Chapter 19
2 Years and 4 Months Post Apocalypse
Fortress Life
In my travels and interactions with other psychics, I've learned that people with enough psychic ability can create mind shields to protect themselves. But it's much faster for me to use my gift to teach their minds the needed skills.
Obviously, the best way to gain psychic abilities, is to have obtained them from BG, in the blue room, the morning of the invasion. But for everyone else, there is hope in the form of stat points that can change your genetic structure, making you psychic if you so choose.
Children can develop mind-shields and psychic abilities faster and more effectively than adults. So I strongly suggest you get every child to put a few stat points into psychic development as soon as possible.
For adults, 20 stat points put directly into psychic defense should, with a little psychic tweaking from me, prevent what happened with the Kitykity or those damn wuffles. As the only expert in this field that I'm aware of, I apologize for not knowing this earlier.
—Portion of Ian's letter to Dad and Mrs. Wilcox, sent a week before Ian's return to the Fortress.
***
Ian heard Mrs. Wilcox's master key turning in the lock. According to the grandfather clock, it was just after five in the morning.
The door to Ian's family living quarters, on the top floor of the Fortress mansion, opened. “Watch out for the cat,” he called, not moving from his chair in the living room.
Of all the people he knew, Mrs. Wilcox had been changed the least by the alien apocalypse. She still wore a professional skirt, her hair was done and her face made up. She even wore high heels. Nobody wore high heels anymore. She looked like she had when Ian had first seen her over two years ago.
Fluffy stopped glaring at Ian, ran down the curtains, shot over to Mrs. Wilcox, let out a loud meowr, and purred loudly as he rubbed himself against her legs.
“Oh hi Fluffy,” she said. “It's okay, Ian, Fluffy knows me.” She rubbed the top of the cat's head. “It is, however, you I wanted to see.” She walked over to Ian. “Did something happen to your arm?”
“Just a scratch,” Ian said. “What do you want?”
“Come with me.”
With a sigh, Ian let Mrs. Wilcox drag him to the kitchen window overlooking the Fortress market and playground. The place where he'd seen his first Kitykity, a lifetime ago.
The sun hadn't come up, but Ian could see a well-lit fountain next to the fortress playground. In the middle of the fountain stood a life-sized statue of his sister, Stacy, Kid Barbie, standing proudly, hair in a ponytail, her two pistols in their holsters around her waist.
He turned from the window and collapsed into the nearest chair. The statue of his sister brought back memories. It was too much.
“It's a memorial for your sister and all the children who've died defending our world since the invasion,” she said.
“I don't know how to respond to this,” Ian said.
“You should respond by getting on with your life,” Mrs. Wilcox said. “Ian, you've been grieving. I lost my entire family in the first week of the invasion, so I know something about the grieving process. For me, organizing the team that took out the monster that killed my family was very therapeutic. You've spent the last two years hunting what killed your sister. It's time for you to settle down. Help your father defend the Fortress, find a nice girl, since you obviously don't like Phoebe, and get on with your life.”
Mrs. Wilcox found a bag of ground coffee in the kitchen's small, solar powered freezer. She put several heaping scoops in the coffeemaker and added water. “And concerning the murders. I believe you are in the clear. We presented the evidence from that cell-phone you provided to the council. You didn't mention the creepy selfies he took. Your accusers have been slow to respond. The story I'm hearing is they have video and audio footage of you killing the desert scorpion leadership, but they do not feel it would improve their case against you.”
Ian scooted his chair around until he was looking down at the kitchen table. “First, the Desert Scorpion leader and his cronies accused me of being an alien sympathizer, going on about how rape, torture, killing children is a normal part of war and they told me to 'put some stat points into a pair of fucking balls'. Then he and his cronies tried to kill me. Then they tried to bribe me. After that their leader pissed himself in fear and pleaded for his life. But I knew what he'd do if I let him live so I didn't have a choice.” Ian buried his head in his hands. “I never wanted any of this. When I chose my character build, I wanted people to like me. To stop thinking I was a total loser. Instead, I'm the one who enters a room and makes grown men piss themselves from fear.”
Mrs. Wilcox pulled up a chair and joined him at the kitchen table. “What I don't understand is, why you had to kill them yourself? Sounds like the locals would have been happy to do it for you and that would have let you off the hook for their murders.”
