Kitabı oku: «The Puzzler’s War», sayfa 2

1
Twinkle Eyes

There is nothing out of the ordinary in waking up, unless you are dead.

My first memory, as soon as I opened my eyes, was of my consciousness rapidly diminishing into black nothingness. Even as I drew my first rapid breaths, I knew, to the core of my being, that I had perished in the City Within the Mountain, and as if leaving this world wasn’t enough, I died in horrible agony. During the last bit of the transition, my body had been shredded by the claws and teeth of Lizards. One never knew what people really felt or thought as they died, since the dead are hardly in a position to talk about it. But now I had the answer, and it wasn’t nice or comforting at all. As my mind was being pulled away from my dying body it instinctively fought to cling to this world and the vessel it occupied, refusing to lose consciousness. I remembered the whole horrid mess of it right until the very end. And yet, my eyes had just opened and I sat up in a soft bed. I was alive. Or was I?

My first reaction was to check myself with my hands. I was dressed in a thin white tunic and pants made of a soft material I had never felt before. I pulled the tunic up and checked my abdomen. It was whole—no sign of the sharp claws that I knew had ripped my skin. The memory flashed through my mind and made me recoil and drop the tunic.

I shook my head to clear the awful images and looked around. I was inside a small room, which was empty but for a small door at the far end and an open window to my right. Rays of light accompanied a soft breeze, and the sound of chirping birds spilled into the room. I got up from the bed and saw tall, sturdy oak trees only a few paces from the open window. The air was sweet, and I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. That was a mistake. As if waiting for an opportunity, memories flooded my senses. The stench of death and the pain and horror of dying filled my head. It was terrible, and frighteningly vivid.

I stumbled backwards and found myself sitting on the soft bed again, breathing hard, vowing not to shut my eyes for as long as I could. After a while I looked around again and saw that my initial impression of the room being empty was wrong. There was a mirror hanging on the wall. A quick check showed that I was still me, whole and marked with the same tattoos around my eyes that I was born with. Someone must have done an amazing assembly job because I distinctly remembered there being pieces of me all over the place. Which prompted my first clear thought.

Something’s not right.

Not that I was complaining about being alive, but there was something definitely odd about this whole situation. I felt it in my gut, which, I checked again, was now safely tucked inside my body.

There was nothing to do but walk to the door, grasp the wooden handle and open it. I didn’t know what to expect, but it sure wasn’t a pair of white slippers awaiting me on the grey doormat. I gingerly slipped my foot into one, and watched it mold itself perfectly to my foot.

Yep, something’s rusted here.

I stepped out onto a paved footpath crossing a small garden in full bloom. As I watched, large yellow-and-black bees buzzed among perfect blossoms. Small hummingbirds flew above me, and the sun caressed my skin. I dared not close my eyes again, but stood still for a long time, basking in it.

Is this heaven?

After a while I took the footpath to a small gate, walked through it into the forest. It wasn’t long before I reached a small clearing, where a young boy was waiting for me, sitting at a wooden table laden with ripe fruit, cheese, bread, and a steaming pot. I recognised him as I walked closer: brown eyes, a shaved head, a small scar on his chin. There was no mistaking it was the child that I grew to imagine and then recognise when I met his projection deep inside the City Within the Mountain. He was now and had for many years been a part of Adam, the mostly dormant Tarakan Sentient Program, and though he could change his appearance at will, for some reason he had chosen the features of the young boy with which he was uploaded.

I sat down on the wooden bench across the table. Wordlessly, Rafik lifted the pot and poured the steaming contents into the cup that was in front of me. I watched the hot liquid filling the cup. When Rafik placed the pot back at the centre of the table, I looked at the cup and said, “I bet you didn’t have to do that.”

I picked up my cup and sniffed the tantalizing aroma. “I bet my cup could have been filled without you lifting or even touching the pot.”

“Sometimes the gesture is as important as the result,” Rafik answered, watching as I took a sip from the teacup. It was the best thing I had ever tasted. The last time we spoke I asked Rafik to appear in adult form, but this time he had chosen to appear as a kid on the verge of adolescence. I wondered why.

“Are we … am I … inside Adam now?” It was an obvious question, but I needed confirmation.

