Thirteen Hours of the Night (Dev/Null Remix)
One
Cold wind, sad moonrise
Dark clouds in the sky
Storm ends the mourning time
Howling in the night
- Angra, Visions Prelude
It is not a good day to be in the Gargulean sector if you're not Gamezohan. The 23rd Graser Infantry Division, operating from the brand-new spacecraft carrier GENS Jimbo, is currently mopping up the last forces of the now defunct Federative Republic of Groyle. The scene lacks originality, as it echoes what happened to almost every other nation in the Galaxy since Emperor Gauss and reinstated Prime Minister Moebius launched the Seventh Reich campaign.
What follows, however, is the greatest act of piracy in recorded history.
A cloaked ship fired a missile. Both, ship and missile, had been bought from Lucifuge Corporation at enormous risk and price - neither of which worried "Mad Knife" Valendil, crazy pirate, Gargulean poppy smuggler, swashbuckler extraordinaire. The missile triggered alarms on the Jimbo, and for a few seconds its bewildered crew ran to battle stations. And then it was over - the missile exploded in a pulse of purple light, and all living matter in a thousand-mile radius was gone. The same poof-you're-dead technology of the Gamezohans turned against them, Valendil mused, and then he snapped out of his reverie and ordered his crew to board the ship. With any other vessel they could simply use teleportation belts, but the Jimbo still had its shields - if no longer anyone to shield...
And then the Jimbo was his, together with hundreds of smaller craft, state-of-the-art weaponry and supplies to feed a planet for months. With the new sensors he'd install, he'd be safe from his own trick - and then nothing bar a similar vessel could stand in his way. Valendil grinned, reminding those around him of a cat - a kind of scornful self-satisfaction humans can't ever achieve. But it had been quite a few centuries since he felt this good - a successful predator, beyond all law other than 'do what thou wilt'.
He commanded his astrogator to set the course towards Halak. He now had the means to help his great-grandnephew in his revenge...
"This is the man," said Moebius, as Gauss stared blankly into the smiling face flickering holographically before him. "A most dangerous man."
"The hair... not Wendaurian?"
"No, no. We've got von Hiffen dealing with the Wendauerians. Besides, that's more of a shade of purple, not really blue. Now, mind the ears."
Gauss almost jumped from his throne. "An elf?!"
"Indeed. A distant relative of Baron Halak."
"Didn't he...? Oh, you mean the boy."
"Indeed. The Triple Eye has no doubts. He holds you responsible for his sister's death."
Gauss sank in the throne's cushions. "Well, even I hold myself responsible for that."
"As you should. You did not hear me say that. Now, what you will order me to do is..." Moebius suddenly stopped speaking. After a while, Nike entered the room, with her mysteriously silent high heels - a ninja trick, no doubt.
"You can proceed with your poisoning of my daft brother's mind later, Wormtongue. I need him right now. And Wernher, don't look insulted. It's sad."
"What for? Or should I guess?" said Moebius, dripping irony. "Did you find a mammal in this palace you haven't corrupted yet?"
Nike just scoffed in a way she knew would reduce any man to a stuttering idiot. It managed to shut Moebius up. Some reproductive drives can beat anything...
"Come on, brother, you might actually enjoy this."
Two
Friend, you did not call me; why am I awake?
You did not touch me; why am I troubled?
No god passed by; why are my limbs paralyzed?
Friend, I saw a third dream,
and the dream I saw was in every way frightening.
- Sîn-Leqi-Unninni Gilgamesh, Tablet V, Column IV
Whutty, as usual, woke up screaming. And as usual, he couldn't remember what the nightmare was about, except for a feeling of... falling. He touched something warm and was startled for a brief moment. Reality seemed to establish itself again. He looked worriedly at Lips, lying beside him, still asleep somehow. A feeling of imminent catastrophe creeped in. Things like last night just didn't happen to him, unless followed by great complete utter loss.
He stood up, and collapsed tiredly on the chair in front of his computer after a few exhaustive steps. Clicking meekly he ordered breakfast, checked the news on TCN (Ticine Cable News) dot com, deleted the 99.9% of his mail consisting of spam. Only two real e-mails. First, the Fleet wanted him to be the captain of the GENS Nova. Second... what, an invitation to a festival? From hawtdragoness@impfam.gov.gz... hmm... one of Gauss's plots to make him "happy"?
He'd go, of course. Whutty never missed an opportunity to be miserable in public.
It stood before him, and it was merciless - no illusions, painful truth shining like a sun, the energy of its meaning blazing forth unto him, scorching from his soul whatever shroud of maya remained after his passing. His soul went - but whatever was left was too dark, and angel Melchidael did not dare touch it, and it remained.
The disembodied darkness went back to its body. It was in complete resemblance of life, the House's undertakers having done their craft with more than their usual perfection, still life preserved forever, as the good Count deserved. His face was no paler than it had been in life - stark contrast with the black velvet lining of the black box - black mahogany from the corrupt breed of silver oak in the woods around Castle Dirge. The grimace of his death throes couldn't be removed from his countenance, but that was all the more appropriate for a dead Sphexoren scion.
The bats began fleeing the bell tower, as if predicting the imminence of a tragedy. The sun was gone; all villagers were behind locked doors, a wise tradition. They were the result of centuries of supernatural selection, as carelessness made one a victim to be bled by the horrors of the night. This was one such night to heighten their senses, to send chills over their spines, warning them to lock themselves away, to stick together, to remember granny's teachings. The wolves howled and the mists rolled over the landscape with a purpose; a black unbeating heart was about to rise. And then Castle Dirge's bells - 'tis an eldricht architecture which includes such oddities as church bells in a fortification - all the thirteen bells - cast of the darkest iron and unmercifully tempered with the blood of children - announced the return of the land's true ruler.
Count Vasdhra Sphexoren had returned.
And the first words out of his cursed lips were: "What rare breed of idiot puts a lock in a coffin?"
"Good morning, Mr. Syne. How are you?" asked Moebius amiably, to the lawyer sitting in his office. "I trust you're not here to sue me? I'd hate to declare personal bankrupcy... again."
The lawyer grinned, and for a moment Moebius wondered if he had any were-shark relatives. "Do not worry, Mr. Prime Minister. I am just delivering a letter from a very special client," he said, extending an envelope. Moebius acted surprised and opened it.
