[This is a chapter from my latest novel, a sequel to The Fall of Doc Future and Skybreaker’s Call. The start is here, and links to my other work here. It can be read on its own, but contains spoilers for those two books. I usually post a new chapter about every two weeks, and the next one is planned for around February 23rd.]

Previous: Chapter 18

“Landing in five minutes,” announced the autopilot of Doc’s transport.

Yiskah rubbed her eyes and stretched. She had discovered it was very easy for her to nod off when alone in a self-flying vehicle–there were no nearby minds to distract her.

So many things to do today, and so few of them pleasant. It was rare that she and Stella both managed to let something slip by them, but it had become so easy to assume DASI would catch things in time to warn them. Now they knew better. And it was up to Yiskah to fix what could be fixed, and witness what couldn’t–because Stella was in orbit, on more urgent duties.

At least Yiskah could keep Flicker’s burden from becoming worse.

*****

The others were waiting at the edge of the nearly-empty visitor parking lot. The Box was on an island, and didn’t get much traffic except when there was heightened publicity about someone inside–which seldom happened anymore. Journeyman was waving his arms, making an emphatic point to Flicker and Lif.

“Forty-six million dollars for a visit is ridiculous!” he said.

“It’s not a fee, it’s a damage deposit,” said Flicker. "And the amount isn’t completely ridiculous–it’s a guess at total repair costs if I left in a hurry and was a total moron about causing collateral damage. It’s the motivation that was obnoxious; they were trying to use it to keep me away.

“But Francine turned it around on them, and told them if I was putting down that much, they could damn well hold still for the security audit team of my choice. Doc has the right to run one, and delegated it to me. Oh, they did not like that. But Francine asked them what they thought headlines like ‘Supervillain prison administration stalling superhero audit despite $46 million bond’ would do for their support and budget.

"She sent me a transcript. That cheered me up quite a bit. So, really, I’m okay with it–because after going to all this effort, I’m not going to be leaving in a hurry, anyway.” Flicker turned her head. "Hi, Yiskah.“

"Hello. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Are you? If I’d known…”

“None of us did. I could have punched through the shields to check, if I had reason to suspect, but I didn’t. DASI thinks this was just a symptom of the larger problem, but we’ll see.”

“I feel so bad about it.”

“Don’t. This is my task, and you have your own.” Yiskah smiled. "You’re already doing your share.“

*****

The head of Internal Affairs for the Box was not a particularly likable man. It was not the kind of job to attract one. And he had been far too willing to accept the Box administration’s unofficial mantra of 'No escapes, no deaths, no publicity, no problem’. But he was competent, and would do his job when confronted by the necessity.

He scowled at Yiskah from behind his desk. "If you don’t have any direct evidence…”

“I have plenty, it’s just not admissible as prosecution evidence in court, because of the ruling that the Fifth Amendment applies to telepathy. But it gives me probable cause for a full mind probe–and he’ll have to submit or resign on the spot, that’s been in your employment contracts since the big escape in '93.

"He’ll resign, because he can’t try to claim immunity on grounds of classified material access without admitting he works for the NIA. And a couple of days digging by a competent investigator will be enough to show his background was faked, which is grounds for dismissal anyway.”

Yiskah showed her teeth. "And he’ll get plenty of publicity, which his real bosses won’t like at all. That may well turn out worse for him than any charges you could get to stick. We’ll be watching what happens to him closely, believe me.“

The IA head chewed over that for a bit, then nodded unhappily. "What about the other two?”

“They’re bullying thugs, and most of the other guards already know it. The threat of a mind probe will scare them into resigning, which is good because I want them gone today. And it won’t matter, because DASI already has enough low-res data from the IR sensors to convict them of obstruction of justice. A jury might believe that they 'accidentally’ blocked the view of the regular camera with their body while giving a prisoner a hard poke in the kidneys once–but not dozens of times.”

