flying gods for salvation? Giving up on our future, to survive day by day against villains and monsters and worse? Trusting in heroes?” He sneered.

  A cold chill down my back, that broke through the pain. His analysis was starting to mirror my own.

  “THAT IS WHY DIRE FIGHTS. THAT IS WHY DIRE NEEDS THE MONEY. TO FIX THIS WORLD!” I argued. “TO STOP ITS RELIANCE ON HEROES!”

  He paused, frowned at
me. “If you’re begging for mercy, there are better deceptions.”

  “NO! DIRE DOES NOT BEG. BUT IF YOU’RE TRULY WORKING FOR A BETTER WORLD, THEN WE COULD PERHAPS WORK TOGETHER. THIS WORLD SHOULD BE SO, SO MUCH FARTHER ALONG. MOON COLONIES, MATTER REPLICATORS, STABLE NANOTECHNOLOGY, ASTEROID MINING, AND SO MUCH MORE! TECHNOLOGY HAS STOPPED, FROZEN BECAUSE EVERY TIME WE HIT A PROBLEM WE COULD SOLVE WITH HUMAN INGENUITY AND DRIVE, WE RELY ON SOME GODDAMN SUPERHERO OR THE OTHER TO FIX IT WITH THEIR POWERS!”

  Morgenstern studied me. Something flickered in his eyes... hope? Sympathy? Was I getting through to him? I stretched out a gauntlet, open-palmed, shaking.

  “WE STAND ON THE BACKS OF GIANTS. TESLA WAS A BOOST, NO DENYING IT, BUT HIS DREAMS WERE NEVER FINISHED. THEY WERE LOST WITH HIM WHEN HE DISAPPEARED, AND WE LIVE TODAY WITH THE TECHNOLOGY HE BUILT FOR US, NOT KNOWING HOW TO ADVANCE IT. HIS GENIUS, HIS POWER, WAS NOT REPLICABLE. NOT YET. IF WE CAN STOP KILLING EACH OTHER FOR A FEW YEARS, CALM DOWN AND FOCUS ON TECHNOLOGY, WE AS A SPECIES CAN—”

  He was laughing. I’d lost him. I lowered my hand.

  “Tesla was a genius before he got powers, my dear Doctor.” He leaned on the cane, eyes faraway. “Not many know that. They attributed his inventions to his superpower, but in truth, all he gained was the ability to control and channel lightning. Not that he needed it, he was doing just fine with his inventions.”

  I stared at him, forgetting my pain.

  “WHO ARE YOU? NO, WHO WERE YOU? SURELY YOU’RE NOT TESLA. YOU CAN’T BE.”

  He laughed harder. “No. I’m not. I’m the salvation of this world, and fear not, your death will be helpful.”

  “CAN’T SEE HOW.”

  “I’ve long been researching the biological effects of powers. The dissection of your brain and nervous system will be a help there, particularly with Project Algernon, once we recover the flowers from your lackeys and fix Vector’s sabotage. And your armor, despite its shoddy materials, has some advancements I can co-opt for my own designs. So you will contribute to the future of humanity, Doctor. Have no fear on—”

  I threw my gravitics to full, charged, and as he flipped aside and swung the cane I twisted past it, kept twisting around so that I crashed into the wall behind him with my back instead of my front. I jerked inside the armor, slammed my back into the harness hard enough to bruise, and panted, fighting off blackness. My nose was bleeding more now, and I was swallowing blood to keep my mouth clear.

  “Was there a purpose to that?” Morgenstern asked.

  “YES.”

  I reached up and jerked the pauldron off my shoulder... revealing the micromissile launch array below. I had just enough time to see his eyes widen before he flipped away, diving for cover—

  As I launched everything I had at the nearest outer wall.

  Concussion missiles rattled the armor panels, piercers went through them, frags blew them to bits, and when the smoke and dust cleared, I could see a hole. Not a big hole, but big enough. I twisted the gravitics, cursed as circuits blew, and flew at half speed toward the light and freedom.

  “Oh no you don’t!”

  My armor was fast, even in its damaged state. He was faster. I sobbed in frustration as he caught me, held on, straining with incredible force, as he twisted and shoved me to the side of the hole. I scrabbled at him with my broken fingers, screamed in pain, and the mask roared in sympathy.

  “Enough of that!” I thought he said, couldn’t hear him over my roar. He wedged the thin end of the cane into the side of my helmet where the mask met the metal, and pushed, levering it with wiry strength, muscles standing out in his arms. I pounded against him with my right arm, tried to force him away, but he was too close. Too close for the phlogiston projector, too close for missiles if I had any left, too close for... wait. I did have something left.

  CRRRRRRRRRKKKKKK.... POP!

  A clamp gave. I stopped screaming, watched in horror as my mask’s HUD flickered, shorted out as the ceramic deformed, and a seam of light appeared to my left.

  “Look at me when I’m killing you!” He snarled.

  I popped open my utility compartment, fumbled with my good hand. He took no notice. The seam of light grew, millimeter by millimeter.

  CRAAAAKKKKK.... POP!

  Another clamp gave, and the mask warped further, screen splintering, and I closed my eyes, as my gauntlet found one of the screamer grenades. This was going to suck...

