God of chaos built for w.., p.3
God of Chaos: Built for War: Book Two, page 3
“What’s an artificial neural chain?” I said.
“Us doesn’t seem real right now,” she said, “but we will. We have to climb now.”
“Help me lift that third bed,” I said. “We’ll teeter it into these two beds and lock them tight. Then we’ll hoist them together. We can arrange the mattresses as cushioning.”
“I was joking about needing cushioning,” Gareth said.
“I can’t lift these on my own,” I said.
Gareth stifled another giggle.
“What?” I said.
“Sex would have been more fun,” she said. “Maybe once we escape, we’ll have time. I lift to you, or you lift to me?”
“We’ll tip them on their footboards,” I said. “We’ll switch back and forth as we climb.”
For some reason, the beds felt lighter than I had anticipated. Gareth did not even need to help me. Halfway up to the ducts, Gareth decided to let one of the beds topple at me. I snatched the back wheel of the bed, catching it in midair while somehow maintaining my balance.
“See how strong you are?” she said.
“That was dumb,” I said.
“When I come back, I think the year is 2034, the year before it started getting bad. I’m at a protest. I get hit by a brick. At least, I think I do. That’s why we’re here, to protect what’s left.”
We kept stacking beds until we were right beneath the ducts. “It’s just tin, but I bet it can support our weight,” I said, “if we can get inside.”
“Easy,” she said. “This sim is too easy. I don’t get it.”
I pressed my knuckles into the tin of the duct to try to pop rivets near the duct’s seam. The beds teetered. Gareth grinned as we grabbed each other’s shoulders to steady the tower.
“We need to bend the duct enough to break the rivets,” I said. “Once we open the seam, we can bend the duct enough to crawl inside.”
Gareth pressed her back against the duct. As the duct started bending, the beds started teetering again.
“Grab my legs,” she said as she rolled to her back, “under your armpits.”
“Why?”
Gareth pressed her feet into my armpits and went rigid as a board as she straightened herself out to reach for the gap that she had opened in the ductwork.
“Move me a little closer to the edge,” she said. “Don’t let me go.”
I shuffled forward on my knees. Her body dangled horizontally as she stretched to reach the lip of the gap.
“Got it,” she said. “Now let me go.”
“Are you sure?”
Gareth kicked her feet free of me and swung by her fingers. With those gymnastic muscles, she went into a split and then swung one leg up into the gap and then the other. The beds tottered as I watched. Once Gareth was inside the duct, she reached out for me.
“Jump!” she said.
“You’re two meters away from me,” I said. “I’m not going to jump.”
“Jump!” she said.
The beds came out from beneath me as I leapt. She caught my wrists and pulled me into her embrace. Once I was inside the duct, she nipped my nose and gave me a peck on my lips.
“Weak jump,” she said.
An attachment point in the ceiling above us snapped. The duct started to creak under our weight. We crawled fast until we were to the next section of the ductwork.
“There’s a T ahead,” Gareth said. “Left or right?”
“How should I know?” I said.
“You always know. I smell off-gassing of plastics to our left,” she said. “I smell hydrocarbons to our right. I think we’re close to where they build and fuel our toys.”
“Plastics,” I said. “Let’s see what toys they’re building.”
We went left, crawling over hangars and bays, peering into vents. Mostly, we only heard the movement of machines in absolute darkness, but through some of the vents, arcs of light from robotic arms lit the assembly of strange aircraft and ground machines.
“How many of us are there?” I asked.
“Twelve,” she said. “Always twelve.”
“Just twelve?” I said. “This place is huge.”
“And the Mothers,” she said.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “The Mothers aren’t who. The Mothers are what.”
A shaft appeared ahead of us, revealing daylight. We crawled toward the light and glanced up at a small rectangle of light far above us.
“What’s the source of the light up there?” Gareth said.
“That would be the sky,” I said, “and our way out of here.”
We locked arms, pressed our backs against the walls of the shaft, and shimmied skyward. We knew how to move together, bracing each other, breathing in rhythm. She even scratched my cheek when I felt an itch. Dodgeball receded and waited in some dark place. The world was in danger. The war had gone on too long. Too many had suffered. Too many had died. The Mothers had the solution. We were the solution. We protected all that remained.
“Who did we lose on the Salt Lake campaign?” I asked.
“You’re back,” Gareth said.
“How many?”
“Just you,” Gareth said, “but now you’re back.”
“I got inside Salt Lake,” I said. “I remember aspects of the mission.”
“Liar,” Gareth said.
The blue grew brighter, and the air grew colder. Finally, we fell out into a pile of snow on the side of a mountaintop. Gareth closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun.
“Look at that,” I said.
The mountains surrounded us in every direction, and there in the valleys, sat seas so massive and wide and perfectly still that the sky seemed to surround us in every direction.
“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she said. “My feet are cold.”
“Snow,” I said.
“Real snow?” she said.
“It feels real to me,” I said. “You can override the sensation if you don’t like it.”
“I don’t mind it,” she said, tucking herself under my arm. “I think I like it. I heard that the sun makes the stars disappear, but I never thought that was real...and now I see it’s true.”
