Crimson Son

by Russ Linton

  “No, Spence. I’m not an Augment. I’m an idiot. An idiot!” He’s putting up less of a fight as I force him off the bed. Once his feet touch the ground he begins pointing wildly. “That toothless mental patient in the nightgown! He’s an Augment! And that guy! Frankenfreak! He’s an Augment! The dude reading the paper? I don’t… oh shit, that face, he’s one too! What am I doing here!”

  “Dammit, don’t fall apart again, Eric!” It must be the influence of Hound’s barking, but in that moment the words rumble from deep within my chest, lending a presence way outside my weight class.

  Polybius speaks.

  Chapter 35

  “Sean? Is that you?” The voice doesn’t match anything—Polybius’s frame, the bare acoustics of the room we’re in, or even the normal range of a person’s vocal chords. It’s utterly inhuman. Bony thumbs press the laptop into his palms. His eyes cycle at warp speed as the screen blazes with information.

  “You know my dad?”

  Lines of code crawl up Polybius’s unblinking eyes. Wide, dark brown irises descend from his forehead. His pupils relax from tiny specks and he measures me with an awakened gaze.

  “Spencer. Yes.” His speech matches the cadence of the breathing machine, interrupted by gasping mouthfuls of air.

  “You, you know my name, too?”

  “Your father. Spoke of you.” Several clicks of the mechanical lungs pass. “Where is this?”

  “Whispering Pines facility,” Hound responds. He’s close enough to my shoulder that I can smell stale cigarette smoke on his breath.

  “How long. Like this?” Polybius wheezes.

  “Long time before I got here,” Hound continues cautiously. “You dropped off the radar in ‘08. There were rumors about your… condition.”

  “Asked too many questions. Interrogated. Mental augmentation kept me from compromise.” Polybius’s eyes flick unnaturally. “Your father. He’s here?”

  “He surrendered to the Black Beetle.”

  “Black Beetle.” Polybius faces the open laptop.

  Code races across the screen. Eric is powerless to resist the technology, the revelations. I feel his thick fingers on my shoulder.

  “No way. How are you doing that?” Eric rarely speaks in awe while watching a computer. Contempt, enjoyment, utter confidence, but not amazement. Whatever is happening on the display, I can’t begin to understand. Tantalizing bits of code, programming syntax are all wrapped in a peculiar data structure which cascades by in uneven rows. There’s a sort of repetition, an almost readable pattern.

  “I do not. Understand.” Polybius strains as he answers.

  “What is it you see?” I ask Eric.

  “A dude controlling a laptop with his brain. Either that, or the laptop is talking to itself.” Eric puts his head next to mine. In the blue glow, the earlier fear is washed away.

  “Talking to itself?” Hound asks, mesmerized.

  “Well, chunks keep repeating. One command pops up, gets echoed rapid-fire, and eventually another piece gets added. It repeats and then the focus shifts to another system.” Eric sights down a finger and runs it up the screen to follow a particularly elusive chunk of code.

  His description makes me worry, but I lose the feeling as more deciphered data appears. Among the documents, a few are even scanned and handwritten notes—the same handwriting on those damn refrigerator notes he used to leave.

  A text file labeled “Killcreek Initiative—Black Beetle Link” opens.

  The only sound in the room is the hiss and click of the breathing machine.

  “I’ll be damned,” Hound says in awe.

  I’m reading as fast as I can, tapping impatiently while waiting for the scrolling words to catch up. Answers to questions come slow at first, then in a raging torrent. The notes in the margins, scrawled or typed, get the most attention.

  Orders to Dad from the Killcreek Initiative flicker across the screen. Augments were going rogue. They needed to be neutralized. The reported goal: to round up rogue Augments and prevent another disaster like the Djinn.

  And then we see the field reports show up. Codename Crimson Mask being ordered into operations around the world. But soon, I’m seeing Dad’s signature on documents requesting clarification on his orders. Documents that ask why he’s not being tasked to deal with the Black Beetle. But he never got a straight answer. The people deciding his marching orders were the same ones protecting the Beetle. A puzzle that super strength and nigh-invulnerability couldn’t solve.

