II - Long Nights
Smersh leaned back in his chair, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. He glanced at the old Soviet military-issue chronometer, naval style, which had been a Christmas present some years back. The band had given out long ago, but he had mounted it on a stand so that it might be used as a desk clock. 21:37. If he were to go to bed now, he might be able to get six hours of sleep. He would have to get an early start, for the next round of interminable negotiations.
Few in the Section had access to his private file room, and it had an internal lock that would prevent access from the outside. It was intended to provide privacy to those looking at highly classified documents, but he had been using it as a private sanctuary where he could sleep uninterrupted. After the first few times, he had even stopped hitting his head when climbing out of the old military cot he had placed there.
He was fishing his key ring out of his pocket when the intercom buzzed. Smersh clenched his jaw and tightened his fist briefly before turning and pressing the button. What is it, Ilya? Smersh muttered. The static-filled voice answered, Just a few things that require your attention, sir.
Smersh sighed, crossed the battered, thin industrial carpet, and opened the door to his outer office. Ilya Semovich, a pale, balding, non-descript man with thick glasses stood there with a thick stack of files. Ilya might have been fifty kilograms, and his true height was concealed by the stoop of his back. Smersh knew that the timid exterior housed a steel spine and hands that could kill a man sixteen ways with a ball-point pen.
Do you never sleep, Ilya? Do you know the hour?
Ilya met Smershs gaze mildly. I do, and I also recall that it is New Years Eve. I was hoping to leave here before midnight, and you should do the same. So, if we can just go over a few things
Bah. I shall get to them, comrade Ilya. Just because both of my Strike Leaders are on hiatus
and because you refuse to utilize your assistant effectively!
Smersh ignored the interruption.
does not mean I am incapable of taking care of the business of the Section. I did it before, after all.
Da, when you had a quarter of the agents and nowhere near the social programs budget. Face it, Yevgeny Ivanovich, you simply cannot do this all alone! Ilya slapped down the files on the desk. Now, we will deal with these, and then we shall hopefully go elsewhere and not be here at midnight!
Smersh knew that, in matters of paperwork, he would never be able to defeat the bureaucratic equivalent of a hermit who had spent twenty-seven years in the mountains under a vow of silence, eating only roots and berries and perfecting his kung fu technique. Smersh threw up a hand in defeat, and beckoned Ilya to take a seat. Well, comrade, show me the requisition forms and memos and all of that nonsense, and let us get to it.
Excellent, sir. Now, this is a requisition for fifty cases of anti-armor shells
***
22:37 by the chronometer. Five hours of sleep might still be possible. Smersh, bleary-eyed, scrawled his signature on another form. Perhaps it was a commendation, perhaps some city-required form. He just signed where the little red stick-on arrows indicated, having given up entirely on comprehension. How was it that the paperwork multiplied and expanded to fit all times and places not otherwise occupied? If such knowledge were to be applied to foodstuffs, world hunger could be ended.
Smersh gathered his stack of files, grumbled as the top half-dozen made an ill-advised escape attempt, and shuffled over to the front door of his office, working the handle with his elbow. He scooted the door open the rest of the way with his foot, and turned, intent on keeping these files under control for the six feet to Ilyas box. If only Ilya would give up on using the horrible multicolored plastic file folders, it would have been a trivial task. Paper file folders might be less durable, but at least friction made them much less likely to imitate the Soviet ice dancing team.
He looked up, and stopped suddenly. Needless to say, with such a precarious stack of paper, a beautiful waterfall of multicolored folders began before he could clamp a hand down on top. The pressure now coming from both sides of the stack transformed the effect from water feature to fifty-two card pickup.
Ilya and Tatyana sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of paper. Ilya gave Smersh an aggrieved look, while Tatyana did not look up from what she was doing. Fiercely, she said, You almost tempt me to break a promise, Zhenechka, spread so thin and failing to utilize resources. You know I must return for my doctoral work, but this!?
Both Smersh and Ilya were taken aback at the familiarity. Ilya, because he had never heard Tatyana refer to Smersh as anything but Field Commander, and Smersh because he had not heard her refer to him otherwise for a long, long time. Feeling the weight of their stares, Tatyana looked up, glancing first to Ilya, then to Smersh.
And blushed.
My apologies, Field Commander.
Smersh stood in the middle of a pile of papers, dumbfounded.
***
23:37 by the chronometer. As it turned out, Tatyana had been just dropping by the headquarters to check in, and Ilya had shanghaied her into working on the commanders piles of paper. Smersh had volunteered to help, to assist them and get them out the door earlier. Ilya had vetoed it, as the entire purpose of the exercise was to have Smersh delegate more authority to him.
Ilya had, however, been more than willing to keep Smersh in his office to deal with piles of paper as they were sorted through. You may be an inhuman *******, Ilya, but the rest of us require some sleep, Tatyana had told him in no uncertain terms.
Ilya had finally relented, and Smersh had retired to his cot. Despite the heavy insulation of the area, he imagined that he could hear low voices murmuring, and papers being rustled about. He must be a pathetic figure, to require so much aid. After all, was he not Comrade Smersh, the great and glorious field commander, who was capable of doing all things for all people?
Bah. He was trying his best to become comfortable, to attempt to get at least four hours of sleep. If only he could will himself to sleep before midnight, he could
Comrade Smershs snores were faintly audible, even in the front office, as Ilya and Tatyana were locking up and leaving before the New Years ball dropped.
***
Smersh awoke with a start. What was that noise? His perceptions were foggy, as though the entire world was coated in a thick layer of engine grease. His eyes refused to adjust to the darkness, and his ears were connected to his central nervous system only tenuously.
Finally, the source of the irritation swam into view: his cell phone. Smersh
blinked a few times, willing his eyes to look at the exterior screen. And then immediately wished he hadnt.
Pressing the accept button, he rumbled into the phone (roaring being not available for another three minutes or so after waking) Dr. Paladin, this had better be really very damned important. I have had perhaps twenty minutes of sleep. It is 00:07 in the morning, and I am not very happy at the moment!
Jack Paladins voice on the other end was, as usual, completely unfazed. Yeah, boss, I know. Just thought you might want to know that youve got yourself a new pair of grandkids, Jack Paladin Junior and Jake Paladin. Alisas doing great, too, to answer what should be your next question.
Smersh forced himself calm, and mentally wrote off the entire concept of getting any sleep tonight. Well, comrade mercenary son in law, I am on my way. I do not suppose you have details, such as weight, length, and Apgar scores, da?
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
III - Code Atlas
New Years Day held no meaning. Annual cycles were meaningless; the cycles that held meaning were all much shorter or much longer. Time moves much differently to beings that perceived in many dimensions.
Today was just another day, save that two probability lines would intersect in an auspicious location. The location was propitious because she had made it so. She had committed many resources into making it so.
Two probability lines. One burning a bright crimson, marked and shaped by one much more
perceptive. This line would be easy to follow, and had been watched for what would be considered a long time by the inhabitants of this plane. The other was invisible to her, a woven braid of chaos, drawn down from many worlds to this one. She could only see this line in its absence, a black hole altering the spectra of stars as they passed.
The hell of being here, on this home to universal chaos, was the imprecision of the probability lines. On her home plane, her casting of probability lines would have been impeccable, and the consequences of the actions she took perfectly predictable. Here, it was much less the case.
She would gladly see this world burned to a cinder, as it would reduce the number of variables dramatically.
Still, she had been able to stack a shuffled deck somewhat, and she believed that her actions tonight would have the desired result. Two probability lines that deeply offended her would end this night.
And, thus, crouched in shadows, she waited. Bits of chitin and bone shifted in anticipation.
***
The night nurse stopped him at the elevator, informing him sternly that visiting hours were over. Listening to the tirade, Smersh made no response, but instead pulled out his credentials. The hero ID was not enough on its own, but the KGB credentials and the Omega clearance card were enough to give her pause. Please, comrade miss nurse, er
Natalie, I just wish to see my daughter. I promise I shall not cause any troubles at all, da?
The nurse considered her clipboard, and sighed. Shes a popular girl tonight. Youre not the first one trying to abuse their authority to get in there. Go ahead, but youve only got half an hour before I roust all of you. Natalie flexed a strong arm. And dont think I wont, mister hero man!
Spasiba, comrade nurse Natalie. And remind me to give you my card, as we are always looking for help at the free clinic. I shall be out of here in twenty seven minutes or so, I promise, Smersh said, consulting his watch.
Go on, shes in 527. And that clinics the only reason youre getting in here
you folks do good work. Keep meaning to get down and volunteer every so often. Now scoot. Natalie turned back to the nurse station, pointing Smersh down the appropriate hallway.
Smersh pushed the door open quietly, trying to make only minimal noise with his footsteps. The lights in the room were down low. The curtain around the bed was open, and Alisa lay there, resplendent in her charming hospital gown, covered in pink and blue ducks. She was bedraggled, exhausted, but radiant in her sleep. She held the hand of her husband, Jack, who was also asleep and snoring softly in the bedside chair.
Two rolling bassinets were against the far wall, empty. A chair was facing them, and a figure, a silhouette really, was rocking in the chair, crooning an old Russian lullaby. Smersh was transported back, as it was a tune he had not heard since he was a boy, his mother singing to him and his sister.
Still moving quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping family, he approached, and laid a hand on Tatyanas shoulder.
She let out a loud gasp in surprise and in that moment, his hand suddenly cold, the two infants she was rocking started a harmonic screech that set his teeth on edge. Tatyana sighed in relief for approximately one quarter of a second before returning her attention to the twins.
Jack flipped on the lights, instantly alert, and Alisa stared. She rolled her eyes, sighed, and said, Privyet, Dedushka.
***
The story was being told by both Jack and Alisa, about how little sleep they had gotten, about how annoying the daytime nurse was, about how hungry they both had gotten. Alisa had given natural birth to twins without an epidural, which they both considered a rather heroic effort.
Smersh and Tatyana were each holding an infant, making silly grandparentish cooing noises over the little boys. Jack Junior was doing his best to try to focus on the people who were doing the talking, while Jake was trying to fuss himself back to sleep.
Jack Senior, sitting back in his chair, suddenly sat up straight, as though he had been stuck with a pin. He looked to Alisa and said, Babe, my weirdo sense is tingling. Someones out there.
Smersh paused his baby-talk, and looked to Jack. What do you mean, someone? Then the lights went out.
***
The lights were only out for a moment before the emergency lighting kicked in. There was a rumble from deep below of massive diesel generators whirring to life.
And somewhere in the dark, an inhuman being smiled, then moved with a catlike grace, travelling with a purpose. The plan was in motion.
***
Smersh jogged down the hall to the nurses station. Comrade Nurse Natalie, you may wish to call out an evacuation order for the hospital due to superhuman attack.
Natalie rolled her eyes at the old Russian. Just because the powers gone off for a minute, doesnt mean that
The building shook and the sounds of shattering glass came from all sides. Natalie reached up from under the desk she had dove under for safety, and patted around until she located the phone receiver. Code Atlas, she called into the handset, and it echoed throughout the hospital over the loudspeakers. Code Atlas, this is not a drill. Code Atlas.
Red emergency lights flared and bells began to ring. It was only the beginning of the chaos.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
IV - Hard Boiled
As the hospital alarms sounded, Alisa watched helplessly as her papa and
mother rushed out to help direct an evacuation.
She needed to heal in areas shed never so abused and fought desperately to clear the dual fogs of exhaustion and hormones from her system. There was no way she could teleport the babies to safety in this mental state, if it was even safe to do so.
***
As the hospital alarms sounded, Tatyana quickly passed Jake back to Jack and rushed out to see what the danger was. Seeing vines cracking through windows and walls, she instantly set to work shielding Yevgeny, and what hospital staff she could see, with thick layers of insulating ice. An orderly shivered for a moment before continuing on his rounds.
Cabinets were coming loose from the walls and dumping their contents on to the heads of anyone passing near them as she called out the sequence to retrieve her armor from the locker in the base. Nothing happened. After trying, and failing to retrieve the armor twice more, she turned towards Yevgeny to warn him there was a glitch in the teleportation system and reapplied his ice armor instead.
Catching the beginning of her broken off sentence, he remarked with a wry smile, I had noticed, da?
***
All throughout the hospital, horrible things were happening. In the intensive care unit, an oxygen tank caught fire for no discernable reason. In radiology, one of the MRI machines became an impromptu rail gun, the projectile knocking out the emergency power to one of the operating rooms. Two giant vines smashed through the floor on the fourth floor, causing a sharps container to fall on the head of a phlebotomist rushing though.
Smersh and Tatyana were helping to evacuate the maternity ward, though that was chaotic in and of itself. The security precautions there meant that parents and children could not be separated without one of the maternity staff present, and there were just not enough people.
The building shuddered again. Huge, wrist-thick roots were beginning to intrude into the center of the hospital, ripping and tearing at the structure itself, and any hapless victims in the way.
***
Should we not be leaving too, lubov? Alisa asked her husband. Jack had shut the door, and was pacing, holding both the boys and humming to them, to try to calm their cries.
Nah, babe. We need to be here. I dont know why, but here is the place. Were more secure in here. Jack frowned at himself. Dont say it, I know what youre thinking. Im going soft because Im a daddy. Thats not it. Jack mumbled a little. Wish I had my Godcutter.
Alisa frowned. We can protect each other. We can leave. I can
Alisa, babe, please
its not time. I cant say more than that. Will you trust me on this one?
***
Go show your stuff, Russian. Check that hall for me; make sure we have everyone out.
Natalie had taken charge of the evacuation. She was the sort who was calm in a crisis, assuming command with a natural flair. She would be the last one off the floor, and would make sure that everyone else was safe.
Smersh went down the hall, checking the doors. He wished he could track down the source of the attack, but without his armor or, indeed, any weapons, all he had was his old training to fall back upon, and his aging 53 year old body. He was not as spry has he used to be, nor as strong.
The ceiling was beginning to crack, the invading plants beginning to make it shudder and buckle. It was dangerous, but Smersh paid it no mind. Some things he just did, without heed to the consequence. Many people would make that the mark of a hero, but the wiser would say it was the mark of a martyr.
He heard a crack behind him and then a loud crash. Dust rushed past him; he turned. The ceiling had collapsed behind him, blocking the way.
Smersh had time to cough as the dust coated his lungs, and then his breath stopped entirely. A loop of vine had wrapped around his neck and lifted him a foot from the floor. Smersh pried at it with his fingers to no avail, as bits of red began to swim around the edges of his vision.
Out of the dust strolled a figure; the figure of a female, lithe and dangerous. Her green hair and long, pointed ears betrayed her non-human origins, and the mask over the lower half of her face made her eyes all the more piercing.
Her body was covered in some sort of bio-organic coating, flexible but tough. She held out a hand with an inviting gesture, one that was suddenly filled with menace as a two-foot long curving spike extended from the base of her palm.
I have been looking forward to this, she said in a sultry voice.
***
What is happening, lubov?
Exodus Hunter, babe. Big nasty. Ive tangled with her before.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
V - Hell Hath No Fury
Behind the creature, the pile of rubble exploded in a hail of ice and concrete. The figure spun, only to have the floor beneath her coated in a slick frost. A voice called out, Eedee k'chortu, bleeyat! Tatyana stepped in, throwing shards of ice at the intruder.
Frozen fury poured into the corridor. Smersh was slightly chilled, but the vine that held him, strangling the life from him, withered and contracted, giving him slightly more room to breathe. He was unable to free himself, but he could at least support himself and prevent his impending demise.
Tatyana was directing her power at the unidentified woman, an arctic gale of righteous anger. The womans feet were not human, but three-toed, clawed extremities that bit into the slick floor, keeping her stable. Tatyana directed one of her hands subtly, and encased the woman in ice, immobile, frozen.
Tatyana turned to Smersh. Yevgeny, are you
She was interrupted by a sharp crack behind her. The attacker had extruded curved quills from all over her body, snapping out like switchblades through the ice. A small twist, and the icy prison was reduced to a pile of shards.
The invader spoke, sultry voice dripping with menace. That was a mistake. The last word was punctuated by a spine slung at Tatyanas head. Tatyana barely managed to duck it, and replied with a concentrated blast of radiation. The alien woman leapt to the ceiling, and let loose with a barrage of projectiles, one of which caught Tatyana in the shoulder.
Tatyana struck back with a flurry of razor-edged ice flakes, but the alien was moving too fast.
One of the ice flakes lodged itself in the ceiling near where Smersh was hanging. If he could only reach it
one hand gripping the vine he was dying on, he tried to swing his body to reach the improvised knife.
Tatyana traded attacks with the creature; holding her own and giving Smersh time, but the being was just too fast for her, too ready to employ lethal force. A pod was thrown at her, and she took the impact on her forearm; it sprouted more vines and threatened to bind her tightly. Tatyana burned it off with a radiation burst.
Back and forth they battled, while Smersh got closer and closer to his goal. Finally, he could touch it with a fingertip
one more swing, and he grasped it. Ignoring the cold and willing himself to hold onto the fragment despite its slipperiness, he began to saw away.
Tatyana hurled one last ice bolt at the intruder, who ducked it and ran into grappling range. Tatyana felt a burning brand insert itself into her stomach, and a face swam in front of her, inches away, eyes gleaming with triumph.
Tatyana brought both her hands up to that beautiful, horrible visage.
Holding it close, she spat at the creature and gave everything she had to a two-handed spray of alpha particles at point blank range.
Smersh dropped to the floor, holding the pathetic fragment of ice before him. The invader hissed, and dumped Tatyana unceremoniously to the floor. The eyes that locked with his were no longer blue, but glowing orbs of green energy surrounded by a charred, dead face. The ruined invader lifted a hand, prepared to end Smershs life once and for all.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Hospital security, freeze! Bam. Bam. Bam. Four security guards, weapons drawn, were firing on the alien. Technically, they should have ordered a freeze before they started firing, but Smersh doubted any board of inquiry would ever question their version of events. The alien turned to deal with those guards. Those poor, brave, foolish guards.
Smersh was running as fast as his old body could take him, Tatyana over his shoulder. She needed a medic, and soon.
The invader screamed.
***
The firemans carry was usually contraindicated for stomach wounds, but Smersh knew that leaving a fallen comrade behind was an even worse proposition. He took a circuitous route, ducking under a broken steam pipe and going carefully over broken glass.
Comrade Natalie! Smersh set Tatyana down on the floor gently. Medic!
The evacuation was proceeding with haste and a fair degree of panic. Smersh did finally manage to flag down a passing individual in scrubs, who applied a pressure bandage to Tatyanas wounds, and called for more assistance. It was not coming quickly, as other casualties were appearing.
Smersh hesitated a moment, shifting from foot to foot. Should he try to do more here? He did have some basic first aid treatment, but that had been years ago and a world away. On the other hand, he could attempt to fight this thing at the source. He was without his armor, but he did have resources. Spetznaz training. It could not be a straight-up, toe to toe battle, but it could be a battle of traps and attrition.
His decision was made. Smersh shed his jacket, stained with his comrades blood, and padded away, beginning to look for tools to use.
***
The alien stepped over the remains of the security personnel. The viscera did not faze her. This was not going as she had foreseen. She would shed no tears if this world burned.
She drew forth a pod, pulsing with pent-up energy, and tossed it to the ground. It grew rapidly, extruding tentacles into the corpses and drawing nutrients from them. It unfolded into a nightmarish creature, a plant with tentacles and teeth and thorns. She issued a command to it, to seek and destroy the bald man, and walked away from the desiccated corpses.
She would focus on the primary target. All she had to do now was to locate the invisible probability line.
***
The plant creature used a tentacle, wrapping it around the door handle and pushing the door open. The lights were out, but this did not affect the creature, as it had no eyes. It slithered past a series of lab benches, turning its flytrap head curiously at the whirring sound that had begun as it passed.
A rattling sound followed, and then a large bang as the series of unbalanced centrifuges tore themselves apart. The beasts primitive pain response made
it give out a high-pitched scream, inaudible to human ears.
It took stock, noting that it had taken only minor injuries from the glass and metal debris. Its chemical receptors picked the trail up again, and it continued, silent and sinuous.
***
Jack tapped his foot, holding Jack Junior. Alisa was holding Jake.
Jack pursed his lips, nervously, and then raised his eyebrows. Okay, babe, the Exodus Hunter is coming. I guarantee shell be after me.
Jack reached out to touch his wifes shoulder. Shes had just enough time to figure out where I am, so its time to move. You up to it, babe?
Nyet, Jack. I shall stay here. Alisas look brooked no argument.
you sure youre up to that?
Da.
They communicated at a level far below the verbal, to the instinctual. Jack did not like it, but there was nothing that could change her mind.
Right, babe. Hand me Jake
thats good. Im going to start running
give me about twenty-seven seconds from when I say go, and then youll be good. Jack leaned in and gave his wife a soft kiss. Love you, babe. And dont hold anything back.
Alisa smiled slightly at her husband, and nodded to him. Jack began to run.
***
The beast saw its target, its reason for being. It redoubled its speed, and flung thorns at the man, attempting to skewer him with crossbow bolt-sized stickers. The thorns stuck into the door the man had closed behind him.
The creature took a moment to process this change, and then followed the trail again. It was a simple creature, with simple needs and simple intelligence.
The door was not fully closed, so it barreled through at top speed. A vat of a viscous substance fell onto it, coating it thoroughly and knocking it to the ground. It attempted to right itself, and the ground slipped out from under it again.
The bald man appeared from behind a counter, and flung a mop at it like a spear. The blunt impact sent it sliding across the tile floor, to a rack of cylinders bolted to one wall. The plants chemical receptors detected a burning plant substance, dried, near a valve assembly.
The plant tried to right itself and flopped once more as the bald man rushed out, slamming the door behind him. Then there was heat, and light, and nothing more for the plant creature.
Smersh smirked. That was the first time he had defeated an enemy with a vat of industrial strength floor wax, a mop, an unfiltered cigarette and a few oxygen tanks.
***
Alisa was counting. Twenty two, twenty three, twenty four
The door flung open, and a terrible figure strode in, sheathed in black bioarmor, extruding a variety of nasty pointy things. She scanned the room, focused on Alisa, and growled, Where is the Templar?
Alisa smiled sweetly. Spakoyni noche, sooka bleeyat. And blasted with the full fury of her brain. Her training was such that the unrestrained blast would kill any unprotected human ten times over within 100 feet. The intruder dropped to her knees.
