Max Quick: The Bane of the Bondsman (Max Quick Series Book 3)

by Mark Jeffrey

  The Bondsman’s forces were crushing the rebellion — and of course, that was the gist of the newscast. No one could revolt and win! But more importantly: why would anyone want to? The newscast turned now to a lengthy diatribe describing the wonders of the Bondsman’s regime: everyone was happy, everyone worked hard, this was the point of life. The anchorwoman seemed genuinely perplexed. She suggested that if the rebels simply lay down their arms and surrendered, the Bondsman would welcome them back into society, no questions asked, no penalty for their deeds.

  “Aw man, c’mon,” Maurice laughed. “The Frown would never just kiss and make up.”

  “Yeah I kind of doubt that one also,” Ian said. Then he flipped the channel.

  The next program was a music show. There were four young men — dressed in the drab olive and muted tones that were everywhere — against the backdrop of a giant clock. They were playing what seemed like it could have been a rock song. But there was no life in it: it was a facade of a song. The chords ticked by, as if this were a game of who could play their instrument in the most orderly fashion — instead of letting go and letting it rip and scream. The four were also careful to move in perfect and precise orchestration — every nuance was pre-programmed, there was no spontaneity.

  The back up singers each were enclosed in a glass box, echoing The Dream once again. Strings hung from the ceiling above them. When the camera cut to them, both smiled and placed a hand over one eye — and winked.

  The band and the backup singers had an undercurrent of fright in their gaze, as if there were someone just offscreen with a gun, waiting to kill them if there was a single misplaced note out of key.

  “I think I’ve just discovered the Anti-Beatles,” Ian said.

  This time, Maurice laughed. “The Bondles,” he offered. Ian roared.

  “No actual rock n roll is this world,” Ian said.

  “Maurice would love to hear that again man … the Man has outlawed —”

  But then Ian caught a few of the lyrics. “Shh!” he said. The group was singing about a battle the Bondsman fought long ago … something something a promise that he would free them all from their oppressor. Oppressor? Someone was oppressing the world before the Bondsman? Ian turned up the volume and strained to make it out:

  And so he told us we’d be free

  He’d stop her, and bring about her death

  Thus he cast down all Earth’s Queen

  That vile witch we called Jadeth

  Ian’s attention jerked up at that.

  “What? Did he just say … Jadeth?”

  “Yes,” Maurice confirmed. “Why?”

  “You know about this?”

  “Yeah, man. Everyone does. Before The Man come, everyone was under the jackboot of the Heel — Jadeth, this Queen lady from Nibiru. You don’t know about that?”

  “Well — I know Jadeth,” Ian said. “But I didn’t know — wait. She was here? On earth? Before the Bondsman?”

  Maurice proceeded to tell him the story. When he had finished, Ian went straight to the computer to learn as much as he could about Jadeth’s original occupation of earth.

  WHEN IAN AT last came up for air, Casey and Sasha were up, showered and on the couch, eager to hear what he’d learned.

  “Not much beyond what Maurice has already told us,” Ian said. “Jadeth was here; she was deposed by the Bondsman — he used her as a sort of foil to gain control. It’s an old story in exploiting a crisis: promise that, in exchange for temporary ultimate power and surrender of democratic and civil rights, you’ll get rid of the problem. And when the problem’s solved, you’ll voluntarily step down, return power and civil rights, and everything will be hunky-dory again. Except … the problem never gets completely solved. The Bondsman claims that all these rebel attacks against him are remnants of Jadeth’s armies, still trying to regain power. So it’s his ‘sacred duty’ to keep his dictatorship — so he can keep fighting the rebels until they’re all smashed.”

  “Which is another old story,” Enki growled, coming out of his pacing at last. “First job of a dictator: Set up the rebellion against yourself. The Bondsman is likely behind his own resistance.”

  “And even if he’s not,” Casey said, “This way, anyone who is legitimately trying to fight him, paradoxically, helps him maintain his grip on power. By resisting him, you strengthen him.”

