SG: Aurora #45 - Above and Beyond (Part Eight of Nine)

Frobozz frobozz at eyrie.org
Sat May 27 17:33:46 PDT 2006


CONTINUED FROM PART SEVEN

    There are certain professions in the depths of Hell(tm) where, by
dint of hard work, powerful will, or outright backstabbery it is
possible to earn special positions and just a -little- bit less misery
than one's fellow damned souls. Soldiers and television personalities
can earn perks and even time away from 666NASTYNASTYNASTY, which is
certainly a bonus to be vied for.
    But while they can't escape it, accountants can certainly win little
benefits in the firey fires simply because they're so damned useful to
the netherworld. Hell(tm) maintains many deals across the multiverse,
not to mention holding a corporate charter and the bookkeeping that goes
with it, and so when an accountant who hasn't lived a particularly
virtuous life shuffles off this mortal coil, he or she quickly finds
herself behind a desk crunching numbers for the rest of time. Because of
the potential to earn such things as a few minutes free of torment, most
of these work their dead little hearts out trying to make sure books are
scrupulously balanced at all times.
    One such accountant, Harold Nebbish, was pouring over his books in
the little cubical to which he'd been assigned in Hell(tm)'s accountancy
division. If one imagines that cubicals on Earth are small and
uncomfortable, one needs but take a look at what goes on in the
underworld to suddenly appreciate just how much space you have in the
breathing world. As he struggled to read his ledger and sip his
lukewarm, weak and ground-filled coffee in such a tight space, something
caught his eye.
    "Oh..." he exclaimed, his finger tracing the line that had suddenly
appeared there. He traced upwards to another entry that he remembered
from some months back. If this was what he thought it was...
    It was! He began to chortle happily to himself. Yes, it was it was it
was! A coup like this could earn him a promotion. Possibly he could even
get a private room when he was being flogged for his sins! He'd be the
envy of his living-pit. Quickly he touched an intercom button.
    "Nebbish," boomed the voice of his infernal supervisor. "What is it
this time? This had better be worth my while. I just picked up a new
pair of tweezers and I'm itchin' to try 'em out. -You- might do..."
    Nebbish ran a finger along his collar to loosen it in exactly the
same way that normal people don't when they're nerved. He swallowed,
screwed up his courage, found it had cross-threaded and just plunged on
anyway.
    "We just had an account come due. Ah. Ah, ah, ah... it's..."
    "Spit it out! Your eyebrows -were- looking a little bit too
fluffy..."
    "GAAAH! Erm, I mean, it's the Gladiator account!"
    There was a moment of silence from the other end.
    "Gladiator's back? Already?"
    "No! Gladiator's no longer employed here!"
    "Wait, are you saying?"
    "Yes, we get to invoke the fine-print-in-the-microdot In The Case Of
Hireling Termination clause! But it gets better, sir..."
    "Spill it, Nebbish!"
    "We -have- the original contractee!"
    There was another pause. Nebbish's boss spoke carefully.
    "Is she in default of the contract?"
    Would I be so excited if she weren't? Nebbish thought. "She is. Looks
like, from the... the... the... boss's... from... "
    "-His-."
    "Yes." Nebbish paused. There were some names you didn't utter. Not
down here. Not when they belonged to the hoary lord of this dark pit of
despair. Not when you may not smell his socks until he was right behind
you. "From his notes, it looks like a standard 'I will offer you souls'
clause that the signer intended to skip out on..."
    "I -love- those!" roared Nebbish's boss. "I can't wait to pry out how
she expected to dodge us!"
    "Don't know... possibilities include belief in her own immortality,
belief that she was using evil to perform a greater good, or possibility
that she had something to offer in compensation." Nebbish paused,
glancing through the spider-web scrawl of notes. "Oh. Possible access to
a Wishgiver."
    "Humn. Huuuumn. The boss has wanted one of those for a loooong time."
    "Yes sir..."
    "Which means he probably signed with the hope of getting one when the
contract was finished."
    "Yes... sir..."
    "Which means he's going to be plenty mad about this." There was
another pause. "GOOD WORK, Nebbish! Have that soul sent to my office
immediately. I think the... the... -he- will enjoy seeing to this
personally."
    "Yes sir!"
    "And take the rest of the day off. You've earned it." The boss
paused. "You can even skip the molten lead in your ear for -today-,
Nebbish. But only because I like you."
    "You hate me, sir," Nebbish whined.
    "That doesn't mean I can't like you, does it?"
    Nebbish was silent. It didn't do to contradict your boss too many
times. But he was already planning how to spend that extra time when he
-didn't- have superheated liquid metal seeping its away towards his
brain.
    Meanwhile, Nebbish's overseer rose to prepare his office for its
guest. He had to make sure she was properly comfortble. Hm. Iron spikes,
manacles and chains or one of those newfangled restraint suits, a size
too small? He grinned and settled on the former. Hospitality demanded
the -classics-.

