by Gary Ballard
Across the street from the entrance stood two security guards, leaning on a car without wheels. Bridge had to assume they were guards, as they both carried weirdly rounded sidearms, long cylinders with three rings on the barrel end, a handle and trigger. A larger rifle with a similar arrangement of rings lay in the vehicle. Bridge tugged down on his shirt and strode purposefully over to them.
Based on the compass, the first guard he approached must be Harold. His avatar was nothing like the greasy bastard Harold was in real life. He stood a good inch or two taller than Bridge, his blond hair swept back from his high forehead, constrained by a green headband. His yellow shirt formed a banana-like one piece with black trunks. Gleaming green epaulets adorned his shoulders. Bridge caught him in mid-sentence. “Take me to your leader.”
“What’s that, noob?”
“I said take me to your leader. I’m here to see Far-el.”
“Yeah, right. As if. Why don’t you go work on your guard faction by fighting off the three-headed crystal monsters or something? They’re about three clicks that way.” He pointed off behind Bridge with a dismissive backhand wave.
“I don’t think you heard me. My name is Artemis Bridge. I’ve come as an emissary from Stonewall Ricardo. As a leader of one of the Families, Stonewall’s representative has the right to see the leader of another Family without getting static from some flunky.”
“Bridge? Bridge is dead.” Harold laughed but with a nervous titter that belied his attempt at stoicism.
“Look here, Harold. I’m no deader than you are a buff soldier in some ancient Kryptonian city. Don’t think just because you got on the City’s security detail I don’t remember that little incident with the horse farm.”
Harold’s face fell. His eyes darted around to his fellow security guard, then back to Bridge, a bulging plaintive look begging Bridge to shut up. “Yo, Bridge, you ain’t supposed to say nothing about that shit. You promised.”
“Hey Harold, it’s all good. IF you take me to Far-el.”
“Give me a minute, man. I’ll hook you up. And call me Zor-va, man, you’re making me look bad.” He reached into the vehicle, grabbing a communicator. His partner threw a questioning glance his way, but Harold waved it off. “I knew you wasn’t dead, Bridge. I heard all those rumors, but I knew you wouldn’t top yourself. You showed that cold bitch Elethia a thing or two, didn’t you?”
Bridge bit his lip hard enough to feel it. “No, Har… Zor-va, no I didn’t. Somebody elst="0e did her in.”
“Too bad,” he replied. Bridge made a mental note to have some very bad things done to Harold when he got the chance. Harold spoke on the communicator in a low whisper for a few minutes, nervously glancing between Bridge and his partner while he did so. The conversation turned heated at one point. “You just tell Far-el who I’m bringing to see him, got it? Bitch.” He tossed the communicator angrily back into the vehicle.
“All right, Bridge, get in.”
Bridge decided to poke a little bit. “I thought we were Kryptonians in here. Shouldn’t we fly there?”
Harold scoffed. “Tsk. No, we can’t fly. Kandor is bottled with an artificial red sun to more accurately mimic conditions on the home planet of Krypton. Were we to be released from the bottle onto Earth in the Fortress of Solitude, then we would have Superman’s powers of flight. But as shown in issue…”
Bridge cut him off. “Whoa there, Nerdopedia. I don’t need chapter and verse. A hovercraft ride is fine.”
It was Harold’s turn to bite his lip. “You shouldn’t oughtta talk smack to me like that, Bridge. I can fuck you up in here.”
Bridge didn’t doubt it. The Bottle City worked like any physical world. Harold could most certainly try to put a beat down on Bridge, and rather than use normal GlobalNet combat protocols, the fight would be with whatever weapons and skills the world allowed. In some virtual worlds, outsiders were allowed to bring their own skills to bear. Bridge could have loaded sixteen different types of martial arts, or brought in a giant honking weapon in those worlds: not so in Kandor. He could only work with what the creators allowed which in this case was nothing but his virtual body’s strengths. Were he to take the time to become a citizen, he would likely raise his level to the point where he could use some form of Kryptonian martial art, or a weapon of some kind. Now, however, he was at the physical mercy of the security guards. “You certainly could, Zor-va. I guess I should shut my yap then, huh?”
“Yeah, you should. Let’s go.”
They climbed in the hovercar and took off down the road fast enough to make the wind blow through his virtual hair.
Rising above the city in the hovercar was an experience Bridge would normally have relished. The full sensory immersion of a virtual world as well developed as this one should have been intoxicating, but he couldn’t help thinking of the past. Had certain events not happened in his life, he might very well be one of the architects of a place like this. Not exactly like this, of course, as he cared nothing for the obscurities of this particular comic book mythos. But he could recognize certain underlying building blocks in this world. He imagined that of course,if he somehow were to get a glimpse at the back-end code, he would recognize modules he himself had programmed. He might at least be able to trace the lineage back to his own bits from before the riots, from the days when he believed in creating something from nothing instead of facilitating the self-destruction of the corrupt. He could imagine Angela presiding over the world alongside him, virtual deities creating the world as they went along, hand in hand in something at least approaching love.
