THE VAULTS10
10:1
Eugene woke up face-down on the platform in the Distillery. His cheek and right arm numb, he rolled himself over and spat out the taste of metal.
“That’s not right,” Staley said. “You’ve got to account for the neural flow by—”
“I know what I’m doing, Leonard,” Mort snapped. “Perhaps we’d have an Alliance Medal Winner here to explain it to you had you taken the time to get the math right the first time.”
“Gentlemen, please,” the General said. “Let’s play nice.”
Eugene blinked around the place. Fluorescent tubes zigzagged up above, burrowed into the ceiling. Wires snaked and coiled in corners and rubber hoses climbed the walls like ivy. Darkened tanks circled the room, bolted up at regular intervals like the inside of a massive centrifuge; casks left over from Darby’s homebrew operation before he partnered with Mead-O-Lite.
Mort and Staley sat at the nucleus atop raised iron girders. The three-tiered console was an extended collage of monitors and keyboards rigged to a mess of hard drives and pocket generators. The General stood behind them, hands on their headrests, leaning in.
“Why would he volunteer?” Mort said. “Walter knew it was unstable.”
“Men have done stranger things in the pursuit of power,” the General wheezed.
“I tried to stop him,” Staley said. “You saw the feed. He was delirious after he got out of the chamber.”
“Yes, rather convenient you don’t have any footage from beforehand.”
“I don’t appreciate what you’re implying, Mort.”
“And I don’t appreciate my work being used behind my back,” Mort said. “Walter and I were the only ones on the record for Proteus. Why did your team not involve us?”
“Perhaps we knew you wouldn’t approve,” the General said.
“Damn right, I wouldn’t,” Mort said. “We’ve had breakthroughs, sure, but we’re nowhere near human trials. Hell, Walter was only just coming around to the idea this was anything other than a theoretical novelty. Why would he skip to trials? Hell, why would any of this be set up in the first place?”
“Perhaps he didn’t feel the need to inform you,” Staley said. “Honest, you’ve only known him a few months, Mort. Or did you really think you two were friends?”
“We were partners, Staley,” Mort said. “And throwing out the Scientific Method is orders of magnitude from a change of heart.”
“Well, he was the one who dumped all the files on-base,” the General said. “Perhaps he was unimpressed with the progress you were making.”
“Or perhaps he was persuaded to act against his own interests,” Mort said. “That seems to be your area of expertise…”
Eugene rolled over again, slowly as to not arouse suspicion. He examined the other side of the room. There was an inactive warp gate nearby and stray pieces of equipment against the far wall. He saw a tunnel carved into the rock and, with no one standing in his way, he decided to make a break for it.
“Check yourself, Doctor,” the General said. He placed his hand over his holster. “And get back to work.”
Eugene crawled slowly to the edge of the platform. While everyone looked the other way, he slipped under the railing and tiptoed toward the tunnel. Halfway across the room, two vice grips clamped down on his shoulders.
He arched his back and cranked his neck to see what was causing all the commotion in his nervous system. It was the ghost, the man in hazmat holding him in place, breathing heavily through the helmet.
“Easy there, Skeeter,” Eugene said, the gloves squeaking as he writhed around. “I ain’t hurting nobody…”
The General spun around and shouted across the room.
“That’s quite enough, Major,” he said. “Young master Bohr is our guest.”
“Christ,” a muffled voice came from the suit. The gloves unfurled and Eugene fell forward. The suit pushed him toward the console and the helmet came off. Nero flipped his sweat-soaked hair out of the way. “Now the witness know who I am.”
“I’ve known it all along!” Eugene massaged his neck. “You’re Snively Jorgenmeister, who we met briefly in the first act. You’re the one what’s been scaring tourists, so you can sell this whole plot off to the Escobedo Mining Company.”
“In point of fact, Major,” the General said, waiting at the top of the steps. “Dr. Nova and Mr. Bohr couldn’t I.D. you until you took the mask off.”
Nero’s face went red. He shoved Eugene up the steps and stormed off to the observation deck where he stood arms crossed.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the General said. He towered over Eugene, a drunken grin plastered to his wrinkled face. “Allow me to introduce myself: General Howard Mendax the Third, at your service. You’ve met my son, Major Charles Nero. This is Mr. Staley and those two idiots over there are Nick and Ron.”