***
Natalie was in the parking lot, directing some triage efforts, and trying desperately to keep children from wandering loose. There was a shattering of glass, and she looked up involuntarily.
A white-coated man leapt out of a fifth-story window, hit the ground with a few rolls, and stood, holding two newborns. Im good, dont worry about me.
Natalie harrumphed. No matter what was going on, there was absolutely no excuse for that mans smirk, no matter how impressive he thought he was.
***
Alisa came to, blinking. The blast had taken a lot out of her, as had the whole recent traumatic experience. The attacker was gone, and the vines that were enveloping the hospital had withered and died. A pair of firefighters came in and hustled her onto a stretcher, taking her downstairs.
***
Smersh strode down to the makeshift hospital in the parking lot. The devastation, even when viewed from outside, was enough to make an insurance agent blanch. Ambulances were arriving with emergency supplies and to transport patients to other hospitals.
A semi truck slowed as it approached Smersh. Hey, boss, Hal the Truckinator with bottled water. Any idea where I should set up?
Smersh replied that he hadnt a clue, as he wandered through looking for his daughter, son-in-law and his
Strike Leader. People milled both with and without purpose, and finding anyone or anything was a pain.
A team of personnel were clustered around a gurney, and Smersh rushed in. He caught part of a doctors diagnosis,
neurotoxin in her system.
Tatyana was on the gurney, her body twisting and foaming at the mouth. An IV was in her arm, and a nurse was yelling something about an anti-venin kit.
Papenka! Alisa was being wheeled by in a wheelchair. Is she
?
Smersh looked grim. It is
not good, da?
Alisa stopped the wheelchair with the hand brake, to the surprise of the attendant who was pushing her. She stood and staggered, painfully, towards Tatyana. She held her hands out, with the obvious intention of laying them on Tatyana and healing her. Smersh stepped in quickly, grabbing her wrists. Nyet
you cannot. You can barely stand
you have the children to think of. Trying that may kill you, Alisa.
Alisa knew a dozen ways to throw an attacker who grappled her in this way. She considered six of them before looking into her fathers eyes, seeing the pain there. She sighed, and collapsed against him.
Smersh supported her, looking on as the doctors rushed about. An insouciant voice behind him said, Hey, boss, can I press you into babysitting a minute?
Jack! cried out Alisa.
Relax, everythings great. Just need my hands free if you want me to save these little buddies babushka, babe. Jack passed off his children to their grandfather.
Hey, whos in charge? Dr. Paladin yelled at the gaggle trying to save the fallen agents life. Mind if I butt in? I know whats wrong with her and can fix it
Who the hell are you? Whered you get your medical degree, sending in boxtops? Are you putting coffee in her IV?! the doctor in charge spluttered.
Relax. Dr. Jack Paladin. Board-certified, licensed to practice in Rhode Island, neurosurgerys the specialty. But here
Ive dealt with it before. I need ten ccs of SAIMR Boomslang stat. And about another fifty in reserve. Or you can make me stand back and lose her. Its up to you, Dr
Cottage, Jack said, looking at the doctors identification badge.
Doctor Cottage threw up his hands. Fine, youre the attending now. Ill go deal with another case.
Jack looked over to Alisa, Smersh, and the boys. Go grab some rest, kids. Ive got this handled.
You had best, comrade mercenary son-in-law, Smersh grumbled. Come, Alisa, let us find you something to eat.
Alisa took one last look at her husband, but her gnawing hunger got the best of her. Da, papenka. Lets go.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
VI - The Potemkin Issue
Smersh rubbed his eyes. The events of the night had not put off the negotiations on what was euphemistically called the Potemkin issue. He would ordinarily not be a party to these negotiations, which he would be grateful for at this instant.
No, he was here because he had de facto control of the Space Battleship Potemkin and its present resting place. A fact that was driving both the American and Russian negotiating teams quite mad, Smersh did note with some amusement.
The Space Battleship Potemkin was a major accomplishment for the old Soviet Union; a fully armed interstellar warship, tasked with exploration. Its launch in 1986 from the Gagarin Space Station was a part of the protracted space race that had helped to eventually bankrupt the Soviet system. It had barely survived re-entry, and had been hard-abused during its travels.
Much of the crew, likewise, had not returned from the trip in mint condition; most of them had low-level psychoses in Smershs inexpert opinion. Why else should they have returned, proclaiming themselves to be the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps?
we simply cannot allow such equipment to remain outside the hands of a government, the American representative was droning. A Star Hammer class cannon, sixteen Core Sickle torpedoes, two Industry class engines. The list goes on. There is also the matter of the crew, who have applied for asylum here in Rhode Island.
Smersh knew that there were only nine of the torpedoes left in the weapons bays. Not that it mattered; the launching mechanisms had not been of terribly high quality to begin with, and Cosmonaut Ninja Yuri had reported that the firing bays had been considered very hazardous duty, that they had required hosing out and extensive overhauls after each firing.
In principle, we agree with our American colleagues on the matter of the weapons, one of the Russians was saying. In practice, however, our view is much more direct: Those assets, as well as the Potemkin itself, are the property of the Russian government. As to the crew, that matter is covered by the Non-Defection and Superpowered Parity agreement our governments signed in 1993: The crew are still subject to their ten year enlistment. As the
superpowers exhibited by the crew were developed while they were enlisted, they are retroactively covered and must be returned to our country.
Smersh raised a tired objection. The term of their enlistment has passed, and according to the crew, had passed when the event occurred that empowered them. They are not covered by said agreement, da?
The Russian scowled at him. Nyet. We were unaware of the nature of the time dilation during long interstellar travels. The ten year enlistment is still in force, with three years to run. Clearly, we meant to have ten years service, and ten subjective years have not passed for the crew.
The American replied, We do not believe that those enlistments are still in force, and think that the asylum requests are still valid. I move that we wait until a federal judge rules on the asylum request next month.
The Russian glared at Smersh. Very well, but we must request that Mr. Korsakov turn over the crew for detention until that matter is resolved. One of the ways that the Russians attempted to belittle Smershs standing was to refuse to acknowledge his rank or his superhero identity. The effort was working well enough, as the Americans were also researching whether Smersh had any standing to negotiate at this level.
Smersh knew he did not, and did not care. My agents, comrades, will remain free at this time. They presently serve the People of Paragon City in many ways, and I will not allow them to be incarcerated without trial merely so that you can score a small diplomatic victory. The Russian representatives eyebrows shot up into his hairline. This was a point that had been argued before, but the blunt words were a new intrusion into the discourse.
The American representative opened his mouth to speak, but Smersh cut him off. Even if you pressure the city government of Paragon to withdraw their licenses, I shall keep them within our secure facility, as per section eighteen point two point seven of the citys supergroup licensing laws, permitting us to hold them in an extraterritorial fashion for up to thirty days before turning them over to civil authorities. We shall, of course, ensure that they are held most securely in house arrest.
The American drummed his fingers, one corner of his mouth quirking slightly. Diplomats make for very good poker players. Mister Korsakov, your record is hardly clear and free from suspicion itself. I imagine, should your attitude persist, it might also extend to your local civic authorities. It would certainly be a shame for the protections that you claim to evaporate in a cloud of paperwork, and you might consider dealing more civilly with others. He wrote something down quickly and passed it to his aide.
Smersh snorted. His patience had been razor-thin to begin with, and now it gave way. Oh, comrade, I do not think that you will be able to coerce me. Our Section has had innumerable challenges over the years on the legal front. Its persistence will amaze and surprise you.
Do you know that I had a pair of grandchildren born last night? And that, while I was at the hospital, I had to deal with an Exodus Hunter, a being of incredible power and evil that is but a single representative of a multidimensional force that would enslave everything; I nearly lost an agent to the creature. I have had ten minutes of sleep in the past 36 hours.
You, on the other hand, have legal teams, aides, attaches and liaisons to make your lives easier, while I am here by myself. You are attempting to use some sort of state power to take for your respective governments items and people upon which you have no rightful claim. I have had enough of this, da?"
Smershs voice kept rising until he was bellowing at the other representatives, channeling his former life as a non-commissioned officer in the Red Army. He slammed his fist down on the table, stood, and walked to the door.
Before he exited, he turned his head one last time. If you want the Space Battleship Potemkin and the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps, just try to take them from me.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
VII - Entr'acte
Natasha Popov, also known as Cosmonaut Alpha, drummed her fingers and sighed with disgust. The new duty rotation was moronic, as was the company here. She found herself studiously avoiding contact in these close quarters and checking her watch every five minutes.
This Space Battleship Potemkin was certainly more advanced than the Vostok Zero rocket she had ridden into space. The accommodations were quite spacious, more like a naval vessel than a fighter cockpit. The hum of the engines, the lighting, the computers she had done most of her calculations with a pencil and instinct! all added up to a twinge of jealousy.
Overall, though, it was an improvement over sewer duty.
Still
had the standards of the Soviet Space Program fallen that low since she had launched into space in 1960? Drive to chase a star was all well and good, but it should come with a modicum of stability. And competence.
She was hiding herself down in the hydroponics lab, perusing a technical manual. The technologies that went into this ship were four generations more advanced than the stuff she had been most familiar with: Vostok and, before that, her MiG-19. (She had always counted herself lucky that her aircraft had not exploded in midair the decision to locate the fuel tank between the two jet engines was, while very efficient for fuel transfer, not the safest design decision she had ever encountered.) Of course, her new job, flying supplies on a Vanguard shuttle to their orbital watch station, had her in a craft that made the Vostok Zero look like a firecracker under a trash can. It even made the Space Battleship Potemkin look like a poor-quality movie set compared to reality.
She really would have to reward Irina again for finding a job that let her transcend the atmosphere once more.
Natasha patted her perfect Soviet propaganda poster hair back into place as she thought about her first trip into space. Her memories of it were blurred, being in orbit. The launch, the cramped quarters, the endless briefings, the emergency precautions; all of those were clear to her.
When she had been recovered in the Atlantic Ocean, her craft's records showed that she had been out of radio communication for only forty eight seconds. Here on earth, it appeared that forty eight years had passed. After she had been reconstituted, the dreams began, and so did the power.
Fate was cruelly twisted and ironic: of the power she did have, the one that she would have asked for was the one she did not receive. What good was a superpowered cosmonaut who could not fly?
Natasha lowered her technical manual, and let out a little yell. There was a face hanging upside down in front of her, square-jawed and handsome, wearing some sort of blue and yellow crash helmet.
"Hallo! I am Ivan! Am Cosmonaut Ninja! I am awesome!"
His Russian was even worse than her English, even though it was presumably his native language.
Natasha harrumphed and raised her technical manual again, studiously ignoring the interruption. Not one of the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps had impressed her yet. She granted that she was hard to impress, but at least one of them should have had some sort of skill or talent or insight or
anything besides quirkiness, really.
"Is pleasure to be meeting you! I am navigator of this fine vessel! You are being?" This Ivan was most insistent, and was beginning to edge into Natasha's personal space. That was an accomplishment in and of itself Natasha, while prickly, was not all that particular or claustrophobic. Perhaps Ivan's aura of idiocy extended far past the normal bounds.
Natasha looked up from her technical manual, and fixed Ivan with an icy glare. "Busy."
"Well, comrade miss pretty girl Busy, I can give tour! Busy is very strange for name. Must be for code name!" Ivan executed a little half-flip as he returned to ground level at a more standard orientation. "Is for hydroponics lab, site of great war between rutabagas and potatoes! Cosmonaut Ninja Zoya and Lana are for brokering peace accords in name of Rutabaga Revolution and People's Republic of Potato!"
Natasha sighed. Clearly, this caped cretin required more direct instruction. "You are on watch as well, da? Go check the security doors or something. I am occupied here."
"Is no need! I have just checked the radar and sonar! Is clear all around us for miles, not even whales in water! And other watchperson is for sleeps, so I am for speak to you! Are cosmonaut too, yes? Other is not cosmonaut, but is ninja, so two of you could have cosmonaut ninja child!" Ivan was a constant blur of motion, not unlike a three year old child with a heaping dose of sugar.
"Wright is not likely to ever father
wait. You said sonar. Do you even know what that means, comrade Ivan?"
"Da, is for using sound waves to see area around!"
Natasha pursed her lips. "This is an interstellar starship, designed to travel in deep space and travel to distant worlds. Why, in the name of Lenin, does it have a sonar system installed?"
Ivan gave a silly grin. "Space Battleship Potemkin is finest vessel ever to fly. It has everything! Is awesome!"
Natasha rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long, long shift. Even Paul Wright would be preferable company.
***
The place was half headquarters, half temple. The light was low, but it did not affect those assembled here. Their perceptions were in higher dimensions, where more light was available to them.
At the head of the table, Exodus Hunter Maya slapped her palms down on the table in frustration. "Why is this world such a challenge? We have five targets to extract and two probability lines to eliminate. I have myself and several Hell Divers for resources. We should be able to pacify a world with this! Why can we not even perform such a simple mission?!?"
Maya had largely recovered from the injuries she had received during the attack. She ran a hand through her green tresses, looking at the others here. They had all been here too long.
"Well, Maya, had you ever served as a Hell Diver, you would know what a little chaos can do to a world," the one called Hector said. Maya did not trust him, as she thought he had gone a bit native. She had even heard that he enjoyed gambling, a completely foreign concept to the Imperial Combine. "This world's even worse. The natives call it Primal Earth, and they're not far wrong. When we eliminate chaos, it has to go somewhere, and that somewhere is here. Why do you think all these time travelers and dimensional rejects end up here? It's the low point on the gravity well."
The one called Cryovex said, "The Datragonians are hardly worth the resources being devoted to them. The lost psychokinetic translation weaponry is a minimal threat. I believe that the resistance fighter is no longer on this plane, and is therefore no longer our problem. And I think that, despite the fears, the Savior Machine was destroyed by the fleet."
"Then what of the other two?" Maya demanded.
"You're trying to wipe out strong probability lines in a place where our usual tactics are less than useful. Of course chaos is going to intervene, especially in the case of the Templar," Cryovex explained.
Maya steepled her fingers. What none of them dared to mention was that the Eternal Templar had stood up to the Singularity, the prime mover of the Combine, and had destroyed him here in this dimension.
The Prime was far, far greater than any of them.
"Very well, then. You two seem to be in love with this world so much, you tell me what I should do. How I can strike at them, how I can expedite my mission and get out of this hellhole." Maya was disgusted by this place. She could feel the chaos dripping off of her, polluting this flesh. Fortunately, she would be able to shed this body and assume a form more like her original once this assignment was over.
Sterilization. Reduce the planet to a cinder, rendering it lifeless. The Vex-class clone was perhaps the most stable among them and suggested an eminently workable solution.
Impossible. The Imperial Combine Navy will not touch this world until they receive confirmation that the Atlantis Event will never repeat.
Then I suppose that we shall have to acquire the knowledge that we require. I shall locate the fate of the Savior Machine.
Hell Diver Hector guffawed. The chaos is thick here. There is no way youll be able to backtrace the Savior Machine; it has been millennia. Even you, Exodus Hunter, will find it difficult.
I shall perform my task. If I am not capable of doing so, I shall have to call in another Vex-class Exodus Hunter.
Maya nodded. And I shall endeavor to complete our assigned tasks before additional aid becomes necessary. The irritants shall be eliminated.
***
The sky was burning with a brilliant, blinding sunrise coming through a cloudless sky. The thin, clear air was burning in her lungs. Tatyana was unused to many of these things, including the elevation.
Tatyana tried to make a point of getting some exercise in the early morning, because it was the only time she had to herself. She barely saw the student housing she had been assigned, and, well, she felt cramped and confined there, in a way she never had in KGB headquarters. It reminded her too much of the Udachny Dimensional Facility.
The running was a new habit, one she alternated with swimming in the heated pool. Those who knew her would scarcely credit the new regime; Tatyana had never been one to exercise for the sake of exercise. But, months of long, hard hours had taken their toll: too much time in a chair in front of a computer, too many takeout meals. She had seen herself in the mirror, and had been displeased. For the first time in her life, she had been gaining weight.
Heroing is, apparently, hard work; enough to burn off the calories of a good, solid Russian meal. She had been doing that for
eight years, counting the extradimensional jaunts that had aged her six years in a matter of months on this Earth. Before that, the world in which she had been stranded, living on fish and a few berries that were edible; she had considered herself doing well to keep body and soul together. Before that, shed been back home in the old country, where only the Party members grew fat.
She was motivated not by vanity, but by shame. If she had continued, she would have had to ask Yevgeny to let out her armor to accommodate new bulk, and that thought was all that it took to drive her to work. The armor had a certain degree of tolerance, but not eight kilos worth.
So, she ran. The high lands around Colorado Springs could almost stand in for Siberia, if she perceived with her nose, her ears, everything but her eyes. The cold, dry breeze promised a hint of snow to come, though the sky was dry and cloudless. It was more a sense of impending change than any concrete evidence.
Much like her project. While the equipment here was far in advance of anything she had worked with in the Soviet Union, and the microcomputers simplified the calculations amazingly, the sense of a breakthrough was floating above the project without showing itself. It was frustrating, working at collating data for the projects of others for a chance to use the equipment she needed for half the time she wanted it, and only after the rest of the science group had gone home. Of course, the equipment was giving her the data she needed for her thesis, but it was not dedicated to that purpose; it was taking approximately four times as long as it should to get the readings.
Still, her work on wave propagation in dimensional media should give her, someday, a thesis worthy of defense before the mathematics department. Working with sound wave theories gave her an edge: the phrase music of the spheres was less an analogy and more of a deep truth.
Tatyana returned to the ramshackle little housing unit, pausing to gulp down a bottle of water. She bent down to stretch out calves that were protesting the torment that they were grudgingly adjusting themselves to.
Her KGB-issue communicator had a flashing icon on it, a message awaiting a key that would grant it purpose in existence. The message was from her administrative assistant, Kate, and contained no information in itself, just a request for return communication. Thus having achieved its karmic goals, the message dissolved itself into digital nirvana. The communicator chirped happily, its duty done for the moment.
Kate was another find for the Section, well worth the investment. A professional administrative assistant, she had fallen on hard times and had been in the soup kitchen. She had been the sort who refused to be served; she volunteered before she would allow herself to take the charity offered. Tatyana was uncertain that Yevgeny knew that Kate was even on the payroll, but it was no matter. Kate could almost predict what Tatyana was going to ask for before it was asked, was organized and worked so efficiently that she had time to surf the internet prodigiously while working. Tatyana could not ask for better help.
Tatyana sighed. She would call in later, to receive updates on the Section and the Field Commander. Last she had heard, he was still following his wicked ways, failing to delegate and taking on the entire world. The world would eventually overcome him, she knew.
***
The doorbell rang insistently and repeatedly. Jack looked over his shoulder and yelled, "Just a minute!" This was an extremely delicate, time-sensitive and biohazardous operation. The substance was being expertly cleaned, but there was a sudden chain reaction. Jack yanked his hands back to protect them, and fetched more absorption materials. Emergency protocols were observed.
Three minutes later, the substance was disposed of, and Jake Paladin was asleep again, sucking happily on a bottle. Jack kicked the door open, and said, "Hey. Sorry about that. Diaper emergency. C'mon in, girls."
Two young girls, about twenty years old, walked in and sat on the couch.
"Hi, dad!" said one of them.
"Hey, Merry," Dr. Paladin replied.
"Jeez, dad, I'm Yulia."
"Sorry about that. Only been a couple months, remember?"
Meredith and Yulia Paladin sat themselves on the couch. Merry asked, "Oh, dad, can I hold Jake?" Jack was happy to oblige, handing over one of his firstborn.
"Hey, Jakie! Remember the time you cut my doll's hair off? Not yet? You will. I'm totally gonna get you back for it after you do it, too."
Jack shook his head. Merry and Yulia were, apparently, his twin daughters from the future. Which also made them Smersh and Tatyana's granddaughters.
They claimed to be the youngest of several children, and survivors of a devastated Earth sent back in time to save it. A common enough story around Paragon.
Yulia poked her sister. "Remember? Dad said we weren't allowed to talk too much about the future!" Yulia was the slightly more serious of the two. Merry was less so, being distinctly underdressed by Jack's standards. Apparently, she took after her mother that way.
"Don't think it matters all that much. You've changed the timelines just by being here. On the other hand, quantum collapse does say that most things don't really make all that big a difference, and that the butterfly effect is bunk, so
I guess I trust me. Don't talk too much about the future, ladies." Jack was babbling, a side effect of far too little sleep over the past couple of weeks.
"Yes, dad!" the twins chorused.
Jack gave himself a moment to collect himself by stepping into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. He spent a moment considering how odd Jake, and Jack Junior, would end up looking at their families. Their grandmother was, due to a dimensional accident, only three years older than their mother, and not the grandmother from this dimension anyway. Other than Alisa's twin, none of their aunts had the same mother, and one of them was only about four years old in any case. Now they had their little sisters there, 20 years older than they were. And that was before you even considered Ma and Pa Paladin.
Only in Paragon, right?
"All right, girls, I'm back. Surprised you didn't want any of the coffee, though. Made plenty," Dr. Paladin said, sipping from his cup. "Would have thought you would have learned to appreciate it. I've got a doctorate in
"
"Bad coffee. We know, Dad," Merry said. She started baby-talking to Jake, "Our mama told us better, didn't she, Jakie Jake?"
Yulia put in, "Hey dad, where's mom at?"
"Went to the store with Junior. Said something about 'getting out of the house.' Believe me, I don't blame her a bit. Makes me wish your grandpa would order me to do something ridiculously complicated."
The family chatted for a little bit, exchanging pleasantries and generally being awkward. Jack finally looked at his watch, and brought the issue back around to the original point. "Well, girls, you said you had something important to talk to me about, and I guess now is as good a time as any. Some major problem you need me to fix?"
"Well
kinda, dad. I mean, you taught me a lot back when, but
Dad, where's your Godcutter?" Yulia asked, concerned. "We haven't been able to sense it at all."
"And ours are only a Godcutter in combination. You said we'd inherited the Eternal Templar gene, but we have to be together for it to work. You need to have yours ready, Dad," Merry amplified.
