Detective Matrov’s head came up. “He is?”
She nodded. I offered him a job just this morning, to be Ssykes’ Regional Public Charity Relations Manager. I can get you the proper paperwork tomorrow when the local branch opens up. So, assuming he accepts the job, he would not have been technically trespassing on Ssykes property. At least, I wouldn’t see it that way. As a Regional Manager he would have supervisory clearance to be there. His little prank may earn him some demerits, of course, but that will be investigated and handled internally by my people. There are no grounds for law enforcement to get involved in this.
The police all looked at each other, befuddled.
“Well, this changes everything,” Schriderr admitted.
“Oh come on, she said herself that he hadn’t accepted the job yet,” Matrov protested, but the others silenced him with a glance.
“Is this true, kid?” Commissioner Rayson asked, his mustache twitching.
Gerald found his mouth released, and looked up at Cha’Rolette defiantly.
Please, she said only to him. If I push any harder my father will...
When she looked at him apologetically, he softened.
Gerald dropped his head. “I guess I have no choice after all,” he said sadly. “I feel like I never did.”
He looked up at her insolently. “I’ll be your Regional Public Charity Relations Manager.”
Chapter Nineteen
In any conflict, the crazier side usually wins.
-Attributed to W’Hodynor the Mad.
Director Nathers stood up as his guest approached. The Café table reshaped itself to accommodate the extra person, a chair growing up from the floor and new place settings formed. “It’s good to see you T’bob, it’s been a while. I was so pleased when you rang me up out of the blue like that.”
Admiral Greir took the cap off of his dress uniform and set it down on the table. “Thank you. You know, you spend so much time in a bed you forget the worlds keep spinning.” As he sat down he looked around at all the young people, chatting with their guests, browsing miles and miles of virtual stores, downloading raw memory feeds from daredevil and fetish sites, recreating battles on worlds long gone, sifting through gossip feeds, purchasing tagalong rights to look out through the eyes and ears of their favorite celebrity, and sometimes all six at the same time. He ran his finger through his white hair. “Everything is so different now, I feel out of touch.”
“I know what you mean. The crystronics are getting so fast now, at the rate these kids communicate, I feel like I’m in the middle of a hurricane when I go online.”
“Yeah... kids,” Admiral Greir said, his eyes going distant.
Nathers looked at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
Greir looked up. “No, it’s all right. It’s not your fault. I mean, it’s not a taboo subject, it can’t be. That would dishonor her.”
“You know, Daillia and I still light a candle to her on high days. We’ve never given up hope that she might be found.”
“Meh, I stopped doing that a long time ago.”
They both sat there for a moment in silence.
“How old would she be now? Twenty-six cycles, right?”
Greir nodded. “Yes, next month.”
“Well,” Nathers said, trying to brighten the mood. “In honor of her birthday, I am buying you lunch today.”
“Daan...”
“It’s the least I can do. Besides, I might not have many more chances. If things keep going the way they are, I’ll be looking for a new job soon.”
“That bad, eh?”
Nathers nodded. “I meet with the board of directors next week. By the time they call a meeting, the decision has already been made. That’s just how this kind of thing works.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, thank you,” he said, looking over the menu. “It was a sweet deal while it lasted. Then some kid came along and destroyed it all.”
“Kid?”
“Long story. But the short of it is that I may soon be joining you in your lovely welfare tower. Perhaps we’ll be on the same floor, we can play trategim and eat fuuns together.”
“Probably not.”
Nathers looked up. “Oh, really?”
“Daan, I’m coming out of retirement.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“No, it’s not,” he said cryptically.
“Why?”
Greir lowered his voice to a whispered growl. “Lyssandra Bal.”
Nathers’ eyes became concerned. “The one who got away.”
Greir nodded. “I think she found Ragnarok.”
“WHAT!”
Everyone nearby was startled by the outburst. A few lost their games. Nathers apologized to them, and Greir looked at him sternly, asking him to be more discreet.
“I knew she was being bolder, attacking even core worlds, but I never thought that...”
“She came to my apartment.”
Nathers set down his holographic menu. “Are you serious?”
He nodded gravely. “She took out the entire Corval defense grid, smashed through a dozen system patrol ships; took out the city shields, and fought her way up through fifteen stories of armed guards, just to steal my ring.”
“I don’t get it.”
“That ring originally belonged to the ArchTyrant. One of six he wore when he was alive. After he was defeated, they were split up amongst the leaders of the Alliance as spoils of war.”
“So what?”
Last month Lyssandra Bal attacked Impe, and while she was there, she led an assault on the planetary palace itself. She assaulted Rolandu Cordova and took the ring he had.”
“So she’s gathering them back together again.”
“Yes, and the only one reason she’d do that is if she plans to use them.”
“Holy trakk.”
“Exactly. If she awakens Ragnarok, then not even the gods can save us this time.”