"Tres? What is this... organization, Jacob?" he said, masterfully delivering the lines he had rehearsed about the letter he had written.
"I do not speak of my clients. But I will tell you, these people are so rich I won't ever need other clients, ever."
"I see," Moebius said. "Well, I can't lie to you," he lied. "This is unsettling news. I would inform the Emperor immediately, but he seems to be... unavailable. I will myself take the appropriate measures."
"I'm sure you will," said Jacob Syne, wondering why Moebius was lying to him. "You have, of course, the means to inform me of any developments."
"Of course," said Moebius, amazed at reading in Jacob's eyes that the man had seen through a layer of his lies. No-one had done so since old Matthias. "Now, I have urgent matters to attend to. Please do not take this as grounds for a lawsuit."
"I could," grinned the lawyer, shaking the Prime Minister's hand.
Three
People always told me be careful of what you do
And don't go around breaking young girls' hearts
And mother always told me be careful of who you love
And be careful of what you do 'cause the lie becomes the truth
- Michael Jackson, Billie Jean
"And that, my dear, is what is meant by Anaxerretibean assemantic metagnoseological dialogics," concluded Consulary Operative 669, lighting a cegarette and flashing a sly smile to his most recent conquest, an adoring Wendauerian girl whose heart he'll love to eventually break.
"Oh Etwas, you are so smart!" said she, hugging him and triggering half a dozen secret gadgets in his clothing, causing him to scramble to override them all in time. One of the little machines kept buzzing, nonetheless. He realized it was his watch's alarm.
He stood up. "I have to go."
"No, please don't!"
"I have a job to do, baby. I'm sorry."
"Well, when can we meet again?"
"When this is finished. Which, I must say, would be a lot easier if you gave me the password of the Megiddo fortress."
"Are you sure you're an insurance salesman?"
He smiled and purred.
"32B54G76F98" she said.
"Thank you!" he said, leaving and mentally erasing her name and face from his mind.
Well, at least he didn't shoot her, right?
Truth is, Double-Six Nine, a.k.a. Baron Etwas von Hiffen, house Rockthriller, is not a nice person, and that's what makes him perfect for black operations. Moebius could pick no better man for the task of assassinating Queen Windsong of Wendauer.
"Well, at least you've notified the Empress of where we're going?"
"For the last time, brother, she's your wife. You could at least call her by her first name."
Gauss lowered his head. "Sorry. It's hard to get used to," he conceded. "Though I always knew I'd get married for political reasons, I nurtured this... hope... Damn, don't you have any regrets?"
"Let me see... I regret not having fucked your hairy friend's brains out back then, him and his little girlfriend," she replied, laughing. Then she stopped dragging him and sighed. "Ok, I can understand how you feel, but that does not account for all the stupid things you've been doing... like the way you've been treating your fangirl."
"You know I love her. I do, she was the best thing that happened to me since my world collapsed. But... dear God, it's frightening - the fairest of the house fabled for its beauties, yet when compared to Krystal..."
"Do not compare, you idiot. Don't think of her as a replacement, but as a completely different individual, whose happiness - like the galaxy's - depends on you."
"All this responsibility..."
"What, simultaneous ego, power and guilt trips? I believe in you. You can fulfill your duties, but you have to remember they aren't all your life is about. If on the one hand you mustn't neglect them as you have delegating everything to that old snake, you shouldn't forget to do... human... things now and then. As we will do now," she concluded.
Human... am I?
They reached the palace's transportation wing. A helicopter was waiting for them, and Nicolette was in it. "Finally," she said, smiling. "I was about to send my personal guard to hunt down and kill your sister. It will not do, keeping me away from you," she said, kissing him. He held her, and felt her flawless, slightly chilly skin trembling a little under his fingers, and felt good in her presence, the void inside him filled - if only this lasted longer... maybe forever...
"Well then, you two can stop playing games with me. Where are we going?"
"The Thousand-Suns Festival. It's supposed to celebrate the day when all the suns in the universe simultaneously do something that makes the energies become stronger, or weaker. It doesn't really mean anything in scientific terms, but it's part of our popular culture," concluded Nicolette.
Gauss nodded. "Right... I remember about it. Some of my magic instructors seemed to believe it could actually be related to the flow of telluric energy. Interesting..."
"When was the last TSF?" asked Nike.
"Exactly twenty-two years ago, unless I'm very wrong," answered the Empress.
"Hmm... wasn't that the day of the Tottolli Two incident?"
Four
Surechigai-zama hohoemi kureta
Nido to aenaku-tatte ii kimi ga ita kara lucky da!
- Green Leaves, Yatta
Eventually Vasdhra got out of the coffin. He sat in a black leather armchair and wondered what was on television. He browsed over the channels. The three hundreth season of Friends? Nah. Saturday Night Live, hosted tonight by Baron Rockthriller. It had been downhill for quite some centuries, but it had the kind of stupid suckiness that he needed right then. He had, let's not forget it, been quartered, drawn and hung, in that order. His arms and legs were skillfully sewn back, but they still itched a little and moreover he had all this undeath, soullessness to think over. He'd do that. During the commercial breaks.
Until then, he laughed at the Deep Thoughts.
But there is only so much mindless entertainment one can take, as the Americans discovered during the Philosophical Riots in the twentieth-third century, when bookstores were raided by Kant-hungry masses.
They were quite short riots, true.
But that's not the point. The point is that our old friend, the Count, eventually would have to come to terms with vampireyness. Some way or other.
"Damnation. This wine now tastes like old pig sweat," he said, casting away the bottle. "Where can I get some blood?"
The sad thing is, young Count Vasdhra Sphexoren had been pretty content and mild for a House Sphexoren nobleman. None of that impaler-gothic-trauma stuff. Unlike Poe's characters, he had a childhood, and it had been quite pleasant. Oh, his parents tried to teach him the Old Ways, of course. The tragedy, the angst, the darkness in people's souls. Damnation forever, guilt, curse. They had some success - he stopped using non-black clothing, he trained his voice to be dark and slow, he learned all the Bela Lugosi lines. But no, if one was to place a bet on which member of the family would achieve undeath after death, he'd have been the last in the list.