“Good God,” Eugene said. He swatted at the air and turned up his nose. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but that is not a face you want to wake up to.”
The General held out his hand and leaned closer.
“Is that you, Mort?” Eugene said, ignoring the outstretched hand. “You never told me you were friends with a homeless cyborg.” He looked the General up and down. “Is that an artificial eye? Please tell me you’ve got a claw hand or laser vision. Something to complete this whole look you’re going for.”
Eugene turned to the glassed-in observation deck that dominated the far wall. It was embedded in rock like a terrarium. Nick and Ron bumbled around inside wearing scrubs and surgical masks. They moved in and out of view, passing the young man sitting at the prep table.
Private Zeno itched at the electrodes on his body, shivering in his boxers and dog tags. Nick swabbed pressure points with cotton and made crude circles with a fat marker. A metal sarcophagus stood nearby with a man-shaped mold dug in the middle. Tubes exited the contraption in all directions. Ron carefully removed syringes from a shiny case and inserted them, one by one, in the slots surrounding the device.
“I suppose you have a lot of questions,” the General said.
“Nah, I’m good,” Eugene said. “Actually, I was just leaving. I’ve got an appointment. My therapist, a sleep therapist…”
The General grabbed him as he turned around.
“Please, Eugene,” he said, rolling up a chair. He spun it around and tapped the seat. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
“I insist,” the General said. “We have much to discuss.”
“I don’t think we do,” Eugene said.
“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll want to be sitting down for this.”
10:2
“I hope you’re better at this when you break the news to families of servicemen,” Eugene said. “So, do I get a flag or what?”
“I’m being serious, young man,” the General said. He bowed his head and closed his eyes as if the thought alone were too much to bear. “Your father has passed away.”
“I’m being serious too,” Eugene said. “Where’s my flag?”
“This isn’t easy for me to say,” the General said. “But I owe it to Walter to give it to you straight.” He frowned at Eugene, every shriveled bit of his face contorting to convey true concern. It was almost convincing.
“Bullshit,” Mort said under his breath.
“What’s that, Dr. Nova?”
“I believe he called bullshit,” Eugene said.
“We’ve already discussed this, Mort,” the General said. “You should be concentrating on your work.”
“Where’s his body?” Eugene said. “You know, for closure and shit.”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible,” the General said. “There’s no body left.”
“Well, then I second Mort’s motion,” Eugene said. “Bullshit.”
“Walt broke in and administered the formula to himself,” Staley jumped in. “By the time I got here to help stabilize him. He was already flaring out.”
“That clears everything up,” Eugene said. “Thanks, asshole.”
“Well, that’s what happened, kid.”
“So, you’re telling me the same man who couldn’t string up X-mas lights without running a simulation first,” Eugene said. “The man who made me miss the science fair because my baking soda volcano was, and I quote, ‘sloppy and unpredictable.’ You’re telling me that guy, out of the blue, forgets all logic and rational thought and decides to shoot up some stuff he knows will probably kill him. Stellar work, detective.” Eugene started a slow clap and brought it closer and closer to Staley’s face.
“I know this is difficult,” the General said. “I lost my old man around your age. Seemed a lifetime before I made peace with it.”
“Yeah, this whole bonding thing,” Eugene said. “It would probably be more effective if you hadn’t kidnapped me and brought me to your secret lair.”
“Look, we didn’t ask for this, Eugene,” the General said. “We all knew there were risks, not least of all your father, but this…” He shook his head and furrowed his brow. “I never thought it would end like this.”
“I never accused you of thinking,” Eugene fired back. “If you can’t show me his body, then you better get to explaining how that works.”
“Do you recall what I was saying at dinner?” Mort said. “The goal’s always been to give the user the ability to manipulate matter.”
“Excuse me, Mort,” the General said. “What were you saying earlier about your highly confidential research?”
“We’re trying to bend reality,” Mort said. “To shape it to our will, however, there’s a significant risk of the process inverting itself.”
“Wait, so you’re saying reality bent my dad?”
