When the last of the Brices falls still, a bubbling red goo spurting from his eyes, Rook says, “I don’t want to sound like Urkel, but did I do that?”
“Not your fault,” I tell him. “Someone with a subhuman brain decided that a verbal kill switch for his army of mad scientist clones should be ‘petunia.’”
Mephos looks a little perturbed, but given the amount of damage Rook has just unknowingly unleashed, its reaction is downright subdued. It smiles at me. “I have more.”
“Your casual disregard for life is somewhat disturbing,” Freeman says.
Of all the people present, he seems the most upset by what has just happened. In fact, his eyes are wet with tears.
“They were clones,” I tell him. “Of very bad men.”
Freeman looks me dead in the eyes, and I’m moved by the passion I see burning behind them. “They were human. Are we not here to save humanity?”
From what I understand about Freeman, he is some kind of future-human, so evolved that by our current standards of life, we might not recognize him as such. At least not on the surface. The more time I spend with him, the more I think he might be the most human of us all. Or at least what humanity should be. Full of hope, and mercy and compassion. Everything Alicio Brice wasn’t. But I’m not going to try arguing that point with someone far more intelligent than me, who also happens to have the moral high ground.
“So, do you still want me to explain the Voice interface?” Ridley asks.
Before I can request a different venue for Ridley’s TED talk on how to get into the head of a kaiju, the lab is thrown into chaos once more. While several of the dead Brices are disintegrated by the Rift Engine’s arrival, just as many are carved in half, their bodies cooked.
Cowboy looks disgusted by the carnage around him, putting a hand under his nose, more as a gesture than a working scent-blocking technique. “There is trouble.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere,” he says. “Many more G.U.S. Over major cities around the world.”
“Do you have a way to transport them?” I ask Mephos, pointing to the five kaiju trying to overcome the dead Brices’ stink with their foul breath.
“Of course,” it says, pointing to the cavern’s ceiling, where a large device that looks like a flattened Rift Engine hovers, spinning in slow circles. And then I recognize it for what it is.
“Is UFO,” Cowboy says, following my gaze to the ceiling. “Operates on same technology as Die Glocke.”
Mephos nods. “Powerful enough to transport these five within the confines of this reality. It lacks the ability to slip between worlds, as you have apparently been doing.”
“Can they be controlled without Voices?” I ask, not really wanting to climb inside one of these things until I absolutely have to.
“Neural implants,” Mephos says, taking a small smartphone-like device from his pocket. “They respond to a small number of specific voice commands. But to be useful, they need Voices.”
Ridley raises a finger, attempting to make a point. “And I really should explain how—”
“I understand the concept,” I say, hoping the process isn’t very different from how Nemesis and Hyperion accept new hosts. “Base of the skull, right?”
Ridley nods. “If possible, bring them back alive. They represent a significant investment in—”
“You can choke on your significant investment,” Rook says, stepping over bodies with Fiona, both of them headed for the Bell. People of action, those two. “We’ll do what needs doing, and if there’s anything left of anything, you can thank us.”
Freeman takes a step to follow Rook, but looks at the bodies in disgust, and shakes his head. The distance between him and the Bell is a good forty feet. And most of that distance is littered with the dead and their expressed fluids.
“You don’t really need to walk, do you?” I ask. “I mean, you must have rockets in your feet or something, right?”
Freeman frowns at me. “Humans do not have rocket feet. But...you are right. I do not need to walk.”
With a sudden, yet graceful leap, Freeman goes airborne, landing atop the Bell in such a way that his considerable weight is perfectly dispersed. He doesn’t even make a sound. Strong and stealthy. Good to know.
I step up to Mephos and hold out my hand.
It gives me what can best be describe as a kaiju remote control and points up at the UFO. “Works the same as a Bell. They all need to be in contact with the device. And as long as you’re holding that—” He points at the device in my hand. “You control the destination. Given your sentimentality to life, I suggest you pick someplace uninhabited.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? What about the Aeros? What is their plan? How will they attack?”