As he aged, he managed to get the hang of "that depravation-tirany-villain thing", as he used to call it. He just kept seeing little point in it. But he had a Reputation to deserve, and just think what Mother would say if she knew you never killed someone with your own hands. Nah, he wasn't a very good villain.
If we would seek and find some reason to hate him, it would be that, as a result of the executions he watched before breakfast, he had pretty much never learned to, how can we say it, be a people's person. Well, basically he thought they were all animals. You might think this is an aristocratic trait, but be reminded that active hate requires a certain attachment. Instead of feasting on his enemies, honestly and caring about their feelings (in any way at all), he was much more corrupt politician-style in that he just didn't care at all about anything other than immediate comfort. Except, of course, meeting up to Mother's standards.
She wasn't dead yet, 80 being nothing with generous doses of Vitalicium. He phoned her for advice.
Agent Double-Six Nine walked in the lobby of a very busy slipgate station in Megiddo. He had the plan, he had the cunning implements of killing, he knew exactly how deadly Wyn and her pet could be. He would easily succeed, in the worst-case scenario. With any luck, he'd escape. Heck, he could even fuck her in the process. He fantasized himself with his prey, plus frosty Nicolette and smoldering Nike (his most usual fantasy).
And then, in one of the many unaccounted miracles that happen daily in the universe, he brushed past a refugee - who was, surprisingly, Frieda, whom we've briefly met in Chapter 18 - and for a minute there, he lost his self. When his brain resumed business, she was gone - but the damage had been done. He became a Good Person. He'd go after her, find her, love her, protect her. Gamezoha could fuck itself.
In a billion other universes, Wyn died, and with her, the whole universe. We have no interest in these. This one... this one is the edge of the scale, and if any will survive, this is the one. Quantum ex machina.
Five
You don't know how you got here
You just know you want out
Believing in yourself almost as much as you doubt
You're a big smash
You wear it like a rash
Star!
- U2, Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me
Gauss was pleasantly surprised. The festival was organized by the Silberwald white-leaved oak driads, with intense Silberwyrmritter policing to keep perverts away from the diaphanous white-blond maidens - not that they were defenseless, on the contrary, the guards were really protecting the perverts from their 'prey'. Deterrence...
They had landed in a small village in what appeared to be Sphexoren territory. The press had found out they'd be there, so they had to kinda poke their way through the sea of holographers with pointy sticks until the reporters were sure they weren't going to do anything kinky for the cameras.
There were seats reserved for them at the head of the large table, circling a stage where the driads were demonstrating the full range of their artistic abilities. The haunting vocals of their songs caused a chill to run down Gauss's spine - he felt as if they were trying to tell him something, or kill him softly.
He wouldn't mind that death.
He was abruptly pulled out of his reverie by a hand on his shoulder. "Whutty, dear friend! You, here?"
"Well, it is technically my land."
Gauss blinked. He always found it hard to remember his friend was a nobleman. Maybe he tried to ignore the fact, to dissociate business from pleasure.
"Why then, sit down, he have much to talk about."
"What, the unbearable pain of everything? I know all about that."
Gauss laughed. It was always a relief to find someone more miserable than he. "We can talk about that later, when my troubadour sister is not within earshot. Actually, I've got strange reports on your... father."
Whutty sat up. "But he's..."
"Yes, and I don't want to give you false hopes. If he's alive, he's a fucking bastard. What kind of parent fakes his death to his children?"
"What's up, then?"
"I got a very diluted report, that passed through many channels - conspiracy after conspiracy, almost as if coming from a triple agent, only more so... any way, he might be alive. One of our best III investigators found a note in the backpack of a dead smuggler that contained a report of the Wendauerian intelligence branch regarding the jamming of an intercepted message in a distant sector or something. Anyway, Max said we should look for him in Zardark. Do you mind doing this?"
Whutty shrugged. "It's not as if I'm eager to have the responsibility of commanding a huge fucking ship like the Nova."
"Oh, by the way, did you hear of the Jimbo?"
"Yeah, what the hell was that?"
"I don't know, but CEO Riley assured me Lucifuge had nothing to do with it. It might be a pirate named Valendil."
"... ... ... do not fuck with my mind," said Whutty, angrily, after a while.
Brief confusion, and then it dawned on Gauss where he had heard the bandit's description before. Buccaneer Lover, Chromelips' first album...
Vasdhra sighed.
It had been atrociously painful, as usual. His mother could point out exactly those things he wasn't feeling bad about yet, starting with how he shouldn't have returned from the dead without asking her permission first. He felt better nonetheless, because at least she had given him Orders. Now he knew what to do.
It sometimes ocurred to him he was a very sad sixty year old man, a grade-A loser were it not for his immense wealth as House Sphexoren leader. Well, he turned on his computer. She had told him to read the Who's Who in Galactic Politics. He was doing so. Apparently his distant nephew, Whutty ben Lysander (who was really Lysander's clone, a fact he knew yet couldn't care less about) was now Prime Minister. He checked the obituaries, hoping to find his and laugh - "the accounts of my death weren't very exaggerated." He saw that Duchess Salyra had died.
Who was that?
He read her file. It had pictures. After two paragraphs, he was already enthralled.
That's the kind of bride Mother would want me to take.
Or
That's the kind of bride who can tell Mother to fuck off.
Either way, he had to have her. He summoned James the Butler to get him a ship.
Six
Bend like giants filled with rum
You wanna see me fee fo fum
You are traipsing through tonight
A garden of delight
- Michael Penn, Macy Day Parade
Gauss looked around. Everyone, even Whutty, seemed to have been enthralled magically by the driads' dance. Except for him, and a green-haired woman - and she was looking at him, so this was doubtlessly deliberate.
He stood up, and she was beside him.
"Hello, Gauss."
"Who are you, and what do you want?"
She smiled. There was something unsettlingly motherly about her. "I wish only to help you."
"I don't need any help," "Be serious," and "No, thanks" crossed Gauss's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to be haughty right now. "Well then, what do you want to tell me?"
"The driads are keeping something very precious in the forest. Would you like to see it?"
"Is that it? Business?"
"Far from it. We wish only to bring solace to your soul."
"Well, you're doing a miserable job."
"Ah, she told us you'd be silly and stubborn,"sighed the woman, shrugging.
"She?" said Gauss, stepping back. "You mean?..."
"Yes. Will you come?"
