Starfall Page 2

“That’s not a real answer.”

  “It’s sixty divided by six,” I bite out. “If you had sixty apples and divided them into groups of six apples each, you’d end up with ten piles of apples. Six times ten is sixty. It’s basic! Only a moron needs help with this stuff!”

  My little brother’s eyes are filled with such hurt and betrayal that my chest aches from the sight of it.

  “Bobby, wait, that isn’t what I-”

  He doesn’t sob aloud; he just darts away from the table faster than I can react, and by the time I’m on my feet he’s made it around the corner. The sound of his bedroom door slamming shut echoes throughout the house and, like a puppet with snipped strings, I collapse back into my chair and rest my head on my forearms.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper even though I know that my brother can’t hear me.

  In my mind’s eye, I change the sign on my office door. Dr. Terrance Markham: Mean math person.

  My new body’s hair was still wet from the liquid in the clone-tank and I felt chilled even though the undersea laboratory was maintained at its usual temperature. There had been sufficient spare clothing on-site—before my adopted sister came into my life, I’d spent more evenings in my laboratories than in my civilian identity’s home and I’d often needed a change of outfits before returning to my ‘day job’ as CEO of a multinational biotechnology firm—but this fresh skin was overly sensitive at the moment.

  I tried to ignore the shivering and focus on the test results.

  Full neural realignment would take hours, I knew. My spare clone-bodies were kept in a ready state by the medical nanites flowing through their veins and my memories were kept updated via my quantum-network-connected neural link. The actual ‘soul transfer’ was a more recent innovation: the first major piece of technology that I’d created using information taken from the Ancient’s library. He’d been an academically rigorous sorcerer, and his lab notes had been sufficiently detailed that I had hopes of mimicking many so-called ‘magical’ effects using pure science.

  The initial test results were promising. When my previous body had been rendered inoperable, my ‘spirit’ had been temporarily disembodied and then (manipulated by my akashic relocation device) thrust through a complicated array of sensors before being homed within this new flesh.

  Akashic fields are a multidimensional phenomenon, and (exactly as I’d predicted) their movement produced a measurable effect upon the fields present within a quantum computer. Error correction algorithms prevented such variations from altering the computers’ operation, but there were logs when those error corrections were performed. A disembodied spirit located near one of my server farms could be tracked!

  And so my heart was pounding with eager optimism as I sorted through mountains of information. I remained still and calm as surgical automatons performed their final modifications upon my person, certain that at any moment I would find my sister and be able to begin the arduous effort of bringing her home. Even when the second pass resulted in no tangible results and I was forced to modify my data models, I was still buoyed with hope.

  When that faith finally failed, it struck like a physical blow. The urge to howl, to lash out and destroy, to climb into my powered armor and lay waste to anything that crossed my field of vision was overwhelming. But that would be counterproductive.

  Pain and I were old friends and I dared not allow this setback to delay additional labors. I’d wasted resources—creating and maintaining spare clone-bodies was expensive and I had fewer than a dozen stashed in hidden laboratories around the world—but this had been only one theory among many. It could now be stated with certainty that my sister’s spirit had not become anchored near to any of my own laboratories…but there were entire worlds of possibilities still to be examined.

  Slow, deep breaths helped to focus my thoughts. Bobby was dead, and in my heart of hearts I knew that I was to blame. If Whisper was dead then that too would be my fault, and that was not a possibility that I was willing to entertain. Whisper was out there, somewhere. Whisper needed me. And thus, there was more work to be done.

  Fortunately, this body was well-rested and I could restart the clock on the pharmacological regimen required to stay awake and active for long periods of time. I ordered a few drones to clean the gory mess that still lay at the center of my lab and settled in to perform further analysis.

  It was a pleasantly raucous night at Lassiter’s Den. The FTW—the hacktivist collective once helmed by my deceased friend, Starnyx—had recently performed an infiltration of a major import-export company and were gathered here to celebrate.