“Instead of things becoming what you want,” Mort sighed. “There’s a chance of becoming what you see.”
“This isn’t an exact science,” Staley said. “It’s volatile, strange…”
“Which is precisely why we shouldn’t be anywhere near human trials,” Mort said. “Especially not ones run by a hack scientist with a history of irresponsible behavior.”
“I’m not on trial here, Mort,” Staley said.
“Yet,” Mort said, stressing each syllable. “You’re not on trial yet.”
“It’s your formula,” Staley said. “So, if it didn’t work properly, I’d say that’s on you.”
“Oh, this is my fault now?” Mort said. “That’s rich, especially coming from the guy who—”
“Enough!” The General slammed his fists on the railing, shaking the whole platform.
“The shuttle out in the dunes,” Eugene said blankly.
“It was such a minute possibility,” Staley tried to explain. “I never thought it would actually happen, but your father, well…he confirmed that hypothesis.”
“What a way to say he exploded…”
“It’s a tragedy,” the General said. “But playing the blame game isn’t going to bring him back. Your father did the right thing, the honorable thing. If he hadn’t gotten out of dodge when he did, he could’ve taken all of Hazmat under with him.”
“I am so sorry, Eugene,” Mort said. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”
“No,” Eugene said. “No, you really can’t.” He closed his eyes and took four deep breaths. When angry, you should count to four. When very angry: swear. Eugene opened his eyes and dropped his head. “Fuck…”
“It’s okay,” the General said. “Let it out, son. We’ll give you a moment.”
“I need to go home,” Eugene said. “I’ll have my moment there. And don’t call me ‘son.’”
“Of course,” the General said. “Of course, you can go home. Your family will need you during this difficult time, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.”
“Why’s that?” Eugene said. “You look like a guy who can make things happen, so get me a shuttle. The only reason I’m here in Flatland is because of my dad. He’s gone. I should get to go too.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Staley said.
“That’s exactly what someone says when they’re trying to distract from their colossal fuck-up,” Eugene said. His eyes were red and glossy, but he refused to let the tears come.
“Like I said….” Staley bowed back toward the console. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s where Staley’s wrong,” the General said. “It couldn’t be simpler.”
“You couldn’t be simpler,” Eugene said.
“I understand your frustration,” the General said. “But you shouldn’t take it out on us.”
“Oh, am I hurting your feelings?” Eugene said. “Does that mean I’m not invited to your birthday?” He examined the General again, taking in the bionics and retrofitted bodyware. “I was looking forward to your one hundred and sweet sixteen. Say something, Mort. I’m done with Frankenstein’s Asshole talking down to me.”
“Ahem, as I was saying,” the General continued. “It’s all rather simple. Only a handful of eyes in the verse are privy to our little undertaking here. We can’t let you go until you’ve been debriefed.”
“I’m not letting anyone near my briefs.”
“Charming,” the General said. “But you’re stuck here till I’m dead certain you won’t talk.”
“Better kill me now,” Eugene scoffed. “Talking’s like my only thing.”
“So, I’ve noticed…”
The red lights thumped on above the observation deck. Ron gave the thumbs up from behind the glass. Staley snapped his fingers. Mort stood with his arms folded. The General walked over and put his arm around his shoulder.
“You’ve got work to do, Dr. Nova.”
“The hell I do,” Mort whispered. “You’re lying to the kid. You’re lying to me.”
“You need to understand,” the General said. “That this position requires a certain level of discretion…”
There was a hard jab in Mort’s side. He didn’t need to see it; he could feel it. The General pulled back the hammer and made sure Mort could hear it too.
“It requires respect for your superiors…”
“Kinetic readings are solid,” Staley said.
Mort threw his hands up and surrendered to the console. He got up to speed and plugged in his code.
“Potential rising to three,” Mort said. “Four, attending sub-prime…”
“Proteus formula 27-C,” Staley said. “Loaded and awaiting optimal parameters.”
“So,” Eugene said. “You’re going to blow this guy up too?”
“Don’t be so shortsighted,” the General said. “This is your father’s work come to fruition. This should be a celebration.”
“A handful of dudes in a shitty basement,” Eugene said. “What a special occasion.”
