The Goddess Gambit

by B Michael Stevens

  "Whoa there. Nice doggie, good doggie," Carbine muttered as he too stood transfixed; his face bore a wash of confusion and terror—the same expression Jon was sure he had plastered over his face. Jon heard his friend speak as if he were underwater, or far away. There must be some mistake. I'm not tainted! his mind cried to itself through its rime-crusted paralysis.

  A figure’s outline appeared next to the menacing Sniffer. The Handler!

  Jon hoped that the arrival of the human officer half of the Scrubber unit meant his salvation and not his doom. It seemed like an eternity passed as Jon watched the non-blinking lenses of the Scrubbers stare at him, processing him. Jon had not realized that he had been holding his breath the entire time until at last a bright, blinking green light appeared on first the Handler and then the Sniffer’s smooth black faceplates. He gasped for air, and with confused relief watched as the pair turned away and continued their patrolling of the crowd at large.

  "What the hell was that about?" Carbine wondered aloud as Jon watched the armored, robotic-like master and its canine companion walk away. Once they were gone, Jon turned to his friend, visibly shaken.

  "I have no idea..."

  Returning his attention to the vicinity of the Handler, Jon could see the patrol continue in the distance, although never again did the Sniffer stop and check anyone out the way he had Jon. Disturbing.

  Even at a distance, he could see that while some people in the audience showed irritation at the interruption of the patrol, Lily Sapphire did not. Jon couldn't even tell if she noticed the military intrusion. If she did, she did not let it show. "The show must go on," was the motto of the trade, and so she just kept on singing and dancing throughout the whole thing.

  The Scrubbers continued their scan of the area for another minute or so before impotently moving on to search elsewhere. They would no doubt station a pack at each of the arena's exits and would examine each person as they left the show.

  After another few minutes of concern and confusion had passed, Jon and Carbine eventually went back to watching the rest of the show, which, after the previous events of the evening, was decidedly uneventful. The finale was another remarkable display of vocal prowess and dazzling light effects. Lily's appreciative fans nearly lost their minds when the show finally ended. Shouts of "Encore!" and "More!" accompanied applause and cheers. Lily blushed and bowed, seemingly trying to thank everyone in the audience individually before finally taking her leave of the stage. Just before she ducked out, she looked back over her shoulder one more time and locked eyes with Jon again.

  A look of satisfaction spread across her face, and she threw him an exaggerated wink. She grinned like someone who had just gotten away with something and then disappeared behind the stage curtain. Jon stood there, staring back at her and then watched her leave, wondering for a moment again: why him?

  Then it hit him. It came to him like a direct hit from an incoming mortar shell: Why the Sniffer had nearly ripped him apart; why they had come in the first place. The Scrubbers had searched the crowd and missed the elephant in the room.

  "That song after the intermission!" Jon blurted out loud, causing Carbine to look at him askance.

  Jon's eyes were as big and round as the spotlights still streaming across the arena.

  "It wasn't a song! It was an incantation! Lily Sapphire was the one who had shaped Strange!"

  003

  "WHAT DO WE DO?" Carbine asked, pacing the room.

  "For the hundredth time, Rene, I don't know," Jon said, and stared at his semi-folded hands, index fingers pointing out and up, pressed against each other. A look of surprise appeared on Carbine's face; Jon seldom used his real name. "I need to go somewhere I can think. Someplace quiet." He unfolded his hands and legs and stood up. Carbine stopped his pacing and looked at him as if awaiting something more. Jon looked across the room and then went into their shared bathroom without another word. He didn't have to go far, for their room was small. A desk with a computer, a sink with mirror, two closet wardrobes, two footlockers, a single shelf and a bunk bed, each bed nook containing a single mattress, a small shelf and a reading light, entombed by a blackout privacy curtain.

  After shutting the door to the closet-sized bathroom, which contained only a toilet and a shower stall, Jon let out a heavy sigh. He reached into the stall and turned the water on. He stayed there for a few moments, zoning out and listening to the water run. After a while, he disrobed and got in.

  I trust you.

  He couldn't get her voice out of his mind.

