Ocean in the Sea Page 33

  “We must all pass through fire.” Senjiita glanced at Beloris. “We must all live through the flames of our past to reach the future.”

  “If you are talking to me,” rumbled the big Russian, “I do not speak Chinese.”

  “My apologies,” Senjiita stated in accented English. “Mr. Herman expresses reluctance to suffer the painful memories of his past. They could give him access to his time with Tanandor, but they are bitter and difficult.”

  “Hmf. Tell Mr. Herman to act like a man.”

  “I heard that,” hissed Jenny.

  Arsus called over the open channel. “Moving to 70,000 meters. I’ll deploy the boosters at 130 and hit them at 140. Be ready. Thrust will last for about 20 minutes, and we’ll be pulling heavy Gs. Your flight suits will compensate. Make sure Senjiita is IN ONE. You’ve got about three minutes to get him ready. Considering his host, I suggest you hurry, or he’ll be chewing on his own lungs when we get up there. Double-D out.”

  Beloris stood up and opened an overhead compartment, decanting a suit for Senjiita. Handing them to the ancient Chinese peasant he said, “Is okay, old man, we keep your lungs inside. Wear this. Feet go down. Head goes up.”

  Herman rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Beloris, you’d think he’d never done this before.” How many lives had these people lived? Surely they’d experienced just about everything.

  “The host body remembers,” Beloris told Herman. “The origin mind forgets. Unless, of course, you are Lewis Herman, and you can bend system to your will. Good for you, Da? Not so good for other jumpers. Here.” He offered the bottom half of the suit to Senjiita. “Put feet in. We seal boots. You get top on. Good to go, yes?” Senjiita struggled to get his arms and feet in at the same time.

  “Attention,” stated Jenny. Her voice sounded distracted and strained. “The boosters will be hot. Mainland Japan will pick them up on infrared. I cannot mask heat and radio at the same time. They will fire tracking missiles designed to take out satellites.”

  “Thank you Jenny,” Arsus said over the channel. “I hate to say this, but satellite-killer missiles aren’t the major threat. This vessel isn’t designed to dock with Freedom-3. It relies on a tender shuttle to tug us there, and… um… it hasn’t launched because Randuu hasn’t reached her position on the station yet. We need her help. If we don’t get it, we’ll run out of oxygen.”

  “Why not wait then,” said Jenny. “Fire the boosters when she calls.”

  “Because I’m in position to reach Freedoom-3 now,” responded Arsus. “And also, I don’t like hanging around Chinese airspace. It’s asking for trouble.”

  “Prior proper planning,” commented Herman, “prevents piss-poor performance. Sounds like you forgot the 7 Ps of planning, Arsus. I can handle the missiles, but there ain’t jack I can do about the shuttle.”

  “When is Randuu arriving?” asked Beloris.

  “Unknown,” stated Arsus. “She should be there already, but I haven’t heard from her.”

  “Very bad,” grumbled Beloris. “Bad as battle in bathroom of Columbia Tower. Shit everywhere and long drop at end.” He finished sealing Senjiita’s suit collar. “Suits not made for vacuum,” he added. “Should have put space suit on board.”

  “You ever been force-jumped, Beloris?” asked Herman.

  “Many times.” He looked out the single small square window in the crew cabin. “Never fall into recalibration though.”

  “But you’ve fallen from orbit?”

  “Da. Sound fun, yes? But is big boring if planet have atmosphere. Bricking starts with re-entry fire. Don’t wake up until after impact.”

  “So how were you force-jumped?”

  “Starvation.” He shook his head with a distasteful expression. “Is usually this. Most things I brick up, but no food and I die slow. Lack of resources. Fell into black hole once too. High tech good for Randuu. Not so good for old Beloris.”

  “So what happens if you drown or fall into a star?”

  “Either wait long time, or turn off interface and force-jump.”

  “But how do you turn off your API if you’re bricked?” asked Herman. “You’re unconscious aren’t you?”

