CHAPTER 3 - FISHER

A chime in the darkness, a repeating four-note staccato. To Pavel Fisher’s waking mind, it was like an ice pick to the brain, hammering away with a relentless, musical precision. He cracked one eye open, squinting into the glare of the mid-morning sun and the Geneva skyline beyond. Still didn’t feel like home.

He sat up, pressing his artificial fingers into his very real eyes, rubbed at them, yawned. The last wisps of the dream faded from his conscious mind—handsome ravens, terrible minotaurs, and battles long since fought. Some of them, he had even won.

His phone kept ringing. Fisher placed it somewhere on the far side of his bedroom. He really had to change the tone to something that would make him hate the world slightly less. Elsewhere in his apartment, Octopus yowled like he was the world’s worst accompanying vocalist.

“Christ,” Fisher said, sighing. “Christ! Yes! Yes, I’m getting it, you idiot cat!”

Half-naked and still not quite awake, Fisher clambered out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. Groped around for the fridge, opened it, found the last tin of cat food, tracked down the bowl, put the cat food in the bowl—there, world fucking saved. That shut up one half of the cacophony, the half that actually mattered.

Leaving the cat to his meal, Fisher returned to his bedroom. His phone was still chiming, and that was a problem. Not many people called him these days, and there were fewer still that he’d actually answer. He contemplated letting it ring out but, if whoever was calling hadn’t hung up yet, then they knew he’d take his time getting to it. That meant they were on the very short list of people who’d show up in person if he didn’t answer.

Shit.

Fisher dug his phone out of his suit pants. “Yes? What?”

“Pavel,” Iskandar Asadi said. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Great. His handler. Tact, Pavel, Mark said, his voice somewhere between memory and thought, tact.

Fisher sighed. “At this point,” he said, “I’m inclined to blame you and the cat.”

Asadi laughed easily. “My apologies.”

Fisher wasn’t sure when he had last laughed. “So,” he said, “to what do I owe this call?”

“Right down to business, okay,” Asadi replied. “Are you able to come down to the office?”

Now that was unusual. Fisher wandered out of his bedroom, letting Asadi think he was a busy man. He returned to the kitchen and watched Octopus lap at his food. The goddamn cat thought he ran the place. Hell, maybe he did. When he screamed, Fisher did his bidding, after all. Easier that way. People always followed the path of least resistance.

“I’m not sure there’s room in my schedule, Iskandar.”

“Really? Because it’s looking pretty clear to me, Pavel. And I should know, given that I’m looking at it right now.”

Fisher shut his eyes. Of course, he thought. Should’ve thought that one through more.

“Okay,” he replied. “I guess you’ve got me.”

“It’ll be a quick discussion, nothing major. Could you get here in, say, thirty minutes?”

“Sure,” Fisher replied. “Abacus.”

He hung up, stripped off and took his time showering, but decided against shaving. Considered what to wear, and went with the same charcoal and slate suit that had been lingering on his floor for about a week. Some part of him hated that it’d been left there, but the greater whole of him had long since stopped caring about trying to make his house a home. Leaving the apartment in the capable paws of his fat, stupid cat, Fisher stepped outside for the first time in weeks.

The sunlight was warm. Geneva in the spring was much like Geneva in any other season—pleasant and efficient. It was a short, shaded walk to the maglev station. There, checking the time on the next train, Fisher caught a young woman glancing at his hands, then pretending to examine the poster to his left when he’d made her.

Fisher shoved his hands back into his pockets.

The train arrived and Fisher climbed aboard. He settled at one of the windows and watched the city stream past. Once, Geneva had been called the world’s most compact metropolis. But that’d been before the Golden Age. Now, it was one of the largest cities in Europe, if not the world—partially because of years of development and construction, and partially because there weren’t many metropolises left.

How long had he been living in Geneva? Three years now? Maybe the city still didn’t feel like home, but at least it remained interesting to look at. It was like all the historical styles of architecture nestled apologetically in the shadow of the styles of the present—fortified steel, armorglass and marble. For some reason, it always made Fisher think of the Swiss reputation for neutrality. Maybe that was why the so-called Capital of Peace had weathered the apocalypse without much issue.

There was an irony to that title now, though. It was that reputation for neutrality that had transformed the Capital of Peace into the nexus of global security. When the United Nations had formed the International Empowered Security Agency to rein in the Collapse, the choice of where to headquarter it had been between New York and Geneva, and North American instability had handed it to Europe.

There had been the argument for symbolism, too. If you were going to establish a global organization made up of people with fantastic abilities, then the obvious choice was to base them in the city that was the birthplace of the Red Cross, the League of Nations, and so many other benevolent efforts throughout history. Not that any of it had been enough to stop the world from falling apart, Fisher thought.

