CHAPER 59 - FISHER

The Star Patrol precinct was one of those all-in-one facilities that the Golden Age had put up all over the place. Anything a team might need, it had. Fisher led the way to the medical bay where paramedics and healthcare staff were tending to the people they could save and the people they couldn’t.

“What happened to him, Pavel?”

“It’s hard to put into words, Sab,” he said. “I think it’s better if I show you.”

Fisher led the way to a bed at the back of the ward and pulled the curtain aside. Wisps of cigarette smoke curled into his nose because no one was brave enough to tell Sam to put it out. She was still in her black armorweave, a cigarette in her hand, frizzy hair falling about her shoulders.

Jack was right where he had left him—curled up on the bed and folded in on himself, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

“Hey, Jack,” Sabra said. “You okay there, man?”

He didn’t move.

“Christ and Allah, what happened to him?”

“That’s a good question,” Fisher said. “As best as we can tell, Jack went off after Monkey. Not sure what happened, but this is how Sam found him. Fucking idiot. If he’d just listened.”

“Don’t bring this up again,” Sam said, and it sounded uncomfortably close to a final warning. “He emptied his clip. He tried.”

“Yeah? Well, trying isn’t good enough. What’d he empty it into, the fucking air?”

“A dog won’t easily bite its master,” she replied, shrugging. “But he tried, and I think his whole brain burnt out in the process.”

Sabra asked, “Does he respond to anything?”

“No,” Fisher said.

“What’ve you tried?”

“Everything. Trust me.”

Tiger exhaled smoke. “I tried hitting him,” she said, and it wasn’t a joke. “I didn’t know what else to do. Pavel’s right—he’s a fucking idiot, but he’s our fucking idiot.”

“Is he hurt?” Sabra asked.

“Not according to the medics,” Fisher said. “No sign of injury, no brain damage. He’s still breathing, he still has autonomic responses—he still blinks, for example. But anything else?” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Sabra nodded. “Did Monkey do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Eh, probably,” Sam said, reaching into a pocket of her armored vest for her lighter and cigarettes. She tapped one out into the palm of her hand.

“Sam, come on,” Fisher said. “It’s a medical ward.”

“Yeah, I’m sure a bit of cigarette smoke is the worst thing here,” she replied. “Look, he hates cigarette smoke. The way I see it, it’ll wake him up enough to complain about it. And after the shit I’ve seen today, you can bet your ass that I’m smoking my last pack.”

“Good point.”

The curtain shifted as someone stepped through. Great Barrier intruded upon their private madness. “Defiant, Impel.”

Fisher nodded to her. “Something we can help you with?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she replied. “Aegis and Blueshift have requested your presence in the briefing room.”

“Did they say what it’s about?”

“No.”

“Figures.” But he could guess.

----------------------------------------

Great Barrier led the way to the briefing room. All around them as they walked, technicians were beginning the long, awkward job of tearing out the old electronic hardware and replacing it—there was no other alternative to the presence of The Engineer or anything touched by him.

The briefing room was remarkable in the sense that it somehow combined blandness with excess. Inside, the only two occupants were Aegis and Blueshift. Fisher kept his attention on the latter.

He stood with his back to the door, one arm still in a sling, eyes on a satellite display, the world rendered in glowing outlines. But there was no way, Fisher knew, that Blueshift was not aware of them. The man was just as Fisher remembered him: swarthy, handsome, and as dangerously calm as a frozen lake. Whatever still lived under that icy surface was weird and alien.

He’d known that before he’d seen him hit The Engineer with a building, but it was nice to have proof. And watch you don’t break the ice, he thought. Fisher smiled. Mark would’ve said that.

“Please,” Blueshift said, “Take a seat.”

“Where’s Revenant?” Sabra asked.

“Her status is irrelevant at this time.”

“After all the shit you’ve pulled? Christ and Allah, I’d say it’s very relevant.”

Fisher frowned. “Sabra.”

She held up a hand, and the gesture was sharp enough that it actually silenced him.

“Where is she?”

Blueshift turned.

“She’s fine,” he said. “She is, shall we say, undergoing a refit process. As a consequence of The Engineer’s unexpected appearance, we were forced to deploy her ahead of schedule, and many of her systems were not able to withstand the output from her core.”

“You talk about her like she’s a weapon system instead of a person.”

“That’s because she is one, Defiant. No more or less than everyone within this room is, than any empowered is. But she is one we had to reveal early, and, unfortunately, shall not have the element of surprise next time.”

“You can surprise someone like that?”

“We just did,” Blueshift said. “But he won’t make the same mistake twice. Defiant, I’ll pass along your well wishes. Rest assured that her father is overseeing the procedures personally. Now, if there are no further comments, we’ll get down to business—please, be seated.”