“We’re going to change everything,” the General said. “We’re finally going to bring peace to this bloody land, then all outposts, all systems. And it all starts tonight. There will be no more body counts. Our will alone, our strength of mind shall determine the outcome from here on out.”
“If you’re fighting with that big brain of yours,” Eugene said. “What’s with all the bionics and sniper eyes? Christ, are those lung tanks? I didn’t know they still made those.”
“They don’t,” the General said. He opened his trench, revealing his artificial lungs. The pumps inside rose and fell like wheezy accordions. He hunched down to Eugene’s level. He winced, his joints cracked. “A frag took my old ones. It was your grandfather who kept me stable long enough to graft these to my ribs and save my life.” The pressure in his chest released like a pneumatic press. “Do you know what it felt like? My life draining out while all about me my brothers in arms were losing theirs?”
“I don’t know,” Eugene said. “Probably out of breath.”
“It felt like regret,” the General said. “Regret for every single time I held back. Every time I said, ‘let’s wait and see.’ I could’ve retired right then and there. Could’ve cashed in my stars and made a clean break. Would’ve been set for life, but I kept myself in the fray. What do you suppose drives a man to do that?”
“Adrenaline junkie?” Eugene said. “Who knows, maybe you’re overcompensating for a less-than-impressive appendage.”
“The pain kept me going,” the General said. “The pain of the truth that none of this mess is going to up and fix itself. Life’s great compromise, Eugene. Men die by fire so that others may live in peace. Tell me, do you believe in The Cause?”
“I believe in The Effect,” Eugene said. “But I can never seem to guess The Cause. Care to be more specific?”
“To pacify Terra,” the General said. He sighed a deep and patriotic sigh. “To reclaim it from bickering reactionaries.”
“Oh, that cause…”
“What do you believe in?” the General said. He licked his lips and smiled, waiting for the answer.
“I believe…” Eugene regarded the man’s scars. The metal plate on his head and the mad twinkle in his eye. “I believe bullets tear through brain matter all the same, regardless of the causes they contain, and whether or not the Jack pulling the trigger believes in something. That’s what I believe.”
“Ah, the mark of youthful arrogance,” the General laughed. “Answering a question by decidedly not answering it.”
“Better than giving a wrong answer.” Eugene shrugged and spun his chair away. The General caught it and whirled it back around. He got in Eugene’s face, showing every last one of his rotten teeth.
“I knew you were intelligent before you even spoke,” the General said. “And not just because of who your father is. It’s in your eyes, the shape of the skull around them…but that’s the only advantage you’ve got. Your bone structure is lacking, your ribcage would probably snap like a wishbone were I to squeeze just a bit too hard…”
“Yeah, well, your eyes tell me something different.”
“Indulge me just another moment,” the General said. “Last summer there was a weekend festival on the town square. Terran Pride Day, they called it. Now, I know a lot of the folks who organized it are connected to the Saints, but what’s the harm in a handful of rigged carnival games and fried food? They hand out some pamphlets and the kids have a nice time in the bounce house…
“So, Saturday morning comes around, busiest day of the festival, and an ice cream truck pulls onto the main grounds. They park and put out a sign. Free Ice Cream at Noon. The van stayed there for hours. Of course, they didn’t have a permit and an officer should’ve had it towed, but who’s going to be the spoilsport who ruins free ice cream from everyone?”
The General reached into his trench and pulled out a cigar. He popped it in his mouth, lit up, and chugged like a freight train.
“Of course,” he went on. “Noon comes around and kids are pulling their parents along, everyone’s packed into the square, itching to get their free scoop. A man shows up wearing a t-shirt matching the logo on the van. The masses parted to let this single person pass through the tangled crowd, so he can climb inside, open up the window, and start dishing out the good stuff.”
“Can you go back to talking about my bones?” Eugene said. “I mean, it was creepy, but this is really, really boring.”
“Well, instead of opening the windows, he turned the ignition. The fridges were packed with gel-based explosive and the engine set ‘em off. The van blew and the crowd burned. The square smelled like barbecue for months. The Atlas Reporter got a message from Vlad the Impala’s Pilgrims right after it happened. We all scream.”