She ran through the woods like a gazelle, no, actually, like an incorporeal thing that hopped around thourgh stuff, the spirit of a gazelle maybe. Gauss could barely keep up, catching glimpses of her only now and then. She kept talking to him, but her voice came from every direction in a very confusing way, which was starting to irritate him. He decided to ask a bunch of questions, to get as much information from her as possible before he lost her track definitively.
"Where are we going?"
"The Glade. She's waiting for you there."
"But... is she alive? How?"
"Can she really die? But that does not answer your question, does it. I'm sorry, but you can give up any hopes of actually touching her."
"A spirit?..."
"That'd be accurate, yes."
"But how... why... who are you anyway?"
"My name is too complicated in your language, *sound of wind rustling through the branches of a young tree* which means something involving running among trees naked which is acutally a little embarrassing, but a human friend used to call me 'Green-haired witch', which in a way is surprisingly accurate and descriptive."
"You aren't a driad, are you?"
"Half driad, half human, biologically. I must say I prefer my sylvan cultural heritage."
"Why, you lived all your life here?"
Laugh like cristalline water down a stream. "No, curiously enough, I have a PhD in Neurochemistry from the University of Kubrik. I guess it's a family thing. My father was Dr. Marik, you know."
"Ah, that explains a lot."
"It does, doesn't it?"
"Yes. You're a lot older than you look, too."
"Why thank you. Aren't we becoming polite."
"So, you're the Generator aspect, aren't you."
The sound of her footsteps stopped. He was suddenly alone.
"Well, that was easy," said Gauss. Hopefully I'll keep them wondering how much I know for a while...
Gauss was lost. He decided he'd change to dragon and search for the Glade from the sky. Airborne, he closed his eyes. He felt his way magically, and let her guide him.
He was struck with the sensation of her presence. He gasped, his wings faltered, and he glided for an eternity, with only an occasional wing beat between an updraft and another. Eventually he felt his claws dragging against the ground, and his nostrils were filled with the humidity of a waterfall. He landed.
Summoning all courage he could muster, he opened his eyes.
Seven
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride.
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes
The life still there, upon her hair-the death upon her eyes.
- Edgar Allan Poe, Lenore
It was dark and it was night, and Jacob Syne saw a ghost in his big expensive condo.
"What are you," he asked, half sleepy, half wondering if he could sue the ghost. "The Ghost of the Never-Happening Christmas?"
The ghost chuckled. "No, far from it. I do not want to change you at all. You have a most healthy cynism."
"Thank you. Hey... I know you. You're St. Matthias."
"Indeed I am. Does that explain everything?"
"A lot. I know, for example, that you're here to warn me against Möebius."
"Well, yes. That bastard was the only person ever who deceived me."
"And you'll ask me, under lawyer esprit de corps, to avenge your ego."
"Indeed. I also have the number of an account at the Banker's Guild with half the entire GNP of Gamezoha during my mandate, profitably invested."
"Some'd call that corruption."
"We didn't need the money, and we sure as hell weren't going to give it in humanitarian aid to Wendauer. Or fill the coffers of Lucifuge to buy weapons we don't need."
"Current policy upsetting you? I can imagine."
"No, you can't. Just know Moebius is one sick bastard and that he has to go down. There is only one conspiracy that can take him on."
"The tres?"
Pause.
"I do not know of them. I was referring to the AZTECH."
"Ah. I see," said Syne. "Of course. We can destroy him. I already have a plan."
"Good, I won't have to explain you mine since they're likely identically perfect."
"You over-estimate your abilities, saint," and both chuckled at this youthful arrogance.
"Fare thee well, avenger. Speak smooth, sue suddenly. May we meet in the Great Courtroom in the Sky."
"Don't worry, I'll teach that son of a bitch not to fuck with a lawyer..."
"Krystal," said Gauss, at last.
"Wernher."
Gauss extended a trembling claw and tried to touch her. He felt just air.
"I am dead, you know," she said, smiling sadly.
"I hoped... maybe..."
"I wish. I miss you too."
"How-... are you well? I mean, besides the... uhm... dead part."
Krystal chuckled. He missed that sound - God, it was a surprise he had lived with the fear of never hearing it again. "It's peaceful," she said at last. "You wouldn't believe how so. I now understand why we had to remain parted," she added.
"I wish I could believe there's something worth that price."
"The universe, my love. I had to die so it could live - or at least have a chance at it. I wish you could help make my sacrifice worth it."
"I will! Anything! What should I do?"
"You're being controlled. I will fix that, and you will be free at last to do the right thing, if you really want to - and I'm sure you will, which feels my heart with peace. I'm only sorry I know you won't ever be happy - I wouldn't be, without you. But hopefully you'll find peace, and that will have to do."
Gauss listened to this with his head lowered. "Why us? We, the best of them?"
Krystal surprised him. She laughed. "You silly. It's always up to the best to sacrifice the most. Is the goat guilty of anything at all? You have to sacrifice your best, to show you're willing to sacrifice anything. Abraham and Isaac."
"Why sacrificing anything? Why destruction and death?"
"I thought you had read your philosophers better, my sweet and misguided love. It's part of the Process. Kali. Existence is ultimately validated by how it ends. The mystery is in the ceasing-to-be. The ultimate virtue."
"But why-"
"Why you? Well, most people ask themselves that at some time in their lives. Everyone' special. But if you really want to know... we're not like them. We're-" she giggled as she said this "-more special."
"Well, yeah. I know you are-"
"Oh, always finding a reason to praise me, aren't you? What I was saying is that we have a certain... purity of essence... that just will not compromise. You're too... tied... to absolute values, in fact, you are the incarnation of those values - the telluric waves, as we always knew - we, the too pure for this world of contrasts, fragile like a dream..."
"Fragile?" snorted Gauss, uprooting a tree with his tail, but then he added: "I know, I know. Just kidding. I understand."
"You silly boy. I wish you could take anything seriously without immediately falling into depression."
"No, I understand, really. We do not belong here, and we've always felt like that. This place is Heraclitus triumphant. This... thing... we are... is an abstraction, a metaphor, a Platonic ideal - that we are incarnated is of no consequence at all."