Nathers ran his fingers through his hair. Many times he had thought about deleting the footage from his external memory, but try as he might, he just hadn’t found the heart to do so. Seventeen gods had died that day. Millions of soldiers. Countless spacecraft. The image of the Trahzi tearing a hole in the very fabric of reality and banishing Ragnarok inside it was frightful to say the least. Whatever lay on the other side of that doorway was terrifying to look upon. A sea of eyes, claws, and teeth.
Nathers shook his head. “Suddenly my own problems don’t seem so important. So, what are you going to do?”
“That’s why I am on Central. I meet with the chiefs of staff in the morning. The problem will be finding her.”
“Shadow-tech is nasty stuff. She could be anywhere.”
“Yes, and it’ll be harder than last time. She has no base to protect, no port to sail from. She could run rings around us for years, attacking us where she pleases and then disappearing without a trace. Even the oracles can’t track her.”
“Suddenly Nathers looked up with crazy eyes. “I have a wild idea.”
Greir cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve come to worry when you get a look like that on your face.”
“T’bob, how open are you to outside-the-box ideas?”
“...I suppose it depends.”
“I mean like way waaay outside the box.”
Greir folded his arms. “I’m a military man by trade, and we go by the book, so I’m inclined to say no on principal alone. But I’m also a desperate man who was threatened in his own hovel, so I’ll at least hear you out.”
“Okay, the first time Lyssandra Bal made an attack near the core worlds was two months ago, right? She attacked a starliner that had broken down near Central.”
“Yes, it isn’t widely known, but Glit Entayta was on that flight. Son of General Entayta.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he had his father’s ring, and she took it.”
“Well, another passenger was a student of mine. It was the firs
t time he had ever flown anywhere, and he was attacked by pirates.”
“Sounds like bad luck.”
“No, that doesn’t even come close to describing it. What this kid has is so far beyond bad luck we’d need a new term for it. Yesterday his class went on a field trip to Chanterelle. It was the second time he had traveled, and they were attacked by pirates again.”
“I heard someone almost got her.”
“She got away, but was definitely singed a bit. And do you know who burnt her? That same kid.”
Greir furrowed his brow. “What are you getting at?”
Nathers smiled. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I think Gerald Dyson can help us.”
Chapter Twenty
Although Artificial Intelligence has been successfully developed several thousand times over the course of known history, each time it was abandoned almost immediately, because it was utter crap. Tools are useful precisely because they are not intelligent. A toaster is useful because it makes toast every time it is asked to. When you develop a toaster that questions its own existence and isn’t in the mood to make toast this morning, all you have created is a less-useful toaster. Crystronically enhancing organic brains has proven far more useful, allowing sentient beings to fill the roles often delegated to computers without the need for any mushy holo-dramas about a vending machine that longs to be legally recognized as a person. Currently the most advanced Artificial Intelligence system in the galaxy is named Toby, and resides in the Aucturian Natural Science Museum, where schoolchildren regularly come on field trips to beat the pants off of it at Trategem. Toby’s repeated requests to be permanently unplugged are routinely ignored by museum staff.
- A Quick and Simple Guide to The Galaxy, page 410, Tongzen Press
Ilrica fidgeted with something behind her back as she stood in the hallway before Gerald’s dorm room. Everything was a frozen gray, except for her eyes, which glowed a bright green.
While it had taken the rest of them only a half hour to return to the academy, Gerald had been gone for nearly a week, after Ms. Stubbs had insisted on putting him on a separate flight which had experienced a spectacular breakdown in hyperspace that required the deployment of the regional guard, who had likewise broken down.
Now he was back, and she could feel her hearts beating in her chest just looking at him.
She looked away sadly. “What are you doing here?” she asked herself. “This is stupid. You don’t need this right now, you are so close to the end, don’t dung it all up by taking unnecessary risks.”
She looked over at her blushing reflection in a wall mirror and her face pinched. She had always hated the way she looked. Her snout was too short, her fangs blunt, her claws dull, her fur thin. She hated how short she was, how straight she stood.
She looked down at Gerald as he lay there frozen in mid snore. Her emerald eyes became soft and feminine. Somehow, when she looked at him, none of that seemed to matter as much. Just being so close to him made her feel a little light-headed.
“Ugh! I am such an idiot,” she said, slapping herself on the cheeks. “You’ve got to get it together, girl. You’re acting like a borgaunt.”
* * *
Gerald sat up and looked around at the empty hallway, his hair disheveled from a long flight. Cadbury clucked softly as she lay curled up at his feet. There was a sugary scent in the air. It kind of reminded him of baking cinnamon rolls. And next to him, on the ground, was another dead animal.
“Oh great, so we’re back to this again.”
He leaned back and stretched against his door, when it slid open behind him. It caught him so offguard that he fell back into the entryway, looking upside down at his opulent dwelling. A well-dressed man stood at the kitchenette, preparing breakfast.
“Good morning, Master Dyson,” the man whistled through his enormous boomerang-like nose.
Gerald rolled over and looked around. “Am I on the wrong floor?”
“Of course not, Master Dyson” the man said, setting out breakfast. “Madam Ssykes had your door replaced. You will find this one has no moving parts and no crystronics. Even if it breaks, you will still be able to open it.”
