Kingmaker, page 14
part #1 of The Gods That Gamble Series
Johnny exhaled, then chuckled. The chuckle morphed into a cough. He hacked and hacked, the taste of iron in his mouth.
"King, you're gravely injured. I can use the suit vitals to slow your heartbeat. Confirm orders."
"Stop, stop," Johnny sputtered. "Disable all authorization requirements. N'cole, I am dying. Do whatever you have to do. Get me to Francis." He coughed, and black liquid sprinkled his visor. "Get me the fuck out of here."
Soles of his boots streaming blue fire, on his back, he surfed the desert.
Johnny's eyes rolled in the back of his head, their lids fluttering in spurts. Black liquid gurgled in his throat.
He coughed. His mind raged—
A King returns to his people.
King gasped, and shot awake. "N'cole, keep my ass up." He seethed, breathing through his teeth. "And contact Francis."
A few beeps. "King," the AI responded, "I cannot reach Chief Modelo."
"What?" King said, "Try Jack. Ramir. Nexus. Anyone."
More beeps. "Nor Jack, nor his Shadow. No communication with the Tower or Nexus HQ. King, the entire city appears to be in black out."
Black out? To protect the electronics – how long had he been in this fucking desert? "N'cole, POWER DOWN NOW!"
His screens cut, his boots closed, King went hurling into the sand.
Chapter 46
King: Vanished
Two hulking carriers floated in space, three hundred miles above the Clouds of Mars. Within them, were two dozen barges a piece, each fitting five hundred soldiers. Men and women, enlisted into an army raised for an abolished practice — taught in school that the mission this army was to perform was supposed to happen only in history or mythology: war was not conducted by civilized people, only by old kings and old gods. No one died for a flag since the Great Reset, why would anyone want to die for one now?
These lessons were imparted to the children of Mars. In their schools, teachers shirked the required readings and rambled on lectures of oppression, equated Terra with ancient words, like "tyranny". In the spirit of their culture, freedom above all else was valued. Freedom above security, freedom above certainty, and freedom above humanity.
The streets of Mars were pitch black, as the domes of the city rose to protect its Clouds and its people, to shield their bodies, their eyes. Cars frozen, as if time had stopped. For three full minutes, the entire city was enveloped in complete darkness: the city silent, the city breathless.
Outside, in the daylight, sailed a weapon. A single blue streak carried a bulk of black metal. Black like onyx. Black like shadow. Toward the stars, it sailed, starless.
Its payload was not an impact. Its purpose was not annihilation. Its intent was not to deliver damage, but a lesson.
The black bulk arrived miles outside of the Terran Carriers, and their surrounding frigates, and unleashed its message.
The sky of space was consumed in orange and blue and red. The cloud of heat tore through shields, it disintegrated metal: the alloy that made up the walls of the ships, melted down, returned to the forge. Inside, the boots of the naive and the gallant, of the simple and the extraordinary, of young men and of young women, fused with the molten metal. Skin became magma. Blood boiled until it evaporated.
In three minutes, thirteen thousand people vanished.
———
On the surface of Mars, lay a dying King. Buried in the sand, he stared up at the stars, and watched his war begin.
PART THREE
DEALS IN THE DARK
Chapter 47
Maria: Get Angry
1 Day Outside of Mars' Orbit
Maria's face was awash in orange and blue light. She and the Captain ran to the window. A powerful fire burned – its massive flames danced, spiraling in and out around each other. It was as if a second Sun had appeared, chariots of fire stampeding from its center.
In minutes, the light was gone. Maria stared out the window, unable to blink. No ships remained — clumps of ashes scattered across the black void of space.
The Captain turned to his desk and scrambled icons, shot messages, tapped fervently.
"Comm's busted Martian side," the Captain said. "Radiation will interfere for weeks, if not months."
Maria jaw clenched, her teeth grinding against each other. She drew short, sharp breaths.
"Shit." The Captain wiped his forehead, propping himself up on his desk. "She fucking warned us, too."