Another long scowl. He wasn’t going to come out of today looking good, and he knew it. "This is like… crushing an eggshell with a sledgehammer.“

She shook her head. "No. Anyone official with a motive to conceal evidence is a threat, here. And you almost certainly have bigger problems, I just wanted this out of the way first.”

“Can’t argue with that. All right. Let’s go.”

*****

The auditorium was nearly full. All the clerical and service staff, the off-duty guards, and all the on-duty ones were there except for a few at critical posts. Flicker had done a good job at introductions, and Yiskah had explained her intent. Then she called three names… and three guards resigned, after a furious protest from the first one was met by stony confirmation from the IA head that yes, she could indeed do that.

They were already gone, and the crowd was looking a little shocked. And worried–it was sinking in that they were getting audited by a telepath trained in counterintelligence, an AI forensic data specialist, a psychometrist, and a magician. Not everyone was upset–a few of the smarter guards were looking relieved.

“Okay,” said Yiskah. "With that out of the way, I can talk about what else we’re going to be doing. Flicker is indeed here to talk to Mechmaster, but she is also going to be running around checking on a few other things–she’s going to be spending a lot of time waiting for doors to finish opening.“

Flicker made a face, and there was nervous laughter.

"There are some data discrepancies that DASI is going to be investigating. If any of you have concerns or ideas about that, I’d encourage you to share them with her–either through your work computers or your phones. If you want them to be confidential, she can make certain that no one else will ever see them.

"Journeyman will be taking a look at your magical defenses, and Lif will be working with him. When they’re done, they’ll help me do a check on some of your more hazardous prisoners. In the meantime, I have two compassionate visits of my own to do. Including one to someone who hasn’t had a visitor in twelve years.”

An older man, the assistant head of the psychic isolation ward, raised his hand. Yiskah nodded to him. "Yes?“

"Can I ask who you’ll be visiting?”

“Brainwave and Mad Hatter.”

He looked grave. "Uh, you know Brainwave is in the intensive care unit? He had a stroke about three months ago–“

"And went into a coma during the Xelian fleet attack,” said Yiskah. "I know that now. I should have been informed at the time–that’s one of the discrepancies DASI is checking on. I’m not next-of-kin, but I’m as close as it gets.“

He nodded. "We’re not sure how much longer he has.”

“I am. That’s why I’m visiting him first.”

*****

Mechmaster sat at the far side of the table, his back straight. He was a tall, thin man in his mid-fifties, dressed in a prison coverall. He had short, graying hair, piercing eyes, and the determined, disapproving expression of someone who carried grudges for decades and had a congenital allergy to ever admitting that he might have been wrong.

Flicker had spent quite a bit of time reading up on him, and talking to DASI about the best approach. Stella and Eirik had given her advice as well.

Flicker heard the door click shut behind her as she placed her burden on the table. Being alone with Mechmaster didn’t bother her, but the door being closed did. She composed herself with the knowledge that if she did end up obliterating it, she’d only lose a few thousand dollars off her deposit.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello. I have some things for you.”

He frowned at the stack of bound volumes. "What are those?“

"Well, they won’t let you have any kind of computer or reader, because they’re afraid you’ll use it to escape, so I printed everything out. They’re–” She scowled at the table in frustration. "Can I come over to that side? This table is too big, and I want to show you what all I brought.“

He shrugged. "As you prefer. I am not frightened.”

Flicker sped up and thought about that as she moved the books and a chair to sit beside him. It was a revealing comment. And his microexpressions and body language said he was a little anxious. He was determined not to compromise or agree to anything.

But his stubbornness was hardly a secret. And the story about the damage deposit had been too good a bit of gossip not to spread to everyone not in solitary. And he knew she wouldn’t have gone to all that effort without some kind of plan to get him to change his mind.

He was right, but most of the stack were things he deserved, just for building the original mechs in the first place.

