Infernal
Chapter 34

The light within the Rips had changed. Their glorious warm brilliance remained but was shot through with random ripples of a colder, darker energy that cast a muddy tinge throughout their usual radiance. In time that trace of darkness, like a single drop of blood in a glass of water, would spread throughout the Rips, polluting the entire system.

Richard Farris navigated his way through one Rip after another, bending this one slightly to meet that one, riding the currents and eddies within much as a surfer rides down the face of a breaking wave. He sought the source of the dark contamination; the artificial Rip on E-579.

Controlling the Rips, he’d discovered, was like learning to ride a bicycle. Once the mind and body recognize the need to work in unison with the machine to maintain balance, speed, and direction, there is little of the helpless weaving and bobbling—and occasional head over heels crashing—of the first few tries. Once the process clicks for the learner, there is little to do but get on the bike and ride. So it was for Richard now. He hadn’t thought about the mechanics of navigating the Rips. He’d simply stepped into the Rip and gone for a ride.

He paused, sensing a greater accumulation of the dark energy within another channel of the Rip. With no effort and little thought other than to ensure that the creature pursuing him was still in his wake, he changed direction and followed the new course.

“That’s not possible!” John Waller seconded from his.

“What is it?” Alex Jefferson snapped in response to the alarm in their voices.

“The Cray’s, sir,” Waller answered, turning to meet Jefferson’s gaze with a look of pure terror. “They’re…gone.”

“What do you mean gone?” Jefferson said. “You’ve taken them offline?”

“No, sir,” Martin said, her voice conveyed fear, her eyes haunted. “I didn’t have a chance to finish the command sequence.” It appeared to Jefferson as if she’d start crying at any moment.

“Calm down,” Jefferson ordered, suppressing his own fear at what he was hearing and turned to Waller. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Waller turned to his console, swallowing the lump of dread that had taken up residence in his throat, and accessed the logs with rapid keystrokes.

“At 08:17 and thirty one seconds local time the Cray’s recorded an Enigma Rip terminating within their chamber. They also recorded the presence of The Monk.” Jefferson felt his chest tighten. So the robed figure was still interfering with their plans. What chaos had he caused this time? “A few seconds later,” Waller continued, “The Cray’s logged another Rip, this one originating in the planet’s core. After that, nothing.”

Jefferson could guess the rest. The Monk had opened one of his Rips and introduced planetary core material into the QC chamber. Nothing could have withstood that sort of heat and pressure. Given his understanding of thermodynamics, it was also doubtful there was much left of the Homeworld. His fear rose, but was outweighed by anger. That bastard!

“What have we lost?” he asked.

“Everything!” Martin wailed, her eyes casting about wildly as she tore at her hair.

Jefferson stepped to the console and slapped the woman. Not hard enough to inflict damage, but hard enough to cause a red, hand-shaped mark to rise on her cheek. Her eyes widened at the offense, but he’d stopped her imminent breakdown cold.

“Listen to me,” he snarled, his face inches from her own. “We haven’t lost everything. This complex is still here, as are a hundred other complexes on a hundred other Earths, each with its own independent systems and personnel. If the QC’s are gone, so be it. They can be rebuilt and the network restored. But if we don’t shut down that Rip in there,” he gestured towards the oculus in the next room, “your Elder, along with the rest of us, will most certainly die.”

Jefferson’s discourse, be it the threat of BanaTech without a leader or fear for her own life, had the desired effect. Martin sobered immediately and turned back to her console. Her fingers flew over the keyboard like startled birds.

“The network is down,” she said with only a trace of her former hysteria. “We’ve lost the satellites and all offworld communications, as well as the ability to track any new Rip formations. Our solar and hydro generators are still intact so we still have power. And we still have access to local computers and operating systems, save those destroyed by the explosion on level F.”

“Very well,” Jefferson said. He turned and surveyed the Elder with disgust. His usual demeanor; clear eyed, intelligent, and squared away, was gone. In its place was the visage of an aged, ill-kempt man suffering a bout of senile dementia. His hair was disheveled; his clothing askew. He was muttering under his breath, still staring raptly into vacant space within the Focal Point chamber as if in a catatonic state. At his side, Sophia ministered to him. Smoothing his hair and whispering in his ear. If she hadn’t placed a steadying arm about his waist he’d have fallen to the floor.

I should have killed you long ago, old man, Jefferson thought. Tossed you into a Rip and taken over this operation before you let it get so out of hand.

He dismissed the pair from his thoughts and turned to Martin and Waller.

“Can you still reverse the polarity of the energy within the accelerator?” he asked Martin.

“Negative, sir,” she responded after consulting her console. “The fires are out down there but the injectors are fried. The system wasn’t designed to contain that much energy. If we can’t stop it or slow it down somehow we’ll have a cascade event in less than ten minutes.”

