by Lee Bond
Garth nodded, smug as a cat and awkwardly aroused; Naoko was breathing heavily, her skin was flush, her eyes beaming. She was beautiful. “Uhuh. I told you. I figured it all out.”
Naoko dragged Garth over to the Proteus Incubation Unit. She rapped the solid duronium casing. Blatantly ignoring the modifications made to the unit, Naoko pointed to the different controls in rapid succession. “All the design work that is done at the different stations comes here, to the Incubation Unit, where it is up to the designer to ensure that the proteus is safe and abides by the laws concerning proteus creation. No training in the world can make a good designer. It is an art form and it takes a very long time to learn. If even a single component does not mesh properly with the overall design, the entire design gets scrapped and the … and everything must start over.”
Naoko looked thoughtfully at the readouts. He’d done it. She didn’t know how he’d done it, how he’d achieved a technical solution that’d defeated the best and brightest for over five thousand years, but somehow, Garth Nickels had modified the protean units to … to make something. From what she read on the inset screens, it was a proteus, but what kind?
Garth popped the latches on the Incubation Unit. Boy, did he ever know about having to start over. “Yep. I know.” He pulled out his pride and joy, holding it up into the light so Naoko could get a good look. “I call this badass Odin.”
Naoko did her level best not to laugh, or to boggle, amused, at what Garth pulled out of the PIC.
After spending the entire night reading about Garth’s exploits on dozens of planets, of all the amazing things he’d done in his short life, she’d pictured a much different engine than the one he held in his hands with such obvious delight. Odin was effortlessly three times as thick as the biggest industrial proteus on the market, passing the standard length of wrist to elbow by protruding halfway again up to the shoulder.
Beyond the impracticality of the length of the design, Garth’s ‘new’ proteus was shaped like no other. It was … odd-looking. There were bubbles and clusters breaking the normally smooth chassis, transforming it into a kind of … wearable statue. The only prote-style to be any bigger, unwieldy and awkward was those worn by God soldiers, and even theirs tended towards stylish wherever possible.
“It’s, ahm, it’s very … very … big.” Naoko admitted pensively. If he were ever arrested for tampering with things better left alone, the … ‘prote’ he’d produced would very likely cause the arresting officers to laugh themselves to death.
“No doubt.” Garth hefted it thoughtfully for a moment before clapping it on, eager as a fat kid with a bagful of Smarties. He yanked the Sheet he’d been suffering with forever out of a pocket and slotted it. All the prepared data lifted from Ashok’s old car and from his old MilSpec prote started downloading at warp speed. He was almost entirely back in the game, now. He smiled happily as all the settings from that old prote worked their way into the protocols. Now he wouldn’t have to fuss and fiddle for hours on end to get things the way he wanted. “Cool.”
“You … you say you figured the machines out all by yourself?” Naoko asked, reaching out to touch the prote with her fingertips. In normal situations, it was the grossest impropriety, but Garth was a man of a different cut. She was certain he wouldn’t mind. She wanted to imagine that someone who was capable of modifying a PCU –however roughly- would be able to create something more … more, but she couldn’t.
It was apparent that, for all the impossibility of the machines not blowing up around Garth and destroying the building, the alterations he’d wrought had done very little. “For a first time, it is … it is very well done.”
Garth smiled cheerily at Naoko’s sideways comment, unoffended by her reaction. Odin’s physical form was as intentional as anything he’d ever done. Any Latelian seeing the massive proteus slapped onto his arm would never once assume it was capable of anything more exciting that uploading videos to the ’LINKs. Like most people, they equated form with function, never willingly accepting something less than aesthetically pleasing. They sacrificed an awful lot that way.
Odin was a powerhouse of a device with very nearly unlimited processing and storage power. It had no need for a primary main, had a wireless netLINK that could trample over anything but the most powerful signal and was capable of running every single MilInt avatar he’d stolen from the government at the same time. Odin could also do a great deal more than that.