But the IESA had been there to pick up the pieces. A decade on from the worst period of the Collapse, the Capital of Peace was the heart of the Functioning World, home to the core of the IESA and their elite SOLAR units, with their SOLARIA supercomputer buried kilometers under the surface. From there, the IESA could deploy their empowered agents anywhere across the globe. Fisher refused to consider them superheroes. These days, IESA’s elite were more like super soldiers.

Not even the Seven, with all of their terrible awe and arcane sorceries, had dared come within three-hundred kilometers of the city. As the maglev pulled in to his stop, Fisher glanced at the other occupants of the car, all of them happy and content. Yeah, he thought. In Fortress Geneva, the apocalypse was something that happened to other people.

The Fiveaces building was on the north side of the river Rhone. Technically, they were Pavel Fisher’s employers—technically. He made his way on in, told the receptionist that he was here to see Asadi, and went straight to the elevators. The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could get home.

Asadi’s office smelled like incense and tea. It had that particular air of corporate opulence, lots of steel, glass and gleaming mahogany. Lake Geneva swept out below and beyond the panorama behind Asadi’s desk. The man had a view of not just the lake, but the Garden of the Lions, too, that monument to Golden Age heroes, memorial to Collapse dead, and even sanctuary for the Lion of Lucerne after some idiot had tried to blow it up. Both the lake and the island had names in French, this Fisher knew, but he’d never bothered to learn them. He settled into one of the chairs before the desk and waited.

“Ah, Pavel,” Asadi said. “There you are. My apologies, I had to— Oh, I know you don’t care. How’re you doing?”

Iskandar Asadi had the looks that would’ve made him the envy of any Persian king—tanned skin, sharp features, and an immaculate goatee—and the impeccable suits that were as if he’d walked right off a Tehran fashion runway. Frankly, if he’d been twenty years older—or if Fisher had been twenty years younger—it could’ve made for an intriguing relationship.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

But the relationship they had was all business. Some part of Fisher had always resented that, being ordered about by someone so much younger than him. He suspected most men did. What do you know? some part of him thought. What have you lived through?

But he just said, “Fine.”

“You hear the good news?”

“Wasn’t aware there ever was any.”

“IESA’s looking into the feasibility of restoring the British Isles.”

Fisher snorted. Yeah, they’d been playing that card since ‘56. It played well with the fragmented global community and the British diaspora. But in a week or two, there’d be rumblings about peculiar phenomena and treacherous, variable physical laws and the whole thing would be forgotten. Even Mark would’ve accepted it as a lost cause.

Until the next time they mentioned it.

“Okay,” Fisher said. “Hope it works out for ‘em.”

Asadi settled on the other side of his desk, bringing up his hardlight display. “Just give me a few moments here, okay?” He gestured to the pot of tea on the far side of the room. “Help yourself to a drink, if you’d like.”

“I’m good for tea,” Fisher replied, “Unless it’s part of a cocktail.”

Asadi gave him a brief, odd look as he skimmed through his files. Then, he must’ve thought it was a joke, and smiled. “Too early for that, I’m afraid.”

Fisher forced a smile in return. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“You been following the news, Pavel?”

“Can’t say so, no.”

“Ah,” Asadi said. “Ironheart was on the news this morning, if you can believe that. Good news coming out of Central America. Apparently, IESA’s cleaned up the last of the local warlords.”

“I can believe it. Thought she’d retired about ten years ago, though.” About the time I did.

“I guess not, my friend.”

For a moment, Fisher couldn’t quite suppress the usual feeling that accompanied his handler’s face—that resentment. Asadi—Desert Raptor, as he’d once been known—had left the cape life behind before it’d caught him in the teeth. There wasn’t a scar on his body. He’d come out of his time with a family, two kids, and a prime position in a security consultancy firm that gave him an office with a view of the lake and the mountains.

Meanwhile, Fisher had scars, a cat, and enough baggage that he could’ve moonlighted as a hotel porter. By the time Asadi had been born and then made a name for himself, the dust was settling. Fisher, on the other hand, had lived through the eruption.

Like so much of cape culture, it was all in the name. At the height of the Golden Age, the world had fallen hard for a classical Greek renaissance. It’d seemed a bit ridiculous to Fisher at the time, and the world had caught up with him a few years later. But the damage had been done and now, well, it was like everyone knew an Achilles.

“Ah,” Asadi said. “Here we are.” He set his warm brown eyes on Fisher. “Since you’ve missed the news, let me fill you in—IESA’s sweeping through Central and South America and all the rats are fleeing before they get caught.”

“Sounds about right.”

“About a month ago, a particular set of rats hit a humanitarian convoy. No casualties, thank God, but it’s still an issue that we should get a handle on. Our analysts think it’s a mercenary group of maybe half a dozen individuals who’ve been operating around the globe for two or three years. Possible links to the Syndicate.”

“Okay.”

Asadi nodded. “Have you ever been to Asclepion?”

