by David Finn
8
* * *
Iverson kept moving, the light on the walls growing dimmer. The pop culture references were gone. The text was now all symbols, a mix of pyramids and dead languages. The air was frigid. A mask sealed over his eyes and ears, protecting him from the environment. Light spilt from his gloved fingertips, lighting up a great wooden door at the base of the stairwell. He brushed against the door with his hands. A weird sigh or moan filtered past him. More code. His implant synched.
BEWARE THE EMPTY UNIVERSE BEWARE THE EMPTY UNIVERSE BEWARE THE EMPTY—
Iverson averted his eyes, breaking the viral sequence. He placed the Bankers Key he had taken from Wolf in the door. It clicked open. He had his pistol in his hand and he smashed his body against it, running through the opening, completely unafraid to die.
The gun felt light in Iverson’s hand. The room was vast, an empty space, lit by a white-grey light. A huge red thorned star dominated the ceiling. Wall to wall multi-coloured mirrors.
Iverson heard a voice call his name.
He spun, pointing the gun at a figure against the wall. He pulled the shot at the last moment. It was his reflection. Of course it is, Iverson thought. My fucking reflection. I don’t even care about my reflection.
A door opened and a slender woman in a sharp leather jacket walked in.
Iverson put his gun away. ‘Who are you?’
She gave him a direct look. ‘Really?’
Iverson tapped his forehead. His implant was silent. ‘I’m running a blank.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Do you know where you are?’
‘In a dance studio waiting for the hot Prussian ballet teacher with the tight black leggings?’
The woman grinned. ‘I guess she’s late, soldier. I hope my combat boots aren’t too much of a let down.’
She flashed him a peace sign. ‘My name’s Demorn. I work out of Babelzon with the Innocents.’
Iverson began to walk toward her. A huge siren cut through the air. A surge of power lit through the floor sending him sprawling as his whole body was electrified. Iverson’s fingers clawed for his gun, inches out of reach.
‘The prison is sentient. It can read thoughts. Read people.’
Her left hand was metal. She reached out and touched his face with cold steel fingers.
She gave him a vague smile. ‘It shouldn’t hurt too much.’
He looked at her with a snarl as Demorn knelt by him.
She murmured, ‘Cheer up, sport.’
Iverson looked through bleary eyes. His head ached with an intense pain. Everywhere he looked he saw black robed figures in the multitude of mirrors. Demorn had burning eyes and she wore a silver glass crown. His implant was folding with data. Her face was synching up inside the file data. He saw a deluge of data, unlocking forbidden files, a gigantic world exploding in an endless loop—
Demorn put a finger to the side of his temple. Her eyes burnt into him and the mind connection broke.
‘I’m sorry, Investigator. You have a nice face, but I can’t trust you.’
Iverson cleared his mind, fighting a blend of exhaustion and pain, raising his hand to grab at her throat. She caught it.
‘I’m not your enemy, William.’
She raised a red ruby from around her neck. His eyes were drawn to it. Slowly all the lights in the implants went out as he was dragged underneath the weight of something far greater.
‘But they’re coming,’ she whispered. ‘They’re close. You have to be an arrow.’
Demorn turned to the robed figures in the mirrors. The red star was burning brightly above them. She was reminded of the blood over her, covering her life, covering them, these monsters in the mirror who bought and sold souls and lives.
It sent a shudder through Demorn to look at them. So she stopped looking.
‘He’s yours now,’ she said, and walked out of the room.
The robed figures bowed to her as she left. The multi-coloured mirrors were filled with them.
Iverson began to float toward the ceiling. The red star glowed upon his face.
9
* * *
It felt like he was floating in the ocean but he was also rising through layers of light and sound. The hiss of the aircraft which haunted his dreams was gone. The water was mild, a touch of cold, but not quite. The slight bitter tang of salt. He felt weightless. He was at peace. He kept seeing the face of his wife, a glistening ghost, a phantom memory that swam just ahead, half seen, a beautiful fragment he sought with all that was left of his heart.
