“Next,” Thomas said, while his instructions sank into the exposed soil of the zombie’s broken mind.

His mental voice took root and unfurled into a simulacrum of instincts. The hollowed mind now contained something like a shabbily constructed intelligence, which was designed and assembled by Thomas. His will replaced the victim’s personality and opinions. It was all that remained.

The newly minted zombie trotted towards the clerk’s desk at the far end of the passageway. Clerks would reprogram the zombie’s ocular implants to be glaringly white, remove its slave collar, and then send it outdoors to the livestock pen.

Zombies got treated like livestock. Most of them went to specialist handlers among soldiers and warriors.

It was a brutal system. Thomas hated it, despite the fact that he was its chief director and its root cause.

He fiddled with an origami sky croc. Nror had kindly delivered the handwritten letter to him.

From Cherise.

I understand that you are forced to choose between one morality vs. another, Cherise had written. You are pressured from many sides. I am sure Garrett is telling you one thing, while Ariock wants you to do another thing, and Jinishta, if she were still here, would ask for a third thing.

Thomas uncreased and re-creased the paper wings. Cherise still understood him, somehow. He had folded her letter into a talismanic representation of his pet monster.

“Please have mercy, great Conqueror?” The next prisoner fell to his knees. “Please. I will serve you in any way youAHHH—!”

Thomas twisted his mind.

These prisoners were the psychopathic dregs of the penitent population, the ones who genuinely missed being able to torture slaves. Every one of them had gotten caught breaking a law.

They did not deserve mercy.

That was what Thomas told himself.

And in all practicality, he could not afford to be merciful. Zombies were the only force that kept the Torth Empire from sweeping through his conquered lands and reclaiming everything. He could no longer rely on Ariock or the Alashani warriors.

Before Thomas called for his next victim, he imparted his usual packet of baseline knowledge into the fresh zombie. You may only harm or kill Torth. Do not harm or kill any free citizen. Here is the military hierarchy.

A normal person would have required hundreds of hours to recite the whole list of baseline instructions, which included thousands of exceptions and important clarifications. Only a telepathic super-genius could deliver so much knowledge within seconds. Only a telepathic zombie could receive and process that much knowledge within seconds.

Thomas instructed the zombie in how to punch, kick, evade blows, and how to use its body as a shield in order to protect its masters.

Lastly, he gave it a self-maintenance package. The zombie needed to blink, swallow, lick dry lips, shift its weight, relieve cricks or cramps, and perform basic personal hygiene rituals. It would prioritize defensive battle maneuvers, but otherwise it must survive while also obeying commands from its handlers.

“Next,” Thomas said.

The fresh zombie trotted towards the clerk’s desk. A team of nussians used chains to drag the next unwilling law-breaker out from the dank holding cell. It was another man with iridescent red eyes.

“Conqueror.” The former Red Rank fell to his knees. “I swear, that govki attacked me. I didn’t mean to break its arm. If you show me mercyAAH—!”

Thomas destroyed yet another person’s free will.

He had no mercy. Kessa’s laws were known to all penitents, and Thomas trusted her with law enforcement. If Kessa deemed these prisoners to be beyond any hope of salvation or redemption? It wasn’t his job to cross-examine her decisions. She appointed competent judges to evaluate every case. They would not send anyone innocent his way.

He replaced the former Red Rank’s personality with his own artificial simulacrum of one.

Without Jinishta, Cherise had written, the Alashani have lost a crucial voice. She only wanted to protect her people. Is that what you’re doing?

It seemed so.

Thomas twisted another mind.

And another. And another.

The victims begged for mercy. They made all manner of promises to the Conqueror, spoken or silent. They urinated in fear.

If zombies are the only way to protect the free cities, as far as you can see, Cherise had written, then I trust you to make the hard, yet practical, decision. I have always trusted you to do that. I always will.

What flattery.

Did Cherise still retain some trace of her old hero worship? Or was she resorting to desperate tactics as measure to protect the albino warrior whom she loved? Thomas wished he didn’t have to guess.

“Next.” Thomas sank into yet another shrieking, crying crevasse of evil and despair. And he twisted it.

“Next.”

What sort of creature gobbled up sins all day, rolled in the filth of evil minds, and wrecked personal inner worlds? A hero of prophecy?

A cretinous super-genius who thought of himself as the Conqueror?

Sometimes Thomas suppressed an urge to call Cherise and ask what she really thought. Whenever he visited the Alashani complex of war fortresses where he trained in secret with Daindlor, he considered taking a detour to the apartment which Cherise shared with Flen.