“If the locals had killed the Desert Scorpions, the Desert Scorpions would have targeted them for revenge. The locals in question are mostly women and kids. Decent people. So I killed the bad guys myself and made it clear if anyone had a problem with that, they needed to come after me.”
“I see. At least nobody thinks you're a loser.” Mrs. Wilcox said. “They're too afraid of you—But those aren't the only people you've killed. Are they?”
Ian didn't answer.
“I've been following your monster-killing career with great interest. When you pass through an area, there is a slight uptick of suicides and accidental deaths. There was one case where you rescued some people who'd been locked in a cellar. Their captors didn't just OD on drugs, did they.?”
Ian sighed. “If I was to kill someone in that way, I would be careful to give it a lot of thought. I would want to be certain the world was better off without them. Some people are sick and or evil enough to threaten everyone around them.”
“That's what I thought. Don't worry, Ian. I'm good at keeping secrets. I'm one of your strongest supporters, and many of my supporters support me because they know this. You've helped a lot of people over the last two years.”
The Galactic Market coffee maker began burbling happily, rocking back and forth on its three feet, and the smell of coffee filled the air. A sign their coffee was almost ready.
“I know what you're about to ask,” Ian said. “And I've given it a lot of thought.” He pulled the ceramic salt and pepper shakers toward him. He laid the pepper shaker on its side. “If Mr. Payne was to have an accident, his supporters would assume you're responsible and kill you. You have support from most of the Fortress inhabitants, but Mr. Payne has the support of the rest of the city. Unlike you, he talks to the outlying city enclaves. Now if you were to vanish or Mr. Payne was to win the election,” he laid the salt shaker on its side, “Mr. Payne would draft the city's gifted children to form his own personal army, just temporarily, mind you, to restore order while blaming you and your supporters for his actions. He'll then renege on all his campaign promises like the politician he is. At which point I suspect it's just a matter of time before someone kills him.” Ian pushed the salt and pepper shakers so they fell onto the floor. “At that point either you regain power, or, more likely, the city will fall into civil war and chaos as the Fortress and enclaves fight over who gets to lead.”
“I see. So you know Mr. Payne's plans, even through his psychic inhibitor helmet?”
“Don't advertise this. Psychic inhibitor helmets may work against lower-level psychics, but against me, they're worthless.”
Mrs. Wilcox poured some coffee into a large mug with the words Evelyn Wilcox for Mayor on it. She passed the mug to Ian, along with the sugar and creamer. “What would you have me do?”
Ian looked away and took a sip of his coffee. “I don't know. There are over a hundred enclaves and compounds around the city and surrounding area that see you, and to a lesser extent me and my family, as rich shits living it up in their mighty Fortress while the rest of them suffer. The Fortress can't protect the city,” Ian continued. “The Fortress can barely protect itself. Me and Crazy Steve do what we can out there, kill monsters, try to keep peace in the region. Most of the time without killing anyone, but as you've seen, there are exceptions.”
“Well. It seems a certain psychic could have done a lot to bridge this Fortress enclave gap, both by providing aid and collecting taxes. But he ran off to kill monsters. Combine this with the fact that running a fortress during an alien invasion is difficult time-consuming work. And not one of these enclaves demanding aid has paid any taxes, then you have our present situation. So once again. What would you have me do?”
Ian sighed. “I'm still your man, Mrs. Wilcox, or this conversation wouldn't be taking place. You are the best person I know of who's willing and able to run the Fortress. Also, my brother has time-sensitive experiments going in his lab that a change in leadership would mess up. So back to you, Mrs. Wilcox; what would you have me do?”
“Well Ian, if Mr. Payne could die, in a way that can't be traced to either of us—I would happily cry at his funeral. He's overweight so it would be only natural for him to die of natural causes.”
“What about his followers?” Ian asked. “Who, I'll remind you, badly outnumber your own.”
“Leave them to me. I'll let you know if I need help, but I don't think I will,” she said.
“Very well. I'll take care of Mr. Payne,” Ian said.
“Of course. And you should think about what I said earlier about settling down.” Mrs. Wilcox got to her feet. “Oh, and in case you've forgotten, the fortress mind-shield hopefuls will be waiting for you at 6:00 this morning.”
