Final Empire (12 page)

When his name blistered through my synapses like a lightning strike
I’d never felt so completely brilliant, and yet simultaneously like a total idiot.
Sultan Darmaki.
Notorious playboy billionaire from the United Arab Emirates, and one of the only people on the planet (besides Cameron Frost) to have hosted an Arena event himself. The handsome thirty-year old tycoon was practically Frost’s arch-rival; they’d competed against each other from across the globe, each jockeying for position in the same fields: entertainment, real estate, politics, and most recently, the lucrative world of promoting combat sports.

What made Darmaki interesting was that, unlike Frost, he was a bona fide superhuman himself. And not just
any
superhuman: one whose powers had never been fully tested, and were alleged to be some of the most dangerous in existence. The ability to manipulate the four elements at will was a terrifying prospect, though few had seen a full display of his powers. He was paranoid about being filmed, and for the most part rejected technology altogether. There were rumors, though. From my experience, a rumor is rarely a hundred percent false.

“How did you figure it out?” Peyton asked, dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” McGarrity added, scratching at his hairline. “Dude gave you nothing to work with.”

“He gave me everything,” I explained. “Referring to himself as a ‘leader’ was the first giveaway.”

“What if he’d meant, like, a political leader?” Brynja asked.

“I considered that, but he’d also made reference to stocks and ‘breeding excellence’. It was pointing to a businessman more than a politician. Plus he’s crazy...though I suppose you can’t be at the top of either of those fields without being a sociopath.”

Peyton tugged at a loop of her cotton-candy pink hair, narrowing her eyes. “You knew it was a ‘him’?” she asked curiously. “How can you be so sure, even now?” She’d always been neutral on whether I was being set up by a man or a woman – I suspected because she was hoping the blame would be laid on Brynja. But even now she wasn’t completely convinced.

“That part was easy once I figured out how to press him,” I said with a short laugh. “I purposely said ‘missus’ because if it
was
a woman, she wouldn’t have corrected me...but if a man who thinks of himself as a Master of the Universe is mistaken for a woman, you can bet your ass he’s going to set you straight.”

The rest of the pieces fell into place: a businessman with a possible gripe against Cameron Frost (or his business) who is fascinated enough with superhumans – and with no-holds-barred competitions – to risk everything by arranging an unsanctioned Arena Mode tournament. And someone who was callous enough to flatten populated areas in the process. I was rapidly eliminating possible suspects, and was left with a single, solid possibility.

“So this is a two-for-one deal,” Gavin said. “He gets to run his crazy death match, and at the same time, frame the richest person in the world. With you out of the way he’s the man.”

I rose from my chair and began to pace the length of the conference room. “Yeah, that all makes sense...except for one thing.”

“Fee didn’t fill yoo,” Karin mumbled after cramming her mouth full of what looked like the remaining half of her hamburger.

Everyone stared at her as she chewed, either with disgust or fascination, I couldn’t be sure.

She swallowed. “Sorry, that was supposed to be ‘he didn’t kill you’.”

“Right,” I nodded, still burning a hole in the pristine vanilla carpet as I retraced my steps. “If this
was
just about being the ‘best of the best’, I’d already be dead – that much he
wasn’t
lying about. He wants something else...”

“Could just be a Cameron Frost type of deal—?” McGarrity guessed. “You know, some rich old dude wanting to prove he’s better than some other rich old dude. It’s like when my grandfather plays chess with his friends at the park.”

“Jesus, man, I’m not
that old,
I’m thir—” and then I stopped in my tracks.

This was a game, for sure. Darmaki said it himself. But he’d been playing against a blind opponent. More than that, he’s been moving my pieces
for
me, forcing me into very specific actions to further his agenda.

The landscape was rapidly changing: I’d lost credibility, I’d been framed for murders that Darmaki had been responsible for, and now, cities were cancelling their contracts with the Moxon Corporation. They were lowering their defenses, and giving up on CDU’s as a means to repel superhuman attacks. This was all happening according to
his
plan, and it was happening precisely on
his
schedule. I needed a disruption. I’d figured his game out sooner than he’d anticipated, and I needed to make a sudden move that he wasn’t expecting. What I needed was a game-changer.