It just wasn’t worth the humiliation.

Cherise must suspect that Thomas was growing more monstrous with every enemy consciousness he absorbed. Otherwise she would have visited him in person instead of writing a letter. She wanted nothing to do with the monster he was becoming.

She was wise that way.

“Next,” Thomas called.

He zombified another dozen. And another dozen. His soul was filthy from the awfulness he absorbed. But he was finally getting to the end of his workload.

I only wish there was another way, Cherise had written.

She knew that what Thomas was doing was wrong. She wanted him to find a reason to stop.

“Next.”

He made another windup toy out of the broken husk of a person’s soul.

“Next.”

Finally, the last zombie of two hundred and seventy-nine filed towards the livestock pen.

It was fewer than last week’s catch. Even so, their terrified stares would haunt Thomas’s nightmares. He remembered every single one of the people he ruined.

Thomas floated past the thorny prison guards without a word. They radiated nervousness.

Don’t go near him.

 … say he’s tame, but…

  …Can’t believe the messiah trusts him.

Thomas accidentally floated close enough to absorb some of their thoughts. Oops.

The nussians backed away in a hurry. Unlike his lab assistants, they did not think of him as any sort of Teacher. Military personnel were never sure how to treat the city’s super-genius.

None were stupid enough to mistake Thomas for human. They knew better.

And Thomas knew that there was no point in feeding them petty, empty reassurances.

He didn’t look at the guards while his subconsciousness mashed through all the lives he had absorbed. He plucked the visor from his hoverchair compartment and placed it over his eyes. He wanted to limit his visual input to dark nothingness. He did not want to pretend to be friendly.

Whole memories were shattered into fragmented flotsam inside his subconsciousness. His lower mind sorted and compiled and digested it all.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

He considered going to an empty room before he returned to the Academy research annex, just so he could sit in a fortress of solitude for a few hours and shove down all the excrement he had just absorbed. He needed to hammer it all down into the hard-packed filth at the bottom of his mind. He might be capable of friendliness and warmth in a couple of hours.

“Boy? You’ve been avoiding me.”

Garrett lurked in the prison lobby.

Thomas could have groaned, but such an utterance would not inspire guilt in the old warrior. It would just be a pointless expenditure of energy.

“Go away.” Thomas floated towards the exit. Perhaps he should not have ignored so many texted requests for meetings.

“You’ve been doing a commendable job of creating zombies.” Garrett approached, the golden accents on his armor reflecting on the burnished floor. His black cape created a shadow. “But can we talk, please?”

Thomas inwardly growled.

Agh. Didn’t he owe Garrett obedience? The old man had helped to give him a future. He flicked his hoverchair controls to glide to a halt.

“What do you want?” Thomas braced himself for unreasonable requests.

Garrett turned to the nearest guard. “Would you mind giving us the room?”

Soon they were alone; two mind readers in the lobby of a prison for mind readers. Garrett stood within inches of Thomas’s range. He did not dare step any closer.

Garrett took a deep breath, like he was preparing for a fight. “I need you to step up your work in the lab.”

Thomas felt a stab of annoyance. “We’re all working overtime.”

“I’m sure.” Garrett’s tone was an accusation. “How long does it take to invent immunity to one of those weaponized gasses? Because we needed them, like—” he snapped his fingers—“Yesterday.”

Thomas struggled to find tranquility within himself. At least Garrett pretended not to be intimidated by him. That was sort of refreshing, these days.

“I know you’ve warned us against engaging in an arms race,” Garrett went on. “But come on. The Torth are so far ahead of us, we’re losing!”

“Right,” Thomas said. “My lab is working full speed ahead on immunity to the various gasses. I promise. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Really?” Garrett glared. “Except I know you’re spending time on useless activities. Like exercise. And playing with your sky croc.”

Thomas glared back. Garrett had better not order him to quit the few things that kept him sane.

Garrett seemed fully heated up. “And begging the Torth to join us?” he ranted. “They won’t. It’s time for you to give up. Admit that you were wrong, and stop!”

Thomas removed his dark visor to give Garrett a full view of his frustrated glare.

Join Me, Thomas urged the Torth Empire on a daily basis. I offer paradise. He extended mental arms to the enemy masses. I offer a chance for you to be intellectually and emotionally free.

There were never any takers.

Yet.

Just one renegade, though, might usher in a flood of allies. Just one or two important renegades might allow Thomas to quit zombifying people.