"But it is of consequence. We have a mission to fulfill, my beloved, and that is what I had to make sure you knew. Beauty is at its apex in the process of leaving existence. This world of sweet and sour, we can leave it behind at no cost, return to the purity of our essences with the satisfaction of having existed. We did not receive our gifts in vain, Gauss. It's our duty to help everyone else, exactly because they haven't the comfort of perfection - we must serve them because they are our inferiors."
And thus, in rather insulting terms, the universe came one step closer to salvation.
Eight
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In the hanging garden
Please don't speak
In the hanging garden
No one sleeps
- The Cure, Hanging Garden
Syne dreams. It seems to be a nightmare, strangely, since he never had one of those since his early childhood. He's in a cathedral, and it is filled with images of Moebius, a green-haired chick, and the old Emperor Gauss, Wilhelm. He is running from something.
He stops.
"Who are you?" he asks to his invisible assailant.
An awesome figure emerges from the shadows. He is a byzantine-style angel - terrible face, flaming hair, flashing eyes. His wings are black. He wears a black robe, a black cuirass - and in his hand a huge sword, whose blade is shrouded in black flames.
"If you don't want to tell I won't insist," Syne added.
The angel spoke like a military choir of metallic voices, or like a thousand scimitars being drawn at once, to fight and martyr for a holy war. "I am Uziel, the assassin angel."
"And, er, who do you assassinate?"
"Angels who failed. All who are given power and think they are beyond punishment. I prove them wrong."
"Ah, a policeman," Syne said, relieved. He knew how to deal with those. "I'm not an angel, I think. Just pointing out and stuff."
"You shouldn't take my words literally, human. I come as I have to. I speak as I will be understood. Were you Greek, I'd have come as the Erinnyes. Chinese, I'd have come as the White Tiger. The result would be the same."
"What, you'1l kill me?"
"I am warning you. The Tres are in the middle of a game. It is vital that they are not interrupted by you. The crimson-eyed King has a destiny to fulfill... or die trying."
"Blah," said Syne. "Ok, I won't mess with Moebius' schemes, whatever they are. But if the universe is destroyed because this 'king' fucks up, then, by Kelsen!, am I going to sue you dry..."
Gauss walks aimlessly in the forest, thinking the last hours of conversation over. He feels better. Sad, yet freer than ever before. He won't see her again, as only the Green-Haired Witch's powers kept Krystal here long enough for her to deliver her message. Now she's gone and he's again alone, but he has a Purpose, and it helps.
An assassin jumps on him and pins him against the ground. It's a bug - a big, bad bug. It has two legs and four arms ending in nasty claws, and it oozes something foul, and it has big insect multi-eye things, and its mouth is a bizarre sucker-chewer thing, and it has wings, and it's really disgusting.
Despite everything, despite the insect shell and the mindless homicidal disposition of the creature, Gauss could recognize who that was - whom Moebius (could it be anyone else?) had made into a killing machine with his foul magic -
- his old friend, Mike Costescu.
Horrified, he's left defenseless. The killer raises two of its striking appendages...
Vasdhra had an uneventful flight, except for the hitch-hiking Zen Motorcicle Rabbis singing Hava Nagila during two-thirds of the trip. He considered shutting them up by force, but decided clawing off his eardrums would require less effort in the long run. He could always grow new ones later. He began to like the whole vampirety thing.
The blood-drinking was something of a nuisance. He couldn't drink from a living person without transforming him/her/it/hir/zer/zraai into a vampire, unless he went all the way and killed him/her/it/hir/zer/zraain. He also couldn't see his reflection, was highly vulnerable to garlic and blessed water and all that stuff. Part of being an old-school vampire. None of that Anne Rice gayness, though, thank the Impaler for small blessings. Anyway, he settled for cold blood inna glass. James probably dropped something in it to avoid the clotting stuff (besides the Prozac Plus that he had to take lest his Sphexoren gene-induced depression got out of hand).
He was well-received in the system's capital planet, as a VIP guest. The amazons briefly considered staking his heart in his sleep, but that was just supersticion speaking. He had a diplomatic conversation with their Queen, who insisted on having a baby with the Emperor. He got bored out of his skull, literally, so he just threw his mind over to the body of a wolf in the woods nearby and mauled some children for lighthearted fun. When the meeting ended, he asked for a tour of the old palace.
"So... I hear she turned to dust when she died?"
One of the amazons escorting him nodded. "But she was a tricky bitch. The dust kept trying to re-form her body. Good thing our priestesses disrupted her magic before the resurrection was complete."
"Yes, very good," he said, and then decided he should do something theatrical. He raised his head and breathed deeply. "Ah, the sweet scent of death. I take it we're near the tomb?"
"Uhm, not quite. This is the kitchen."
Vasdhra opened his eyes wide as it dawned on him he had just filled his lungs with the smell of garlic. His nose began to bleed. James gave him a black silk handkerchief.
"Ok, this is her tomb," the amazon said, a couple of embarrassments later.
"Good," said he, killing the amazons. James produced a white towel to wipe the blood from his fists with. He raised the huge stone slab between his forefinger and thumb and threw it behind him with ease. The body was there, magically preserved - but with the head detached from the body and a fistful of silver coins crammed into its mouth, a quite intelligent precaution the amazons took.
He wondered if he should sew the head back or something. He needed a neck to bite, after all. "James, could you please hold her head to the neck, yes thank you, now get the coins out, thank you,"... he bit her wrist. He spat. Only black stuff oozed out, and it wasn't tasty.
"Perhaps sir would like some sugar with that?"
"Uhm, no, thank you, James. I think I'll need some magic stuffs."
"May I suggest pouring some of sir's cursed blood into her mouth?"
"What do you think I am, some kind of Camarilla vampire? No, there must be some way... ow!"
James raised an eyebrow. "Would sir like me to cut off her fingers with a blowtorch?"
"It worked! Hahaha OW!"
Salyra sat up, her head twisting around until snapping into its natural position.
If Count Vasdhra weren't death-pale, he'd have blushed, as it dawned on him she was completely naked.
Nine
Shell smashed, juices flowing
Wings twitch, legs are going,
Don’t get sentimental,
It always ends up drivel.
One day, I’m gonna grow wings,
A chemical reaction,
Hysterical and useless...
- Radiohead, Let Down
And then the insect's head was gone, chopped off by a whirling silvery-blue blade - but it continued its striking motion nonetheless, its razor-fingers dropping down with stone-breaking strength on Gauss's face.
