Zero's Return (82 page)

Shael made a noncommittal
snort, but he could tell she was interested.

Joe twisted the grenade
to the ARMED position, then quickly heaved it down the hill and ducked low. 
The explosion that followed a few nanotics later was enough to pound the air in
his lungs and make his ears ring.  It took trees, rocks, and a good section of
the mountainside out in a massive blast of the most powerful hand-held Congie
explosives in the Planetary Ops arsenal.

When it was over, there
was a ten-rod-wide circle of destruction, a few utterly obliterated trees, and
an ominous, ringing silence in which not even the Earth insects had the courage
to go about their daily business.  Joe felt a rush of satisfaction, knowing how
impressive it must have looked to a science experiment who had never left her
lab before this.

For her part, Shael had
never twitched from where she was standing, facing the explosion, a frown on
her face.  She continued to stare down the mountain like a kid waiting for a
magic trick.  Eventually, she turned the frown on
him
.  “That was it?”

Joe blinked, the smug
satisfaction completely draining from him in the face of her confusion.  “Uh,”
he said, “yeah?”

Shael snorted.  “You can
keep your grenades.  I can do such things without them.”  Then, to illustrate,
she casually raised her hand and imploded a ten-rod section of mountainside,
completely pulverizing everything caught within until there was nothing left
within the bubble but dust.  She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.

“Uh…” Joe found himself
staring at the swath of destruction she had just wrought.  It looked eerily
like what his thunder egg had done.

Except better.

“So like I said,” Shael
said, re-hefting her rifle over her shoulder, “keep your toys if you need the
crutch, Voran.  A
Welu
doesn’t need tricks to defeat his enemies.”  At
that, she began marching back in the direction of the People.

Joe blinked at the two
obliterated areas of mountainside, then at her departing back.  That morning,
she’d stolen one of his black Congie shirts, as well, and it hung over her body
in a ridiculously baggy display that would have been funny had it not been for
the fact that it was his
favorite
shirt and she would probably kill him
for taking it back.  Because he really didn’t have anything else he could do,
he ran to catch up with her.

#

That dickcheese
Congie just shot at us!

They weren’t shooting
at you,
Twelve-A assured him. 
They were just doing some target-practice
on some old cars.  If they’d been shooting at you, you would all be dead right
now.

I still say you
should put him out.  What if he interrupts us?
 
Mike had been arguing
for this all morning.  He still, however, continued to feel great happiness and
excitement about their future, remembering all the happy moments he’d had in
his lifetime, all the joys of fatherhood, all the thrills of his glory years as
a young Global Police officer before he became a politician.

He won’t interrupt us,
Twelve-A said. 
I’ll put him to sleep or something.

Good.  Do that.  I
don’t want to lose anyone else because he gets pissed we decided to trade with
you.

It’s not going to be a
problem,
Twelve-A insisted. 
He’s distracted.

Distracted or
asleep?
Mike demanded.

Twelve-A hesitated.  He
hated to lie.  Hated it.  He also knew, however, that Mike was thinking about
calling off their meeting, and he
needed
to talk with this man who
understood the Earth’s deep-rooted need for change and experienced the same
drive to work towards a better tomorrow.  His very
soul
craved it,
craved having someone to share his concerns with, his desires, his fears.

Yet, at the same time, he
wasn’t about to leave both Shael and Joe alone, unconscious, on a hillside for
whatever Human or kreenit decided to wander by.

Asleep,
Twelve-A
said, in a little white lie that really didn’t hurt because Mike would never
know. 
Everything’s safe.

How long will he be
out?
Mike insisted. 
How far away is he?  Where?

He’s on the hillside
overlooking the road to the east,
Twelve-A said, offering Mike a mental
picture. 
See?  Plenty of distance from us.

Have to send
someone—good!  Let’s go get this over with, then.  If we’re gonna change the
world, it starts one step at a time, right?

