by Rick Scott
One (1) match found in 2.57345 E 21 Transactions
Transaction ID 3D5001DDFF
Location: Public Terminal L100Z7T-16
User: Guest457
Time Stamp: 9/16/2218 02:15:21
Item_ID: @786_GG742_LL7R => Force_Send(225.123.135.47:407)
It still looked mostly Greek to Bruce but he could get the gist of it. “So some random user in a public terminal did this?”
“Apparently.” Carl leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “We were lucky to get this data before the system overwrote it. Took forever to poll every darn node in the system too. I tried to dig up surveillance data on the terminal, but picking this booth was strategic. It’s in a real remote section of the HUB. Gang territory. And you know what those types like to do to surveillance.”
Bruce huffed out a mirthless laugh. “Figures.”
“As you can see, this happened not more than three days ago,” Carl said. “The good news is: I only had one hit. So that means there’s only one gun out there for now. At least one of that type.”
“But there could be others?”
“Not unless they sent it somewhere else,” Carl said and then he pointed to the hologram. “See these numbers here? The 225.123.135.47:407?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s the trunk address for the air scrubbing system. I did a reverse search under that destination and didn’t see any other sends. Other than normal control data, of course.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Bruce said. “The air scrubbing system? Could someone have hot boxed a nano-processor to the system?”
Carl shook his head. “Beats me. You’re getting more into your field than mine now. All I can tell you is that the blueprint for the gun that Novak showed you was sent to that trunk location. After that I got zip.”
Bruce scratched his beard in thought. He knew the inner workings of an air scrubber to a basic degree, more theory than practical but the system itself was vast. “Can we pinpoint it physically?”
“That’s where you have another problem,” Carl said. “That system is nearly as old as the power generators. After that trunk location, everything is hardwired binary. Could be why they used it. I’m not sure how many I/O points we’re talking here but there’s got to be thousands. How many scrubbing units are there altogether?”
Bruce knew this one at least. “Roughly 85000 split across all 352 levels.”
Carl blew out a whistle. “Sorry, Bruce. Whoever did this, thought this one through pretty good. You’d need to know that system back to front to even have a chance to know where to start looking.”
“Right,” Bruce said, thinking some more. “I wouldn’t think Dennis would have that kind of knowledge, but maybe he knows a lot more than he lets on.”
“You thought about a plan for him yet?” Carl asked.
It’d been nearly two days and while Bruce had been thinking about it near constantly, his mind still came to the same inevitable conclusion. They still didn’t know enough yet. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve avoided spending more than a couple minutes around the guy lately. Every time I look at him, I keep hearing that… scream. He doesn’t even look human to me anymore.”
Carl frowned. “Probably best you try to poker face that one, Bruce. Act too suspicious around him and he’ll start having suspicions of his own.”
Bruce sighed and felt his skin already crawling at the idea of forcing himself to spend more time around Dennis. “Yeah. But anyway, I think our best move is to keep observing from afar for now. I need something way more concrete to expose him at the board level. And when we do that, we need to know his full capabilities, especially if he turns out to be an AI. Trapping a monster in a corner can have dire consequences if you don’t know what that monster can do.”
Carl grimaced. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
Bruce looked back at the screen. “This gun and linking it to him could be the key.”
“You still betting it’s him?”
“The timing is too uncanny,” Bruce said. “This was done almost right after his defeat at the board meeting.” Bruce recalled how pissed-off he’d looked that night. “Although I still can’t figure out his end game for doing it. Create a crisis that gives him more control somehow? I don’t know…”
“All the more reason to keep a low profile on this for now then,” Carl said, nodding. “Be the hunters, not the prey.”
“Right.”
“Still doesn’t solve the immediate problem though,” Carl said. “Novak.”
Bruce’s stomach soured. He still needed to deal with that meat head. And that meant finding out how that gun was made. If he could convince him the threat was eliminated, he could get him to back down. Bruce thought some more. “And all we have to go on is this trunk location right? I suppose we could start there.”
“Like I said…” Carl shook his head. “Needle in a haystack, man.”
Bruce thought further and an idea clicked. Or rather a person.
“You said someone who knew the system in and out might have a shot, right?”
“Better shot than me, that’s for sure.”
“Send that data to my comm, will you?” Bruce said, pointing at the screen. “I think I know someone who might be able to help.”
Chapter 23: The Council
We set out for the city center before the sun is up, the streets still wet from the fall of an early morning rain.
Lexi, Maxis, Rembrandt, and I share a ride in the buggy while Queen Angela opts to drive ahead in her own vehicle, along with Lance. Even from behind, her car looks amazing: a sleek, chrome-plated convertible coupe that kicks up spray from its large rear tires as it powers along the darkened highway.
A thick blanket of clouds lies overhead, darkening the sky even further and as I look up at them, I feel like I’m back in the wild again. The cold is near unbearable as well. A light drizzle lingers in the air and stings my face and forearms as we speed through the city, sending a shiver down my spine.
A gloomy day for a gloomy occasion, I think, but I still don’t really know what all of this is about.