“Nope.”

“Well, there’s an incident unfolding there as we speak. About three hours ago, the Poseidon Adriatic was attacked. It’s an old cargo ship, part of the Dynamic Horizons mission out of El Salvador. Picking up all the refugees from that Transcended attack.”

“Jesus,” Fisher said. “Someone hit a refugee ship?”

“Yes. We don’t have many details yet, but it seems like there’s only one casualty in a serious condition. Given the lack of fatalities, it’s likely that Australia’s Star Patrol will not follow this up.”

“Not surprising,” Fisher said. “Star Patrol couldn’t find ass in a barnyard.”

Asadi chuckled.

“But what’s the problem?” Fisher continued. “Okay, it sucks that this happened, but if no one died...” He let it linger. “Dynazon will just pay out and the crew’ll probably think it’s the best thing that ever happened to them.”

“Perhaps,” Asadi replied. “But given the fluid nature of Asclepion’s present situation, I think it would be good if we had some eyes on the ground. Someone who could let us know what was happening there before someone else has snapped up any promising leads. Just in case these are those same rats.”

“Yeah,” Fisher said. “Nothing like for-profit security, huh?”

“It’s just business, Pavel.”

“Guess so. Anyway, if you think these guys might have come out of Central America, why isn’t IESA handling this?”

Asadi took a moment to respond, and that told Fisher everything. “Because it’s six people with guns, Pavel,” he said. “None of them are empowered, and it seems like they’re not killing anyone. We didn’t even have a file on them until they hit that convoy.”

Fisher didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. The feeling came out of him in a shake of his head and a snort. “So,” he said. “This is a pity job. A goddamn pity job.”

“Pavel.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I won’t. You’re right,” Asadi said. “It is a pity job—”

“Not a charity case,” Fisher said, rising from his chair. “Not interested. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“Pavel, wait! It’s a pity job, yes, but it’s a pity job that I can swing hazard pay for.”

Fisher stopped at the door. He paused, turned slowly to look at Asadi. “Well,” he said. “Okay, maybe I can be persuaded.”

Asadi indicated the chair, and Fisher returned to it. “Look, when I took you on in this independent role, I did out of respect for both your service in the Brigade and your loss. I’m happy to keep you on retainer for as long as you like—God knows the company can afford it.”

“And you get to throw me a bone every so often, feel good about yourself.”

Asadi frowned. Tact, Pavel, he reminded himself, tact.

“Not precisely,” he replied. “But I do worry about you.”

“And you’re giving me this Asclepion job. With hazard pay.”

“There’s no real danger there, Pavel. There’re half a dozen professional Australian capes under Great Barrier who, I’ll point out, is one of the most highly decorated academy graduates they’ve ever put out. Since SOLAR brought Sentinel in, there’s been no major incidents.”

Well, that was true. And as far as Fisher knew, Sentinel’s arrest had been a long time coming. Still, to travel so far, hazard pay or not…

“I’ve heard the city is ruled by gangs.”

“Not quite,” Asadi said. “There’s significant empowered gang presence, but it’s all old Golden Age play-fighting. The city’s like a time capsule. It might even remind you of how things used to be.”

Fisher frowned.

“I don’t want to remember how things used to be.”

“Yeah,” Asadi replied. “Sorry.”

For a time, Asadi didn’t say anything. Fisher watched the midnight-blue wedge of a SOLAR aeroshuttle cut through the sky. Wondered whose day they had saved.

“Think of it this way,” Asadi said. “You head out to Asclepion, poke around for a month or two, ask a few questions, send back a few reports on unimportant topics that no one will ever read and that’s it. Consider it a working holiday. Charge your food, drink and entertainment to the company account—I’ll approve it.”

Fisher considered that, leaned back in his chair.

“And you’ll swing for hazard pay.”

“Promise. Won’t even be a hard sell. Like I said, it’s Asclepion, Pavel. I’ll play it up for you.”

Fisher sat there for a few moments more, thinking it over. It was a good gig. He thought he could see Mark in the reflection of the window, smiling in that bemused way of his, whenever he thought he was making things harder on himself. Thought he could hear him saying, Pavel, come on—you can’t feed yourself on pride alone.

He had a point. He always did.

“You drive a hard bargain, Iskandar,” Pavel said. “But I think you’ve talked me into it.”

Asadi smiled brightly. “It’ll be good for you, Pavel. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

“I feel like I already do,” he replied. “When should I head out?”

“When you’re ready. We’ll cover the transportation, of course.”

“Right. Well,” Fisher said, rising from his seat. “I’ll go pack and let you know when I’m ready.”

“Excellent, Pavel.”

He was halfway to the door when he thought of something, cursed himself for forgetting, and turned back to face Asadi.

“One last thing,” Fisher said. “I’ll need a second seat.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m taking my cat.”