The fugue he’d gone into this time had been … well, different from the others. Maybe it was because he was under a great deal of stress in keeping Bravo’s mean streak under control, or maybe because the tech in Latelyspace felt oddly familiar, but this time when he’d gone under, he’d been able to guide the flow of ideas pouring forth. By direct contrast, he had absolutely no clue what he’d truly done to Huey beyond the fact that he’d liberated the AI mind from the shackles of oppressive Trinity control.
Garth was quite pleased with how Odin had turned out. “I was really worried about showing you this, you know? I mean, with all the laws.”
“I am certain,” Naoko said, sliding in close to take Garth’s arm, “that no one will care about your … Odin.”
“You wanna see the rest of this place or what?”
She almost said yes. Ashok Guillfoyle had been a paramount R&D executive, delving into areas of science and technology that very few organizations were granted permission to explore. There were machines and equipment in the building that most certainly didn’t exist anywhere else in Latelyspace.
In the end, Naoko shook her head sweetly, long hair flicking. “I would prefer to spend my time in The Museum while the sun shines instead of worrying that God soldier unit. Unless you would want to stay and play with the unfortunate Lieutenant Gregroy Smith further?”
“Not on your life.” Garth clasped hands with Naoko and pulled her off towards the elevator.
Hamilton Barnes sees the light
Chadsik closed the Bible with a rapturous thump.
He peered curiously into Barnes’ eyes, trying to imagine how it felt for the uninitiated to receive not only the benediction of the Lord but to be completely wired to the gills on Wobble. His own perspective during the recitation had been most illuminating, complete with heralding angles singing his praises and even a notable visit from the Lord Jesus Himself. Exhilarating stuff!
Judging from Barnes’ slack jaw, glazed eyes and deep look of horror in those colorless eyes of his, the man had indeed gone through a similar -if less than rapturous- experience.
Motion over the side of the wall drew Chad’s attention. The assassin/artiste booted Barnes in the side of the head hard enough to send the man spinning back into unconsciousness. He’d missed the arrival of The Job owing to his preoccupation with delivering Barnes into the bosom of the Lord, but now he was done, he felt he owed it to Nickels to pay attention to their departure.
Drawing antique field glasses from a pocket, Chad stared thoughtfully through them, gauging Garth Nickels and the woman he was with; from a distance, the man didn’t look anything special.
Oh, he knew all about Nickels’ alleged time in Special Services, that Latelyspace’s newest citizen had joined the Deep Strike Elites for a time and well understood that –according to Bolobo and before him, Reywin-the man was a human typhoon, but frankly, he wasn’t seeing anything special. Sure enough, he also knew about some fisticuff action in this ‘Game’ of theirs, with The Job handing a royal beating to one of their vaunted soldiers, but again … Garth Nickels did not seem like much. At all. Strong, physically well-constructed, but in a day and age where you could buy your appearance, that feat meant nothing at all.
“’s a bit disappointin’, really.” Chad muttered to himself, pursing his lower lip into a pout. “Don’t look like much, hey? Some ordin’ry fella is all. Wot the effing hell am I doin’ here. I fink this is some sort of Trinity scam or summink, designed as to monkey wiv Jordan’s ‘ead.” He twiddled his lower lip. “Or maybe to get me
out ‘ere amongst all these savages…”
Musing thoughtfully –and with no small concern- on the possibility that this was indeed a most convoluted trap laid down by Trinity to rid Itself of a true wonder of the Universe, Chad continued tracking Garth’s progress through the field glasses.
A bolt of fear slammed through Chad’s cybernetic heart as Garth slowed to a stop, scratched the side of his head, then turned to stare –seemingly- right through the odd end of the field glasses and into his very eyes! The man could sense him? How was that even possible? He was over a mile away!
Irrational worry clenched Chad tightly, sending him scurrying to the other side of the rooftop where Garth couldn’t possibly see anything. He tucked the field glasses away, mind racing. What had happened? Had it been a trick of the light? He ran a field scan and none of those tricky spEyes were anywhere near him. It wasn’t possible that Garth had sensed him.
Unless the man wasn’t a Trinity trick.