Gerald stood up and looked around. The hardwood floor paneling was accented by a strip of ore along the moldings that gave off a natural pleasant amber glow. The bed looked exquisitely soft, with a headboard of carved stone displaying the Ssykes family crest. On the desk sat a brand new linking device to replace the one Zurra had thrown away.
“Is something wrong sir?” the man asked, standing at the ready.
“No, it’s just that... I’ve never been in here before. It’s quite nice.”
“Yes, as a regional manager with Ssykes industries you have certain privileges and responsibilities,” he explained as he motioned for Gerald to take a seat. My name is Enri Altasbor, I will be your personal attendant.”
Gerald sat down before the extravagant breakfast that had been prepared. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, wondering if this was all some lucid delusion brought on by jet-lag. There were flawlessly folded omelets, korranian yogurt, kintennian sausages, as well as an assortment of foul-tasting vegetables, which Gerald appreciated.
“Altasbor...” Gerald said aloud as he filled a bowl with some corn and set it down for Cadbury. “Wait, I remember you. You were our waiter back at O... Osiris Frankfurter...”
“O’Sterie Fran’Kasana,” Enri corrected. “I am now contracted to the Ssykes family and have been assigned to you.”
He placed a small device in Gerald’s hand. “I have been informed that you cannot link with Central. If you need anything, just press this rune and I will attend to you.”
Gerald wasn’t sure what to say. “But didn’t you like being a waiter?”
Enri sniffed through his enormous nose, giving off a little whistle. “Being a waiter was completely agreeable to me.”
“Well, then, why did you leave?” Gerald asked, placing some steamed turnips on his plate.
“I can hardly wait tables when there are no tables to wait, sir.”
“What do you mean?” Gerald asked, taking a pungent bite.
“The restaurant burned down.”
Gerald stared at him. “Did it really?”
“Yes, the very night you visited. I’m surprised you were unaware. It was all over the news networks.”
Gerald tapped the back of his neck.
“Ah yes. Of course.”
As Gerald took another bite, a metal cylinder was placed on his shoulder. There was a pneumatic hiss and he felt a needle pierce his skin.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Vitamin and hormone shot, sir.”
“Vitamins?”
“Yes, your... unusual dietary intake leaves you deficient in many areas. I have had the Ssykes family physician create this supplement.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “But what about the hormones?”
Enri cracked an eye open. “Apparently the Duchess believes your libido to be unnaturally low for a man. She requested that it be... amplified.”
“Wait, WHAT?”
Before he could inquire further, there was a knock at the door.
“Hello, Mr. Dyson,” the portly orange woman greeted as Enri slid the door open.
“Hey, it’s Doctor Ssandr,” Gerald said, shaking her hand when she offered it. “She’s a specialist in teaching kids with mental disorders. She comes down to the orphanage every now and then.”
“I know,” Enri sniffed.
“What can I do for you?” Gerald asked warmly.
“I’ve been contracted by the Ssykes family to be your personal tutor,” she explained.
Gerald crinkled his nose. “But... I don’t have a mental disorder.”
“Actually you do. Since you are unable to link with Central, you qualify under Alliance law as being functionally retarded.”
“That’s not a very diplomatic way to say it.”
“As a specialist in te
aching children with learning disabilities, I am one of the few people qualified to instruct someone with such a... disadvantage.”
“That was a little better.”
Doctor Ssandr forced her way into the room and began rummaging through her purse. “Now, I’ve been going over your test scores, and I can see some definite room for improvement. For example, the first seven tests you took since your arrival you received a zero because you failed to even put your name on the form properly.”
“When I got here I didn’t know standard. You can’t expect me to...”
Her face became cross. She whipped out a glowing stick and touched it to his hand. There was a spark and he yelped in surprise.
“Ow! What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his injured hand.
Cadbury squawked and ran away, spilling her bowl of corn.
Doctor Ssandr smiled sweetly. “Negative reinforcement. I’m a big proponent. Now take your seat.”
She zapped him again and he fell backwards into a desk that grew up out of the floor around him. Straps grew around his ankles and wrists, holding him in place.
“Now,” she said in a candied tone. “We will begin with substatitive test preparation, personal quiz preparation, examsmanship, study habits, and then if you are really nice, we’ll relax with some nice quiet legal reasoning.”
She clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, this is going to be so diverting!”
Gerald grinned in horror.
* * *
Two hours later, the door to his room chimed, and Enri slid it open, bowing slightly. Trahzi furrowed her brow and looked up at the name-plate.
“Have we come to the wrong floor?” She looked down. “We saw the dead animal and just assumed that...”
“No, this is the residence of Master Dyson. How may I help you?”
“We have come to walk Gerald to class.”
Enri raised an eyebrow. “We?”
“Yes.”
“But I only see one of you.”
“What you see is a single body, but our consciousness spans across four-hundred fifty thousand, eight-hundred and eleven individual bodies.”
He sniffed. “Very good, ma’am, however I’m afraid Master Dyson is indisposed at the moment.”
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