Dark Iron King Volume I: Thy King's Will Be Done (Unreal Universe Book 1)

by Lee Bond

  Sidra believed what she was saying. Score upon score of God soldier presently surveying the argument through their psychic link threw the weight of their convictions her way. They, too, believed no one was truly to blame for Markson’s foolhardiness, and their disbelief was a bludgeoning thing. It was a Harmony tactic few people had ever experienced firsthand, and if Huey ever caught wind of such a thing happening to a normal person, the Goddies would learn the swiftest and most brutal lessons of their nearly immortal lives; what he’d done to the nascent Fivesie could be done to every one of them, all at once, everywhere in Latelyspace.

  And he’d do it, too, because though Latelians had thus far proven insensate to the burgeoning pressures of Harmony, that didn’t necessarily mean they’d stay that way. There was enough anecdotal evidence down through recent years that individuals had succumbed to some kind of bizarre external pressure. No one had really bothered to track down the particulars of those cases until he, Huey, had caught wind of the bullshit with Markson.

  They, like Shane, had gotten all weird-beard Mooney-eyed, though Shane’s particular case was the first one where Harmony had been specifically mentioned.

  God soldiers themselves might be incapable of working Harmony along those lines, sure, but they weren’t the only ones in the system able to hear that Spherical chiming, now were they? It had to be Fenris, monkeying with cause and effect.

  Huey glanced at Herrig, wishing the Chairman could feel the waves of … persistence washing off his Foursie girlfriend.

  Harmony wasn’t what they felt, though.

  It was psychic euphoria, and it faded quite quickly. Sometimes so quickly that it didn’t even really register as anything other than an extremely good day. Here and there throughout the solar system, though, there were those … different cases. The afflicted went really weird in the head and because they didn’t have the kind of one-on-one interaction with Goddies as Markson had, he’d been forced to sneak subroutines into MoO and a few other Ministries, avatar-codes that caused those Latelians exhibiting signs of psychic skullfuckery to be scooped up. For deprogramming mostly, to assist them in realizing that what they felt wasn’t real at all but –for example- a brain disease. Manipulative, sure, but so much better than the alternatives. Sadly, even those efforts weren’t working out with one hundred percent efficiency; of those getting caught up in the … hysteria, perhaps less than one tenth of a percent refused to believe what they were being told. Random effusive feelings of well-being and super-awesomeness eventually led way to the belief –whether true or not- that Harmony was to blame.

  Even more sadly, Latelyspace was a very dangerous place. Awful things happened to nice people all the time.

  Huey didn’t like it, but there was no other choice. He also didn’t like that he’d failed in getting to Shane before things had spiraled so wildly out of control. It was one of his first real, truly deep and painful regrets. In those last few hours, the stupid Trinityman had been too goddamn high profile for a Ministry to pull a snatch and grab.

  “Sidra.” Herrig repeated the Foursie’s name a few more times, waiting patiently until the incredibly angry soldier realized she was still shouting about the innocence of Harmony. When the lithe IndoRussian Goddie moved back to where she belonged, visibly trembling, the Chairman waggled a finger at his friend. “Unfair, Huey.”

  “Necessary.” Huey countered. “Captain Shane Markson was directly influenced by Hembert’s interaction with Harmony. Someone who’s name rhymes with Smenrish let him believe it’d spread to him but it wasn’t that at all. Goddamn religious fervor, Herrig, pure and simple and nearly impossible to puncture. Much as I hate the old methods your predecessors took in rooting out religion, they … had the right idea. Don’t look at me like that. Shane wasn’t the first and I guaran-goddamn-tee he won’t be the last, either. And unlike my own badass self, Shane had absolutely none of the cybernetic augments or skill to survive the colossal sense of confidence it gives. Few, if any, of your regular folk will either.”

  Herrig worried at a lip for a moment, reading through Candall’s increasingly frenetic –and in some cases, blackmail-y- requests to friend and foe alike, trying to see where Huey was headed. He gave up. Herrig knew he was much smarter than he gave himself credit for, but Huey … Huey was something else altogether. “What are you suggesting?”