***

    Chambers finished securing everyone in the control room. The young
woman who had identified herself as the virtuoso on the shield controls
had been quite a bit help in binding up her fellow Borealleans with
their own belts; it was amazing how persuasive a rifle could be.
    It was also amazing how easily a rifle could change your life,
especially as it ended another's. Chambers gestured for Clarisse to take
her seat again, keeping her covered. It seemed almost as if Chamberes
didn't have to maintain such an aggressive stance though; everyone in
the room seemed so passive and lost. She kept expecting it to all turn
out to be a trick, but that dead light in their eyes said otherwise;
there just wasn't any cunning or guile left behind those eyes. They
were, each and every one of them, mourning and lost and alone.
    Despite everything, Chambers knew just how they felt.
    "How many soldiers made it from your world," Chambers demanded of
Clarisse. It was good to keep her mind on her duty. It helped. "I need
to know right now."
    "None," sighed Clarisse, staring at the console, her hands resting
absently on it. "I was trying to tell... tell... her... that before.
None made it. The systems crashed. Everything crashed. We... lost them
all."
    "Lost..."
    Clarisse looked up at Chambers, and the Aurorean couldn't tell
whether or not what she saw was hate or sorrow.
    "Probably dead. Probably. I don't know how it works when you lose a
trans-altiversal bridge midway through, except on the software level.
Doesn't matter. Knowing won't help any of them now."
    Chambers nodded, feeling a knot of anguish at that. More lives lost.
Yes it was war in which those lives were lost, but somehow this felt
different. Not that it was her fault, but she couldn't stop feeling as
if everything was her fault right now. It reminded her of a time when
she was eight, and she'd been picked on by several of the older girls
who delighted in slapping her face, pinching her and otherwise harassing
anyone they saw as younger. Chambers had finally slapped in return and
had found herself savagely roughed up.
    'You started it,' the girls had said. 'It's your fault for fighting
back.'
     She'd felt irrationally guilty then too.
    "Right," replied Chambers, refocusing on the here and now. She was
mildly suspicious, wondering whether or not this woman was lying to her,
but it seemed unlikely. Not unless she was a better actress than she
seemed to be. "So that means... wait, the systems are all down?"
    "-Yes-, okay?"
    "Then the shield?"
    "Gone."
    Chambers breathed a sigh and then reached up to punch her commo.
"DeVrai? Clark?"
    It took a moment before she heard two familiar voices come over the
line.
    "Here," replied DeVrai.
    "Reading you, Chambers," said Clark. "You caught us on mop-up. How's
the sitch up top?"
    "We've..." She pursed her lips. "Hold a mome. I wanted to patch you
through for this." Chambers adjusted her frequencies, keeping DeVrai and
Clark in the loop. "This is Chambers to Rae. Do you read?"
    There was a longer pause this time. Then a calm voice came over the
line.
    "Chambers," said Rae. "Your timing is impeccable as always. Save for
the time you came in early on the Hallelujia Chorus in school. Shame
about that."
    "I..." She blinked. "How did you know about that?"
    "I -am- in intelligence. Now, since we're reading one another I take
it that we've currently got no shield between us?"
    "Correct," replied Chambers, quietly fulminating at the intrusion
into her privacy. Fuming was good. It helped take her mind off of...
things. "We've also beheaded the invasion. I'm about to sound an
all-call for the invaders to lay down arms. If I'm right, with what I'm
about to tell them, we won't get much resistance."
    "Won't that be a pleasant surprise? I have some friends out here
who'll be glad to know everything's all right."
    "No," replied Chambers. "No, everything's not all right. But I think
things are done. At least right now..."
    "I suppose under the circumstances that's the best we can do. We'll
send in help. Keep in touch."
    "Thank you." Chambers managed a small smile. "Thanks." The smile
vanished as she punched her commo off and turned back to Clarisse.
"Message time."
    Clarisse lowered her eyes. "Do I have to..."
    "I don't recall making that a question."
    Numbly, Clarisse reached out to push several buttons. Communications
weren't her forte, but she could find her way around a system easily
enough. It wasn't difficult to bring up communications; while they did
use the main computer systems, they weren't reliant on them. Protected,
self-contained servers were maintained for just such emergencies as
these.
    "My... my fellow humans," she began, glancing up at Chambers, who
merely nodded for her to continue. "It's with... a heavy heart that I
inform you that our leader... our... diamond is dead. We have been taken
and all relief forces have been turned back or destroyed... please...
just lay down your guns. I..." Clarisse found herself unable to go on,
and the sounds of her sobs echoed through the Beanstalk. They, more than
anything else Clarisse could have said, convinced the Borealians that
they were not being lied to.
    Chambers almost wanted to join her. But there was still one thing
left to do. She had no idea how long before a doctor could be got up
here. She moved to bind the unresponsive Clarisse so that she could
finally free her hands of the rifle and then moved to attend to
Peterson.