  “‘That which you resist, persists’,” Ian quoted Carlos Gustav.

  “Archontic thinking,” Enki said. “Supernaturally intelligent, as I have said. Anything you do, believing you are doing the right thing, turns out to be exactly what they want you to do.”

  “There’s always something …” Ian grumbled.

  “But never mind Jadeth and the Bondsman for now. I have come to formulate a plan,” Enki said.

  “A plan for what?” Sasha asked.

  “For finding Max,” Enki said flatly.

  “You have?” Ian said surprised.

  “Yes,” Enki said. “It has to be our first order of business. We’ve lost a companion; it’s our duty to recover him, even before we begin the task of taking down the Bondsman.”

  Everyone nodded, including Maurice.

  “So. How are we going to do this?” Casey asked.

  “This world uses money,” Enki said, as if this explained everything.

  “So? What does that have to do with it?” Ian asked.

  “I’m coming to that. See this?” He held up a card with the Veerspike Group logo on it. “This card of Cassandra’s I have is something only the Elite carry — it is something of a rarity. The common people of this world conduct their transactions using cash and coins. Remember, it is still 1977, even if it is an alternate 1977. Credit cards are a rarity, a novelty. Not to mention that development of human technology in this timeline has been severely retarded by two things. First, the introduction of Niburian technology and second, the lack of innovation due the Bondsman’s imposed world order: it does not encourage the freethinking and creativity needed to advance. Quite the opposite: it encourages stagnation, it seeks to preserve the status quo, keep everything frozen the way it is.”

  “So they use money. So what?” Casey said.

  “Money-objects are interesting objects,” Enki said. “Coins and pieces of paper are objects that pass from person to person to person … and from place to place to place. In and of itself, of course, money is an illusion. There is no actual value in strips of paper with printed ink, there is no value in little round pieces of metal — except that which we all agree to ascribe to it. If we all agreed that it were worthless, so it would be. You cannot eat it. It cannot shield you from the weather. You can burn it to keep you warm, but even dry leaves gathered in the forest can do as much.

  “And yet … when people hold this class of objects, this ‘money’, they feel things with an unusual and singular depth. They wish to horde it, or they attach the exchange of it to the feeling of something they very much want. Their emotions are different when people hold money as opposed to any other object in the universe. Emotions of a specific timber and pitch — and intensity. These emotions are actually left in the money as psychic imprints. Much as Niburians discovered that jewels are able to hold thought vibrations due to their density, money is likewise able to retain thought vibrations due to the intensity of thought that is experienced in proximity to it.

  “The point is: we can use that. Or rather, I can. I can attune myself to that specific timbre and pitch quite easily.”

  “How? How is that useful?” Ian asked.

  Enki smiled. “Money goes everywhere. It travels in every street, into every house, every car. It hears everything. It sees everything. It is in every pocket of every person.”

  “Ahhhh,” Sasha said, smiling now. “You’re going to use money to find Max.”

  Enki nodded. “Yes.” And then he stopped and waited.

  The company all looked at one another quizzically. What was Enki waiting for.

  “Oh,” Maurice said. �
�Oh. I see.” Every head in the room turned towards him. I always forget he’s here, Casey thought. Maurice put his hands in the rat’s nest of his hair and rubbed it frantically like he was trying to tear the idea he had just had from his mind. Whatever it was, he didn’t much like it.

  “Out with it,” Casey said.

  “You cats are going to rob a bank.”

  AT FIRST CASEY, Ian and Sasha were having none of this plan. They fought ferociously with Enki. Are you insane? You want to commit a felony — in the world of the Bondsman? One of the harshest tyrannies ever known to mankind?

  “We’re not really actually stealing anything though,” Enki protested. “We’re just … visiting.”

  “Yes. Visiting at gunpoint,” Sasha said, rolling her eyes.

  “We can do this,” Enki encouraged. “We have to do this. It’s the only way I can think of to find Max.”

  “There has to be a better plan that stealing Bondsman-bucks,” Ian said.