Iverson opened his eyes. His eyes were wet with tears. He had washed up on the side of a giant pool. Everything around him felt dark and half lit. He was in a stylish looking apartment, some massive 1970s pad in half light. There was pop music playing in the background.
He clambered out of the pool, instinctively nervous, half awake. Iverson was in his black leather jumpsuit, which was mysteriously dry. He rolled a hand through his short hair which was spiked and wet. The implant was gone from his neck, the skin was not even marked by the old scar.
The pool which had seemed as vast and deep as an ocean had become a small sculpted water-bearer bowl in the den. Tall candles surrounded it. He could see angles in the water. Iverson looked away.
Where was he? One wall was lined with hardcover books. The other had huge portraits of magnificent beasts, unicorns and minotaurs, running through deep forests. A bell rang through the room, vibrating the books on the shelf. The animals in the pictures looked magical, almost alive. Iverson was aware that without his implant to pacify him he felt vague and unbalanced.
Demorn was sitting in a lounge chair by the pool, reading a comic. She was in an elegant soft pink zig-zag kaftan, and wearing purple sunglasses. Her bare legs were stretched out on the lounge, muscled and long. Iverson could see a couple of gleaming white scars.
Demorn was singing out of tune to some obscure rock hit. She saw him and took out her earbuds.
‘Hey, Iverson, you made it! Cool.’
He laughed, looking around. ‘I guess I did. I don’t know what that means.’
She shrugged. ‘It means you didn’t die.’
‘I feel like I’m in a dream.’
She waved her hand. A red ruby lay on her finger, sending hazy trails through the air.
‘Some people call it a dream. But they’re wrong. It’s real, Iverson, you’ve come here with your mind, drawn by the Ruby, but you’re here.’ She shrugged, getting up. ‘That’s what most people never really get.’
In the light it was hard to guess at her age—anywhere from twenty to thirty. She was all flashing eyes and shadows.
Demorn said, ‘I used to call this place my Ruby Room. But I made some cash and I renovated. It’s a house now.’
‘So you live here?’
The humour drained from Demorn’s face. She looked haunted and alone.
‘No. I barely come here. But it’s a meeting night. Big things to discuss. Little things, too.’
Demorn gathered the kaftan around her. Little silver unicorns were emblazoned over the soft pink material. Iverson felt exhausted and alone. She took his hand in a soft grasp. With her bare foot she pushed open some thin purple curtains. Below them, a huge chamber was lit by a thousand candles. His heart quavered for he could sense a multitude gathered in the darkness.
‘Where are we going?’
She put a cool hand across his forehead. ‘You’re already here, Iverson. You’re already here. I’ve never let an Investigator come here. So deep, into my palace, into my heart.’
He could see the burning star on the floor. Memories came back to him.
‘Are we still in the prison?’ he murmured.
Demorn’s lips brushed his cheek. ‘No. But we’re always in some sort of prison. Isn’t your implant just another set of bars, an addiction? Feeding your brain what it thinks you want to hear. Giving you just enough, but never enough.’
His eyes scanned the room, but nothing changed. The water t
rickled through the sculpture. The animals seemed to move on the wall but they didn’t move. ‘You don’t understand the Order. I know your reputation. You’re a killer, a sell-sword.’
Demorn was mild. ‘You know my reputation but you don’t know me. Do you want to come down and meet everyone?’
Iverson said, ‘I don’t feel like I have much choice.’
A dreamy song played and Demorn grooved by his side.
She let go of his hand. ‘Don’t lie to yourself. You can do what you like.’
He could see the silver crown upon her head. It glistened with blood upon the tall spikes.
‘Are you really a Princess?’
Demorn’s smile was savage.
‘In here we are all many things, some of which may come to be. Some are the whispers of a graveyard. You have to decide how brave you are, Iverson, for the Ruby Room is not for the weak.’
She walked away. Iverson looked at her powerful legs, wondering where the scars came from, how free she was, and how strong, in comparison to himself, with his regimented Order and life. Demorn gave him a wave and stepped off the balcony, floating down to the group in the shadows. He was suddenly absurdly conscious of the implant’s absence. Like all good Investigators his strength was born of compartmentalisation under pressure and belief in a system he had never really questioned and probably never would, even if it was failing, even if it couldn’t stop the neutron bombs falling on Ceron City or save the children in the shelters who were unable to do anything but to wait and die.