  Soon, we’re scouring through scanned documents with chunks of data missing beneath bold black lines. From what I can tell, one of these is a contract. It mentions money sent to a bank account. I see Dad’s handwriting with the words “BB shell” circled. The date at the top of the page is from a little over two years ago. He got suspicious. Got too close to the truth.

  Then she was taken.

  “What else on BB?” I’m not even sure who I’m asking until Polybius intones an answer.

  “Cross-reference indicates BB synonymous. Searching.” The screen goes nuts and more contracts flash by with thousands, millions, maybe billions of dollars sent to one fake company after another.

  “Matches up with my ‘crazy’ theory, eh Spence?” No longer lost in the code, Eric reads the documents as they flash on screen. “They sent outclassed Augments into the drone meat-grinder. Meanwhile, your dad was rounding up the rest on orders and being fed a different story.”

  I remember Emily’s spreadsheet, her correlation which stated the now-obvious truth. “All while Dad was intentionally sent in other directions, away from the Black Beetle.”

  Eric nods appreciatively, “Yep. Crimson Mask is King of the Augments. After the battle with the Djinn, people wondered if he could even be killed. They saved him for last.”

  “A bunch of pussy asymmetric warfare,” Hound scoffs. “That goddamn bug couldn’t finish Crimson face-to-face, so he wore him down. Made us look bad in the process. People thought we were all reckless mass murderers.”

  “But the Black Beetle was the murderer, not my dad,” I say.

  “Guilt by association. The government wasn’t officially claiming Crimson Mask. As far as anyone else knew, he and that bug were tearing up the world ‘cause of a personal grudge. First sight of blood nowadays and people get squeamish,” Hound snarls.

  “Years ago I uncovered this possibility. Sean refused to believe. I had restored the bunker. One I failed to report in Northstar. Intended for myself. Told him the location. I asked questions, too. Was sent to Killcreek for ‘rehabilitation’. Experiments.” Polybius’s burst of communication taxes him and he closes his eyes, while mouthing the start of more words that never come.

  The laptop screen flashes and goes dark, replaced again by the dizzying rain of code. Eric presses in, a moth drawn to a flame.

  “Beetle planned it this way. My dad was trying to stop him.” I’m looking at Hound, but I could be talking to anyone. Myself even. I have to hear the words leave my lips. Hound watches and his jaw tightens. This whole time, I haven’t known what to think about the insanity exploding around me. I can feel heat rising into my cheeks and a flutter in my stomach. Hound stays stoic, but there’s a slight change in his military stance, an invisible weight pressing on his shoulders.

  “Whoa. It’s hitting the NIC now.”

  “Who’s Nick?” Hurricane calls from the doorway.

  “Network Interface Card,” I translate. “On the laptop. But that means…” The concern I pushed aside while piecing together the information comes back and comes back hard. I whirl toward Hound. “What did they strip from here? Did they leave any computer equipment? Phones?” I move to an empty bed and dump the contents of my backpack.

  Confused, Hound tries to answer but Hurricane cuts him off, “They took it all, Blaise. I must’ve been round this place a million times since they left, and there ain’t a scrap of equipment ‘cept what’s in this room and some med supplies.”

  The light on the satell
ite phone is still dead and the bag with the battery is sealed tight. But there might be another problem. “Eric, tell me, what’s going on now?”

  Even with the lure of the data, he’s trying to keep his distance from Polybius, but since I stepped away, he’s inched closer to see the screen.

  “Latched on and tried to ping an IP address. That and…” His voice trails away, slow and measured while he squints at the screen.

  I give him a few more seconds but he stays lost between thoughts. “What? And what?”

  “It’s changing,” Eric stammers.

  “What do you mean, changing?” I demand.

  “It’s getting weird now. I could make out the code every now and then. Almost got used to it. Now, gibberish,” he mutters.

  “But you got the IP address?” I ask, my mind racing with the possibilities.

  Eric taps his temple and then turns to me. “Spence, what’s going on?”

  “I think I know, but I hope I’m wrong. Bring me the laptop, quick.”

  Eric practically falls off the table and backs away. “Uh, nope. You’re the hardware guy, you ask Cyberveg for it.”