Fisher sat down with Sabra next to him. Blueshift and Aegis remained standing.

“We all know why we’re here,” Blueshift said. “The fugitive, one Elias Hawthorne, has once again escaped. This time, however,” and he gestured to the satellite image behind him, “We can track him.”

On the screen, a single marker moved across the wireframe view of the world. Monkey and his stolen aeroshuttle. The image flickered now and again.

“You sure about that?” Fisher asked.

“Lingering paracausal interference,” Blueshift said. “Nothing to be concerned about.” It wasn’t a term Fisher had heard before, which meant it was more than a little concerning.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Any idea where he’s headed?”

“North-west.”

“There’s a lot of places to the north-west of here.”

“That is true,” Blueshift stated. “For now, there are a pair of Australian fighters shadowing him. The two capes dispatched by Star Patrol—Kangarook and Shock Wallaby—were unable to maintain the supersonic pursuit and have since been recalled.”

“If that’s the case, then I don’t see why you haven’t blown him out of the sky.”

“It would risk the loss of the Transcended artifact,” Aegis said. “We will engage him on the ground, where we can recover it and secure it.”

“We?”

“We’ve been reassigned—and it’s about fucking time, too.”

“So, back to my first question,” Fisher said, “Where’s he going?”

“We have SOLARIA calculating the answer to that question as we speak,” Blueshift said. “At present, the estimate places his destination somewhere within Eastern Europe or West Asia. No further west than the warlord territories, but no further east than the border of China.”

“Could be seeking refuge in the Khanate,” Fisher said.

“Unlikely.”

“Are you sure about those calculations or whatever?” Sabra asked. “I mean, he’s made it pretty clear that he intends to strike the heart of the IESA. If he’s heading to Europe in a supersonic craft... Well, Geneva is right there, y’know?”

“It is certainly a possibility, but unlikely. Either way, we’ve alerted Geneva and the defense grid has been activated. If he crosses over the warlord territories, he will be shot down. Less than ideal for our purposes, of course, but not unmanageable. We can assume that Hawthorne is aware of this.”

“The other place that comes to mind is the old academy in New York,” Fisher said. “But that’s so far outside the estimate that he’s not heading there.” He looked at the map again, saw the band of territory that Blueshift had mentioned highlighted, studied it. Second by second, the band shifted or narrowed as the IESA supercomputer calculated Monkey’s destination.

“Hang on,” Fisher said. “There’s not much there. Most of those countries were wiped out during the Collapse. If he wants to make use of that weapon, then there’s nothing there for him to target.”

“I disagree,” Blueshift said.

“This isn’t a game, Blueshift.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “Of course, this isn’t for the purpose of amusement. But games provide an opportunity to hone one’s skills and abilities. Isn’t that right, Defiant?”

Sabra was staring at the map, or perhaps past it. She chewed at her bottom lip, thinking, concentrating. “I think I see it,” she said, but shook her head. “But could he?”

“Could he what?” Fisher asked.

“You are quite correct, Impel,” Blueshift said. “There is very little that Hawthorne would find useful within this projected zone. But there is something. The answer is right in front of you, if you can remember your history.”

Of course he could, but the area was so vast. So many empowered warlords refusing to bow to anyone’s authority. Blasted sections of suburbia and clandestine hideouts, below which lurked the secret labs and workshops of empowered scientists and tinkerers. Broken cities, put to the torch by mad robots...

And there it was, realization in the avalanche.

“The Trimurti supercomputers.”

And if he was going to get only one shot at them, if he needed one which he thought could break the back of the IESA—

“SHIVA,” Fisher said. “My God, he’s going to go after SHIVA.”

Blueshift nodded.

“But that’s impossible. The Twelve Champions—Ironforge and the others. They killed SHIVA, and the rest of it was sealed below the mountain. I thought the IESA dismantled all three of them.”

Aegis’ expression was more sour than usual. “At the time, there was more than enough work to be done to pull the world out of the ashes of the Collapse. To properly dispose of SHIVA would’ve required a herculean effort, and it was already dead. Eventually, clearing out the ruins wasn’t seen as a priority.”

“How far out is he?” Fisher asked.

“Approximately two-and-a-half hours.”

“Jesus,” Fisher said. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The stupidity, the arrogance— “And you just left all that hardware lying there?”

“As you said, it was sealed away, and not all of us had the luxury of sitting around and feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“So,” Blueshift said, interrupting. “SHIVA’s infrastructure still stands. Whether SHIVA is dead or merely stilled, something still lurks within the temple-corpse of the fallen god-machine. To answer your question, Defiant: yes, it is possible.”

