The Northern Star Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

by Mike Gullickson

  Sabot bellowed with laughter. “You are a bad girl.”

  The city melted into overgrown lawns and abandoned houses. “Earl was right,” Cynthia said. “We should contact him, make sure he’s okay.”

  “I tried. No one’s seen him since he met with us.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. The abandoned suburbs were left behind, replaced by overgrown forests and broken roads. An hour later, Sabot guided Mosley to the east side of the lake. Ten years before, using a dummy corp, Sabot had purchased the property along the bay for next to nothing. No cars and no fuel made living on a lake in Wisconsin a luxury that no one could afford.

  They got to the house. It was a large, white two-story with a three-car garage. Sabot and Cynthia got out and Sabot opened the garage door. Mosley opened the window.

  “I’m staying?”

  “What do you think? Put the car in the garage.”

  “I got a girlfriend, man!” Mosley said.

  “Well, she’s going to wonder where the fuck you are. Pull it in.” Mosley did, and they went inside.

  = = =

  Chao whistled. “Amazing what a few trillion bucks can get ya.” He and Glass were in Cynthia’s loft, one hundred and fifty stories up. They had searched each floor for employees, sending them all down below. More Minors had arrived, and Kove had gone downstairs to orchestrate the employee interviews. Evan hadn’t predicted the shutdown of cyberspace. He was now connected by cell through Chao, but no data would pass, only voice.

  “Stating the obvious: she isn’t up here. What do you want us to do, Evan?” Chao asked.

  “Continue as planned.” Evan’s voice came from a speaker in Chao. “This works in our favor. It gives us time, and it shows the world why MindCorp is dangerous.”

  “Continue everything?”

  “Yes. Report back if the interviews bear fruit.” Evan was gone.

  Chao marveled at the view. “Unbelievable,” he said. While the rest of the city was choked with buildings, a half-mile of green campus circled MindCorp. The Colossal Core beneath the building was the data hub of the city, and hundreds of trunks of fiber flowed out from it.

  He turned to Glass. “Have you ever seen such a view?”

  “No.”

  Suddenly, without warning, Chao’s hand was wrapped tightly around Glass’s neck. Glass tried to break free, but it was impossible.

  Chao laughed. “I was easier to pick on when I was just a head, huh? This is going to be fun for me. And getting your little bitch is going to be fun, too.”

  Before Glass could reply, Chao threw him through the window, and Glass plummeted toward the ground from one hundred and fifty stories up.

  = = =

  Raimey awoke to the bark of orders and the sounds of snorting diesel engines and un-oiled tank treads. Razal was nearby and had woken, too. It was still night. Juhavee ran over to them. “A scout radioed in. They’re coming!”

  Raimey stood. “How long?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe less.”

  “Have they done this before?” Razal asked.

  “No.”

  “How many?”

  “An army.”

  “We should head south and flank them,” Raimey said. Razal nodded. A minute later, Juhavee ordered the gate opened, and Raimey sprinted across the bridge and into the city with Razal on his shoulder. Already they could hear the approaching horde.

  “Comm check,” Razal said.

  “I got you.”

  They circled out and away. This section of the city was shelled and abandoned. Raimey saw movement between the broken buildings and realized it was just wild dogs.

  The approaching army was doing nothing to hide their intent. They marched right down the main road. They had three tanks, some vehicles with machine guns, and about two hundred soldiers to Juhavee’s fifty.

  “This’ll do.” Razal jumped into a five-story building that was missing a side, open to the road and the power plant. He found the stairs and climbed to the top. Raimey continued to work his way behind the army. He liked sandwiching the enemy between forces. It created chaos.

  “I have a good view,” Razal said.

  “Any giants?”

  “One. It’s moving awkwardly. It might be broken. It’s near the tanks.”

  “That’s not Stafford.”

  Raimey heard the whine of a PA system. A voice projected. “Juhavee! If you give us the children, Packard promises amnesty to you and the children he doesn’t need. What he is doing is for the good of the world!”