  “Nyet. When host is fully bricked, mind of Beloris is in personality storage. Very boring place. No body. No sensory input. But there is sense of time and jump-timer. Is where I can wait for timer to end, then turn off interface, or wait longer. Sometimes is worth waiting, like when you burn me in pit. But in black hole, waiting for end of universe require patience I do not have. Same with star, or bottom of ocean.”

  “Almost there,” Arsus said over the channel. “Is Senjiita ready?”

  “I am ready,” Senjiita whispered into the mic.

  “Firing boosters in three, two, one...”

  The Kron Job

  “Mon Lieutenant, we are too close to it,” complained Brigadier Bonfils. He looked up over the barrel of his weapon and wiped the sweat from his face. “I think it is coming faster than before.” Nostrils flaring he stared with wide eyes. “It is the wrath of God,” he whispered. “Just as my mother told me.”

  Staring through the scope of his rifle, Lieutenant Comtois curled his lip in a snarl. “The wrath of God,” he scoffed. “You’ll feel pretty stupid if it turns out to be some new Russian bomb.”

  Brigadier Bonfils shook his head. The blurry haze encompassing more than half their country shimmered and rippled to the south of them, visibly expanding in every direction and reaching into the upper stratosphere. Within it, strange shapes moved like shadowy ghosts, impossible to discern – a terrifying unknown threat. Nothing that went in ever returned. Explosives, radar, bombs, and unmanned probes, all failed to reveal any explanation or even a clue as to what it could be. “If you are right, I will feel stupid. If I am right, we will all feel stupid. I cannot win!”

  “We hold position,” stated Lieutenant Comtois. Through the lens he watched the tiny two-door car, a beat piece of crap typical of what the upper-class French could afford these days. The car sat under an overpass just thirty minutes north of Paris. According to his calculations, they still had sixteen minutes to get back to the copter. Time enough to capture whatever demon lay inside that vehicle. Even Fuhrer Krosig was concerned, which is why a French team had been sent instead of Germans. Expendability had its advantages and its drawbacks. This time they got the action, and the risk. He thought about the target.

  A nurse, the Commandant had told him. A woman by the name Aimée-Marie Armendariz who had, according to reports, devastated Riom using some kind of unknown kinetic weapon. Speculation was practically pointless, but her appearance coincided with the energy field. If there was a relationship, then she had to be taken alive. Hence they were armed with tranquilizer darts and tazers instead of proper weapons. But Bonfils was right. Waiting much longer was out of the question. Keying his radio twice, Lieutenant Comtois gave the signal.

  Six hundred meters away, Sergeant Deniel and his squad of men approached the car, crouching with their gas-powered trank rifles at the ready. Suddenly, Lieutenant Comtois caught movement through the dirty windows and keyed the mic three times. The men dropped to their bellies, but they were too close and there was no cover. When the vehicle opened, they were in plain sight of the woman inside.

  Dressed in a stolen yellow hazmat suit, Heticus stepped out of the passenger door. He kept the car between himself and the men. With a wave of his hand, the vehicle flipped over, crushing the soldier on the other side and exposing the other six on the ground behind the vehicle. As if expecting this, Heticus shoved them flying with a burst strong enough to launch them several hundred meters. As they screamed and tumbled to their deaths, he crouched and raised both hands, pulling the flipped car toward him and onto its side. Darts slammed into the undercarriage a second later.

  Aware of their approximate location, Heticus opted for an indirect method of eliminating his enemies and shoved at the overpass above him. Invisible force slammed into the concrete and steel, tearing it from its f
oundations. With an addition push, he threw it in the direction of the snipers and peeked around the edge of the car for a look, but couldn’t pin-point them. They’d sought cover in the overgrown grass around the autobahn. How unfortunate.

  The ground shook heavily as the overpass hit, sending a billow of dust and dirt skyward. Before it settled, Heticus pushed again, this time with just enough force to roll the twisted concrete wreckage over the ground. Crumbled chunks of asphalt and bent metal rattled and clattered amidst the booming impacts. When he felt it far enough, he stopped. It was a nice wide swath of destruction. Any simulants in its path were a threat no longer.