  Enki shrugged. “I don’t have one, Ian. Unless you can use the computer network to locate him. Or Marvin Sparkle. But I don’t believe it’s advanced enough yet to give us the detail of information required for such a task, nothing like from our own time. And even if it were, we certainly don’t have the processing power to perform any sort of advanced search or pattern matching.”

  “I’m going to try,” Ian said. “Can we wait until I try? Can we do at least that much?” Ian said. Casey and Sasha nodded in agreement behind him.

  Enki was about to protest, but then he said, “Oh, very well. I understand your reluctance. But you must realize that every moment we waste may be precious. I do believe that Marvin Sparkle will not harm Max himself — but I am not certain Sparkle can protect Max — or should I say, not expose Max to the wrong people.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ian said. “You know about his power. He can take on an army! Max can take care of himself.”

  “Oh, he can defend himself physically, surely. It’s more … I’m concerned about what the Bondsman may have in store for him. He was led into the trap of the Machine; and yes, he has learned from that … but there are many forms of traps. He may not understand a different species of trap in time, whereas I may. Or any one of you may.”

  AGAIN, Ian stuck his head into the SAI-80, and the North American Region Hypertext Services, via a primitive bit-screeching phone modem. Twice, Maurice had forgotten he was using the phone to connect, not really understanding how even primitive computers or modems worked — and he had lifted an extension in the adjoining room to call down for room service. After getting a somewhat curse-filled tongue-lashing from both Ian and Enki for wasting their time, Maurice had thrown up his hands and left the suite. He went down to get something in person, mostly for himself, but as penance for what he’d done, the company had insisted he returned fully laden with food for everyone.

  “What do you think of him?” Sasha asked Casey as the door slammed behind Maurice.

  “Hippie,” Casey said. “Burnout. But harmless. Why?”

  “What’s he doing here? Why are we letting him tag along?”

  Casey stopped short. “I haven’t really thought about it. I guess because Enki lets him tag along?”

  “Well isn’t he supposed to be helping us out with knowledge about the Bondsman and this world that we don’t possess?”

  “That’s the general plan, yeah.”

  “And so what has he given us? I mean really given us so far?” Sasha stared hard at her.

  Casey shrugged. “Well, he got us up to speed back at the Shell. That was useful. But not much since then. Oh and a bunch stuff that doesn’t make sense. All that there’s really no sun or moon and the earth is really flat and there’s another world beneath this one crap.”

  “So, essentially, he’s here because Enki decided he’s his new little chess buddy.”

  “I see what you’re saying …”

  “No you don’t. Not yet,” Sasha continued, ticking off her points finger by finger. “What I’m really saying is: we know he’s some kind of savant. He can beat Enki at chess, sure. But he can also remember previous timelines. And to top it all off, he’s been a prisoner of the Bondsman, inside that City-State of the World Emperor place. Who knows what the Bondsman did to him? He could be a spy. He could have radio microphones implanted in his head, broadcasting everything we say. Or he could even be the Bondsman himself. Or — given all the crazy talk about the flat earth and stuff — he might just be lunatic, plain and simple.”

  “And yet … we let him have free reign around us,” Casey finished.

  “He’s here when we’re all asleep,” Sasha said pointedly. “And we’re okay with this?”

  “It’s Enki that’s okay with it,” Casey observed.

  “Exactly. And why is that that we’ve allowed Enki to become our de-facto leader? Where was the part where we elected him boss of us? Because I missed that meeting. And last I recall, Case, you and I on our own? We do okay. I like us handling things. We got rid of Blackthrone, and dealt with Arturo Gyp, all on our own.”

  “Not completely …” Casey said, with a hint of sadness. “We had … help.”

  Sasha suddenly realized that she’d inadvertently reminded Casey of Cody Chance. “Oh … I’m sorry Casey. Here.” She hugged her. “Look. Forget about that. Let’s just agree to keep an eye on Maurice. Okay? You and me will be in charge of that. We like us handling things? Fine. Then we’ll handle things.”

  Casey nodded in between sniffs. “Yes. We will handle things.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, Ian admitted defeat.