***

    Doctor Honeybear found Doyle sitting in the office, slumped back over
his chair. He touched the man's shoulder lightly, worried about how
still he was. His worries vanished as Doyle roused, sitting up from
where he'd fallen asleep.
    "Arthur?" Honeybear asked. "Got news for you. You might even like it.
It's our favourite kind of news."
    "Mmmgh," Doyle groaned as he stretched. it had been a long time since
he'd slept in a corporeal body and he'd forgotten how painful it could
get if it didn't sleep right. "News about the whole FOX network being
canned for twenty-four hours of test patterns and snow?"
    "Nope, nothing that good. But word just came down. Like the shield,
incidentally."
    "The shield's down?" asked Doyle, sitting up straighter, then paused.
Of course the shield was down. The network was down, ergo...
    "Yup. So's their leader. It's all done 'cept the mopping. It's all
over. Finally."
    Doyle smiled a touch at that. "All over," he repeated, then sighed.
All over except for the loss of at least one, possibly two, of his
fellow computer intelligencia. All over except for the loss of many
friends who wouldn't be here to celebrate V-day. And all over except for
Colleen.
    "Hey," said Doyle, sitting up straight. "Can I have a few minutes
alone?"
    "You've had a few moments alone already. You need more?"
    "Yes. I'm sorry.... I just need a few minutes to think. Then I need
to get in touch with everyone and start coordinating."
    Honeybear nodded and clasped Doyle's shoulder. "If you need
anything..."
    "I'll call."
    "Good. My hourly rates are reasonable."
    Doyle chuckled obligingly and watched the doctor wander out. He sat
back in the chair and absently wished that he smoked. Some reflections
just seemed to be more appropriate with a cigarette between two fingers.
But he would make do with what he had. After all, that was how life
aways worked.

***

    Portia Jennings couldn't hide a grin as superguys and former CAUTION
agents streamed into the Beanstalk, passing Borealleans who were being
led out again in handcuffs. Damn, but that was a beautiful sight. It had
been too long since she'd felt good about the hand she'd been dealt, and
Jennings was glad she could finally feel like maybe the side of the
angels was going to take this trick. It was almost a shame that she'd
have to head back to B.C. soon, but that was how life worked. Ten days
of screaming terror and then poof, you went back to life as normal.
Never failed.
    "It's all over but the cleanup," she remarked to Rae, who had paused
in directing some of his former operatives to guide volunteer superguys
into the Beanstalk. "And all we did was wait out on the lawn."
    "We did more than that," replied Rae, shrugging. "I recall a few
times we also served."
    "Yeah, well," replied Jennings. "I guess the cleanup's never
glamorous and that's what we're stuck with, while those slackers in
there get medical rest. And for what? Ten days of constant battle?
Sheesh, talk about getting off light."
    "Mmm, maybe."
    "'course, I'd be surprised if Doyle doesn't reactivate CAUTION fully.
So you might have your hands full soon."
    "Yes, it would be nice to have more personnel... wait, why do you say
that?"
    "Oh, I thought you would've figured it out yourself, Mr Secret Agent
Man. Didn't you say that there were probably still sleeper agents out
there? You're going to have your hands full trying to figure out who's
left over. Especially now that there's no way word's not going to get
out. We've had camera crews crawling the lawn for hours now--"
    "Oh dear *GOD*!" cried Rae, whirling to run for his car. He shoved
the unconcious Jumpstart off of his vehicle and jumped in, feeling
vaguely guilty about what he'd put the young man through. But now wasn't
the time for that regret. Not that one.
    The car peeled down the streets at speeds unsafe anywhere but Quebec.
It took minutes to reach his safe house and Rae leaped out of the car at
a run, gun already in-hand.
    To Rae's horror, the front door was already open. He barreled through
it, dropping to a roll as he did. What he saw confirmed his worst fears.
A young, blonde woman stood over the body of Kent, the man he'd sworn to
protect in all of this. Kent, the man who'd helped him uncover the
information pointing towards this crisis. Kent, the man who'd been his
willing stalking horse. Kent, the man who deserved so much more than
this.
    Later, Rae would say that the woman had gone for her gun. That's why
he had to fire. To tell the truth, Rae would never be sure if she had
actually tried to draw, but for some reason, he never lost a moment of
sleep over his decision to gun her down.
    "I'm sorry, Kent," said Rae as he knelt by the engineer's side,
resting a hand on the man's shoulder. "You did everything right. I was
the one who bungled this one. I should've realised. I should've
realised..."
    Rae sighed and rose, looking at the assassin's body. Perhaps a search
of her personal effects would yeild more information. He hoped that she
was the last sleeper he had to worry about, but the odds were against
that. Rae would find the answer and make sure no one else wound up like
Kent. He owed the engineer at least that much. There were far too many
accounts coming due and Rae wondered who would be paying.
    Wearily, Rae headed for the phone. Call the police, give a statement,
show his credentials to avoid being charged with a double-homicide,
gather evidence and clues; not necessarily in that order, as the police
would just queer what information Rae could gather from this home. But
he was fairly sure he could strip down everything he needed before the
officers arrived. After all, he was a professional.

***

CONCLUDED IN PART NINE

---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

Geek Code
GFA/IT/PA d-(+) s--:+> a- C++ UL*++ P+++ L++
E W++ N+ !o !K w++(-) O? M++ V? PS+ PE Y PGP
t+ 5++ X+ R+++ tv+ b+++ DI+ D++ G e++>+++ h- r* z?


More information about the superguy mailing list