Right,
Twelve-A
agreed, though he was frowning.  Not only had he, in that instant, caught
something odd in the underlying happy thoughts that Mike had been projecting
ever since Twelve-A had offered to help him, but Mike’s followers were all
thinking…strangely.  Instead of happy that they were about to pool their
resources for the betterment of mankind, they were incredibly anxious, so
nervous that it permeated Twelve-A’s mindspace like the smoke even then
settling over the valley from the objects Shael and Joe had set on fire. 
Though some were trying to hide it, they thought Twelve-A was going to try to
kill them.

Hey, Pointy,
Joe’s mental spasm of fear shot down their connection. 
I think we got a
problem.

I’m busy,
Twelve-A
replied.  Now that he was looking for it, he could see that
all
of the
small mental spheres collected around Mike like a colorful constellation within
the void were vibrating with nervous energy.  When he grew close, they were
thinking things like,
Shoot the blond ones.  Just the blond ones.
 
Or,
That big guy’s first.  Mike said he’s first.
  Or,
That
brunette’s the one.  Gotta make sure she doesn’t get caught in the crossfire.

Mike,
Twelve-A
said, frowning,
the other members of your group are worried they’re going to
have to shoot the People.  Can you please tell them nobody’s going to get
hurt?  What they’re thinking is dangerous.

Oh shit, those
stupid fuckers. 
“Listen up, furgs!”
Mike snapped. 
“We are going to
play
nice
today, right?  Nobody shooting anyone.  The escaped lab rats
are our
friends
.  We’re going to be giving them a better future. 
Get
me?”

Twelve-A’s frown deepened
at the use of ‘lab rats’.  Even though Mike was emanating images of happiness
and caring, the word itself felt weird, almost as if it were a derogatory
dismissal, and not a friendly one like Joe liked to use.  Even then, several of
Mike’s gang were chuckling to themselves, or rolling their eyes.

Well,
un-busy
yourself,
Joe cried in his mind, the intensity of his panic almost
jolting Twelve-A away from the dozens of minds that, if anything, seemed more
bent on doing harm to the People. 
Shael’s having another breakdown!  In
broad daylight!
 

Indeed, Twelve-A could
feel Shael’s panic driving itself down their own connection, but she was in her
mind-space, where Twelve-A couldn’t touch her, and something he didn’t quite
understand was happening with Mike and his gang, something that he
instinctively knew was a thousand times worse.  Leaving Joe to deal with Shael
as he had almost a dozen times in the past, Twelve-A concentrated on the minds
around Mike, trying to glean what he could from their rougher, less organized
thoughts.

While Mike’s thoughts
were clear and distinct—and still singing of the beauty of love, children, and
marriage, as well as his desire to build a better future for all—his followers’
were much more garbled.  Many were scared.  Or resigned.  Or thinking about
stealing Eleven-C for themselves.

When Twelve-A frowned and
narrowed his focus to those thoughts, he found
several
young men that
looked like they were planning to run away with Eleven-C after everyone else
went to sleep.  Or shoot everyone, including Mike, to keep her.

Twelve-A, I
really
think we have a problem
,
Joe interrupted in a panic, almost shattering
his concentration.

I’m taking care of
something else,
Twelve-A said, struggling to maintain his hold on the
thoughts drifting through Mike’s group. 
Find a way to handle it, furg.

I don’t think
that’s an option!
Joe shouted back. 
Help me, burn you.

Can’t,
Twelve-A
snapped.
  Stop interrupting me.  Busy.

Unlike Mike’s crystalline,
perfect thoughts of happiness and joy, most of Mike’s group, Twelve-A realized,
were nowhere near his level of mental harmony.  Instead, they were adrift in
greed and selfishness.  Their hearts burned with malice.  Their stomachs
twisted with avarice.  They wanted Eleven-C for themselves.  And several were
willing to kill for her.  No, more than willing. 
Plotting
to kill…

Mike,
Twelve-A
said, concerned, now,
there are several men in your group who plan to take
Eleven-C from us.  They…
he hesitated, because it seemed so strange to him,
after he offered to give them anything they wanted, …
plan to kill people to
take her.