“I’m going to draw him out in the open,” I said to no one in particular, staring off into the middle distance. “I’m going to throw myself into Arena Mode.”

Brynja sprang from her seat. “First of all, what the fuck?” She circled the table and stood in front of me, locking her feet into place. “Secondly, for real, Mox...what the fuck?”

“Matty,” Peyton pleaded, coming to my side. “You don’t need to do this.”

“And besides,” Gavin added, “Even if you
wanted
to throw Darmaki a curveball by jumping into one of his fights, you don’t know where the next competitors are going to show up.”

“He wants me in hiding. He said it himself – he kept wishing me luck, prompting me to stay out of view. For whatever reason he needs me free and out of custody...at least for the time being. I go into a populated area and wait for him to come to me. When I get spotted by a camera, I won’t need to find the next arena fight – Arena Mode will come to me.”

“Okay,” McGarrity agreed, “I’m totally down with that...but what makes you so sure this old dude will show up?”

“I don’t think he will. I think he’ll send back-up – some of his lackeys to get me out of harm’s way.”

“You mean
capture
you?” Peyton asked.

“Possibly. But
we’re
going to capture
them
.”

“Wait, we’re taking prisoners, now?” Peyton was incredulous. “Like we’re going to
abduct
someone?”

“‘Abduct’ is kind of a harsh way to describe it...I’d think of it more like a kidnapping.”

“That’s the same thing,” she said flatly.

I shrugged. “Yeah, but ‘kidnapping’ has less of a torture-y vibe to it.”

“So we’re
not
going to torture anyone...” Gavin asked, now rising to his feet as well.

“Oh, no, we probably will. We need to be
sure
who’s behind this. I’m pretty certain that it’s Darmaki but I can’t be a hundred percent until we get our hands on one of his superhumans.”

Karin glanced up at me, sipping from a straw in her oversized mug. She was the only person in the room still seated. “Damn, boss, this is some dark shit...even for you.”

“Dark?”

“You got a little darkness lately,” she said in between gulps. “You’ve had this kamikaze look in your eyes ever since that doctor’s appointment in Switzerland.”

The last thing I needed was for her to bring up my condition. I knew Karin had grown suspicious of all my doctor’s visits, and she probably knew a lot more than she was letting on. This was neither the time or the place to open up that can of worms.

I quickly cleared my throat, motioning for everyone to sit back down (no one did). “I think we’re getting off-topic here,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Can we circle back around to the torture thing you brought up?” Peyton demanded.

I took her by the shoulders, squeezing gently. “We’re fighting blind here. Even if I’m right, if it
is
Darmaki, he could be at any one of his homes anywhere in the world. I need to get my hands on him in order to clear my name.”

“And what,” Brynja cut in, throwing her hands apart. “You’re going to chain one of his lackeys to a chair and shove bamboo shoots into his toenails until you get the location? Jesus, we’ve done some questionable shit in the past, but are we really crossing
this
line?”

“If that’s what it takes,” I said coldly. I could tell my words had cut deep; Peyton shrunk away from me, and Brynja’s mouth fell open.

After a moment Gavin stepped forward. “This is nuts, Mox.”

“You don’t think Darmaki wants to do that to me?” I fired back. “To make
me
suffer? It’s been two days and he’s already destroyed my life.”

“
Mox
,” Gavin said, his voice low and even, as if he were talking a jumper off a ledge. “This isn’t who we are, man. We’re better than this. We’ll find another way.”

“No!” I shouted, clenching my fists. “You see that’s where you’re wrong, Gavin. All of you are wrong, because this isn’t a ‘we’ type of a situation. This is about
me
, making the hard choices and doing what needs to be done.”

“Ah, okay,” Brynja said, a biting smile cutting across her face. “So this is a dictatorship now? We’re just the merry band of idiots who aren’t smart enough to make the tough calls. Please, exalted leader, tell us what to do.”

I turned back to Peyton and her eyes welled with tears. She opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Gavin, Karin and McGarrity looked on in silence.

I wasn’t about to tell anyone what to do, but I told them what I needed. “Give me some space,” I whispered. Then I stormed out of the room.

