Final Empire (15 page)

“You want me to stop my program,” I said matter-of-factly. “Stop seeding clouds.”

No, no, no – you misunderstand me, my friend.” He waved off the notion, suddenly more affable. “I wish to negotiate. I would like to purchase the technology from you.”

“And then what, you just sit on it?”

He raised his goblet as if in a toast. “Then I own patents. The rights to the cloud seeding technology will be mine, and
no one
can follow in your footsteps.”

“This can’t go on forever, even
if
you get my tech. Someone else will pick up where the Moxon Corporation left off, and start cloud seeding before long.”

“How long has the internal combustion engine been around for?” he asked.

“The first car was made in 1886,” I said without missing a beat, as if was a contestant on a television game show. It was a nervous tick; if my mouth had a chance to blurt out a useless factoid it would do so without consulting my brain.

He smiled. “Ah, you are quick with dates. Very good. A miracle of engineering, but hardly the most efficient innovation, as  I’m sure you know. It should have been replaced by the electric car not long after its creation, and yet...”

“Oil companies made sure that didn’t happen.”

His smile widened. He bared his teeth this time, and it shifted smoothly from friendly and jovial to disarmingly predatory. “Decade after decade the rich held back the technology, and it was easy. People are sheep, Mister Moxon. They fear change, reject what is new – even if the benefits are considerable. All they require is a nudge in the right direction.”

I could almost hear the clacking of dominos colliding, toppling over one piece at a time. Everything was falling into place. The unsanctioned Arena Mode tournament did more than provide a reason to fear and distrust me – it was a reason to fear and distrust my
technology
. If the Cerebral Dampening Units proved to be ineffective (which was already the case in most industrialized countries) then surely the rest of the Moxon Corporation’s inventions could be called into question. My cloud seeding technology could be painted as an environmental risk, or hazardous to the population’s health with no more than a week of PR gimmicks. And with my technology slandered, the door would swing wide open for Darmaki’s god-like ability to produce rain from his fingertips. Close to a billion people lack access to clean water. If he could tap into just a fraction of that number, his power would, if his hypothesis was correct, amplify to unstoppable levels – assuming he wasn’t there already.

“So
that’s
why you wanted to keep me out of custody? So we could do business together?” It was the part of his plan that seemed erroneous. “I don’t know if these camels deliver a newspaper to your front door now and then, but I won
all
of Cameron Frost’s estate in the lawsuit. According to Forbes I have ten times your net worth, so there’s nothing you can offer me.”

“I did not realize you were so...comfortable, Mister Moxon. Financially speaking.”

“Yup,” I nodded confidently. “I’m comfy as fuck.”

“Well put,” he said flatly. “So, we have arrived at an impasse.”

“Seems like it.” Darmaki wanted to continue the attacks, forcing my company’s value lower and lower with each passing day. Eventually I’d be so strapped for cash that I would have to give in and accept his offer. Though even after The Moxon Corporation’s free fall on the New York Stock Exchange, I was still far wealthier than he was – and even if I’d lost every cent, there was no way I was going to sell the cloud seeding patents.

“Now the negotiation begins.” He entered a voice command, causing his wrist-com to produce a hologram. It was Peyton. A dozen images cascaded through the air, displaying candid photos of her; recent photos, as if a private detective had taken them over the last several weeks in The Fringe. One had been taken at the opening of Excelsior: there I was, standing amidst the crowd of shoppers, while Peyton embraced me, her pink hair cascading over my back.

I clenched my teeth so hard I thought I’d grind my molars into dust. “Listen carefully, asshole: you’re not going to
touch
Peyton Lockridge. If I ever catch a photographer outside of Excelsior taking her picture again, I’ll reach down your throat and tear out our intestines.”

He remained unfazed. “Hmm. That was very...descriptive. Although once again, my friend, I think you misunderstand my intentions. I am not going to touch Miss Lockridge. Or should I say, ‘President and CEO of the Moxon Corporation’, Peyton Lockridge. I am merely going to negotiate with her.”

I barked out an acerbic laugh. “For the technology? Good luck. Money means nothing to her.”

“I am not going to offer her money. I am going to offer
you
. For your life, she will be willing to trade anything, I would imagine.”

“You’re wrong,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat.

“Am I? Because I have put a considerable amount of thought into this matter.” He took a final sip from his goblet and leaned casually, as if we were old friends exchanging pleasantries. “If I had taken
her
, you would have
never
negotiated with me. You would have staged some elaborate attack on my compound, fighting impossible odds to save her life.” He let out a light chuckle. “In the end you would have failed – that much is certain – and the two of you would be dead. It would be
years
before I could secure your technology.