If the War’s violence and its deprivations took the Order with it, Iverson would be on the last line. He knew and accepted that. Unconsciously his fingers rubbed his neck, feeling for the implant scar. Iverson watched her tightly hug a couple of young friends who appeared from the mysterious crowd of robed figures. The light seemed to follow them, accentuating their figures amongst the shadows. His heart grew cold, for as he watched, Iverson suddenly knew she was beyond his rules and his systems. All he felt was admiration and a tiny shadow of envy that he was too honest to deny. Iverson knew the chasm between him and the Sword Princess was much greater than the few years between them or the training of the Order.
As if on cue, Demorn turned to look at him, her eyes burning even from this distance. Iverson started to walk down the stairs towards the burning star, his heart growing colder and higher with each step. He felt like he was being walked into an ambush. It was a mystery to Iverson if the Sword Princess would take up arms with or against him.
Misty purred at Iverson, her arms wrapped tightly around Demorn. ‘He’s a bit of alright!’
Demorn laughed. ‘He’s a cold fish, hon.’
Iverson descended the stairs, his pale face gaunt, his black leather jumpsuit blending into the darkness.
‘He reminds me of the Elvis ’68 Comeback Special,’ Misty said with a giggle, sliding into a rendition of “If I Can Dream,” only silenced when Demorn gave her a short, sharp kiss on the mouth.
‘Calm down, fangirl, he’s a cop, not Elvis back from the dead,’ Demorn said, brushing Misty’s hair out of her sparkling eyes.
Iverson indeed reminded Demorn of a soldier on the march as he came across the room, his eyes studiously scanning the huge star motif, looking impossibly calm. She gave him a lazy salute while Misty leant across, almost spilling out of her sheer party dress as she introduced herself. Matt, the drug addled bass guitar player of Neon Star, gave a vague wave.
‘What’s the sit rep, soldier,’ she said.
‘I don’t know just yet,’ Iverson said, casting an acerbic eye at the shadowed, robed figures who stood motionless. ‘Are we waiting for the end of the world?’
‘I hope not,’ Demorn replied. ‘I never caught the end of Breaking Bad and about a million movies I fell asleep watching.’
Iverson shook his head slightly. He didn’t seem in the mood for pop culture jokes. The air had grown heavy and thick. The red star burnt bright at their feet. Demorn didn’t like to look at the robed figures, so still and silent.
A man called out for Misty. She disentangled from Demorn.
‘It’s my set, luv, gotta sing for my supper.’
Misty and Matt made their way to the stage. Demorn smiled. ‘Grab a drink. Loosen up. It’s going to be a long night.’
Iverson looked around. He was younger up close, looser than she expected, with sadness in his eyes. Demorn wondered what the future held for him. They were deep in the Ruby Room. Deep inside the dream that was not a dream. She could feel the ruby ring heavy on her finger, heavy on her heart.
A tremor went through the room. Misty was singing something fast. A Neon Stars classic. The robed figures started moving. Her fingers curled into a fist. She could feel her heart race. The robed figures were flickering in and out, going from ten to a hundred and back again. Her lip curled into a sneer. The robes became figures in black combat armour, a star emblazoned on their arms. She heard them yelling, strange loud words in a tongue unknown to her.
Iverson made as to move. She put a hand hard on his chest. ‘Not yet, man.’
Iverson’s body tensed against her hand. She glanced at the Investigator, shaking her head as the chanting continued. If they made a move the mass of soldiers that surrounded them would likely tear them apart and that would be all she wrote. As if sensing her urgency, the armoured figures, both men and women, smashed their fists into their power-suits in eerie unison, chanting as they smashed.