“I bet you’re great at parties,” Eugene said.
“Didn’t that happen right after Golgotha?” Mort chimed in. “You know, when your troops accidentally caved in some tunnels trying to get the bad guys, but instead wound up burying a bunch of children.”
“That’s beside the point,” the General said. “Plus, don’t you have more pressing matters to attend to, Mort?”
“I was just checking,” Mort said. “Context is important in messy situations.”
“Then I suppose I need all the context in the Verse,” the General said. “I’ve got Saints walking the streets, shooting up anyone who looks a shade darker than sun-tan and Pilgrims blowing themselves up at least once every lunar cycle. So, tell me, Eugene: what’s the solution to all this? How do you answer to this kind of madness?”
“I’m not hearing a question,” Eugene said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” the General said. “There is no question.”
Eugene stared up at the General. At first, the scars and prosthetics were intimidating, but then he realized something. You’ve got to get your ass kicked a whole hell of a lot to end up looking like that. You shouldn’t fear the man covered in scars; it’s the one without a scratch on him you’ve got to worry about.
“Have you fixed the anomaly?” the General said.
“We’re 99 percent there,” Mort said. “I’ve got a few minor tweaks to finish, but Staley doesn’t think my equations balance out.”
“We’re ready,” Staley said. “We’ve been ready. Mort’s just stalling for time. I knew it was a mistake to bring him on. He doesn’t have the stomach for the real thing.”
“I might not have the constitution for illegal genetic experimentation,” Mort said. “But at least I have the brain to know you don’t pull the switch unless you clear all simulations. Not just the ones you’ve arbitrarily decided to pay attention to. You want to lose another good soul to your impatience, then, please, by all means…”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” the General said. “We’ve already wasted too much time. Kiss and make up.”
“Hello?” Staley said, tapping the microphone on the desk. “Can you hear me in there?”
Nick and Ron turned to the window and nodded from the chamber.
“Alright, Private,” Staley said. “Please state your name and serial for the record.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeno said, snapping to attention. “Private Ezra Zeno. XB-2343.”
“Are you aware of the risks involved in this procedure?”
Zeno opened his mouth to speak, but he saw the General glaring at him. He shut his lips and simply nodded.
“Perfect,” Staley said. “Please escort Mr. Zeno to the Progenitor.”
Nick eased Zeno into the sarcophagus. Ron pulled the lever and straps coiled around the Private’s arms, legs, and chest. Nick tugged on the restraints and gave a thumbs-up.
“Clear the deck,” Staley said. “Standby…” He made some quick keystrokes. The door to the chamber hissed and sealed shut as Nick and Ron went to the nearest cask and got themselves a couple drinks. “Deck is clear. Proceeding with Progenitor run 15.”
“Wait,” Zeno said. “You’ve done how many?”
“Our last simulation was 13,” Mort said. His feverish typing ceased. “If Zeno’s 15, then… Staley, explain yourself.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Staley grumbled.
“Don’t tell me,” Mort said. “Don’t you tell me you’ve tested an unproven formula on that many living souls.”
“Dr. Nova,” the General said. “Come now. You’re a smart man. We don’t really need to tell you.”
“Run 14,” Mort said, pulling up the logs. “This data, this…it’s Walt. This run, all of them, based on…oh, dear God…”
“Don’t act so surprised,” Staley said. “You didn’t for a second wonder how you were getting such accurate results. I didn’t hear any complaining when you and Walt were on the verge of your ‘theoretical’ breakthrough.”
“That’s the problem Walt had,” Mort sat back and let the readouts flow down his screen. He turned to Staley. “That’s why he was questioning the simulations. You’ve been testing live subjects this whole time!”
“Grow up, Mort,” Staley said. “Do your job.”
“Grow up?” Mort said. “The results of every single one of those runs ended in terminal—”
“You don’t get to lecture me on right and wrong, Nova,” Staley said. “You’ve been more than happy to—”
“Just admit it,” Mort said. “Admit that Walt didn’t ‘volunteer.’ Admit that you forced—”
“Hush, you two,” the General said. He flipped out his trench coat to remind them both that he was armed. He grabbed their chairs and twisted them away from each other and back to their workstations. “You’re making the Private uncomfortable.”
