The Arkhe Principle (Book Book 1)

by Maxwell Rudolf

  "Got this cleaned off. Reads: '2. The pursuit of life extension technology is zeroed.' Looks old. Original. Wonder why it would say that?" He blew off more of the smoke and rubbed his finger across the caked on Plasstien dust.

  Gungnir peeked over the terminal screen and bent his ear.

  "Also says more underneath. 'China.' Anyone know what China is?" The one wearing the ocular asked.

  "How much more is this worth then?" Gungnir queried.

  "We are checking, Mr. Odinson."

  "You know, if I had a battalion or even some supply trucks, I could bring in so much tech, you'd be diving in for years never understanding any of it. Get the entire op done in under an hour's time."

  "I'm sure you could. Yesterday when you brought these in, Montavon telecasted me and sent a file. How much data did you accumulate about Pop Music? When we sent the info through the network, nothing came up." An accusatory tone, and not one he liked.

  He counted a few seconds and in the flattest voice he could muster, barked, "I don't explain anything to anyone. Did someone bash you in the head? Don't ask me questions, and don't ever talk to me like that again."

  One of them snorted but they continued to work. In boredom, Gungnir started playing around inside some of the menus at a terminal. It was stuffed with data, and he read, skipping ahead to the high value and armament sections where the valuable data were. The techs were taking his time, and time was money. Putting to memory the numbers from the new info, he played around on different screens and deleted nodes from the terminal.

  "I apologize, sir." Her caramel hair complimented her smile. "Would you mind waiting outside while we perform these tests? Give us a moment and we'll have your gold and silver ready." She folded her arms and waited.

  "Yeah, I mind." Gungnir deleted a patient's medical history. "Hurry up and get your work done. Talking to me isn't getting it done faster." He removed more files for fun, knowing she was watching him. He chuckled at some of the people on the display. Maybe they were better dead. "Well, look at that. I just removed another file." He moved a few screens over, played around some more, moving data where it didn't belong.

  "Would you mind stopping? Out. Please go sit down outside while we work on these for you. While the Institute appreciates the hard work the Úlfheðnars do for the Empire, you're honestly a distraction right now, and I don't appreciate you coming in here, acting like a bully, and touching my terminal." She walked over, pushed his hand away, and nulled the machine.

  He stood and with a single toss, knocked the entire table over, the displays crashing and shattering into the ground. Inside him, something snapped and the full power of war raged beneath his skin. He was grabbing her throat, laughing, and picked her up off her feet with one hand.

  "Get off her!" demanded another reaching for the emergency line.

  "Put that down!" Gungnir cast her to the floor, slamming her into a stack of Pre-Times tech. He wanted to hurt someone else now. Someone who had commanded him. Everyone commanding him. Over and over. He was not to be commanded. He was the commander, the power, the force in Midgard.

  A machine flashed, and one of the techs aimed a blue beam on him. He reached behind his belt and brought Asger out, enlarging his spear with a timed click.

  He heard the button of the emergency line and a stutter and threw Asger with millimeter precision, piercing the telecaster and plowing into the light machine. A flash of white flashing sparks arched from both, and white electricity cooked the air. Moving with his spear, he jettisoned himself at the tech, the full rage of Wotan now in control.

  The tech screamed and tried to pull Asger out of the machine, but the Úlfheðnar was on him, pounding him with hammer fists. Blood came out of his mouth like a crimson fountain. His knuckles pounded down, breaking the tech's nose, and he followed his strike with one aimed at his cheek. And the blows came one after the other, down on his head and face, nonstop like icebreakers.

  Everyone tried to pull him off and sung a chorus of begging him to stop. The thrill of being in total command of another's life absorbed him, and although he cut himself off from murdering him, his training commanded him to do otherwise. The tech was a bloodied mess, unconscious on the floor.

  "The next time I come in here and offer my services, I would advise you to remember I hold no regard for human life. None. I would happily hang you all."

  The techs in the room stood horrified as their colleague of the past ten years was a red, unrecognizable pile of meat, breathing in through what remained of his face.

