by David Finn
Demorn said, ‘Built in the Godwars, these Forts all have hidden secrets. They predate our current squabbles, before the Universe was shattered. As they were the first raised, they will be the last to fall.’
The Wolf exhaled uneasily. ‘Okaaaay. How do you know all that?’
Demorn slid the red book into an empty space on the shelf. The room whirled. The Wolf looked anxious, eyes flickering around the room as globes lit up around them, circling in the air. Some of the globes were charred and collapsed ruins, others shone a bright blue or green.
Demorn grinned. ‘Dramatic hey! I was taught such things as a kid on Asanti, before the Fracture Event destroyed the planet. Don’t forget, Aquolin Industries have done a job on this place to make it all look user-friendly.’
The Wolf was looking around with a mild wonder. The globes shimmered. They seemed to grow bigger in the minds of them both, becoming actual worlds, sprawling above them in the starless universe, a whole system circling a blackened, dead world.
The Wolf looked at her with curious eyes. ‘What are you trying to do?’
Demorn looked into the dark sun. ‘I’m trying to stop so many things. I’m trying to stop so much evil.’
The Wolf saw Demorn’s face, severe and lit by fire, the tall spectral glass crown upon her head.
He pointed at the red book on the shelf. ‘Was the book some necromantic tome?’
‘No. Just a book. Probably triggered by my fingerprints. I wasn’t born this merciless roaming killer people imagine me to be. I was young when I travelled through the Mirror Worlds for the first time. I wandered through places like this.’
She rapped her fingers against the glass. Demorn was quiet. ‘Not all these worlds were dead the first time I come across, the Fracture Event hadn’t happened. I met somebody. We fell in love. She died. I found out the hard way I can’t bring her back. Not the way I want.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you had been ensnared so long in the games of the gods.’
Demorn’s laughter was harsh as she ran her hand through her hair. The floating globes cast mysterious shadows over her. ‘Ah, that’s nobody’s fault. They get you young, don’t they? They get you when your heart is still on fire and looking for a cause.’
Demorn pushed the red book farther into the wall. The shelf shifted back, opening to a set of thin stairs that led to an arctic white corridor. Even standing in the library, Demorn could feel the chill coming off the stairs.
The Wolf checked his watch, whistling. ‘This is the inner level I could never access. Josephine knew it was here.’
‘Well, aren’t we all getting our wishes realised.’
Demorn checked her gun and started walking down the steps. The Wolf grasped her by the shoulder. He was blurring in and out. The greying beard vanished, becoming a younger face, less lined, still edgy, then shifting back to his older self, the stubble against his attractive black face. His words suddenly seemed to be shouting in a wind tunnel.
‘There’s a reset pyramid somewhere in the Fort! That’s what your boss is looking for.’
She took his hand. His fingers were freezing. ‘That’s not what Baron Santos wants me to find. I’m here for something else.’
The Wolf laughed and she couldn’t tell if he was young or old. ‘Yeah, in Parallel 45 that’s what he told you, too. But in the end, you had to press the button.’
The Wolf flickered, he was porting out.
‘I thought your transporter was dry,’ Demorn said sharply.
He was good humoured about it. ‘It was, but these demigods make good chargers!’
She looked down. The bag was gone from her belt and was in the Wolf’s hand, the skull’s purple eyes blazing inside the bag. Demorn cursed as the Wolf vanished, the power of the skull feeding into his wrist unit. With a hissing of wind and a crackle of static he was gone, his final gesture a friendly wave.
Well, that was a trip, Demorn thought. She laughed to herself. Barely visible, the cloak was wrapped tightly around her hand, shimmering under the white light as she twirled the gossamer fabric in the air. A lovely prize. An expensive one. Thieves thieving off each other, everyone with their eye on a score. Such switches and reversals were enough to make her nostalgic for Babelzon and the Clubhouse. She had been away from home for so long. It had been a long time since she had even thought of the Clubhouse as home.
Demorn walked down into the corridor, harsh white light bouncing off her lithe form. She wound the cloak around her, morphing her into a digital ghost, invisible in the brightness, as the fire blade clawed through her heart. She gripped her Athena pistol tight, fickle death dancing in her eyes.