Zeno’s eyes bulged from their sockets as the room filled with aerosol disinfectant, the Progenitor’s door closing in on his nervous form. The room went quiet. Mort took a deep breath and crossed his heart, praying for the young private as much as himself. Staley cracked his knuckles and pressed enter.
“Beginning pineal conversion,” Staley said. “Compiling amygdala infusions…”
Pipes clanged from the walls. The Progenitor built momentum fast. The machinery whirred and vibrated.
“Deploying infusions now…”
A scream came from inside the box and ripped through the chamber. The PA system squealed with feedback.
“It’s alright, Private,” Staley assured him over the intercom, despite the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. He wiped them away and kept going. “All part of the process…”
The lights flickered and the Progenitor rocked in place. The metal feet rose and slammed on the ground, grinding cracks into the floor.
“Routing hippocampus structure through new bylines,” Staley said. “Finalizing thalamus indexing…”
Zeno’s cry reached a crescendo before it dropped in register. The sound turned into a low growl and faded into nothing.
10:3
“Corpus callosum re-integration complete,” Staley said. “Sealing off cortex…”
The Progenitor thumped and shut off without ceremony. The whir ceased, revolutions winding down, leaving the chamber drenched in fog and unnerving quietude.
“And that…” Staley’s eyes ping-ponged over the monitors. “That should do it.”
The door hissed and sprang open. Zeno gasped and stumbled out. He slipped and fell face-first. He scrambled and stood at attention as best he could. He was woozy, swaying in place with one hand on his head. He glistened with sweat and steam emanated from his wet skin.
“Tell me, Private,” Staley said. “How do you feel?”
“I feel…” Zeno looked down at his hands and around himself. “I feel…”
“Take your time,” Staley said.
“I feel…” Zeno stopped, puzzled. “The same.”
“Good, good,” Staley said. “That’s exactly what we want to hear. Starting the clock…” He nodded to Mort who hit the timer. Segmented red numbers climbed up from zero in rapid succession.
“I’m not here to watch the clock,” the General said. “I want results.”
“Positive results require patience,” Mort said. He huffed and folded his arms. “No one here seems to understand that.”
“I don’t see the harm in seeing what he can do,” Staley said.
“Of course, you wouldn’t,” Mort said. “But we need stability. If he doesn’t level out before we pass the threshold, it won’t matter a good God damn what he can or can’t do. Let’s just wait and—”
“I’m through waiting,” the General said.
Eugene looked up from his sulking. He glared at the General’s turned back and leaned over to the microphone.
“Try not to explode, Private,” he said. “It’s very, very important that you don’t explo—”
Nero grabbed him by the collar and threw him back in his chair. Eugene rubbed his neck. Nero scoffed at him and pinched some chew into his cheek.
The General scooped up the microphone and hissed into it.
“Show me what you can do, Private,” he said. “Or should I have put you in the ground earlier?”
“Sir?” Blind worry washed over Zeno. He wasn’t sure what was expected of him. So, he kept standing there, at attention, shaking.
“Zeno, is it?” Mort said, taking over. “Please approach the table where you went through prelims.”
“Okay,” Zeno said. He scratched his head and nodded with faux certainty. “Yes, sir.” The black spots from the marker streaked down his skin, filling in the needle holes left from the procedure. His feet slipped a little with each step.
“Now,” Mort said. “Pick up the table.”
Zeno bent down and grabbed the table with both hands. Mort promptly smacked himself in the forehead.
“No, no, no…” He covered the microphone and turned to the General. “Where did you get this kid? Did anyone explain to him what’s going on here?”
“Grunts don’t need the nitty-gritty,” the General said. “All they get are orders.”
“Let me clarify, Zeno,” Mort said. “Seeing as how no one offered any guidance here. We’re not concerned with your physical abilities, apt as they may be. Rather, we’re looking at your mental faculties. So, with that in mind (no pun intended): please pick up the table, but no hands this time.”
Zeno’s faced wrinkled into a mess of confusion.