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“Great,” Ian sighed. “Can't wait.”
***
“Mrs. Gruber adopted the two kids you dropped off,” Dad said, relaxing on the easy chair. “I've been keeping an eye on them. They're doing well, seem happy.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Ian said, yawning and making a note to check on Faith and Evan. In the past two years, he'd meant to check on them, but never had the time.
Dad took a deep breath. “Ian, I realize we didn't part on the best of terms. I am still angry about the way you lied to me for months, and how I ended up finding out.”
“I told you, Dad, I don't want to talk about it,” Ian said. He sat next to Dad, his eyes closed, concentrating on educating Dad's tiny psychic gift and not falling asleep. Six in the morning was too early to deal with this shit.
“Because of BG and the alien apocalypse, you kids had to grow up way too fast,” Dad said. “I realize you did what you thought was right, but if only you'd come to me instead of keeping so many secrets, certain people might still be alive.”
Ian took a deep breath. He knew this meeting would be difficult. “I like what you've done with the Fortress. Those electronically activated machine guns are a nice addition.”
“Yes, but even so, we've had close calls. We're hoping you can stick around for a bit,” Dad said.
Ian opened his eyes. “Your mind-shield is done. I'm curious, how many stat points did you put into psychic development?”
“Over fifty,” Dad responded. “By order from the council, everyone's required to put as many stat points into psychic development as they can.”
“And you haven't encountered a skill tree?”
Dad shook his head.
“I see.” It seemed Ian had made an excellent choice indeed, requesting psychic gifts from BG instead of some kind of warrior build. “Well, I just taught your mind to protect itself from psychic attacks. Your mind-shield should improve with time, especially if you put more stat points into it. At present, it will not hold for long against a psychic attack. If you encounter a psychic alien, I'd advise you to run like hell.”
Dad stood up. He looked older and smaller, than he had when he'd kicked Ian out of the fortress two years ago. “Ian, I met someone, Lara Moore. She's a really nice person and I'd like you to meet her.”
“You're a grown man, Dad. You can meet whoever you want. If you don't mind, I have a line waiting.”
Ian went to the small room's doorway and looked out at hundreds of people winding around the building. At the head of the long line was Mrs. Wilcox. “Oh shit. I need more coffee.”
“Bye Ian, I hope you come visit,” Dad said. He started to say something else, then stopped, turned, and left.
***
It was mid-afternoon before Ian finally finished with the line of mind-shield hopefuls. Some he'd provided with mind-shields, but most didn't have enough psychic ability for him to work with. Even the three psychic children who'd recently moved to the Fortress were weak. They reminded Ian of himself, days after the alien apocalypse.
Since he would be leaving soon and wasn't sure when he'd come back, now was the time to take care of things at the Fortress and say his goodbyes.
The Fortress playground had changed. Instead of a barren lot, the place was now filled with obstacles, everything from wooden posts and iron bars, to big tires for the kids to play on and around. In the middle of the playground was an imitation alien that looked like a cross between a robot, a jellyfish, and a T. Rex with long chains hanging off its sides.
The fountain with Stacy's statue was nearby. It felt strange having a statue of his sister. He wondered what Stacy would think of her statue when they brought her back.
Kids surrounded a group of adults, including Mrs. Gruber and Ian's old companion Sam. Sam had two babies with her. She held one while the other slept in a stroller nearby. Mrs. Gruber, if possible, looked fiercer and meaner than she had two years ago when Ian left.
The imitation alien let out a roar and its chains moved back and forth.
Mrs. Gruber pulled out a stopwatch. “Again! Go! Go! Go!”
Every kid knew what to do. Some ran for cover; others, including Evan, ran forward, avoiding obstacles using their speed to run around the fake alien, dodging the chains coming from the fake alien that lashed out like whips. The kids stuck objects onto its body and threw them into its mouths, before running back to safety.
One kid could even fly short distances and flew over the obstacles. Another was telekinetic, causing sand and gravel to rise from the ground and into the alien's three faces. The objects the kids used on the alien went off like firecrackers. Then six other kids, including Faith and Road Warrior, ran forward with heavy steel spears and hurled them into the fake alien's body.
