The Rogue Wolf

by KT Belt

  The atmosphere was tensely joyful. It wasn’t like the patrons weren’t having fun, but they seemed keenly aware of just how fragile the moment was. The desperation in their revelry was becoming more and more commonplace for everybody, thanks to the war. Even the holo, at ear-splitting volume, could barely be heard over the anxious din. Carmen simply sat and soaked in the ambiance as she was mostly ignored.

  Her phone rang.

  “Hello,” she answered, telekinetically damping the background noise by reflex.

  “You missed your check-in.”

  It was Gungnir. She took a quick glance around to make sure no one was in earshot and let go an annoyed sigh. Who in the world would sit near me? she mused.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m actually waiting for a transport back.”

  “It’s done then?” Gungnir asked as casually as he would ask if she had finished trimming the hedges.

  She paused. It wasn’t that Clairvoyants never lied, as was the stereotype. She lied from time to time when required, and now would be a good opportunity. If the Sentinel disappeared, as she told him to do, no one would ever know.

  “No. I couldn’t do it,” she answered. There was no point in having a clean conscious by refraining from killing someone to dirty it by lying that she did. “I’m sorry,” she added.

  The other end was silent for a few seconds. “Was this a momentary lapse? Could you track him down again?”

  “No,” Carmen said. “Not without your help, like before. But I wouldn’t do it even if I could. I’m sorry I wasted your time. It’s not for me.”

  There was more silence. “What’s done is done,” Gungnir eventually said. “He’ll be taken care of in due course. As for you—”

  “Yes?” Carmen interrupted, feeling suddenly nervous.

  She had never stopped to think about what would happen if she failed. It wasn’t an option, for Michael’s sake. She had thought the only way she could fail was if the Sentinel killed her.

  Gungnir said nothing at first. It was possible that he’d also never considered that she could fail. “This is a bit complicated,” he began. “I have to be honest. I am…sympathetic to your situation. This is what we’ll do. You will be paid the same as what was initially promised. We’ll discuss how you’ll compensate me when you get planetside. It won’t be anything like your previous assignment—maybe bodyguard duty or something like that for a time. Is this arrangement acceptable for you?”

  Carmen was so shocked that it was a miracle she didn’t drop the phone. The cheers and jeers of the bar patrons echoed in her head, but she was still too disbelieving to do the same.

  “You can’t be serious?”

  “I never thought another Clairvoyant would ask me that,” Gungnir said. Carmen laughed in response. In fact, her laughter made her laugh harder. “But yes, I am being serious.”

  “Good. That’s good,” Carmen said, still exorcising her last remaining giggles. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Gungnir replied. “Make sure you see me when you get back.”

  Carmen nodded. “Right.” Then he hung up, and it was done.

  She looked at the phone in her hands and smiled. This was just so hard to believe, and for once in her life, it was hard to believe in a good way. Forget just seeing him—she’d probably give Gungnir a hug and a big, sloppy kiss when she got back. As she looked around the room at all the tensely happy people, Carmen felt less distant from them than before. Sure, their elation had nothing to do with hers, but it made her smile to pretend otherwise.

  Just then, the holo stopped the program it was running with a special report.

  “This is channel five news with the latest on the ongoing war effort,” the newscaster said.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched. Carmen did as well but only nonchalantly. She didn’t have much interest in the war. She couldn’t read anything from the newscaster, since holograms were simply a transmission, but his voice was rushed and excited.

  “According to information just released, elements of various Space Force fleets have just struck the sorten home worlds with a new weapon called Medusa, destroying them completely.”

  A thunderous cheer reverberated through the bar, and people screamed obscenities Carmen didn’t care to hear. All the tension she sensed earlier exploded into a rawer, more benign form that reminded her of squeezing a balloon until it burst.

  “Our sources also speak of sorten diplomats wanting to open peace talks. Even with continued Eternal and arkin pressure, this just may be the turning point of the war,” the newscaster continued. “Here to discuss that and the future of the Sorten Empire with me is Captain Zahn of Space Force Fleet Command.”

  Carmen stopped paying attention about there, though she did hear a couple people say they wished Captain Brown was the consultant. She remembered the name, but nothing other than that came to mind.

  She looked at the bartender before he spoke. “Drinks are on the house!” Another cheer broke out, almost as loud as the first.

  Carmen smiled, if weakly. She guessed free drinks were a good thing, but alcohol and other drugs had reduced effect on Clairvoyants. It had something to do with separating oneself from reality, which Clairvoyants were resistant to. She had no real idea. What she did know was that it always made anesthesia an experience. Her doses when she was in the medical wing back at the facility were best described as multiples of horse.

  A group of men walked in just then. They were about her age or maybe a little older.

  “Everybody hear the news?” one of them asked the crowd.

  “Yeah, blew those bastards straight to hell!” someone answered back.

  The men then glanced in Carmen’s direction. After casually pointing her way, they whispered something to each other. They had her full attention seconds before they began walking toward her. They smiled at her, she politely smiled back, and they took seats near but not with her.