Rafik nodded. “Yes, we extracted you just in time. It wasn’t easy, or ‘a smooth operation,’ as you Salvationists like to say, and we had to do some delicate reconstructions to your consciousness, but here you are.”

I managed to suppress a shudder as I looked around. “Is this all real?”

“You asked me that before, remember?” Rafik answered, watching me nod my assent before adding, “Does it matter?”

I drank more deeply this time. The liquid was too hot and burned my throat. I coughed and spat most of it. It felt real.

When I got my bearings, I set down the cup but Rafik leaned over and poured some more tea, careful not to spill a drop.

“Did we even win?” I looked him in the eye. “We lost many good Trolls in that battle. It would be nice to know it wasn’t in vain.”

“We have control of the main laboratory, yes.” Rafik leaned back in his chair. “And Cain’s Lizard production has been halved. The numbers are now … manageable. In time, the Valley will be cleansed of the hordes and it will be even safer to come back.”

“With some more Puzzlers,” I remarked, noting to myself that his face remained blank. We had entered the City Within the Mountain to find Rafik only to find ourselves caught in the middle of a war between these two strange entities, Adam and Cain. That war had begun with the Catastrophe, and I was just another name in the casualty list.

I took a strange yellow fruit from the basket.

“You have to peel the skin off,” Rafik warned me just as I brought it to my mouth.

“Is it any good?” I asked as my hands broke the tip of the fruit

“You’ll have to try for yourself. I like it.”

He was right. It was very good, especially for something that did not exist.

“What is it called?”

“A banana.”

“Nice.”

I ate the banana but resisted taking another one from the basket. I dropped the peel and saw it land on the ground beside me.

“What now? Happily ever after?”

There was a glint in Rafik’s eyes. “No, I am afraid we are not there yet, but before I explain, let me ask you something. The reconstruction of your mind was—” Rafik made a point of searching for a word he most likely already knew he was going to use “—not easy. Even with Tarakan technology, it was a long, meticulous process, and it could be disorienting. Could you tell me your name?”

“Twinkle Eyes,” I answered almost immediately.

Rafik tilted his head in mock amusement. “What is your real name?”

It was childish, but I wanted to keep at least one thing away from the people, or creature, who had forced me and my friends on a suicide mission. “I think I like the name Twinkle Eyes, if you don’t mind, but wait …” The meaning of his words suddenly hit me with the force of a power hammer. “You said it took you a long time to put me back together again. How long has it been since I died in the laboratory?”

“A little over five years.”

“Oh rust.” I breathed out, my hands grasping the wooden table. “But I don’t remember anything since being torn to pieces … since dying.” I pointed at Rafik, surprised that my finger was not trembling. “You just kept me in a dark cell. That was not what we agreed upon.”

“First of all”—Rafik tapped the table lightly with his finger—“that deal was made under extreme duress.”

“Still. A deal’s a de—”

“We agreed to save and upload you into Adam,” Rafik said, interrupting me for the first time, “but there were no preagreed terms as to the conditions in which we would keep you. This”—he gestured around us—“all this”—he pointed at the food on the table—“costs energy we cannot afford to spend. We kept you alive and stimulated enough not to go insane. But there was no reason for you to be kept conscious.”

“So I might as well have died in the laboratory. A dreamless, bodyless sleep seems awfully close to the universal description of death.”

“Yet here you are, drinking and eating with me in the middle of this beautiful forest.” Rafik took a careful sip from his own cup, blowing gently on the surface before bringing it to his lips.

“This place doesn’t really exist,” I said, leaning back and glancing at the banana peel I had thrown to the ground. It was still there.

“Not in the physical world, true, but there are many advantages for you here.” Rafik began counting them on his fingers. “You will not grow old, or tired, or sick, and you will sleep only when you wish to experience that condition.”

“After what you did to me, I’m not sure I want to close my eyes ever again.”

“There is almost nothing you cannot do here.” Rafik ignored my comment, pointing up. “See that high branch over there?” I looked up. “Try flying up to it.”

I looked back at Rafik. “You mean … I can …?”

Rafik nodded, a soft smile touching his lips. “If you wish—the physical world in this place would allow you to fly, easily.”

I got up from the bench and stood there, looking up. “What do I do?”