As impressive as the City was from the tourist district, a view from the skies made it that much more inspiring. The rings surrounding every building, at first appearing to be simple forms, were actually made up of a shifting, rainbow kaleidoscope of colors. The roof of each building contained a hover car landing pad, illuminated with blinking lights even in the daytime. Off along the horizon, Bridge saw a massive pair of tracks, gleaming silver in the daylight. At the very edge of his visibility, he saw what those tracks carried; a rolling ball of crimson fire, the artificial red sun that kept the residents from having the powers of Superman. They really had spared no details. As the car banked hard left to come in for a landing, Bridge caught a glimpse of the streets below. Everywhere the eye could see, people walked stem to stern, the streets practically filled with residents. Bridge knew that most of these were what creators called NPC’s, or non-player characters, computerized extras added to the make believe world to give it a sense of place, a sense of population. He had reckoned the City had probably 200 to 300 actual residents based on his estimates of the members of the Bottle City Boys.
A sickening lurch of artificial gravity twisted Bridge’s stomach as the car decelerated to a halt on the roof. A cadre of six police dressed like Harold waited on the platform. “We’ll take it from here,” one of them said. Bridge realized that the one who spoke was the only human among them; the rest were NPC’s, a squad of pets for the player. The grimace on Harold’s face told Bridge all he needed to know about the situation. Harold was a grunt, not really given full access to the whole of the City. His reputation may have improved from the last time Bridge had dealt with him, but the hackers still saw him as a wannabe.
“I was the one who brought him in, that should count for something.”
“It does, Zor-va. It counts for letting you fly this thing in here before fucking right back off to the lowers. Is there anything else?”
Harold snapped off a sarcastic salute. He grumbled something vaguely curse-like under his breath and slammed the hover car into gear, lifting off from the roof with a harsh backwash. The player in charge addressed Bridge. “You’re Bridge, aren’t you? THE Bridge?”
“That I am,” Bridge replied with a cock-eyed grin. “You’ve heard of me?”
The punch knocked Bridge off his feet, sending a jolt of pain down to his chest. “That’s for the Baron3ss. And if you stand up again, I’ll give you a fresh one f
or my girlfriend.”
Bridge rubbed his jaw. “Do I know you?”
“In a way. I was dating Candace Ard">
“Huh.” Bridge stood.
“That’s all you got to say for yourself? ‘Huh?’ I ought to shoot you directly in the face.” The man’s fingers gripped the rifle with white-knuckled anger.
“Yeah, I’d probably deserve it. But keep in mind, if I hadn’t sent him to that tapper, Bobby would have found someone else to do it. I don’t know who you normally deal with, but there’s guys that do what I do without nearly so much professional ethics, know what I’m saying?” The look of confusion on the man’s face evaporated his anger, a stunned, blinking stare as if he had just been struck across the forehead. “What I’m saying is that there are plenty of shitheels out there that would’ve got him the tap and pulled a copy of whatever they found. Now, the Ardents ain’t big-time yet, but they got enough of a following that a recording of you two in coitus, even cyber-coitus would probably garner somebody some heavy hits. And then where would you be, eh? Locked up in somebody’s spank bank, that’s where.”
His jaw slammed shut. His eyes smoldered. “So you did me a favor?”
“Let’s not make me out to be some white knight. I got paid. Your relationship got all fucked up. All I’m saying is it could have gone a lot worse.”
“How do you sleep at night?”
“Two sheets to the wind, if I’m lucky. What’s your name?”
“Jhan-En.”
Bridge frowned. “No, what’s your real name?”
“None of your business.”
“Fine. Look Jhan-En, for what’s it’s worth, and I know it’s worth shit, I’m sorry your thing with Candace got fucked up. From what I could tell, you were good to her. The two of them have been feuding like cats and dogs since you broke up. You want I should put in a good word for you with Bobby?”
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
“Probably, but that’s never stopped me before.”
Jhan-En reached up to his ear. Someone must be giving him an earful about how long he was taking to bring the prisoner. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Bridge quipped, striding confidently through the rows of NPC guards and down the stairs into the building.
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The Bottle City Boys’ leadership was waiting in a chamber hundreds of feet tall. Suspended in mid-air, a display of concentric rings sat spinning around an inner sun, a red ball of light that broadcast myriad reflections off the golden walls. The Council itself sat arrayed on a large, five-seat raised platform, a good two feet taller than Bridge’s head. Jhan-En led him to the center of the chamber, to a ten-point red star pattern laid out on the floor. As soon as Bridge had entered the center and his guard stepped away, three spinning rings raised up from the floor and surrounded him, holding him in place within a glowing prison of light. Bridge chuckled inwardly at the theatricality, wondering what video had inspired this imagery.
The Council consisted of five advisors, surprisingly all humanoid. Bridge knew that Far-el had taken to appearing as a gigantic crystalline monster in meetings in the real world, so he was a bit surprised to see a human body sitting in the Council’s central seat of power. Far-el took on a handsome form, with a chiseled, dimpled chin, jet-black curly hair cropped close underneath a red headband and broad shoulders filling out the flowing white robes of leadership. A quick mental command brought up a floating nametag over each Council member’s head, but he didn’t recognize any name’s besides Far-el. The lone female sitting to Bridge’s right was the first to speak. “You are known in the outer world as Artemis Bridge, correct?” The system tagged her as Lara-Van.
