Emperor-for-Life: DeadShop Redux (Unreal Universe Book 6) Page 16

  And yet … should he choose, Ute could dip in and out of other thoughts, a fish slicing through water, invading the sacred sanctum sanctorum of whosoever he wished, without being noticed, without being questioned.

  It was an unwanted talent, a dangerous and finicky ability, one Ute did not abuse. Could not abuse. Not without losing himself in the tidal forces of Harmony altogether, and so, another reason to be loose from Latelyspace was revealed.

  Tomas hit Ute in the ankle with his staff. “Your freedom means what, precisely, to your awaiting children?”

  The first of the heavy metal boxes was being lowered down from the ceiling grapplers, so Ute waited until it was on the ground before responding to Tomas’ staff-assisted question. “Numbering amongst them are two Foursies, a female Threesie, and two Twoesies. No one but Fenris or one of the others would dare question Salax and Agrimal and delightful Trista is a free agent at the moment because …”

  “Of her gender and rank.”

  Ute refused to redden, choosing instead to synch his prote to the locks on the case. “She is ‘en route’ to an undisclosed location. Volunteer to test some of Lokken’s theories about actively birthing Harmony soldiers. The technology exists to do so, but some barrier appears to be preventing them. If she is delayed, Lokken will be displeased, but there’s nothing that can be done about it. Trista is a valuable icon and therefore, effectively as free as I am."

  “It’s deplorable.” Tomas muttered fussily, moving so he could get a better look at what lay inside the huge metal box; not yet open –though he’d unlocked it with his prote, Ute had built in several other locking mechanisms that he was fiddling with that moment- the thing was big enough to hold … almost anything at all. The lip of the box came to just above the bridge of his nose. Tomas refused to stand on tiptoe. “If the man is successful, he would turn your daughter into a brood mare.”

  “Trista is a successful Threesie, Tomas. She bears all the hallmarks of making the transition into Fours in the next few months. The Tizhen line is strong. Lokken will not jeopardize losing a Four. Not with Darkness about to Fall. I can guarantee that.” The huge God soldier swiped his thumb across a plain-looking duronium-coated strip as soon as a block of locks split open. “Which is why I chose her in the first place; if she is delayed overlong by our … need, there is little Lokken will do beyond shouting. She is needed.”

  The box opened fully with little fanfare. Tomas -unable to resist- went up on tiptoes after all, only to wrinkle his nose at what lay within.

  “Disappointed, friend?” Ute looked on at the gleaming proteus with pride. It’d taken forever to figure out how to con the Protean manufactory into doing what he wanted. Eventually he’d won out, but not before destroying two of the damned things and inciting the wrath of the agency devoted to protecting their secrets; he’d had to play the brute both times in order to get them away from inspecting the rubble too much. Even still, he was now an Officially Sanctioned Person and if he even looked at another prote maker from now until the end of time, nothing would save him.

  Or so the Guild Rep claimed.

  The last time he’d even had to get Herrig involved, which made this particular proteus valuable beyond compare; between the last destroyed manufactory and this completed machine, the Protean Guild –as they were calling themselves now that ridiculous, draconian-sounding names were no longer a necessity- had started making noises about actively shutting down UMDT and all her subsidiaries, forcing the Chairman to swing about with his political fists for a minute.

  Tomas poked the thing with his stick. “It’s a proteus. Unless it turns into spaceship capable of flying through the Shield as easy as you like, then no, I am not interested."

  Ute began disengaging his old proteus. And it was literally old. One of the very first produced from that very first manufactory, in fact; in times past, oh, Ute guessed they numbered in the thousands now, people’d commented on the appalling simplicity of the ubiquitous device, wondering aloud in that particular tone self-indulgent Latelians possessed how anyone could ever hope to pull anything off the ‘LINKs with something that looked like a child’s toy.