  "We meant no offense, Úlfheðnar. We all beg your forgiveness." The tone was honest but the fear bled through. Gungnir could smell it and savored its fragrance.

  "I value your honesty." Every word hung in the air before he said the next. "My brother is in the cancer ward here. My mission..." He walked to his offering and moved them, one by one, to the pay-out counter. "...is done. Pay me. Before I lose my patience again and really end up hurting someone."

  23 Jigsaw Piece Memories

  John and Dr. Bells walked through the Institute's darkened halls. The clock read 03:17, well after Lights Out, and because of the break, the lights were dimmed and the hallways were empty. Their shadows wavered underneath the dim glow as they passed from one room to the next. At the end of the hallway, Dr. Bells bio-scanned the door and walked inside.

  He took off his coat and tucked it between his chair and cracked his knuckles.

  "Cadet Rex, sit. I suppose you would like a drink or something. When I enrolled in the Institute, we got away with a lot more. Alcohol is tough to smuggle in. You're missing out."

  He unlocked his desk and reached inside, pulling out two drinking glasses etched with the Institutes' sword logo, and a bottle of Black Watch Whiskey, half empty. He poured, giving each about three ounces, and took a pull from the bottle before capping it.

  "Cheers, Cadet." Dr. Bells tilted his head back and threw down half. "We should discuss a few things before you go back to your bunk."

  John tasted some, feeling the cinnamon burn of the alcohol streaming into his stomach. "Honored, sir."

  "Let us begin with Tesla. During your statement, I followed along and you were quite specific about your encounters out in the city, almost too much. However, you did not include everything. Certain issues need to be addressed. Trust me when I tell you, what you say stays in this room. Maintaining your privacy is important, so do not go around bragging about anything you have seen or done, including this discussion. I am treating you like a graduate so I expect and demand you act like one. With that in mind, did you feel drawn to Tesla?"

  As he gripped his class, he watched his hand and decided to take another sip. "In what way, sir?"

  "In any way you want to explain. Do not waste our time." He drained his glass and poured himself another, swishing it around and drinking that too.

  "She is a girl, sir. I take responsibility for my actions, and I am thankful for the Institute and to you personally, sir. What I did was wrong, and I appreciate the way you are going to help me. Nothing like this is ever going to happen again, sir."

  "Oh, I know! So what happened when the Knight was interviewing you?"

  John sweated underneath his collar, his heart racing. The memories were like jigsaw pieces, scattered about. The scope of the question was too much. How could he describe the experience without being med'ed up and thrown away in the White Rooms? No one left from there once they were admitted. "Nothing at all, sir."

  Dr. Bells brought his hand up and cut him off. "Now, please. Pause a moment and relax. And most of all, stop your lies. I stared down at the instruments from the live feed when the quantum anomaly occurred. You must remember something. You were the only one providing the data. We can be sure of that."

  "I am sorry, sir, I do not know what you are talking about."

  "John." Dr. Bells snapped. "I am here to help you! I am the one putting you in for commendation and promotion, St. George! My goal here is to arrive at the most probable truth!
Do not make me regret sparing you. Are you absolutely sure there is nothing else?" He pointed to the glass. "Don't let the Black Watch go to waste."

  John did and the burning was easier this time. "No, sir."

  "Alright. I am going to be clear as I can be. If you say nothing happened, and you are lying to me, I will kill both you and your mother. I promise you. I will slam you in The Egg until you are almost dead and I will let you recover until I put you back in there. I will do this as long as necessary."

  He flinched and tightened up his face. Tears started forming in his eyes, and he wiped them away before he started crying. "Please. Everything that happened is in the report, sir."

  "You son of a bitch. You wipe that fucking lie off your lips. I am giving you one more chance to tell me the truth."

  "By St. George, sir. Please..."

  Dr. Bells reached in his desk and held the lash high, letting the Plasstien strips drag over his head. "Do you know how many people I have killed with this?"

  "No, sir."