  Raimey stood by, scanning the shadowy structures around him, waiting for what would happen next. A tiny silhouette appeared on top of the wall by the power plant. It was Juhavee. He put a bullhorn to his mouth. “Fuck you.”

  Raimey laughed. He liked this man. His wife rested on his shoulder now, and he could hear her skin wither as it always did before war. He was afraid to look in her direction. He was afraid that one day she would let him see her, and he wouldn’t recognize the wraith that rode with him into battle.

  The army began their assault. Mortars were unpacked and gunfire filled the air. The tanks boomed, and the opposing Tank Major ran toward the bridge to hydraulshock the wall. Raimey charged into the fray, moving directly toward the tanks, knocking through buildings as he went. The human soldiers that saw him approach dropped their weapons and ran for their lives.

  WHA-WHAM! Raimey’s hydraulshock drowned the battlefield in thunder. Nearby soldiers dropped to the ground, screaming in pain. When his fist connected with the first tank, the hull was turned inside out and the twisted remains slammed into the tank next to it, destroying both. He didn’t waste another hydraulshock. He ran to the rear of the third tank and punched through the back, crushing its engine, and then he ripped the barrel from the turret.

  The enemy Tank Major had now turned back to fight. Raimey charged it, and at the last second stepped aside.

  BA-BAM!

  The Tank Major hydraulshocked, rocketing right past Raimey. As soon as he’d passed, Raimey grabbed the Major from behind and slammed him to the ground. He hammered his fists down into the Major’s helmet—one, two, three—and it got mixed into the mud.

  Already, the soldiers behind the wall were screaming victory. The army that had arrived in formation was gone. They were sprinting away, staring back at the giant. Raimey saw the muzzle flash of Razal’s rifle a few hundred yards away as he picked off any soldiers that stood their ground.

  “Razal, I think it’s over.”

  “No shit, dude. You—”

  WHA-WHAM! Razal’s building exploded into bricks and toppled to the ground. The earth rumbled from the impact.

  “Razal?”

  Nothing.

  “Razal!”

  Still nothing.

  A giant climbed on top of the settling rocks. It was Stafford. He kicked aside some of the rubble and fished his arm into the pile. After a moment, he pulled out a lifeless Razal and held him up. His amplified voice carried. “I knew it was you by your hydraulshock, John. It always did have a bit more oomph. We need the children, and we can’t go without them.”

  “Why?”

  “For a war. One we need to win.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “The Coalition.”

  Behind him, Raimey heard the grumble of tanks. Juhavee was mobilizing what offense he had. Raimey still protected the bridge; the tanks would get across.

  “I haven’t heard a thing,” Raimey said. “And from what I’ve seen, this isn’t Coalition.”

  “How many times have you been on missions and the right hand didn’t know what the left was doing?” Stafford asked.

  Raimey didn’t have to answer. Too many. “I can’t communicate with General Boen.”

  “Evan’s in charge now. Come on. We’re both going to regret this.”

  Tiffany hunched over, almost coming into view. Raimey smelled her sickness and could almost see her skeletal face. “He lies,” she hissed.

  Raimey remembered the me
n raping Vana. The kids and their cries and the rows of bloodstains drying out in the dirt. “I don’t believe you. No.”

  “John—”

  Raimey’s waist chains spun up and his body shook and he knew why Stafford had tried to reason with him: because to Stafford, Raimey was a death sentence. “NO!”

  Stafford tossed Razal forward like a rag. “Your funeral.” He retreated into the dark. Juhavee’s tanks stopped when they reached Raimey, and Juhavee popped open his hatch.

  “Should we pursue him?”

  Raimey could see Razal’s sprawled shape on the rubble. He didn’t move. He started chewing his lip.

  “Raimey?”

  Raimey stared at the body. “No. He’d want that.”

  Gunfire erupted behind them, accompanied by screams. It came from the power station.

  “They’re inside!” Juhavee yelled.

  Raimey sprinted toward the bridge. Only ten yards before he reached it, the entire bridge exploded, collapsing into the raging current. Raimey fell to the ground to stop himself from tumbling in. Across the water, Raimey saw a man climb up from the bank.