  He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of the hot water running down his body as he leaned, arms crossed at his forehead level, into the wall of the shower.

  If you see something, say something. The slogan he had heard every day of his life chased the tail of his thoughts; thoughts of Lily Sapphire.

  Even over the sound of the running water, he could hear the anguished wails of his friend, who was taking the revelation pretty hard, being her biggest fan and all.

  It was clear what Jon had to do. But how do I cope with it? He was the Republic Army. He ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was in his core, his very essence. Its goals were his goals. Its enemies, his enemies.

  But why does the enemy have to be her?

  When he came back into the room, he saw that he and Carbine were no longer alone. Three other young cadets had arrived and were now hovering near the entrance. The looks on their faces were a mixture of bewilderment, amusement, and shock. They had come to meet their commanding officers, only to find one standing on the desk in his room, tearing down Lily Sapphire posters, the other standing in nothing but a bath towel, dripping wet.

  "Uh, ah... It looks like we came at a bad time?" the young man in the front of the trio said, more of a question than a statement.

  "Yeah? And why is that, Private?" Jon asked, shutting the bathroom door behind him and strolling across the floor to stand in front of the young cadet.

  "Well, um..." The soldier gulped. "You guys, just… well, look… busy?"

  "What's your name, soldier?" Jon asked.

  "Private First-Class Max 204-056, sir. And this is Private Lunk and Private Quiteke." Max was Caucasian, of medium build with light brown hair and glasses. Lunk, also Caucasian, had a frame that fit his name, a barrel-chested horse of a man with a dull look on his face, while Quiteke was a skinny young black man, much darker of hue than Carbine, and despite his scrawniness still carried himself with an air of confidence and professionalism.

  "At ease. I'm Lieutenant Jon 310-257, and this is Carbine, um, I mean, Rene 761-354." Jon shook hands with all three of them.

  Quiteke's eyes darted over to Carbine, who was still standing on the desk clutching a fistful of poster.

  "We just discovered some disturbing information. We are a little upset," Jon offered to his new squad.

  "May we inquire as to the nature of this intel?" Max asked.

  "Lily Sapphire is an esoterrorist!" Carbine exclaimed, brandishing the ruined poster in the squad’s face.

  "Ow, c'mon man!" Quiteke scoffed. Max looked shocked, while Lunk's face remained expressionless.

  "Unfortunately, I believe this to be true. I believe that I witnessed her perform some sort of incantation. Worse still, I believe that she shaped a Strange on me, somehow."

  "Wha— what are you going to do?" Quiteke asked.

  "Private. The lieutenant is obviously going to turn her in to the Ministry and turn himself in as well." Max looked from Quiteke to Jon. "You know, for screening."

  Jon took a second glance at Private First-Class Max, sizing him up in more ways than one. Slowly he moved his gaze from Max over to Quiteke and said, "That's right. That's exactly what I'm going to do. Thank you, Private." Jon spoke to Max without looking at him.

  A stifled moan escaped from Carbine, who finally relaxed his arms and he released the wad of poster to the floor.

  "So," Jon broke the awkward silence hanging in the air. "Was there anything else,
men?" he asked, looking the trio over.

  "Yes, sir," Max responded, his eyes very slightly narrowed. "We have brought you our first assignment." Max reached into his uniform’s inside breast pocket and withdrew a sealed envelope. "Our squad’s orders from HQ. They asked us to deliver it."

  "Hmph," Jon grunted. "I see you haven't already opened it."

  "Sir!" Max bristled.

  Everyone watched as Jon used his thumbnail to break the seal and then open the envelope. He read the document in silence, folded it back up and then turned to his closet wardrobe, an arm's reach from where he was standing with the trio at the door.

  "It would appear that we are to join up with the 51st in the South-East Quadrant One of the Near Rough and assist them with long-range patrolling."

  "Aw, yeah!" Quiteke shouted. "Heavies!"

  "Okay, we are to meet up the day after tomorrow. I will see you guys then. I've got some things to take care of, if you don't mind." Jon showed his troops out the door as Carbine climbed down off the desk and collapsed into a human pile on the floor.

