Chapter 794: The Inheritor's War

Chapter 794: The Inheritor's War

"Hell is for children." - Unknown, Pre-Glassing Terra Religious Philosophy

Herod sat alone in a corner of the Master Control in the top of the mountain in the center of Atlantis. He had a cold beer in his hand, watching everyone work at the work-stations. They were typing away, staring at graphs, streams of data, raw output, and the maintenance/oversight programs. For the most part they were silent, their pale faces lit by the 2.5D screens.

A few looked over when Herod dropped the empty can in the trash can, reached into his pocket, and pulled out another can of narcobrew.

After Marco's startling transformation to Chromium Saint Peter nobody had said anything about Herod or Daxin eating or drinking even though Herod sat beneath a sign that prohibited food and drink.

He saw one woman frown and knew she was trying to figure out where the can of beer had come from, since his jacket pocket was flat.

Daxin had showed him how to 'cheat' and grab beer from the vending machines by reaching into his pocket.

The woman went back to her console as Herod stared back at her, holding her gaze with her own till she flushed and looked down.

She wanted to tell him that maintaining unwanted eye contact was a type of assault, but the man, who had supposedly been a digital sentience before being transferred to a flesh and blood body somehow, frightened (and slightly excited) her with his intent gaze from his lined face.

Doctor Vhim stared at the screen for a moment, frowned again, then doublechecked the apparent variables, library calls, and data output.

"Marco," she said softly. "Doctor Igwe?"

Marco turned around slowly. "Yes, Doctor Vhim?" he asked, his voice calm, neutral, and almost inflectionless.

She restrained a shudder at the memory of the calm, slightly withdrawn man screaming as electricity moved across his body, all powered by a rage she still could not see.

"I have been going over the Master Traumatic Experience Processing System metrics," she said, glancing again at the craggy faced man, Herod, who had gone back to staring at the toes of his boots.

"And?" Marco asked.

"I noticed that there are child records showing activity. Many of them have high stress and spikes of pain and suffering metrics," Doctor Vhim said. She pushed up her glasses, an affectation rather than worn out of need, and tapped the top of her right hand 2.5D screen.

The worn looking man looked up, his face suddenly going blank.

"The Detainee is processing traumatic event recovery," Marco said.

"But, the children are showing metrics that look like new suffering, rather than process calls to experience libraries," Doctor Vhim stated.

The man shook his head. "The Lady Lord of Hell is torturing children is what you are saying."

Doctor Vhim frowned. "I realize that a lot of religious iconography was used, but placing 'The Devil' to process those who have suffered traumatic events seems wrong to me."

"You weren't here to ask," Herod shrugged.

Marco looked at Herod. "You want to check on it? You were the one who set the rules."

Herod sighed, guzzled down the rest of his narcobrew, and dropped the bottle in the trash can.

"Sure, why not?" he said.

-----

The sky was black. The sun wasn't visible, the clouds black and low, heavy ridges and folds speaking to the depths of inky black clouds. The wind was cold and biting, the light rain was cold and seeped into Herod's clothing immediately.

He looked around at where he had manifested. He was wearing a uniform, coat and tails, all black. His hair was the color of iron and in a severe bowl cut.

He stood next to a single lane road, trees on the opposite side of him. There was a wall of roughly cut stone blocks behind him. A driveway was off the road, ending at a heavy black wrought iron gate with a single brass plate.

"Mrs. Mann Home For Incorrigible Children Est. 1681" was written on a brass plaque.

Headlights preceded the car around the corner, lighting up the dark and dreary thick woods that were on either side of the road beyond the stone wall.

The car was blocky, all black. The headlights were dull yellow, barely lighting the road. They flashed over Herod and made the brass plaque shine. The car came to a stop, the lights painting Herod a bloody red.

The door opened and a young Terran boy climbed out, snuffling, his eyes wet with tears. The boy was wearing a dark suit-like outfit that looked like a military uniform without all the brass and colorful ribbons. His shoes were polished and his brown hair, which had been carefully combed, immediately got wet and plastered to his head in strands.

The door shut and the car smoothly pulled away.

"DADDY!" the boy cried out, reaching out. "I'M SORRY! I'LL BE GOOD!"

The car disappeared around the far corner.

The boy stood for a long moment, his face covered, crying.

Herod stepped up. "Hello."

The boy looked up, wiping his face almost angrily.

"I wasn't crying," the boy said, his voice belligerent.

"I know," Herod said. He held his hand out and pointed at the gate. "Do you want me to walk you in?"

"Uh-huh," the boy said.

Herod took his hand.