  CRUNCH!

  My mask peeled away and I yelled, yelled in pain as blood spouted from my nose and if it wasn’t broken before it sure as hell was now, and Morgenstern peered in at me, an ugly snarl on his face...

  ...and sudden recognition in his eyes. Shock, and something deep within there, almost like regret.

  “You?” He whispered.

  “Home!” I commanded the armor, as I triggered the screamer grenade.

  Pain. Incredible pain, worse than any I’d suffered during the fight, worse than any I’d had before, and it was only due to the insulation around my ears in the helmet that I stayed conscious, as Morgenstern staggered back, blood bursting from ears, nose, and eyes. But though he staggered he still stood, and I gasped in amazement as he bellowed his pain, leaned against the wall, and fixed his gaze again on me.

  And then I was moving, as the armor obeyed its last command, throwing me out into the skies of Icon City.

  The last wails of the screamer wound down as I half-flew, half-dropped, the expended grenade slipping from my nerveless fingers. I gave up on trying to stay conscious, and left the sea of pain behind for sweet oblivion.

  CHAPTER 16: CLICK BOOM SPLAT

  “Well. This is gonna be a pain in the ass to clean up.”

  --Louis Cavaliogne, businessman and casino owner

  I woke to pain. Screaming, cascading waves of the stuff, radiating out from the center of my face, and up my hand, which felt like a red-hot balloon attached to a twisted lump of driftwood.

  “Shit! Dire, don’t move, okay?”

  My hand throbbed as fingers touched it, and I hissed as something soft pressed against my wounded digits. Then I did scream, as the fingers shifted against cloth.

  “Hold still!” Martin. It was Martin. I flailed my other arm up, hissed as my side burned, and let my hand drop as I peeled open my eyes.

  I was braced up on a camp cot, strapped into it, more or less. Around me dim yellow lights illuminated the inside of the power station. My empty armor stood silent sentry in the corner, mask half peeled away. Vorpal lay in another cot, down to her sports bra and the business skirt, with a mass of bandages wrapping her left side. She stared at me, face pale with her own pain, and I opened my mouth to reassure her. I groaned instead, coughing and spluttering up clotted blood. Internal damage?

  Fresh blood rolled down from my nose, a warm trickle against my throat. Nope, evidently not.

  Martin shook his head, held my shoulder still with one hand, and finished wrapping bandages around my mangled hand. I saw a couple of strips of metal tucked in there. Makeshift braces by the look of it, scavenged from the old panels of the station. I chuckled, and he shot me a look before he pulled out the tape, and made sure everything was secured.

  “How long?” I rasped.

  “Since you came crashing out of there? About half an hour. You headed back to the warehouse. You know, the one the gangers and the kaiju wrecked? I had to scramble to get there ’fore the cops did, and retrieve your ass.”

  “Shit.” I tried to let my head fall back, couldn’t. I turned it, ignored the throb from my nose. He’d tucked some folded up blankets under my head, elevated it. The front of my janitor’s overalls was coated with crusted blood. The snaps were undone.

  “You undressed Dire?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “Wasn’t sure how bad it was. Looks like just bruises.”

  Vorpal spoke up. “I would have done it, but I am not well.” She was breathing pretty heavily. “The laser, we think it hit organs. I cannot keep food down. Or water. It comes back up bloody.”


  Not good.

  “She sees.” We needed a hospital. Or possibly...“Bunny. We should call Bunny, get her to set up Freeway.”

  “What? Freeway is a hero.” Vorpal said, confused.

  Why was she confused? Oh, right. Timetripper had snatched her away before he’d revealed that to us. “He’s also a doctor, and willing to treat villains. Anyway, he’s the best option right now. Martin, please get Dire’s phone and bring it over here.”

  “Like hell,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You need rest. Both of you need to rest, and we need to let things calm the fuck down. You’re the news right now, and you’re on every fucking channel.”

  I pulled in a breath, let it out. “What is Morgenstern saying?”

  “That you and Vorpal broke in, attacked the place, tried to take Old Man Morgenstern hostage but he fired up some power-armor prototypes and stopped you.”

  I hissed laughter. “Half truths are the best truths. Dire fought the power armored troops, and they did pretty well, but they didn’t beat her. Aegon Morgenstern did.”

  Martin turned, looked over what was left of my suit. “He have his own armor or something?”

  “He had a stick.”

  “A stick? You shitting me?”

  “Well, it had a knob on the end.”

  Martin stared at me, and I coughed laughter. “He’s some sort of metahuman. Insisted he wasn’t. Locked Dire in with him, then beat her until candy came out.”

  “Holy fuck.” Martin’s eyes got wider and wider as I spoke. “That’s... big. Shit, no wonder the guy keeps heroes away.”

  “What?”

  “Ain’t the first time villains have taken a swing at him or his building. First couple of times that happened, heroes went chasing in after them, and Morgenstern sued their asses off. Said he hadn’t given them permission to enter, and got them on trespassing charges. The MRB went to bat for them, and lost. So now most heroes stay the fuck away. Probably why you got away clean, now I think of it,” he muttered, rubbing his goatee. “They figure Morgenstern’s up to some shady shit, they don’t care so much if his place gets hit.”