  "Are you... are you really gonna turn her in?" Carbine asked after the privates had left.

  "You know I have no choice, my friend." Jon gently placed his hand on Carbine’s shoulder and squeezed. "If you see something—" Jon started.

  "I know, I know,” Carbine sighed. “Say something."

  "Take a seat, sir," the last-gen officer said as she gestured to the chair before leaving the room. "A Minister will be with you shortly."

  Chair was an understatement. The thing was more like a throne. It was certainly impressive enough, a behemoth of a chair that, were it not for the sterile and utilitarian look of it, could serve as the seat Chairman Warbak himself ruled from.

  Jon gulped, imagining the circumstances surrounding all those who had sat in the large, square, cushionless seat before him. He didn't miss the clamps built into the armrest and down along where a person's legs would rest.

  At least they mop up the stains. He laughed nervously to himself. Although he knew he had done nothing wrong, he couldn't shake the terrifying thought that Lily had infected him with Strange. A common tactic of the esoterrorists that had infiltrated the Shanty, posing as refugees, was to shape Strange and infect humans, turning them Unpure. Once infected, the victims became capable of shaping Strange themselves. Some took up cause with the esoterrorists, others hid, and others still turned themselves in. No matter what, nothing could change the fact that they were tainted, corrupted. While not Invasive, they posed a large threat to the safety and purity of humanity. For the world to recover, for man to reclaim his place as ruler of his paradise, the Unpure needed to be removed.

  Sadly, the fight was being lost. The Ministry was taxed to the limit simply trying to contain the mess. To track and categorize every Invasive refugee that showed up in the Shanty was one thing, but to try to do the same thing to every human, to try to determine who was Unpure and who wasn't among those that showed up from the Rough had proved to be impossible.

  No one in the upper echelon of the Republic had come out and said it, although Warbak had come close during his graduation commencement speech the other night, but it was common knowledge that the Shanty was, at this point a lost cause. The most the Ministry of Social Purity, or anyone else, could hope for was to contain the problem to the Shanty; to keep the Ziggurat pure.

  Jon had heard whispers in the Academy that small cells of esoterrorists had gotten in. Had launched attacks inside the Zigg. Had shaped Strange and tainted citizens, true citizens of Home. They were only whispers, though. Nothing on the State news. But now this business with Lily Sapphire...

  Jon heard the snap-hiss of the room's door sliding open again and looked up from the chair. A tall man entered. He wore the same closed-face helmet of a Handler, with its smooth curved lens and array of antennae in the back. He presumably wore the same reinforced armored bodysuit of a Handler as well, though Jon couldn't be sure as his body was obscured by an ankle-length Officer’s coat of black leather, buttoned up and cinched with a narrow leather belt that also crossed one shoulder, and decorated with many insignia pins and patches, signifying his rank and status within the Ministry.

  "Lieutenant," the Minister said, his voice reminding Jon of someone beyond dehydration trying to speak, coming out first crackly and hoarse, and then strained through a pop-stars Auto-Tuner machine. "I understand you have something you wish to report regarding a possible esoterrorist infiltration."

  "Uh, yes, sir." Jon tried to contain his nervousness and not to appear flustered, then caught himself dusting off the sides of his cargo pants for no good reason other than to rid his hands of the cold sweat collecting on them.

  "Please, Lieutenant. Take a seat and we can begin." The Minister gestured to the same chair the receptionist had. Jon noticed that, like the Handlers, the Minister’s hand was also clad in a white glove. Not an inch of skin showed.

  Jon gulped again and sat in the throne-chair. The Minister approached and made an inviting gesture. "Please, go ahead when you are ready."

  It took him a moment to overcome his anxiety over his surroundings and the whole situation, but eventually, Jon loosened up some and explained, as best he could, what had happened during the second act of the show. The Minister listened without interruption until Jon got to the part where Lily delivered the message of "I trust you" to him.

  "Why would she say that to you?" the Minister asked.

  "I have no idea, sir. I honestly don't."

  "Are you working with the esoterrorists?"