“Why do you figure Queen Angela wanted just us to come with her?” I ask through our party chat.
“Beats me,” Maxis says, gazing out the side of the buggy, wind whipping at his scarf as the reflections of holograms race across the surface of his dark shades. “But if last night’s any guess, it probably won’t be for anything good.”
“Lord Rembrandt and your reason for coming should be self-explanatory,” Lexi says to Max from behind the wheel. “You both need to stand for the tournament. As for you however, love?” Lexi glances over her shoulder at me with a wink. “Who knows? Maybe ‘cause you’re the bloody ringleader or something.”
Ringleader…I give a mirthless chuckle at that. Although, I guess I am sort of responsible for concocting this whole mess we’re now in. I still don’t know how we’re going to resolve it either, especially since Rembrandt seems resigned to his fate. I look to my side, where the cyberpunker sits next to me. He hasn’t said much all morning, and by the stoic look on his face, he doesn’t seem willing to buck the trend.
One step at a time, I remind myself. We’ll find a way.
I go over in my head the brief discussion we had with the girls before we left. They’re going to explore the neighboring area within the Young Lords’ territory for a suitable lowbie XP spot—to help me level Gun Blade and to get Gilly started on her Elemental Mage for more crowd control abilities. Meanwhile the plan for us is to get Lexi to help me unlock Gun Blade after this mysterious meeting with the Council.
Whoever they are.
We travel in silence as we enter Lennox-Borough, and the familiar bombardment of ads and quests hit me as we cross the border. We venture further in, close to Lennox tower and arrive at an enormous domed stadium that nearly takes up the entire city block. We pull into a rear entrance along a narrow service road and as we pass through a small tunn
el leading into the stadium itself, I’m immediately hit by a huge wall of sound.
My eyes widen as a crowd a few thousand strong rushes towards us from both sides of the access road, stopped only by a chain-link fence that lines the bottom of a tiered viewing area they’re standing within. Their wild screams and cries fill the air, indecipherable of any words at all save for one—a steady pulse that rises up through the chaos.
Rembrandt…Rembrandt…Rembrandt!!!
I can’t tell if it’s heckles and jeers that I hear or applauds and cheers. The crowd seems divided in that respect, one side of the stadium looking ready to throw rocks and bottles, the other half waving flags with smiles.
I spin my head, looking back at the throng as we pass between them. “What is all this?”
“Looks like someone leaked the bloody council meeting,” Lexi says, shaking her head. “Typical. Just the diehards here for a sneak preview. This place will be packed with ten times more for the actual tournament itself. That kind of thing shuts down the entire city.”
As I gaze further at the stadium I see exactly what Lexi means. Row upon row of bleachers rise up the sides of the stadium at a steep angle, going up at least four tiers high. And for as many people as I saw just now, there are thousands of more seats left unfilled. The entire stadium must hold over 100,000 people easily.
I wonder if there are really that many players here. And if so, the numbers are truly mind-boggling indeed. Across the stadium from us, another access road divides the bleachers neatly in two. The crowds on both sides appear to be split along some kind of ideological line—some even going as far as to throw debris across the gap into the opposing crowd.
“What’s up with that?” I ask Lexi. “Why are there two groups split and fighting like this?”
“Oh,” Lexi says. “It’s the major versus the minor houses.”
“Houses?”
“Factions, I mean,” she says with a slight eye-roll. “The major factions like to get more uppity and call themselves houses instead of factions. Rubs off every now and then, especially when we’re in here. It’s all very proper-like. You’ll soon see.”
“So who’s for who?” Maxis asks, his head swiveling between the two crowds. “Or what?”
I can’t see much different between the two groups myself in terms of classes or makeup. Save for the uniforms, which are all intermingled anyway. There has to be a half-dozen different factions on both sides.
“Well,” Lexi says, looking back at us through the rearview. “Lord Rembrandt here took out the kings of all the major houses, so the little guys like us, saw him as a bit of a folk hero. Putting one to the big boys and all that. Ain’t that right, Lord Rembrandt?”
The cyberpunker smiles. “Was never about that, love. But I suppose I’ll take the support where I can get it.”
At the center of the stadium we approach a large elevated platform that houses a fighting ring as big as a basketball court. Queen Angela parks her coupe ahead of us and disembarks into a set of tented bull pens set up around the ring. We do the same, following after her and when we get out of the drizzle, I see that we’re not alone.
There are a total of nine pens surrounding the ring: three on each side and within each is a small contingent from the various factions. Hovering above them is a hologram depicting their names and their respective king or queen.
I read them off one by one.
House Hellion – King Deathlock
House Shardrunner – King Blitz
House Sipian – Queen LeChat
House Posher – Queen Syndy-Syn
House New Meridian – King Urlok
House Amazonia – Queen Vivika
House SoulEdge – King Luther
I look above our pen and see only one description.
Minor Houses
Man, what’s up with that?
I don’t know how many minor factions there are, but if they have only one spot to share while everyone else gets their own booth, I’m starting to figure out now why they consider themselves the underdogs. I then see one last pen that is empty.
