by Isaac Hooke
"Can you be sure?" Ari said. "Can you?"
Tanner was silent.
"That's what I thought. No, we steal Jeremy's Control Room or we steal no one's. We've been planning all week." She was about to look in the spyglass again, but she remembered the grotesque lovemaking scene and turned her attention to the night sky instead. "I don't think Jeremy did this all by himself. The army of Direwalkers. Fourarms. He's got help on the Outside."
Tanner wrinkled his forehead. "Another A.I., like the Dwarf? Or this One?"
Ari shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. But he's not acting alone, that's for sure. We have to find out who's helping him and stop them, if we can."
"If we can," Tanner said. "That's the key part. Like you said, we only have a few more hours of air on the Outside."
She smiled bravely. "Well then, there's no time to lose is there?" She still hadn't found a good way to introduce her changes to the plan. Might as well just dive in. "Oh, and I've found a better way to plant you in the house, Mr. Tanner. But you'll have to leave right away."
And she proceeded to explain her latest addition to the plan.
Tanner didn't think it would work, and he said it was too late in the game to start making changes, but she finally convinced him that the benefits outweighed the risks. It was a small change, one that shouldn't affect things overly much, but one that could potentially have a big payoff.
And so Tanner agreed, and left right away.
She almost changed her mind. She almost went after him to tell him to forget it. But it was done. She had to stick to her decisions.
But she sure hoped she was right about this.
Because if she was wrong, and there was a good chance that she was, she'd have another life on her hands.
Not to mention that she'd be left abandoned and alone on the Outside, with only hours to live.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Breath misting from her exertions, Cora shouldered the sack. Cabbage, carrots, and potatoes. Her staple food. She'd lived on the stuff for the past eight years, apparently.
But it wasn't the food that was on her mind. Hardly. No, it was the day.
And what a day it was.
A crazy day.
She'd never thought it would come to this.
That crazy monster was sent after Ari, to pursue her, and potentially murder her.
For no reason. Well, she supposed the monster did have a reason. Ari knew things. And she was on Mayor Jeremy's bad side.
That monster was the mayor's doing.
Well, Cora had a part to play in all this. Though she wasn't entirely sure that the part would be quite what she expected.
She entered Mire District. Ah the smell. It wasn't much different from the smell of the other districts, though the shit-stench was magnified here because of the tight passageways and tunnels. It was a smell you never really got used to. Cora doubted any of the other residents had gotten accustomed to it, though they might claim otherwise. They probably hadn't even figured out why the candle flames never ignited the fumes, nor why they were able to survive despite the fact those very same candles choked out all the breathable air.
She neared the murky little corner of the cave where the alcove, her house, lay so far away from everything else. A hermit's den, really.
She turned the key in the lock and opened the door.
The four-armed Direwalker crouched menacingly inside the entrance.
"Why hello, Brute," Cora said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jeremy waltzed through his quiet halls, one hand tucked in his jacket with the fingers thrumming on the suit, the other held out before him, swaying to and fro as if he conducted a band. The thread-of-gold tentacles climbing the sleeve gleamed in the light. He hummed a tune as he walked, a bar song popular among the portal traders. The words echoed in his head. Go down dear barmaid, you're crazy as pie, I know what you want—to eat my syrupy eye! Go down dear barmaid...
The suit was a little tight for his tastes. It was in the latest style he'd caused to become all the rage among the nobles. A "suit and tie" it was called. Black blazer, white shirt, black slacks, black shoes, black strip hanging from the bronze bitch, and voila—it was quite popular fifteen hundred years ago apparently. Jeremy liked it, anyway. But he'd have to get this one refitted.
A servant in white livery walked the hall ahead on some errand. Jeremy nodded, offering her a savage grin. When she passed, he pinched her bum. Hard. The servant jumped, and gave him a scowl, but there was an inviting twinkle in her eye under the outrage. He flashed her a look that said, "I'll follow up that one with ten more later, you sweet-treat you."
He avoided the reception hall, taking a circumspect route across the first floor of the house. There was a certain individual he was trying to avoid today. Why chance an uncomfortable situation? He didn't want to be forced into doing something nasty after all.
He passed a little too near the kitchen for comfort, and could smell the sweet potatoes and honeyed hams that had been cooked up. He was starving, but there was no time for food. Not now. He had a meeting with Destiny, and he sure as heck wasn't going to be late.
He neared the small, nondescript entrance that was hidden away in the corridor behind the reception hall. Three Direwalkers guarded the door.
All three straightened when they saw him, and one of them said, "Sir!"
Jeremy glanced at the Direwalker who spoke. "What did you call me?"
The Direwalker appeared confused. "Sir?"
Jeremy slapped the thing in the face. First one cheek, then the other. "Show me your teeth. Show them!"
The Direwalker was looking rather angry now, but it obeyed, exposing those long fangs.
Jeremy wrapped his thumb and forefinger around one of the fangs, and tried to break it off. "Stop moving!"
Jeremy succeeded only in cutting himself, and gave up. "You and your insolent teeth." He stuffed his bloodied hand back into his suit, hoping the Direwalker hadn't noticed the puncture. "We shall talk about this later."