"Uh
girls, it doesn't work that way. I don't have it anymore because I don't need it. The God-King is dead. It's gone, and I can't see any circumstances in which I'd need it back." Jack shook his head. "I'm not sure I can bring it back. I'm a retired Eternal Templar, and now I'm just Dr. Paladin, loving husband, father, troubleshooter and generally all around nice guy." Jack smirked. "Besides, we've got Fate's Soldier and Fate's Champion to take up the slack now, right?"
Yulia and Merry, Soldier and Champion, looked to each other. "Uh oh," they said in unison.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
VIII - Bar Room Blitz
The Dirty Duck was a chain of poorly lit bars with seedy furniture that could be found on many a street corner in Paragon. The clientele was extremely variable, but many of the franchise locations had a specific customer base that adopted it or, in the case of the Prometheus Park location, annexed it for their own nefarious purposes. (The franchise owner there drew the line at demon summoning.)
One location was frequented by reporters, another by off-duty police officers. The one that Yevgeny Korsakov found himself in was chosen completely at random, without any regard to the sorts of people he would run into there. It was a decision he would soon find himself regretting.
It had been a long, hard day. There were so many long, hard days these days. Paperwork. Hero work. Unexpected emergencies. Today, he had saved a schoolbus full of children from the Circle of Thorns, disrupted a plot to obtain nuclear materials by the Malta Group, managed to get to a black-tie fundraiser for the Section, and fought off a zombie invasion. Time was a blur, days blending into one another. So much work for Comrade Smersh, because no one else could possibly handle it.
He had decided that he needed the night off, and was taking it. In fine Russian tradition, he planned to drink until he felt no more of the pain and bruises of his daily work, and then become morose and philosophical. He would then stagger home completely drunk. It was a vice he seldom permitted himself to indulge, and the best way to do it, absent a good friend in similarly dire straits, was to drink alone surrounded by others who were having a good time.
Perhaps someone would strike up a conversation, perhaps not. The only imperative was that he become impaired, immediately.
He found a corner booth that was unoccupied, and staked his claim to it. He had to speak louder than he wanted to in order to communicate with the waitress over the blaring jukebox. The combination of 1980s classics and heavy metal was jarring, but he knew he would soon cease to care. He promised the waitress a fine tip if she ensured that his glass was never empty, and that the words I think youve had enough would not pass her lips tonight.
He was frowning into his vodka, thinking of times past. It used to be that he had friends, comrades, who could have met him here, who would have been happy to match him drink for drink, or at the least keep him company. He drank down a drink to absent comrades: Dwarf Star, Captain Valor, Dueling Dervish, and others who he never saw anymore. Even Koldunia, the withdrawn Soviet sorceress, had been a good drinking companion on occasion. He smiled bitterly as the vodka burned down his throat, and reached for his pack of cigarettes.
Comradeship, for him, had given way to leadership. The world required Comrade Smersh, a bright symbol of hope for social justice in a city where it was so often denied. The demands of the office, he supposed. But he had never asked for the responsibility, never sought to become the leader of a group that was often respected, sometimes reviled, but always a force to be reckoned with. It had been easier, he thought, in the early days in Paragon, where all he had to deal with was the Komisar, his constant demands for updates, his occasionally insane requests, and the sewer duty. It had just been easier when he was the follower, not the leader.
It would not be fair, he thought to himself, to ask him to predict how all of it would work out. The Komisar an interdimensional foe, the manipulations, the divorce
the troubles, all of them, had driven him to where he was now. Not driven him to drink, though he was drinking now, but driven him into a corner. There was so little time for Yevgeny Korsakov now. Only Smersh could do the things that needed doing. Yevgeny Korsakov always had to wait.
His family had suffered for it, he knew. And that was even before his fateful, morally wrong, somehow cosmically right decision. Since then, he had, unconsciously, let Yevgeny Korsakov hide, let Comrade Smersh be the armor. Yevgeny Korsakov was imperfect and weak, but Comrade Smersh could be strong, could always be depended upon.
It was strange, really. He had always worried about how much the Komisar had altered his mind with psychic power. Was Yevgeny Korsakov the man hed been meant to be? He liked to think so. Now that the Komisar was dead, his mind should be his own. A mind that was weak and wavering, with insufficient talent or ability to be useful to the world. He spent more of his time in the guise of the hero
an image and identity which had been forged by the Komisar.
Bah. He slugged back another glass of vodka, felt his eyes water up at the potent drink. He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.
As he lit up, he allowed his situational awareness to kick into gear. Certainly, he was drinking tonight, but he knew better than to allow that to cut into his vigilance. Hong Kong and East Berlin had taught him those lessons well. There was tension in the air, hanging like
well, like cigarette smoke in a poorly ventilated bar. (Analogies were one of the first refuges he sought when he had been drinking, and he was particularly proud of that one.)
Yevgeny saw a large number of young men and women sizing him up, muttering to each other. It was clear that at least some of them knew who he was, and wanted to do something about it.
Yevgeny supposed that it was the price hed paid. He had never really attempted to conceal his identity here in Paragon City. When he had put on the armor after years of inactivity, hed had no friends, no relatives, nothing really to lose here, and the hassle of a secret identity was not something in which he had been interested. Events had only served to raise his public profile: Special Section 8 was a common rallying point for certain politicians in the city. He had saved the city several times, and his picture had been on the networks and on the newspapers.
The scar hed acquired last year made him stand out all the more.
As a large, corn fed, husky man approached his booth, Yevgeny affected disinterest, pulling on his cigarette with a lazy sigh. Internally, he was preparing for sudden violence, shifting to a position that would be easier to move from, taking stock of available improvised weapons. The old spy still had some reflexes intact, it seemed.
Yevgeny looked, really looked, at the patrons of this fine boozing establishment. He had not been here before, not checked it out. He knew the Dirty Duck was notorious for the stratification of clientele at various locations, but he had not known the crowd this one would attract.
Hero wannabes. Bah.
They were a motley bunch, wearing castoff sporting equipment, goods from the military surplus store, or costumes they had made themselves. They had low-level mystic artifacts, combat boots, rifles and ninja garb. And many of them were looking at him.
This was not how he wanted to spend his evening. He hoped the waitress would return, so that he might settle his bill and find another place, any other place to continue his consciousness-altering.
The large man settled in front of the table, waiting for Yevgeny to make eye contact. Smersh did not want to deal with this tonight, but his life was so rarely his own that he was unsurprised. He deliberately ignored the gaze, and blew some cigarette smoke in the direction of the interloper. The interloper coughed and stepped closer.
Hey, youre that Russian guy, arent you? Bulging biceps strained at a too-tight football jersey. A scarf that was meant to be worn around the lower portion of the face, but was free and loose at the moment. Smersh thought him to be a former high school star looking to reclaim some of the old glory he had once known.
Yevgeny finally looked him in the eye. No. Leave me be.
The football player smiled a little and moved in closer. You cant fool me with that accent of yours. Im All American Joe, and youre like, a legend. Youve got to tell us about it, show us some moves. Cmon, well buy your drinks.
Yevgeny considered a variety of answers, ranging from the rude to the vulgar, and let out a bone-weary sigh. He went with the polite, No. Leave me be, please.
All American Joe was not going to be put off. He stepped even closer, and poked Yevgeny in the chest. Hey, man, we all look up to guys like you. Hero of the City and all that. All were asking is GACK! This last came as Yevgeny reached out and grabbed the fingers that were tapping at him, and twisted them around. All American Joe had turned around to avoid a rotator cuff injury, his arm sticking out directly behind him.
I am in no mood to coddle your illusions. Perhaps one of you here might someday make something of themselves, though the odds are against it. I came here to enjoy my drink, and to have some time to think. He gave another twist, and Joe went to his knees. So, if you will pardon me, I will pay for my drinks and leave, and I shall even throw in a pointer for free: Do not tug on Statesmans cape, do not spit into the wind, and do not presume to poke heroes in the chest when they are enjoying a drink!
Yevgeny planted his sneaker in the middle of Joes back, and sent him rolling towards the bar.
Five or six of the bars patrons stood up, as Joe dusted himself off and turned to them. I told you guys he really was a no-good dirty commie! Lets get him!
They outnumbered Yevgeny, they had youth and enthusiasm on their side, and they were not quite as intoxicated as he was. Yevgeny knew that this would hurt, but he was committed now.
The first came at him with a police baton, thrusting it towards Yevgenys midsection. Yevgeny pushed the strike aside with one hand, and stepped inside the weapons effective reach. He smashed his forehead into the unfortunate attackers nose. The attacker dropped, blood gushing from his nostrils.
Movement to the left, coming high. Yevgeny dropped to one knee, bringing his head below the level of the flying kick. He raised a fist as the foot passed over him; the attacker impacted on the fist in the most obvious nerve pressure point of them all.
Yevgeny stepped aside and grabbed at a barstool, using it as a shield against a hockey stick slashing towards his face. A second too slow; the blow stung across his forehead. His vision doubled for a moment, but the stool was large enough that swinging it in an arc gave contact with someone or something. The stool broke apart, unsurprisingly.
Yevgeny knew that the greatest danger was being flanked. He was almost certain that All American Joe was coming in behind him, so he lashed out with a mule kick to the rear. His movements were not those of a martial artist with grace and style; they were instead the moves of a commando who only knew one way to succeed in an unarmed brawl against multiple attackers. He struck defensively, and decisively, because in a situation like this, there was no fighting dirty.
Arms caught him in a full nelson, and the female of the group, resplendent in her colorful ninja garb that was missing about sixty percent of its material, dealt him a couple of strong blows with a pool cue to his stomach. A third sharp blow hit his kidney, and he doubled over in mock pain. Dropping to one knee, he shifted one shoulder forward to throw off the grappler, and send him barreling into the ninja. Yevgeny get quickly to his feet, and faced the last of them, a young lady in fatigues and night vision goggles. She surveyed the wreckage and ran.
Ten seconds had passed.
Yevgeny looked around, embarrassed, and threw a few bills down onto the counter and left quickly.
He ensconced himself in another bar, trying to be anonymous this time. He slumped down at the table, rubbing at his head. The vodka was doing little to ease his pain.
He turned over the events in his head, and disliked the answers that he was coming up with. His response had been completely out of proportion to the stimulus, and he was ashamed. There was a time when Smersh would have nurtured the young heroes, answered their questions frankly, spoken of the nobility of the crusade, of service to the People. The logical corollary of to each according to their means was those who are strong must be so for those who are weak.
Certainly, few of them would ever rise to the ranks of Hero of the City, or the Peoples Hero. He had seen many cases of those who had thought to try hero work discovering that they were not suited to the lifestyle, but still found room for devotion to the People in their daily lives.
KGB Special Section 8s heart and soul, Yevgeny knew, was not in the hero work, but in the soup kitchen and clinic, in the food bank and the job placement, the retraining and labor representation. Helping the People was never about beating in the face of the bad guys, it was preventing the fascists from harming the proletariat, keeping the corporate from harming the laborers.
Why, then, had he chosen to crush the hopes of those who might possibly follow in his footsteps?
He waved over another drink, and downed it without much of a thought. It was clear what the problem was, and it was connected to his earlier thoughts. Comrade Smersh would have been the shining ideal of the Soviet superman, the crusader for a lost cause. Yevgeny Korsakov was
not a nice man, these days. He had been denied the sunlight, and had withered in the past year.
Smersh was still a symbol of hope and a good man. Yevgeny Korsakov had turned into a loner, a martyr, and unappreciative of what life had given him. A family that was strained, to be certain; that was his own fault. His friends had become strangers, absent, distant; it was a response to his own absence and distance.
What, then, was the solution to Yevgeny Korsakovs problems? Comrade Smersh required fifteen and sixteen hour days, sometimes longer. There was little room for Yevgeny Korsakov to grow, to become a man worthy of Comrade Smersh.
It was at this point that Smersh looked up to see that a man had joined him in the booth. Youre getting old, Korsakov, he thought to himself. Fifty-three this year. It was not as though the person who had joined him looked the stealthy sort. The orange highway safety vest was another strike against the theory of the subtle approach.
Hey. Buy you a drink? An Orioles cap over a jowly face. Yevgeny thought he looked somehow familiar.
Yevgeny waved a hand, as if he did not have a care in the world. Go ahead, comrade. It is a
free country, da?
The large man settled himself into the booth, setting down his mug of cheap yellow American beer. You look like a man whos got a lot on his mind. Names Hal.
Yevgeny nodded, then favored the waitress who brought him another drink with a tight smile. Comrade Hal, I am called Yevgeny. You need not try to pronounce it if you do not wish. The slur in Yevgenys voice was somewhat hidden under his Russian accent.
Thanks, Ill pass on it. Whats your trouble, amigo?
Yevgeny considered it, and chortled to himself. I suppose it is the usual, da? I work too hard, I am breaking myself, and I am not giving enough time to my family. All I want is to be a good daddy, and I hardly ever see my children these days. Or my grandchildren. It is just the same troubles that everyone has these days, I suppose.
Hal shook his head. Not everyone. Im a trucker by trade, but the companys been laying off owner-operators and I cant make a living as an independent. Parts n diesel are running me out of house and home, so Im pretty much out of work. I reckon its been on its way to happening for about four years now, but I just kept on truckin. Even had my truck wrecked this time last year, but like a fool I got right back into it, and now Im here. Hal fixed Yevgeny with a look. Leastwise youre still a workin stiff.
Yevgeny rubbed at his head. I suppose there is that. I am just
wondering about choices I have made, and if I can live the life I have created for myself.
Hal took a long pull from his beer. One thing you can say for being out of work: gives you time to pursue other things you just never got around to. Ive been trying to make a name, do some hero stuff. Always wanted to try my hand at it, but I just never found the time. Its tough when youre on the road all the time.
Yevgeny raised an eyebrow. Oh? You are operating under a hero license?
Hals face was impassive. Yeah. Tried on Hal the Truckinator for size, but I wasnt really feeling that. It was what was painted on my old truck, the one that got wrecked. Ended up calling myself Owner Operator. Works well enough for me. Its been, well, something Ive always wanted.
Yevgeny lit up another cigarette. He had no idea how much he had smoked tonight, but he knew that his throat would pay for it tomorrow. Always, comrade?
Hal tipped his ballcap. Grew up watching Westerns, and later on in life, I always think aboutem. Yeah, the good guy doesnt always wear a white hat, but you can tell who the good guys are because theyre tough, and willing to be tough enough to stand up to folks in the wrong. Yevgeny smirked, interested in how this man, who might be of an age with him, a man who had grown up in a completely different country, a completely different world, could echo his own thoughts. I was always big for my age, and I just never let a bully push people around because they could. Tried to join the Army, but Ive got a bust eardrum and they wouldnt take me. So I went to work, got married, tried to live the American dream.
Yevgeny sympathized. You know, marriage just did not work out for me. Myself, I can almost understand your problems
for much of my life, I was always travelling around the world, with never a chance until these last few years to settle down. I suppose part of me still likes being rootless, but part of me wants to put down an anchor and say, Here I shall stay, and no man shall ever move me.
The Truckinator put down his empty beer mug, and looked Yevgeny in the eye. And hows the hero work for you, mister Smersh man?
Yevgeny ran a hand over his bald scalp. Am I so well known, comrade? Just in the last place I was in, I was
mobbed by people who recognized me, da?
Hal frowned. Yeah, I was there. Followed you here. And right now, Im debating whether I should kick your *** and ask for an apology, or if I should ask for an apology and then kick your ***.
Yevgeny focused his eyes on the burning tip of his cigarette, suddenly unwilling to submit to the stare coming his way. I suppose that those were friends of yours? I am sorry, the situation just went beyond my control, da?
The Owner Operator sank back in the booth. You have no idea, do you? You really have no clue why Id be upset with you. Sit back and listen, Comrade Man, because I have a tale to spin for you.
It was just about a year ago, February 11 to be exact, when my truck got wrecked. I was making the Skyway run in Paragon here, up from Baltimore with a load of medical supplies. Im driving along, minding my own business, when suddenly I run into a multicar pileup. Being a nice guy, really thinking about myself being a nice guy, I get out to try and help the people who were injured in the crash.
Do I get a minute on the local news for it? Nope. Instead, I get a guy who calls himself a hero being a big bully. He caused the car wreck, which hurt people, so he could stop my truck with its supplies. He beats me up and blows up my truck. And now, a year later, he cant even remember it.
So, Comrade old buddy, I think you owe me an apology. I was just trying to be a good guy, and you decided that was a good enough excuse to put me in the hospital a couple of weeks, put me out of work a couple of months while I had to fight the insurance company because my truck got totaled.
So how about it? Hals normally red face had gotten a bit redder, and not from drink.
Yevgenys cigarette had burned down to his fingers while he listened to Hal speak. He muttered a curse and dropped it into the ashtray. It was all an excuse so that he could have a moment to think. He started to speak, but stopped himself before any words came out. He reconsidered, and then began again.
Comrade Hal
I am very sorry. It was all my fault, and I have only the flimsiest of excuses for it. I know you do not care to hear about it, so I shall not even pretend to defend myself. I thought I was trying to do the right thing at the time, as hard as that may be to believe, but it was wrong, very very wrong. I am sitting here, admiring your drive and your spirit, because I know that you are a better man than I am today. I have had advantages you have not, and still I sit here, feeling sorry for myself. I have even done wrong at the Dirty Duck, beating those would-be heroes senseless, completely out of proportion with their actions. I am wrong, and if you feel a need for further penance, all you need to do is to ask, da?
Hal looked at Yevgeny, then at his empty beer, then at Yevgeny again. Ah, hell. That All American Joe character is just another bully who was looking to dress it up in red, white, and blue. He deserved what he got and more.
There was a momentary pause, and then both Yevgeny and Hal began to chuckle. I think you did in fact size him up correctly, da? Yevgeny stopped, then, sobering for a moment, and looked to Hal. But
as to the rest of it?
Hal let a breath out through his nose, slowly, and then placed his palms flat on the table. You know, I resented you for a long time. Got angry, got to be a right pain in the tuckus. But its settled down, and Ive never been a big one for revenge. Live and let live has been my motto.
Ill admit, I got right pissed when I saw you in the bar. I followed the whole thing about you in the papers. And, honestly, bud? I think you got yourself all wrapped up so tight you didnt know which way was which. And I think youre on your way to it again, today.
You dont need a beating. Hell, my insurance covered everything, even most of the lost wages. You just need someone to tell you to get your head out of your butt and look around. So, pax.
Hal extended a hand. Yevgeny took it.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade! [*makes the popcorn and gets the comfy chair*]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
IX - Passing the Torch
Smersh sat back in his chair, laying down the stack of papers he had been reviewing onto his desk. He rotated around in the chair, scowling at the one spring that jabbed into his lower back. He would have to attempt to fix it himself, and furniture was never a part of his expertise. He had some training on breaking furniture; on searching it for secret compartments containing documents, microchips or cash; on using it to shield himself from explosions. But fixing a spring without ruining the upholstery would be a technical challenge.
He sighed. Typically, this was something that would be replaced, but the revenue streams were drying up. Tough economic times meant that some donors were donating less, and some had ceased their donations entirely. Smersh had not brought this to the attention of the rank and file agents, as they had their own worries. The city had cut hero reparations enough, and
Bah. He hated to admit it to himself, but his protracted absence from the hero scene was causing enough problems. Special Section 8 had evolved, entirely against his wishes, into a sort of personality cult, where everything rested on his shoulders. He had not led a team exercise in two months, and the activity roster was showing the strain. Not that things had been that wonderful before, mind. Still
so few agents around, and none bothering to attend meetings. He had been forced to miss a couple; this is true, but for the past three weeks
It was somehow obvious. The Section needed Comrade Smersh, Armored Hero to lead it into battle, and he had not been there.
The officer corps was also strangely absent. Siberian Spring was off working on her doctoral thesis out of state. Soviet Shadow was still on detached duty, undercover. Only Iron Joe was still there to try to make things work.
Smersh smirked to himself. He had even been pulling double shifts in the soup kitchen, as the duty roster there was just getting too thin. And
bah. No one was assigned to sewer duty. He would have to go down there to ensure that the Nemesis Army, the Council, or the Circle of Thorns were not down there, trying to get in again. Smersh hated sewer duty with a passion; it was the reason he considered it a punitive detail.
Those few agents he did have available were rotating through on guard duty for the Space Battleship Potemkin. Smersh considered pulling those agents, and making sure that the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps was the primary unit responsible. He rejected the idea out of hand, however. The Cosmonaut Ninjas were rather unstable, undisciplined, and unsuited to such work. At least, that was his experience of them. He smirked. Other than their Captain, who was a forbidding, imposing figure, the ninja were interchangeable to his mind and impossible to keep track of. He was certain there were differences, but they would be easier to track if he was a fan of American cartoon shows.
Smersh lifted his glasses to rub at his eyes. Where the devil were all his agents? He needed to create an officer corps that was capable of running the Section without him, but it was so difficult. Somehow, it was heartening: The agents were so filled with their belief in communism, he supposed, that none of them really wished to be set above the others.
Smersh looked to the papers, and instead reached down to the bottom drawer, pulled out a flask of vodka and poured some into his glass. The cool liquid burned as it raced down his throat.
The Section had certainly been through hard times before. There had been times when it had been just himself and Red-Eye, carrying the flag. There had been times when it seemed that it was just himself and Sasha trying to preserve the name. These days, though
Smersh sighed. He just felt alone now. It had been a long time since he had felt this alone, and this was not the way he needed to live. He needed people around him, and he knew that he had been driving people away for the last year. It had been a conscious decision; one that he thought was a necessary one. It had gone beyond a choice, though, and become a way of life.
He missed Cog Sprocket on days like this. She always kept him grounded in reality. And she had been a friend. A friend, just one or two, was all he really needed these days. Someone who could treat him as an equal.
Perhaps that was why, despite the bruises and pain from the bar fight, he had enjoyed drinking with Hal the Truckinator. Hal had not held him in awe, not expected him to be the most noble and ideal of all communists. Hal had known he was just a human being.
Smersh winced as he shifted in his chair. A human being who was far too used to fighting in armor, it seemed. There had been a time when he would have been able to fight like that, drink all night, and still get up at 0500 for drill in the morning. It seemed that those days had gone long in the past. Back before the Soviet Union had fallen. Even at the tender young age of 32, he had started having trouble waking up in the morning. A focused and disciplined application of willpower had managed to carry him through the next twenty one years, but every day was getting a little bit longer, a little more painful, a little harder.