I’d spent the day alone in my living quarters.
I was remorseful about the way I’d responded to Peyton and everyone back in the conference room, although I was still confused about their attitudes. This was life or death; how could they quibble about something as trivial as an interrogation, even if it
was
going to be a little rougher than a standard Q and A session? It’s not like the person we’d capture would have been innocent. If they were working for Darmaki they certainly knew the risks involved, that much was a given. I could understand Gavin and Peyton being squeamish about the idea, but McGarrity?
Brynja?
They were as hardened as I’d been after living through Arena Mode, as well as the fortress occupation in Alberta. They’d maimed, they’d killed – and now, all of a sudden, they were taking the moral high ground. They were claiming innocence as if there wasn’t any blood on their hands, as if
anyone
could wash themselves clean of the things they’d done. The things
we’d
done. This is exactly the reason why they needed my guidance: I was willing to pull the trigger when they weren’t, and today only further illustrated my point.

By the time night fell I’d felt like a caged animal. I lay in bed for hours upon restless hours, staring into the darkness. Sleep never came. Eventually I had to concede defeat, and threw on jeans, runners, and zipped up my hoodie. Maybe a walk would help.

Without any real sense of where I was going I wandered the halls. The silvery white corridors were dim, the lights having been partially powered down for the evening. Within the confines of Fortress 18 – a mountain base the size of a small town – I still felt claustrophobic. It’s not that I wanted to go anywhere in particular, it was just the fact that I knew I
couldn’t
.

I roamed the compound for the better part of an hour before heading in the direction of the kitchen, which had been closed up for the night. There would still be a few hours before the earliest shift started, and I figured it was time to grab a bottle of water and rehydrate if I was going to continue lurching around. As I slid my access card across the glowing amber pad at the side of the doorframe, the door whisked open and it was immediately apparent that I wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Sitting on one of the stainless steel countertops in front of an open fridge was Karin, clutching a small tub of ice cream in one hand and an oversized spoon in the other. She was dressed in fuzzy blue pyjamas and was shoveling mounds of mint chocolate chip into her mouth as I approached. “Care to join me?” she asked, not bothering to check who was behind her.

“No,” I grumbled. “I want to be alone.”
“Sounds about right,” she said with a lazy shrug. “You don’t have to stick around, I know you hate me...or at least that you pretend to.”

This is exactly why I’d advised Peyton not to hire Karin (or at least chastised her for it after the fact...my memory is a little hazy on which had happened first). I wanted a pilot – nothing more. What I didn’t want was to be continually on the defensive, worrying that someone on my staff would be judging and analyzing every single word that came out of my mouth. My discovery that she’d been a superhuman troubled me, but almost in equal measure I’d been irritated when I saw that she’d been a psyche major in her lone year of college. How she’s made the transition from psychology to airline pilot so rapidly didn’t concern me; I’d been mildly curious but had neglected to ask her.

“What is that supposed to...” I trailed off, pinching the bridge of my nose. More headaches. They were coming in waves now, hot and throbbing. “Look,” I said sharply, “just stop it. Don’t psychoanalyze me. I pay you to fly, so stick to your job.”

She mumbled, “Mm-kay,” as I turned towards the doorway. Not the word ‘okay’, because that would have require the effort of forming an additional syllable. It was the word ‘kay’, preceded by a groan.

“Good. Glad we got that straightened out.” I suddenly stopped at the opening, pressing my palms into either side of the door frame. “So...why do you think I hate you?” I asked. “Even though I
don’t...
I’m just curious as to why you’d say something like that.”

She glanced back over her shoulder, her messy blond hair strewn across her eyes. “You said it yourself, boss: I don’t get paid to be a shrink. If you want a session you’ll have to give me a raise.”

She was like a rash I silently vowed to stop itching, but kept dragging my fingernails across without considering the consequences. “Indulge me,” I sighed.

“Sorry...I’m off the clock.” Another heaping scoop was shoveled into her mouth, followed by a long pause. “And I only indulge my friends.”

My resolve was weakening. I was too exhausted to argue. “We can be friends...can’t we?”

She shrugged again and offered crooked grin. “Why not.” She scooted sideways to make room on the metal table, glancing expectantly at the spot next to her.

I made my way back across the kitchen and lifted myself up on the table. “So—?”