Misty was onstage singing in some bizarre rhythm with them. It seemed to thunder out of the air around the soldiers. She knelt as she sang, showing a lot of leg, looking beyond beautiful and Demorn wondered with an aching sadness how and why Misty was selling her soul to this cause. It seemed everywhere she went, the War was cutting people into smaller and smaller pieces of themselves as they tried to stay afloat. The shadows she thought she had left at the Front kept following her, through the Glass Desert, into Bay City.
Her mind suddenly unlocked the chants and she understood.
KINGDOM KINGDOM KINGDOM!
Kingdom’s coming, she thought, he’s coming. A thrill ran through Demorn which she tried to quell. She snuck a look at Iverson who looked so cold he might freeze solid. He didn’t look so young or so loose anymore. She could see the obsession written clear in tombstone eyes.
Demorn took his hand. ‘Let it happen. It’s just a dream within a dream.’
There were tears in Iverson’s eyes. This was no dream for him.
She kept holding onto Iverson as Kingdom appeared in the middle of the burning star, his massive form towering over the soldiers, every man and woman in his company. Nobody matched him for size and sheer physical intimidation. Kingdom took his helmet off.
He was a genial older man, with shorn salt and pepper hair. Military through and through.
Iverson’s features were frozen in an expression of loathing. Candles seemed to form in the air around Kingdom. Kingdom raised a gloved hand into a fist. The minions were chanting as if they were at a Presidential campaign rally. Their fists smashed armour in unison. Demorn thought it was the lamest thing she’d ever seen. She hated corporate speeches. But this was some next-level shit.
Kingdom relaxed his hand. He was grinning as if he didn’t take it too seriously. Demorn didn’t buy that for a second. She could feel the heat radiating off Iverson like a bull in heat.
‘Wait,’ she murmured.
Around them the armoured figures multiplied and divided. The room was filled, chanting, as Misty still sang over the top of it all, some crazy mishmash of hit songs, working the stage like a true pro even as the armoured fanatics screamed about their mighty leader. A huge video screen unfolded showing the red thorned star. She saw similarities to the Triton logo, overlaid with visions of something worse, a horrible echo and promise of the Void which seemed to fill the chanting morons with even more zeal.
Kingdom spoke. He was miked up. What a showman. ‘Enough, too much, my friends. This isn’t a propaganda meeting. This is a specia
l place. We’re here to welcome new friends. We’re here to make connections.’
Kingdom held out a gloved hand to Demorn and Iverson. The mists around them had cleared. The floating candles burnt high around Kingdom. Misty and the band hit a crescendo, fading out with a bang and a last twirl from Misty, all flesh, sparkles and a killer smile as she left the stage. Demorn laughed at Kingdom. Her voice was pitched harsher than she wanted.
‘This isn’t a marketing conference, Kingdom. I didn’t come to exchange business cards.’
Iverson pulled a gun. Demorn raised an eyebrow. The Ruby Room screened for weapons. She wondered how he snuck it through.
Kingdom kept smiling. ‘This is a business meeting. Don’t be uncouth, Investigator.’
Iverson spoke through clenched teeth. ‘She brought me here. I didn’t ask.’
Kingdom still looked like he had the crowd in the palm of his hand. ‘I didn’t kill her, Investigator. I know you want to blame me. I know it makes it easy. But I didn’t do it.’
Iverson said, ‘Jesus, you lie. I’m going to bury you, Kingdom.’
‘Not today.’
Iverson pulled the trigger, not blinking. Kingdom’s helmet slammed down. The armour ate the shot. His power suit triggered a pulse from the wrist rocket frying the air. Demorn leapt in front of the Investigator, knocking Iverson onto the ground. He rolled away. Her jacket had traces of charring. Kingdom’s voice boomed out with a metallic edge. The candles surrounded him.
‘Apologies, Demorn. The suit has an automatic defence.’
Demorn smile was a sneer. ‘You will be sorry, coward.’
The troops vanished. There was no music. The logo felt extra creepy. The Ruby Room was still but felt polluted by Kingdom’s cronies, these madmen in robes who had stayed at the party too long.
‘You killed his wife! How is he supposed to feel?’
Kingdom tossed his helmet away. It bounced off the magic force wall. The candles lowered an inch.