  Satisfied he was momentarily secure, Heticus pushed the car back on its tires and yawned, stretching Aimée-Marie’s arms. Her spine crackled from the uncomfortable night in the car seat, and Heticus wished he could have just five minutes in a hot shower. The host body stank, her female parts in particular. Human bodies were disgusting. Worse, the host’s mind was undisciplined, and the dirty whore craved something called a ‘croissant and espresso.’ Images and scents appeared unbidden, plaguing him with hunger. Since the jump in, he’d had stale crackers and a dry cheese sandwich. Not nearly enough for someone who’d been on intravenous feeding.

  And why was he suffering the humiliation of this discomfort? It was all due to Arsus and Randuu. Insects did not beg favor of a God without payment, and they were now deep in his debt. The insult of being dropped into this brain-damaged slut and left to fend for himself demanded vengeance, and his jump-timer was nearly up. They would regret not sending him help. Though it might take a thousand jumps, he would have his due, but first, survival.

  Looking back down the road, he curled his nose at the expanding dome of haze, but only for a moment. The buzzing sound of rotor blades interrupted the temporal hissing, and he turned east where a small army of quad-engine hovercraft approached. They slowed, maintaining their distance several kilometers away. They’d either come for him, or to observe the destruction of their world. It didn’t matter which, there was no time to kill them. Recalibrations were known to expand at unpredictable intervals, and he was uncomfortably close.

  Starting the crumpled car, he moved out onto the road. It was choked with empty vehicles abandoned by the panicked mortals. The traffic jam ran on as far as he could see. Pushing them out of the way, he accelerated. Like an invisible bulldozer, his kinetic blessing threw everything in front of him to the sides. This, of course, attracted the attention of the hovercraft, but they still maintained their distance, perhaps they’d come for him after all, but they knew what he could do by now, and they’d be wary. With so many large metal projectiles lying about, he was well-armed.

  Adjusting the rear view mirror to keep track of them, he neglected to shove a crate out of his way. It must have fallen off a truck. The brief distraction cost him dearly. Whatever the crate contained it was heavy enough to stop his car instantly. A moment later, he pulled his face away from a bloody airbag, cursing and shaking his head. The impact had smashed the host’s nose, but the rest of her feeble form appeared moderately functional. No broken bones at least. He blasted the door open with a wave of his hand and got out, staring angrily at the broken crate. There were plenty of other vehicles, but he’d have to find one with keys inside. Marching through the menagerie of autos, he checked the windows, occasionally blasting them open.

  A missile struck the asphalt ahead of him, and another one from behind. Their hissing warheads released clouds of sickly translucent yellow smoke. Gas. Damn these mortal fucks! He held his breath and raised the hood of the hazmat suit, sealing the cowling. Slipping the filter mask over his face, he continued his search with more haste than before. Even a God could feel anxious with a recalibration at his back.

  Checking a cargo truck, Heticus growled in frustration. Still no keys. This was taking too long. He flung the truck at the squadron of hovering aircraft, but his aim was off and the push insufficient. The truck made it halfway before arcing to the ground in an explosive crash.

  “Clés!” he screeched in Aimée-Marie’s high pitched voice. Why did none of these hairless apes leave their damn keys? It was a mystery. But then humans were often a mystery, ex-brachiating bipedal primates. They should have stayed in the trees.

  Finally he found a cabulance used for transporting medical supplies. The keys were in the ignition but the rear seat was down and the back was packed high with Styrofoam coolers – each marked with biohazard symbols and yellow warning. Probably urine and stool samples. This would not be a good vehicle in a crash. Popping the back hatch, he opened the front door and sent a kinetic pulse through the car, spraying the road with broken glass, white flakes of Styrofoam, and grotesquely colored liquids.

  Turning the key, he pumped the gas pedal. When it finally started, he looked up to see that one of the hovercraft had moved, positioning itself eight hundred meters down the road in front of him. In the side mirrors, he saw the others had gone to his flank. The stinking mammals were trying to box him in.