“Well first of all,” she explained, “I know what happened to you last pilot.”

As far as I knew, everyone did. During the second unofficial Arena Mode tournament inside of Fortress 23, my pilot, Mac, was attacked. A shape-shifter had morphed into a gelatinous creature with long, coiling tendrils, powerful enough to tear him to pieces.

Generally speaking, simulcast audiences had built up a strong tolerance for violence. Watching a limb get hacked off during a full contact swordfight wasn’t even considered gruesome to most viewers. It was just part of a typical sporting event in 2042, like watching a body check in hockey or a tackle in football. Then Arena Mode came along and pushed the envelope, if such a thing even existed anymore. There had been some pretty horrific deaths during the original tournament in Manhattan, but
nothing
could have prepared audiences for what happened to my former pilot: watching a man get drawn and quartered in high-definition rendered even the most hardened sports fans light-headed, teetering on the brink of regurgitation.

“And yet you still signed up for the gig?”

“Sure,” she said cheerfully, and hopped down off of the table. She reached across to a drawer where she pulled out a fresh spoon and handed it to me, tilting the half-empty tub of ice cream in my direction. “I got a chance to work for the biggest company in the world: benefits, a steady pay check...can’t complain. Especially these days. I was just happy to find a job.”

“Not much work out there for psychologists?” I asked as I dug my spoon into the container.

“The economy is in the toilet and half the country is depressed and out of work. Pretty much everybody
needs
a shrink, but no one can afford us anymore.”

“Ironic.”
“Mmm.” She nodded in agreement, re-loading her mouth with ice cream.

“Okay so why do I hate you?” I asked, quickly adding, “I
don’t
, by the way.”

She brushed her yellow bangs aside and looked at me. Really looked – which was disarming. I’d had so many conversations with Karin while she was indulging her deceptively voracious appetite, or watching a simulcast, that I had come to the conclusion that she had some kind of social anxiety disorder. Something that, at the very least, prevented her from maintaining eye contact.

“Valentina stabbed you in the back, Mac got pulled apart like a piece of warm taffy...I saw it all on the simulcast. And I saw
you
there, watching every time. I don’t blame you, boss. Everyone who gets close to you either betrays you or ends up in the ground.”

“So
that’s
your diagnosis?” I asked, the heat rising in my face. “You think I’m too jaded to have friends anymore?” I was still digging into the tub, not realizing that I’d passed the ice cream and was scraping my spoon along the bottom of the container, leaving a deep groove in the cardboard.

“Well,” she said flatly, “at first I pegged you with borderline personality disorder since you’re always pushing people away...but people who suffer from BPD usually have severe confidence issues. You’re way too narcissistic for that.”

“Wait – what?” I dropped the tub. “A narcissist? That’s insane. I don’t think I’m better than you guys.”

“But you think you
know
better than us,” she said, her eyebrow arching just enough to annoy me. “You think that you always have the right answer and don’t need anyone else’s input. Especially Peyton...you treat her like a toddler who needs her shoes tied and her food cut up for her.”

“That’s crazy!” I shouted, not realizing that by shouting, I probably sounded like the crazy person on the room.

“Is it?” Her eyebrow twitched again. That goddamned eyebrow.

“
Yes
, Karin – it is. It’s totally, one hundred percent insane. I respect everyone’s opinion, especially Peyton’s.”

“Do you?”

“
Yes!”
I shouted, even louder. “Of course! I’m a totally fair leader. I mean...no, not leader. I’m a fair
member
of this team.”

She turned away with a heavy sigh, rummaging through the fridge. “Mm-kay.”

“I don’t have to stand here and listen to this bullshit. I’m going back to my room and getting some sleep.” I stomped across the kitchen for the second time, and for the second time I froze in the open doorway. “And for the record, I’m
not
a narcissist.”

She pulled chocolate milk from the fridge and took a swig straight from the carton. “Mm-kay,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her fuzzy blue pyjamas.

“I want the transport hot and ready for take-off at first light. We need to be in Italy by noon, local time.” Before she could say any more I rounded the corner, and had taken a few steps before getting the last words in, shouting as I stormed off. “And I don’t want to be friends anymore!”