Bridge nodded. “And you are?”
“We’ll be asking the questions,” replied a stern-looking grey-bearded man at the opposite end from Lara-Van. The system named him as Seyd-Il. “How did you locate the Bottle City without an invitation? We were under the impression you had given up the crèche.”
“I’ll take a dip in the soup when needed. And I have friends with skills.”
Far-el scowled. “Freeman.”
“I exercise my right not to reveal my sources,” Bridge quipped with bemused sarcasm.
“This is not the United States of America, and thus you are not protected by its Constitution. We are the sovereign world of Kan…” The man, identified as Zor, stopped himself as he caught the burning glances from every other Council member, whose heads snapped towards the speaker with breakneck speed. “Excuse me, the Bottle City. As such, our laws apply and no others shall be held before ours. Now you will answer the question.”
“No, I will not answer the question, because it doesn’t matter. I’m not here to dick around with 20 questions before the Geek Chamber. You want to drop these little hula hoops here?” Bridge played his first trump, activating one of the programs Mu had written for him. A bit like a magic software grenade, it neutralized one of the world’s effects on Bridge, countering what virtual world makers called a debuff – in this case, the paralyzing effect of the rings. Most of the Council members recoiled as if he’d drawn a weapon as he ran his hands harmlessly through the spinning rings.
“How did you break the paralysis?” Far-el asked with keen interest.
“Magic.”
As Bridge chose not to elaborate, Far-el’s face melted into a harsh scowl. “Fair enough. I thought you were supposed to be dead.”
“I was. I got better.”
“And your paramour? Did she get better?” Far-el stuck his fingers directly into the wound, but Bridge didn’t even flinch.
“She did not.” His head dipped, eyes on the floor. He added, “But I didn’t kill her.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Seyd-Il interjected.
“You heard wrong,” Bridge fired back, his blazing eyes fixing the blonde leader with a hateful glare. “She got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were after me.”
“What for?”
“For helping the wrong group of people at the right time. Like I’m about to do right now.”
Far-el raised a questioning eyebrow. “Who are you about to help?”
“You. Well, you and the Bottle City Boys and the rest of the Five Families. I’m here to save all your asses.”
The Council emitted an almost simultaneous snort of derision. The fifth member, Var-Zed, silent until now said, “We weren’t aware we needed saving.”
“Oh really? Is that why you pulled all the Starlets off the streets? Why you’ve got everybody holed up in your little safehouses like Meat’s hotel? Is that why the Bottle City Boys haven’t pulled a job in almost a week?”
“Now is not the time to leave the City,” Far-el explained. “We’ve pulled ourselves back into a defensive posture.”
“And to hell with the rest of the Families?”
“They are vulnerable. This little war between El Diablos and Los Magos has nothing to do with us, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Nacho’s dick measuring hurt this world. We’ve put too much effort into it to watch the police tear it down piece by piece. My most important function as leader of the Bottle City Boys is to ensure our survival.”
“And Johnny? What happens to him when they find your safehouses? Are you really prepared to watch him go down in a shootout with the law when they serve warrants on your human soup factories?”
Far-el’s brow knit with genuine concern. “And how would thn sey find our safehouses? They are very well hidden. You had to get Freeman to help you find this place. Do you really think the CLED has the skills to track us down?”
“Maybe. Our maybe the CLED get desperate and start squeezing everyone, including the Meat Locker. Do you really think you are worth enough to him that he’ll protect you from a full-court Chronosoft press? You know him as well as I do. He may look dumb as a brick wall, but he’s cunning as a cat. If he thinks it’s him or you, you better bet it’s going to be you. You got contingency
plans for that?”
“Yes,” Seyd-Il replied, but a little too quickly and without conviction.
“And then there’s me.” A look of angry fear spread across the entire Council. “You know me, you know I’m crazy as fuck. You also know I’m a survivor and if I think I’m threatened, well, who knows what I’ll say or who I’ll say it to.”
“Are you threatening us?”
Bridge raised his hands in front of his chest. “Whoa, whoa, perish the thought. All I’m saying is I have an offer for you that I think will help us all out. And if you aren’t interested in hearing it, well…”
His last trump card came into play. A screeching, shrieking wail broke out in the chamber. The red sun above Bridge’s head suddenly grew hotter, brighter then expanded, pillars of fire shooting out from its center to engulf the surrounding rings. One pillar fell to the floor by Bridge’s side, forming from the ground up into the burning figure of Mu. His appearance matched his physical appearance, even down to the clothing. The technomancer stood in the world completely unfettered by its rules. Raising his arms at his side, Mu’s feet left the floor and he levitated above the chamber, a flaming god.
“This is my friend Mu. He’s a technomancer. And yes, he’s not an illusion; he’s actually here in this hidden little virtual world. He’s not plugged into any crèche. He’s completely untraceable, a GlobalNet ghost that you cannot defend against. He can move data around without the slightest trail.”