“Take a few steps back,” Mort said. “That’s it. Good, good. Now, simply focus your attention on the table. Concentrate and picture it rising off the ground. That’s the point of all this, see? No hands. Use your head.”
“I understand, sir,” Zeno said, though he clearly didn’t, but he still stared at the table like a good soldier. He even narrowed his eyes as if that would help things along.
“You know this procedure requires candidates of a certain caliber,” Mort said. “This kid couldn’t pass elementary math, let alone exercise control over his own thoughts.”
“Zeno’s no brain, I’ll grant you that,” the General said. “But neither were the others, Walter excepting.” He folded his arms and shook his head. “I must say, gentlemen, I expected more from…”
A rattle came over the PA. The veins in Zeno’s temples popped out. The needle holes vanished. His muscles tensed and he shook like a wet cat. The table vibrated and the legs knocked against the floor.
“My God,” the General whispered. The cigar fell from his mouth and flared out on the concrete. “My God…”
The table knocked around and wobbled until the sound cut out. Zeno’s jaw dropped as the table rose and hung there, suspended in mid-air.
“I’m…I’m doing it!” Zeno said.
“Sonuvabitch,” the General said, his eyes glued to the chamber. “Anything is possible…” A smile of wonder crept across his face. His eyes beamed with pride. “Anything…”
“Yeah,” Eugene said. He eased out of his chair and backed away from the distracted men. “Floating tables, exploding dads…yeah, anything is possible.”
“You’ve done it, Mort,” the General said. “I could kiss you.”
Eugene kept his eyes on the others as he tiptoed toward the tunnel at the back of the room. Mort, Staley, and the General were stuck on the chamber. Nick and Ron chugged their drinks. Eugene started jogging away and looked back to see if anyone had taken notice, but they were all still under Zeno’s spell. He turned back to the tunnel and slammed into the radiation suit.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Eugene said.
“Where you think you’re off to?” Nero said. “Show’s not over yet.”
“How did you?” Eugene did a few double takes. “Where did you?”
“Personal warp,” Nero said through the helmet. He held up a contraption wrapped around his wrist. “Can’t use it without containment but comes in handy when you need to get the drop on someone. Courtesy of your daddy. One of the last golden eggs, eh?”
Nero picked Eugene up by the scruff of his neck and carried him back to the desk.
“Ah!” Eugene struggled and kicked. “I was just…getting some popcorn. You want anything? Raisinettes…snowcaps? Ouch!”
“Shut up, kid,” Nero said. He shoved Eugene down and held him in the chair as he cuffed him to the armrest.
“Amazing,” the General said. He approached the glass as if in a dream. His claws clinked against the window. “How are we looking?”
Staley’s eyes flashed over the cascading information on the monitors.
“Looking good, sir,” Staley said. “His vitals are stable. Neurons firing on all cylinders, even creating new ones, and he’s rebuilding tissue exponentially.”
Zeno touched his forehead for the burn from earlier that night. It was smoothed away. Completely healed.
“It’s just like Walter predicted,” Mort said. “Zeno consciously lifted the table, but his unconscious processes are taking care of themselves and improving…well, everything.”
10:4
“Beautiful,” the General said. “Simply beautiful.” He grinned. The skin folded and stretched over his face in odd ways. It wasn’t used to making that expression. “Prep the next run.”
“We haven’t even passed the threshold,” Mort said. “He’s looking great, but we don’t know if—”
“Damn the threshold,” the General said. “Just look at him. He’s stable. I’d bet my life on it.”
“Or someone else’s,” Eugene muttered.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” the General said. “I’m the next one in the chamber.”
“Oh, good,” Eugene said. “And here I thought you were about to do something batshit insane.”
“I must insist,” Mort said. “It’s not ready. We need more—”
“Time?” the General said, spinning around. His face was lit up in all the wrong ways. “Time is a luxury I can no longer afford. Look at him! We’ve got the momentum now, Nova. Perhaps Staley’s right. Perhaps you are stalling, but, then, perhaps you’ve considered what would happen to you if that’s the case. Perhaps you’ve considered your family. Perhaps we could pop upstairs for a moment, if you need the proper motivation.”