Gareth searched the mountainside to see what else she could see. Below the snowline, she spotted tiny mountain flora starting to spring from the rocky melt.
“I should bring one of those to Sagramore,” she said. “She would like the green.”
“Those haven’t bloomed,” I said. “They’re delicate. We should leave them.”
“Are they threatened?” she asked.
“You can describe what you’ve seen to Sagramore,” I said. “That can be your gift.”
“You’re not yourself,” Gareth said. “Have you run a diagnostic on your lace?”
“Dodgeball was different this time,” I said. “Owen Delancey’s frailty was developing into a deep resentment.”
“Directed at?”
“Everyone.”
“Do you feel that way now?” Gareth asked.
“No,” I said, “but I fear some part of that boy remains. Given power, that boy would become dangerous.”
“That boy isn’t real,” Gareth said.
“The node implanted at the base of my spine,” I said. “I might know what it is.”
“An upgrade?” Gareth asked.
“A new means of interfacing with Command,” I said.
“Command interfaces with the Mothers,” she said. “The Mothers issue our directives.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “I must assume we’ll be traveling some distance...beyond the Mothers’ reach. I’m not sure why I remember pieces of Salt Lake. I…must need to apply those memories to future missions. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“What future missions?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve been issued strategies for crowd control, extraction of assets, fast insertion parameters. None of it aligns with our general orders or our area of operations.”
“We protect the water,” Gareth said.
“We have a new mission,” I said. “Command just sent me an iron-locked package.”
“I didn’t receive an iron-locked package,” Gareth said.
“This one is different, more complex, far more data behind it,” I said. “They must have restructured my neural lace to help me deal with so much data.”
“That would explain why you’ve been acting so damaged,” Gareth said.
“Typical entrainment methods would not have reintegrated me,” I said. “Instead of coitus, we needed to attempt something novel. We needed to go on an adventure together.”
“We were ordered,” Gareth said, “but it felt subversive. Did that feel good to you?”
“I remember pieces of the Salt Lake campaign,” I said. “Remembering anything about a real-world mission is a first. I’m not sure that feels good.”
“I don’t even remember if you were shot down,” Gareth said.
“I don’t either,” I said. “I remember walking through the desert. Galahad had failed. There’s no water in the desert. I had no armor, no weapons, just my wits, which the sun sucked from me. I collapsed into someone’s arms. Someone saved me. She called herself a Swan, but not spelled S-W-A-N. Spelled some other way. She had two children. She didn’t have much.”
“You were on the ground with a civilian?” Gareth asked. “Compromised then?”
“All part of the mission,” I said. “She had intelligence. She was in communication with someone with a number codename. The name sounded like a number. Maybe it wasn’t a number.”
“Juan?”
“No.”
“You never talk this much,” Gareth said. “We usually just link.”
“We never remember missions,” I said. “I need to say the words to keep a record of it.”
“That could compromise us,” Gareth said. “Please just link.”
“No,” I said. “Not yet. I fear I might endanger you. Let’s wait for orders.”
“We remember training exercises,” Gareth said. “We infer the mission from those training exercises. That should be enough. Please link with me.”
“No,” I said. “This swan woman brought me to Salt Lake because she couldn’t help me out in the desert. I couldn’t remember my name, but I remembered the mission. The hospital was close to the target. I was inside. I acquired the target. I painted the target. I woke back here.”
“What about the swan woman?”
“Collateral damage,” I said.
“And the children?”
“The mother left them in the desert.”
“We’ll have to neutralize the children. If they know your face, they could be a threat.”
“We’re at war because of water,” I said. “All that water down there in those mountain seas. We need to protect the water at all costs. The children aren’t a threat.”
“The Mothers are calling,” Gareth said. “Back through the ducts or another way down?”
Hangar doors opened in the shadow of an escarpment far below us. Nobody had ever treaded this snow, but somehow, I knew the best path to reach the hangar. The path was as familiar to me as Gareth’s body and mind, but now I felt a separation. Gareth had not received an iron-locked package from Command. For the first time that I could remember, I had received an iron-locked package. For some reason, the iron-locked package only came to me.
“We have work to do,” I said. “Let’s go.”
HOUR FOUR
The Mothers never explained training missions. If an escape-protocol training mission meant Gareth would see the sun, then the purpose of escaping must have been for Gareth to see the sun. This mountain had been my home since the beginning, not Sterling. My brothers and sisters and I stood at the top of the world, protecting the Western States of America from forces bent on destroying its prosperity and peace. Linking with Gareth was the last step in the restoration of my memory and reintegration with my neural lace. By the time we reached the hangar, I was back to myself. A briefing table had been set. Fittingly, the table was round.
“Help!” someone cried from the corridor. “He got Gal. Now he wants me!”
Sagramore came running into the briefing hangar, her face flush, her red mane flying. When she spotted me, she grinned and threw herself into my arms. In a few months, she would experience a growth spurt that would make it difficult for me to swing her into the air.
“Don’t let him get me,” she whispered as she wedged herself between me and Gareth.
“Who?” Gareth said.