First came the tears. Maria shook her head and wiped her cheeks.
The Captain swallowed, then sat down on the floor under a window. He gazed at the ceiling of his office. The desk next to him beeped wildly, flashing lights and images of officers yelling back and forth. "They were supposed to be small-arms rebels."
Second came the anger. Maria pounded a fist into the window. It resonated with a dull thud. The Captain looked toward her, then stared at the floor.
"I'm done," the Captain said. Tears followed the words. "I should have taken this more seriously. I should have been..."
Third, the determination. Maria craned her neck toward her Captain. She grasped his shoulder, dug her nails in, and yanked him from the floor. "Never again," Maria said.
The Captain stared at her.
"We will never again," she enunciated, "underestimate Johnny King."
Halsey turned away from her. "I won't get a second chance."
Maria pulled him back around. "Bullshit," she grabbed his collar and brought his face to hers. "You tell the fucking Admiral that the richest man on Mars is the number one terrorist in the Galaxy. Quit pussyfooting around. We stop the games. King just proved to us that this isn't politics, not to him." Maria released the Captain's collar and straightened the wrinkles in his uniform. "This is war. Now, get angry and face the Admiral."
Halsey nodded, fixed his collar, and took station at his desk.
Chapter 48
N'cole: Unconscious
Martian Desert
Through the sands, he surfed, lying on his back, choking on his own blood.
A gurgle, a cough.
"King?" … "King?"
Nerve activity: Faint, but present. Unconscious.
Major organs: Functioning, but failing.
Heartbeat: 120 bpm, sustainable.
Blood Pressure: Indeterminable – hemolysis.
Breathing: Shallow. Obstructed.
N'cole flipped King over, his knuckles scraping the sand. Blood and bile ejected from his mouth and splattered the inside of the helmet. He coughed, retching until he was nearly drowning in his own blood. His visor opened and dumped some of the sludge: black stains, and blue fire, trailed behind him.
The city appeared on the horizon, its transparent domes glimmering: the metal shields were withdrawn.
Cloud Five Distance: 25km
King Tower Distance: 78km.
Battery Power: 4%
Blips and traces of light streamed across his visor. One encircled a small steel grated door protruding from the sands.
Sewer Entrance: 10km.
Connecting Francis...
Chapter 49
Kingsmen: Battle Blazer
NIS Headquarters
"The radiation will cook anything that flies close in the next couple of days," Francis said. The explanation had been unprompted. Until that moment, the room had been silent for nearly ten minutes. "And I doubt they'll be able to properly scan from off-world for a while."
Ramir exhaled. "Okay, what next?"
Communicator Dia had a finger pressed to her ear. "I can hear chatter from the GAF Cap. It seems his orders are to stay put, indefinitely."
Jack rose from his seat. "The desk jockeys are going to finger point and paper shift as long as they can. I say we bought ourselves a week."
Nexus sat with his foot on his knee.
The room was silent.
"Did," Ramir cleared his throat, "did we do the right thing?"
Francis looked at Jack. Jack looked at Francis. Nexus looked down.
Ramir sighed. "What would King say?"
Francis looked down in thought for a moment, then smiled. "It doesn't matter if it was the right thing. He'd only ask—"
"'Did it work?'" Jack finished the sentence with Francis. They both smiled.
Jack looked at Dia. "Communicator, with the city back online, can you scan G-Hub and get a pulse check of the population? I'm sure half are confused as hell, but I'm hoping enough people are on our side."
Francis shot up, standing with his hand pressed to his ear. "Go."
The rest of the room shot puzzled looks.
"What's the eta?" Francis paced the room, tapping the screen on his arm. "His condition?"
His face turned grim. "We're on it, N'cole."
Jack and Ramir sprung from their seats. "What's the news?"
"He's alive," Francis said, a small smile spreading on his face. "But barely. He's got Bloodboil. He's on a scavenged battery, she doesn't have enough juice to make it to Cloud One."
"Where's she going to crash him?" Jack asked.
Francis looked and stared Jack in the eye. "Cloud Six."