  "No! What? Of course not." Jon hesitated, then added, "I just graduated." Jon winced as he spoke this last part, realizing it was a ridiculous thing to say and that it came out wrong, perhaps making him sound guilty. I'm just being paranoid. Tired. But seriously, why would they even ask that?

  "Continue." The electronic croaking of the Minister’s voice was eerily monotone, his body language gave nothing away. Jon was perplexed; he suspected the Minister didn't believe him. He felt the squeeze of panic’s fingers tightening around his heart and forced himself to ignore it. He took a deep breath and continued the retelling of the night's events.

  When he finished, he found himself torn between telling the Minister his fears and concerns about the possibility that he had been corrupted and keeping those dark thoughts to himself. His conflict, it turned out, was a moot point.

  "Thank you." The Minister took a step forward. "But now we need to make sure that the witch did not turn you. We must ensure that you are pure." Jon reflexively tried to gulp a third time, but it got stuck in his throat, which had instantly become a parched desert. The white-gloved hand appeared again from behind the Minister’s back, waving gently in Jon's direction. Before he knew what was happening, the chair's built-in restraints clamped around Jon's wrists and ankles.

  "Hey. Wait a minute. I didn't do anything! There is nothing wrong with me. I'm pure. Pure!"

  "I will be the judge of that." The Minister’s robot-frog voice dropped an octave lower as he stepped up to Jon, looming over him. The white-gloved hand reached out and grabbed Jon's forehead and scalp, holding him fast in place.

  Then Jon felt it. While he hadn't recognized it the first time he’d experienced it earlier that night, he knew it the second he felt it this time. It was unmistakable. He would know the touch of Strange forever more.

  The Handlers shape Strange too! That's how they know! Oh my God!

  "You, you..." Jon tried to call the Minister out on his dirty little secret, but only strained garbling came out. Ponderous thoughts about the nature of the Scrubbers and questions about how they managed to keep this double-standard a secret quickly vanished from his consciousness as the Minister went to work.

  Wriggling worms of ice burrowed into Jon's brain, and the looming Minister in his field of vision was replaced with flashing images of recent events, pulled from his memory banks. He realized with some difficulty, having to concentrate through the pain, that the Minister seemed to
be fact-checking his story. The entire process only took a second or two. Within moments the vision-flashes stopped, but the cold grip on his mind did not. Phase two had only just begun.

  "Hold still, this will be over soon." The Minister’s words, while low and quiet, sounded like booming explosions in Jon's mind. He realized that this Uber-Handler probing him was speaking to him in the same manner that Lily had: telepathically. Jon might have been shocked, maybe even impressed, but his id had completely taken over, booting out the squatting ego. Pure, blind, animal fight-or-flight terror incapable of forming any real thought had taken hold and wouldn't let go until the Minister did.

  Then, as abruptly as the probing had begun, it stopped. The Minister unclasped his hand from Jon's head and a moment later the restraints around his extremities likewise let go.

  "You are pure," the Minister proclaimed, as if nothing was wrong, as if he hadn't just psychically tortured Jon.

  Jon sat, slightly rocking back and forth for a minute before his faculties fully returned to him. He realized that his mouth was hanging open and that his chin bore a fair amount of drool. He fumbled his arm up to his face and wiped it about as effectively as a toddler does when eating. He blinked several times and stared up at the Minister, too out of it to be confused.

  "You may return to your duties."

  The door behind the Minister hissed once more, and the last-gen female officer reentered carrying an N-Tab.

  "Please touch here to sign the non-disclosure agreement." She smiled at him.

  The fog slowly lifted from Jon's mind. What had just happened? The Minister... He shaped Strange... Was he Unpure? But how could the State...? Jon tried to hold onto the thoughts the way the waking dreamer tries to capture the adventures of the night before, but like those fleeting images, Jon's understanding of what had just happened slipped away into his unconscious, like a leaf fallen onto a running river.

  Jon frowned at his forgetfulness. What was I going to ask? Then he reached a slightly trembling finger out to the female officer’s N-Pad and touched the color square with the smiley face on it. He stood from the chair and slowly shambled over to the Chamber’s other door, the traditional handle-and-hinge one that he had entered from. He stopped, just as his hand reached for the door handle.