God Hammer: A novel of the Demon Accords (2 page)

I kind of hate the part in the movies when the new kid hits the streets of the Big Apple and he or she is always all awestruck, wide-eyed, and obvious.  Damn me if I didn’t turn out to be that same kid.  What can I say? The late afternoon sun gleaming on the glass and steel buildings was just flat-out impressive.

Luckily, most of my gawking occurred inside the confines of Beast’s metal skin, which made me less noticeable but also made the tough driving tougher. Not to mention the noise and confusion, people cutting me off, cars careening around corners, pedestrians stepping out into oncoming death with complete nonchalance.

The sheer massive energy of millions of people and cars was overwhelming, almost intoxicating, not to mention the buses, trucks, cabs, and the rumbling subway underneath.  What couldn’t I do with that much ambient power? An image of my aunt shaking a finger at me popped into my head.

Somehow I made it to the Demidova Tower without hitting anyone or getting hit and pulled into the underground parking where a guard noted my name, handed me a parking pass, and directed me to a spot near the elevators.  He seemed to have expected me, which made me feel great right up until I took the elevator to the lobby.

When the door slid open to reveal a vast, open space dominated by massive, gleaming stone columns that reached three stories high, and a polished granite floor that seemed to stretch forever, I was back to gawking again.  Which was noticed almost instantly by a group of fifteen or sixteen college-aged kids who were camped out in the seating area.  A truly diverse-looking group, most of whom were probably a few years older than me, they were dressed casually, as opposed to me—in the suit that my aunt had insisted I wear.

The obvious thing to do was to head to the reception desk while ignoring the handful of kids, some of who were watching me with vast amusement.

“Can I help you?” the big security guy seated at the desk asked.

“My name is Declan O’Carroll.  I’m here to see Chris and Tanya,” I said, realizing as I did just how unlikely it had to sound.

He looked me up and down, face blank.  “I’ll need to see some identification,” he said in a neutral tone that made me wonder how many wackos showed up daily looking to meet with the newly famous couple.

I handed over my Vermont driver’s license and he punched my name into his terminal.  An immediate frown was the result, which occurred simultaneously with an itchy voice in the back of my head.  Not Sorrow’s voice, but the intuition I’d developed around technology that told me something was different.  The guard, whose nametag said Andrew, poked at the keyboard for a moment, his finger strikes getting more forceful in the manner of someone attempting to speed up the computer through sheer force.

“Hey Joe, can you look at this?” Andrew asked over his shoulder.  Another big guy wearing the black uniform of Demidova Security stepped over and looked at the screen.

“What the hell did you do to it?” Joe asked.

“Nothing—I just put this kid’s name in and the whole thing froze up,” Andrew said. “Says he’s here to see Miss Demidova and Mr. Gordon.”

The other guard, Joe, looked me over, clearly not buying it.  “The guard in the garage booth found my name okay or I don’t think he would have let me park my car down there,” I offered, still getting an odd vibe from the computer.

“I’ll call down to the garage and see what Morgan has to say,” Joe said, picking up a phone.  “Why don’t you have a seat near the interns while we sort this out?”

The seating he was pointing me at was fairly close to the group of kids who were also, apparently, interning here this summer.  Chris hadn’t told me about other interns, although he had said the dress code was flexible depending on the situation and not to worry about it.   Of course, Aunt Ashling had decided that meant I needed to worry about it and hence my new, uncomfortable, off-the-rack suit.

Ignore them. Show them no emotion,
Sorrow offered, which was a big improvement, as a short time ago it would have suggested much more violent ideas.

If they continue to disrespect you, crush their throats and let them suffocate where they stand.
  And there we go—backsliding again.

I sat as far from my fellow interns as possible and watched the rest of the room, taking the time to examine the feelings I had gotten about the Demidova computer system. Or maybe from the system.

The guard was still trying to get it to unfreeze, growing more frustrated by the second.  I extended my senses in that direction, not expecting much at this distance.  Instead, I was shocked at the feeling of power I got—massive power.  Then it moved.  One second, it was like a dark cloud around the terminal, the next it was across the room, centered around the eight or nine open laptops and tablets the interns had out, spreading to their cell phones as well.  It was almost palpable to my other sense, which was either operating on a much higher level then it ever had before or the cloud was just that noticeable.

“You an intern too?” a voice asked from the row of seats behind mine.  I turned to find a sharp-eyed older kid of mixed heritage looking at me curiously.  He wore jeans and a black tee that said
May the Mass times Acceleration be with you
with a Star Wars-themed logo around it.

“I guess I am,” I said, instantly regretting my words.

“You guess?  You don’t know?” he asked, incredulous and slightly amused, like I had just handed him a gift.

“Well, I should have phrased that differently.  I know I’m an intern, I’m just not sure I’m in the same program you are,” I said.

“You’re not a comp sci student then?” he asked, his amusement replaced by curiosity.  More than a few of the other kids were listening to our conversation.  Some of them seemed normally curious. Some seemed like they were waiting for a punchline.

“Yeah, but I don’t think that’s why I’m here.”

“Not that good a programmer?” he asked, expression innocent, eyes predatory.