“Having her true love as my prisoner, with
his
life hanging in the balance? This will not even be a negotiation. She will be offering me your entire company on a silver platter within sixty seconds.”

I took hold of my goblet and raised it to my lips, pretending to sip the ruby liquid inside. “You think I’m your prisoner, then? That’s interesting.”

“You have no powers.” He chuckled again. “No superhuman abilities. I saw the battle at Fortress 23 in Canada, and aside from your alleged problem-solving abilities, you have
nothing.”

“You knew I’d come here,” I stated. “You knew I’d arrive alone, and you knew I’d have no way to escape.”

“Are you admitting defeat?” he said with a theatrical tone, mocking surprise. “Are you conceding that I, Sultan Darmaki, outsmarted the legendary Matthew Moxon?”

I replaced my goblet on the balcony’s railing and threw my hands up in surrender. “You got me, Sultan. I’m screwed. Any maybe I’m not so smart after all. I mean, let’s just assume that I knew you’d be inviting if I showed up to your palace. Arrogant, even. Maybe arrogant enough to reveal your plans and tip your hand.”

He raised his hand and gestured to his servant, who had been loitering inconspicuously for refills, and who now
immediately
scurried away. “Please,” he said offhandedly, “go on.”

“And assume that, just
maybe
, I figured out your powers. That you’re in tune with not only the elements, but with nature itself. Which means from the moment I stepped onto the terrace you’d be monitoring my pulse, pupil dilation, sweat glands – you can probably even hear my heart beating.”

“Very interesting, Mister Moxon. Continue.”

“And
maybe
,” I continued, leaning in a little closer, “knowing all of this, I realized that if someone showed up who
wasn’t
me, like some kind of ‘technological miracle’ that just
looked
like Matthew Moxon, I’d have to compensate for all of those abilities. I’d have to mimic the same characteristics of a human being so precisely that you’d never guess what I
actually
was. It would never even cross your mind, until...”

His arrogant smirk melted away, and the raging storm began to swirl once again. But this time it wasn’t just anger behind his eyes – it was fury.

“Right about now, I’m guessing.”

He lashed out and smashed my swarm robotics suit to pieces.

Back in Fortress 18 I stepped out of my virtual reality rig.

I splashed two handfuls of cold water on my face
, massaging the heels of my palms into my eyes. Staring back at the confused, broken man in the bathroom mirror, I kept asking him the same question: how long until it happens for real?

Dying in virtual reality was more of a shock than I’d anticipated. I knew it was going to happen – that wasn’t the issue. When I’d sent London – my swarm robotics exoskeleton – into the Liwa Desert, I
knew
it wasn’t coming back. Thousands of miles away in the safety of Fortress 18, I controlled London with my VR rig, maneuvering it like a life-sized marionette. When the strings were cut and the suit was smashed to bits, the experience was painless, and, at the same time, all too real.

I felt nothing, though I was face-to-face with my attacker when he struck. Darmaki never blinked. It was the madness stirring behind his eyes that chilled me to my core. It was the way he lashed out; wild, violent, like a reflex more than a conscious decision. Intentional or not, his reaction sent me a message:
there would be no hesitation
. Not the next time. Before now he wanted me alive to use as leverage (he said as much during our brief but informative conversation) although now, the game had been changed. I was safe for the time being, but the next time he lashed out at me I wouldn’t be half a world away. And there wasn’t a suit of armor in existence strong enough to protect me anymore.

I blinked hard, dabbing a small cloth against my face. Glancing down at my com I noticed the time; I’d been standing here for more than half an hour, water running, leaning forward on the edge of the sink. My short term memory had been on the fritz lately, so much so that I rarely knew what time of day it was anymore. I was losing track of the little things, like where I’d put my medication, and what I’d asked my assistant to do for me just moments before. Suddenly I realized that I was running up against two separate (but equally dangerous) ticking clocks: would Darmaki hunt down me and my friends before I had the chance to neutralize him, or would my brain turn to oatmeal before I could figure out
how
I was going to stop the threat?

Four tiny raps at the door startled me.

“One second,” I shouted, clearing my throat. “Just finishing up in here.”

“Okay Mister Moxon,” Bethany replied. Her thick Jersey accent was unmistakable, even as the water ran from the sink below and the fan spun overhead. “Quick reminder: you called a meeting seventeen…wait, no –
eighteen
minutes ago. Everyone is waiting for you. So…”

“I
said
I’m finishing up,” I snapped back.