It was a hope and a prayer. It was a chance that he could not ignore.

“Your forays into the Megacosm are a security risk,” Garrett complained.

“I take every precaution.” Thomas spread his siren’s call only when he was alone and in a safe place. He let the Torth Empire see very little of his daily events, so they should be unable to guess about what vulnerabilities he might have, or how to predict his routine movements.

“The Twins,” Garrett said pointedly, “are never going to legitimately join us.”

Thomas looked around the lobby, worried there might be eavesdroppers. He didn’t see anyone.

“Shh,” he told Garrett.

Garrett puffed up. No one else dared to speak to him with condescension. “We can’t trust them. Letting enemy super-geniuses in on our military secrets would be complete insanity! You need to let go of that dream.”

Thomas tried to dial down his frustration. He really missed tranquility meshes.

He forced his words to come out with measured patience. “I’m aware that the Twins invented the insanity gas,” he said.

“And the gaseous inhibitor,” Garrett said. “And the telepathy gas. They’re mass murderers!”

“They were coerced.” Thomas wondered why he was even bothering to argue with an idiot. “If they join us, we absolutely need to find a way to let bygones be bygones.”

Garrett folded his arms across his armored chest. His words dripped out. “That’s easy for you to say.”

His sarcasm might, unfortunately, be warranted. Garrett wasn’t the only hero who had reason to hate the enemy scientists. Would Ariock be able to forgive the duo who were ultimately responsible for triggering his murderous rage; the disaster which had killed Jinishta and so many other warriors and innocent people?

Evenjos wouldn’t be pleased, either. She despised the gaseous inhibitor more than anything. That gas was the only weapon in existence which was guaranteed to kill her.

Perhaps that was why the Twins were afraid to show up? Thomas would be hesitant, too, if he were them. Unlike the vast majority of penitents, the Twins were smart enough to have doubts about how much control the Conqueror was able to exert over his close friends. They might suspect that he could not fully control Ariock and Evenjos and Garrett.

Yet Thomas yearned for their help. He thought of the Twins often, like a silent prayer.

If his promises in the Megacosm weren’t enough to lure the Twins … should he send a signal of some sort? An encoded projection that hinted that he was fully in control of his friends?

“How can you even think about trusting them?” Garrett seethed. “They might come here as undercover agents. They’ll try to worm their way back into the good graces of the Torth Majority. How would you even be able to tell if they’re on your side or just faking it?”

Some risks are worth taking.

Thomas wanted to say that, but he swallowed instead. This wasn’t worth an argument as long as the Twins remained absent and out of reach.

“You can’t!” Garrett threw up his hands. “It’s impossible!”

Welcoming the Twins might be the only way for Thomas’s side to win.

Instead of retreading that argument, Thomas studied Garrett anew. He suspected the old man’s helpless rage had more to do with his great-grandson than anything else. “You’re worried about Ariock. Aren’t you?”

Garrett chewed on his lip in an almost childlike way. “Maybe.”

“Give him time,” Thomas suggested. “I’m sure he’ll fight again.”

Garrett studied Thomas, no doubt seeking reassurance.

“I pointed him in the right direction, I think,” Thomas said. “Through a suggestion that will reach Vy. She’ll take care of the rest.”

Garrett grumbled, not quite trusting Thomas. “Right, right,” he muttered.

“I understand that you’re overworked.” Thomas forced himself to sound kind. It was an effort. “While we wait for Ariock to rebuild his confidence, I think we need to get a lot better at patrolling orbital space around our planets. Fayfer is ramping up our space fleet. I’m doing everything I can to help her.”

“Is that enough?” Garrett’s voice cracked, and Thomas caught a glimpse of how much stress he was under. “I go into battle ten times per day. I patrol the Megacosm fifty times per day.”

No wonder Garrett was upset. He wasn’t even expending energy for a cigarette.

Thomas was painfully aware of how many cities they had lost, with Garrett acting as their only hero. Dozens. There were guerrilla fighters who were just barely holding onto their freedom. The Torth were growing bolder and more murderous.

“I heal dying warriors,” Garrett went on. “I give speeches to the troops, even though they just want to hear from Ariock. I go to sleep near depletion every night, and then I wake up and do it again. I’m not saying this to throw a pity party.” His gruff tone precluded any accusations of weakness. “I’m handling it. I don’t need sympathy and flowers. But I want you on the same page. I’m working as hard as I can, and it’s not enough.”