  “Eric, get it.”

  Hound places a hand on Polybius’s forehead and his brow furrows with concern. He grabs the laptop but as he pulls, the wiry muscles in Polybius’s arms tighten. “George, it’s me. Let go.” He pulls again and the bed shifts. “George?”

  Polybius’s eyes fly open. He springs up, straight-backed with the laptop held in front of him. Eric tumbles into the wall and slides into a quivering crouch. From the doorway, Hurricane coils, ready to fire, while Hound watches helplessly at the bedside.

  “He spews pea soup, I’m outta here!” says Eric and he inches up the wall to his feet.

  “Blaise? What just happened?”

  I turn to Hurricane. “The nanobugs. I think they infected Polybius.”

  Chapter 36

  Eric has a pretty brilliant idea. Not that this is a rare event. He was practically inhaling code I couldn’t make sense of, processing it as mindlessly as lungs convert oxygen. But in his current freaked-out, emerging-from-delusion state, I’m amazed he can think clearly at all.

  “Eric, you can do this. It’s a good theory you have. The best one we’ve got.”

  I can’t blame him for being freaked out. After trying to pry the laptop out of Polybius’s grip, we discovered he was physically connected. A port on his right wrist, maybe meant for an IV or maybe more tech, had lashed out and freaking attached itself.

  “Only a theory!” exclaims Eric. Hound’s holding him by the scruff of his neck at Polybius’s bedside.

  “Don’t be a pussy, son. I’ve seen men your age stuff their guts back in a belly wound so they could keep fighting,” barks Hound. “If you can help this soldier, you sure as hell better start asap!”

  “Aw, give him a break, Hound. He looks paler than those sheets. You might make ‘im woozy again.” Hurricane’s perpetual smile looks really awkward right about now.

  “Neither one of you are helping,” I say.

  I do my best to get between Eric and Polybius. There’s plenty of space, because even though Hound is pushing him forward, Eric has contorted his body in the opposite direction. He won’t make eye contact.

  “Why can’t you do it, Spence?” Sweat dampens Eric’s forehead as his eyes cut accusingly my way.

  “I’m not sure I even can. Besides, you can get this done in half the time. Or less.”

  “What if Frankenfreak attacks me?”

  “His name is George,” growls Hound.

  “Or Polybius, even,” I add, trying not to look at the mangled cyborg beside us. “We’ll be right here.”

  “I’ll pull ya clear in a jiff, son!” Hurricane cackles. Eric’s knees buckle and I give Hurricane a disapproving glare. “Err, I’ll go watch the door some more, eh, Blaise?”

  I touch Hound’s arm and he grunts, roughly letting Eric go. He stumbles, so I grab his forearm and plant an arm in his back. More weight than I’d expect pushes against me at first and I’m afraid he’ll fall, but his knees stiffen and soon he’s standing on his own. “We’ve got to do this. The sooner we do, the sooner we get out of here, okay?”

  Eric’s eyes meet mine. He sounds wounded when he asks, “How the hell can you be so calm about all this?”

  “I don’t know…” Emily’s voice echoes in my head, You’re just like him. “I’ve been locked in a bunker for two years, maybe I’m fucking insane. All I know is that I’ve got to figure this out. I’ve got to find Mom.” Eric accepts my explanation with a nod. “Get in there and make this happen, man. I’m right beside you.”

  Eric begins a series of about five shuffling steps to cross the foot long gap to the bed. I fight the urge to push. When he gets closer to the laptop, he tightens his lips and his fingers inch their way to the keyboard.

  “Nice job.” He’s trying. I’m trying.

  He henpecks the keys at first, but as he sinks into his zone, the typing becomes fluid and furious. Code streaks across the screen, and Polybius maintains his rigid posture. Fear lost, Eric flows to a feverish pace and again, it becomes impossible for me to keep up.

  I understand the gist of his idea—he’s talking to the nanobugs that may or may not have taken over Polybius’s systems. Their last commands seem to have been an attempt to establish a connection of some sort. He plans to make them think they’ve done that. He figures that might break whatever loop Polybius seems stuck in. But that’s not even the most interesting part of his theory. The best part? This could be a two-way connection.