Smersh reached over to the cigarette box he kept on his desk and removed one of his filthy unfiltered cigarettes. He supposed that he brought it on himself, not living a clean and fit life. He was really only committed to the exercise program that kept him in shape because it was easier than adjusting the fit of his armor. He lit his cigarette, trying not to think of the intensive program he had had to go through when he first applied for his hero license. He had not worn the armor for thirteen years at that point.
Yevgeny sank down deeper into the chair. Many men his age would be thinking about retirement. He shook his head. The idea of retirement was not even something that had crossed his mind until now. How does a hero retire? Can someone accustomed to living in the shadow of death just
work in his garden?
Of course he could. There was no retirement pension, no place to go, but he could manage it. Perhaps a third
no, fourth
no, fifth life as a technical consultant to a power armor firm.
But what about Comrade Smersh? The world still needed Comrade Smersh, a bright red star shining in the darkness. Symbols of hope should not retire, should not fade out into nothingness. The world needs heroes, and for better or for worse, Comrade Smersh had become the paragon of social justice in a world that was lacking it.
Cigarette drooping from his lower lip, he turned to his desk computer and typed a few search terms onto the internet. He read on heroes of the past, and considered his own. He had not been the first to bear the name of Comrade Smersh. The armor had been new to him, but there had been a Comrade Smersh before him. The codename had come back into circulation when its previous bearer had been killed in action.
Other heroes of the past had retired, but allowed their legacy to be carried on. There were numerous incidences of the mask, artifact, or whatever being passed on. The encyclopedias had several hero names that were marked with a (II) or a (III), in one instance a (VI). Comrade Smersh could live on in the form of another. The torch could be passed.
Yevgeny drummed his fingers. He could even stay on as Field Commander, be the administrative leader. He was just
tired of it all. So damned tired.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
X - Conflict and Conundrums
Olga took her helmet off to rub at her temples. Any meeting of the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps was going to be loud, boisterous, undisciplined, and completely and utterly insane. She had no clue how she had managed to survive the voyage with her sanity intact. Perhaps faster than light travel was inherently destabilizing, and was the reason for the changes her crew had undergone, both physically and mentally. Or perhaps she was insane. Or merely cursed by some malevolent cosmic force to suffer for some imagined slight.
She mentally cursed her brother again for coming up with this Cosmonaut Ninja nonsense, and cursed her crew for choosing to embrace it and live it so
emphatically.
Lana and Zoya were discussing the esoteric politics of plant life within the hydroponics lab. They apparently spoke vegetable fluently and were in the midst of peace negotiations. Yuri and Ivan were, as usual, yelling slogans at each other at the top of their lungs. Toma was adjusting his boxing gloves. Thankfully, Toma took his belief in being strong and silent to new levels; Olga had not heard two words together from him in several years.
The general hubbub was rising exponentially, and Olga finally let loose with a glare. Zoya saw it first, and managed to bring the rest of the brightly-clad ninja to order in relatively short form. Ivan and Yuri were managing to shake in their boots while standing at ease.
Sometimes, it is better to be feared than to be respected, Olga reflected.
***
A whirling storm of blades and flame stormed through the Council base. Orders were barked, weapons fired, wolves let slip from their leashes, but nothing could slow them. The masked council soldiers fell back in confusion.
What were we supposed to be getting again, Merry? she asked, disarming a machine-gunner of his weapon with an effortless flick of her brass-colored katana. Yulia was not tall, but her lean form gave the illusion of height. Her raven hair called into mind that of her father, as did her stark black and white clothing.
Claw of D00m, Merry replied. She was busy cutting a vampyrs legs out from under with her left-hand blade, one that matched Yulias in color. She was identical to Yulia in visage, but her carriage and movements were much more those of her mother, as was her clothing. Her father was constantly after her to dress more modestly. Apparently, what was good enough for his wife was not good enough for his daughter.
Claw of D00m? Man, that thing has like, a million calories in the apple filling alone! But why are we fighting all these guys just to get to a donut? Yulia ducked, and then slashed upwards to bring down the Warwolf. Her Godcutter was only half of what her fathers had been, but it was no matter.
I think its something else, some kind of artifact thingy, Yulia. Merry was a whirling dervish of blades, one in each hand, deflecting bullets and other attacks. The flames of the Councils weapons impacted harmlessly on the burning blue aura that sheathed both of the twins.
Still, be it donuts or doomsday claw things, Fates Soldier and Fates Champion to the rescue! Though the heritage of the Eternal Templar had only been passed on to them, the youngest of seven children, and it had been split between the two of them, they were still a force to be reckoned with.
Merry spun and parried the negative energy bolt of a Galaxy soldier. Youre such a geek, Yulia. She rolled her eyes.
***
Doctor Steven Sheridan was weaving through traffic, cursing every second of delay. His specially armored Oldsmobile was causing immeasurable amounts of incidental damage as he cut corners and sped through red lights. Fenders were clipped, hydrants knocked down, pedestrians scattered. The city would pay for it all, so he was completely unconcerned.
The red countdown light on his dash kept glaring at him, a solemnly ticking countdown clock of impending doom. It was an unusual feature for an Oldsmobile, but for a scientist-hero, essential. He was considering patenting and marketing it.
As he passed through the gate into Kings Row, a series of police motorcycles fell into formation around him, a police escort. Finally, Dr. Science was able to make good time.
He parked illegally on the steps of the main police station, and rushed past the huge metal disc that proclaimed that this was Paragon City The Birthplace of Tomorrow. He must have been a strange sight to the young heroes standing around, paying homage to Blue Steel. Sprinting though the main doors, he waved his identification at the guards standing by the metal detectors before leaping around them.
They could arrest him later, he thought, if there was a later. It wasnt every day that an anti-matter bomb was planted in the basement of the main police station.
He flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The echoes of his footsteps resounded in the poorly lit concrete and metal hallway. He rounded the corner to where he had been told the bomb was, and
Hey, Steve. Could you hand me that paperclip on the table over there? Cant quite reach it from here.
Sheridan fumed. Here he was again, still in that damned beat-up white coat of his. He had half a mind to refuse, but relented and transported the paperclip to the squatting doctor, who had his hand holding open a spring that would have detonated the bomb otherwise.
Here you go, Jack.
Thanks, chief. Doctor Jack Paladin bent the paperclip open, holding one end in his teeth, and then inserted it gingerly into the bombs housing. There we go. All better. Catch you later, Steve.
Dr. Steven Sheridan was simply not about to let it go at that. Off to spread more lies about me, Dr. Paladin?
Jack fixed Steven with a one-eyed stare. Nah, Id never lie about your glory-hounding and trying to take full credit for the team effort that was the Alpha/Omega gambit. Besides, Im sure youll want to try to steal the credit for the bomb here, too.
Steven Sheridan grumbled, It was my overall idea, and you must admit that. Now, if youll pardon me, Im going to make sure you dont make a mess of that bomb, like everything else you touch. Youre a lousy scientist, Jack, and nothings going to fix that.
Jack Paladin shook his head, deciding that it just wasnt worth fighting about, and left the way he came in. Steven Sheridan crouched down beside the bomb casing, trying to ascertain what would be needed to make Jacks ramshackle, jury-rigged solution permanent.
***
All right, soldiers, listen up, Olga spoke into the assembly room. Her voice was soft, but it carried into the back corners, silk-wrapped iron. I am sick and tired of being captain of a broken-down old diesel tractor. I was chosen to be a young pioneer for all of humanity, as were all of you. Our mission, as you may well be aware, was a partial success.
However, a partial success means that it was also a partial failure! We returned here to Earth for refit, resupply and repairs, not rest and relaxation! And we certainly did not come back so that some of you, she thundered, looking with particular ire at her brother Ivan, could run around in your pajamas, yelling out nonsense from childrens cartoons!
The room had fallen into a deadly silence. Olga knew that she was pushing the bounds, but she felt it was necessary. This ninja nonsense had spread through the crew like wildfire, becoming a way of life. They had put aside their uniforms for costumes with capes and helmets, and it was like a childrens show all the time.
She had allowed herself to go along with the nonsense, rather than face mutiny. Now, here on Earth again, she knew she had to whip this crew back into the fine bunch that had taken the worlds finest star vessel sailing to destinations unknown, in the name of the Revolution. Now was the time.
She would get this ship running again, and this time, they would complete the mission.
***
The final shell casing had fallen, and the miniguns multiple rotating barrels whirred to a stop. Merry grinned over to Yulia. See? Piece of cake.
The red emergency lighting here in this Council data center was not flattering to either of them, and Yulia found herself wishing she had time to disable the klaxons. The Council had been unprepared for the assault, and the twins had made short work of the defenses.
Yulia looked to her sister, and said, So, can we find this mainframe and search it before they, I dunno, send in an army of robots or open vents that drop magma on our heads or something?
Merry shook her head. Wet blanket, she teased. What would dad say about that?
Yulia replied as she scanned the area, looking for a data terminal, Something like, the jobs the job, and the sooner done the better?
Merry laughed. No way. Hed say, No matter what the problem, theres always time for a cup of coffee.
The twins looked at each other and both said, Ick!
They searched for a few minutes. Yulia rushed over when Merry cried out her success, leaping deftly over a wrecked hoverbot. Merry was typing away furiously, hacking at the security subsystems with ease. Yulia looked over her shoulder for a moment before hip-checking her sister out of the way and taking over the keyboard herself. Could you possibly be any slower, Merry? We were cracking things like this when we were four! she exclaimed, her fingers flying over the keys.
Merry stuck out her tongue. At least I can cook, she retorted.
Seconds later, Yulia was staring at a search prompt. At last, some progress.
ENTER SEARCH TERMS:
>SAVIOR MACHINE
***
Jack sat on a low brick wall in Brickstown, savoring some of his coffee. The tar-like, lukewarm substance was ambrosia so far as he was concerned, the staff of life.
He took the opportunity to flex his right hand, to try to work the stiffness out of the brand-scar across his palm. One of these days, he would try to get that fixed, but he had his doubts about actually being able to pull it off. Hed returned from the dead, and showed up with a set of scars that had nothing to do with how he had died. He smirked to himself. I guess thats the price you pay for having a multiply-recursive multiversal origin story, he thought.
Jack drummed his fingers, nervous. There were not many factions in Paragon capable of acquiring that much anti-matter. The manufacture of anti-matter in quantity was strictly controlled, and not something easy to conceal. Jack started ticking off suspects.
Positron or Dr. Sheridan could have done it, but it was completely out of character and without motivation. Nemesis would certainly have the motivation, but there were no reports of anti-matter or equipment thefts. And the bomb itself did not have any of the hallmarks of the nihilistic Freakshow.
Jack took another swig of his coffee, and considered. His brain was furiously making connections and inferences on one hand, and discarding them on the other. Some imperfect fits were filed away as requiring more data.
Who had the motive, opportunity and means to attempt to destroy an entire city with an exotic weapon?
The best fit was a threat that he had thought was past. He had fulfilled his duty as Templar, slain the Godking with his blue stone blade. The weapon was gone, absent, but he felt the familiar stirring within his breast.
The Godcutter was a part of him, a weapon of spirit as well as of material, and it was considering reawakening. Apparently, his job as Eternal Templar, champion of chaos, was not over. The Imperial Combine could have the means to do this, but what was the motive?
On the other hand, an Exodus Hunter from the Combine had attacked his family just recently. They were active here.
And there was one question niggling away at the back of his brain. A question his daughters from the future had asked him. Dad? Whats the Savior Machine?
He had no idea. But he was certain that it was important.
***
Deep below Paragon, it stirred, microscopically shifting. Its world was in danger. Soon, the time would come.
The Savior Machine knew that soon it would rise again.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XI - On the Translation of Variable Energy Waves Within Interdimensional Space-Time
Frustrated, Tatyana went back over the equations once more. This data set was proving most troublesome. The mathematics were, to her, a second language, one she could read as easily as if it were Russian, and easier than English came to her. Still, there was the ever-present threat of calculation errors creeping in, and it is for this reason that she always gave her results a common sense check.
Some would tell her that she was being a fool for not using a computer to do these calculations, but they would have been wrong. The computational tools for this project were new, and were not available on any computer program that she was aware of. Even Mathematica was not capable of the latest discoveries in applied interdimensional mathematics.
Ah, there was the issue! Tatyana ripped off the bottom quarter of one sheet of graph paper, and discarded the next three. She had failed to carry a negative sign on one term, thus completely corrupting the work that followed. It was another hour of work to come to the correct solution.
The office that she had to share with three other graduate students, this calm place to work on her dissertation, was little larger than a walk-in closet, and it contained two desks, four chairs, and four computers. It was cramped, ill-lit and smelled of mildew, and was seven and half times more welcoming than the facility in Colorado.
It was good to be home. As much as this could be called home, compared to the other places she had lived. On the other hand, it was the best place she had lived since she was nineteen years old, so it did have its advantages.
She sighed. She knew she had to finish her dissertation, On the Translation of Variable Energy Waves Within Interdimensional Space-Time, very soon. It had to be taken to the printers, so that the theoretical physics faculty could read and dissect it, and then the dissertation defense. That last she actually looked forward to; the idea of meeting every challenge put to her was an exhilarating thought. What she did not admit to herself was that this, her field of study, was the only part of her life that she could go through with complete self-confidence.
Some people might think it odd that a person who had control over two disparate elemental forces and could bend them to her whim would pursue their studies with such dedication. Tatyana did not claim to have mutant super-intelligence, or even the genius of a Feynman or an Einstein. Jack might flaunt his many doctorates, but Tatyana thought of him as a dilettante, not a brilliant scientist. She did have power, it was true, and she did bend it to fight for the People. It was not that she had always dreamed of being a powerful person, or that she resented having to use her power in this way. It was just
The simple truth of the matter was that, while Tatyana enjoyed the teaching aspect of her current position, occasionally filling in for one faculty member or another, what she truly loved was the field itself. She had even worked on problems of interdimensional physics during her time of exile, using a piece of charcoal on the walls of the cave she had called home. She hoped the hydra natives of that world had not located and ruined her work there. She had kept herself working, telling herself that the worlds greatest scientists of history had had little more. Einsteins relativity was all done on paper before the eclipse observations were able to give any experimental data that tended to prove it. Computers had still been decades away for him.
The doctorate was a difficult goal to pursue, but without that piece of paper she would be unable to work in the field at a high enough level. Whether it was pure research or a professorship, she wanted to be there, doing the research and
She sighed. Woolgathering did not collate data, nor were there friendly fairies that would wander in and perform the equations for her.
She glanced over at the digital clock that was on the desk behind her. 10:17pm! She had been at this too long. With a sweep of her hands, she gathered up all of her loose papers and swept them into her briefcase. A second check to make sure that no papers had been left behind, and then she locked the case. The discarded papers, the incorrect drafts, were herded up into a file folder. That folder would make its way into the fireplace at KGB Headquarters. She smirked. The methods of handling confidential files had clearly rubbed off on her. On the other hand, her work would prove quite difficult to plagiarize prior to publication. Short of some ambitious graduate student sneaking into KGB Special Section 8s residence hall and taking photographs of her personal whiteboard, her methods and equations should be safe.
Tatyana walked down to where the bike racks were, and noted that hers was the last one there, as usual. She strapped her belongings down to the rear deck, unlocked the bike, put on her helmet, and rode for home.
Had she been feeling lazy, she could have used her base teleporter, or the KGB teleportation network to call in her armor with the rocket boots. But, then as now, Tatyana enjoyed a good bike ride. Even when the sun was down and the city was dark, it could be an exhilarating thing. She thought of the clear night air as energy waves, of the roads as the boundaries between them, and the stars as the possible method of triangulation that was the centerpiece of her dissertation.
She supposed that it could be thought of another way. On a bicycle, she had total freedom and control over her path. Her life had been a series of moves beyond her control, forced to the Udachny facility, spun throughout the dimensions after the Incident, hauled out of that obscure world here to Paragon. Her bicycle was freedom of movement in a life that had lacked it.
Tatyana rode on, a small smile forming on her lips.
Only the Outcast that tried to mug her marred the ride, and he would be regretting that decision from behind bars in the Ziggurat.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XII - Human Resources
Exodus Hunter Maya looked into the mirror. It was time to alter her form.
It was a trivial operation for her. Features flowed and shifted. Green hair became blond. Blue eyes assumed a more human hue. Ears changed from long and pointed to rounded and close to the skull.
One member of the Midnight Squad had referred to her as a biomancer, but a magician she was not. She merely had a way of manipulating life at a cellular level, inspiring rapid-fire and completely planned mutations. Any sufficiently advanced science would be, to these cretins, magic.
An Exodus Hunter is a lonely being, isolated from the worlds of pure order that they protected. Their mission was one of external security. Exodus Hunters are rare and valuable within the multiverse, for they are skilled at manipulating chaos to create order, to reduce universal entropy.
The natives of this place called it Earth Prime, and that was not an inaccurate assessment. The principle of conservation of chaos made the multiverse a strange, bi-polar thing. Her native habitat was a series of dimensions of near-perfect order. This Earth Prime was the dumping ground for chaos. A wise man once said that Everything goes somewhere, and that somewhere was here. Only here could random time portals, dimensional duplicates, and bizarre mystical accidents be considered commonplace.
Maya beheld herself in the mirror, and changed into clothing that was more suitable to the natives of this plane. Her small contingent of Imperial Combine operatives was the first that had visited this world in over eight thousand years. The stigma of the defeat that had been suffered here still lay heavy over the Combine Navy.
She shook her head. She would try to complete her mission here, and move on. She had no desire to remain here. Even an avatar of the Singularity had not survived here. Most likely, failure and disintegration were the only things she had to look forward to.
This was supposed to be a brilliant move for her career. Instead, it had been an unmitigated disaster.
The chaos was choking, thick, black and viscous, an oil slick that clung to her no matter how she tried to escape it. Her plans always fought their way through, but failed in the end.
Maya pulled down her face mask, and formed her face into one that was pleasingly, though unremarkably, human. She smiled.
If the Singularity would not see fit to provide her with more resources, it was time to do some local recruitment. Partisans. Sleeper agents.
***
Tanya Palmer was feeling rather sorry for herself. The Heroic Six had kicked her out. Theyd said they didnt have any use for someone who cut and ran when the going got tough.
She took a sip from a brightly-colored fruity alcoholic beverage. Shed come to Paragon specifically to be a part of the hero community. All those hours of personal training, all those gadgets and toys shed bought
Shed even had the guys loaded up in the red helicopter for some rapid deployment a couple of times. Plus all the pizza and beer shed picked up the tab for. It just wasnt fair.
Itd serve them right when the Heroic Command Center had the lights turned off and the eviction notice on the door. All American Joe didnt have a job, and kept pushing her to pick up the tab for everything, and now shed been kicked to the curb. Served him right for trying to bully her into a date, anyway.
She poked at the night-vision goggles shed set down on the table with a spoon. She hated wearing them, anyway. And the body armor, and the boots did nothing for her posture, and carrying all that extra ammo was heavy. It totally wasnt her fault shed been born with a big old trust fund.
It was just
her dad was such a goof, always going on about family traditions and how she had to excel in something. She wasnt a brilliant rocket scientist like granddad, she wasnt a financier like dad, and she wasnt going to be an explorer like great grandpa. And dad was sick, and the doctors said there was nothing they could do no matter how much money he threw at the problem, so she totally had to make him proud before he died! And there wasnt much time, and she had to become a real hero soon. The Heroic Six had been her best bet, there was no way she could go solo.
And she didnt have any idea about how to join with any of the real hero groups. Shed just been to the bulletin boards at the university and pulled off some of those tag fringe things with the phone numbers on them for startup hero groups. The Heroic Five had been the only one that had even lasted a month.
So, overall, it had been a sucky week. They kicked her out for not trying to fight a legend who disposed of the (now) Heroic Five without even breaking a sweat.
Tanya sighed dramatically for a nonexistent audience. Twenty one and a complete failure.
She looked up as a sorority recruiter slid into the booth across from her. Blond hair, blue eyes, lots of obvious (and not that good) plastic surgery, college sweater and really short skirt with silly-high heels on sandals.
Im totally not registered at Paragon U, so you can, like, go now, Tanya blurted out.
The sorority recruiters voice should have been high-pitched and giggly. Instead, it was low and smoky. Tanya Palmer, I have an offer to make you
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XIII - The Vault
Tatyana screamed wordlessly in frustration.
All the work she had done, and still she needed more data. She had shuffled and reshuffled the figures, but the data showed three significant gaps.
It was just too much to think about. The equipment she needed was half a country away, and it would be at least nine months before she could be scheduled in to use it. She threw down her pencil in frustration and stormed out of her quarters in KGB headquarters.
She located a mug in a cupboard in the communal kitchen area, and reached for the coffee pot. Of course, no one had made a fresh pot when they had used the last of the previous one. The percolator labeled with the biohazard sticker was brewing away merrily, but she was not desperate enough to try any of Dr. Paladins coffee. She had heard Mavis, the cleaning lady, talking about how it sanitized the toilets better than bleach ever had.
Muttering, a dark cloud hanging over her head, she started the coffee maker and waited.
Are you making the coffee, or are you cursing bitterly its absence, comrade Strike Leader? a voice behind her said.
Someone seems to have walked off with the last without replacing it. Tatyana did not want to talk to Yevgeny tonight. She was not in the brightest of moods.
Smersh sat down at the table with his empty coffee mug, drew an ashtray closer to him, and lit up a cigarette, all to Tatyanas dismay. Clearly, he was settling in, and to leave without her coffee would be an admission of defeat. To cover her feelings, she lit up a cigarette of her own.
The silence between them was a palpable presence, a specter of a shared past filling all available space. The little sounds that filled the void were setting her on edge: the hum of the generators, the ultrasonic hum of medical equipment, the steady sounds of traffic outside. And the drumming of Yevgenys fingers on the table were the final straw. To say something seemed the only recourse, so she chose a topic, a random choice out of infinite variations, and spoke.
You know, Field Commander, I had quit these for seven years when you showed up. I had no way of getting cigarettes on the Hydra world. And then, you arrived, and offered me a cigarette, and it was as though I had never stopped, Tatyana mused. Almost at once, she cursed whatever subconscious impulse that had chosen those words.
Yevgeny rubbed at his head and smirked. I am completely incorrigible, da?