“This is war,” Mephos says. “We are no more privy to the enemy’s machinations than you are. Much of what we will see in the days to come will be as new to me as it is to you.” He glances at the small team I’ve collected, and then at the kaiju. “But the same can be said for them. They cannot predict our capabilities, nor to what lengths we are willing to go. My only real advice is that you don’t simply react. The creatures floating above our cities may be a true assault, or they might be a distraction. Plan your attack. Put yourself in the Aeros mindset. You are not just here to conquer a world, you are here to destroy an infinite number of worlds occupying the same place and time in space, separated by a thin dimensional veil.”
The one part of Mephos’s pep talk that stands out to me is the word, ‘our.’
Our cities.
Could the Ferox that have manipulated humanity for so long now think of Earth as their home, too? I suppose it makes sense. They live thousands of years. Maybe far longer. Some of them have been kicking around since the dawn of human civilization. I suppose in a sick and twisted way, they might even view the human race as their children.
“Where will you be?” I ask. “Hiding down here? Hoping for the best?”
Mephos’s visage goes soft, and with a pop, crack and a slurp, it returns to the form of Zach Cole. “When the time comes, we will join the fight. But not until there is a tide to turn. If you cannot succeed in stumbling our foe, we will not be joining you.”
“So you are just going to hide?”
“Hide? No. We’re going to leave.” And after that bombshell, he offers his hand for me to shake. “Like it or not, we are comrades now. If the fight is joined, I will fight to the death by your side.”
“That’s something, I guess.” I reach out to shake his hand with the hopes that it will somehow increase the chance that the Ferox will come to humanity’s aid. But instead of clasping his hand, I reach right through it.
The hologram sparkles for a moment.
Mephos chuckles, the chubby form of Zach Cole undulating.
“You’re an asshole,” I tell him, but I can’t hide my own smile. It was a good trick, and in that moment I think he understands me, and comradery, better than I would have guessed, or would have liked to admit.
Then he’s gone, leaving me with Richard Ridley, who kind of looks like a kid whose friends are all leaving, or lying dead on the floor.
I step over a Brice body, heading for the Bell. “Might want to get a mop,” I say, pointing at the bodies. “Or go visit your dad. Sounds like losing him sends you down a bad path, and you know, the world might end.”
The big bald man stands there, looking around at the mess. Whatever man he was in Rook’s dimension, he is not that here. Brilliant perhaps, but missing whatever drive sent him down a path to villainy.
I pause beside the Bell and raise the kaiju remote to my lips. “Dance the Macarena.”
When Fiona groans at my childish attempt, Rook nudges her with his elbow. “The man had to try.”
“Seriously?” Fiona says, but I can tell she’s used to our kind of nonsense.
“I would have requested far worse,” he says, “You know that, right?”
While Fiona rolls her eyes,
I speak into the remote. “Touch the UFO.” When none of the kaiju move, I try, “Touch the Rift Engine.”
The UFO lowers into range of all the kaiju, including the shorter pair. One by one, the giant creatures spawned from Nemesis Prime’s dusty loins reach out and make contact.
I don’t know why, but I close my eyes, picturing where I want Team Gestorumque to go, and I say, “Go to Stinson Mountain, Rumney, New Hampshire.”
When I open my eyes again, the massive cavern is empty. “Well shit on me, it works.”
“Shit,” Freeman says. “Excrement; feces. The act of defecating; evacuation. Why would you want feces evacuated on you? Shit contains bacteria and—”
“It’s an expression,” I tell him.
“Slang,” he says. “I’ve heard the word, but not the expression.”
“Hands on Jindřiška” Cowboy says, speaking to us in the same way that I did the kaiju. And why not? He’s been the conductor of Earth’s ragtag resistance force.