Gawain marched into the hangar, an electric razor buzzing in his hand. Like his sister, Gawain had jet-black hair, but he had taken that electric razor to his head, leaving him bald.
“We all have to do it,” Gawain growled. “You have the most, Sagramore.”
“Gawain already got Galahad,” Sagramore whispered. “Don’t let him get me.”
“Where did you get that razor machine?” I asked Gawain.
“Ban and Yvain,” Gawain said as he attempted to circle Gareth and me to reach Sagramore. “They said we need shaved heads for the new equipment. It’s Sagramore’s turn.”
“The Mothers have given no such orders,” I said.
“They will,” Gawain said.
“Do you intend to shave my head?” I said.
“Do you...want me to shave your head?” Gawain asked.
“I hate you,” Sagramore hissed at Gawain. “Go try to shave Bedivere.”
“Bedivere wouldn’t let me,” Gawain confessed. “He’s too strong.”
“What if Sagramore needs to go deep cover,” I said. “What if she needs her hair?”
“Um...” Gawain said. “The Mothers are issuing new gear. We need shaved heads.”
“I’ve received no such intelligence,” I said. “Turn off the razor. We have work to do.”
“Lancelot’s been cleared for action!” Gawain’s voice cracked as he shut the razor off and handed it over to me. “Any word if you’ll be back in Infiltrator Alpha?”
No word, never a word, but the ritual of reintegration with the team was always the same. Gareth’s little brother was always excited to see me, too enthusiastic for a forward operator. Gawain was sprouting. He was getting lean and long, spirt by puberty. He made puberty choices. Enthusiasm sometimes hobbled Gareth as well, which sometimes compromised missions, but she was learning with each mission. Gawain was physically growing, but he lacked maturity.
“Say hello to your big sister,” I told Gawain.
“Gareth,” Gawain said. “You’ve shrunk since last we met.”
“Have I?” she said. “You’re still ugly as sin.”
“We’re twins,” Gawain reminded her.
“Not identical,” Gareth said. “Not even born in the same year.”
Galahad, Sagramore’s partner, skulked into the hangar, rubbing his shaved head and wiping blood from his nose. Galahad was the youngest of us and an easy target.
“He used to be prettier than me,” Gareth said. “But not without his hair.”
“Galahad doesn’t like that joke,” I said.
Perceval followed Galahad into the hangar and surveyed the scene. Sagramore was still hiding behind me. Gawain kept glancing at the razor in my hand, waiting for me to destroy it.
“Who ordered you to shave your head, Gawain?” Perceval asked.
“Ban and Yvain shaved their heads,” Gawain said. “I was only doing what they said.”
Perceval pointed Gawain to a seat across from where Galahad was sitting and skulking. Gawain dropped into the seat and gave Galahad a grin. I handed the razor to Sagramore. When she took the razor from me, the guts of the razor popped and sizzled.
“That was mine!” Gawain cried.
“I didn’t do it!” Sagramore said.
“I did,” I said.
“The great Lancelot returns,” Perceval said, extending me a hearty handshake. “Six days missing. That must be a record.”
“Crossing Utah on foot takes time,” I said.
“Next time, don’t crash,” Perceval said.
Out of the twelve of us, Perceval was the best pilot and perhaps one of the best warriors. He would not have crashed. His skills were too perfect for the Salt Lake campaign. My crashing positioned me on the ground far outside of Utah. I walked. On the ground, I was able to complete a mission that had failed far too many times.
“I wanted to give you mountain flora,” Gareth told Sagramore. “Its flower would have been the perfect accent to your hair color.”
Sagramore closed her eyes and smiled. “I’m imagining the flora,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
“But Lancelot wouldn’t let me,” Gareth said.
Sagramore lost her smile. “Because it hadn’t bloomed.”
“How could you know that?” Gareth said.
“I know Lancelot,” Sagramore said. “It’s not in his nature to destroy unprovoked.”
Sagramore and Galahad had yet to become teenagers, but they both had old and wise souls. These were the two Knights who could masquerade as children when duty called. Perceval could pass for Gal’s father if necessary. Ector and Kay could also play Sagramore’s father and mother. We were all still teens, except for Bors and Palamedes. They both had reached twenty.
“I thought I smelled a Lancelot,” Bors said as he and Palamedes entered the hangar.
“Be nice,” Palamedes warned Bors. “We just got Lancelot back.”
“Lancelot smells better than you,” Bors told Palamedes. “How’s that for nice?”
Bors and Palamedes were the oldest of the Knights. In the right light, the pair could pass for the sort of stout middle-aged couple who spent their time laboring at forges or in fields. If necessary, they could also act as adopted parents for any one of us if the mission required. We trained for these contingencies, but most of our missions were airborne, observing water stores.
“Everybody was out of sorts while you were gone, Lancelot,” Perceval said.
“I wasn’t,” Bors said. “I knew he’d come back. Lancelot always does. Nice haircut, Galahad. Next time, fight back.”
Gawain kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back with a satisfied grin. Sagramore threw the broken razor at Gawain’s head, but Perceval caught the razor before it could strike.