  He understood: Stafford had stalled him. The Mort Vivant had sent a weak force ahead as the canary to weed out any surprises. And now the surprise was on Raimey: the Mort Vivant were inside the power station, routing the resistance, and there was nothing he or Juhavee could do about it.

  “No, no, no,” Juhavee cried. An explosion on one side of the plant grew into a fire. An alarm blared. Men came streaming out and were cut down with bullets. Raimey and Juhavee stood on the opposite bank, unable to do anything but watch as the screams subsided and the gunfire ceased and the plant was consumed by fire. And then the Mort Vivant appeared, escorting hundreds of children—it looked like a field trip—and ushered them toward boats somewhere off in the dark.

  No, Packard hadn’t been worried about John, because Packard was smarter than John. And when you both had guns, it was the brains that always won.

  Chapter 6

  “Nikko, wake up.”

  Charles Rivas—Nikko’s older brother—shook him awake.

  “I’m up!” Nikko said as he stretched. He didn’t remember falling asleep. The Mindlink rested awkwardly on his head. Suddenly he remembered what he had been doing: he and his friends were on a dungeon quest. They had been in the middle of a four-hour battle with Garrig, one of the eight dragons in the online world Keeper of Souls. They had been playing for nearly two days straight.

  “Shit!” Nikko said. Had he fallen asleep? Had his Mindlink malfunctioned? He pushed the Mindlink down on his head and tried to get back online.

  “It’s off,” Charles said.

  “Did you pay the bill?”

  Charles watched while his brother tried to will the Mindlink to turn back on. Finally he slapped Nikko’s fat belly—not hard, but enough to get his attention. “Get up, man! I need to go. Ti abuela esta despierta.”

  Nikko finally took note of his surroundings. Charles was dressed in fatigues. He was a Private First Class and worked in communications at the military base north of the city.

  Charles left the room while Nikko got his bearings. It was tough waking up at night. Like most people who spent their time online, Nikko was an overweight hermit. He rarely went outside. How could the outside compete? Online he was Raul the Sinister, a level 40 Necromancer. He could cast spells, jump forty feet in the air. He had found a code to validate his age as over twenty-one, so he could even drink mead and feel its effects. His friends were scattered around the globe. He barely knew his neighbors.

  Charles head popped into the doorway. “GET UP!”

  Nikko was too obese to sit up—his stomach pressed between his chest and legs—so he rolled off the reclined chair and planted his feet like a gymnast off the mount. He went into the living room of their small two-bedroom apartment, where his grandma sat on the couch.

  “Hola Nikko, coma estas?”

  “Hey, Grandma.” Nikko didn’t know much Spanish, which was too bad because his grandma didn’t know much English. Online, stuff like that was never an issue; there was translation software embedded in nearly every program.

  Charles came out of his bedroom with his Army-issued duffel bag.

  “I thought you had time off,” Nikko said. He liked Charles. They were polar opposites—Charles was tall and fit, Nikko tubby—but Nikko worshipped his older brother. Their parents weren’t around. It was just the two of them and Grandma.

  “I’ve been called back to base. They didn’t say for how long,” Charles said.

  “But you’ve still got a few days off.”

  “Something’s happening. All the military’s being called up.”

  Nikko stopped. He tried to figure out why that would be. “What’s up with the Mindlink?” he finally asked.

  “MindCorp shut down cyberspace.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Everything’s off, Nikko. The Mindlink doesn’t work.”

  Nikko scratched his head. “But I have school tomorrow.”

  “Apparently they don’t give a shit. We can’t access our money. We can’t order food. People can’t work. No games, no friends. The only thing that sorta works is the phones.”

  “We don’t have a phone.”

  Charles sighed. “There’s food in the fridge, at least for a week. I filled up a bunch of jugs with water in case something happens.” Charles turned on a faucet. Water poured out. He turned it off. “The water’s still running. You can drink out of the toilet reservoir if you really need to. We’re far enough out of the city where you should be okay.”