Jeremy kicked the door open and strutted into the room.
Five rows of terminals filled the chamber, with an aisle down the middle. Monitor gols sat at the stations, dressed in black, the all-seeing eye symbol on their chests. Three large pieces of glass hung from the front of the room. The leftmost danced with numbers and symbols. The middle display held a map. Jeremy recognized the continents of the earth, with curves drawn between the cities, indicating what seemed to be portal hops. The rightmost display had some sort of mathematical curve with words written beside it.
Just to the left of the displays hung Jeremy's red flag of office. The middle-finger coat-of-arms set into the center had always amused him.
"So, how's life in the Control Room today?" Jeremy said.
Only one of the Monitor gols turned to look at him. Its eyes fidgeted to and fro. Jeremy went to that one, and the gol quickly returned to its work.
Jeremy knelt beside Fidgety-Eyes' station. "And how are you today?"
"Good, sir..." the Monitor said.
"Seen anything out of the ordinary?"
The Monitor didn't look up. There was a round display in the middle of the station that showed a sequence of concentric circles, along with some gibberish. Green dots flashed at various positions. "No sir. Nothing out of the ordinary."
Jeremy bit down a sudden chuckle. "When's the last time you saw some action between the sheets?"
"Excuse me, sir?" Finally Fidgety-Eyes turned toward him. Those eyes lived up to the gol's name.
Jeremy smiled. "That's what I thought." He patted the gol on the shoulder. "As you were."
Jeremy shuffled from station to station, moving in time to the trader tune he hummed. None of the Monitors paid him much heed.
He shuffle-walked to the three displays at the front, and pretended to study the map of the world. He moved from display to display, still keeping up that funny, sliding gait.
When he got to where the flag hung, his foot hit some
thing invisible.
Jeremy glanced askance. None of the gols were looking at him. He casually positioned himself to the side of the hidden Box, and closed it.
Reality stretched and folded. The stations warped away from the Monitor gols, along with the displays, and the desks, the whole room twisting like some fabric as it was sucked into the vortex sourced by the invisible Box. The entire chamber was vacuumed up, and in moments only bare walls, ceiling and floor remained. All that was left were the sconces on the walls, the Monitor gols, Jeremy, and the wooden chest at his feet. Well, and the red flag of office with its middle-finger—a little present for those who sought the Box.
Jeremy scooped up the chest. He noted that there was no key for this one, just a latch. Convenient, he supposed. He turned to the Monitors. "Well! Quite the show, wasn't it? Move along now, move along. Nothing more to see here. You're all discharged for the day." He waved his hand dismissively. "Ta-ta."
The Monitors watched open-mouthed as he waltzed across the empty room with the Box tucked beneath one arm.
"Or just stand there and stare at nothing all day, see if I care." He paused beside Fidgety-Eyes. "But you my boy, you should really see about some sex."
Jeremy spun toward the exit, but the Direwalker whose tooth he'd tried to break stood there with its arms crossed, blocking the way. The Direwalker sneered. Actually sneered.
"What are you looking at!" Jeremy started forward, and planned to strike the insolent Direwalker with the back of his hand.
But then a black-robed figure stepped into the room beside the Direwalker, and the very air of the chamber seemed to darken. The newcomer's face was hidden in the shadow of its hood, and only its bone-white, gnarled hands were visible. Instead of four fingers and a thumb, each hand possessed two thick, ridged digits. Electricity sparked and writhed from those digits.
Jeremy took three steps back.
On the robe was written a single number.
One.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jeremy could only stare. "You're not supposed to be here."
The hooded figure said nothing, and instead lifted a malformed hand.
Though no lightning shot from that palm, Jeremy was sent sprawling across the floor. The Box tumbled from his grasp.
The hooded figure advanced. The Monitors backed away, flattening against the walls, giving "One" a wide berth. Each step the figure took resounded loudly, and the marble cracked underneath as if those feet bore the weight of a mountain. Electricity continued to spark from its hands—menacing, threatening.
Jeremy scrambled backward, trying to get up, but he kept slipping on the marble floor, his limbs weak not from any physical injury, but from the terror the mere sight of the newcomer instilled.
The darkness in the room deepened as One grew near, and the wall sconces dimmed. The figure lifted its hand again, and twisted those fingers counterclockwise. Jeremy was hoisted into the air by invisible arms, and rotated like a pinwheel so that his head pointed straight down. All the blood rushed to his head. It felt like his skull was going to burst.
And then a surge of electricity spilled from One's palm.
Jeremy shook in place as his body was electrocuted. The smell of burnt hair and charred flesh filled his nostrils. It felt like not only his head must burst, but his entire body. He waited for his insides to smear across the floor, ceiling, and walls, wondering how much of it he'd see, if any.
Not the way he'd imagined his end. Not the way at all.
And then the electricity ceased.
Still suspended in midair, Jeremy slumped. He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved, or doomed.
"Where is the New User outpost?" One's voice sounded an otherworldly baritone, too low for any man.
Jeremy stuttered. "I— I don't know." His own voice sounded high-pitched, feminine.