“Just wish to fly to the branch.”

And so it was. My legs suddenly left the ground and I slowly glided up to the high branch.

I whooped like a child, then tried some manoeuvres. They were easy once I realised what I wanted to do. I spread my arms and soared up to the skies. When I looked down, I saw that the wooden cabin and the garden were just small dots under me. What I thought of as a thick forest was nothing more than several rows of trees surrounding the centre. Beyond that there was white nothingness spreading all around me. It was a sobering view.

“You can come down now.” Rafik’s voice echoed in my head and in a blink of an eye, I was standing in front of him again.

“In the past, every new mind received a large piece of world to design as it wished.” Rafik spoke as I was steadying myself and getting my bearings. “Much larger than this little pocket, and each mind was free to create what it desired. Most would give themselves some kind of physical powers, altered their age and appearance, and quickly realised they could make every moment of time here only a fraction of the time in the real world. Then they would begin to get … inventive.” Rafik smiled and gestured for me to sit down again. I complied.

“But all of this is impossible now. We have a very limited amount of energy to spend, so we need to hibernate most of our minds, like we did with yours.”

“I thought we won the war against Cain.”

“We won the battle, yes, but the war—I am afraid not.”

I picked up a butter cookie from a large pile, but dropped it back when a thought hit me. “And here we are,” I said. “After five years of happy slumber, you suddenly decide to wake me up.” I sighed. “Better tell me what this is all about.”

Rafik took a slow, deliberate sip from his own cup and began talking about a seemingly unrelated subject.

“There used to be an old hand-to-hand combat style called jiujitsu. Now it is just another piece of lost human knowledge. The practitioners trained for combat starting on their backs, with their opponent laying on top of them.”

“That … does not make sense,” I said, “or sound like a fair deal.”

“Who said combat was fair?” Rafik remarked drily. “With training and discipline, even a dainty woman could escape the vulnerable position and subdue a larger, stronger opponent. In a way, Adam and Cain are locked in such a battle. Adam is stronger and more capable, but despite being on its back, so to speak, Cain has managed to gain an advantage, a choke hold of sorts. He is slowly depriving us of air, trying to suffocate Adam, and he is now closer to succeeding than we anticipated.”

“I’m a little lost here,” I said, not hiding the bitterness in my voice. “Maybe it’s the shock of death and betrayal.”

Rafik ignored me again. “Vincha was supposed to come back with her daughter, Emilija, a Puzzler who had all the signs of harbouring a rich code line in her essence—perhaps the last strain we need to become fully awakened again. But Vincha never came back.”

“The fact that you believed Vincha would ever show up here again makes me question your thought process.” It felt good to hurl that little insult. “She went through all that rust just to keep Emilija safe and you thought she would hand her over to you, just like that?”

“We knew there was a chance Vincha would not see reason.”

“A chance?”

“But Puzzlers always end up in the Valley,” Rafik continued, unfazed by my remark. “They are drawn back to Tarakan. It is part of their DNA.”

“Their what?”

“Their essence. It is what they are made of and an important influence on who they end up being,” Rafik explained, not showing any signs of losing patience. “We knew that even if Vincha failed to bring her daughter, Emilija would eventually find her way to us. We had other means of reaching out to her.”

“Like the Great Puzzle dreams?”

Rafik paused, then nodded. “It was inevitable she would show up eventually, with or without her mother. And if she failed or died, someone else would eventually come.”

“But something went wrong, didn’t it?” I said without thinking. “Something that made you abandon your waiting strategy and wake me up from my beauty sleep.”

Rafik’s first sign of hesitation proved I’d hit the mark, making me feel childishly proud.

“The valley is not cleared of the Lizards, but it is not as dangerous as it used to be,” Rafik said. “We estimated that Salvationist crews would begin coming back by now, but that did not happen. We have a limited amount of information about what is happening outside our sphere of influence, but it seems that the City of Towers is preoccupied with some kind of a conflict.”

“You mean war?” I straightened on my seat.

Rafik shrugged. “Some kind of a limited armed conflict, not posing a danger to the city itself, but it keeps the Trolls occupied.”