  “He is suggesting, Chairman,” Sidra said quietly, “that we sequester ourselves. From our families. Until whatever … whatever tests he is no doubt running provide results for, or against, this insane hypothesis.”

  Huey held up a hand to hide the brief stab of shock. Damn it was too easy to forget that a fully in control, four thousand year old God soldier was also really fucking perceptive. “We ain’t there yet, Foursie Sidra. Large swathes of the population are talking about the tenets of Harmony, but for the time being, it’s nonsense. Wish-fulfillment. More than ninety-nine percent of them haven’t felt it and never ever will. But yes, that is an option. One I will make, if for no other reason than the people in this room won’t.”

  The non-descript man looked Sidra right in the eyes, delighting in the slight widening of her pupils; so few beings took the risk of making direct contact like that with a Foursie that it always took them by surprise. “Ask yourself, Sidra; do you want to be directly or indirectly responsible for your own family behaving like Captain Shane Markson? When your End comes, when Dark Falls and you move to Raise the Light, if Heshii troops fall on this world like locusts, would you want your umpteenth-generation children rushing out to greet them with open arms? Would you want to learn of them trying to convince predators from the darkest corners of The Cordon to turn the other cheek? Because that is how Harmony is likely to affect Latelians who aren’t blessed with hundreds or thousands of years of blood and death on their hands. All they will see is the peaceful side, the warmth that is offered. They cannot see the other side. The side where you all hunger for the destruction of everything. The side where you plan on making sure everyone dies, but only at the right time. Is that what you want?”

  Sidra burst into tears, then ran from the room.

  “Ah, shit.” Huey grumped. “I’m sorry, Herrig.”

  Herrig knew he should be pissed at Huey, least of all because he was going to have to deal with a histrionic four thousand year old girlfriend when he got home, but he couldn’t muster the emotion. He loved Sidra dearly, and knew she felt the same, but … there was no getting over his personal issues with the whole concept of the Unreality. His steadfast refusal to accept that the life he was living –at that very second- was ‘unreal’ had already led to several tempestuous arguments.

  The Chairman was keen to avoid similar discussions for a considerable length of time. If possible, forever. Instead, Herrig turned his mind to the other facet of the conversation: Harmony.

  Harmony was a good thing.

  For God soldiers. No one else.

  Herrig trusted Huey to keep him informed of any deleterious problems arising from his peoples’ sudden fascination with Harmony, but he nevertheless made a memo to check on things with his own two eyes. Huey’s willingness to use the HIM to do things behind the scenes was all very well and good, but he was Chairman, not the AI. To do anything less than shepherd his people himself would be to do them all disservice.

  “So.” Herrig said into the awkward silence, pleased Huey was making an effort to look guilty over making his girlfriend cry. “What do we do about these Deep Strikers and Candall?”

  ”Too soon.” Huey frowned. Officially, he held no title, owned no power of authority over anyone in the God Army.

  Unofficially was another story altogether, but until leverage over Fenris and his brothers could be found … much as Huey preferred action over caution, sitting and waiting was the name of the game. The AI said so to Herrig, who took the news as well as could be expected.

  Herrig nodded. Time, for now, was a luxury they could burn. Just not for too much longer. “Tell me, sa. What do you think of Sahar
i’s new, ah … new Garth-centric musical endeavor?”

  “Jesus H. Christ, lemme you tell about that crazy bitch! Ok, so, I hear the songs she’s been singing in some dingy spaceport dive and I decide I gotta check her out…”

  18. Trouble on the Rise

  “So we’re just going to ignore what the fuck happened?” Garth asked as he zipped one of Barnabas’ tents closed. His head still rang from the cacophony that’d filled their little domed world from top to bottom. “Like, really and truly ignore that weird shit that just went down?”

  Barnabas shrugged as he accepted a heavy basket full of spare parts from the younger man and stowed it away in the huge cart with more bins full of the same before answering. It was easy to understand Garth’s interest well enough, but the truth of the matter was, Barnabas Blake could barely wrap his own head around how … poorly Erg1’s entrance into Arcade City had gone, not to mention how unprepared he’d been.