6
* * *
Demorn slid her blade out of the zombie cyborg, cracking its neck with her hand. A mesh of electronics and decayed flesh. She dragged the body back into the corridor. She had been down here for hours and the only thing she had seen was the occasional wandering undead. She searched the dead thing but it was all just cheap tech over rotten skin. It wore baggy jumpsuit pants marked with a radiation symbol and the Triton corporate logo. Its lanyard said its name was Travis. She put the ID in a pocket along with five others she’d collected.
‘I hadn’t expected this place to be so empty,’ she said into her watch. It lit up as she spoke.
Smile’s voice came back through a distant channel. He sounded as cheesy as a late-night newscaster who had hit the end of the news cycle on an event that had been tragic six hours earlier and was now beyond being analysed to death.
‘I’m picking up all sorts of weird readings down there, Dee. There’s a time distortion. Do you know where you are? Is it sliding around down there?’
Demorn sneered as she looked at the blank surroundings. ‘It’s kinda hard to tell when all I have are white walls to work with, bro! I’m in a maze minus a map.’
She sent Smile the snapshot of the trapdoor. ‘This is all I got.’
Smile went quiet. ‘AF 121. You know what that means, Sis?’
‘Not a clue.’
Smile’s voice distorted and crackled. ‘It’s 121 years After Fracture. You’ve gone into the future, Dee. A long way.’
She kicked the zombie cyborg. The future. ‘Gee, they’ve done so much with this place.’
He said, ‘It’s not true time travel, you’re in a time tunnel, a thread between two points. Don’t make the mistake of leaving the Fort.’
She gave a mini salute. ‘Yessir.’
He went suddenly crystal clear. ‘Sinatra is there. Sinatra is there!’
She started, releasing her grip on the cyborg. ‘What? Frank’s here?’
Smile started to say something when a staff smashed into her blue watch, shattering the unit and her wrist. She hissed in pain, as a powerful kick hit her in the face. She felt her jaw take the impact, eyes blurring as she slammed into the wall. Eyes cloudy. Shapes. A red shadow. The staff again, hitting hard into her ruby heart, hurting her. She somehow blocked another swing with her right arm, grunting with the pain. Her left hand was useless, a mess of pain, hurt nerves and shattered bone.
Her cloudy eyes sharpened as distraction noise flooded her mind, the howling screams of some banshee. Telepaths. Demorn saw a red dancing blur, ebony skin in the harsh light. Hunter Clan, she realised with a savage urgency. She lashed out with a kick, combat boots catching the figure flush in the gut, putting the Hunter on her ass.
Xalos came into Demorn’s hand, blazing purple fire. She swung without a shred of hesitation at the cowled figure sprawled on the corridor. The lithe woman rolled and the fire blade ate floor, metal shuddering in Demorn’s grasp. An energy star spun through the air, and Demorn barely managed to evade it, the buzz passing her cheek as it struck the white wall, spinning away.
The hooded cowl slipped, a familiar face, grinning, perfect dark skin. Demorn’s breast burnt with the power of the ruby, almost choking with urgent power. Her left hand was still useless, flaring with pain. Her breast burnt with the power of the ruby, almost
choking with urgent power.
‘Toxis,’ she breathed, half choking. She was sore from where the staff had struck with such brutal efficiency. ‘What are you doing!’
The girl grinned. Demorn’s vision sharpened. It wasn’t Toxis. She didn’t even look much like her. It was a different Hunter, not the girl Demorn had known, connected through death and lives by a soul pact. Circuits were embedded in the girl’s flesh. A cyborg. Psychic projections clouded her vision but Demorn clung onto sanity as she swept with Xalos, feeding off the fire.
The staff fended off the first strike but Demorn stayed on the attack, the katana working in blinding arcs, unable and unwilling to stop, slashing the creature that reminded her of her friend. Blood hit the white wall and by the fourth strike she knew the woman was dead. Demorn stepped away, exhausted. The pain locket hung heavy on her neck and she pressed it into her shattered hand, the numb cloud of pain shifting. Blood covered her. She barely remembered where she was. The psychic bombardment had been confusing. She realised the magic cloak was gone, lost in the action.