  "511. Like you, they all lied to me, even after I informed them of their transgressions. I gave them chances, like the one I am giving you. They did not heed my warning though, and neither are you." He grabbed the bottle and took a long gulp. "I think I am going to hit you anyway. For sport."

  John took off his shirt, grabbed the back of the desk, and awaited for Bells to strike. Dr. Bells stood, and walked behind him, cracking the lash in the air. He waited, and nothing happened. He held his breath, listening to his heart, and broke his ear listening for any hint of violence.

  "Never mind. Put your shirt back on. If at any point in the future, something strange happens to you, speak only to me. In the future, always consider my door to be open to you if you have any questions."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." John tucked his shirt back in, gave a crisp up-palmed salute, waited for it to be returned, and felt himself the luckiest Cadet in the Institute. He marched out, the lights above him activating as he walked down the hall.

  "Rex!" Dr. Bells shouted. "Just a minute." He had an E-file in his hand in the other, a large bag. "Take these."

  John looked in and noticed the Black Watch, another bottle of whiskey called "Hoot's Owl," Plasstien cups with the Institute logo on the front, and a 6-pack of Thames Ale. Dr. Bells shoved it in his hands.

  "You better not get caught with this." Dr. Bells' face was like a mountain of granite, hard and stern. "Now this E-file has some of my favorite books like Thunder from the Sky, Digging for MECHA's, and others. Read them."

  "Thank you, sir."

  John had no problem in finding someone to share the whiskey with, and he met some seniors along the way who suddenly wanted to be friends. A week later, after pounding down Hoot's Owl and peppermint shots, he pulled Neil aside into their bunk, his pulse racing like a modded grav cycle's motor.

  "You asked me about where I got this stuff, and I said I couldn't tell you," he cursed. "If I tell you, promise not to tell anyone else? You have to swear to St. George."

  Neil held on the side of his bunk, his legs rubbery. "Of course. Don't be such a Roman about it."

  "Dr. Bells gave it to me after he told us about the promotion. He also threatened to lash me for no reason, but he didn't. I think he was drunk and wanted to hit something, but for some reason, he didn't lash me. When I graduate, I'm going to kill Shoehorn."

  "Shh. Shut the fuck up. Don't say that. You're more drunk than I am, and that's saying a lot. I like the Hoot's a lot more."

  "Don't tell me to shut up, and don't use that disgusting American word. It's bad enough we're swearing like this. He raped her." John crunched his teeth and chewed on his lip. "And I'm going to rape him back and kill him."

  "If you keep talking like this, I'm going to beat your ass."

  "Why?" John took a small drink from the Hoot's bottle, and he was sure he would regret it.

  "Because beating sense into you is going to save your life."

  "So what should I do?"

  "Nothing. Get over her. She's gone, John. She's no longer a Cadet at the Institute. What do you want me to say? You probably could have been a couple in secret, but her mother and father are terrorists. Where would you get a job after graduation? Look my friend, I wanted to tell you all this, but she was no good for you. You used to talk in your sleep about her."

  "Whatever. Thanks for not being my friend this one and only time I needed you."

  "You're welcome, and I am your friend, even if you hate me right now."

  24 Discarded Empathy

  Mountain Region 12

  American Territories

  Year 317

  Day 214

  "The medicine should be wearing off now. How do you feel?"

  Victoria's ears perked up after the purring, masculine voice invaded her dreams. She needed the sleep. "I am... I'm thirsty," she caught herself. "Where am I?"

  "Safe, little one. Your op is complete. We were able to detect massive fluctuations when you and John were together. The next step is to get you home."

  She was in a storage room with stacks of olive drab crates stacked from floor to ceiling. The dark blue walls accented with Oracle White swirls, loops, and multi-strand decorations matched the style in some of the historical vids she'd watched. Six plum chairs around her gave the impression people had already visited her. A sliding door on the other side of the room marked her only exit.

  The journey here horrified her: explosions, sounds of grating metal, turbines noises, the tell-tale sound of plasma fire, were nightmarish. Another life out in the ruins. Dreaded thoughts of being burned alive kept her awake while she was transported in her travel coffin. It boxed her legs in and restricted her vision, and the idea of being trapped inside without a way to open the lid almost made her panic completely.