“Howard,” Mort said. “I…”
“We have the momentum,” the General said. “And I’ll be damned if we lose it. I have a date with destiny at sun-up and I want to be ready.”
“I’d suggest something lighter,” Eugene said. “I know you’re a winter, but pastels would make that laser hue in your eye really pop.”
“Prep the next run,” the General said. “As soon as we’ve passed that threshold of yours, I’m going in and you’re pulling the switch. Understood?”
“Yes,” Mort said. “But for the record, I’d like my concerns—”
“They’ve been noted,” the General said.
Staley chuckled at Mort. Mort flipped him off. Nero awkwardly stepped up to his father. He stopped and did a salute.
“Congratulations, sir,” he said with a nervous crack in his voice. “I knew you’d do it.”
The General smiled and returned the salute.
“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
Nero nodded and started to walk away. The General stopped his son by the shoulder and sighed. He turned Charlie around and offered him a hearty handshake. Charlie enthusiastically returned the gesture.
“Here,” the General said, considering his talk with Jones. He handed Nero a cigar and his lucky silver lighter. “You’ve done good today. Go take a break and check in with the Feint.”
The General watched Nero stride down the tunnel with a little hop in his step. Once he was gone, the General turned back to his team.
“Get it ready,” he grunted.
“It going to take some time,” Mort said. “To properly prepare the—”
“Then you better get to it,” Staley said, smirking.
A crash came from the elevator. A voice cried out and ended in a thump. The General whipped out his pistol and stomped down the platform. He went to the elevator and slammed the open button and aimed as the doors slid apart.
Joules lay on the ground, covered in dust, groaning in pain. She looked up at the General like she was hungover.
The General huffed and holstered his weapon.
“Dr. Nova,” he snarled. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You have a visitor…”
“Joules?” Mort said. “How’d you get down here?”
“I climbed down.”
“How many times have I—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Gaps in the framework, slip-sand. I remember, dad.”
“If you fell or stepped in the wrong spot,” Mort said. “Jesus, you could be buried alive and we wouldn’t even know.”
“I know,” Joules said. “I recall getting grounded very clearly.”
“I’m sending you back up,” he said. “Straight to bed. We’re going to have a chat about this tomorrow.”
“No, I’m good,” Joules said. She got on her feet and walked past her father. “Whoa…” She spun around in wonder at the facility. “Why can’t this be my room?”
Mort walked over to the General who was watching the whole thing, blood boiling up in his face.
“Sir, please,” Mort said. “Let me take her to bed. She doesn’t need to be involved in all this.”
“Looks like it’s too late for that,” the General said, nodding behind Mort.
Joules’s eyes went wide and they rolled back. The eyelids shut, but not quite all the way, leaving a sliver of white between her lashes. Nick pulled the needle from her neck as Joules slumped over and fell into Ron’s arms.
Mort looked on in disbelief. He balled up his fists and stepped toward Nick, ready to knock his lights out, but the General stopped him.
“What?” Nick said.
“Yeah,” Ron said. “We didn’t know it was bring-your-daughter-to-work day…”
10:5
Nero tossed his helmet aside and plopped down, letting his legs dangle over the cliffs. He ran his fingers over the lighter, feeling the details etched in solid silver. A glorious eagle, holding a snake in its talons. The banner of the Carbon Corps billowing in front of a rising sun. The motto si vis pacem, para bellum engraved on the back.
“Fuckin’ right,” Nero said. He pulled out the cigar and spit out his tobacco. He lit up and puffed it a few times. Then he coughed like he did the first time.
Thirteen years old. He’d swiped it from dad’s desk. Shouldn’t have been home for hours, but he showed up anyway, like he’d been expecting it, like he was waiting for him to go for it. Charlie’s ribs ached at the thought of that beating.
He smelled the smoke and sighed.
Worth it, he thought.
Charlie cleared his throat and got on the coms.
“Nero, here,” he said. “How’s it looking up there?”
He took another drag and let it out smooth this time.
“Nero to Feint,” he said. “We ain’t paying y’all to sleep on the job.”
Some dust and pebbles fell from overhead. He shook out his hair and looked up. “Stop fucking around, Hatch,” he said. “Respond or I’m reporting you to the General…”
The God Complexes 