Sabra sat up straighter, leaning forward. “Then what’re we going to do about it?”

Fisher glanced at her. There was something new there, something intense.

“That is a more difficult question.” Blueshift tapped a series of commands into the console, and areas of purple—large and small—blossomed across the splayed-out world. “These are the regions which are known to be claimed by the Concordiat.”

He tapped another command. “And here, is the location of SHIVA’s ruins.”

There, just within the edge of a purple circle that covered much of the Caucasus mountains, was the bright red dot that indicated SHIVA’s remains.

“Son of a bitch,” Fisher said.

“Yes,” Blueshift said. “IESA didn’t notice this at the time, or didn’t care. Now, it presents us with a severe complication.” There was nothing reassuring about the fact that he agreed with him.

Sabra looked between the two of them. “Uh, who are these guys?”

Fisher wasn't sure where to begin. The Concordiat had emerged in the final, desperate throes of the Collapse. Their upper echelons had comprised some of the biggest names of the Golden Age: Ironforge had spoken of a utopia before he died, and Throne was one of the few who might’ve been able to make it more than an empty promise.

That had drawn followers. With the followers came power. With power came rumors and stories—and they spread outward like ripples, finding a home in every crevice in the world.

The stories were divisive, and some said that was the intention. To some, they were strikingly benevolent pacifists. To others, they were remarkably ruthless murderers. Some called them rational to the point of cold inhumanity, weighing everything up against some frozen calculus. Some said they were zealots whose utopic dreams depended on an impossible faith. Maybe all the stories were true, and maybe none of them.

What on Earth had Gate been doing with them?

“A group that is diametrically opposed to the objectives of the IESA,” Blueshift said, and that summary seemed as good as any Fisher could think to make. “The Concordiat does not compromise. The Security Council is attempting to negotiate passage as we speak, but it is unlikely that they will succeed.”

“So why not go anyway?” Sabra asked. “The whole world is at stake! Why does it always come down to politics?”

Aegis said, “Because any breach of Concordiat territory by any member of the IESA is met with an overwhelming, disproportionate response.”

“More importantly,” Blueshift said, “the IESA cannot allow Transcended technology to fall into the hands of Throne and his Concordiat.”

Was this what it was all for? Was this the answer Fisher had been looking for? It couldn’t be—it didn’t make sense.

He asked, “You’ll let Monkey wake up SHIVA for the sake of politics?”

“No. I don’t plan to let him do anything. This is merely data we must consider. If we approach the ruins of SHIVA by air, the Concordiat will strike us down. If we attempt to render the ruins unapproachable or destroy them utterly, it will be interpreted as an act of war.”

“With Throne on one side,” Fisher said, “and you on the other.”

“Among many others,” Blueshift replied, voice as smooth as ever. “It would be a conflagration on a scale not seen since Lucifer was cast down from Heaven.”

Somehow, Fisher thought, the most unsettling thing wasn’t the prospect of such a thing, but how Blueshift described it. What did it mean when such a cold, rational man was reduced to religious metaphor?

Sabra thumped the table with her fist. “Fuck! There has to be something we can do. I’m not going to sit here for two hours.”

“I agree,” Blueshift said.

“It’s why we brought you both here,” Aegis added. “We’re willing to entertain more reckless methods. A contingency that will not be condoned by anyone within SOLAR, the IESA, or the wider United Nations.”

“This is a very dangerous game you’re playing here,” Fisher said.

“Then it’s all the more imperative that we do this now," Blueshift replied, "before anyone understands what we are doing here."

“The trick will be doing it without anyone noticing,” Aegis said.

Fisher’s eyes wandered to the map, tracing the path he had taken all over the world. Poland, Europe, North America... There was Asclepion, all alone in the South Pacific. His brief time there felt like it’d been a lifetime ago, and that he’d lived another life before that.

Another life.

“Blueshift,” he said, recalling a conversation. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but I might have something.”

“Gladly. What’s the topic?”

“Quantum waveforms.”

“One of my specialties.”

Fisher nodded. “Even with something like SOLARIA crunching all the data it can get, the signatures of empowered ability use are difficult to track down, right? Even for a point-to-point teleport. It’s, what, a few hundred meters before you lose it in background noise?”

“Correct,” Blueshift said, and Fisher knew he wouldn’t miss a beat. “Why?”

A smile split Fisher’s lips then. A youthful smile, a smug smile. The smile Impel had always made when he was about to nail some idiot villain to the wall.

“I know how we can get to SHIVA,” Fisher said. “See, I’ve got an old friend who owes me a favor.”