Of course it wasn’t enough. They could not defeat the Torth Empire by killing one Torth at a time.

Thomas refrained from saying that out loud.

“I need a little help,” Garrett said.

Neither one of the Dovanacks liked to ask for help. Thomas understood that, and he empathized. Admitting to weakness opened one up to being taken advantage of. It made one a target for bullies and enemies.

Thomas supposed that he had his own shortcomings which he was reluctant to admit. He was among the eldest super-geniuses in existence, yet his functional knowledge was on par with a younger, unripe super-genius. Most of it consisted of mental excrement. He had not absorbed nearly as much efficacious knowledge as his peers in the Torth Empire.

The Twins and the Death Architect were smarter than he was. Heck, even the Rind Topographer, the Geodesic Flux, and the Spin Overture were ahead of him.

And he would never close that gap. He had a small memory leak.

His loss of data was not enough to cause cognitive impairment, but Thomas knew that he was unfit to compete against a super-genius in peak condition, let alone a whole team of them. He worked and he worked, but he still could not quite grasp the principles behind insanity gas and inhibitor gas. He needed a lot more time.

Or he needed the Twins.

Thomas sighed. “I’ll pay more attention to our military projects in the lab.” He supposed he could pile even more pressure onto Varktezo and other lab assistants. It would be loads of fun.

“I’d appreciate it.” Garrett gave Thomas a stern look. “Also, how about if you quit your, uh, mystery excursions?”

Thomas should have guessed that Garrett would spy on him.

He really wanted his sparring sessions with Daindlor to remain a secret, at least until he could hold his ground in a duel. If the old man chose to make a big deal about it….

“It’s one of those Alashani maidens.” Garrett spoke in a dry tone of insinuation. “Isn’t it?”

Thomas made himself look innocently polite instead of laughing out loud. What sort of Alashani would flirt with the devil? It was preposterous.

“Look.” Garrett dared to lean slightly closer. “I’ll be the first to admit, some of those albino lasses are gorgeous, in a delicate, flowery sort of way. But you can’t let yourself get distracted. Okay? I need you to stop.”

Really?

Logically, Thomas knew, it was in his best interest to let Garrett keep his bad guess and depart without any further arguments.

But what right did the old man have to dictate his personal life? What an arrogant jerk!

“You’re playing with dynamite.” Garrett placed himself in front of Thomas, arms folded. “The undergrounders will panic if they learn you’re messing with a shani woman. That’s a no-brainer. Most of our warriors are already on strike. We can’t afford more bad PR, there. So I need you to quit your shenanigans.”

Thomas couldn’t quite manage an agreeable look.

What a double standard! Garrett didn’t have to pretend to be an asexual scientific hermit. He had the love of a nearly indestructible woman who contained ancient secrets and who had a lot of love to give. People observed mini-whirlwinds outside the old man’s apartment, kicked up whenever Evenjos was paying him a visit.

Lucky bastard.

“Look. I was a teenage boy once,” Garrett said. “I get it. But just stow your horniness. All right? You need to stay out of trouble until after this crisis is past and we’re winning again.”

Thomas tried to look bland. But this crossed a boundary.

This was personal.

“I’m giving you an order,” Garrett said. “No shenanigans. I want you entirely focused on work.”

The old man gave Thomas one more stern glare of warning. Then he seemed to consider the matter settled, and he strode out of the prison lobby.

Thomas floated in precious solitude for a minute, trying to regain his balanced mood.

A seething fury writhed within him.

It must be nice to be able to teleport to a vacation spot on a whim. It must be nice to be friends-with-benefits with a goddess shapeshifter. Oh, and it must be really nice to be able to walk down city streets without overwhelming waves of hatred aimed one’s way.

Garrett had all the power in their working relationship.

Meanwhile, Thomas was a slave. He supposed that obedience to that geriatric jerk counted as true penance.

He knew someone who would understand and empathize.

Thomas raised his wristwatch. His finger hovered over the call button. How many times had he mentally run through scenarios where he might discreetly summon the Pink Screwdriver and … well….

Screw?

She wouldn’t say no.

She wouldn’t even think no, Thomas felt sure.

Thomas could make it happen with a few strategic calls to various guards and errand runners. None of those assistants would guess the bigger picture. They would not know that Thomas meant to arrange a tryst in one of his unused bomb shelters.

He shouldn’t do it.

He really, really shouldn’t.

Thomas glared at the exit where Garrett had gone, and began to make arrangements.