  “I got nothing on Max,” he said. “But — and there is a very big but, and I do not lie …” Sasha rolled her eyes. “I did discover a pretty extensive subnetwork lurking on the main network. There is a completely different low level packet protocol … you’d never pick up on it unless —”

  “Ian!” Sasha said. “Nobody cares. Get to the point.”

  Ian nodded, somewhat annoyed. “Right. Well. Okay. There’s a secret Internet inside the main Internet. And this secret Internet is made and controlled by the Resistance against the Bondman. They pass all their messages in there. I’ve read a bunch. And I also know where some of their bases are.”

  “How is it you broke in so easily?” Enki said.

  “It wasn’t easy at all!” Ian exclaimed, offended. “Well. They’re using an old encryption scheme that relies on prime number factoring … okay, short answer: in our time we’ve solved a three hundred year old math puzzle. They’ve based their encryption on the assumption that this problem was unsolvable, which everyone thought it was. Turns out, it wasn’t. So I just applied the solution from our time, presto, everything unfolded.

  “Seems there is a Resistance base somewhat nearby to the south. It’s in this … well, it sounds like a Bondsman Boy Scout camp. It’s called Camp Griswold.”

  Enki smiled at that. “Clever place to hide a base.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Ian agreed. “There are several more bases, but they’re further away. One is actually under water, at the bottom of the ocean off the coast! And another is a northern Army base that the Bondsman actually believe is under his control. They go through all the motions of being loyal, but once in awhile they’ll launch an attack — and then scramble to ‘intercept’ it. When the Bondsman asks where the attack came from, nobody ever knows — and they can never catch the attackers.

  “And there’s no way to know for sure … but based on what I’ve seen … I don’t think the Bondsman is behind this revolution. Of course it helps him, just like we were talking about earlier. But the Resistance has nowhere near enough firepower to actually make a dent. And they realize this. But they keep going anyway, hoping for a break of some kind.”

  “As do we,” Enki said.

  At that moment, the door opened: Maurice had returned at last with food. “Sorry … sorry … sorry everyone!” he said. “They were super backed up, nothing I could do.”

  Sasha and
Casey exchanged suspicious glances.

  Within moments, Maurice had made everyone plates of various Italian meats and cheeses and pastas and everyone was eating happily.

  “Wait,” Sasha said. “We’re eating Bondsman food now. Right? Should we not being doing that?”

  “No! Of course not!” Maurice said. “I got this from Enki’s guy. Guy named Charlock. Down like five blocks and over two. I mean, Maurice has been eating the Man’s food forever, man, so I don’t care, I figure my gut’s already kicked in from it. But since I was getting for all the posse, I did it right.”

  “Oh, right on. Thanks Maurice!” Ian said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Good on ya!” Sasha shot Ian a glance. “What?” he mouthed. She just mouthed back, Later.

  WHEN THEY HAD finished, Enki mapped out the plan for the assault on the bank.

  Ian located a financial institution across town, far enough away from the Rosewood Arms. Enki had insisted on that detail — anything too close to their lair was out of the question.

  “And I’m sorry — Cassandra, wherever you are,” Enki added, looking up to the ceiling as if she were in Heaven, “But today we will be knocking over the City 29 Veerspike Regional branch over on Flower and Vine.

  “Okay … here’s the plan. First. Maurice?”

  “Uh … yeah?”

  “You stay here.”

  “Hey, I’m your Bojangles — not a problem, man.”

  “Bo … right. Okay. Second, we do the hit tomorrow. Now here’s a map of the surrounding streets. Casey and Sasha, you’ll be waiting here …”

  IAN KEATING WALKED into the Veerspike Regional Bank at 3:48 PM on a Monday. Witnesses would later say that he was alone and unarmed. He also wore a drab gray-and-olive suit, with a black tie, crisp white shirt and a polite gray hat with a black band. It was not quite tailored: after all, Enki had only purchased the suit for Ian the previous day. It hung loosely on his skinny form like he was a walking hanger.