  “Buy you a drink?” one of them asked.

  Carmen gave a bewildered smirk. “They’re on the house,” she pointed out. “But you don’t know what I am?” she asked, somewhat surprised. Sure, she got attention from time to time, but it was rare for someone to just start talking to her.

  “I know you’re hot,” he said.

  She smirked again and then held up two fingers in the peace sign. A spark of electricity arced between her fingertips, and the mood changed.

  “Sorry. Didn’t know,” the man said as he held up his hands. “Hey guys, let’s get out of here.” With that, the group left.

  Carmen smiled and slowly shook her head. Then she picked up her phone and made another call.

  “Hope Memorial Hospital. How may I help you?”

  “This is Carmen Grey. I’m calling about Michael—”

  “Yes, we’ve been trying to reach you. I’ll transfer you now,” the receptionist said.

  “Ms. Grey, this is Elaine. I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  “Sorry about that. I’m off planet,” Carmen said.

  “You didn’t leave a forwarding number?”

  “I…couldn’t,” Carmen replied. “Anyway, I have the money. I can send it right now.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “That’s why we were trying to reach you,” Elaine finally said. “Michael died four days ago due to complications—”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Grey, but you know as well as I do that the situation had been deteriorating for months. We wouldn’t have wanted to transfer him out if the case had been different. There was nothing we could do. His family already had the funeral. Understandably, they tried their best to reach you too.”

  Carmen’s lips quivered. It took effort to even hold the phone.

  “If you’d like to speak to our grief counselors,” Elaine continued, “we’d be happy to provide—”

  Carmen turned off the phone and let it fall
to the table. Her senses were numb, her body deadened. She couldn’t think. She sat in her chair with dim eyes, looking at the ground in front of her, surrounded by the forest of chairs. People passed back and forth, yet she didn’t really perceive them and they didn’t notice her, at least not consciously. If anything, they just seemed happy that she stayed where she was.

  She rested her head in an open palm. It was too much at this point to sit up straight. It was too much to keep her composure in public. She moved her hand to her forehead, covering her eyes, and tried at least to be quiet. It wasn’t much of a concern for anybody there, though. Everyone cheered too loudly to notice the Clairvoyant crying in the back of the bar.

  8

  No More Walls

  “How does she keep beating me?” Phaethon muttered to himself.

  He stared at the chessboard, his perpetual source of defeat, with a sneer. It was such a stupid game. That Edge thought it had something to teach him was laughably remote. He just wanted to fight, or fly, or do something—anything but this fucking waste of time.

  “How?” he muttered again. It couldn’t be complicated, yet by some trick, he just couldn’t win.

  He didn’t need to play now. He didn’t want to play now. Edge would be gone for the next few days. He had to fight back a smile when she told him that. But he had no doubt whatsoever that playing chess would be the first thing they did when she got back. Consequently, he took time every day to practice. Perhaps if he beat her and she finally tasted what it was like to lose, she wouldn’t be so eager to play again? It was worth a try. Reasoning against her or outright complaining about it definitely didn’t work. He would have just killed her and been done with it if she wasn’t so nice to him otherwise. But maybe if she forced him to play checkers as well as chess, he’d finally snap her neck?

  Phaethon smiled weakly and then went back to it. His practice would be more effective if he could get his friends to play against him. They, however, took one look at the board and wisely shied away. Edge had to be the only handler who insisted on this pointlessness. So, his opponent was the computer. Unfortunately, it put his handler to shame in both skill and, most obvious of all, ruthlessness. At least Edge would lay off a little when he was being especially creamed.

  This time, it was a quick if brutal beating. He reset the board and then started again, hoping for better. It was almost impossible to know how the game would turn out, despite all his senses and abilities. He was well aware that Clairvoyants couldn’t tell the future, nor did they have much insight into the random pains and triumphs of chance. That more than anything made him anxious. He’d always hated the feeling.

  The computer played White, just like Edge usually played White against him. She said that even Clairvoyants only rarely had the initiative and that they could only react, same as everyone else. Whether that was Kali talking or if the idea came purely from his handler was hard to tell.

  The computer’s first move thrust right toward him from the center of the board. He could only stare at the piece, which didn’t help since this was a timed match. His play with Edge was either timed or untimed depending on her mood. He looked at the board and then the empty chair opposite him. Whether with Edge or against the computer, he had no idea what he was doing. That was painfully obvious at this point in his life. The best response didn’t just come to him the same way everything else had.

  He tried to think about what Edge and his handler before her had told him. Nothing came to mind, other than platitudes that were as easy to remember as they were worthless in practice. That wasn’t really the case with Edge, but it seemed like everyone here wasn’t even trying to teach him anything—at least not anything useful. All his life, there had always seemed to be limitless options available. He was one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and was maybe even special, so he was constantly told. There was almost nothing he couldn’t do. Yet everything seemed so hollow now.