King was alive. King was in Cloud Six. Eyes agape, Jack's fingertips caressed the button on the back of his left elbow.
———
Francis tossed a black jacket to Ramir. "Change into that." He looked at Jack. "That a battle blazer?"
Jack nodded.
"You know how to work one of these?" Francis asked Ramir, reaching up to adjust the Shadow's lapels.
Ramir shook his head.
Francis beamed at the chance to show off his tech. "Perfect. Okay, pop the collar with both hands, make sure your thumbprints are seated under it properly."
Ramir tucked two thumbs under his collar and popped it up. The collar rose, morphed, extended into a complete helmet with visor, flush with the jacket. "Whoa!"
"Yeah," Francis said. He slightly bounced on the balls of his feet as he explained further. "Okay, now thumbs under the neck, again—it should feel natural, like taking off any other helmet."
Ramir's helmet morphed back into the collar, with a perfect fold.
"Now," Francis rubbed his hands together. "There's blaster parts all hidden in the suit. You're going to assemble a blaster in the blink of an eye. Pretty simple, watch." Francis held up his palm, fingers out. He folded inward his ring and pinky finger. "Do that, then aim it."
Ramir made the finger-gun, then pointed it swiftly to his right. A sharp whir, like a disc spinning, emanated from underneath the jacket. Piece by piece, a scoped blaster pistol assembled in his hand, in less than a second.
"With the thumb switch, it'll be natural to pop off a shot before you even realize you've fired." Francis said. "Okay, that's gonna have to do for now. We have to get to Cloud Six."
Ramir flicked his wrist back and the gun disassembled and receded into the jacket. All the motions were so natural. The ergonomic genius was as heralded as the technical. The young geek was in equal awe of craftsmanship and the craftsman. Ramir posed and drew the pistol in several different directions, practicing.
Jack grabbed his arm. "Let's go!"
Francis tapped the screen on his arm. "Car will be here in less than a minute."
"So," Ramir said, inspecting the inside of the jacket. "I thought Mars had five Clouds. Where's the sixth?"
"Underneath," said Jack, adjusting his tie."The sewers." He tightened his belt. "With the filth and the vermin and the piss."
Nexus chuckled.
Francis looked at Nexus and grinned. "Coming with the Kingsmen, Risuna?"
"Hell no," Nexus said, clenching his fist. He breathed for a moment, smiled with embarrassment, then said, "Go get our King."
Chapter 50
The Demon Degula Roi: Checkmate
Cloud Six, Martian Sewer
Five people — three men, two women — surrounded a table in a decrepit room. Its construction were walls of brittle brick and chipped stone, a dripping, hacked and battered ceiling, and a floor of cracked concrete with sludge seeping out of its crevices.
The table itself was modern: chrome, with plenty of lights and panels. The game the inhabitants played was modern as well. Each had a projection of three soldiers, each a color for their forces, and barriers scattered the table like a maze between the troops. Each player was making subtle, calculated, twitches of the finger, as their little soldiers ducked and weaved about the barriers. Opposing soldiers would dance around the same barrier, afraid to fire — while opponent's soldier could be killed, only capturing gave points.
The women and men around the table were modern, too, yet "alternative," as an Earth politician might put it. They were completely naked, except some had scales – rugged and patterned like tortoiseshell, growing from their own skin – covering the traditionally private areas. Their skin was terribly sallow; not quite pale, nor white, but translucent, red and blue veins visibly intersecting skin, tendon, and bone.
Two features stood out the most amongst the den's dwellers: bulging pupils set in wine-red eyes, and sharp, mangled fangs made of iron.
A sixth man sat on a stone chair in the center of the dimly lit room. Nearly double the height of the rest, limbs both bulkier and lankier, he shared the same ghostly skin, red eyes, and metallic teeth. He had a protrusion of red bone on either side of his forehead; a pair of ghastly wings of papery flesh, barbed with bone, wrapped his shoulders.
The demon on the throne of stone was Degula Roi, and these were his vampires.