“Well, as you said”—I shrugged—“it is only a matter of time …” Come on, Rafik, spill it out …

“A few weeks ago, Cain staged an attack on several fronts. He managed to penetrate our defences only for a short time, but after the attack was repelled, we found out he stole one of our hibernating agents.”

“Which is …?”

“A highly trained Tarakan operative that we used for special operations. We managed to close the gaps in our defences, but not before Cain found out about Emilija.”

“For a side which won the day, we are getting hit quite often.”

This time the insult seemed to hit home because Rafik snapped back, “Well, Cain had some outside help. Now this agent is being used to locate Vincha’s daughter. If Cain finds her first, his choke hold on Adam will be complete. Cain would win.” For the first time I saw emotion cross Rafik’s face. It could have even been fear.

“That ‘outside help’ you mentioned …” I said, realising too late that the snap answer was not a slip of the tongue; it was bait. I was being reeled nice and slowly into something I was going to regret.

“What do you know about Mannes Holtz?”

I shrugged, surprised. “Nothing much. The name used to crop up in the city every few months or so. He is something between a rumour and a myth, said to live down south, past the Broken Sands. People claim he drinks the blood of his foes and can only be killed by a stake through his heart. I say, if he even exists, he is probably some ruthless warlord.” Another memory surfaced, and I added, “I used to know someone who claimed association with him, but the man was way too far gone on the drink to keep a coherent story.”

“Mannes Holtz does exist, and although we cannot confirm that he drinks blood, I can tell you he predates the Catastrophe, which he himself caused.”

It took a moment for Rafik’s words to sink in.

“You mean he …”

“Mannes is now more than a hundred and fifty years old. He used to be one of us, a high-ranking Tarkanian, but in truth he was a traitor, a murderer, and the one who created Cain. Cain was the first strike that began the war you call the Catastrophe. At the time, we thought Mannes had been duped or somehow coerced to create Cain, and that he died on the day of the Catastrophe. But he somehow survived and emerged a few decades ago, taking control of the Star Pillar, a faraway but strategic area and a vulnerable spot in Adam’s defence. He had been working continuously to strengthen Cain and weaken us. Whatever rumours you want to believe, I assure you Mannes is as ruthless as he is capable, and now he is aware of Emilija and her importance.”

I was beginning to suspect that my head was not throbbing only due to the fact that I did not, technically, possess a real head.

“So … you want me …” I said slowly and deliberately.

“… to find Emilija for us.” Rafik completed the sentence. “Most likely by locating her mother, Vincha.”

The look on my face must have spoken volumes because Rafik continued hurriedly, “You have been successful in finding her before.”

“By sheer luck. Do you know how many times I almost died on that mission? And I mean ‘times’ aside from the time I actually did die.”

“We have confidence in you.” Rafik leaned forward. “And this time you will have information and equipment. There are files on Mannes we managed to extract after the Catastrophe. You should view them as well, once you are transferred to the bunker.”

“Transferred where?”

“We will send you back to the physical world. The bunker you will wake up in is still well supplied. You will have all that you need on your mission.”

“Back from the dead for one final mission,” I said wryly. “Sounds like one of the Salvo-novels I used to read when I was young and stupid. What if I refuse to go?”

Rafik waited a little before answering. “You would go back to sleep. We cannot spend the energy to keep you self-aware. But if you bring us Emilija, you’ll have a world to be a God in.”

This time I took my time before asking, “Where’s the stick?”

“The what?”

I stared him down. “You dangled a very ripe, juicy carrot in front of my eyes, but what happens if I fail this insane mission, or what stops me from forgetting the whole thing and staying in the physical world? Where’s the stick? There’s always a rusting stick.”

“Your bodies will begin to decay in less than three years.” Rafik locked eyes with me. “It is a relatively quick but nevertheless unpleasant experience.”

“Here’s the stick,” I said quietly. Then added, “You said ‘bodies’?”

“You won’t be sent on such a dangerous mission on your own.”

“Ah, planning an armed, Troll escort team to accompany me?”

“‘Escort,’ yes. ‘Team,’ that depends on your point of view.” My guess was that Rafik knew he’d broken me and was now simply enjoying himself.

“Who do you have in mind?”

Rafik told me, and for the first time since I came back to life, I smiled.

2
Peach

 Initializing.