They crashed down into a scaly claw. Nicolette grabbed the insect's limbs, pulled them out, and then used them to bat the twitching, brainless body away into a tree.
Gauss stood up, staring at the miserable remains of his old friend. He turned to see Nike pulling her weapon from a tree, and looming over him, his wife. She seemed to be examining him for wounds. He took the time to admire what a magnificent specimen she was - her long, sleek body, her scales in a beautiful indigo hue all stirred in him million-year-old instincts.
"Thanks," he said. "That was an old friend."
"No-one harms my prince," she said, crushing him between her cheek and a claw.
"I'd say something about your friends being strange, but then again here's your family," said Nike, wiping the bug juice from her blade. Her diamond eyes glittered behind her ninja mask. "Where were you?"
"Clearing my head. Now, we have to go and kill Moebius."
"Oh good, thought you'd never ask," said Nike. "Shall I call the helicopter?"
"No," said Gauss, growing in size, magically absorbing his clothing. "Let's fly."
Nightrider takes dabbabah. Alfil taken by ferz. Connect board 5g£ to 11y#. Lotus checks Cannon. Moebius' elbow hits warlord, making him lose the last hundred years of playing on that board. He raises an eyebrow. "Tootoo, we have to go. Bye bye, shrimps!" he waves goodbye to an aquarium with experimental claw shrimps mutated from those that had appeared before, and catered by the gibbering monstrosities, currently chained to the wall of his dungeon.
Tootoo the plush reindeer looks pensive. Are we getting paranoid, or is he plotting?
"Paranoia, paranoia, lala-lalala-laaa..." sings the Prime Minister.
Gauss arrives at his palace only to find Moebius already gone. Anyway, he has to stop this war. Simply declaring hostilities over wouldn't work - it'd probably cause a coup d'Etat, the gamezohans having fun as they are with their favorite pasttime.
There was a simple solution: he'd lose the war.
"Prinzip, the gamezohan defenses around Gamezoha Prime have mysteriously opened a breach we can exploit!" notified the Dewnhëem Scout-General.
"Good," said Omai. "The King is looking after us. His kingdom come. Prepare a small, elite strike force."
Jon and Gunther arrived at Gamezoha Prime International Spaceport.
"Business or pleasure, gentlemen?"
"Business," said Gunther. "Though I hear the Silberwald is specially pleasant this time of the year."
"Indeed it is. Can you specify what kind of business?"
"We work for Inrun. We deal with technographical technologies," added Gunther. Jon was keeping his mouth shut. He hated to lie.
"I see. Do you carry any weapons, electronic devices, biological or chemical hazardous substances, are you or have you been contaminated widh a contagious form of self-replicating biot, or affiliated to an order or society that teaches anarchy, ungamezohan doctrines or any form of guerilla warfare or terrorism?"
Gunther thought: Yes to all... well, not the disease one. I think. "No."
"Have a nice stay, sir. If you do go to Silberwald, you may meet my brodher Kreuz... tell him you know Weiss and he might get you a good place to stay," offered the customs officer, cheerfully.
Ten
Baleful sounds and wild voices ignored
In luck disaster the one reward
Violated sanctity of supermen's hills
So sad (hollow hills)
Love lies there still (hollow hills)
So sad (hollow hills)
So sad (hollow hills)
Hollow hills (hollow hills)
Hollow hills (hollow hills)
Witches too and goblin too and speckled sills
Lament repent oh mortal you...
- Bauhaus, Hollow Hills
"So, hum, you're supposed to become my unholy bride now."
Salyra snickered. "Really?"
"A-and get yourself some time's dead flowers bereft in deathly bloom. And a black feather hat, I think," he added, uncertainly. This wasn't as he had planned. He hadn't planned much, anyway.
"Why do you want me dressing up as your mother?"
"How do you?..." Vasdhra stepped back, surprised. And then he grimaced. "Don't you dare magic me, witch," he hissed, and slapped her.
She looked up, touching a drop of black blood in her lip with her tongue. "Now you're speaking my language."
She's a crazy bitch, by the way.
They were in his ship, flying back to Castle Dirge to assemble an army of utterly evil evil to take back the Ducat.
"I wrote a book, you know."
"You what? A book?" Vasdhra put down the fork. He had been poking holes in a pig's skin to pour blood in a glass.
"Yes. Here, I got a copy from my emergency stash."
Vasdhra raised an eyebrow. "It starts with a Pynchon quote. 'But why are we taught to feel reflexive shame whenever the subject comes up? Why will the Structure allow every other kind of sexual behavior but that one? Because submission and dominance are resources it needs for its very survival. They cannot be wasted in private sex. In any kind of sex. It needs our submission so that it may remain in power. It needs our lusts after dominance so that it can co-opt us into its own power game. There is no joy in it, only power. I tell you, if S and M could be established universally, at the family level, the State would wither away'." Vasdhra looked up. "Sado-anarchism?"
Salyra smiled. "Smash the State, honey. I'm a villain with a purpose."
"Bravo. You and I, we can make beautiful evil together."
"I'm sure we can. You wouldn't happen to have any whips lying around, by the way?"
"James?"
"Here you have it, sir," said James, appearing out of nowhere with a whip on a silver plate.
"Handy," commented Salyra when the butler left, while moving her fingers over the whip, feeling its blood-virgin leather.
"Isn't he? I considered changing him for an Igor, but Mother says Igors are for mad scientists and lack panache."
Salyra cracked the whip close to Vasdhra's face. "I want to meet your mother."
Jon and Gunther were in front of the Imperial Palace. "I wonder how we'll get in," mused Jon.
"Let's try knocking," said Gunther, walking towards the front door. A very young Silberwyrmritter stopped him. He was accompanied by six grim-looking fuzileers with M-6K Lucifuge graser carbines.
"Halt. Where do you think you're going?"
Jon recognized in the boy a certain aura... spiritual brotherhood of knights... he signaled to his SOAKID breastplate. The Silberwyrmritter stepped back.
"Saint Kriegsley? Please, forgive my mistake. I will escort you to the Emperor's presence at once.
Jon smiled faintly and nodded. As they followed the Gamezohans, Gunther murmured something about this sanctity thing being pretty handy...
When they entered the throne room, Gauss was speaking to a screen: "I surrender, Prinzip. Come here at once so I can sign the admission of my defeat. Emperor of Gamezoha over, out."