Tatyana tapped a finger on the table, willing the coffee pot to work its magic faster, just to put an end to this awkward time. She felt that any silence would be misinterpreted, so it was a void that had to be filled. The interdimensional spaces between people did not propagate energy waves in the same way that the barriers between dimensions did; the spaces between people were much more prone to interference patterns.
Her thoughts had taken too long, so another wave of energy was sent into the void by Yevgeny. What seems to be the trouble? Something seems to be bothering you.
What was bothering her? What wasnt bothering her today? The list was endless. The dissertation had decided to unilaterally take a leave of absence. She had a new applicant for the Section she hated doing the interviews and tours. The coffee was out, and her quarters were in a messy state that she did not want to deal with. There were several dozens of papers to read and grade for the class she was covering for Professor Davis. She had a shift in the soup kitchen in an hour, and her apron was still in the wash.
Nothing, she said.
Bah. You can tell me what you need, and I shall do my best to provide it, Tatyana, Yevgeny said as he glanced to the coffee maker. So long as it does not involve my drinking Dr. Paladins coffee.
Against all expectations, Tatyana laughed. The flippant remark was, apparently, just what she had needed on a terrible day. Not unless you have a six terawatt inter-dimensional phase modulator with trans-liminal subduction accelerator functionality, and a thousand-meter deep copper mine to shield it from cosmic rays, just lying around on your workbench!
Yevgeny chuckled as he crossed to the coffeepot. He poured a cup for himself, and then one for Tatyana, splashing a bit onto the worn tabletop. Bring your coffee and follow me, da? I have something to show you.
Tatyana raised an eyebrow. You have a thousand-meter copper mine?
Nyet. But I may have something that shall do the trick in a pinch, da? Come.
Tatyana wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic mug and set herself into following Yevgeny. Trailing behind by two paces, she walked the familiar corridors, the brick walls covered in old propaganda posters. On other days she felt disdain for the socialist realism school of art so prominently displayed, but today they did not impinge upon her awareness. They walked past the frosted glass partitions that contained the meeting room, past the cubicles and offices.
They ended at a security station, where Yevgeny tapped a few commands into the computer. The monochrome green and black screen displayed Cyrillic characters in rapid succession. He left the computer, and walked over to one of the framed posters, which slid aside of its own accord. He removed his glasses and gazed at the newly-revealed retinal scanner.
A section of the wall, a solid mass of brick, drew back and rolled aside, revealing a small lift. Yevgeny drew aside the articulated metal gate and smirked. After you, Yevgeny said, indicating to Tatyana that she should step inside.
This was a portion of the base that Tatyana had never seen before, and she felt as though she was intimately familiar with the entire sprawling complex. The lift was tiny, clearly designed for the transportation of only one person. Shoulders and knees bumped as they attempted to arrange themselves in the cramped space. Finally, Yevgeny drew the gate closed, pressed a button that sealed the wall once more, and pulled the lever that began to lower the open-framed elevator.
Nervous at the closed-in space and the overwhelming sense of proximity, Tatyana said, Please tell me that this lift is rated for our combined weight?
Yevgeny looked up, involuntarily, at the straining pulley system that was lowering them down. Trust me, it should be fine. He did not seem all that certain.
After an eternity of anticipation and dread of a sudden acceleration, the lift settled down lightly. Yevgeny opened the gate once more, and laid his palm on the black surface of a scanner. A bright light swept over it, and a heavy vault door opened.
Yevgeny strode forward, and called over his shoulder, Pardon the dust, da? I am so bad about it, and no one else comes down here
Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed as they came to life. Tatyana looked ahead, and saw what appeared to be a secret sanctum to the idols of technology. A second look drew in more details, making it seem half trophy room and half armory. A third look was prevented by a cloud of dust causing a violent sneeze.
Tatyana wrinkled her nose, and stepped into the vault. Against one wall were a series of pedestals, all containing red and gold suits of armor, standing tall and waiting for use. Tatyana counted seven, and room for more. The caped and polished suits seemed imposing. The opposite wall seemed to contain various mementos of victories past: a Rikti ceremonial blade, a blue beret, a Nemesis gear staff, a Roman sword, an old monocle and other, less instantly recognizable junk. The center of the room was dominated by a virtual clone of Yevgenys workshop topside, with computer controlled cutting equipment, a pile of old circuit boards and electronic equipment, and enough diagnostic equipment to keep a naval destroyer perfectly monitored.
And much of it was covered in a thick layer of dust.
Surely, you did not bring me down here just to show me this mess, Field Commander. Tatyana scanned the room for signs of recent use. The armor suits, hooked into the power grid and prepared for teleportation, were not dusty. There were footprints near the workbench, a tangled cluster of craters in the regolith.
Tatyana ran a finger along a ledge, and then regretted it. She took a sip from her coffee, partly to hide her disgust, and partly to finish it before it became overly contaminated.
Yevgeny was busy moving a stack of cardboard boxes, most of which appeared to contain unruly stacks of files. He was apparently excavating for something specific. Tatyana called out, While this is nice, I suppose, there is no way that this is a kilometer down.
Yevgeny called over his shoulder, Nyet, it is not
but it should not be necessary. Ah, here it is.
Yevgeny pulled out a rather odd-looking contraption, something like a torso-sized oil lantern. He wrapped his arms around it, and set the base down on his workbench.
The base of the lantern had a variety of input terminals around its base. Presumably, whatever it was, it would have to be hooked up to a computer to function. The globe was some sort of clear high-impact plastic, and contained various metallic bits that appeared as though they would rotate against each other.
Tatyana recognized the principle on which it would operate immediately, though she had never seen so compact or efficient a design. Yevgeny, where did you get an inter-dimensional phase modulator? Tatyana asked, professionally curious.
I, er, built it, Yevgeny said, with a disingenuous ease that boded he was concealing something. Tatyana knew that tone from years ago, and a world mere meters away.
Yevgeny
Tatyana said, slipping too easily into that old familiarity that allowed her to scold him.
Bah. This is the fabled
Korsakov device. I hate this thing, hate everything that it represents. I should have destroyed it years ago, but
I cannot bring myself to do so. Yevgeny glared at the device, lost in the past. I built the thing, this is true. But I have no memory of doing so. I do not have the knowledge to create this thing, the understanding of any of the principles involved.
Then it was
Tatyana trailed off, unsure if she wanted to say what she suspected.
Da. It was the Komisar.
That was the year that the Section turned on itself, that the city was held hostage by a madman who was one of our Field Commanders. And the Korsakov device was the major threat held in reserve. At full power, it would kill every Kheldian in the city. Theoretically.
All of it, from the building of the device to the Section nearly eating itself alive, was a direct result of the actions of the Komisar. Yevgeny beheld the device. On the other hand, it has saved lives on the few occasions I could bring myself to use it. We were able to speak to Red Star Rising briefly before his death. Little Nadya was able to leave her isolation after I contacted a Peacebringer with this thing.
I do not know how much of this thing was my own work, and how much was brought in from elsewhere. In any event, Yevgeny said, shaking his head as to clear it, this should do what you need, I think. Just be very careful with it, as it could very well have hidden dangers that I do not know of, and if it is turned to full power it could have
disastrous effects, da?
Tatyana looked at the device, and looked to Yevgeny. Who else has access to this room, then? she asked, worried about the implications that this device and its haphazard storage.
Just myself. No one else is authorized to be down here. That is why Mavis does not dust down here, da? Yevgeny replied, seeming a bit abashed. I shall have your data in the security system within the day, and you shall be able to come and go as you need.
Tatyana ran her fingertips over the plastic casing of the Korsakov device. You trust me that much, Field Commander?
He smirked at her as he replied, I am fairly certain that you are no counter-revolutionary or fascist spy.
Good. And I hope you will not mind if I clean up down here a bit. The dust may interfere with some of my readings.
Do what you must, Tatyana. Go on up, I should put a few things away down here. Yevgeny turned away, starting to move some boxes from one side of the vault to the other.
Tatyana re-entered the lift, closed the gate, and threw the switch to head back upstairs. As you say, she said as she rose out of sight, a small smile forming on her lips.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XIV - R&R - Recruitment and Relaxation
It was almost capitalist, the forms that are required to join KGB Special Section 8. The application was several pages long, with multiple narratives about knowledge, skills and abilities, ideological concepts, and prior achievements and awards. Multiple attachments were required, from a copy of the hero license to a standardized power indexer to (optional) school transcripts and references. The only concession to those who would disdain such things was the availability of the application in Russian as well as English.
This particular application that was being slaved over was in English, and the writer was developing a severe cramp in her arm. Who knew that transcribing your entire resume by hand was such an onerous task? The Peoples Pistoleer certainly had not had a clue.
The harsh fluorescent lighting and uncomfortable chair only added to the discomfort. She guessed that this was some sort of hazing ritual.
The old lady who had given her the form had been kind enough to point out that the secret identity version of the form was shorter. The Pistoleer shuddered. Why would anyone deliberately torture themselves by filling in the non-secret version?
She signed her hero name on the eighteenth page of the form, and flipped back to the first page, checking each section to make sure that she had not missed any places to initial or boxes to fill in. She was studiously careful flipping the pages. Why did they use a pin to hold the application together instead of a staple or a paperclip?
Finally finished with the fiendish form, the Pistoleer set in to wait. As she did so, she looked around, taking in all the details. The security station had twin scanners, which would presumably set off all sorts of alarms and potentially intruder countermeasures if she went through as she was, loaded for bear. There was a rather large portrait of a bald man she recognized, resplendent in his black dress uniform. His face was unscarred, which indicated either a forgiving artist or that the scar came after the portrait was made.
The walls were brick, the floor uncovered tile, and the air a bit chilly. The magazines were all far out of date and well-dog-eared. Disregarding this, she picked up an old sports magazine from June of the previous year and began reading an article about how free agency was destroying baseball. Neither free agency nor baseball was terribly engaging to her, but it was a welcome change from that application.
Some minutes later, a polite cough drew her away from a deep discussion of the Cincinnati Bengals. Her gaze rose up, and there was the old lady again. She was full-figured, with small streaks of grey in her hair, wearing the official-looking black uniform that seemed to be standard around here.
Privyet. I am Strike Leader Tatyana Stepanova, and I will be handling your interview, she said when the Pistoleer met her bespectacled gaze.
Peoples Pistoleer. Um
space-eye-bah for meeting with me, the camouflage-clad candidate replied. Tatyana chuckled.
Perhaps you should leave the Russian phrases to the Russians, the Strike Leader said. The Pistoleer smiled back sheepishly. Tatyana continued, Come, follow me. I shall show you around the base.
This is our security station. I am admitting you with your equipment on my passcard, which is of course operated on an RFID system. You will be issued your own, and it will prevent the countermeasures from activating when you bring in your equipment. I suggest that you keep it up to date if you ever start carrying more or different items; comrade Agent Ravage has run into that a few times.
This is the main atrium. The hall behind us, as you know, leads back to the entrance. To the north, you will note the banners with the globes; that hallway leads primarily to the teleportation network. Rapid transit throughout the entire city is available. The secure area at the end of the teleportation hall leads to the Rikti War Zone as the teleporter pads are based on Rikti technology, we do not want any unwelcome surprises coming in the wrong way, da?
Also, of course, the locker rooms are here. It is nice to be able to shower after a sortie to a swamp dimension or a sweep of a sewer system.
On the other end of that section are our power generators and the holding cells. They are Category Five holding cells, which can supposedly hold any threat. We have taken to posting guards when we have high-value prisoners, because the supposedly totally secure cells just arent. Outstripped by technology.
The hallway directly across from the entrance leads to the administrative and residential wing. There you will find our meeting hall, the common room, the barracks, and the gymnasium. Do not worry, if you should wish to stay in the barracks, it is not actually a barracks they are actual private rooms.
Further on down that hall, you shall find another security station Beyond that point are the publicly accessible areas. The soup kitchen where you will do two shifts a week, the free clinic, the job placement area, and all of that. Outside, of course, I am certain that you have seen the community garden and playground, and the swimming pool.
Naturally, we support the community in ways other than just hero work!
The final hallway is access to the workshops, the medical bay, and the hangar. The Field Commander keeps trying to get a Hind for the Section, but they seem to be difficult to acquire on the open market. Additionally, I know of no members of the Section who would be capable of flying one.
Tatyana was checking off a list on her clipboard as she spoke. Boredom was evident on her face.
I, um, can fly one, the Pistoleer volunteered.
The Strike Leaders eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, you shall certainly want to mention that to the Field Commander when you meet him, then.
Our weekly meeting is on Wednesday night, at 10:00pm EST. Attendance is highly encouraged.
And now, unless you have any questions for me, I shall begin your interview in earnest
***
Babe, you seen my socks around?
Jack Paladin, Ph. D., was looking around at the bedroom that looked as though a concussion grenade had been rolled into the middle of it. Clothing was strewn all around, over the backs of chairs, piled on the dresser and the bed. An open suitcase was piled high with black and white clothing.
They were in the laundry basket when last I saw them, dorogoi, Alisa Paladin called over her shoulder, yanking her head away from the infant trying to grasp a tendril of hair that had come loose from her ponytail.
Jack considered himself an expert packer and traveler, having circled the globe solving problems with nothing more than his old green Samsonite two-suiter. He liked to call it Old Bombproof.
Of course, Alisas packing put his to shame. She had packed everything she had needed within half an hour while juggling two infants. He was still running around like a chicken with his head cut off. Jack had had to leave town in a hurry before, certainly, but Alisa was capable of preparing for international travel within minutes. Difference in training, he supposed.
Travelling with the children had increased the difficulty of preparation by a couple orders of magnitude. There were diapers, formula, wipes, bottles, clothes, blankets, a few select toys, car seats, burp cloths, a portable changing pad, and a spare shirt, and that was just for his diaper bag. Hed had to make the diaper bag himself to his own personal specifications, and it still never stayed organized beyond the first time he reached in.
Jack had originally wanted to head to Greece, but Alisa had ruled that out. It is probably best if I do not return to Europe, she had said mysteriously. She had refused to enlighten him further. So, instead, their vacation was headed to the Caribbean.
The things Jack wanted to know might be there. Greece would have been a better bet.
Jack had sold the idea of a family vacation with only the promise that his working vacation shtick would only be a small portion of it. Jack sighed. Back before hed gotten married, he would have just hopped a plane to get into some rare archives without a second thought. Now, it would be harder. He would love to spend a few weeks digging through moldy papers to find a single reference, but he would hate to do it these days without his wife and kids.
On the whole, he considered it a more than fair tradeoff.
Jack wandered across the house, past where his sister, Jaqi Paladin, was rocking his other son to sleep. He was wearing his special black and white aloha shirt and a nice pair of black Bermuda shorts. Jaqi made a pithy remark, and Jack made a witty reply. It was almost like when they were kids again.
Doctor Jacqueline Paladin was a godsend, a happy coincidence that was an immense help. Though they were separated by almost a decade in age, they had always been good friends, siblings who had helped each other out. After Ma and Pa Paladin had disowned Jack, they had lost contact until about two years ago.
Now, Auntie Jaqi was happy to housesit, and to babysit occasionally when her duties at the museum permitted. Jack and Alisa both loved these little breathers, time when the twin boys did not consume every waking moment, and most of the not-really-quite-awake ones as well.
Locating the wayward tube socks, he began pairing them and folding them.
The local resources had only fragmentary references to the Savior Machine. It was hard to have any clue as to what it was, let alone where it was.
What little he had gathered was that it was some
artifact? Person? Title? From an era long before the modern one. The Machine was credited with wondrous powers and abilities that were described in only the vaguest of terms. A cult devoted to its worship apparently sprung up in Assyria about a thousand years before the common era.
Jack had asked his daughters, the ones from the future, what they knew. He figured it would probably be a good insight into what he knew some years in the future. After all, if he knew himself, he would have equipped the girls with as much information as he could get his hands on.
When he had asked, it was a bit frustrating. Apparently, they knew then about what he knew now. The Savior Machine was unavailable for comment in the future, it seemed.
Jack wondered briefly why that was. He was back in the bedroom, putting his boots on top of his duffel bag. He half wished that his hero license would allow him to carry on his blades, but airport security was impossible these days. He didnt even bother to have them shipped, because of the hassle. He hoped it wasnt a mistake he would end up regretting, but he could count on one hand the number of times that he had needed to fight for his life while digging through the collapsible stacks.
Anyhow, Jack was hoping to do some research and see if he could find out more about this Savior From Atlantis thingy. And maybe to soak up some rays on the beach with his wife, kids permitting.
***
There was a high pitched whine hitting its sensors. It was a sound that it had not heard for thousands of years.
It was like a signal, a clarion call. A sirens song, drawing it in.
For the world, it had to move, to acquire that thing. That weapon.
Old subroutines and self-diagnostics ran. For the first time in millennia, it knew itself.
It was the Savior Machine. It was tasked with the defense of Earth by any means necessary. Its goal was the destruction of Earths enemies.
Power, long stored against this day, began to flow through it. Some of its relays were burnt out by the sudden surge. It was no matter.
A flash of light, and the long-immobilized limbs empowered their weapons, and began to claw their way through millions of tons of igneous rock.
The Savior Machine began to rise once more.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XV - Status Quo Antebellum
Joe was thinking, in between wracking waves of pain, that he had made a bad choice. It was like spiders crawling around under his skin; spiders armed with blowtorches and belt sanders.
The hero gig wasnt about being a hero, it was about scoring chicks. Lifting weights and having a nice tight costume helped. Hed figured that the blonde was a hero groupie, the sort that was easy to score with. The Heroic Five must have been making a name for itself, what with that little bust on the Skulls the other day.
It had seemed like an innocent fling, but somehow he had ended up in some kind of tube thingy, with some kind of squiggly monster thing inside of him. Hed heard the word symbiote, before all the hurting had started.
He knew that, one way or another, hed get out of this alive. He just had no idea what he would look like when he got out.
The blond chick had turned into some kind of weird, green-haired space elf. Somehow, he got the feeling that she was waiting for something. He just had no clue about what.
Suddenly, the pain flared again, and all rational thought left him.
***
On a dark airfield, black-clad commandos were running back and forth, making final preparations. Hard-sided cases and black ballistic nylon bags were loaded into a dual-rotor helicopter, equipment harnesses were checked, knives loosened in their sheaths and night vision goggles adjusted. This mission would be a bit unusual, in that it was legal.
The target was a ship in international waters, flying no national flag. It was, according to their captain, a Russian military vessel whose crew was in a state of mutiny. Their job was to capture, incapacitate or kill the crew, and recover the vessel relatively intact. It was a task for which they had trained many times, though it was new to most of the squad. Only a few of the non-commissioned officers had ever done this for real before.
Even so, the operational plan called for surprise and overwhelming force to achieve the objectives. Their helicopters had the latest stealth technology, and would be virtually invisible to radar or infrared detection. They would fly in low to the water at night, to reduce the chance for visual detection. A first platoon would be deposited in the water, and would approach using SCUBA gear. The first platoon would board the vessel and disable any sentries on the deck, and then fire off a flare to call in the rest of the special operatives.
The commandos would divide into teams, one heading for the bridge and the other for the engine room. A third team would sweep for opposition.
Captain Dmitri Roslov of UNOSOV had been over the blueprints with his men several times. The expected opposition was stiff, but certainly not insurmountable. This would be another notch in his belt for promotion.
***
The SEAL team was preparing for an operation in extremely cramped quarters. They were all hardened veterans, had seen action all over the world. This action was a standard one: captured vessel, unknown number of opposition forces with unknown capabilities, no hostages.
It should be as much a cakewalk as any combat mission can be, Captain Alex Miller thought to himself. The operational profile was relatively standard: nuclear attack sub comes in quietly; the SEAL team is deployed with underwater sleds through the torpedo tubes. The deck should be cleared rather quickly with the element of surprise on the side of the United States Navy. Sweep up and down, deck by deck, capture the power plant and the control center. Locking down communications was a secondary objective. Prisoners were expected, but not exactly encouraged.
The only source of pressure was the time factor. The briefing had said this vessel was an imminent threat to the safety and security of the United States because it had access to some sort of weapons of mass destruction.
The SEALs were checking their breathing equipment and the waterproofing on their gear. It was standard to have a buddy check your gear as well. On a mission like this, having your sled or oxygen fail was like doing a HALO drop and having your parachute fail messy and probably crippling.
Still, Captain Miller set his jaw and got his team ready. This was some serious secret medal locked in a vault that you can never talk about stuff, and that was always good for career advancement in special ops.
***
The Peoples Pistoleer was mostly ignoring the twenty-four hour news channel that was blathering in the background. Something was going on about a hazard to water navigation, a volcanic plume in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Something about tsunami warnings. It wasnt here, so she tuned it out.
She logged into her cell phones web browser, feeling a little bit guilty about doing so. They seemed to be really, genuinely concerned about their ideals. The Heroic Five had been a really selfish bunch, but these people really threw themselves into their work. It was actually kind of neat to work in the soup kitchen.
And here she was, sending out detailed security information to spy on them.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She could get some real hero time under her belt, and her dad would get cured from cancer. The lady had promised it, and Tanya had good reason to believe it. The demonstrations had been kinda gross, but still.
After her job here was done, she could leave the KGB and go on to do the real thing somewhere else, under a different and better hero name, and her dad would live long enough to be proud of her. It seemed like a winning combination, and what could it really hurt, anyway?
Now, she wasnt so sure. The lecture that Iron Joe guy had given about why the security was necessary had gotten her to thinking about why all this stuff was desired by the blond lady, Maya. It couldnt be for any legitimate purpose.
Still, shed made a promise, and she was going to keep it. She hit the send button on her phone.
***
Hal the Truckinator was dusting his hands off, looking at the bunch of thugs lying there, groaning in pain around him. He rubbed at his cheek a chain had caught him across the face, and that had stung and reached down to pick up his Orioles hat.
Being a hero was hard work, but the Russian had been giving him some pointers. Not a full-on suit of armor, which probably would have been cheating somehow, but just ways to make the job easier.
Which reminded him: he was supposed to meet the Russian for a few beers tomorrow. Best make sure he had his schedule clear.
Hal walked around, depositing teleportation tags on the Hellions, and secured the mystic artifact that they had been messing around with. Hed bring that by City Hall on his way home.