  The truth of it was, in comparison to a child’s toy today, it was a toy. Designed only as a neural workaround to mesh together the many and disparate cybernetic implants grafted onto bone, wired through your musculature and through your brain matter, this ancient proteus had –and for a perishingly long time- functioned more like a second, external brain than anything else, offloading the rigorous stresses of operating thousands of onboard systems into a machine that wouldn’t cook itself into baked beans the first battle.

  Proteii similar to the ones regular Latelians enjoyed on a daily basis hadn’t made it into public use until nearly six hundred years later, when God soldiers began trickling properly into social consciousness, and that'd been the trick to galvanize the system into creating ever more powerful devices.

  Ute smiled ruefully. Of course, by that time, he’d been wandering the streets of Sarelsa, lost, alone, afraid, almost one of the Sigma’d, and back then, that ancient old prote had kept him sane by replaying Fenris’ promises whenever the hurt got too big for one man to endure.

  And now, with Harmony rolling through the blood and bones, heart and soul of every God soldier alive, protes weren't even necessary. Everyone still wore them because –frankly speaking- you didn’t abandon something that’d been on your forearm for the last four thousand years just because you didn’t need it anymore.

  That was ridiculous.

  Tomas watched the ancient proteus come away from that immense forearm with curiosity, quirking an eyebrow at the rough-looking cybernetic access points interspersed evenly across the man’s giant forearm.

  A First Gen Prote! As breathtaking as it was simplistic! There was more duronium in that ancient machine than a hundred new ones!

  Putting the oft-used device off to one side –and feeling a little nostalgic in the process-, Ute explained. “Us old bastards needed far more physical contact points with our protes. Proper, less-invasive cybernetic systems didn’t come into play for nearly three thousand years. Neural fiber linkages and situation-based ‘LINK-cores are an even newer development. If Harmony hadn’t come along to scour away the necessity of such gross connectivity, I’d’ve gotten those implants in a heartbeat. Our Onesies may have been the stupidest things in the solar system for the longest of times, but their neural interface and reaction times were off the charts. If any one of them had had the chance to gestate into a Foursie on their own, Gurant would’ve looked like a child in comparison. What I wouldn't give to see a fresh Onesie transform."

  Tomas twiddled his walking staff around for a bit, eyeing the beast of a proteus still in the box, internally debating –again- where he stood on the whole nature of Harmony. It didn’t truly affect him one way or the other, but it did affect the people who’d be helping the two of them escape. Ute trusted his far-removed family members with every bone in his body, but …

  But with the advent of the Candall Iterations … there was just no telling which way things would go.

  “Let’s see it then.” The old man snapped, whacking the box with his stick once more.

  Ute could barely contain the grin of satisfaction on his face as he lifted the heavy thing free. Two full manufactories destroyed, the absolute ire of the Protean Guild, Herrig’s stern comments, the oddly aggressive behavior from the geeks and nerds in the main offices who now had to obey the demands from the Protean Guild … it’d been worth it.

  The massive God soldier held the unique item up for Tomas to see.

  “If I was smoking my pipe right now, Sa Ute,” Tomas tilted his head this way and that, tapping and rapping the prote with the end of his stick thoughtfully, “I might’ve swallowed it. This thing is impressive. Looks to be the heaviest prote on the planet.”

  “Actually,” Ute admitted readily as he thumbed the Ident port on one side, “that honor still goes to Garth. The gargantuan beast he wore dur
ing the Museum Incident while under the guise of Harry Bosch was a few hundred pounds heavier. If I hadn’t … used so much ingredients prior to the creation of this one, I might very well have beat him out, but the Storekeeper refused to issue me any more once he found out what was going on.”

  Tomas, no slouch when it came to proteus creation –he had, after all, revolutionized netLINK coding and more than half the scientific advancements in the system to boot- knew very well that since Ute no longer needed a proteus thanks to the illuminating powers of Harmony, this proteus did other things entirely.

  “Are you sure I can’t smoke in here?” Ute had forbade him from lighting up before they’d even gotten started on their journey and with all that was going on, a little something to calm his nerves was definitely in order.