"There's a budding strategist among you, surely," Degula said, tsking at the players. "Nearly thirty minutes and still no victor." He reached over to an old computer at his side. The computer had a vial plugged into it, swirling with a yellow and orange liquid. It emitted a soft, faint glow like a candlelight.
"Remember," Degula continued. "Prisoners for leverage, and corpses for threats. Knowing how to get both is equally important."
He unplugged the vial and affixed it into a metal syringe. The luminous liquid drizzled down the needle.
"Sweetening the pot, kids," Degula said. "Whoever wins," he slid a long, jagged nail across the metal syringe, "gets their horns."
As his nail scraped the metal, the player's eyes were fixed on the luscious liquid gliding down the needle. One drooled, another licked their lips.
Degula flicked one of his horns.
The players spun back to their game, fingers twitching rapidly. Degula laughed as he watched the soldiers disseminate, dance all across the table. Life had returned to the game, and Degula leaned back in his chair and chortled.
An echo pulsed into the room — a thud, a splash. Then, the treading of water. Degula craned his neck and looked into the archway of the tunnel behind him.
Water streamed and parted, as a boat leaves a wake. A silver figure sped toward the room from the sewer, his knuckles dragging in the sludge. Degula sniffed the air. He stared at the figure, untroubled.
Iron bars grated the entrance. The silverclad figure collapsed against them, sprawled out. Then, one of his feet lifted at the ankle, like a stringed puppet, and pressed its heel against the grate. Blue fire shot from his bootsole and charred the metal. The boot, its owner still sprawled amongst the sludge, kicked the sizzling grate out. The boots then dragged themselves behind the owner, his legs bending like a doll, until he was flat on his stomach.
The boots ignited again and shot the silver mannequin into the room. The blue fire from his soles sputtered, then flickered out. The man lay motionless at the foot of the player's table.
The room was silent, all eyes on Degula Roi. Degula raised three fingers and then pointed toward the tunnel. He gestured with two fingers at the body and made a come hither motion.
The players divided, three rushing, ducking into the tunnel behind Degula and the other two dragging the silver puppet by the ankles and presenting him at the foot of the throne.
The two vampires reached at the base of the man's neck and yanked, trying to remove the helmet. One dug her foot into his shoulder for additional leverage as she pushed on his chin.
"Use his thumbs," Degula said, "you idiots."
"Yes, my Roi," one wheezed, and they each grabbed one of his hands and touched his thumbs to the underside of his neck. The helmet retreated into his collar.
His collar and cuffs were stained black. His hair and face were matted, stained with dried, mucky blood. Despite a mask of caked filth, the face of the man in silver was unmistakable.
"Well, kids," Degula smiled, his iron teeth glimmering in the low light. "We've seem to have captured a King."
Chapter 51
Kingsmen: Monsters
Near Cloud Six
The Kingsmen sat in a cruiser, flying in and out of traffic, tossing up trash as they rushed through alleyways, and sped toward the south end of Cloud One. Ramir was full of questions, as usual.
"You've heard of GenMod or Mini-Mutation?" Jack asked Ramir.
Ramir shook his head.
Francis bounced his knee up and down. "Developed by the Exchange, before we bought 'em out." He drifted his gaze back out the window, biting his lower lip.
"And promptly shut their asses down." Jack affirmed. " Do-it-yourself splicing, safe for the whole family!" He spat.
Francis smiled and returned to the conversation. His knee stopped shaking for the moment. "'Look on the outside how you feel on the inside'," Francis mocked. "What was the other one?"
"'Don't Let Birth Determine Your Destiny'," Jack laughed, "or some shit. When they realized, towards the end, it was just try-hards and trash buying the things, they pandered: 'Unleash the Monster Within.'" Jack howled.
"Glad Kingmaker stepped in shortly after that," Francis said. "Even if it was before Johnny and I took over."
Ramir scratched his head. "So," he asked, "we're going to meet monsters?"
"Worse," said Jack. "People who think they are monsters."