  “Charles, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Nikko! Everything is shut down! Take care of Grandma and don’t leave the apartment until I come back.”

  Charles left.

  Nikko stood in stunned silence. He finally turned to his grandma, who was sniffing at the air and giving him a look of disgust.

  “I’ve been online for three days, Grandma,” Nikko apologized.

  “Ve a bañarte, por favor.”

  Nikko didn’t need a translation. He went into the bathroom and took a shower.

  = = =

  Dusk had come, and Sabot fished off the dock. Earlier that day, through a crack in the curtains, he had watched as the occasional fisherman rowed or sailed along the lake, trolling lines behind them. Lake Geneva, Wisconsin had been very popular before the fuel shortage, and even now a few dozen families still called it home. It made sense: they could purify the water, plant a garden, eat the fish. For some, like these few, the crash of an oil-dependent society had been a blessing, a revelation.

  So Sabot had watched these folks in their boats curiously. He heard them yell at each other in excitement when they caught a fish and he’d figured, what the hell? Cynthia and Mosley had to eat. But at six-five, the half black, half Samoan had to be discreet. He stuck out worse than a peckerhead through a zipper.

  He’d found an old fishing reel and a couple of lures in the garage. He scanned the lake, didn’t see a soul, and made his way down to the dock. Mosley trailed behind him, bored. Sabot piked some canned meat onto the hook and dropped it in. He bobbed it up and down and the fatty meat created a miniature oil spill. From the shallow depths, streamlined shadows approached the meat. One ballsy little guy took ahold of the processed pork and ran with it. The light line pulled from the reel until Sabot took off the slack and brought it in.

  “I got a fish!” He held the tiny crappie up proudly, as if it were a trophy fish. Sabot was a city boy, born and raised. This was his first catch.

  “Good for you,” Mosley said, unimpressed. He was sprawled on the deck beside Sabot, smoking a cigarette. “Forty more of those and one of us can eat.” He flicked the cigarette into the water and lit another one.

  “Your girlfriend is going to be there when you get back,” Sabot said. He gently unhooked the fish and looked at it. Its mouth pursed open and closed, gasping for water. Sabot placed it back in the water and i
t flittered away.

  “You don’t know this bitch, man,” Mosley said.

  “Don’t call them bitches,” Sabot said.

  “You know what I’m saying,” Mosley said. “She’s probably already out in a club or something.”

  “Then she isn’t worth your time.” Sabot dropped the line back in and baited more fish to come curiously to his little barbed trap.

  “What do you know?” Mosley said.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what makes Cynthia worth your time? From what I see, it isn’t recipriated.”

  “Reciprocated.”

  Mosley made a face and waved off the correction. “All I see is you there for her. Fetching her stuff, setting up her meetings, running her errands. I’ve never seen her be there for you.” He pointed to the bay windows facing the dock. “She isn’t here right now.”

  Sabot looked to the window. Cynthia was inside, looking out. The shadows of the encroaching night were laced across her pale skin, making her look like a phantom. Her eyes were blank, and Sabot knew if he waved to her, she wouldn’t wave back. She was in her mind, solving what lay ahead, and as disconnected from the world as an old woman with dementia. Sabot handed Mosley the pole. “Catch some fish.” He headed up the steps to the house.

  Cynthia didn’t turn toward him when he came through the door. She just continued to stare out the window. He wrapped his arms around her and watched the lake, the gulls, the night fast approaching. Her body gave into him.

  “How are you feeling?” Sabot asked in her ear.

  “Better,” she said. She had quit shaking from the abrupt withdrawal from cyberspace. “You didn’t bring the wig?” She could see the metal diodes in the window’s reflection. Her real hair clumped around them.

  “No, sorry.”

  “I’m just not used to seeing myself like this.”

  “What should we do next?” Sabot asked.

  “They can’t shut us down,” Cynthia said. “That’s the key. We’re global, and they don’t know where all the data nodes are. Over time they’ll figure it out—they have Sleepers—but it’ll be too late. I need to speak to the founders. Some will be in, some will be out. But they need to know what’s at stake.”