 Date and time are not known.

 Reporting full physical functions and health.

 No specific orders embedded in my surface memory.

 Vessel is of a middle-aged woman showing Asian heritage, dark skinned. Height and weight under average for women in this hemisphere.

 Vessel has been grown for reconnaissance and infiltration, not combat. Normal physical limitations and only basic damage resistance. Pain dumpers fully functioning, and standard combat capabilities and reflexes. ESM active.

 No internal equipment is detected. For security reasons, I will not use external equipment to contact headquarters.

 The sterilized compartment contains basic gear, light clothing, nourishment pills, rapid hair growth salve, and such, but no weapons or other equipment. Therefore I conclude this is an emergency bunker and not a normal operation-level hub.

 Initiating silent mode, dictating events into the organic internal drive. I will continue to do so until I run out of space or find an opportunity to upload.

 The bunker is running on a minimum power level. I have detected a second vessel, a female combat breed, but it has sustained some kind of damage or malfunction and is ruined beyond repair. Perhaps this is why I have awoken in this vessel.

 Since my orders are unclear and the bunker is in some sort of malfunction, I am initiating survival code Alpha.

 Switching to personal, internal briefing.

I knew something was wrong the moment I opened my eyes. It wasn’t just the physical state of the place—I’ve woken up in worse conditions—or the fact that my vessel was a middle-aged Asian female. From a muscle-ripped warrior to a nine-year-old child, I’d occupied all kinds of vessels on my past missions. Yet this time, something bothered me on a more fundamental level.

I knew who I was and I knew my assignment. I was to locate and find a young woman, Emilija, and bring her safe and sound to a rendezvous point—but that was it. No details on the girl—not even what she looked like—no threat assessments, no extract team, not even the exact location I was supposed to bring the girl to, only that she should not be harmed and that I should head to Tarkania, the City of Towers. I can’t say this scared me—I’ve been through too much to become unhinged by the absence of ideal circumstances—but I took note of the fact that headquarters was not responding; this was not a usual situation. At least the mission was a simple “find and retrieve,” not an assassination or my specialty, mass sabotage. I wondered who the girl was. She seemed to be important enough for command to deploy someone of my rank and status.

I also had an overwhelming, inexplicable desire for a peach. This, too, was not out of the ordinary for a hibernating agent. Sometimes during the transition into the new vessel some odd quirks would take hold. You might wake up hating milk, or wanting to wear clothes in the colour of blue or, like me right now, dying for a peach. It was not a big deal, but this sort of thing usually happened when the hibernating agent was shelved for a long period of time, more than a month or two, for sure.

There were too many unanswered questions, too many variables, and with all signals from the outside world blocked I could not see what was waiting for me outside, or even where I was on the globe.

There was just enough air being recycled in the small bunker, but it was not of the best quality. It made me queasy, and so the first order of the day was to get out of the place. It proved to be more of a problem than I expected; I soon found the exit tunnel had collapsed and my way was blocked by debris. I had to improvise some tools and work several hours to clear the tunnel, sustaining some minor damage—mainly bruises and cuts.

When I eventually managed to reach the sealed door, I had to manually unlock it, brace against the wall, and push away a heavy slab of concrete that lay on top of the door. This was a good thing as it meant no hostile welcoming committee was waiting for me outside, yet I found out soon enough how dire my situation really was.

At first I thought I’d emerged on a wooded hillside of some sort. I climbed up to a vantage point, a slab of broken concrete laden with rich moss, and began slowly surveying the premises, concentrating on each tiny detail and trying to piece them into a bigger picture. It was a vast, unrecognisable city that had sustained heavy damage of catastrophic proportions. I’d seen a lot during my course of duty, but this took some time to sink in.

With the exception of several small animals—birds and squirrels, mainly—there was no indication of any living beings. My body detected residue of nuclear waste still lingering in the air, but not at a health-threatening level so long as I left the contaminated area in a week’s time. Assuming there was cleaner air elsewhere.