  Ute, busy stuffing his massive forearm through the opening, shook his head firmly. “It’s bad enough I’m here. Even though the things I am taking belong to me and me alone, they are unregulated pieces of hardware running ‘LINK coding that … shall we say … shouldn’t be let loose. I am the Eldest God Soldier in the system, friend to Garth, etcetera, so there won’t be too many problems when I am found out. If pipe smoke is detected here, interest will be piqued. They will dig deep into my comings and goings, find out that you are with me, and as Garth would say …”

  Tomas pulled a face. “The shit would hit the fan.” The elderly EuroJapanese man gave the proteus one final whack with his staff before Ute clamped it fully on. “So what does this monstrosity do? It looks more like a fully armored vambrace. Is that comfortable? It doesn’t look like it would be comfortable. That thing is almost right up into your armpit, sa. You should look into armor plating right there, you might cut your arm off."

  Ute took a few steps back and started swinging his arm around to get used to the sensation of new gear. Tomas was correct; the prote was a little snug in the armpit area, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The thing’d been designed with specific duties in mind, and those demands had driven the size and overall shape very nearly ninety percent of the time.

  Ute stopped swinging his arm and began keying in codes that would bring the very complicated machine to full life. Tomas, impatient to get going, shouted his question again, eliciting an understanding chuckle from the God soldier; the old man was eager as anything to get free of the system so he could begin the hunt for his missing daughter.

  An admirable goal if there ever had been one, but there were ways of doing certain things when you were in the Army, and rushing the rollout of new gear just wasn't one of them.

  Ute suppressed a grin. Right here and now, the smaller man’s mounting impatience was very reminiscent of Garth Nickels.

  The prote beeped and blooped and blorpled.

  Green lights all across the board. Diagnostics announced the machinery inside the prote’s much larger shell was fully functional and awaiting tests. While this was all going on, the second case he’d ordered delivered to the middle of the warehouse floor -much larger than the first- descended from the ceiling very near to the irritable old man, prompting Tomas to squawk about how the building was trying to kill him.

  "Are you trying to squash me flat as a pancake?" Tomas demanded irately, smacking his weapon of choice repeatedly against the new arrival. "Or is your preference to have my withered old heart deflate like a … sports … ball?"

  Ute strode over, grinning like a fool, both at what awaited within in and Tomas' behavior, but it was the prize that stole his focus. While the prote was a technological wonder and would provide him with all manner of tactical assistance, what lay in the large square box was the sort of thing that’d make any God soldier swoon.

  “You aimed that box at me!” Tomas grumped jokingly. “Now you know the secret of how to escape, you don’t want me along!”

  “Old man,” Ute’s lips curled in wry humor at the moniker, “I may be very smart, and talented in designing things like this, and I may even possess the avatars required to accomplish the task, but I am not nearly your equal when it comes to intelligence. There isn’t anyone in the system capable of deciphering the command structure for those avatars.”

  Tomas nodded smugly. “Just remember that the next time you try dropping a box on me.” He watched on eagerly as Ute pooped the top of the box off with a practiced gesture. “For Pete’s Sake, what in the hell is that thing?”

  The EuroJapanese super-coder was enormously glad Ute had refused all demands to allow an old man one quick pull on his pipe, and allowed as how he might listen to the Latelian’s suggestions with a clearer mind the next time around; Ute Tizhen, first and only God soldier to remain truly and fully coherent and awake during his long stretch through history, was -that very moment- pulling something from the box that appeared to be a hammer, but was in truth the very literal definition of all things hammer.

  At twelve feet tall himself, Ute stood with the goliath-sized hammer in his hand. The head of the thing crept a few inches past the top of the very large God soldier’s square, blocky head and looked capable of splitting the planet.

  The God soldier grinned widely, revealing heavy square teeth. “Conversations with Garth concerning the eventual conflict with Kith Antal and his version of the Harmony soldiers eventually revealed a fact that appears to've been absent in other areas; they, like us, are almost entirely immune to weapons’ fire. What they cannot simply evade, they can dampen or deflect. Immense energy barrages and missiles and that sort of thing will be used to soften them up, to sow discord and contention amongst their ranks, but at the end of the day, when we fall to them, distance weapons will be all but useless. Fenris himself requested that I design melee weapons for my brothers and sisters. This is the prototype.”