“Time!” Mrs. Gruber walked over to Evan and grabbed him by the ear. “You know what you did! If your sticky bomb falls off the alien, do not stop to pick it up and put it back on again. You go go! Run back to safety, see what needs to be done next.”
Evan hung his head. “Sorry.”
“Never fight monsters alone,” Mrs. Gruber said. “You are a hundred times more dangerous as a group. Do what you do best, look out for each other, work as a team and you might survive. Because somebody didn't follow simple instructions, we go again.”
The kids groaned.
Sam came over while Ian watched the kids. “Mrs. Gruber's bark is worse than her bite. Evan reminds her of her late son and she wants him to survive. If it's any consolation, she now thinks you're one of the good psychics. Like a vampire with a soul.”
“Has BG made anyone into a vampire?” Ian asked, suddenly curious.
Sam cradled her sleeping infant. She shook her head. “A vampire is half a non-human entity, so BG won't do vampires, same with Jesus Christ. I met a guy who tried for that one. Too bad, that water into wine thing would have been awesome.”
“The kids seem happy,” Ian said. “I'm glad people like you are looking out for them.”
“Ian!” Evan shouted, running up to him, the rest of the kids close behind. They mobbed Ian and bombarded him with questions.
“How many monsters have you killed?”
“How old are you?”
“Did you bring Kityfruit?”
“Are you marrying Princess Phoebe?”
Not if I can help it. Ian thought.
“He is if he's not gay,” said Road Warrior. He'd grown over a foot since Ian had seen him last, and he'd put on a lot of muscle.
“Hey! Road Warrior,” said Sam. “What did we talk about?”
The boy's head, still stuck inside his cat skull helmet, turned to face the ground. “Gay is okay.”
“That's right,” Sam said. “Ian can be gay if he wants to.”
“You were supposed to come check on us,” Faith said, punching his chest hard enough to hurt through his armor.
“We wanted to,” Ian said. “Monsters kept showing up. You got the Christmas presents and the letters, right?”
“Yes, but that's not the same. We wanted to see you.” She slugged him again.
“You seem happy,” Ian said. “I'm glad.”
“We'd be happier if you'd visit!” Faith slugged him a third time.
“I'll try to do better. I promise.”
Mrs. Gruber rang a hand-bell. “Kids! It's snack-time! And Ian has things to do! Remember, tomorrow we train with live aliens!” There was some cheering.
Mrs. Gruber threw Ian an icy glare. “Behave yourself, Ian.”
Ian did a half salute. “Take care of those kids, Mrs. Gruber.”
“Bye, Ian,” Faith and Evan said, reluctantly heading back for snacks.
“Sam, you know where Hunter is?”
“That's easy. The infirmary. It's practically his second home. See you soon, Ian.” She left him and rejoined the kids.
***
The infirmary was far more casual than any pre-apocalypse medical center would have been. Thanks to regen shots, nobody got infected, and medical complications that would have killed a patient before were no longer a problem. Infirmary workers, identified by a red band on their arms, walked past Ian in the hall.
Treating the wounded was neither glamorous nor financially rewarding, but to many, it was preferable to leaving the Fortress and fighting monsters.
“Solar-powered blood from the Galactic Market, 20 credits,” came a voice from behind a door with ICU spray-painted on it. “Makes no sense on multiple levels, but what do I know? I used to be a podiatrist. Fucking aliens ruined my career plans. Nobody cares about foot problems anymore. Still, we stopped your bleeding and stabilized your condition. Your regen shot will do the rest. You're going to live to fight monsters another day.”
Ian heard someone moving around the ICU, and the sound of groaning. “As for how long you're going to be here?” the podiatrist continued, “there are two types of shots we get from the galactic market. The first is the basic regen shot, cheap, permanent, but slow acting. You and every surviving human have one already. The second is a regen booster shot, expensive, fast acting, and lasts a couple days at the most. The more credits you're willing to spend, the faster you'll recover and get out of here. If you were part of the Anderson family or friends with Mrs. Wilcox, you'd be fixed up and out of here by tomorrow. But in your case? Let me put it this way. How big a monster did you just kill?”
“It got away,” the patient moaned. “BG says 'You suck. Better luck next time, loser.'”