  Idealist non-violent anti-capitalists, members of their coalition never stole anything for themselves. Instead, they used their computer skills (and in some cases, superhuman abilities) in less-than-legal manners to combat corporate malfeasance. Their online broadcasts were viewed by millions and CEO’s trembled in fear whenever rumors of a new FTW show were spread.

  Lassiter’s Den was a bar that catered to villains and outlaws; the FTW may have been relatively innocuous as such organizations go, but they were more than welcome here. Root and Colonel Panic had brought a crowd of their non-powered fellow members, toasting their successful heist. The FTW’s current leader, LuckySeven, was holding court at a table towards the back of the bar, explaining a timing-based software exploit to an eager audience of less experienced hackers. They were a clever, friendly crowd and their tendency to buy beers for other patrons had earned them a favorable reputation.

  There were other colorful patrons present as well. Loose Cannon and Jynx were sidled up at the bar, and Minotaur and the Amazon were sharing a quiet drink over candlelight in the corner. Blackjack was here (did he ever go home?) surrounded by costumed minions. Unusually, no one in his crew seemed injured; that fact would explain their good cheer and loud laughter.

  It was a busy Friday night, and it was here that Cloner was to meet with me.

  A hush fell when I (as always, fully hidden within my iconic powered armor) floated smoothly into the room. Most of those here gathered were among the lower echelons of the superpowered criminal community; Doctor Fid may as well have been royalty. Also, I’d recently slaughtered several other high-powered villains, so the mixed reactions were understandable.

  “Bill.” I nodded in acknowledgment to the bartender. “A pint of Starnyx’ favorite.”

  If the FTW was here en masse, it was inevitable that the barman would have ensured a reliable supply of the microbrew that their former leader had preferred; William Wasserman had been a fixture at Lassiter’s for longer than I’d been a customer here and he was disturbingly competent at his job.

  Lassiter’s Den was a charming bar with a rich history, old wood furnishings and warm, comfortable lighting. Decades past, the bar had been on the border of two organized-crime families’ territories and members of both gangs came here to discuss peace between their organizations; over time, the bar became accepted as neutral ground among the New York criminal community. The location still maintained much of its old-world charm: the decor was all polished hardwood and warm tones, with lighting provided by candles and simulated gaslight. Violent, vicious criminals came here and were lulled into friendly camaraderie. If not for this place, I would likely never have had the opportunity to befriend Starnyx.

  Starnyx had watched Whisper while I was indisposed. He read to her and jokingly called her his favorite shell script. If he were still alive, he would be mourning her absence. I missed my friend, and it now occurred to me that it had been foolhardy to remind Cloner to meet me here.

  The leader of the New York Shield (arguably the most powerful superhero team on the East Coast) was aware of this place…but he’d evidently kept that knowledge close to his chest. No other heroes had performed raids and no vigilantes had arrived to break Lassiter’s Truce. I could only hope that my choice in inviting Cloner back here would not motivate him to alter his hands-off policy.

  Bill slid a pint glass into my armored hand and a snakel
ike tube extended from my forearm into the cool liquid; it wasn’t so simple a mechanism as a straw; the beer within was pumped up into a separate temperature-regulated reservoir within my armor and carried up to a mouthpiece hidden within my faceless helm. I’d never bothered to figure out a means of eating solid food while masked, but imbibing liquid refreshments when among peers was…pleasant.

  My sensors identified a familiar akashic field.

  Cloner’s power was the ability to create additional bodies; if there were a limit to the number or variety of forms that he could create, I had not been able to detect it; he’d once filled football fields standing shoulder to shoulder with himself and charged as one towards danger. Today, he had arrived as an attractive middle-aged woman of Filipino descent.

  I waved her over as she entered, and she startled; Cloner was, I was sure, used to a certain amount of anonymity. The vast majority of his clones were nondescript and disappeared into a crowd.

  As a hero, he was effective. As a spy, he was extraordinary.

  In how many battles, I wondered, had the New York Shield triumphed only because Cloner had spent days exploring the battleground ahead of time? There were rumors that at one point he’d had thousands of active clones spread across the globe, each with their own careers and families and lives…Accountants and lawyers and pizza delivery guys and bank tellers. He supposedly had embedded his selves throughout society in order to gather gossip and information on a grand scale.