  He held a cup of creamed coffee and swirled the steaming liquid with his finger. A woman eased in behind him wearing a black and gold mask. Rubies and emeralds formed an outline of her eyes and mouth. She was taller than him and sculpted: the body of a warrior. A gray, thin trench coat with geometric-etched pattern lines of copper and silver stretched her form out. Her electric blue eyes augmented her smile and poise.

  "My name is Webber," she said in rough, wasteland American. "I'm glad you made it. Your parents were notified and will be delighted to see you."

  "I don't understand."

  "We were forced to intercept you on the way to Labor's Park. The Institute began to suspect you and when they paired you with Cadet John Edward Rex, it became clear we had to pull you out." Webber walked over to the wall, waved her hand, and a digi-terminal appeared. She tapped a few keys and the orange and red hologram terminal vanished.

  "Are you able to stand?"

  "I feel like throwing up." Her chest caved.

  "That's normal. Your op and the data you brought back will advance us years into discovering what," she made quotes with her hands, "it is. We will contact some of the other tribal chieftains locally and arrange a meeting about what this all means now that you're with us. We'll finally be protected against it. Then we'll be in a position to make some real changes."

  "I know the word you're refusing to say."

  "Then don't speak it! Even referencing it by using another in its place will draw unwanted attention. Some of our best infiltrators are inside various communities. You're an intelligent girl. I assume you know where you'd put your most qualified field operatives."

  How annoying to be tested like this so early. This bitch was seriously pounding on her nerves. "I would infiltrate the Saxon Wotan temples first and disrupt their Úlfheðnar program and steal from their data nodes. I'd put a flaw in them." Victoria rubbed her nose.

  "What else?"

  Fine. "I would send in a cute girl, seduce the head of the Institute in St. George and allow him to rape her as many times necessary so she steal from there, too. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

  "Don't be vulgar!" Webber yelled back. "Because of your personal sacrifice by sleeping wi
th Dr. Bells, you have procured important data ensuring the survival of your people. Perhaps everything we understand. So, don't use words that are meant to entice a reaction. We've all decided, collectively, to discard empathy in this case. Come. Let's get you some dinner and a nice soft bed of your own. Tomorrow is an important day. You need some sleep."

  She stood. Discard empathy. She'd tried doing something like that, but the empty void that swallowed her soul wasn't worth the pain. Better to have feelings of regret, sadness, and maybe a little love rather than being a husk. But whatever. She stretched out, her joints popping. Maybe, Webber was right.

  Dinner consisted of roasted neo-chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, peanut butter coleslaw, jellied brown barbecue beans, and a small Wasteland salad with vinegar and carp-ginger. Each flavor hit her tongue for the first time, like the kiss of a new boyfriend. Victoria peppered them with questions about each one, how much info they had on it, and how to cook it. Only the neo-chicken tasted familiar.

  "Try this." She handed over a black cube the size of a Saxon silver piece. "Drop it in your water."

  Victoria plopped it in, watching the block dissolve. The drink was sweet, syrupy, bubbly and made her head hurt. She asked for a glass of water, instead.

  Webber giggled. "Welcome to your first American meal. There are many more to come. We don't eat machine-made food as much as they do in St. George. The days of Fast-Food are over."

  "That was delicious. Did you grow it? The, uh, neo-chicken?"

  "We raise them. I guess Coke doesn't suit you?"

  Victoria shook her head. "No, too much."

  The lights nulled.

  Webber called out, "What's going on?"

  "Someone hit out the internal two power plant. We're under attack!" People fumbled in the darkness, knocking over plates and chairs, and a few seconds later, the emergency lights whirled. Victoria understood the battle commands. Her instincts kicked in. She sprang out of the room down the corridor as the blaring klaxon crowded her thinking. She moved, looked. Where was the armory? No one was running one particular direction either. This was pointless, but she sprinted on.