“Ooh. Unless you know someone with 10,000 credits, you're going to be here for at least a month. If you should kill something in the future, please remember our infirmary depends on donations to operate.”
Ian kept going. The infirmary was bigger than it had been the last time he'd visited, but he'd spent enough time here in the past to know his way around. The recovery area, where recuperating patients were kept fed and clean, was by far the largest part of the infirmary, with rows of beds on either side, so staff, and visitors like Ian could walk through the middle.
He spotted Hunter in a distant corner of the room, standing with Dex and Robert around a bed.
“I keep telling you, Marvin. Watch out for the teeth,” Hunter was saying. “The claws, the spikes, the venom, the acid, and the toxic mist some aliens produce are bad enough, but always watch for the teeth. Maybe when your legs grow back, you'll be more careful. That, and quit dropping your damn crossbow.”
Marvin was a large, musclebound black kid, maybe 17 or 18, lying on the bed. He'd have been larger if his legs hadn't been bitten off up to the thighs. He did not look happy. “Maybe I should find another patrol to join, and the name's Blade-Master.”
“None of that, Marvin,” Robert said, shaking his head. “These guys are giving you another chance. I know you were white before the apocalypse, so you don't understand how hard being black can be. People expect more of you when you're black, like not dropping your damn crossbow and running when monsters attack. Just the way it is.”
Hunter nodded. “In hindsight, Dex should be the one with the crossbow. Me and you will be distraction, once your legs grow back, and speak of the devil, it's Ian Anderson. Two years ago, this guy had me convinced he was worthless. If I'd known the truth, we'd have been kicking ass out there.”
“Nice to see you again, Ian,” said Robert. “You know I saved Ian's life. Three days after the apocalypse began. That was a crazy time.”
“True,” Ian said. “You know, everyone here except Marvin saved my life at least once. You guys should form a club.”
“What do you want?” asked Marvin, looking suspicious.
“I brought a few things that should help you guys,” Ian said, putting a few syringes and tubes on Marvin's bed stand. He held up the smallest tube. “This is Limb-Regrow; I got it from my brother. It should heal your legs in a few hours instead of a few weeks, but make sure you get a lot of high-protein food in you before you use it. Regrowing a limb that fast takes it out of you.”
“And to what do we owe this display of generosity?” Hunter asked.
“Well, Hunter. My brother, Gabe, needs to learn how to use his wizard gift to kill monsters. I want you to take him on patrol. At the very least he can provide you guys with on-site healing support, but if he can do a tenth of what I think he can, you guys will kick ass out there.”
Hunter shook his head. “Your father wants to kill me as it is, Ian. He's not going to put up with that.”
“Gabe is 16, and he's capable of so much more than building bombs,” Ian said. “I figure it's his decision, and he wants to go.”
“You sure he wants to go?” Marvin asked. “Last I heard, 'Zoltron the Mighty Wizard does not do patrols.' His words, not mine.”
“He does now,” Ian said. “I'm asking you guys because I trust you. But if you're not interested, I'll talk to other patrols.”
Hunter looked at Dex, then at Marvin. Dex nodded and gave a thumbs-up sign. Marvin shrugged. “Ah fuck it,” Hunter said. “If he shows up, we'll take him in.”
“Good deal. Thank you guys,” Ian said.
“Hey Ian, I got to ask,” Robert said. “You've been on the road for the past two years. You come back to the fortress, Mrs. Wilcox and Princess Phoebe both want to sleep with you, but you turned them down?”
“I got a girlfriend out in the enclaves... well, kind of girlfriend. She's one of the few people who doesn't see me as a creepy psychic, so I try to stay on her good side. I'm going to have a hard enough time explaining the people I killed.” To call her a girlfriend was an exaggeration, but he knew it would get the men off his case.
“Wow,” Hunter said. “Good for you, kid. Hang onto that one.”
“Will do guys. I'm leaving the Fortress today, but I'll be around to check up on things. You guys take care of yourselves.”
As soon as Ian left the clinic, he was surrounded by guards. “Ian Anderson, you and every psychic in the Fortress are required to wear a psychic suppression helmet for the duration of the debates and the upcoming election tomorrow.”
Ian felt sick from nervousness. The fun was about to begin.