***
The anthropology department at the University of Jamaica in Kingstown had some of the information that Jack had wanted. After all, it was largely theorized that some of the Caribbean Islands indigenous peoples were not really indigenous, but descended of the Atlantean Diaspora. Paper and data eventually decay, but stone and gold tend to last a lot longer.
Still, all he had was very fragmentary and inductive. Doctor Pandina, the chair of the Anthropology Department, was holding out some pieces that his department was actively studying. Jack was arguing, to little avail, that what he had might actually be what he needed. Specifically, there was a golden mask that was supposed to be a Machine God cult ritual item, with some of the sacred texts inscribed on the inside.
Jack felt as though he really, really needed to get a look at that mask. Of course, he would then need to teach himself whatever pidginized form of Atlantean it was actually written in before he could really get a handle on it.
This is what Jack thought about while lying on his belly on the hotel room bed. Even SPF 60 had not been enough to keep him from transforming from a mild-mannered scientist to what appeared to be a humanoid cooked lobster. Alisa refused to baby him, telling him that he should have taken better care of himself.
Perhaps when the swelling went down in a couple of days, he could try again. This time, he would promise to allow priority of publication.
***
Natalie was making her rounds. The hospital bore no signs of the Code Atlas that had crippled it for nearly two weeks. Everything was finally getting back to normal.
As a registered nurse, she was constantly working overtime, long hours. She was paid well, but it always felt good to take off her shoes and sit in her chair at the end of an everlasting day. These past two weeks had been even harder, as some of the hospital staff had left in search of safer employment.
When things slowed down, she promised herself, shed see about following up on that volunteer gig with the Russians. While her father would have been shocked that she would even consider it, she found their philosophy to be harmless, neutered of all the evils that had been a part of the old Soviet Union.
They were genuinely concerned with making the world a better place. And Natalie, as tired and overworked as she was, wanted a part of that.
Plus, it would get her out of having to assist that insufferable Dr. Cottage, if only for a few hours.
***
Exodus Hunter Maya, creature of order, was rushing through the corridors of the temple. She had to work quickly.
Cryovex, theoretically Mayas underling, stopped her in the corridor.
Exodus Hunter, you have surely felt the sudden chaosburst in the probability lines. I must communicate with our home dimension. You have failed, Exodus Hunter, and you must be replaced. The Atlantis Event is repeating, though the probability lines show that the Savior Machine is not operating at full power yet. If the fleet can arrive in time, it can yet be stopped.
Maya sneered beneath her face mask. Hell Diver, you overstep your bounds. I know precisely where the Savior Machine is headed, and I believe that I can handle it on my own, without outside interference. Your reading of the probability lines is flawed, and you will be reprimanded if you exceed your authority.
Cryovex replied, completely without emotion, I have the support of every other Combine operative on this dimension. We have read the lines, and we know that the Savior Machine is headed to Paragon City. The only answer is to destroy the entire city from orbit. It is the only way to be sure. If the Savior Machine is annihilated, it will pave the way for further anti-chaos operations.
Maya cried, Out of my way, you fool! and threw Cryovex aside, charging ahead.
Cryovex called out behind her, Your pattern is becoming dangerously chaotic, Exodus Hunter. Do not leave the path!
***
Natasha, Cosmonaut Alpha, smirked as she drew another card. Playing poker against the Cosmonaut Ninjas on duty here was marginally less painful that centrifuge training, but only just.
Cosmonaut Ninja Ivan, contained of boundless energy and little sense of propriety, grammar or tact, was an easy mark. Cosmonaut Ninja Toma, however, was much harder to read, especially with his disdain for spoken communication. Toma grunted, and occasionally graced the conversation with a single word.
Her only saving grace was that the Potemkin was spacious. She felt she was far enough away from the two of them that she was unlikely to catch whatever mental disease they had contracted in deep space.
Watching and waiting for some event here on the Potemkin that would never come was infuriating.
Bah.
***
Merry looked to Yulia, and Yulia looked to Merry. Todays date was one they had memorized well.
It was the day that was the beginning of the end.
It was the day that Yevgeny Korsakov, their grandfather, would die.
Their efforts to find the Exodus Hunter and her crew had failed miserably. The Exodus Hunter struck when she willed and faded away completely, a ninja crossed with a king cobra. Likewise, the Savior Machine had not revealed itself to their searches.
Their communication was wordless, their minds set.
They had to try to save their grandfather. It was possible that he might be able to turn the tide of the war that the Earth had lost so totally in their own future. It was possible that the Imperial Combine could be stopped with his aid.
Even if their father, veteran of the Combine Wars, had been able to save a few thousand humans, had been able to fight a few Exodus Hunters as equals, he could not do enough on his own.
There were so many others that could be saved, so much potential in Paragon City that needed saving if the future was to hold any hope.
There just was not any way to save them all.
With heavy hearts, they made all haste towards the KGB Headquarters. They might save their grandfather, and their sorta-grandmother. Maybe the Space Battleship Potemkin could be used to buy some time.
So many maybes, so few certainties.
And the rules were that they couldnt tell anyone about what was coming.
Godcutters in hand, they prepared for a date with destiny.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
(Special bonus for my loyal readers - Yes, that's all six of you.
http://www.kgbss8.net/Cycles/
Visuals of all the characters! Required backstory reading! And free puppies!)
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XVI - Divergence
Yevgeny descended into the vault once more, a bag full of equipment bursting at the seams. It was time for a change, and he would do so now, before his nerve failed him.
The lift clearly needed some work, and Smersh put it on his mental to-do list. He would have more time in the near future, and this could be one of his projects.
The lift rattled and shuddered to a stop, and Yevgeny used his free hand and hip to push open the accordion-style metal gate. It was an annoyance, to be certain. Perhaps he would put automatic doors on the thing.
On the other hand, he mused, he would not be spending much more time down here, once this task was completed.
Walking down the short hall into the vault, he passed under the heavy blast doors that would seal the vault in case of an emergency. He had tested them after the vault had been built, and ignored them ever since. The sort of emergency that would require their use was not terribly likely. He just liked to be prepared for any eventuality.
The eventuality he was not prepared for down here was company, even though he had set those events in motion.
Tatyana was humming tunelessly to herself, a bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor beside her, a rag in her hand. She was dressed casually in capri pants, a tank top and sneakers, her hair tied up under a red bandanna. She had accomplished a great deal on her mission to create a clean working environment down here, but there was still more to do. As always.
Yevgeny decided not to make much of an issue of it. He had, after all, given her access to this place, and she had threatened to make it a more usable space. He lit a cigarette and crossed over to the pedestals where his armored suits stood, crimson sentinels waiting for orders to act.
He set down the heavy bag with a thump, which drew Tatyanas attention. Mumbled greetings were exchanged, as Yevgeny zipped open the brown canvas container and drew forth an oilcloth roll of tools. His knees creaked and popped as he squatted down on his heels.
Tatyana set down her rag and leaned against a low console, reaching back for her own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. They were both old Russians, and the concept of the No Smoking sign was a foreign one something only to be found around ammo dumps or fuel stations. None of this went through her mind, of course. She had just been working for long enough that she felt she deserved a break.
Yevgeny pulled out what appeared to be a cross-wise chest harness, made of links of high-impact plastic. He stood up, hit the external release buttons for the armorsilk cape, and watched the red and gold stars drift gracefully to the ground. He attached the harness around the torso of the armor suit, the only one he had not entirely built himself, and latched the harness together at the center of the chest into an elaborate buckle that appeared to incorporate several electronic devices. He opened the cover of the buckle, and made a few adjustments with a tiny screwdriver.
He then reclosed the buckles cover, and the small indicator lights turned from red to green. He nodded to himself, and pushed the bag over with his foot to the next pedestal.
Tatyana watched with curiosity, and finally broke her silence. What are you doing, Field Commander? she inquired, tapping ash from her cigarette into the ashtray.
Yevgeny replied, I am installing teleportation armor locks on my armor suits. With these in place, the suits will be immobilized, useless, unable to be called up or to be unlocked for use. As he spoke, he was installing a locking mechanism on his next suit.
Tatyana frowned. Why would you do that, Field Commander? You will not be able to use them.
Yevgeny made a few more adjustments. That is precisely the point. I am retiring from the hero business. I am just getting too old for this nonsense. Perhaps someday I shall find a worthy successor, and unlock the suits then. For now, I am just
removing the temptation, da?
Tatyana was agape for a moment. She attempted to hide her surprise by stubbing out her cigarette and lighting another; this in itself was an unusual habit for her. Yevgeny had moved on to his third armor suit. When she recovered herself, she walked over to stand over his shoulder as he knelt, watching his movements. What if there should be some sort of world-threatening catastrophe? Another Rikti invasion? Surely you can release the locks in case of that sort of thing.
Yevgeny grunted. Bah. I could, if I had to. Though it will take several hours to be able to remove these things without causing major damage. If the locks are improperly removed, they shall spray a quick-setting epoxy foam into the suit. It will bind the limbs and render the suit completely inoperative.
Yevgeny was in the middle of attaching the harness lock to a fourth suit of armor when the gravity of the situation finally hit Tatyana. The shock faded and anger, mixed liberally with pity and disdain, filled in the missing pieces. You are not retiring because you are old, Yevgeny Ivanovich. You may say that, but I know you better than this. What in the world is the reason for it? Have you become a coward?
There was so much that Tatyana wanted to say, but this thing akin to pain was strangling the formation of words. She wanted to tell him that he was overreacting to some perceived plight. She wanted to tell him that he was the heart and soul of the Section, and that it would wither and die without him leading them into combat. She wanted to tell him
things that she did not even understand, or want to admit to herself.
Instead, she tacked around him, trying to fix his gaze with her own, and let out a heartfelt, Why? In that instant, she looked into his eyes, and found herself wishing that she had not left her dark glasses across the room on the opposite counter.
Yevgeny sighed, putting down his tools and rubbing at his forehead. He deliberately avoided meeting her gaze. He felt almost trapped, unable to escape this confrontation, no matter how much he wanted to.
My reasons are my own. Surely you can give me this much, Tatyana. Let me do this. I need this. I cannot
His voice trailed off. His own reasons for doing this were clear enough to him, but he could not, would not speak them aloud.
It had been the pattern in these years since they had once again encountered each other. They were completely incapable of real communication. It had not always been thus, even though the world that this Tatyana came from was mere millimeters away from his own. Still, their shared experience seemed so similar that they might as well have been from the same universe. A universe where they had once been young and in love.
It was a different world, now. Too many years had passed, too many worlds had died. The barriers were not easily breached.
Tatyana had spent many years in a monastic, contemplative existence, without any human company, with only her mathematics and the problems of survival with little more than a paper-clip turned into a fishhook. Yevgeny had been a nomad who had been transformed into a leader, head of a bizarre family that had somehow worked for a time.
Tatyana saw what Yevgeny was doing. He was putting himself into his public face. He seemed to believe that he needed to be just as invulnerable and steadfast as his reputation, that he could never show an instant of emotional frailty or weakness to anyone. He was coating his spirit in armor, and letting the insecurity sap his strength and his will from the inside.
Tatyana knew Yevgeny perhaps as well as anyone. His core being had not changed over the decades. He would never show weakness to the outside until he collapsed from the inside.
She squared her shoulders. It was her duty as strike leader to ensure the field commanders fitness for duty. Yevgeny, you must tell me what it is, she said softly.
Yevgeny locked down another suit, and then looked to her. He intended to draw himself up, to rebuff her and close the matter forever. He took off his glasses and looked into her eyes, intending to end the issue once and for all.
And he found he could not.
He could not quantify the effect she was having upon him. He had faced down gods, archvillains and heroes without any fear. But Tatyana was something else again.
Yevgeny took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. I must do this, Tanushka, he said, addressing her by a diminutive that he had not used in over three decades. I am just so
tired. I know that you have told me that I am not using my resources efficiently, that I am driving myself to distraction.
It is true, I have been driving myself down into the ground. But that is just it! Trying to do all that I have done is turning me into
into something that I do not want to be. I have driven everyone away. I hardly see my daughters anymore, and I want to be in their lives, however belated or little it may be. Whatever it is, it will be better than what I am doing. Yevgeny looked away and tried to fumble for the last of the teleportation locks.
There is more, isnt there, Zhenechka? Tatyana asked quietly.
Yevgeny sighed. Da. Of course there is. They call it the loneliness of command. These old shoulders are not strong enough to carry it anymore. He dropped the harness, and fumbled for a cigarette.
Tatyana leaned in to light it for him.
I have no friends anymore, Tanushka, no one who will treat me as an equal. It is as though my position as leader has cut me off from my comrades, and I can no longer stomach it. I am trying to cut out a cancer that is choking out every
single
other
aspect of my life. Yevgeny said, simultaneously relieved and hating the fact that he was so open right now. So
vulnerable. The armored soul was stripped of its protection.
Tatyana surprised him, and stunned him, by beginning to chuckle. It started deep in her throat, and then it graduated into a full-fledged laugh. Zhenechka, you are such a fool! You have so many friends you cannot even count them. It is not that your command is driving them away; it is that you have driven yourself from them. You have friends, if only you will let them be your friends.
Yevgeny recovered from his shock, and grabbed Tatyana by the shoulders, giving her a little shake. Bah. You do not know, do not understand. Name even one that could treat me as their comrade rather than their leader. The world can no longer look at me, and see Yevgeny Korsakov. All that they can see is the great hero who will save them all, Comrade Smersh. Knowing that, Tanushka, tell me one who could be my friend, he begged, looking into her eyes.
Tatyana returned his gaze; her laughter faded as she swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, and started listing names of those she knew would welcome his friendship, Jack could be your friend, if you let him. Natasha. Ludmila. Kohlstadt. Hypatia
Her voice trailed off as her throat clogged again.
She continued softly, "Me. I would be your friend."
The moment stretched, and gravitational attraction did the rest. There was nothing else for them to do, no alternate universe where it would not have happened.
Neither would ever be able to say who had initiated the kiss, but they would be able to agree that the years of separation and loss were all expressed in it.
The earth moved.
And then the alarms went off.
***
The lines of probability stretched onwards, fading into the infinite. Contortions of time and chaos made the tangle illegible beyond a certain point in the future. The lines on this chaotic world shifted and shimmered, beginning to converge towards a breaking point.
Those who could see those lines began to act, to guide the stream of glittering, multicolored threads into the future they most wished to see.
What none of them could perceive, could never have seen unless they had been looking directly at it at that instant, was a line splitting itself. A bright crimson line unraveled itself and split away from a much dimmer, pale yellow one. This yellow line briefly crossed a brilliant green one, then threw itself away again as the crisis point approached.
The red and the yellow could be traced back, together, for many years. In some ways, one could claim that they were the same line for over twenty years. Now, infinitesimally, they were divided.
That divergence would prove most important.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XVII - A Bad Day for Dying
Merry and Yulia were just arriving at the headquarters of the Section when the meteor struck it, burning through the sky with stupendous force.
Incredibly, the celestial apparition seemed to slow as it crashed through the roof. Dimly visible within the blaze of energy was what appeared to be a humanoid figure.
Merry cried out, Dedushka! as she sprinted towards the entrance. Yulia followed closely behind as the red warning lights began to flash. This must have been the time when their grandfather had died.
They only knew that he had died the day Paragon City had been put to the sword.
***
Tanya Palmer felt rather than heard the impact, a concussion washing over her body. The cloud of pulverized concrete followed an instant later, coating her in dust. She cowered under a heavy table, certain that there was some sort of bomb or attack going on.
A heavy crunch, the sound of a heavy footstep crushing gravel into powder. Then another, slow, determined.
Tanya reached down, loosening her pistol from the holster strapped to her thigh. This was what it really was to be a hero, right? Facing impossible odds and prevailing?
Tanya scrambled out, aiming her pistol in the direction of the sound. A cloud of particulate concealed the shape within, but it was huge. At least eight feet tall, and massively built. She began to tighten her finger on the trigger and called out, Freeze!
The figure turned towards her, and impossibly bright glowing eyes stared out at her, their luminescence piercing the dust and the darkness.
Tanyas nerve failed her. She turned and ran.
The shape did not pursue her.
***
Yevgeny looked to Tatyana, and broke away from her.
We must go, now. Run.
He moved rapidly, dragging her by the hand towards the elevator shaft. He practically threw her at the lift, as the blast doors were beginning to lower.
Yevgeny had to crouch to get under the first, and rolled on his side to get under the second. The doors locked themselves into place, solid walls designed to keep everything inside undisturbed for years if need be.
Yevgeny, what is happening? Tatyana demanded. She was a bit discombobulated by recent events.
The Section is under attack. Send out the alert, all available agents immediately. Yevgeny looked grim as he opened the lift gate. We have to get up there.
***
Exodus Hunter Maya watched the events with amusement. This attack, of whatever nature, would be devastating to the coordination and tactics of her enemies.
In the confusion, she would complete a portion of her mission. She laughed to no-one and nothing in particular. Who would have thought that a paragon of order would find chaos so delightfully helpful?
***
Natashas communicator was blaring loudly, an alarm that required all agents immediately respond. Ivan and Toma had similar alerts.
They were two hundred miles off the coast, and unable to respond. Natasha cursed bitterly. Anything would be better than sitting here with these two defective heroes.
Ivan called over from a console, Ah, is much activity going on sonar! Is for looking like we are to have company! Ivans Russian was truly atrocious.
Toma grunted from the other console. Radar, he said, pointing to the screen. Natasha looked at the signatures, probably helicopters.
Ivan grinned like a four year old who had just worked a masterpiece in crayon on the living room wall. I will be AWESOME! he cried out.
Natasha rolled her eyes and mentally steeled herself. Apparently, she was going to get her wish.
The telephone rang. Natasha picked it up and asked the caller to identify themselves. This is Lieutenant Jones, Vanguard Shield, for Natasha Popova. We have multiple spacecraft of unknown origin on our long-range sensors, and we need all available pilots. How soon can you report to base?
Natasha swore with great feeling. I am on a derelict craft that may be under attack by commandos in just a few moments. Can I call you back later, as soon as I am able? I must make certain that the two idiots I am stationed with survive this encounter. She slammed down the receiver.
Toma nodded to her, and grunted out, Ready.
Natasha shrugged. Stand fast to repel boarders. Nothing in her cosmonaut training had prepared her to ever make such a statement seriously.
***
The lift opened, and Yevgeny and Tatyana stumbled out. Yevgeny coughed in the dust and smoke that filled the hallway. Yevgeny stumbled away, his hand trailing along the wall as he coughed.
Vision was impossible and breathing not much easier. Yevgeny tapped the side of his glasses, cycling through to thermal vision in hopes of being able to perceive something, anything.
There was a flash of motion, and suddenly Yevgeny felt himself falling to the ground. A shower of shrapnel, bits of brick exploding under a thundering impact, rained down upon him. Above him stood the machine.
It was humanoid, a massive blue and gold monstrosity. It was all armor and muscle, a hint of organic design principles under plates of shining, impregnable metal. Glowing red eyes peered out from a massive turret of a head. Massive forearms terminated in huge fists sheathed in blazing energy. One of those fists was embedded deeply in the wall where Yevgenys head had been mere seconds ago.
Yevgeny looked down, and saw his granddaughter with her arms wrapped around his knees. She had saved his life.
The two of them rolled in different directions, to confuse this new and unexpected enemy. Yevgeny asked, largely to himself, What the hell is that thing?
Tatyana was peppering it with radioactive attacks, but the machine ignored them. Yulia, his other granddaughter, lunged in with her bronze-colored blade. Yevgeny decided to take this opportunity to prepare better for battle.
Initiate transport protocol Rho Chi Seven Eight Dash Two! he called out, the code sequence that would activate the KGBs teleportation network, sending his armor hurtling through space to instantly equip him for combat in a fine example of Soviet engineering, lovingly restored and improved by his own hand.
His communicator emitted a loud click, and nothing happened.
Belatedly, Yevgeny remembered that he had been installing the teleportation locks on his armor suits. He ducked under a roundhouse punch that would have been devastating.
Yevgeny was desperately trying to remember if any of his suits were still unlocked. He had been distracted during the process.
Click.
Click.
Click.
***
Shield Six to Shield Ops, we have visual contact.
Stand by, Shield Six. Were going to try to open communications with them.
The Vanguard space fleet was dwarfed by the strange craft that had suddenly appeared in the moons shadow. A few large craft and a handful of fighters were travelling to communicate with these new visitors. And, if necessary, to combat them. Vanguard believed in negotiation from a position of strength.
The V.S.S. Light Dragon, flagship of the fleet, was approaching with its weapons and shields powered down. A sleek vessel, thrumming with barely controlled power, it was the finest space vessel ever fielded by humanity.
The fleet before it was clearly never designed by any human. Insectoid, with a bio-organic profile, the massive vessels dwarfed the Light dragon. The smallest among them was estimated to be eight times the tonnage, and the various spines and protrusions stretching out into the void from the central spire gave the illusion of even greater size. They could be peaceful, Captain Lewis thought, but they certainly looked dangerous.
Open hailing frequencies, Lewis barked.
A lance of brilliant, crackling energy snaked out and struck the V.S.S. Solar Wing. It was as though a chef at a fancy restaurant was filleting a fish the beam sliced back and forth rapidly, cutting the Solar Wing into eight equally sized pieces. The sections drifted, slowly, horribly, for three seconds before the chain reaction of the multiple generators sent a ripple of explosions along the fuselage and vaporized the entire hull.
Lewis allowed himself half a second to gape before barking out orders. Weapons free, weapons free, engage at will! Take the bastards down! Never say die!
The Vanguard fleet began firing at the gargantuan starships, unleashing particle hell and railgun fury.
How the heck
Lewis choked out. Tactical doctrine posited, in fact demanded, that vessels of that size would be unable to maneuver like fighters, nimbly pirouetting and dodging their way through fields of fire.
Those were his last words before the Light Dragon left this plane of existence.
***
With a casual, backhanded blow, the robot sent Merry flying into the brick wall. The twins were both glowing with a blue nimbus, protective abilities granted by their heritage. Yulias blade struck in, sparking off the heavy armor without effect. Yevgeny called out more transport codes, hoping to find one that would work.
Tatyanas transport code had worked flawlessly, of course. She was staying at standoff range, pelting the machine with a mixture of radiation and ice.
The machine was impervious, unstoppable. The combined attacks seemed as efficacious as a mosquito attacking a battleship. Merry was trying to gather herself again for another attack, but the strike had left her weak.