Xalos disappeared, called back to the ruby. She felt hollowed out, empty and overly tired. The cloak lay on the floor, glistening. As she picked it up she heard his voice, cool and calm, well known to her.
‘Of all the places to find you, kid.’
It was Sinatra, much older than the last time she had seen him, his hair thin and white.
Sinatra flashed a peace sign at the gun pointed at his face. His face was broader than she remembered but the smile was the same. He was in a slick, expensive grey suit.
‘Steady, kid. I come in friendship.’
Demorn spun the gun back to the holster. Her hand was starting to heal. She flexed it.
‘Sorry, I’m a little confused. Where’s the Ruby Lady?’
Sinatra gave her a thousand miles stare. The Ruby Lady had been his consort. It was a while before he said anything. ‘They got her in the end, took a real chunk.’
He held up his pinky ring, sparkling blood red, staining perfect blue eyes. ‘I kept what I could.’
‘Who did it?’
His smile was chilling. ‘Bad people. Don’t worry, they’re all dead. You did it years ago, on the other end of this time tunnel.’
Demorn sighed. She remembered nothing. ‘That’s heavy.’
His blue eyes were sad. ‘Sure is. Sure was.’
Light streamed from the ruby ring. Her heart was warmed as the fire hit her.
‘What are you doing here, Frank?’
He shrugged. ‘Helping you, kid.’
Sinatra was surrounded by several large ruby energy triangles. ‘Let’s get out of the cold. Step into my office.’
Demorn looked down at the broken body of the cyborg woman. An unpleasant scene of circuits and flesh. The more she looked at the creature, the less it was like Toxis. Her brain and her training was wired to beat telepaths. But when she was tired and distracted and alone, they could still get through. When she wanted a different world so badly, a different kind of life, desperate for a break from the War.
121 years after the Fracture, Demorn sighed. I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this. We’re all still bouncing around with barely a clue. Broken, lost and damaged. But Frank was always welcome and she was glad to have him here. Demorn walked into the flashing lights, his beautiful lavender perfume a comfort as the teleport crackled around them.
7
* * *
She sank into the huge armchair, exhausted. Frank was in a spacious hotel room. A haunting folk song filled the air. Watching him get the drinks by the wet bar, Demorn reflected that the music was like something she could never have imagined him listening to.
Cartoons filled a big TV screen. Animated Super Force episodes. Demorn knew the episode. A nine-headed monster was being roasted by various members of Super Force. Kate was there, a garish teen-queen rendition of her signature costume. She remembered that Kate had reluctantly taped her voice for the first season. Somewhere along the line she went to Paris and the gig went to somebody else. Neon titles and a muted theme song played as the monster was lit up by the attack of seven different superpowers.
She said, ‘It’s a cartoon apocalypse in here, Frank.’
Sinatra laughed, mixing drinks. ‘The best kind.’
Demorn cocked her head. ‘Is that Judy Collins singing Bob Dylan?’
Sinatra smiled. ‘It’s Judy Collins singing somebody, kid.’
‘Sophisticated.’
‘Always.’
Polite to a fault, he handed her a pina colada and they clinked glasses. He sat by her on a short couch, legs crossed elegantly. She didn’t drink often, but she saw Frank so rarely, and she loved what he did to her mood. There was something relaxing about being around him. It reminded her of quiet mornings in Vegas in the predawn of the 1960s, when his cronies had passed out and she would come, drenched in the blood and grimness of her mission. He would pour her a drink, or make pancakes, and talk quietly about comics and music and even love. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember that chill morning where she had told him about Kate and how much she loved her and how much had been lost. Maybe it had been LA. Frank had been smoking clove cigarettes and the night was so cold. It was so long ago and so far away. They were both older, but they still wanted to find that tender part of themselves, that part the world did not see.
Demorn pointed to the ruby triangles spinning around them.
‘Why did you call me here, Boss?’