  Blake knew giving Nickels an off-the-cuff response would keep the man from going on and on like an inquisitive five year old, yet the King knew his own thoughts well enough to know he was so distracted in trying to root Erg’s location out without tipping his activities to his abnormally Will-sensitive companion that Barnabas feared he might let summat of the truth out on accident. It were honestly taking nearly all his concentration to slip e’en a tiny bit of his Will upwards into The Dome. Any more than that and Nickels would feel it straight off; at the moment, the lad kept turning his head this way and that, looking up to The Dome above them, looking over his shoulder …

  It were mighty aggravating.

  Thus: “Nowt to talk about.”

  Garth found himself staring up into the night sky for the fifth time since they’d both awoken. His innate sense of time said they’d been unconscious for at least three hours, but something in him said as many as six hours had passed. The problem with a closed environment like Arcade City -where everything was under total control of one man- was that either answer could be true. Or equally wrong.

  It was disorienting, staring into a sky with no stars. Even more disturbing, pale illumination filled the land, but with no moon in the sky, the light begged the question: where the hell was it coming from? It was like the whole damn Dome was filled with artfully hidden track lighting.

  The Dome’s multitudinous and perplexing functions notwithstanding, Barnabas’ steadfast disinterest the both of them –and quite probably the whole damn city- falling unconscious thanks to the fucking Ragnarok and Roll clanging around the heavens was pissing him right the fuck off.

  Who ignored something so balls to the walls bananas as that? A crazy person, that’s who. Someone so crazy weird that crazy shit like someone playing celestial bongos on a giant Dome until everyone passed out was, like, a normal occurrence.

  “You’ll never see The Dome’s workings from the ground, my son.” Barnabas tossed Garth a wrench, mouth curling in satisfaction when the younger man caught it without even looking. Oh yes, the lad had secrets. Yes, yes. More than being good with tech, more than possibly Will-immune implants, more even than possibly being in the employ of Trinity. Yes. Secrets abounded within the noggin of Nickels the Outsider, didn’t they just? “And besides, correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s something more important to discuss, no?”

  Garth played with the heavy wrench in his hands, twisting it this way and that. Life would be much simpler if he turned the role of blacksmith into a life as one. It could be good. Wandering the land, building bad ass weapons and cool clockwork longcoats, visiting market zones –of which Barnabas promised a visit soon enough- maybe meeting a nice girl from one of the Estates and settling down to have little baby wardogs.

  It sounded wonderful, a great fairytale, except there was the problem where they were surrounded on all sides by a gigantic, impossible Dome and were almost entirely controlled by the need for Dark Iron.

  Not to mention the whole ‘End of the Unreal Universe’ thing.

  Such was life. Especially for a walking, talking, gum-chewing ass-kicking paradox.

  Garth chucked the wrench onto the cart with the spare parts dismissively. He jerked a finger towards the apex of The Dome somewhere high above their heads. “Actually, Barnie …”

  “Barnabas.” The lad had no clue how close he tottered to the edge of dissolution every time he was intentionally rude or dismissive! Why, Blake could scarcely recall the numbers of those who’d perished for a quarter of the slights he endured from Nickels!

  And tossing his tools about with such disdain? Beyond the pale!

  Barnabas Blake schooled his temper. The deeper mysteries behind Nickels’ appearance here, now, so soon before Erg’s arrival … was it coincidence? Or was it –as it truly did seem to be- a ploy whipped up by Trinity?

  In the back of his mind where connections to Will burned brightest, the King looked into another portion of The Dome’s nearly infinite storage vaults in search of all that remained of the CyberPriest’s disembodied intellect. Nothing, and besides all that, a barely perceptible twitch of interest –purely subconscious, mind- on Garth’s forehead suggested even that was too risky.

  Damn and blast. He would have to wait until night fell and all grew quiet and still. Spending his nights hunting for a nearly invisible spot of unabsorbed mind was going to be the end of him, he just knew it. And Nickels, with his rapidly growing skill at smithing, well.

  Like as not he’d practice non-stop whilst a king were busy hunting ghosts in the machine, wouldn’t he just?