The figure spun its hand, and Jeremy floated right-side up again. The bronze bitch around Jeremy's throat tightened. He kicked his legs, and clawed at his neck, choking.
"Where is Seven?" the robed figure said.
"The Dwarf?" Jeremy said, wheezing. "Why... do you... care?"
Abruptly the collar loosened and Jeremy fell to the floor. His face was melting.
The robed figure stood motionless for a long moment. Then its form flickered.
The number vanished from the robe. Those hands appeared normal now, with four fingers and a thumb.
The figure raised its arms and lowered its hood—
Revealing the Other Jeremy.
"Damn sleepwalking," the Other Jeremy said. "Happening more and more often these days. So, what did I miss?" The Other Jeremy scanned the room, taking in all the details, finally stopping on the first Jeremy, who yet lay prostrate before him. "Well hello. And who might you be?" The Other Jeremy came to his side and knelt. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue? Did you know, in certain cities to the east, liars and thieves have their tongues ripped out and fed to the mayor's cats? That's the origin of the saying, cat got your tongue."
The Other Jeremy reached down, and scraped the remnants of Jeremy's face away. He held the mask up in his hands, melted as it was by the electricity, and the white substance oozed between his fingers. "You have the ability to change yourself into a gol, and yet you have to resort to something as primitive as the White Poultice to change your face? Fascinating!" He flicked his hand, and the white goo spattered the floor.
"Ah, dearest, did you really think you'd get away with this?" The Other Jeremy, the real Jeremy, rested that sticky hand on her face. "It was an ingenious little plan though, I'll give you that. Dressing up as me, and planning your heist during my scheduled meal time, since you know how I hate to be disturbed when I'm eating. But did you really think the Control Room is the only way I have to keep tabs on my household? I must thank you for coming into my grasp once again, however. You've just made everything a whole lot easier."
Ari merely looked at him. She couldn't talk. She felt utterly exhausted and defeated. The impersonation had been draining, but it was the electrocution that had finished her off.
"Well then, let's proceed with your termination, shall we?" Jeremy had grown out his mustache since the last time Ari saw him. It gave him an uncanny resemblance to Hoodwink. If it weren't for that gruff voice, every syllable dripping contempt, she might've believed her father had come back from the dead as mayor. A silly thought—of course Jeremy looked nothing like Hoodwink.
Then again...
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder. "Brute? Brute where are you?"
"Here!" The four-armed Direwalker ducked through the doorway.
"Bring her," Jeremy said.
Brute glanced into the hall, and nodded.
The other two Direwalkers who were guarding the door came into the room. They shoved a tiny, shriveled woman forward.
Cora.
Except, it wasn't Cora anymore.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Those eyes were more haunted than she'd ever seen them, and lacked any recognition whatsoever. Those slumped shoulders seemed to carry the weight of a world of misery.
"Maggie!" Jeremy said. "You old whore you, how have you been?"
"Master Jeremy!" Cora smiled shyly. "May I please you?"
Jeremy gave Ari a sly look. "I had her revised with the program meant for you. I figured if I couldn't have you, might as well have your mother!"
Ari felt sick. It wasn't true. "But we took your Revision Box."
"You did indeed. And what a pain it was to dredge up another. I had to hire the best snatch-purse from the Thief's Kitchen to steal another. The Mayor of Luntus was much obliging. Don't think he'll be missing it though. Dead men can't miss things, right?"
Jeremy studied her for a moment. Strength was slowly trickling back into her limbs, but she pretended to be exhausted still. Jeremy rubbed his ear thoughtfully, then glanced at the other three Direwalkers hovering beside Brute. "Be useful and hold luvvie here would you? She's a tricky one,
and I wouldn't be surprised if this exhaustion of hers was just as much a pretense as the mask."
Damn. The three Direwalkers came forward and restrained Ari.
Jeremy grinned. "What, not even token resistance today? I'm disappointed. Do you fear me so greatly?"
In truth, she wasn't struggling because she wanted to conserve her energy. She was getting stronger by the second. That electricity had drained her to the core, but the gol body had amazing recuperation powers. She just needed a little more time...
"Where are all your other Direwalker pets?" Ari said.
Jeremy smiled, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You're about to die, and all you can think about are my Direwalker pets? Well, if it will make your passing easier, I will tell you. My army of Direwalkers is readying to embark on a very important mission. A world-changing mission. If only you could live to see it. You'd be proud of me, Ari Flanners. You would! In any case, your passing won't be for naught. Take pride in the knowledge that your death will help me hunt down and destroy the entirety of the New Users."
Ari didn't believe it. "You were a gol when you came into this room. You know that, don't you? You had One written on your chest. Something's very wrong here. And not just with your sanity."
Raw, utter fear darted across Jeremy's face. But then he was all smiles again. "Do you know what power truly is at its heart, Ari? And why everyone wants to be rich? Well of course you do. You've had a taste, as leader of that little band of yours. You must have." He rested a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Control. Making other people do what they don't want to do. Making them do what you want. Getting your way. That's power. That's why people want to be rich. And I am very rich." He turned toward Cora. "Maggie, I have something special for you to do today. Something really important. Do you understand, Maggie? It's very important that you don't fail."