She never answered. I heard the clack of Bethany’s heels recede into the distance, and the hydraulic whoosh of my bedroom door shutting behind her.

When I’d arrived in the conference chamber everyone was already there. Gavin, clad in his suit and tie, sat next to Peyton, who’d opted to continue wearing her scrubs. They sat across from McGarrity, who was in a housecoat for some reason, and Brynja, who’d reverted to her old wardrobe (probably just because she knew it annoyed Peyton): ripped jean shorts over black leggings, knee-high boots, and a tattered black tank top that revealed a generous amount of midriff. Karin sat at the end of the table, knees pulled to her chest, engulfed in her oversized bomber jacket. As usual her eyes were glued to her com, though it was the first time I’d seen her without food in her hand since I’d met her.

I made my way to the head of the oval-shaped table and pressed my palms into the surface, triggering the transparent glass. It illuminated with an electric-blue hue, and the overhead lights began to dim.

“We have a problem,” I blurted out.

Among the long list of things that were not my specialty? Motivational speeches. Neither was tact.

“I love this plan already,” McGarrity said. He uncorked an annoying laugh before pulling a beer bottle from the deep pocket of his housecoat, twisting off the cap.

Peyton shot a disapproving glare across the table. “You’re drinking?
Now?
”

“So we can’t drink beer just because we’re in a conference?” he said, furrowing his brow. “What’s next – you’re going to tell me I can’t do coke, either?”

“You brought
cocaine
with you?” Gavin asked.

“Well not
much.
Just a couple of bumps to take the edge off. Why, you want some?”

“No!” Gavin shouted, throwing his hands up.

McGarrity took a sip from his bottle, looking Gavin up and down. “I dunno, man…I think you could use some.”

I sighed, letting my head sag. “Can we focus on the task, here?”

“Sure,” McGarrity said calmly, kicking his bare feet up on the edge of the table.

“Our timelines are tightening,” I explained. “Now that I confronted Darmaki he’ll move into phase two of his plan: he’s going to start exposing Moxon Tech as a hazard, and trying to replace it with his own solutions.”

“His superhuman security force will start protecting cities, not destroying them,” Peyton said.

“And his homemade rain clouds will replace your seeding technology,” Gavin added.

“Exactly,” I nodded. “And that’s when things get even
more
dangerous…he knows he can’t negotiate with me, so once his plan goes into effect, having me alive will become a liability. As well as everyone in this room.”

“He can’t find us here,” Peyton asked, her voice thin with panic. “We’re
safe…
right?”

“For now,” I assured her. “But we can’t stay here forever…and we can’t keep the employees here forever, either. Eventually they’ll want to return home – we can’t hold them hostage.”

Brynja threw her hands apart. “Well we can’t just sit on our asses and let your company crumble – all while this jackass builds a rep as some kind of messiah.”

“You’re right.” I swiped my hand across the table’s surface, bringing a satellite view into focus: it was his stronghold in the Liwa Desert. “We can’t just sit here…every minute we do nothing he fortifies his position and he comes closer to achieving his goal. So we’re going on the offensive.”

McGarrity spit out a stream of beer, splashing the table. “Are you saying we’re going to war against an entire
army
of superhumans?”

“More or less,” I shrugged.

He slapped his knee, blurting out another grating laugh. “Finally! This is the stage I’ve been waiting to perform on. And now I can show that big bronze bastard what I can
really
do.”

Judging from their expressions, the rest of the gang didn’t share his rampant enthusiasm.

Gavin stood, letting his white leather chair roll away behind him. “Let’s just say we do this,” he said plainly. “There’s just one little problem.” He reached out and touched the image of Darmaki’s fortress with both hands, swiping them apart until the rooftop came into focus. The satellite clearly showed twenty people on the terrace, and there were likely more hidden beneath the shaded ivy-covered latticework, standing out of view.

I nodded. “Yes, I’m aware that we’re outnumbered, Gav.”

“But we’ll have the element of surprise…” Brynja asked, eyebrows raised. “…right?” 

“Nope.” I circled the desert with my finger, tracing a glowing red line around a wide radius. “According to the readings that London picked up before Darmaki smashed it to pieces, he can project his abilities up to fifty kilometers – at least.”

“At least?” Peyton asked nervously.

“That’s how far away the rainclouds were that he created,” I explained. “There’s no way to know for sure if his range can extend beyond that, but it’s a good estimate. The problem is that he can sense disturbances in nature all around him…as soon as we’re in range, no cloaking device will be able to hide our transport. He’ll know we’re there before we can even see his compound on the horizon.”

McGarrity stood and spread his hands apart, producing a glowing broadsword. Peyton gasped and jumped from her seat, knocking it over.