  “Actually, blacksmith,” Garth looked away from the man, “figuring out what the fuck happened up there is incredibly so. Did that noise drive everyone unconscious? What about gaggles in the middle of fights with Kings? Did they fall to the ground? Are they stomped flat? What about other dudes fighting some of the other weird things that you claim exist in this fucked up Bizarro world? I could go on, man, on and on. If you look at The Dome for what it is, which is the biggest –well, haha, not really but okay, fine- one of the biggest machines in existence, what’s its purpose? From where I stand, it sounded a fucking lot like the damn thing was reorganizing itself. You’ve been here your entire life, so it’s just barely plausible you truly don’t give a fuck. In my experience, colossal weird fucking things don’t happen for good reason. Now. For all I know, you’re lying and this happens every month like some kind of fucking Morlock dinner bell and you don’t want to admit it because you’re a dick, but I’m new here. I need to know what’s going on. I need to get this fucking shit out of me, too.”

  Barnabas watched Garth whack the side of his head where Kingsblood was most visible thoughtfully. He was a man in desperate straits, sure enough. Desperate enough for answers that he’d missed spilling a secret during his rant. ‘In his experience’, hey?

  The case for Nickels being a spy for Trinity grew stronger.

  Still, as much as his love for Nickels losing his temper was fierce, now was not the time. A great deal of internal communication with The Dome needed doing; hunting down Erg grew ever more important, tabulating the loss of life, -oh, Nickels had scored perfect marks with that barb, hadn’t he just- and then checking on the state of The Dome itself were all things of utmost importance. Systems needed putting right and corralling Specter at his worst was a thing better put off until all else was done.

  Erg’s violent entrance had caused no end of strife, all of it needed looking at post haste, none of it doable remotely.

  He raised his hands and made genuine calming motions. “Perhaps I misspoke, young master Nickels, perhaps I misspoke. Old Barnabas is willing to admit he’s not the best around people all the time. Most of my days are spent in silence, pulling my carts and wares to the next safe spot. Gearheads and wardogs aren’t one for conversation beyond what they need.

  You’re right and true when you say I’ve been here my entire life. Blacksmith born and bred, and you’re also right when you say I may not be all that interested. The Dome is the only permanent fixture in our local heave
n. It does what it does. I recall a rumor or two about something like this happening near about a hundred years or so ago, but my old grey matter’s a bit dim on the thing. Beyond all that, y’see, there’s the King. Silent as he’s been this long while, mayhap he be up to Kingly stuff. There’s nowt way to tell unless summat similar happens, hey?” Barnabas brightened. “And well, I reckon that gives us a proper reason to make haste for the nearest Estate, yes? Nearest one as bypasses all them Kingspawns be … four days south, I reckon. Aye. Sheldon Vale. Nice spot, friendly folk. Always happy to see one o’ the last wandering smiths. As you show such concern over Arcadians, we’ll take a peek, hey? See if they’re all right, sort of thing.”

  “How do you mean?” Garth sucked a tooth. Every time the old blacksmith opened his mouth, Garth wanted to trust everything that came out of it. Which – contrarily- made him distrust everything about the man.

  “Estates are grand places. Well, some of ‘em, anyways. Better than the few villages we’ve visited, hey? Artificer shops where folks too scared to wander the open road but who’ve got the knack for tinkering build the most amazing gewgaws I’ve ever seen. Book shops filled to the rafters with stuff the owners claim is from the dawn of time. Clothing shops where blokes like Mental Marc can fancy themselves up like proper gentlemen…”

  “Libraries, huh?” Garth rubbed his hands together. One of the first places you should always visit when getting ready to bootstomp a world into the dust were local libraries and bookstores. There was plenty to be gleaned about how a populace worked from the things they read; and not just the boring old history stuff, either. No, reading what people were afraid of, the kinds of monsters that went bump in their particular night … that was the best way to control a crowd. Even the most logical, rational and stoic civilization could be brought to its knees if tales of vampires started rising up out of the ground. “I can get onboard with reading some books. But what about Ickford? Everyone talks about it like its Vegas 2.0. Why go to Sheldon Vale at all? Makes more sense to me if we fuck off for Ickf…”