  I hadn’t created the technology to confirm the rumors, then. But when Cloner had fallen under Legion control, it stood to reason that the entire hive-mind had been taken; sorting through missing-persons cases from that time period did lend credence to the tale.

  I claimed a table and the Filipino woman joined me. At my silent command, a secondary forcefield sprung up in a sphere around us, modulated such that it would not block physical movement but that any sound from within would be muffled. It would not do for any to eavesdrop on this conversation.

  “Hey doc,” she grinned, her expression shifting to that of the irreverent jokester persona that Cloner had hidden behind for years. The smile looked unnatural on her face. “You wanted to talk with me?”

  I resisted the urge to order him not to call me ‘Doc’. That had been Starnyx’ nickname for me and I disliked hearing it from any other lips. But Cloner wouldn’t obey and letting him know that he had a means to needle me seemed ill-planned. Given his sense of humor, I was certain that every hero in the U.S. would be addressing me in that manner within a week’s time.

  “I do,” I replied with forced calm. “I was hoping to complete our negotiations.”

  “And I’m thinking that I should call the deal off,” she retorted, still smiling despite the forceful tone that had crept into her voice. “You threatened one of my kids. That makes me wonder if’n you’re really planning on keeping up your end of the bargain.”

  “You and I hadn’t agreed to terms yet,” I retorted. “Also, Cherenkov was unharmed.”

  “And then you told him that I owed you a beer. Thanks for that, by the way. He has his teammates following every one of me that he knows about to see what bars they go to.”

  Outwardly, I was immobile, an implacable powered-armor shaped silhouette of the night sky with dim crimson accents. Unseen and unheard within that fearsome suit, I couldn’t help but laugh as I realized that—as we spoke—Cloner was likely leading his students on a wild goose chase…or rather, several wild goose chases. I made a note to check the local news first thing tomorrow morning for any particularly amusing stories.

  “You scared him,” Cloner added, his voice deadly serious.

  “Good. He’s right to be wary,” I chuckled darkly. “I’m agreeing to peace, not to pacifism.”

  Cloner frowned, tilting her head to glance towards the crowd of cheerful hacktivists. “That ship’s sailed, huh?”

  “It has.”

  After Starnyx’s death, I’d joined the FTW and taken the same pledge of non-violence that all their members had sworn. I’d kept to the oaths while I was a member but when I’d been framed for murder, they had disavowed me nonetheless. I had no regrets; my intention had been to honor my friend’s memory, but the truth was that Doctor Fid was a poor fit for the organization that Starnyx had left behind. The FTW was better off without me.

  “So, if you’re still a scary villain…why should I trust you?”

  “I’ve never broken my word,” I answered gravely. “And you’ve trusted me in the past. After I saved you from the Legion. After I saved the Earth.”

  “ ’n now you’re askin’ for access to tech that could wreck the world all over again.”

  I laughed, “You’ve seen me in battle. Do you really believe Dr. Chaise’s technology to be more dangerous than my own?”

  “No,” she smiled resignedly. “I suppose I don’t. But you threatened one of my kids to get to me. I’m not okay with that.”

  “Then allow me access to the device Skullface used when he attacked the United Nations. Negotiate terms and protect your trainees.”

  “All right.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them her expression was fiercely serious. “Yeah. Awright. Your last offer still valid?”

  “It is.”

  “I’m adding one caveat. You stay away from the Junior Shield.” Her voice held a strong tone of finality. “You don’t use them to send messages anymore. Got it?”

  “I do. And your terms are acceptable.”

  “Then we have a deal. I’ll let you know when ‘n where to pick up your loot.”

  I nodded and silently finished my beer before leaving Cloner and Lassiter’s Den behind.

  2

  With the Mk 39 safely stored in the ocean-floor laboratory, I returned home via teleportation platform to my home office where I was greeted by a hopeful puppy.