Stay back, dedushka! Yulia called out. The momentary distraction cost her, and her blade went flying away.
Unimpeded, the artificial being stepped into the lift. The cables gave way instantly to its immense mass. The lift fell to the bottom of the shaft with a crash.
Yulia looked to her grandfather as she retrieved her weapon. What could it be going after down there?
Yevgeny scowled. Oh, just the Korsakov Device, a potential weapon of mass destruction. Nothing important. Bah.
The shaft was filled with the whine of a turbojet spooling up, and the small portal revealed a flash of the machine rushing past.
Damn it! Tatyana cried. Where could it be going?
Yevgeny snapped out an order. Look for some clue, where it came from, where it might be going. And quickly, we have not much time.
Tatyana and Yulia went to inspect the point of impact, while Yevgeny and Merry stayed where they were.
That was the moment the Exodus Hunter chose to strike.
***
The upper deck of the Space Battleship Potemkin had become a free-fire zone. Neither of the commando teams had expected to encounter the other, and they were trading bullets across the way. The Russians had managed to insert a team headed for the engine room, and the Americans had a squad headed for the bridge.
Cosmonaut Alpha stood in the bridge, ready to handle anyone who came in. The concussion grenade tossed inside was wrapped in a cocoon of dark matter and rendered inert. The first SEAL who entered after the explosive was stunned with a blast of concentrated cosmic power; the bullets that came her way were slowed by an incredibly concentrated gravitational gradient. It was as though the SEALs were trying to hit a target atop Everest.
The Russian commandos were faring little better in the engine room. Ivan was frightening enough, with metallic spikes covering his entire body, conducting lethal amounts of electricity. Toma was merely quiet and huge, slamming helmeted heads together hard enough to crack the protective covers.
Still, they were but three, and the commandos would eventually overrun them. They made their stand, knowing it to be eventually futile. Natasha shut the hatch and locked it. It would not stop a determined enemy, but it would slow them down.
Natasha remembered a boast from a Red Army engineer she had once known. Walls are nothing but doors with a different sort of key, he had said, bragging about the power of explosives.
***
Maya dropped to the floor silently behind the pair. Yevgeny and Merry were distracted, unprepared for the assault. Maya smiled behind her mask, preparing to pepper them with lethal spines.
A sudden sense of wrongness filled Merrys brain, and she spun, whipping her Godcutter across the path the spine took. She dropped into a combat stance, drawing her second, completely normal blade, and prepared for battle.
Mayas eyes widened. You are not the Templar, she screamed. How!?!
Merry allowed a small smile before she moved in to strike. Maya ducked the blow, and threw a spore pod at the unarmored Yevgeny Korsakov. Or, at least, where she thought he stood.
Her perception of the probability lines should have allowed her to predict Yevgenys movements; he was a very order-oriented individual. He should have been utterly predictable. The bright crimson probability line should have been two feet to the left.
The vines spread out across the brick wall, harmless and ineffective.
Merry pressed the attack, locking a two-foot long spike into the crosspiece of her weapon. The point was mere centimeters from her throat.
Maya snarled, withdrew the spine with a rapid flick of her wrist. Merry stumbled a moment, the resistance she was facing suddenly evaporating. With an almost casual gesture of her fingers, Maya sent a cloud of choking spores into Merrys face.
Merry coughed and staggered a moment. That moment was all that Maya needed. She ignored the probability lines, focusing instead on the man before her. She would enjoy this. First, the Russian, then the Savior Machine. Success was assured.
She savored the moment, lining up her shot with care. Her arm drew back, preparing to drive the spike through the Russians heart and into the wall behind him.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XVIII - The Savior Machine
The computer was up and running. Tatyana, while she had some computer savvy, was nowhere near the expert that Yevgeny was.
Still, she knew that the security on the computers was at a high level, and that the information that was displayed on the screen should not have been accessible to normal individuals. Yet, somehow, the machine had broken through the layers of encryption and passwords with almost no trouble, as it had not been in the building more than five minutes.
The screen displayed the data on the Potemkin, including its location and capabilities.
Yulia said, Thats not good, is it? We should tell dedushka.
Tatyana scowled as she replied, Da, we should. And I need to call the Potemkin.
***
Natasha slung a flew blasts through the hatch, forcing the commando team to take cover. The communicator on the console chirped, the standard supergroup frequency spewing out information.
Attention Potemkin contingent, there is a hostile robot that is on its way towards you. Its intentions are unknown, but it is extremely powerful. Proceed with caution.
Natasha rolled her eyes. Could anything else possibly go wrong today?
She would worry about an evil robot trying to attack the Potemkin after she worried about the commandos who were trying to take over the ship.
Some days, it just did not pay to get out of bed.
***
Yevgeny knew that he was very likely going to die in the next four seconds.
The knowledge did much to focus his mind. He was running through recent events at lightning speed, with perfect recall impinging itself on his consciousness.
He knew what he had to do. He held his left arm out in front of him at an angle.
Initiate transport protocol Gamma Chi Nine Nine Zero Zero.
It was the last suit he had completed, the heaviest suit of armor he had built to date. The power shield extended and flickered to life just as the spike reached him.
Yevgeny Korsakov had, once again, become Comrade Smersh, wearing his Soviet Shield class armor. It had to be the shortest retirement on record.
Comrade Smersh lunged in, striking at Maya with the edge of his suits shield. On his communicator, he began to issue instructions. Comrade Strike Leader, take Yulia and whatever agents you can gather. Get to the Potemkin as fast as you can. I am
a bit tied down at the moment, but I shall go when I can. Smersh ducked under an arcing strike of Mayas natural weapons, and came up with a double-fisted blow that drove his shield into Mayas face.
The power behind that strike had been known to send Lord Nemesis and his several thousand pounds of brass flying into the air; Maya barely budged, taking only a half-step backwards.
Maya responded by throwing out a few pulsing pods that expanded rapidly into entangling vines, and the battle was rejoined once more.
***
Tatyana led Yulia out the front door. Merry asked, Babushka, how do agents normally get to the Potemkin?
Tatyana frowned momentarily. We usually have to take a boat out there, because we are always delivering supplies as well as agents. There is no rapid transport there. I can fly, but
Yulia shook her head. Thats no good unless you can carry me.
Tatyana began to raise her communicator to her lips once more when all sounds were smothered by an intense localized windstorm. Tatyana looked up, and saw a large red helicopter nimbly lowering itself to the street, avoiding power lines and buildings with incredible precision.
Tanya Palmer, the Peoples Pistoleer, waved her hand from the pilots seat, motioning the two to get inside.
Yulia and Tatyana clambered in, each pulling on the helmet that contained a headset and mike. This was necessary to communicate, even within the confines of the chopper.
So, where are we going? Tanya asked cheerfully. I heard the order on the communicator thingy. Whats a Potato-kin?
***
The Spetznaz commando had broken into the engine room. He had volunteered, telling his fellow soldiers that he could distract the enemy. He raised his rifle, sighting along it to shoot the smaller of the two, the blue-clad ninja.
Faster than the eye could follow, two events happened near simultaneously. The commandos finger tightened on the trigger, and Cosmonaut Ninja Ivan slung a steel spike down the barrel of the rifle.
The muzzle of the rifle became a steel flower with a loud bang.
The commando looked at his rifle for a moment, and then threw it aside, drawing his knife to close in on Ivan. The knife was not designed as a utility tool; it was a weapon, plain and simple. The blade was coated with a non-reflective black paint, to prevent the users position from being given away. The handle was a special polymer that would not slip in a users grip, even when covered in blood. He held the blade as a fencer would, fingers curled under, thumb aligned with the blade.
The commando had been looking forward to this. While he was extremely competent with his rifle, as were all the Spetznaz he served with, he was even more skilled in personal combat. He served as his platoons instructor in close quarters combat, and he had never fought a super-powered individual with just a knife before. Adrenalin rushed through him as he began to weave back and forth, striking out like a cobra a few times just to get a feel for his opponent. He would never pay for another drink again in his lifetime with the story of this fight.
Ivans metal spikes served as well as the commandos knife. It was more knife-fighting than fencing, with the two constantly maneuvering around each other to try to find an advantage. Ivan managed to corner the commando, and laughed aloud, knowing he was going to win.
The commando knew that he was in a bad spot, too, but he also knew exactly what to do. He was, after all, an expert. He rapidly turned his body to the left, showing his shoulder to Ivan. He leapt forward, throwing his body at the wall, and planted his combat boot at about waist height. He pushed off, twisting his body to the right, and bounced with both feet off the other wall, tucking his body into a tight ball and flipping over Ivans head. He raised his knife to strike at Ivans unprotected back.
Toma brought a boxing glove the size of a bowling ball down atop the commandos head.
Ivan turned on Toma. For why you do this? I WAS AWESOME! He had knife, I had me, and I was all like cosmonaut ninja chop! I would win!
Toma shrugged. Bonk, he said, philosophically.
***
Smersh came in with a rapid right cross to attack the bizarre pod creature. It was not unlike the one he had fought in the hospital. The creature tried to bite onto his armored gauntlet, and Smersh shook it for a moment, trying to get it away.
He had to hunker down behind his shield for a moment, as the whipping vines that Maya had created were lashing at him. Merry was doing her best to keep them pruned, but it seemed that for every one she hewed in twain, two more replaced it.
Maya had them hemmed in; their escape routes denied them. It was a moment out of Sun Tzu: On deadly ground, fight.
Smersh stood and started punching the wall rapidly and forcefully. The structural damage would be costly to repair, but it was simply not a factor at this moment. The pod creature twitched and fell to the ground, still. An armor integrity warning flashed up on the display that was patched into Smershs sunglasses one of Mayas deadly spikes had found its mark.
Smersh stomped on the floor with one of his heavy boots. The hydraulic pistons took his movement and amplified it, causing cracks to appear all across the floor. Employing the technique known to the ancients as hiding behind the shield, he dug his armored fingers into the concrete at his feet. The piece of rock that came out must have weighed nearly two hundred kilograms, but to Smersh and his heavy armor suit, it was easily manipulated. Smersh brought his improvised club above his head, and charged in at Maya. Maya attempted to bring up an arm to block the attack, but the sheer momentum of Smershs rough-hewn weapon knocked the arm aside. Smersh struck again and again, striking his attacker in the head and torso.
Maya had not foreseen this, not predicted this method of attack. Smersh should be in an entirely different place, using an entirely different set of tactics. The abilities that served her so well in combat were simply not equipped to deal with this independent Smersh. The probability lines were askew.
The boulder of concrete was coming for her again. She launched a needle of chitin into the rock. The needle sprouted, its roots finding microscopic fissures within the concrete block, winding through before expanding and growing. It was a weed coming through a driveway, sped up to one thousand times the speed.
The chunk of concrete crumbled and was rendered useless, and Maya launched her counterattack. A vine whipped out and lashed Smershs feet out from under him. Maya came in close after, a spine aimed for Smershs throat.
***
Special Forces teams are trained to be flexible in their thinking and their tactics. While they are deployed with a specific mission in mind, their commanders are granted a great latitude in how the particular objectives are achieved. The practical upshot of this mindset is that both SEALs and Spetznaz carry a variety of heavy weapons for any given mission.
This becomes important when, in the midst of a moderately heavy firefight raging across the upper surface of a space battleship floating in international waters, a new challenger arrives.
The robot landed lightly on the deck, barely making a sound. It carried a package under one arm. The robot swept its gaze from stem to stern, surveying the damage and the damagers.
Shots rang out from both factions, peppering the robot with small arms fire. The impacts appeared to have no effect. The robot merely stood, a monolith of steadfast resilience.
Heavier weapons were called in. First, the grenade launchers. The shrapnel had less effect than the rifle rounds. Next, heavier machine guns mounted on tripods. Nothing.
The rocket launcher deployed by the Russians was likewise ineffective. The Americans were discussing whether mortar rounds might be advisable or whether air support should be called in when the machine began to move.
Smoke and confusion reigned on the Potemkin. Muzzle flashes and glowing fields of energy surged in and out of view. Occasionally, there would be a thud or a yell of pain. Within three minutes, the deck was cleared, save for the machine.
The commandos found themselves treading water, uncertain what had just happened.
The robot found the hatch, and entered the Space Battleship Potemkin.
***
A blade slashed out, and the tip of the spine went flying off into the distance. Fates Champion leveled her Godcutter at Exodus Hunter Maya.
You think Im bad, you should meet my sister, she quipped.
Maya laid down a wall of brambles between herself and Fates Champion, temporarily isolating herself with Comrade Smersh. Maya needed, desperately, to kill Comrade Smersh, and to do so quickly. Spines flared out of her palms in a rapid-fire burst, only to impact on Smershs shield. Smersh took the hits without flinching, rushing in at Maya with the intent of crushing her between shield and wall.
Maya responded by sending a shower of thorns all around her. They extruded through her chest, her back, her thighs, and her arms, creating a lethal fragmentation pattern all around her. Smershs glasses showed a number of alarms, indicating hits all over the thighs and lower legs. Maya struck again, this time at the very center of the shield. If she could pierce the power field, she could disable the shield entirely, rendering Smersh much more vulnerable.
The point pierced, but very slowly. Maya pressed on, as Smersh held his ground, trying to trap Maya in a place where he could decisively end the battle.
There was a flash behind Maya, and Fates Champion struck down on Mayas leg, biting deep. We got a few tricks from our mama, too, *****. Merry had cut a hole in the bramble wall just large enough that she could see through it, and had teleported herself back into the battle.
Maya howled in pain, turning on Fates Champion. This was all the opportunity that Smersh needed.
He grabbed Maya by the throat, and slammed her through the wall. Before she could recover, he continued on, smashing through all sorts of architecture, finishing by throwing Maya down to the street outside the KGBs Headquarters at 1917 Industrial Way, Kings Row.
Maya looked up at the juggernaut that was Smersh, saw the anger in his eyes. And then she saw the battering ram that was his fist, coming from on high towards her head. She jerked her head aside, feeling the tectonic force as Smershs piledriver blow impacted the asphalt.
She could not predict his movements, and she could not face him and this new Eternal Templar. The Eternal Templar she had known must have died, for a new one to have risen in his place. No matter. The last time she and the previous Templar had fought, it had been a draw. This new one could not possibly be as strong.
She would return for this Templar, and then for Smersh.
Escape and evasion were her only options now. She laid a hand almost gently on Smershs fist, almost a lovers touch. Within her own body, she created the lifeforms she needed, a rapidly-growing vine with tendrils stronger than woven steel. The orifice in her palm irised open and pushed the seed out into the open air. In a thousand other universes, a thousand other lifeforms were weakened as they gave some of their matter and energy for this one. The vines set down roots quickly, digging deep into the ground as it simultaneously grew upwards, enfettering Smershs gauntlet.
Maya got to her feet, leaping away impossibly fast. Smersh swore bitterly, and wrenched his fist out of the ground, heedless of the excessive strain to his armors hydraulic systems. He attempted to leap after her, engaging the thruster-assisted leaping abilities built into the suit.
His leap carried him about three feet across the street. A steady stream of hydraulic fluid dripped to the street in accusation. He looked down, and saw the spike transfixing his leg armor, piercing the pressure system. Better than his leg, but still not easily repaired.
Merry came out to join him. Its okay, dedushka. We won this time. Now we have to save the Potemkin too, right?
Smersh stamped his foot in frustration. Nyet, he said. We have no method of getting there. It would take too much time to set up the teleportation network. The boat is too slow. And all of my armor, save for this, is locked away, inaccessible.
Yevgeny fixed his granddaughter in the eye as he reached into his armors utility belt, pulling out a lighter and a battered pack of unfiltered cigarettes. It is out of our hands now, Merry. All we can do now is hope.
***
The machine was an implacable force. It headed directly for the bridge, striking down any who stood in its way, whether they be American or Russian. At the hatch that led to the bridge, it paused a moment, before reaching out its free hand, and laying a palm on the gunmetal grey surface.
Natasha watched in surprise as the bolts disengaged themselves and the machine strode in. Its red, laser-like eyes met hers. Natasha prepared another burst of cosmic power, one that would probably be ineffective. Still it would be better than facing defeat without even attempting victory.
Natasha did not know where this machine had come from, nor did she know its purpose. But, when she saw it, it was with a shock of recognition.
The machine, too, recognized her, and stopped.
The machine spoke to her in a language that she did not recognize, an ancient, eldritch tongue from the depths of antiquity. Natasha did not know the language, but she understood it. It was as though it had been hard-coded into her linguistic cortex, bypassing the normal methods of acquisition.
Permission to proceed.
Natasha laughed, a harsh, bitter little thing. You are
asking my permission? Permission for what?
The machine replied, stepping closer, looming above her. Permission to carry out primary duties. Natasha shrank back, almost involuntarily. She could sense the sheer power of the thing.
Natasha shook her head. What are you? I do not know you.
I am the Savior Machine. You have known me since the time before time. I must proceed for the good of humanity. Permission to proceed?
Time before time? The 1960s were not that long ago, comrade Savior Machine.
Your origin is much more ancient than that; more ancient than I. Permission to proceed?
I do not know what your primary, ah, directive is.
In sixteen of your minutes, an Imperial Combine war fleet will sterilize the area known as Paragon City, and attempt to disable this unit. Should this occur, humanity will be doomed. This units primary duty is to defend humanity against the Imperial Combine. I require this vessel. Permission to proceed?
Comrade Savior Machine, if you wish to take this vessel, you must
you must take me with you.
Condition accepted. Permission to proceed?
Natasha sighed. Smersh would likely have her head for this, but the thought of riding on the cosmic winds in the finest space vessel she had ever set foot in, to save the Earth or die in the attempt, was intoxicating.
Natasha threw caution to the wind. It was a bad day for dying, but no worse than any other.
Permission granted. The ancient language flowed from her, weaving an intriguing sonic web. Natasha stepped aside, permitting the Savior Machine to set down the device it carried and place its hands on the helm. Its fingers glowed, and the ship shuddered and began to change.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
XIX - Salvation
Ivan and Toma were suddenly wrenched to the left. They had been in the engine room one moment, and now they found themselves in the cold Atlantic Ocean.
Ivan began splashing and flailing around wildly. Is for helps, Toma! Not for swimming! Ack! Glub!
Toma removed his boxing gloves, and grasped Ivan by the helmet, his huge sausage-like fingers wrapping around it from temple to temple. Toma began an eggbeater kick, and lifted Ivan out of the water with his one hand.
Wet, said Toma.
Ivan conquered his panic, and looked around. The water near the stern of the Space Battleship Potemkin was beginning to boil, and a rather large number of wet commandos were surrounding them.
Toma! If they should dare to come too close, I shall them all zap with spectacular cosmonaut ninja electric powers! Ivan was waving his arms menacingly at the nearest commando, who was completely unimpressed.
Toma turned Ivan so that they could see eye to eye, and with his free hand he pointed a thumb at his chest. Ouch, Toma said emphatically.
Ivan understood immediately. Ah, Toma! It shall be our secret final weapon of superness! Not until moment that is last!
***
Tanya called over the communicator, Um, I think I see the Po-totem-kin. Big old spaceship with a bunch of people swimming around it?
Tatyana leaned forward and picked up a pair of field glasses. Da, that is it, but I do not know why all the people are swimming about
I see two of our people. We should try to pull them out, da?
Yulia peered over her grandmothers shoulder. Um
we should worry about all those guys with the guns, shouldnt we?
Tanya giggled. Wow, this is like, all crazy and stuff! Cosmonaut ninjas, commandos, spaceships
you talked about boring soup kitchen stuff when you hired me!
Tatyana frowned. I think we can dismiss the men with the guns until they begin to shoot at us. It looks like many of them have lost their weapons in any event. Tanya, bring us in closer to our people.
Tanya brought the control sticks over, bringing the red helicopter down closer to the water. The helicopter suddenly began to shake, and Tanyas forearms bulged as she wrestled to keep control of the aircraft. Below them, the Potemkin began to rise out of the water, sending waves sloshing over the heads of all the involuntary swimmers.
The Potemkin accelerated away smoothly, as a transformation began to come over it. Clean, angular lines were becoming more curved and rounded, and the craft was stretching out, becoming longer and narrower.
Yulia broke the silence as the Potemkin breached the sky. Um, I thought the Potemkin didnt fly anymore?
Tatyana was playing some rope out the side door. She turned and said, Nyet, it is not supposed to be capable. Let us see what our
intrepid comrades have to say on the matter, da?
***
Natasha was sitting comfortably in the captains chair. Before her, the Savior Machine was doing all the work.
Much of the Savior Machine was no longer visible. It had begun to merge with the superstructure of the ship, leaving only its head visible on the bridge. Much of the ship had changed, becoming much sleeker and shinier. Also, the device it had carried with it had been subsumed into the matter of the Potemkin itself.
Contact in five minutes.
The machine was keeping her updated, treating her as the captain for some reason. She did not accept it lightly; it seemed as though the machine was keeping something from her.
The engines screamed, their power increased manyfold. The weapons systems had, if anything, grown larger and more impressive. Before her, the wreckage of the Vanguard fleet was drifting aimlessly.
Natasha scowled. This Imperial Combine, who or whatever they were, would pay.
The organic ships were locking into a geosynchronous orbit over Paragon City. Apparently, their bombardment would begin at any moment.
Firing the guns, the Savior Machine reported dispassionately.
***
Maya stared at the communicator in disbelief. The voice on the other end informed her again, Exodus Hunter, your command privileges have been revoked. The fleet will proceed as ordered, and I will not put you through to command.
She screamed at the functionary, You fools! The Savior Machine is alive and active! It has not been stopped, and it is coming for you! If you do not move NOW, you will all be destroyed! It will be the Atlantis Event all over again!
Exodus Hunter, your command privel- the voice cut out in a burst of chaos.
Maya threw her communicator away in disgust. They could only blame themselves.
***
In one moment, the Combine fleet had been in perfect formation before them. Then a flash of light, lasting no more than a millisecond, and two of the ships were reduced to a fine cosmic powder. The Savior Machines modifications to the Potemkin had created a fearsome vessel, indeed.
Faster than thought, the Imperial Combine vessels that had survived were breaking off to regroup and, presumably, to counterattack.
The Potemkin made a high-gravity turn as the Combine began a coordinated barrage. A jolt shook the vessel, but it still returned fire. Another of the huge starships became a glittering galaxy of debris.