“Take us topside,” I tell him. “I want to make sure that special delivery went where it was supposed to.” I place my hand on the cool Bell and after a quick hum and a flash, the scent of blood, defecation, kaiju breath and cooked human flesh is replaced by the sweet smells of pine and earthy decay that identify the location as the woods of New Hampshire.
We’re parked atop the Mountain facility, overlooking a valley. On the far side of the valley is Stinson Mountain. It’s not the most popular of New Hampshire’s hiking mountains, and it’s unpopulated, for the most part.
Until now.
The five kaiju I sent ahead of us stand on the mountainside like workers taking a smoke break. The UFO hovers between them, equally as chill. All of that is the good news. The bad news is that they’re not alone. Floating above them, and the mountain, slowly gliding in our direction, is a massive GUS, a half mile across. And since there isn’t a major city within an hour of our location, that means it’s here for us.
21
“Coop, you read me?” I ask after activating my comm.
“And see you,” she says, reminding me that the Mountain has top-of-the-line security. The moment we popped into reality within the base’s perimeter, we triggered all sorts of sensors. “And you brought some friends.”
I’m not sure if she’s talking about Freeman, Rook and Fiona, or the five kaiju standing around Stinson Mountain, but it doesn’t really matter. “Do we have a good way to take down the GUSes yet?”
“That won’t incinerate a few thousand people?” Cooper says. “No.”
I notice Rook taking deep breaths through his nose. Despite the monstrous scenery, he seems to be finding some kind of inner calm.
But not me, I can feel the relentless crush of anxiety on my throat as my mind prepares for horrible news. “Is that what happened to Tucson?”
In the split second between my question and Cooper’s answer, I see the 50,000 people living in Tucson obliterated by a massive explosion. Mothers, fathers, children, and God damned puppies.
“No. Crazy...shifted the entire city,” Cooper says.
Relief opens my eyes. I didn’t even realize I’d closed them.
Then she continues. “We haven’t heard from him or Lilly yet, but I think we can assume that the MirrorWorld now has 50,000 human residents.”
“From what I know of the Dread, that’s not going to go over too well.”
“I suspect not,” Cooper confirms.
“I want everyone in the situation room,” I say, watching Rook continuing his deep breathing routine. “Let’s come up with a way to destroy these things without killing everything beneath them.”
Mephos’s words tickle the back of my mind. ‘My only real advice is that you don’t simply react.’ And that’s exactly what we’re being forced to do. We’re in the corner already, hands raised in defense, trying to think of a way out. So how does a fighter get out of the corner? Duck and weave. Take a few good shots. Maybe hug his way out? But this is war. We don’t have to follow rules. Any rules. But we’re still guided by a moral code that says we can’t simply sacrifice all the people living in Rumney. I’m not ready for that kind of collateral damage...though I recognize it might also be unavoidable.
“Mmm Mmm,” Rook says, blue eyes closed, a smile on his face. “Maple syrup.” He opens his eyes and looks at me. “I love maple syrup.” He takes another deep breath. “New Hampshire, right?”
He doesn’t wait for me to reply.
“Home sweet home.” Rook points toward Stinson Mountain. “We’re in Pinckney.”
“Rumney,” I say.
He shrugs. “Different name, same place.”
“We’re at Endgame HQ,” Fiona says, eyes widening.
“Endgame?” Cowboy asks.
“On our world, the facility beneath us was run by Manifold Genetics. They conducted horrible experiments. Human experiments. Some of them on our friends.” Fiona motions to Rook and herself.
“That’s who Richard Ridley was,” Rook says. “Manifold was his company.”
“Excuse me,” Freeman says. “But if the Richard Ridley of this world does not have the same nefarious character that you remember, as was suggested by the revelation of his father’s survival, then logic dictates that the laboratory constructed by Manifold Genetics, the company he created, would not exist in this world.”
Images flit through my mind, replaying the Mountain as it was when we found it. There was not even a fingerprint left behind to help us figure out who built the place. No equipment to reveal what had been done. Certainly no Manifold Genetics logo. But Freeman’s logic is hard to argue against.