Despite the destruction, or maybe because of it, nature was slowly claiming back the land. In fact, only the most elevated parts, which could be seen in the distance, were not covered with thick foliage. By the condition of the ruins and the fauna I guessed this city had been in a ruined state for a long time and there were no visible efforts of recovery, which ruled out an accident or natural disaster. Yet if a large city remained levelled for so long, it was a sure sign of a larger conflict, perhaps a destroyed civilisation. I just had to figure out which one. At least I knew that since I was awake, my side still existed.

I had to admit that despite the utter shock at what I was seeing and its implications, having had my predictions—filed in numerous postassignment reports—come true gave me the tiniest spark of professional pride. I’d seen it coming, I really had. Over the course of two decades, my assignments had gone from subtle to almost crudely aggressive. I told myself each time that I might not be seeing the big picture, that Central Command found the missions worth the risk despite knowing their actions created enormous enmity and suspicion. I guess we were all wrong. Nothing was worth this.

A light rain began to fall. I got up and began moving cautiously towards the more visible ruins on higher ground. I passed under a ruined bridge and climbed up another only to have to backtrack. At some point I reached a huge trench, at least forty feet deep and thirty wide. The surface of the bottom, which was not covered in mud, glistened as rain bounced off it. It was hardened, dark blue glass. Something very hot had crystalized the earth it touched. The walls were charcoal dark but had the same reflective effect as the bottom. The trench went right and left for as far as I could see, as if God had decided to carve his initials on the city’s surface with a very hot knife. A combat vessel would have been able to clear the gap with a running jump, but I had to spend an hour searching for a fallen tree with which to create a bridge for myself.

The drizzle was getting heavier, and my canvas boots were not meant for this sort of hiking. I was wet and cold, and despite having consumed a nourishment pill I felt a growing pang of hunger for real food. I decided not to spend time trying to hunt as I was weaponless and any source of sustenance would most likely be contaminated.

Night was cold and wet. Rain was falling constantly and I hugged myself into a light doze, taking shelter inside a crumbling ruin. From the height of the ceiling I guessed it used to be a building of giant proportions. Now only a corner and a far wall remained. Before I let myself rest, I spotted a flicker of a bonfire in the distance but decided against treading in the slippery darkness for the chance I might meet a friendly face. I suspected anyone sitting around a bonfire in these ruins might not be the most accommodating of individuals.

It was the right decision.

The next day I managed to track down the bonfire. There were the chewed remains of four small mammals, most likely squirrels. By the look of the foot imprints and the amount and trajectory of the urine I concluded there were at least three people, probably all males.

Half a day later I spotted one of them climbing a pile of crumbling stones. He was a young man with long and unkempt brown hair, carrying several items hanging from a large belt which suggested he was some kind of a trophy hunter. The most interesting item I could tell he was carrying was a short sword strapped to his belt.

He had his back turned to me, so I had a moment to decide whether to keep tracking him from a distance, hail him in the hope of a peaceful conversation, or incapacitate him and take his gear. I gave the encounter a 60 percent chance of being resolved peacefully. This time I was wrong. My decision-making process was cut short when I heard the rustling of leaves and a stern voice saying, “Don’t you rusting move, bitch.”

I turned my head to see a man standing on elevated ground, dressed in a worn army camouflage uniform. I couldn’t tell which army, as the insignia had faded. What I could easily detect was the hunting bow that he had aimed at my chest. A real wooden bow, with crude but effective-looking arrow tips that would rip a large enough hole in my vessel to cause an inconvenience.

The young guy in front turned. “Bukra’s balls,” he said, the intonation suggesting this was a swear of sorts, “where the fuck did you come from?”

“From behind you, dumbass,” the man holding the bow answered, without taking his eyes from me. “She’s been tailing us for a while, but your head is too full of moonshine to notice.”

“I’m just lost.” I heard my own voice as I spoke out loud for the first time in this existence. It came out weak and high-pitched. I hated it.

“Balls you are, there’s no one living here for miles.” Another man walked out from behind a large tree trunk, halfway between the youngest man and myself. I figured my chances for a peaceful resolution went down another significant notch. From the three of them, he looked the most dangerous. Almost double my height and definitely triple my weight, his oversized bald head was full of scars, but I didn’t pay attention to the rest of him since I was concentrating on the sawed-off shotgun that was levelled at me. It was an antique, the sort that had to be manually pumped and shot metal bullets. I was not about to find out if it actually worked.