He turned. "Jon! What a pleasant surprise!"
"Thou double-faced sinner... why didst thou declare war against innocent Windsong?"
Gauss lowered his head in what he hoped was a regretful manner. "I'm sorry... Moebius had me under his spell for too long. But I'm fixing this even as we speak. Watch."
He pressed a button in his throne. Suddenly all screens in the Empire were showing his face. "People of the Empire. I regret to inform you that somehow the Dewnhëem military has gained access to Gamezoha Prime and are threatening to destroy the planet. We have as of now declared our unconditional surrender. Prinzip Omai will arrive at any time to get my formal declaration of defeat."
Jon was speechless. Gunther quietly nodded. He had predicted as much.
Omai walked towards Gauss. The Gamezohan leader was kneeling, demonstrating his submission. The Prinzip had decided he would spare his enemy, maybe a life sentence for crimes against humanity. The important thing was that the war was over, with much less bloodshed than anyone could predict. He hoped he was making his King proud, wherever he was.
"Let me through", someone screams. "I’m with Omai’s Truthful Order! The Prinzip’s life is in great danger!" A man passes between confused Dewne bodyguards, and suddenly his facial expression changes dramatically, and he draws a handgun. "Ewige Blumenkraft!" he says, firing, killing the just ruler.
In the following confusion, Gauss's disarmed guards fight the outraged Dewnes with improvised weapons, while Max escapes in the confusion by jumping from a window. The young Silberwyrmritter Jon had met earlier falls against him, mortally wounded. The indiscriminate gunfire ends with the invaders' ammunition, allowing a blood-drenched mob of Gamezohans to charge and lynch them.
"Dragon dude, you have to stop... aw fuck, you've been shot," says Gunther, poking the hole in the emperor's chest. Gauss looks down at the wound.
"Oh? Yes..." he says, changing to battleform. The wounds disappear. He still can't believe what he has caused.
"Now, let's get the fuck out of here before they blow up the planet."
"What? Oh, no, Omai was the only one who had the codes for their doomsday weapons. He wouldn't trust anyone else with them."
Gunther stopped. "Eh?"
"The war will go on... I fucked up."
Jon ran to where they were. He had been trying to help the wounded. "Gauss, I hope this was not thy plane."
"I'm sorry, Jon. I didn't mean it. I should've known Moebius would be one step ahead. The war will continue."
"Thou art the emperor! Canst thou not order thy soldiers to stop?"
"Even if I risked a coup by stopping the wars against the other nations of the Galaxy, it would be of little use now Dewnhëem wants my head on a stake and all planets of the Empire destroyed. They have the means; they're the only nation that compares to mine in power."
"At the very least you'd save Wendauer. GENS Punisher in converging on Megiddo even as we speak," said Nike, appearing from nowhere. "I don't want anything bad to happen to Wild Thing," she added, smiling and embarrassing Gauss, Jon and Gunther.
Eleven
There is a place I'd love to go
Strangers takin' me there
I dream about the day I learn to fly
- Foo Fighters, A320
A group of generals burst through the throne room's giant double doors. Two Silberwyrmritters looked at Gauss as if to say they were sorry about failing to keep the officers outside.
"Emperor, I urge you to reconsider. We've got the Wendauerian dogs by the throat. Why give up now?" said Admiral Morgan-Giles, apparently the speaker for the group.
"The order stands. Cessation of hostilities, commencing as soon as posible."
"Must we remind you it is our constitutional duty to ensure the Emperor will not get in the way of our military initiatives?" said Giles, threateningly.
"I'd like to see you try, really," replied Gauss. "Now, either you leave or I'll have the guards shoot you for mutiny. Guards, draw your weapons."
The generals left grumbling. Gauss knew they'd try something. "Communications, I want a conference with Queen Ellamina of Wendauer."
Nicolette, in the Empress's throne beside him, held his hand. "Your ex-fiancée? I'm jealous."
Gauss smiled. "Don't worry, indigo beats blue. Besides, I really wouldn't want to learn how possessive Vinny can be the bad way."
"Sir, I've got her on channel four."
Gauss pressed a key. "Wyn?"
"Oh, you," she replied with disgust in her voice, "what now? You want my surrender?"
"You have all the right to feel that way regarding me. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm pulling back my forces. Someone finally got some sense into my head."
Gauss thought he could hear Vinny's voice groaning in the background: "That must've required a helluva laser drill."
"And anyway, I'm going there in person to explain myself. I'll take our good friend Jon with me, I'm sure you miss him already. Oh, and that other... person. Is Miriam with you?"
"No, haven't you spoken with Jon?"
"Well... he's kinda avoiding me. I don't blame him. He told me Oscar went to Earth, though."
"Hmm, I didn't know that. Looking for his past kind of thing?"
"Yes. Anyway, I'm leaving in one hour. I should be there in a couple of days, with my fastest ship. My psycho sister will hold the throne... perhaps definitively. If anyone can avoid a coup, it's her."
The people around him were surprised. He hadn't mentioned this part of his plan yet.
Gauss heard Vinny groaning "Good, I won't have to worry about being sexually assaulted..."
He couldn't help but notice the news had been a relief for Windsong. She was still pissed off with him, of course, but she was definitely happier.
"Well, if you come here and kiss my feet and Vinny's and implore our forgiveness I might still invite you to my wedding."
When she disconnected, Gauss moaned: "Oh no, she'll hate me for not having invited her to mine... I'd better take some real nice gifts..."
Syne had gone over the dialogue of his nightmare many times, and decided there was definitely a loophole. Nowhere did Uziel say he couldn't help that 'crimson-eyed king', right? So he would do (he logged in the ius.net datalinks), he'd defeat Moebius (he began searching) by helping secretly (he looked at the results) one Vincit Omnibus.
Ok, where would he begin looking for this guy? Zardark?
The ship moved fast using its Ãœberspeed Drive. Suddenly, it stopped (good thing it had good inertia dampers or else we'd have a shipful of pulp). "Mad Knife" Valendil congratulated the crew of the Jolly Jimbo on the perfect synchronization of their weapon, thruster and shield dampers. They had just captured the emperor, or ex-emperor, of Gamezoha.