He felt a spasm of panic
on Mike’s mind-link.  Then,
Who are they planning to kill?

You,
Twelve-A
said, confused. 
They think they have to kill you to keep her for
themselves.  Why would they want to kill you to keep Eleven-C, Mike?

He felt Mike’s mind
harden. 
Because I would keep them from hurting you.
 
Give me
names.  Which ones plan to take her?

Twelve-A hesitated, not
liking the brief blast of fury he felt before Mike’s normal happiness
returned. 
Why?  What are you going to do to them?

Convince them to
stop,
Mike replied. 

And, because he could
sense that Mike was telling the truth, Twelve-A, relieved, concentrated a
little. 
Daryl, Roland, and Jerome.

Mike continued to portray
happy thoughts of his true love, killed by cancer two years ago, and his kids,
most of whom had died in Judgement, and his elite home on the San Diego coast,
a multi-million credit property on the coveted island of Coronado.

When the first mind
floating around Twelve-A winked out, he twitched, confused.  When the second
and third vanished, their lights succumbing to the Void, Twelve-A began to feel
a deep, nagging sense of dread. 
What did you do?
he asked softly,
afraid of the answer.  He knew that they had somehow mysteriously died, but he
hoped for any answer—
anything
—other than Mike had killed him, because
the kindred spirit Twelve-A sought would
not
have killed them.

Those despicable
cowards were going to try and run away with Eleven-C,
Mike said.  A
flash of fury interrupted his thoughts of hearth and home before the wall of
happiness slammed back into place.
  They did not deserve to live.

And that’s when Twelve-A
realized that it was, indeed, a wall.  Frowning at it, now, he began to push
the happy images aside, slipping under them to see what lay beneath.

A field of corpses rotted
within Mike’s mind, buried behind the smiling faces of his wife and kids, the
cheerful jingle of the merry-go-round, the cheers of his constituents as the
last vote was counted, the rush of pride as he put his ring on his wife’s hand…

He plans to kill us
all,
Twelve-A realized, with a start.  The idea that he had not seen
through the guise, that the kindred spirit he’d been looking for had turned out
to be a murdering psychopath, that he was really that
naïve
, was so
horrifying to him that, for long minutes, Twelve-A could only stare at that
field of corpses in Mike’s mind, still diligently hidden by a wall of fake
happiness.

And, now that he was
looking, the happy images themselves weren’t real, but rather, were gaudy
creations, hollow fabrications that had been put in place to obscure the
truth.  The perfect marriage to his wife, when Twelve-A touched it, dissolved
into a wretched existence of screaming fits, closed doors, cold beds, and
whores, followed by a silent meeting in the night, an exchange of money, and
his wife’s tragic death on the news, the exceptional pictures of him mourning
over her casket, the boost in poll numbers, the unexpected comeback, the
surprise victory.  The happy thoughts of his children at the park or the Ferris
wheel, upon inspection, disintegrated into bitter custody battles, unhappy
goodbyes, and simmering hatred.  The only
true
happy thoughts, of any of
them, were the ones surrounding his elections, and even they were stained with
greed, triumph, and gloating.  And, underneath those, the images of a new rise
to power, one in which he controlled the only steady supply of food and
resources.  In time, Mike aimed to be a king.  A prince of the people again,
generously doling out small portions of food to people in need—too small to
satisfy, but just enough to keep them obedient to his every word…

He didn’t kill them
because he was protecting us,
Twelve-A thought, slipping into despair. 
He
killed them because they were going to take the People’s side and try to join
us.

Faced with such
selfishness, such
greed
, Twelve-A wondered again why he didn’t just
silence the Human race.  His hopes, raised so completely by the idea of having
someone that truly understood him and his purpose, now crashed to lifeless,
broken things, bashed against the jagged rocks of reality, crushed by the
images of death walled behind a façade of brotherhood.