“Christ,” Jefferson muttered. And all of this will go up like a roman candle. Then; “If the injectors are offline, where the hell is the energy coming from?”

“Unknown, sir,” Martin answered.

Rage crossed Jefferson’s features and Martin shrank back, expecting another, harder blow.

“I have an idea,” Waller interrupted. Jefferson, who had indeed been considering taking his anger out on the woman, looked around at the voice.

“I think it’s her.”

Waller was pointing into the Focal Point chamber. At Eliana.

“Explain,” Jefferson said, withdrawing from Martin and turning his baleful glare on Waller.

“Well, sir,” the tech said nervously, “we took that little girl and essentially hardwired her into the QC’s and the oculus. The Cray’s then programmed her to do what they couldn’t; form a Rip and control its origin and terminus points indefinitely. Or at least until a shutdown order is executed.”

“That command was already given,” Martin interrupted. “I gave it myself. She was incapable of executing it.”

“Incapable?” Waller said, “Or unwilling?”

“What do you mean?” Jefferson asked.

“We know she’s still in there,” Waller answered. “The logs confirm we received a message from a source other than the Cray’s.”

“It said Stop.” Martin interjected. “And repeated dozens of times. Whatever the Cray’s were doing within her consciousness, she wanted it to end.”

“Consciously, yes,” Waller continued. “She suffers autism and that sort of intrusion—hell it was an assault—on her mind undoubtedly frightened her. But what about her subconscious? I mean, look at her,” he pointed through the observation glass at the chamber beyond. Eliana was covered in perspiration, her body stiff with tension as the tech’s hovered over both her and their consoles. Her face, however, belied the stress and anxiety apparent in others the room. It bore the appearance of great pleasure; an almost sexual expression of bliss.

“Whatever trip she’s on right now,” Waller said, “she’s thoroughly digging it.”

“Then we disconnect her,” Martin said, tentatively accepting Waller’s theory. “Cut her off from the oculus and the accelerator, and, if you’re right, the system will spool down.”

“There isn’t time for that,” Jefferson said. “It would take time to safely remove her from the system.”

“I don’t think it would work anyway,” Waller said.

“Why not?” Martin asked. “If she can no longer control the energy flow the system should reset.”

“Because I don’t think she needed the system to begin with,” Waller answered.

Both Jefferson and Martin looked at him in surprise.

“Think about it,” Waller said. “The Cray’s only taught her how to open the Rip and control the flow of energy. She did the rest herself because she was already capable of doing so. And is still doing it, even without the Cray’s input. Because she likes it. The accelerator is still receiving energy because she is willing it to. Removing her from the system will have the same result as unhooking a laptop with wireless capability from a modem. The computer will simply find an available network and reconnect automatically.”

Jefferson pondered this for a moment and then said:

“Then we kill the computer.”

“What?” Waller and Martin said in unison as Jefferson turned and headed for the door.

“I’m putting a stop to this,” he said over his shoulder while drawing a Mark XIX .50AE Desert Eagle from a scabbard on his chest, “right fucking now.”

As he passed Sophia and the Elder he saw the Elder’s eyes clear. The old man stood erect, unassisted for the first time since the accelerators overloaded—has it only been a few short minutes? Jefferson thought—and the generators on level F blew.

“No, Tyro,” the old man said, laying a staying arm on Jefferson’s. “You cannot destroy the Key. We have worked too hard, struggled for so long for such rash action. We can find another way.”

“Look around old man,” Jefferson spat. “While you’ve been off in la-la land gazing at God knows what in there, this operation has gone to shit. If I don’t kill the Key now, while there’s still time, she will kill us.”

He shrugged out of the Elder’s grasp and continued on. He heard the Elder murmur “Stop him,” as he reached the door.

Sophia was fast, but Jefferson was faster. He spun and twisted the Beretta 92FS from her hand before she could place it against the base of his skull. A wide-eyed look of astonishment crossed her face as he pulled her to him and shoved the Desert Eagle into her sternum.

“Too slow, little girl,” he said, his hyena’s grin set firmly on his face. He pulled the trigger. Her body muffled the report but could not contain the jacketed 300 grain hollow point slug travelling at 1355 feet per second. The round mushroomed against her breastbone before punching through and carrying a large portion of her heart, lungs, and spine out through plate sized rent in her back with a splash of crimson. Martin screamed at the sight. Waller vomited. The life fell out of Sophia’s eyes and her body crumpled to the floor.

“Tyro, please,” the Elder cried, ignoring Sophia’s body and following him. He grasped at Jefferson’s shoulder. “You can’t do this. Musn’t do this. We have come too far to turn back now.”