LEE, THOMAS BAKER

SEX: MALE

HAIR: BROWN

EYES: BLUE

RACE: NORTHERN EUROPEAN CAUCASIAN

DATE OF BIRTH:REDACTED (TEMPORAL RECURSION PREVENTION PROTOCOL APPLIED)

AGE: 9Y 4M 12D

CAUSE OF DEATH: MANTID BLADEARM BISECTION OF INTERNAL ORGANS, EXSANGUINATION, MASSIVE ORGAN DAMAGE, CRANIAL COMPRESSION BY MANTID JAW PLATES, CEREBRAL CONTUSIONS.

DURATION OF CONSCIOUSNESS AFTER MASSIVE TRAUMA: 138 SECONDS. !!CRITICAL!!

ANXIETY LEVEL: CRITICAL

PLACE OF BIRTH: SUSSEX SUSPICIOUS SEXYTIME, ENGLAND BONGISTAN ISLAND - FOG LANDS (TEMPORAL WARFARE COUNTERMEASURE APPLIED)

PLACE OF DEATH: SUSSEX SUSPICIOUS SEXYTIME, ENGLAND BONGISTAN ISLAND - FOG LANDS (TEMPORAL WARFARE COUNTERMEASURE APPLIED)Th.ê most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m

PROCESSING PRIORITY: EXTREME

All went through Herod's mind when he took the boy's hand.

You poor child, Herod thought, not letting anything show on his face. He stepped forward and the gate swung open with the creak of unoiled hinges.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled as Herod and the boy took their first steps on the ground.

Everything suddenly swirled around Herod and he felt the boy's hand pulled from his.

He could see the boy going through inprocessing. Put in a room with fifteen other boys. Marching to class. Sitting in class with grim, cruel looking male professors and habit clad nuns. Knuckles being rapped by long sticks of wood. Spartan, minimalistic food. Heavy course loads of homework, grinding chores done by hands. Fist fights. Crying silently at night.

He found himself dropping from the memories and landing in a spartan office.

The Detainee sat behind the desk in all of her matronly glory, wearing her typical charcoal gray official looking dress and blouse, her hair pulled back tightly to the point that Herod saw one of the hair strands succumb to tension and snap. Her gray eyes were smouldering cold iron.

The walls had severe looking men and women in uniforms looking down with disapproval at any who stood in front of the desk. The carpet in front of the desk was dark gray. The wood paneling was all gray. The desk was black oak. The window showed a dark cloudy sky infrequently lit by the blue lightning that flashed through the clouds. The door out was dark wood with a tarnished brass doorknob. On either side of the door was ancient armor, plate mail if Herod remembered correctly, with pennants above them, shields at their feet, and both hands on a sword.

A heavy, ornate, and almost imposing clock was against one wall, the brass cords and weights slowly moving, the brass gears whirring, as it loudly ticked by each second.

"If it isn't Pinocchio," Dee snarled.

"Dee," Herod said, blinking and trying to let the boy's experiences go.

"You almost screwed him up beyond this recovery attempt, you mouth breathing digital doofus," Dee snarled. She picked up the letter opener. "If I have to reprocess him from the beginning, I will personally hold you down and pry out one of your eyes with this," she smiled, a cold thing. "It's dull, so it's going to hurt more."

Herod just nodded. "It would startle Marco's colleagues to see my eye torn out in meatspace because of what you do here."

Dee snorted, setting down the letter opener and picking up a pack of cigarettes marked "LUCKY STRIKE". She pulled one out and Herod noticed it was missing the filter. She took a couple of drags, then opened the desk drawer, pulling out a glass bottle and two glasses. She poured Herod one and slid it across the desk, then poured one for herself.

Herod sat there, watching the barbaric display as the Detainee struck the boy upon his buttocks with the paddle. The boy did not cry out, although his face reddened, his nose ran, and his eyes leaked tears. The paddle left wide welts with white spots from the drilled holes.

Herod wanted to cry out for Dee to stop abusing the small child.

"And ten," the Detainee said. She pulled up the boy's underwear and pants and moved back to her desk, setting down the paddle and sitting down in her chair. She took a drag of her cigarette, hiding everything but her eyes as the boy redid his belt and wiped his face surreptitiously.

"Are you going to attempt to behave, to not be bad or naughty?" Dee asked.

The boy nodded.

Dee got up and moved to a curtain. She drew it back, showing an ornate door covered with gleaming brass over cherrywood.

"Are you ready to go play?" she asked. "You can play with your sister now that you have taken your medicine."

The boy nodded, suddenly smiling.

"You can tell her you got a whupping," Dee said. She opened the door, revealing a sunny park where children were running and squealing and laughing. "Go, young man, and play."

A six year old girl stopped in front of the door and began jumping up and down, squealing with joy.

"SISSY!" The boy ran through the door.

The Detainee closed the door. "This place is no longer for one such as you, child," she said softly. She let the curtain fall and moved to the armor, lifting the face plate.