He touched her cheek gently. ‘It’s cute you still call me that. How many bosses can one little assassin have?’
Demorn caught his hand, laughing. ‘I’ve always liked money and guys in good suits. The combo has been good to me.’
‘Let’s hope it stays that way, kid.’
She looked at him shyly. ‘But you’re my favourite one.’
He chuckled, so much older than how she remembered him. This was a long way down the line. A lot of water under the bridge. Sinatra gestured to the room. ‘This is just a tour stop, kid. I’ve got a booking at the Palace in a few hours. They still love to see my show. Why did I call you? That’s a funny question. Why did you come here?’
The cartoon TV show went to adverts. Cheesy commercials that felt decades old. His hand was warm. She didn’t want to let go.
‘Maybe just to meet you again.’
‘Cute.’
In the adverts Frank was selling the show hard, gold microphone in hand. The ruby ring shone on his pinkie finger. The casino name scrolled underneath him as he belted his way through “New York, New York.” Opening New Year’s Eve, 1988.
She studied the bizarre ruby triangles spinning around them. Questions, questions.
She said, ‘Why 1988? Feels like a bizarre year to be drawn to.’
Sinatra sighed. He was older. He was tough but he was older. He cut an iconic image against the windows. But he had a haunted tone. His voice had a quaver. ‘Why? Because Triton has taken over the world, Demorn. Those dark gods we saw in those photos back in the ’60s are everywhere. Not just the White House. Not just an agent. They’re in every tower in all the big cities. Sometimes I want to get off the road but I know if I stop I just make it easier for them. I have to keep moving, I have to stay light.’
They were silent for a while. Demorn had a lot of questions for him. ‘How did they get the Lady?’
His laugh was dry. ‘Long sad story, kid. We had a fight, she left me for a little condo by the water. She wouldn’t let me give her my best guys to protect her. So they came for her after about half a year. She was singing small clubs. We were almost back together.’
He whispered, ‘I blame myself because I’m no saint.’
‘Was she?’ Demorn asked, squeezing his hand tightly.
His laugh was rich. ‘Hell, no. Why would I want a saint? But it was love, all through the years.’
He moved, restless, as if still trying to evade those invisible demons from the past. ‘I’m operating a tight line. I alm
ost lost everything when they got the Ruby Lady. It’s the fighter in me, that’s the part they can’t finish off.’
Demorn kicked out her feet, flexing sore calves. She got up, patting his back. He was thicker than she remembered. She nuzzled his neck, softly kissing him. ‘In the old days I hunted down nests for you, Boss. They weren’t all underground. Some of the targets had offices. Some of them had vacation places in Florida. They were tough but they weren’t invincible. If you’re still breathing, you can still win. When all this is over, I can come back and help you clean it up.’
Sinatra placed his warm hand over hers. ‘You got a strong heart, kid.’
He looked at Demorn with tears in those crystal clear blue eyes. Demorn didn’t need magic eyes to know what he was thinking, what he was asking. Will it ever be over, when it will be ever be over? She didn’t want to ask what she had to ask. She loved him too much. He was the only one she trusted. The only one who’d never betrayed her. But Demorn had to ask.
‘When you say they have taken over the world, was a gun drawn? Was the president killed on TV? Did anybody notice?’
‘When did you become such a cynic, kid?’
‘That day you showed me the pictures JFK gave you. Your hands were shaking and you looked so fucking hollow.’
Sinatra coughed, lighting a clove cigarette, eyes in shadow.
She said, ‘Now you tell me the Ruby Lady is dead and I see you acting like it’s nothing. Did you say a word, Frank?’
Sinatra blinked, looking at the cartoon on the TV. That nine-headed monster was copping a beating from the Super Force.
He said, ‘I’m old, baby. I’ve been dancing solo too long.’
Demorn pointed to the TV. ‘Is this a spell, Boss? How many times are they going to play that show? How many times do they repeat your songs? What would happen if I turned it off? Would you vanish like a genie?’
Sinatra looked at her with a steady amount of cool, composure slipping over him like a mask. He had been around for a long time. His grin was sparkling, perfect white teeth.