Jefferson wheeled on the Elder, brushing the arm off his shoulder and sending the old man reeling into the wall.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he roared. “We’re all going to die. Can’t you see that? Are you so blinded by greed that you’d risk everything on the life of this child?” The Elder did not respond. Simply slid to the floor, weeping.

Jefferson turned and keyed the access panel to the Focal Point chamber. The plug door dropped inwards before sliding aside.

“Help me, Ashmedai,” the Elder whimpered.

Jefferson crossed the threshold into the chamber, the Desert Eagle at the ready, and was brought up short by what he saw there. A dark mass hovered before the girl; swirling shadow, seething madness, fifteen feet tall if it was an inch. It appeared to be robed, though the drapery was constantly in motion as if alive and seeking, riding on unseen air currents, twisting this way and that in an undulating motion. At the sleeves were hands made of darkness; thicker and more substantial than the robe, with skeletal fingers ending in long tapered claws. Jefferson stared in awe at the face set deep within the cowl. That face was death; a grim reaper’s visage. Twin piercing coal black points peered at him from within deep hollow eye sockets. The apparition hunched its shoulders and bent its neck to him, its face inches from his own.

“You will not interfere,” the creature growled in a voice that prickled his eardrums and set the nerves in his teeth aquiver. It pointed at him, poked a slender finger at, and then into, his head. Reality fell away at the creature’s touch.

He was naked on a bed covered in fine silk and down; surrounded by women. Likewise naked, some writhed and thrust against each other, ministering to their own desires much as the four on the bed with him ministered to his. One rubbed oil into his chest. Another cupped her breasts to his mouth. One offered her flower to his groping hands as yet another thrust hers against his manhood. The room smelled of oils, sweat, and unrestrained passion. Soft moans of pleasure and grunts of animal ecstasy filled his ears. His penis swelled inside the wild erotic heat of the woman astride him.

“This can be yours,” the creature he now knew as Ashmedai spoke, pushing the probing finger deeper into Jefferson’s brain. “The Infernal can grant you this much, and more.”

The scene shifted and he stood victorious on a great battlefield. The pungent aroma of blood, smoke, and cordite filled the air. Hundreds of enemies lie in various positions of death and supplication around him. Those who still lived begged his mercy while behind him thousands chanted his name—the name of their savior—with respect, awe, and reverence.

“And still more,” Ashmedai spoke again.

He stood on a balcony overlooking a vast courtyard. He was dressed in fine linen brocaded with silver and gold. The chambers behind him were filled with coin of gold and silver, ornately gilded furniture, and detailed artworks of the finest craftsmanship. Beneath him in the courtyard were throngs of people as far as the eye could see. All bent their knee to him, prostrated themselves before him in abject obeisance; cringed, doglike, at his feet.

“They will worship you,” Ashmedai whispered. “Live or die by your very command. Submit themselves willingly to your merest whim. You will be as a God to them.”

Jefferson was entranced by the series of visions. His hearts desires had been laid out before him, all within easy reach. If he would only wait. Just a few moments more. Wait for the Rip to reach its true potential. Wait for Eliana—the Keeper, he heard the Infernal think of her—to coax the machine to full power. Wait for…convergence? Jefferson pulled his head back violently, away from that probing finger. He shook his head and the vision melted away. The Infernal reacted with surprise. Never before had a human being read its thoughts as it had read his. Never had his touch been cast off so easily.

Jefferson turned to the Elder, now gaining his feet in the hallway.

“This is what you’ve risked everything for?” he asked angrily, “You ignored every warning, every objection to this project. Even the QC’s predictions that these experiments would end in catastrophe based on this? This apparition’s contrived fantasies? Your fantasies?”

The Infernal let out a bellow of rage so loud it rattled Jefferson’s spine. It reached for his neck as he turned as if to strangle him. Jefferson reflexively pulled the trigger of the Desert Eagle. The round passed as harmlessly through the Infernal as the apparition’s hands passed through Jefferson’s throat.

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed as he realized that despite the specter’s intimidating guise and illusions, it obviously could not harm him.

“Get out of my way you loathsome fuck,” he said and stepped forward through the phantom. It was like walking through a thin curtain embedded with the stench of a rotting corpse.

The tech’s scattered at Jefferson’s approach. Already unnerved by the events of the day and the apparent destruction of the Homeworld, they’d watched him enter the room only to stop, motionless. After a moment he’d turned and raved wildly at the Elder—in obvious distress in the corridor—before turning back and firing his weapon. He’d then cursed the air in front of him. They cowered behind their consoles as he approached the child strapped into the chair aside the oculus; cringed as he raised the large caliber weapon and aimed for her head. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Despite the Elder’s ongoing protestations Jefferson would have fired the Desert Eagle into Elianna’s brain had Richard not surprised everyone by stumbling out of the Rip carrying a large, roundish object.

He yelled “Catch!” and threw the object at Jefferson.

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