The main prisioners were taken to the bridge, while most others were forced to walk the plank - or the pressure door. "So," said Valendil. "This is the empress? You're pretty hot, you know?"
Gauss was shocked by being so blatantly ignored by this petty criminal. "Get your hands off her or ARGH-" The collar they had forced him to put on zapped him. It kept him from using magic, or changing shape.
Jon and Gunther, similarly restricted, stepped back.
"Get these three to my nephew. This one is reward enough for me," said the elf, touching Nicolette's cheek with the back of his hand. She spat into his face. "Let us go, animal!"
The elf grinned. "I can see this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship..."
Twelve
As I gaze into the mirror of doubt, I see the barrenness of this life that remains
Yet in despair we begin to see true lite, in weakness we will be strong
Let us draw substance from our shadows
Chaos above me Chaos beneath me Chaos around me and Chaos within me
- Fields of the Nephilim, Chaocracy
Whutty piloted faster than ever. He had left without talking to Lips. He wanted to forget her for now. He had to reach Zardark... Maybe learn the truth...
Pyrite gleefully entered the cell where his uncle's men had left his nemesis chained, in the deepest dungeons of Castle Halak. Krystal's garden had withered, all form of celebration was prohibited, the castle itself seemed to be crumbling to pieces. And it was all this monster's fault.
"You!" cried the boy, when he found himself face-to-face with the criminal. "You killed her!"
Gauss looked at him, and the resemblance made him pity his self-proclaimed enemy. "I'm sorry. I loved her."
"You did not," said Pyrite, bursting into tears. "You can't have...", he sobbed.
Gauss remained silent. He wasn't sure if he could say anything helpful.
"But I'll make you pay for your crime," the boy said, drawing his sword. Gauss wondered if he'd die this way, at the hands of one of the few people more misguided than him in the universe. It'd be strangely appropriate - a Romeo kind of death. But he'd fail with Krystal, he'd fail with the universe, and he'd fail with this boy, who would simply begin a life of murder and despair.
He opened his mouth, but Pyrite cried out: "Don't let him speak! He'll lie!" The guard nodded, and turned a switch on the wall that caused Gauss's collar to open two small hatches, from which mechanical arms came out and gagged him.
Pyrite put his sword in the fire of a white phosphorus torch. "I'll give you something to remind you of your crime forever, as you rot in this cell for the next millenia we shall both live." He proceeded to shovel a pile of white dust from a bucket with the broad side of the white-hot sword.
He then placed the uppermost fifth of it against Gauss's cheek, and pressed hard. The dragon squirmed, the burn hurting as little had ever hurt before. "In case you're wondering, that powder was lye, ve-e-ery pure, ve-e-ery dangerous," Pyrite said, trying to chuckle but only sounding sadder.
He pulled the sword away when it no longer glowed red any more, but the burning continued. The scar, ogival in shape (like a rocket), reached bone at some points. Steam poured from it. Tears were coming from the prisioner's eyes.
Gauss opened them, even though the lye would keep burning for hours if left by itself. He saw Pyrite, and understood that it didn't really matter whether he had killed her or not. He wasn't trying to make a point. He just wanted to see him suffer, because it was all that remained for him. Gauss thought of Oscar and Joel.
No. Joel was evil. This was just a desperate kid.
He wouldn't let pain, an illusion, turn into hate, an evil. He closed his eyes, and was with Krystal again. His body would have to do by itself for a while...
"What's your plan, villain? Rape?"
Valendil feigned taking offense. "You underestimate me, milady. If I do not conquer your heart in thirty days, I'll let you go. By then I'm sure you won't want to..."
He grinned maliciously. "You're a young widow. You have to think about your... shall we say... needs. I can satisfy you, oh, and how..."
Nicolette snorted. "You? I'd rather lie with a pig."
"Now, now, don't make promises you can't fulfill..." said the pirate. "Wine?"
Thirteen
And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain
- Guns n' Roses, November Rain
Riley: This man, who has assumed power in Dewnhëem... who is he?
Baron Rockthriller: Former III agent, former marine, former Silver Dragoon. One of our greatest SIG Theorists. Discharged in mysterious circumstances.
Syne: SIG? That's high level military policy!
Rockthriller: [nodding] Yes. Systems, information and games. Order through chaos.
Syne: But is he on AZTECH's side, or Moebius'?
Rockthriller: He plays Moebius' game, but we're not sure if he dances the dance. At this level, everyone's a wild card - as we well know.
[The others nod]
Riley: Do you have a picture.
[ROCKTHRILLER nods and presses a button. A hologram of a middle-aged, silver-haired man with aquiline features is formed. He looks incredibly military.]
Syne: So this is this Viktor person?
Rockthriller: Yes, but my sources indicate he operates under a different codename for the Manus.
Syne: Uziel?
Rockthriller: How did you know?
Syne: [nonchalantly] I have my channels.
Riley: The Manus Celer Dei? So my brother is behind this?
Maximille [until now silent]: You should know by now... everyone is behind everything.
Cell #1: Jon sighed. He'd been made prisioner so many times it was starting to get old. He was no longer with the collar, but the cell was impregnable. He concentrated. He had to let Miriam know...
Cell #2: "Well then, let him speak now," said Pyrite, gesturing to the guard to ungag Gauss.
The dragon gasped. His captor had just neutralized the lye. He looked at him.
"I could heal this. But I won't. I'll keep it as a reminder of what wrongs I did do, and of what guilt and hate lead to."
Pyrite clapped. "Pretty words for a monster, but I'm unimpressed. Nothing can erase what you did."
"What did I do, exactly?"
Pyrite ignored the question. "Nothing can give back what you took from me. You're responsible for my suffering, and I'll pay it back - every day. You'll look back at today and wish you could pass through this again instead of what I'm planning for you."
"It won't bring her back, you know."
The boy slapped him in his scarred cheek. "You'll rue this insolence! Never speak of her again!"
They left. Gauss lowered his head and wept.
Pitying others may be an improvement from self-pity, but is just as saddening...
Cell #3: Gunther grumbled. He had argued with his cellmate all day long, and now the bastard was snoring terribly. "Oh, just stfu, will you?!" he cried, clenching his pillow against his ears.
"Fuck you, jackass!" was the answer.
That was it. He stood up, grabbed the knife he had stolen during dinner, and walked very deliberately towards Mickey the Cod's bunk...
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