  Tomas crossed his arms and set his feet firmly on the ground. “Ute Tizhen, we are not leaving from this spot until you show me what these things can do. Do not think I’ve not considered what will happen once we pass through the Shield. Trinity’s Army rest on the other side, and if we are unsuccessful in evading or avoiding capture or notice, we will be forced to fight or bribe ourselves clear.” To prove his point, he held up an antiquated card that he’d carefully hidden since coming to Latelyspace. “This is my old Trinity identity card. There are a few thousand credits on here, the last of the seed money I used to escape my old life. This should grease the wheels enough for us to disappear properly. If that fails, we are going to need to rely on your martial skills.”

  Ute shrugged into a carrying harness he’d built then clipped the tremendous hammer, weighing in at nearly four thousand pounds and forged almost entirely from duronium, into place. “I can’t show you what the hammer does in here, my friend. Earthquake sensors would trigger and emergency response teams would be unleashed.”

  “The prote, then.” Tomas jerked his chin at the beeping machine.

  “As you wish.” Ute had intended on giving the thing one final test before embarking on their adventure, but it always helped to make the other people you traveled with feel as though they had some say in what was happening.

  The Goddie plugged a few commands into his proteus, waited for the avatars on board to negotiate through the building’s ‘LINK systems, saying, “For your safety, please stand behind the shield-glass over there.”

  Tomas followed Ute’s request, furiously trying to figure out what the man had done to his prote. It could be a weapon of some sort, but he’d only just gotten finished saying –and implying- that the battle with the Great Enemy’s forces was going to be long, bloody and vicious as hell. The kind of weapons systems even a brute like his prote could handle would be almost certainly worthless.

  And that was when he saw the battle cannon descending from the ceiling amidst a hiss of motorized parts and plenty of steam.

  “Sa, that appears to be a rebuilt Fury cannon.”

  Ute, walking backwards to the entrance of the warehouse, shouted. “It is indeed, sa.”

  Tomas cupped a hand to his mouth. “I may be somewhat igno
rant of what goes into making a God soldier a God soldier, sa, but I am quite certain that being struck with something this powerful might cause even you considerable discomfort.”

  “In fact,” Ute bellowed, “even though I am presently Harmonized and an undocumented Fivesie, the discharge from this Fury cannon would vaporize all the skin from my body and quite possibly disrupt my internal cybernetic systems. If the assault from the Fury failed to finish the job, the three Unlimited Lance Class Rectifiers now descending from the ceiling will.”

  “Sa Ute!” Tomas didn’t quite scream in terror, but there was a definite quaver of fear in his voice. “I suddenly no longer feel the need to see what your new proteus does. Let us grab a bite from a Charbo’s and then be on our way.”

  “Nonsense, sa. This is the kind of training I was made for. Besides, the targeting systems have already locked on and will refuse shutdown orders. Though they are programmed to avoid your area of the warehouse, should you try to move, or should I try to remote access their individual processing cores with my prote, they will open fire anyways. Prepare yourself for the awesome.”

  Tomas opened his mouth to say something else, anything else, that might get the man to desist from this sudden outburst of madness, but it was too late; the God soldier was already an almost-blur of activity, sprinting down the central aisles of the warehouse. Were it not for the fact that he was a lifetime fan of the Game, Tomas would’ve missed everything.

  As it was, what he did see was astonishing.

  As Ute broke the proximity alarms for the first of the three ULCRs –the tips of their beams burning with raw, electric blue energy- he leaped, stretched out his prote-arm and …

  A shield spun into existence, a brightly shining duronium shield somehow assembled itself out of the prote’s external arm plates and just as the first of the blasts from that initial ULCR lanced outward to electrify Ute’s brain into pudding, the God soldier brought this impossible shield into play, neatly deflecting the blast to the far end of the room.