  “Good girl.” I forced a convincing smile and knelt to ruffle the wagging little black Labrador’s fur. She rolled to her back and squirmed eagerly, so I petted her stomach as well. “Good girl. You want to go for a walk?”

  Nyx (named in honor of Starnyx) yipped in what I interpreted to be an affirmative response, so I play-wrestled with her for a while before standing to grab her leash.

  Most of the available literature suggested that canines of this age required significant emotional support and social feedback, so I’d rarely spent more than a few hours away from home; the majority of my research had been done here rather than in the laboratories that I’d hidden around the world. Whisper’s pet needed to be well-cared-for when she returned or else she’d be sad.

  It was only loud or potentially messy experiments that were relegated to the remote laboratories.

  “Okay,” I told the dog, calling upon well-trained acting experience to maintain a cheerful tone. “Let’s go!”

  Nyx barked again and bounced sideways, tail lashing back and forth with so much force that it looked like the awkward, adorable thing was going to injure itself. The pleasant volunteer at the adoption center had assured Whisper and me that the puppy would eventually grow into her oversized paws and lose that awkward gait. For now, though, she still tripped and tumbled when she got too excited while following at my heels. I made the appropriate happy noises and led my little sister’s puppy out of my office.

  Nyx slowed to a halt as we passed Whisper’s room, tail lowered nervously. Ears folded down, she nosed into the room as though hopeful that her mistress might sit up and join us. But no. Whisper remained prone, her delicate android shell bereft of any consciousness.

  This had been her second body and she’d only been occupying it for a few months before the incident, but Nyx had never known her in another form. We could have made her look completely human, but that would have meant abandoning the form designed by her creator. As such, we’d worked to make sure that this new body was more graceful with far more sensory capabilities so that she could interact pleasantly among her friends…but still with the pale too-perfect skin, elfin fe
atures and complete lack of hair that had been characteristic of her original body. When she was awake, her eyes glowed a pleasant robins-egg blue.

  Her eyes were dim now, and for a moment I thought that it was Nyx who was whimpering. I coughed to quiet the sound.

  “It’s all right,” I shakily reassured the puppy. “She’s just resting. She’ll wake up soon, I promise. C’mon, let’s go play fetch.”

  Nyx resisted being pulled away from the door at first, pining, then followed after me with less joyous abandon than before.

  It was some time before the puppy became fully involved in her play. We jogged and played tug-of-war with furry toys and I threw dog-slobber-covered tennis balls. I wasn’t a young man but this highly-modified body was well-rested and only a few hours old; my little sister’s dog was kept entertained until dusk began to fall, and even if my face were streaked with tears I played the role that was required of me.

  The Face of Mourning

  Trouble looms for embattled company AH Biotech while former CEO grieves the loss of a child. Can the company he founded survive without him?

  By Russel Carre and Thomas Granger

  Photo by Brian Ferris

  Oct 6, 12:01 a.m. ET

  It’s been more than two months since Terrance Markham stepped down as CEO of AH Biotech, and rumors of internal strife and lost productivity abound. Early hopes that the stock price would quickly rebound have proved unfounded, and investors who’d become used to the company’s reliably meteoric growth are becoming nervous.

  The new top man, former CIO Aaron Schwartz, has big boots to fill.

  A Nobel prize-winning physicist turned businessman, Dr. Markham launched AH Biotech with bigger-than-life ideals. Long term employees treasure the t-shirts that proudly declared: “There is no goal two!”.

  Goal one was to save the world.

  The early days of AHBT were characterized by big risks and bigger rewards, with funding put towards innovative lifesaving technologies and massive ecological engineering projects. The company’s non-scarring quick-clot medicated bandages—apparently derived from the biological process that certain marine invertebrates use to form their exoskeleton—have saved thousands of lives, and other advances have led to the complete rehabilitation of two toxic Superfund sites. A diverse range of genetically engineered food crops have brought relief to famine-riddled regions. The promise of working on interesting and truly worthwhile projects lured top researchers away from many more well-established competitors, and the company named in honor of Dr. Markham’s own mentor flourished.