House of Lords
I shiver and wonder if Kurgan will show up to this thing.
Above, I spy one more pen set up on an elevated dais overlooking the entire ring. Three guys wearing ankle-length white trench-coats sit upon what look like thrones. Above them their hologram simply reads: Council.
“Is that who we’re supposed to meet with?” I ask Queen Angela, pointing to the dais.
“Not meet,” she says without looking at me. “Petition.”
“So they’re in charge?”
“Of the process,” she says. “The Council is made up of former kings and queens from the various factions. Their job is to see to it the rules are enforced and order remains.”
“How do they do that?” I ask, looking back at the unruly mobs in the bleachers. “This place seems pretty chaotic.”
“Social pressure works wonders,” she says with a smile and then she points at a row of sentry towers monitoring the bleachers with autocannons. “Lennox does his part as well. The only violence allowed is in the ring. It’s what makes this place so special. A focal point to channel and resolve conflict within the heart of a peaceful zone.”
I look at the auto-cannons and the word peaceful becomes quite ironic in my mind.
“Hey!” someone shouts from the pen next to us.
I look across to see a burly red-headed woman in a wrestling outfit—Queen Vivika when I check her stats. She then points at Rembrandt. “He shouldn’t be in there! Get to your kennel, dog!”
What the heck?
Her outburst causes a roar of commotion from the other kings and queens in the area. Angela then steps forward and raises her voice above the din. “He’s in here because I’ve allowed it! The Young Lords have agreed to grant domicile and protection to Lord Rembrandt. And it’s also the reason we’re here.”
A series of comments shoot out from the various houses.
“Frigging disgrace!”
“Can she do that?”
“Let’s hear what the council says about it.”
“I thought we were here to kill him. What’s happening?”
One of the Council members on the dais, a tall man with a beard and long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, stands and amazingly the entire crowd falls silent, even the rabble in the bleachers. I check his stats and his details spill onto my HUD.
Name: Najur
Sex: Male
Race: Bioroid
Class: Gunslinger
Level: 85
Guild: New London
“The Council recognizes Queen Angela of House Young Lords,” Najur says authoritatively, his voice carrying across the stadium as if amplified. “Queen Angela, what you’ve done is unorthodox, but as this is an emergency meeting, I’ll permit it for now. For what purpose have you called this Council of the Kings?”
“High Council Najur,” Angela acknowledges him with a slight bow. “First, thank you for accepting this request and your discretion. I aim to give a full explanation as to why we are here. This honorable council will well know the crimes committed by Lord Rembrandt some months ago.” She then pauses as her nose wrinkles with a sneer. “In fact…some of you standing here today are only kings now, because of it.”
She pauses as a murmur of dissent flows throughout the crowd of onlookers. This seems to only encourage her however, and a smirk forms on her lips as she continues. “Nevertheless, it’s understandable that many of you will now seek revenge for what was done and the manner in which your former kings were slain. In the interest of the public good and reconciliation, Lord Rembrandt has requested a Trial by Tournament to seek absolution for his crimes.”
The crowd within the stands goes wild, mostly with cheers from the major house section.
“Silence!” Najur shouts in his augmented voice, sounding as if he is using a megaphone. The crowd slowly settles and he returns his attention to Queen Angela. “And you wis
h to grant such a request…on behalf of a Lord?”
“I do,” she says.
“Then you understand the risk this poses to your house, should he fail the trial.”
“I do,” she repeats. “Under penalty of disbandment, I, Queen Angela of House Young Lords, will enact a Trial by Tournament on behalf of this Lord.”
Disbandment? I look up at Queen Angela, my stomach dropping through the floor. She never mentioned anything like that. I had no idea what I was asking her to do. The risk she would have to take…and yet, she did it anyway. I look over at Rembrandt and wonder just what kind of relationship they’d had in the past.
“Noted,” Najur says with a nod. “As such, you as Queen must stand as his second upon default. Unless you wish to name a proxy.”
“I do,” Angela says. “I wish to name Maxis of House Young Lords as my proxy.”
That sends another murmur through both the stands and the kings and queens around me, hushed whispers of awe and adulation. For a moment I’d forgotten just how famous my brother is in the PvP circles and even here apparently. I can’t help but feel a sense of pride as I stare up at him. Although getting him thrown into a deathmatch is not a place I’d wish for his talents to be put on display.
“The Council accepts your request for a Trial by Tournament.” High Council Najur then turns to address the other houses. “Honorable kings and queens, a Trial by Tournament has been called to judge the crimes of Lord Rembrandt. You are hereby invited to exact judgement on behalf of your house. Will you stand as leader or nominate a proxy in your place?”
The burly redhead in the pen next to us steps forward. “I, Queen Vivika, of House Amazonia will stand.”
A black guy in a trenchcoat and cowboy hat with a two-handed sword across his back, steps forward next. “I, King Luther, of House SoulEdge will stand.”
In the pen directly opposite us, a blue-haired woman, wearing a chic designer dress and ten-inch-high heels speaks. “I, Queen Syndy-Syn of House Posher, nominate De-synch of House Posher as my proxy.”