  Gunning the engine, the cabulance burst into the cars ahead. The tangle of vehicles erupted in a wave of invisible kinetic force. Like an orange peel curling in both directions the wave bent to the fore and rear of Heticus’s onslaught, upward and tangent to the curvature of the earth. Sensing this, feeling the distribution of density in realtime, he selected his targets and dispatched them as one might send parcels for delivery. Vectors chosen, amplitude provided, distances considered, each of the flying conveyances slipped away, adrift on memories of interception coinciding with the trajectories of their individual targets. One by one they were met with a singular kiss. A hug. And then a merger of energies.

  Heticus was talented at this task, the conjoining of two objects. Heat was usually involved, but not so much as kinetic disposition. At their connection points, the quad rotor aircraft crumpled along with the cars. It was not always so, for in other simulations he had seen the resistance of multiplex materials and retroflexive composite nanaotech. But here, in this simulation, no such technology existed. They were weak, these mortals, and they would pay for that weakness.

  Then, the cluttered sky simply froze. The flying cars held their positions. The hovercraft stopped in place. Even the explosions halted like blossoming flowers of red and orange. It was as if the sky had been sealed in acrylic resin, a three-dimensional paperweight.

  The Kron was near.

  Growling, Heticus increased pressure on the gas pedal and continued pushing vehicles out of his path. Using his interface this frequently was giving him a headache, but he couldn’t stop. Invisible and intangible, Krons possessed full control over the Attistar’s sub-system clock. They frequently directed recalibrations. To them, jumpers were alien invaders polluting the simulation’s goal and storyline. Krons could not be stopped – or so it was said.

  Checking his jump timer, Heticus sensed its terminal velocity counting down to completion. Mere minutes, perhaps seconds, remained before he could safely log off this retarded French whore, but those minutes could spell his death. Speed might save him, buy him time, but this piece of shit vehicle was already taxed to capacity. Its maximum velocity capped at a pitiful 144 KPH.

  More vehicles froze as he flung them, and the stasis effect dropped lower. A blanket of temporal ice was drawing down on him. The cars and trucks halted motion sooner and sooner, creating a wave of metal in the sky. When it reached the road, he’d no longer be able to pass. A hundred meters, then fifty, then twenty five. At fifteen, he slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt.

  Blasting the driver’s door open, he stepped out and screamed at the sky. “SHOW YOURSELF! FACE ME!” Could a Kron take form? He wondered what it would look like. There was no way of knowing. No history he could tap. But as he stood there, the air wavered and rippled in a sphere. It dropped closer and halted before him.

  “Non-operative alien claimant,” hissed a disembodied voice from inside of Aimée-Marie’s head. Though Heticus could not recognize the language, it was perf
ectly understandable. “Primary Attistar alignment breach requires assessment to catalog future interactivity. This sector is to be cleared and must remain inviolate. Declare your protocol and frequency.”

  “I am Heticus, God of this world – and of others." Let the damned thing know who it was dealing with. "My frequency is one. My protocol is BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION, as is your IDIOTIC request for a declaration." He voiced the words with as much derision as he could muster. "Who commands you? What flawed PARENT CLASS has spawned your childish instantiation?”

  “My universal ID would be meaningless to you,” said the voice in his head. “Your label has been cataloged under classification ‘God of this world.’ Your frequency is cataloged as low priority. Under Entalin law, you have one opportunity to engage acknowledgement of avocation to access this ring segment. Transmit your security certification now or accept immediate deletion.”

  Heticus unzipped his hazmat suit and reached inside, extracting Major Detlef Ekkhardt pistol from Aimée-Marie’s waistband. The jump-timer was nearly up. Only a few more seconds now. A delay must be purchased, and only esoteric coin would be suitable, therefore he rambled further. “I will acknowledge my avocation for access and reveal my security certification if you will identify your authority to operate in this segment, Kron. WHO or WHAT has granted you permissions to this sub-sector?”

  “Without a security authorization cert, that data is inaccessible, therefore I will initiate deletion. Please be aware that under afterlife parameter settings 25FRV32EW you have the authority to requisition ancillary disposition. Backup allocations will be accessible after transition.”

  “WAIT!” shouted Heticus. “One more thing before you ATTEMPT your deletion of a GOD!” He cleared his throat and tapped his cheek with his left hand. “How do I access the afterlife parameter settings? What do I do to evoke the interface?”