I studied him for a second, recognizing the type.  The smart kid who uses his brains, academic achievements, and IQ score the way a bully used their muscles.

“What are you… a senior?  MIT?  RPI?  CalTech?” I asked back.

“Graduate student at MIT.  Good guess.  Let me try—you’re a… sophomore?  At community tech?” he asked back, getting a laugh from a couple of the guys who were watching.  His glance back at them was directed more at the three girls sitting on one couch than the dudes, though.  And probably mostly at the pretty brunette in the middle.  Ah, trying to impress the ladies.

So predictable,
  Sorrow said.

I found myself agreeing with the evil sentient book that lived inside me.

“Wow.  Look at you.  So proud.  Mommy and Daddy’s little guy all grown up in the big city,” I shot back. 

He pulled back a bit, clearly not expecting my aggressive counter.  He was, after all, older, and if he was running around quizzing people about their standings, then it reasoned that his were near the top.

“You should learn to speak to people with more respect.  It might have a big impact on your future,” he said, now going for the rational older student approach.

“Hah, good advice.  Try some yourself.  I’m not in your program. I’m not here for programming. My skill set is… different... very different.  It doesn’t fit into your neat little world. So step off, MIT.  Bother someone else with your status game.  Or maybe you could fix your own cell phone, if you’re so smart and all,” I said, pointing at his pocket, where I could sense it.  The cloud that I could only feel, not see, had crept closer, moving into unopened laptops and cell phones until it was as close as the douche canoe’s own Android treasure. 

Part of me was weirding out about how vivid this all was: the image of the cloud, the sense of it in individual pieces of electronics that I wasn’t even touching.  The other part was noticing that it hadn’t come near my own phone or the Macbook in the computer case at my feet.

MIT frowned at me, pulled his phone and looked at it, then started to push keys with increasing frustration.

“What did you do to my phone?” he demanded.

“What’s the matter?  Need help?  Here, let me look at it,” I offered, extending my right hand toward him.  The runes and glyphs on my skin darkened to visibility as my hand got near the phone in his hand.  The cloud pulled back, the phone’s display lit up, MIT gaped at me, and the guard at the desk called my name.

“Mr O’Carroll?  Sir, our system is back up and your appointment is clear.  We’ve called the executive suite and someone will be right down to get you… sir.”

“Thank you,” I said, mildly shocked at the sudden respect in his voice.  What the hell was on that monitor screen?

MIT had an odd look on his face; half constipation and half strangled frustration. 

“We done here?” I asked.

I’ll give him this… his recovery time was fast.  The confusion left his face and he leaned closer.  “Done?  I don’t think we’ve started.”

“Good,” I said, smiling.  “Because the last thing we want to do is get started.  That would be bad.  Real bad.”

A woman’s loud gasp by the elevator precluded his response and we both turned to look.

One of the center elevators had opened and the woman was backing away from it, a look of panic on her face.

A massive wolf flowed out of the elevator and stopped, swiveling its big head till it locked on to us like a tank turret.  Seven feet long, standing three-and-a-half feet at the shoulder with a black cape over tannish brown fur, it was impressive and instantly recognizable to just about anyone in the world who had seen any form of media in the last six or seven months.

Awasos started walking right toward MIT and me, his form suddenly shimmering and shifting until a much, much larger Kodiak brown bear walked where the wolf had been moments before.

God’s gift to programming pulled back, tripping in his haste to get back to the other kids, who were either frozen or falling back themselves. 

Awasos ignored him and stayed focused on me, while everyone else focused on him.  I’m not sure that anyone else noticed the woman who stepped off the elevator behind ‘Sos, but I sure did.  It must have been one of the few times she hadn’t commanded instant attention upon entering a room, and I think she might have been amused by it.  Or perhaps just amused to see the massive beast beeline straight for me.

“What do we do?” Andrew the guard asked.

“We don’t do anything… anything at all,” the other one, Joe, answered.

As if they could.
   For the second time in minutes, I found myself agreeing with Sorrow.

Awasos, even ambling along, covered the distance between us in a shockingly short time.  I wasn’t exactly scared as he came up to me, but let’s just say he had my attention.  His head was almost level with mine and the hump on his shoulders was over my head.  He seemed to take up as much space as the whole reception desk.

“Ah, hey ‘Sos,” I said, a little uncertain.  A nose the size of a big apple snuffled my suit, then moved down to my feet—or rather the computer case at my feet.  Ah… that’s it.

I unzipped the case and pulled out the Lupus Industries pemmican bar tucked inside.  An outdoor store in Burlington sold them and they were made in upstate New York.  This one was elk meat, and I knew it was really tasty.  I wasted no time in ripping the package open and stuffing it into his open mouth.

“What the hell are you feeding him?” Stacia Reynolds asked, coming up behind him, dressed down in a blue golf shirt and soft, worn-looking jeans with little moccasins on her feet.  Everyone else on the ground floor was staring at us.

“Anything he wants.  Anything at all, right buddy?” I asked as I dared to ruffle his neck fur.

“You know he likes you well enough without the bribes, don’t you?” she asked.