“Are you crazy? Put that thing away!” she shouted.

“You see this?” he boasted. “This baby is going to be the difference maker. I can cut through those posers like a chainsaw through a bowl full of Jell-o.”

“Nice analogy,” Brynja groaned.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d been suffering from a bout of short-term memory loss.

“First of all,” I reminded him, “You weren’t even able to
scratch
Dozer’s armored skin. For some reason that light sword of yours can’t pierce bronze.”

“Okay, he conceded, “but it can cut everything else. No one else stands a chance! Once I take out Darmaki we win, right?”

“Until he does this.” I pulled up the HUD on the tabletop and dragged a pair of fingers down the panel’s lighting system, completely darkening the room. In the windowless chamber the only light source was the outline of our coms; the faint glow of blue and green that pulsed from the devices strapped to our wrists. In the absence of light, McGarrity’s sword dimmed, and eventually dissipated. He stood frozen with his hands coiled around the invisible hilt of a non-existent weapon.

“Ha ha, very funny, man.” Mc Garrity reached across the table and dragged his hand along the glowing head’s up display, once again illuminating the room. “But if we attack this guy’s base it’ll be in the
daytime
, right? No problemo. I’m totally ITC.”

“What?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

“It stands for ‘In the clear’,” he said slowly, as if I were a complete idiot for not recognizing the acronym. “
Everyone
knows that, man. GTS.”

I said nothing, and my confused eyebrow remained in its arched position.

“
Google that shit
,” he said, pointing towards his com.

“Okay, can we start using full sentences again?” Brynja huffed.

I typed a file name into the surface of the table, converting it into a three-dimensional video projector. Class was now in session, and McGarrity was going to listen if I had to duct tape him to the goddamned chair and prop his eyes open, Clockwork Orange-style.

“Darmaki can control the
weather
,” I said sharply, “as we’ve already established. But there’s more to it than that…let me give you a little history lesson, my dim-witted friend.”

The first video I showed was a bird’s eye view, shot by a drone. The now-notorious footage had been leaked online during the security breach of 2022 when a rogue programmer released thousands of classified documents to a South American journalist. The reporter exposed some very damning evidence, highlighting America’s numerous foreign policy blunders. There were several to choose from, though one was particularly relevant in shaping Darmaki’s belief system.

“In 2019,” I began, “an American drone strike in Afghanistan killed most of Sultan’s family. He was seven when it happened. His uncle had been using the underground opium trade to finance a rebellion against a corrupt dictatorship. It was a noble cause, but the US government didn’t see it that way. The strike leveled three city blocks. It demolished schools, a hospital, a market, and a number of private residences. The bomb hit the ground and that was it – young Sultan was an orphan. He grew up bitter, rejecting technology as a result. When he developed his powers, he was able to do this…”

The video I brought up next was clearer, more recently shot. The footage was taken by another American drone, time stamped 2034. It circled over the United Arab Emirates, and then a sudden rush of darkness swarmed in. The jet-black clouds blotted out the sun, making it impossible to capture any additional video. The bright, cloudless sky was overwhelmed by Darmaki’s artificial storm, plunging daylight into darkness. Drones can’t target what they can’t see, and since he can feel their presence soaring overhead, he can shut them down at will. This has become Sultan’s MO: when a drone approaches, he simply blinds it. Or sends it crashing into a sand dune.

“Your unbreakable sword made of light,” I informed him, “will disappear the moment Darmaki sends a black cloud overhead. And he can do it anytime he wants.”

McGarrity’s eyes widened, and his silence spoke volumes.

“Any more good news,” Brynja said with a stinging smile.

“He’s not the only one we have to deal with,” I said. “We know that already. But I did manage to dig up some specifics on each member of the rogue’s gallery. Care to see who we’re up against?”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Gavin prompted me with a nervous chuckle.

“First up, we have our mystery man from back in The Fringe – the guy who started it all, Jonathan Ma.”

I tapped the tabletop and displayed the first image. Jonathan’s profile picture was of a well-dressed, dark-haired young man with broad shoulders and friendly eyes – not the portrait of a killer everyone had expected to see. When we’d caught each other’s gaze in The Fringe he was sporting a much a different look, though; at the time Ma had a defiant, egotistical flare– an arrogance that radiated from him. It was in the way he walked, the way his mouth twitched with just the tiniest hint of a smirk when I stared him down. He’d just killed someone, and that was disturbing as all hell. Even more disconcerting was that he wasn’t just at peace with what he’d done. I had the sense that he was actually
proud
.