What if the files provided by Jordan Bishop were true and proper?
Barnes, conscious through the escapade, laughed weakly. A thick rope of bloody drool bubbled out of the Latelian’s mouth. “Boo!” he laughed wetly. “’And the Lord said watch your back around Garth Nickels because he is the most dangerous human being I have ever made’.”
Chad crept back over to the lip of the roof to watch the slow progress of Garth and his new girlfriend as they made their way lovingly across lovely fucking park. He peeked over the edge this time instead of brazenly staring away and watched silently as Garth and the woman disappeared into the car park. Behind him, Barnes continued laughing, cackling wetly and coughing every time his newfound sense of humor rattled something loose.
Striking like an enraged bear, Chad stomped angrily on one of Barnes’ legs until the spy shut his piehole, and then cocked an ear towards the duo, willing his cybernetic implants to pick up their conversation as they strolled through the structure. He listened very intently to their hushed words, trying not to throw up as they switched between an actual conversation and mushy sweet nothings. When Chad was satisfied he wasn’t going to learn anything else, he crouched down and gazed beatifically into Barnes’ anguished face.
“Where the fuck is this Museum?” Chad pulled out the knife he’d threatened the spy with earlier and pointed it intently at one corner of his captive’s mouth. “I is not playin’ this time, either, my son. Tell me what I is needin’ to know and I is killin’ you quickly.”
Barnes tried focusing on Chad’s ultra-pale FrancoBritish face but succeeded only in giving birth to a squadron of fractured, multicolored angels that started dancing on the assassin’s broad shoulders. “’And yea, the Lord said unto me, ‘Barnes, keep your mouth closed’, and I did, and it was good with the Lord’. Asshole.”
The Voice reared up suddenly, intensely, swallowing Chad’s consciousness whole in a way it had not done since the very beginning, since before he’d come to rely on narcotics to keep the beast at bay.
xxx
Eventually Chad came to his senses, realizing that –once again- he’d added another non-Job related corpse to his Hospitalis tally. He’d not minded so much when it’d been about the task of reading the Bible to Barnes, as that’d been great fun; that had almost been like the two of them had been working together towards some common goal. But this … stomping death … it lacked panache. It was embarrassing. An affront to his sensibilities and he was ashamed of himself.
The raven-dressed FrancoBrit stood there on the rooftop, staring down at the flattened corpse of Hamilton Barnes, feeling positively miserable. He pushed a lanky bit of pale hair out of his eyes, thinking furiously.
What was it about this world, about these bloody damned Latelians that they continually forced the Voice out of him? It didn’t make any sense to Chad, and he’d spent time on worlds infinitely more aggravating than a planet full of particularly gormless giants. There was something in the air, maybe, something his sensors and scanners and whatnot was missing. Whatever the case, he was going to have be extremely careful and cautious as a titmouse, especially if dear old Hamilton Barnes hadn’t been lying about there being things infinitely tougher lurking in the shadows of polite Latelian society.
Irritated by his repeated failures at keeping the Voice under control, Chad stormed all the way down the stairs to ground level, breaking parts of the stairwell into small bits whenever he remembered how foolish he’d been. The Voice was a continued presence in a corner of his mind, laughing dryly at his discomfort.
The security guard at the front door to the bank, already terribly frightened during Chad’s arrival, pretended not to notice the eight-foot tall lunatic clattering and clanking his way through the lobby, smelling of blood and muttering to himself about the grave injustices being perpetrated in his direction. Later he’d remember that the man had been talking in two distinct voices, and would use the story to frighten his children insensible the rest of his days.
Chadsik stopped just outside the Bank. He went back inside, strode straight up to the paralyzed security guard and asked in a pleasant, calm voice. “I beg your pardon, sa, but if you could be so kind as to direct us … me … towards this Museum that everyone is talking about? We … I … is … am … most curious. Thank you.”