Control interface damaged. The Savior Machine exhibited no emotions.
Natasha responded instantly. Give manual control to me, and continue to handle the rest. We shall blow them out of space and time!
Affirmative.
Natasha leapt over to the control panel, and began to fly the new, improved Potemkin. The flight thus far had given her enough of a feel for the capabilities of the ship. Her finely tuned piloting skills should do the rest.
The battle began.
Natasha grinned. Wait until Irina heard about this one!
***
Toma and Ivan were dripping all over the floor of the helicopter. Ivan took off his helmet and shook out his short blond hair. I am never fearing for death, he declared, but never for to let me drowning, da?
Tatyana attempted to debrief the two ninjas, but between Tomas reticence and Ivans launch into an epic, incoherent tale of what seemed to be a knife fight, no information about Natashas fate or the attacking robot was forthcoming.
The helicopter hovered for a few moments, until a pair of Apache helicopters arrived in the area. Um, were being told to leave the airspace or well, um, get shot down. A Black Hawk helicopter was visible in the distance, a winch in place outside the side door. It was preparing for recovery operations, to retrieve the SEALs in the water.
Tatyana frowned. There were so many unanswered questions. Head back to headquarters. We shall try to learn more when we can, da?
Tanya pulled out smoothly, but not without a pout. I was hoping to see an awesome aerial battle with you flying around and zapping helicopters, Tatyana.
Ivan leapt into the discussion, saying Da! Is for tying me with ropes and I am fighting helicopters that are flighting over ocean! It will be AWESOME!
Oh, stuff a cork in it, said Yulia.
***
Natasha guided the Potemkin through a looping maneuver, and the Savior Machine fired the Star Hammer class cannon that it had modified with the Korsakov device once more. The final Combine vessel was crippled, nearly forty percent of its mass missing. It would briefly become a meteor visible to much of the Eastern seaboard before imploding on impact with the water.
Natasha let out a cheer.
Primary duty complete. The Savior Machines head swiveled around to look at Natasha.
Excellent. It is time to return home, then.
The Space Battleship Potemkin glided through the atmosphere effortlessly, setting off radar stations all over the world. It came down quickly, slowing itself to a gentle hover over the roof of 1917 Industrial Avenue, Kings Row.
Smersh and Fates Champion ran up to the rooftop to meet it. A door opened in the side, and Natasha stepped out. She turned and addressed the Savior Machine in that antediluvian language.
Thank you, Savior Machine. What shall you do now?
I must return to my sleep. When next the entire Earth is threatened by the Imperial Combine, the Savior Machine shall return.
Will you fight no other threats?
Only in the case that the Earth cannot defend itself, when humanity will be lost without me. But humans are resourceful.
I shall miss you, Savior Machine. I feel I have met you before.
I shall be present in your dreams. Whenever you are calling my name, I shall be there. Farewell and goodbye, Mother.
Natasha had no words as the Potemkin flew away.
Smersh stood nearby, smoking a cigarette. So, Cosmonaut Alpha, I do not suppose that you wish to tell me what that was all about?
Natasha shook her head. I shall try, but I do not know myself.
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
Epilogue - Ends Begin
Yulia was pointedly not looking at her sister.
Oh, come on, Yules, you have to talk to me sometime, Merry pleaded.
Yulia rolled her eyes at her sister. Dad sent us both through the Destiny portal to try to save the world, and we decided that we needed to save dedushka, and you saved him like six times, and I didnt even get to once.
Merry was conciliatory. Maybe you can save him next time.
***
Tanya Palmer was sitting very uncomfortably in a comfortable chair. Her knee itched, but she did not want to scratch it. The big boss man was pacing back and forth behind his desk, apparently lost in thought. If she dared to speak, to move even enough to reach her knee, if she even breathed too hard, he would suddenly remember that she was there.
The old man stopped pacing and turned to face her.
Comrade Miss Palmer, I am afraid you cannot remain among us. Smersh lit up a cigarette before he continued. Your actions during the incident were above and beyond the call of duty, I agree. While you did flee from the Savior Machine, this was a wise choice on your part. I am also, of course, loathe to give up your piloting skills.
Tanya reached down and scratched her knee anyway. She had nothing to lose at this point, anyway.
Smersh scowled at her. Did you think that I would not monitor cell phone traffic in restricted areas? Did you think that I would not know?
***
The phone rang and rang. Tatyana let Kate answer the phone, not particularly interested in dealing with the world at the moment.
The intercom buzzed. Apparently, it was something that she did have to deal with; Kate was very good at controlling access to her and preventing pointless callers from reaching her. No sales person, no matter how pushy, ever reached her private line.
Tatyana, I have Dr. Paladin on line four, he says its important.
Tatyana sighed. Go ahead and put him through.
There was a pause for about ten seconds before the phone on Tatyanas desk rang. She picked it up on the first ring.
What is it, Jack?
Hey, nice to hear from you too. Listen, I found some stuff that I think is related to that Savior Machine, and
Tatyana cut him off. We know, Jack.
its some kind of Atlantean artifact that was worshipped as
We know, Jack.
a god, and it has some kind of
We know, Jack. We saw the Savior Machine, and Natasha had a nice little chat with it.
What Tatyana had been saying was finally beginning to sink in for Jack. So
what youre saying is that youve learned more than I have, and I missed all the fun, and I have nothing to show for it?
Tatyana chuckled. Just think of it as a nice family vacation.
Jack muttered darkly. All I have to show for that nice family vacation is a nasty sunburn and a hankering for a bad cup of coffee. All they have here is good coffee.
Take it up with your wife, Dr. Paladin. Good day.
Tatyana hung up the phone with no small amount of relish.
***
Smersh did not allow Tanya Palmer a chance to respond to his accusation. You gave aid to our enemy. You may not have known this at the time, but ignorance is no excuse. Smersh stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk. You also went above and beyond the call of duty, working to aid the Section in a time of need, and were directly responsible for the recovery of two of my agents who were in dire straits.
You cannot stay here. But, if you wish to continue your hero career, I shall provide you with a reference. Do not think that I will forget, though, even if I forgive. I shall be watching you, comrade Palmer. Do you have anything you wish to say at this time?
Smersh fixed her with an icy glare. Tanya wilted under his gaze, and mumbled out, Thank you, sir. I
Im sorry.
Smersh sat behind his desk and shuffled some papers. That is good. You may go now. I must prepare for a meeting.
Tanya knew that she was dismissed. She was not sure whether to feel guilty about what she had done, or to skip with glee knowing that she had been given a second chance that she did not deserve.
***
Natasha was sitting in the Vanguard supply shuttle. The autopilot was handling most of the orbit, and she was largely free to think until the final approach to the space station. The runs had become much more frequent, as the shipyard was running triple shifts trying to replace the lost ships.
Was one truly worthy spaceflight enough for a lifetime? What had the Savior Machine meant, calling her Mother? What was its reference to a time before time?
Some day, she would remember what had transpired in the forty-seven seconds that were missing from her memory. Maybe the answers could be found there.
It was no matter. Natasha would survive, as always, and take answers when they presented themselves. The mysteries were of no immediate importance, and could wait until an answer was forthcoming.
Besides, she thought to herself, at least these shuttle runs are blissfully free of cosmonaut ninjas.
***
Exodus Hunter Maya appeared once more before the Hell Diver squad. Only this time, they were seated in positions of power, and she was being treated as the inferior.
Your incompetence cost the Combine an entire fleet, and has ensured that this world will almost certainly never become a bastion of order. Your actions have caused a victory for the forces of chaos! Maya was livid, yelling at her fellow operatives. And you call me unduly influenced by the chaos of this world?
Hell Diver Hector hid a small smile behind a gloved hand. Maya, you have failed for too long, and too many times. As you know, we Hell Divers have a greater resistance to chaotic patterns than you Exodus Hunters do, and you have fallen too far. We have consulted, and while the loss of the fleet is an inconvenience, it is only a minor one. Your actions are the greater liability, and you have been recalled. Report to the portal, and face your judgment.
Never! Maya slapped down her palm on the stone table. I shall carry out my duty, and then I shall report. If you think I should do differently, Hell Diver, I suggest you try to stop me.
You are a dangerous rogue, Exodus Hunter Maya, Hell Diver Cryovex stated calmly. Do not attempt to subvert the will of the Singularity.
Maya sneered, and walked out. These Hell Divers were nowhere near her level of power, and they could not stop her. They did not understand that they were the problem, not she. She was a mighty force for order, and anything that she said or did was in the cause of order. Their overexposure to chaos had blunted their senses.
When she had successfully completed her mission, they would pay.
Smersh. Paladin. Savior Machine. They would all die, and on that day, she would return in victory.
***
Cosmonaut Ninja Olga stood behind Smersh, crisp in her uniform. She did not particularly want to be here, as this was a setting far removed from her experience. She did not negotiate, she ordered. Still, her presence had been specifically requested, and she would humor the Field Commander.
After all, without her ship, there was nothing better for her to do today.
Smersh passed over two portfolios, one to each of the negotiating teams. He began to read from a prepared speech.
As you can see, these affidavits are from acknowledged independent experts in the field of cybernetic thought. I have also included our own analysis prepared by our own inestimable Doctor Paladin.
Setting aside the issue of the illegal assaults by both of your governments upon the Potemkin, I will ask you both to renounce your claims to the Space Battleship Potemkin because it is a self-aware creature. Under the Geneva Accord on Artificial Sentience, neither of your governments has a legal claim to ownership of the vessel.
And now, because it is a sentient being, it may freely enter into agreements. This is a copy of our standard agent agreement, which the Potemkin has agreed to. This provides sufficient legal protections that the Potemkin is not subject to deportation, imprisonment without trial, or forcible repatriation, as provided by Citizen Crime Fighting Act as amended in 1994.
As the Potemkin is newly sentient, it has no prior citizenship. That is not an issue subject to debate.
So, as you see, gentlemen, you no longer have any legal standing to dispute the Potemkin issue. I move that these negotiations be closed.
Smersh sat, looking self satisfied. Olga leaned in to whisper to him, asking, Do you know what has happened to my ship, then? I should really like to have it back.
Smersh frowned. I am afraid not
it is a free agent now. It has said that it shall sleep until it is needed once more. I fear you are now going to be a captain without a ship.
Olga whispered back, And my crew?
Smersh replied, The Russians have been trying to take my agents for some time now, I am afraid. Fortunately, the American State Department is quite reluctant to deport law abiding individuals with super powers, and that definition does fit your Cosmonaut Ninja Corps. You and your crew will probably remain here for quite some time.
Olga scowled. Then the familiar sound of steam-powered robots and heavy automatic fire sounded from below. Olga looked to the commander, and he looked back and smiled.
If you shall pardon me, comrades, it seems the Nemesis Army is at it again. I will be right back, da?
Smersh leapt out the window, and Cosmonaut Ninja Olga followed close behind.
***
Yulia shrugged. Maybe youre right. She looked out over the green hills of Earth, a sight that had not existed in her timeline after she had been two years old. Wonder if dad sent back any of our brothers, too?
He might have, Merry replied. After all, he said we really had to worry about the Vex-class Exodus Hunters.
***
I WAS AWESOME! Cosmonaut Ninja Ivan filled the common room with his exclamation, having lovingly and incoherently rendered a tale of his adventures.
Ivan was bouncing around like a toddler who had eaten his entire Easter basket in one sitting. Though it seemed by his actions that he desired an audience, his reaction to his audiences indifference seemed to show that he did not care all that much.
Toma grunted. Paul Wright shrugged. Stalingrad just looked kind of embarrassed and looked away. Agent Ravage studiously cleaned his rifle. Fusiona giggled. Cosmonaut Ninja Yuri was rapt.
Tatyana stood by the door, smoking her cigarette. Love them or hate them, the Section was stuck with the Cosmonaut Ninja Corps for the foreseeable future.
***
Maya was gone. The Hell Divers sat in silence, awaiting further orders.
The portal opened, a knife slice in the air.
The pale female stepped out, clad all in white. Her eyes were deep black, without iris or pupil, surrounded by a bloody red.
I am Exodus Hunter Vex, she said. I will be taking command here. Our first course of business shall be delivering a rogue Exodus Hunter to the swift and sure justice of the Singularity.
As you command, Exodus Hunter, said Cryovex, addressing her clonal forebear. The Vex class of clones were numerous, but the Exodus Hunter was legendary for her prowess. How shall we begin?
***
Deep below the surface of the sea, the Savior Machine settled down. It was time to return to its deathlike sleep. It would not return until it was once again needed.
And on that day, it would arise again like a dragon. Until then, it would rest, secure in the knowledge that its creator was there to watch out for it.
***
Maya looked upon the thing that had been All American Joe.
You will prove most useful, I think.
The thing that had been Joe was not capable of rational speech. All it had left was rage.
A hunting hound for a new kind of war. It was time for even more recruits, and a more complete plan. If she did her job correctly, according to the methods of the Singularity, she would not have to be directly involved in any case. She would tweak and manipulate the probabilities until her enemies destroyed one another.
A brief daydream filled her mind, a vision of Smersh and Paladin slaying one another on board the Savior Machine vessel as it crashed into a sun. She shook her head to clear it. Such fantasies had no place in a properly ordered mind.
***
Hal was helping unload a few boxes of donations from the back of his pickup truck. Food was all well and good, but he had managed to raise some interview clothes and school supplies, which would help to create hope, and possibly jobs, for those desperately in need.
Hal might not be a trucker anymore, but he liked the idea of trying to be a hero. It wasnt about beating up the bad guys, though that could be a part of it.
Inside the clinic, Natalie was finishing up a set of vaccines so a child could go to day care. She would have to volunteer more often.
They passed each other on the way, Natalie wearing a white nurses cap, and Hal wearing his black Orioles cap. White hats and black hats, working together though they would never meet, all trying to bring some small measure of ease into hard lives.
It was a small scale reflection of the Section, embodied in two people who were not and never would consider themselves to be communists.
***
Ilya went through the papers with determination. Finally, his employer had listened. There were stacks of paper to be filed, sorted, collated and scheduled. Ilya was a bureaucratic samurai, unhappy unless he had countless enemies in the form of papers to attack without mercy on behalf of the lord to whom he had sworn allegiance.
Ilya had never considered seppuku as a means of erasing the shame of his boss choosing to do too much of his own paperwork, but he could certainly take pride in personal victory over benefits packages.
Ilya was isolated from the working realities of the Section; during the Savior Machines attack he had merely had a moment of annoyance when a filing cabinet fell to the floor, spewing forth its contents in a torrent of red tape. This isolation had advantages and disadvantages. He was able to perform prodigious feats of administrative ledgermain, but he had no insight into the motivation of his superior and why he had finally listened to his complaints.
Ilya was an expert in his field, but only in his field.
Ilya hummed a happy little tune as he stamped and filed.
***
Tatyana was sitting at her desk. She was rubbing the bridge of her nose absently. The glasses she was accustomed to wearing had been destroyed down in the vault during the Savior Machines attack. She was poring over grant proposals and fellowships, trying to figure out a way to get the equipment she would need to finish her doctorate.
Since the Savior Machine had absconded with the Korsakov device, her studies had once again come to a halt. Tatyana had tried to corner Natasha, had pleaded with her to call up the Savior Machine, just for a few days so that she could finish her experiments. Natasha had been reticent, mysterious, but had refused to even consider the notion.
She certainly did not want to put in another few months in Colorado, but that was looking to be more and more the only option. Long, tedious hours of work on a project that she was not certain she wanted anything to do with in order to use the equipment after hours for the project she did want to do.
Tatyana was ready to pull at her hair in frustration, which she knew to be a sign that she needed to be done with this for the day. Gathering up everything into her briefcase, she tidied up her desk before she left for the day.
She walked out the door, arms full of papers, and barreled right into Yevgeny. All of her papers went to the ground.
Tatyana got down on her heels and picked up what she had lost, while Yevgeny shifted from foot to foot.
Clutching the dropped papers to her chest, Tatyana fixed Yevgeny in the eye. A hint of a smile quirked around the corners of her mouth. She let him stew in his awkward silence for a moment before asking him, Is there something I can help you with, Zhenechka?
Yevgeny fumbled with the words for a moment before he finally regained his voice. Er
nyet, Tanushka. I just wished to, er
give you something.
Tatyana raised an eyebrow as Yevgeny reached into the inside pocket of his brown jacket, pulling out a familiar pair of glasses. They were, in fact, identical to the ones that he was presently wearing.
I know that your glasses were smashed in the
recent unpleasantness, and I thought that you might appreciate having a new pair, da? Yevgeny reached out and placed the glasses in her hand. He did not draw his hand away immediately, she noticed, but she did not mind at all. Nor, it seemed, did he.
These do have a few
special properties to them as well. I could
show you how to use a few of them later, da? Yevgeny withdrew his hand slowly.
Tatyana chuckled mentally. He was still giddy and unused to being just Yevgeny Korsakov again. It was
adorable.
Very well, Zhenechka, she said, putting the glasses on with one hand, Its a date.
She walked away, but not without noticing that he was completely agape. Tatyana simply could not resist putting a small bounce in her step.
***
Yulia looked to Merry, and thought pensively. You know, everything we remember now is wrong, right? I mean, in our time, the Imperial Combine nuked Paragon, and everything went downhill from there. I guess that the Savior Machine was destroyed then, too. So, um
will we ever get born now? Dad had everyone moved out to space by the time we were old enough to walk and all that. Its kinda confusing.
Merry shrugged. I think everything happened how it was supposed to happen. It all moves in cycles, and just because the road is changed doesnt mean the wheels stop spinning, right?
Yulia considered that statement for a long moment. It all moves in cycles. Everything thats old is new again. Order attacks chaos, chaos injects itself into order. I can see that. It doesnt explain it all, but its good enough for me. Cycles. Things change and stay the same.
Yulia stood up and patted her sister on the shoulder. Cmon, lets go in before the storm comes.
-fin
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
(Posted here by specific request of my wife.)
I - Beginning's End
Yevgeny Korsakov stared at the heavy oak table, polished to a fine finish. The table was, at present, buried in piles of papers, maps, computers, cellular phones and other, less definable, debris. But not a single ashtray was to be found, as the other two parties to these intractable negotiations had both stipulated that this was to be a smoke-free zone.
What sort of Russian believes in a no smoking sign, anyway, Smersh thought irritably to himself as one of the Americans, a clean cut, freshly laundered, completely interchangeable Ivy League youth, droned interminably about something. Non-militarization of space, an idea that had fallen to the wayside back in the seventies. Smersh shook his head, and looked below the level of the table to his custom-built cell phone, checking his email. The duties of running the Section were not on hold just because two governments were trying to strong-arm Special Section 8 out of being a space power, and probably handing over a somewhat eccentric crew for tests, interrogation, and probable vivisection.
Smersh scrolled through the emails, wishing that he could foist most of them off onto the UNOSOV hackers that kept trying to get in. Let them deal with the inventory reports for the soup kitchen and the maintenance logs for the generators.
One email was short and cryptic, but was marked as Important by his Strike Leader. The text was simple and to the point.
Field Commander,
Please contact me by telephone when the opportunity presents.
Tatyana Stepanova, Strike Leader, KGB Special Section 8
It is scientific only to say what is more likely and what less likely, and not to be proving all the time the possible and impossible. Richard Feynman
If nothing else, this would give him a chance to have a cigarette or two. When the American finally wound down his horrid PowerPoint presentation (that should have fallen under a treaty regarding the non-militarization of Microsoft products), Smersh moved for a fifteen minute recess of the session. The Chair accepted the motion, and it was voted into the minutes unanimously. Smersh was in motion before the gavel hit the block: if he caught the first elevator, it was three minutes to the front area, and three minutes back, leaving nine glorious nicotine-filled minutes.
Shortly after lighting that cigarette, Smersh flipped his phone to secured mode, and clicked on Tatyanas contact.
As it rang, he almost found himself wishing, simultaneously, that she would pick up and that she would not.
Smersh watched with detached interest the traffic outside the building. The idiots on the ninth floor could wait while he made a phone call. The small microphone in his ear was ringing, and then it picked up. Hello? said the voice on the other end.
Smersh subvocalized into the throat mike that was a standard part of his equipment. Privyet, comrade Strike Leader. I understand that you wish to speak to me, da? A garbage truck moved slowly in front of the buildings anti-crash barricades, honking at a bus that was blocking traffic. Smershs brain went into a brief reverie, thinking about how he had seen his father once in a similar circumstance, before his mother had died. He realized that his reverie had caught him out to lunch. I am sorry, comrade Strike Leader. Could you repeat that?
Da, comrade Field Commander, she said, her eyes rolling almost audibly. I was asking what the status of the Potemkin negotiations was. I believe that I might be able to cull useful data from it for my thesis, if we still have access to it.
For the moment, da, we do. Though speed would be of the essence, as these nekultunry bastards want us to lock it down until negotiations are concluded. The garbage truck shuddered visibly, an off-putting sight to say the least. The collection bin rose up, and disgorged a score of small, round brass automatons. Simultaneously, the bus split down the middle, and a troop of blue clad, brass-armored soldiers marched out. Smersh muttered an oath in Russian, and threw down his cigarette.
Comrade Field Commander? Tatyana inquired, a note of concern in her voice.
Bah, it is nothing. A division of Nemesis army troops, he muttered, punching some code keys to call in one of his armored suits. It should be no issue. You are coming back to town, then?
Tatyana thought she detected a note of hope in his voice, but that might have been the sound of a ricocheting high-caliber bullet impacting concrete.
Da, comrade Field Commander, I should be back for a few days around the New Year.
Good, good. I hope you will pardon me, but the bus has just disgorged a zeppelin-equipped war hulk, and it does require some of my attention, da? Sounds of machinegun fire mixed with the sound of a Bogatyr-class suits hyperthrusters and shattering glass.
Da, comrade Field Commander, I shall see you in a few days. Das vedanya.
Das vedanya, comrade Strike Leader.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Smersh turned to the negotiators hiding under the table, as the zeppelin rose and the war hulk that had been attached to it fell, hitting street level with a loud bang. I presume the meeting is ready to return to order, da? he asked, striding fearlessly over the thick shards of glass that had been a very fancy ninth-floor window. He straightened out his cape, sat his battle-armored body down into his chair, and shuffled his papers.
Mind if I smoke, comrades? I did leave a window open, da?
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.