  What we don’t know is what the hell happens to Polybius next. He was awakened from his coma; will he go under again? Will he be up and about, ready to help with the next part of my plan, which I haven’t dared yet tell everyone?

  From the waist up, Polybius is sprouting more hardware than a Google server farm. The more I examine him while Eric works, the more familiar each little wire and board looks. Most of the components are amazingly similar to the hardware inside the drone I popped open.

  If I’m right, this explains how the nanobugs could even interface with him at all. When he first woke up, it might have been an autonomic response, akin to the Sudoku trick Hurricane mentioned which got all this started. But now, his consciousness, or maybe his life, could be dependent on these the tiny invaders.

  I never thought I’d admit this, but I’m wishing Martin was here. With his hyper-concern for patient care, he might have kept me from exposing Polybius to whatever was in the bag to begin with. Minus this lead, though, I’d be stuck with zero information.

  “Okay, I got it!” Eric steps back, smiling with pride and gazing at the computer puzzle in front of him instead of Polybius’s broken form.

  Hound steps forward and checks Polybius’s vitals. His eyes are closed, but restful—no more REMs measured in RPMs. A sideways glance at everyone then Hound reaches forward and slowly tugs the laptop away. The arm tethered to the laptop falls limp and a thin wire, or maybe a vein, zips into the port on his wrist. Eric shudders.

  “Sweet!” I say. “Man, you’re amazing.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, lifelessly.

  Hound sets the laptop beside my bag and returns to Polybius to help him lie down. The broken form unfolds with a mechanical motion. Polybius lies inert and speechless, as Hound gently tucks a pillow behind his head. All signs of the coma he was in have returned, and the rhythm of the oxygen machine fills the hollow space left by his voice. Hound continues to work, smoothing the sheets down with a concern that suggests the battered man underneath them might snap under too much pressure.

  “Sorry if you didn’t get what you needed, kid.”

  Too many people have been destroyed by this Augment program. Shutting down the whole thing, maybe that was necessary. But Polybius shouldn’t have to suffer. Or Hound. Or Hurricane. None of them deserve this.

  And then there’s Eric, Mom—what did they ever do? My anger burns inside and thrashes around, seeking a
target. What about Dad? Was he selfish? Did he put us at risk for his own sake? Why? For Emily?

  But every scrap of data I find leads back to one single guy. A guy hiding behind a suit of armor and a fleet of robots. A guy who doesn’t care who he slaughters as long as he gets his payday. Black Beetle. That sadistic piece of shit took my life from me—my home, my mom. Crimson Mask couldn’t find him, but I can.

  “I’m going to get him.” All heads turn as the words erupt from my mouth.

  “Who?” Eric asks. Hurricane rises, his flapping grin expanding. Hound returns to his work at Polybius’s bedside.

  “The Black Beetle. I’m going to find him and make him tell me what he did with my mother.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! I’m in on this, Blaise!” Hurricane practically pogos on his metal leg.

  Eric swallows and nods, checking his shaking hands. “Okay.”

  Hound doesn’t take his eyes off Polybius as he asks, “What do you need me to do, son?”

  Despite the emotions thrashing inside, my face breaks into a full grin to rival Hurricane’s wind-stretched face. “Hound, I need you to keep Super Mall Cop busy. Send him on an errand if you can. Hurricane, I need you to keep the drone busy.”

  “Damn, Blaise! I love this plan already!”

  “Drone? What drone?” Eric looks feverishly toward the ceiling.

  I stride across the room to pick up the sat phone and laptop. “The one we’re going to call.”

  Chapter 37

  We’re halfway down the hall when Hound emerges, sprinting after us. Behind him, the room roars and exhales a cloud of debris. A chattering of knives slices the air, and a gleaming shape the size of a compact car explodes from the doorway.

  I’d love to shout, “It worked!” at this point, but I’m suddenly doubting my sanity again. Operation Phone-A-Friend? Probably my second worst idea ever, maybe third, and all of those ideas were hatched in the past few days. I’m starting to wonder why every single one of these ideas involves killer robots that get scarier and scarier every damn time.