The man inside was pale skinned, with blue eyes. He needed a shave, the five o clock shadow thick. His hair was matted with sweat, his eyes full of pain.

"He has been succored," Dee said softly. "No longer must you scream his name. No longer must you rend your own flesh in torment over your children. They have ascended."

The man nodded.

"Are you ready?" the Detainee asked.

The man nodded.

"Be well, Jake Northam Lee," the Detainee said. She closed the face shield.

Herod could feel the man shift to a different section.

"I can reach him now," the Detainee said, her voice a whisper. She moved over to the desk and poured another drink.

Herod watched her as she took a few drags of her cigarette and sipped at the whiskey.

"This is very extensive for trauma recovery," Herod observed. "An odd choice, but apparently effective."

"So?" Dee asked.

Herod could tell she wanted to fight.

"You give him a beating then send him off to the afterlife," Herod said. He leaned back. "With just a board, not a lash of barbed wire and razor sharp glass. Surprisingly merciful."

"You don't know me," Dee snapped, looking away.

Herod nodded. "No, I do not. None do."

"What do you want?" Dee asked, turning back and glaring at Herod.

"Just to see you," Herod lied. "Sam and I laid a heavy burden on you."

"Get the fuck out of here with that mealy mouthed bullshit. Someone has to do it and everyone else is too weak," she sneered. She lifted her lighter. "Begone, cherub."

She snapped the lighter and Herod gasped as he felt himself slammed back into his body.

He opened his eyes, looking around.

The gathered scientists, professors, doctors, and engineers were all staring at him.

"Is that blood?" one asked, pointing at Herod's face.

"Probably. What does it say?" Herod asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a chilled narcobrew.

"Witness," a man said.

Herod chuckled. "Yeah."

Marco moved up and knelt down next to Herod as he took a long drink off the narcobrew bottle.

"Well?" the tired looking man asked.

"She's processing children from the Glassing," Herod said. He shook his head. "I couldn't do it. Sam couldn't do it," he looked at all the scientists, most of whom looked away. "None of you could do what we bound and sealed her to do."

"But the pain, agony, and emotional distress metrics of those children are in the critical levels," Doctor Vhim protested.

Herod just shook his head.

"Take it up with the Devil."

-----

The room was not silent. The steady whir computers, the clicking of hidden relays, the soft burr of concealed fans. The room smelled of ozone and dust despite being perfectly clean.

Herod moved across the room, pausing at one of the terminals. He moved the mouse, clicking through a few menus, then punched in a code before hitting enter.

He knew the code. He had used it repeatedly.

He was pretty sure the code would still work even though the system was largely locked out.

Herod made a few other menu clicks, then walked away, moving to the door of the hexagonal chamber in the middle of the room. The door opened smoothly and Herod walked in.

He sat down on the hexagonal floor plates, pulling his knees up, folding his arms over his knees, and resting his head on his arms as the door clicked shut.

A humming sound filled the chamber. Fog began to rise up out of the hexagonal armaglass plates.

Blackness took him.

Nightmares snatched his from blackness.

He came too slowly, his head pounding. He lifted his head, wiped his face, grimacing at the blood on his hand.

His nose had bled.

He got to his feet slowly, every muscle, every joint, screaming in agony. He felt like his skin was too tight and his head was pounding.

He pulled a candy bar from his pocket as he shambled to the door, unwrapping it and taking a deep bite of the nine thousand year old confection. It tasted terrible, but it allowed him to focus.

Herod pulled open the door, stumbled out, staggered past the archaic computers to one of the last work stations, and leaned against the computer.

It was modern. All sleek curves, ergonomic design, soft glowing holostrips. It used a perspective dependent holographic projector, a holographic keyboard, and had enough computing power to track a water molecule in an ocean.

Herod sat down, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a bottle of narcobrew.

Of all the gifts for serving the Digital Omnimessiah I could have received, Enraged Phillip's gift of how to grab beer out of my pocket is the one I will treasure the most, he thought as he took a long drink.

He dug into his top pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and the steel lighter.

The logo carved into the scuffed and scratched steel caught the light as he lit one of the cigarettes. He tucked it away in his pocket with the pack as he puffed on the cigarette.

The heavy door on the wall in front of him hissed open.

A woman with multicolored hair, glasses, and a thin face stared at him. Beside him was a canine wearing clothing and standing on its back feet, its tail curled protectively behind it. The woman stared at him for a long moment.

Herod took another drink, then another drag off of his cigarette, exhaling smoke.

The bipedal dog sneezed, breaking the moment of shocked silence.

"Herod?" Flowerpatch asked, staring at the Digital Sentience that had been missing for nearly four years.

"In the flesh," Herod grinned.