  He leaned back in his chair, still having yet to make a move. He didn’t really notice the time remaining in the match despite the clocks ringing in his ears. I only have two years left, he reflected. The thought made him lightheaded. His hands even shook slightly like they did over the chessboard when he was flummoxed. He turned to Haven City looming just outside the compound. Perhaps it would be a good idea to not turn down every field trip Edge suggested?

  Eventually the buzzer for the game went off. He lost…again. If he just sat here and didn’t bother with any of it, maybe he could at least get a stalemate? Admitting that fighting the inevitable was futile had to count as some sort of victory at this point. The only other way he could see was endless fighting, endless loss. He shut off the buzzer and sighed. What was the use?

  Just then, Phaethon looked to his left with a start. In fact, every asset and handler turned almost at once. He couldn’t remember that ever happening before. What caught his attention was far too unusual for him to spend much time pondering that, though. Clairvoyants—many of them—were approaching the facility and rapidly. A mass of them not from this place was strange enough, but there was something else as well. Almost all energies of the approaching Clairvoyants felt similar if not exactly the same. The feeling that revelation produced was oddly disgusting. It was so…unnatural. Even twins didn’t feel exactly alike. Everyone’s energy was unique in some way, no matter how minor. This horde felt like they had come off an assembly line.

  “What’s going on?” one of his peers nearby asked no one in particular.

  Phaethon stood and could only shrug. “I don’t know.”

  A second later, there was an explosion. He felt the shockwave coming before it actually hit, though the effect was quite light. Any normal person would have just noticed a brief, slight tremor on the chessboard. He guessed it was an aerocar crash; it was hard to know for sure. A pillar of smoke rose outside the facility, but that was all that could be seen.

  A hint of a possible threat came when half a dozen handlers wearing body armor exited the facility with a host of security personnel right behind them. What is going on? Phaethon thought. Each handler’s primary aim was the wellbeing of their charge, but that only rarely extended to their physical wellbeing. Most assets, especially those who were allowed outside, could take care of themselves. He considered the impossible even further. This can’t be an attack. Who in their right mind would attack here?

  Whoever these approaching Clairvoyants were, it felt like they were just outside the compound now. It wasn’t like he was afraid or anything. He’d beaten everyone he had ever fought quite easily, in fact. Some of the assets looked about nervously and even shied away. That was probably the oddest thing of all. Clairvoyants were the strongest beings in the known galaxy. Sure, they felt fear, but it just wasn’t the same as everyone else. He only wished Edge was here so he could show her what he could do. Yeah, that had to be what his Dark was telling him. His hands were only slightly shaking.

  “I think I’m going to go back to my dorm,” a kid next to him said.

  “Yeah,” another agreed.

  Phaethon and the other assets around his age looked at them and sneered. He even saw a few of his friends coming outside while the first group retreated.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” they asked.

  “No,” one of the assets near him answered. Phaethon nodded.

  “Wait…what’s that?” someone asked.

  He turned to see that a section of the wall was glowing bright red. He could only assume that this force was trying to burn down the wall, which he found strange, since Clairvoyants could just fly over the barrier.

  The wall crumbled in moments and out poured a small army. Phaethon’s mouth fell open. They were Clairvoyants, there was no doubt about that, but they also weren’t. They all looked the same—not broadly similar, but exactly alike. They were all men quite a bit taller than he was. In fact, it would be better to compare their bulk to mountains. Their hair was jet-black, and there was a steely coldness about their gaze.
Its intensity reminded him of a spotlight. Their movement was just as alien. Clairvoyants were direct, but not mechanical. These people moved like robots. There was none of the grace or fluidity that defined Phaethon and his kin. He’d never seen anything like it.

  He was snapped back to the here and now when one of the security members fell to the ground dead, her neck telekinetically broken without pause or restraint. Phaethon looked at the other assets near him, and they all leapt into action.

  As always, there was no real conscious thought. Action, reaction, force, will, the Dark—all words from his education that came together as easily as breathing for him, at least in this game. These clones, for lack of a better name, were fast like Clairvoyants. They seemed to have telekinetically-amplified strength as well. It even seemed like they could anticipate some of his movements, but they weren’t efficient nor even very powerful. Phaethon could feel the energy of the environment flowing through everyone, and these clones were as porous as a filter of rocks.

  He fought two with barely any effort at all. Each second the contest went on, the more behind they fell due to fatigue. His fist landed before he consciously realized it was time to strike. His opponent reeled back, and a second harder attack killed him. The other clone lasted only a scant bit longer.

  “Impressive. I think you’ll do,” a voice said in Phaethon’s head. “You’re a credit to our kind, even though you miss the point,” it added with a bit of sarcasm.

  Phaethon defended himself while also trying to look for whoever was speaking. Telepathy wasn’t like talking with the strumming of vocal cords; it was difficult if not impossible to tell direction.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” he asked.

  “Who I am doesn’t really matter. But—Phaethon, is it? Yes, you will do nicely.”

  “What? How do you know my name?”

  “How I know you is unimportant,” the voice said. “But you are needed for something grander than this middling education. This is a dark time. Our enemies stand on the brink of annihilation. All it will take is a little push.”