The Sigma Kicks Over A Couple Anthills around the World
Operating as a terrorist cell on the Latelian Homeworld was not without risks, which was why cover-groups like Lately for Latelians and Trinitywatchers existed; their activities -driven by real terrorists without catchy titles- always fell just far enough on the wrong side of the law to attract the attention of the lawmakers.
When it was time for the true group to move on –usually because they'd achieved their big act of terrorism or their cover stories had started to fray- the cell collapsed. Everyone save the ‘serious’ revolutionaries found themselves in prison or buried in The Peak.
Following such a newsworthy act of violence, Doans’ attentions remained focused on terrorism for quite some time, and those founding members who survived those attentions would obligingly move to another city or, in more extreme cases, another planet.
In these new cities or on those new worlds, after a few months had passed, another pro-active anti-Trinity organization would rise up from grass-roots intellectualist discussions on what was wrong with the world and join the big boys. Pep rallies became fly-by-night raids on agri-farms, stern letters of protest became manifestos preaching to the worker class, pacifists became killers.
The art of turning normal people into rabid Regimist mouthpieces was practically a cottage industry. It wasn’t hard to do, not when the message was always the same, not when their illustrious Chairwoman was doin such a fine job of helping them: Doans wanted to destroy the Latelian Regime, to weaken the cultural strength of their worlds by forcing them into a carbon-copy cookie-cutter no-mind AI controlled population of breeders. Since the great majority of Latelians grew up listening to stories told by great-grandparents, tales revolving around the once-mighty Latelian Regime and how they’d conquered foolish god worshippers time and again, terrorist leaders found it easy. All they had to do was twist that ingrained Regimist loyalty –ever and always maintained and enhanced by the government- in on itself and voila!
Made-to-order terrorist cells.
Sometimes it was easy, sometimes it was hard, but virtually anyone capable of rational thought could become a terrorist, given the time. There was one thing in Latelyspace that was like a magic key, though; more than any stories told, more than any lies invented, more than anything else, there was one thing that could turn Latelian against Latelian in a heartbeat.
The Sigma Command. Or S-Protocol. Or any combination of vaguely mysterious sounding words, the Sigma was the greatest tool available to the Chairperson of the Latelian Regime.
‘With the press of a button’, Chairwoman Doans could release an avatar driven by mighty Regimist protean engines, a program that would instantly erase any data contained within t
he parameters of its programming. The avatar scoured entire planetary database, personal proteii and home netLINK systems … everything. Not even deeply secured, heavily encrypted machines were capable of evading the Sigma Avatar. Nothing could hide from the Sigma.
The Sigma Protocol wasn’t limited to Hospitalis. It was a systemic affliction. It passed from world to world, vessel to vessel, on of Quantum wings, ripping the targeted data from every system across Latelyspace, leaving shredded computers in its wake.
However, the Sigma Protocol wasn’t just a high-tech deletion avatar, not at all. There were easier and less noticeable methods of merely deleting data from the ‘LINKs.
The Sigma prevented –in perpetuity- any possible chance of anyone entering anything removed into any electronic device. You couldn’t enter the name of a Sigma’d criminal into a Sheet or prote. If you tried … things happened to you. Every few years, wise men and fools alike tested this, insanely choosing to enter something they thought was a Sigma-affected rumor into their proteus, only to find themselves visited, then vanished.
Under Latelian Regimist doctrine, it is against the law to speculate, calculate or attempt to record anything affected by the Sigma Protocol. Ministers have tried and vanished. Children on a dare have done so and disappeared into the night. Sigma’d people and events did not exist and neither did those who sought them out.
As far as totalitarian powers went, it was all encompassing.
A Sigma always sent a shockwave through Latelian society. It was truly hard to predict the outcome of any one erasure, which was why Chairwoman Doans used the sum total of her authority as sparingly as possible.
It was far easier to ‘abuse’ her freely given privileges with God soldiers than to roll out Sigma whenever things proved too difficult. The initial results of a God soldier swarm, while seeming to be infinitely more volatile, violent and filled with bloodshed, caused far fewer problems. Doans was a student of history. It was one of the ways she maintained an invisibly iron grip on her people.