“We’re going to have to put a pin in the problem of Richard Ridley,” I say.
“Just pop me back over there and I’ll handle it.” Rook pats the knife sheathed on his side.
“I’m not sure how things go in your dimension, but DHS agents don’t just sanction random hits on people who may or may not have committed a crime.”
“Atrocities,” Rook says. “And if he’s the same guy, you’ll have to deal with him eventually.”
“Well, right now, we need to deal with that.” I point up, as a dark shadow falls over us. The GUS is nearly over the Mountain, the dangling lower half of its massive body just a few hundred feet overhead. Definitely coming for us.
I put my hand on the Rift Engine. “Take us to the hangar.”
Everyone knows the drill. As soon as everyone is touching the Bell again, we’re whisked in and out of reality, appearing inside the hangar.
Rook scans the large space, looking over Helicopter Betty, and then Future Betty’s reflective hull. “Like a flying funhouse mirror. But I like what you’ve done with the place. Someone spent a chunk of change fixing it up, yeah?”
“A couple chunks,” I say.
Zoomb’s deep pockets paid for it all, integrating the world’s most advanced tech into the Mountain’s systems. If Endgame looked closer to what we found when we found the place, the difference would be like beaming from a first generation, utilitarian Klingon battleship to the shiny bridge of JJ Abrams’s USS Enterprise. But I keep that thought to myself. Rook is definitely the kind of guy to make me regret being a Trekkie.
I lead the way through the maze of hallways. Rook and Fiona might know their way around, assuming the layout is the same, but we’ve made some changes, including the purpose of several rooms, including the Situation Room. Yeah, I stole the name from the White House, but given the nature of this intergalactic threat, I’ve been given full authority to handle the response, which might include the conventional military.
I enter the Situation Room to find Cooper, Watson, Hawkins, Joliet, Maigo, Woodstock and Collins already there. Collins smiles as I enter, giving me a quick kiss before sitting back down. Maigo is less subdued, all but launching from her chair and squeezing me. Hard.
“Okay,” I grunt. “I need my spine.”
When I’m released, everyone takes seats around the long table, which, like the one in t
he White House Situation Room, is surrounded by monitors. Laptops sit in front of each and every chair. Top of the line stuff.
Freeman takes a seat and looks over the laptop in front of him. “Quaint. But I’m detecting a Bluetooth signal. Do you mind if I connect?”
“Go for it,” I say.
“You’ll need the password,” Watson says.
“KaijuMcKaijuFace123,” he says, revealing he’s cracked the password that I spent a good week coming up with.
Watson is stunned. “How did you...” He takes a closer look at Freeman, whose eyes are flicking back and forth. If he’s online, he’s connected to a world of information. If he’s accessed our entire system as easily as he did the network, then he knows more about the state of the world than I do.
Note to self, make sure everyone is nice to Freeman. As bad as someone like Richard Ridley might be, someone like Freeman could destroy human civilization, proof of which can be found on his dimension, which is totally devoid of old-school humanity.
“You’re not...” Watson studies Freeman closer, eyes widening when Freeman meets his gaze. “No, you are...”
“What?” Freeman asks.
“Human,” Watson says.
Freeman smiles and feigns a gasp. “Intelligence does exist in this dimension.” When he notices the glowering looks from the others in the room he says, “Sarcasm. A sharply ironic taunt.”
I’m about to defend my title as King of Sarcasmia, but Cooper keeps things on track. “If you’re all done becoming besties, we have a war to fight.”
“About that,” Rook says. “I’ve been thinking.”
Fiona leans over and nudges Rook. She whispers something that I can’t hear, but I think it’s a warning not to joke around.
“Hey,” he says, sounding defensive. “I’m being serious here.”
Fiona doesn’t look convinced, but sits back up and gives him the floor.
Project Legion (Nemesis Saga Book 5) Page 13