“This,” she said, tapping the thickest volume, “is a technical reference on everything we did with the eleven mechs you built before the einherjar took them into the fleet battle. The test results, all the repairs and replacements that were needed after years in storage, and the mods to accommodate the Lizard grav units so they could get to space. It also covers the three mechs that we weren’t able to get ready in time, that they’re now using for training.”

She pulled out two others. "This one is a description of the battle itself, with details on how each mech performed. And this one is a compilation of all the suggestions and comments from the people who repaired and piloted them.“

"This,” she tapped the thinnest one, “is… Okay, Eirik, one of my einherjar, is a skald–that’s like an epic poet and historian. He’s working on an epic poem about the battle, and this is the current version. You’re in it, because you built the mechs, and he wanted to make sure the part about you was 'fitting to your honor’–he doesn’t want to accidentally insult you. The rest may be your thing and may not, but anyway he wanted you to have it.”

“I see,” said Mechmaster. It was clear from his expression that this was not at all what he had expected.

“Oh, and this last book is a compilation I had DASI put together–she’s Doc’s Database AI–of technical developments in mech design since the last time you escaped. A lot of it is translated from Japanese, because Japan is where most of the active work is being done. I thought you might find it handy.”

Mechmaster frowned suspiciously. "I will not work with Doc.“

Flicker met his eyes. "I wouldn’t ask you to. I brought all this stuff with me because I wanted to be absolutely sure you got it and knew it was from me. The Box puts all kinds of restrictions and delays on stuff from outside, but you really shouldn’t be here.”

“They fear me.”

“Not really. I’ve read the reports. They just don’t know what the heck to do with you. You’re not violent, and you’ve never done anything when you get loose except build mechs and attack Doc, but no regular prison administrator wants to be responsible for someone who can break out of a maximum security block with a closet full of janitorial supplies and a floor waxer.”

Mechmaster gave a short bark of a laugh, but he didn’t argue the point.

“Anyway, I’m not quite done giving you stuff. There are a couple things that are more personal.” She picked up the card. "A system administrator named Sam came up with the idea of modifying the mechs so the einherjar could fly them. They asked her what an appropriate gesture of respect to you would be, and she didn’t really know, so she suggested this.“

She handed Mechmaster the card.

"All the pilots signed it, but they weren’t literate, so it’s witnessed personal marks–the handwriting on the names is Sam’s. All of them but Skardi died.”

He stared at the card for moment, then carefully placed it aside and nodded to her. "Thank you. They seem to have been honorable men.“

"They were. They…” Flicker had to stop for a moment as the memories came rushing back. "I wasn’t able to watch their part. I still regret that, but I was strung out from throwing five million rocks and missing a lot of skin and radioactive and freaked because I thought Doc and the Volunteer were dead and Stella was dead and I’d just killed over fifty thousand people and my arm was hamburger from RSI and I needed to heal. So I couldn’t stay. But I’m very proud of them.“

Mechmaster was staring at her now. "The television reports did not describe what happened very well, I think.”

“Yeah, but when do they ever? I’d say go online, but…” She shrugged. "That’s the other reason for the battle description. I can’t expect you to make an informed decision if you don’t really know what happened. I’m so used to good data, it’s hard for me to imagine what it’s like not having it.“

He looked thoughtfully at Eirik’s saga book, then at the last item still in front of her, a thick binder. "What is that?”

Flicker smiled as she opened it. "Pictures.“

*****

The doctor, nurse, and technician all eyed Yiskah uneasily. The man on the bed had once been rather pudgy. Now… Well, the condition of his body wasn’t going to matter much longer.

"Can you really contact him?” asked the doctor. "We haven’t picked up any perceptible brain activity for days. But if there’s still someone in there…“

"I understand your ethical concerns,” said Yiskah. "Soon there won’t be. In a little while he’s going to go. Let him. No life support.“

"Understood.”

Yiskah found the figure huddled next to a dead tree, curled protectively around something, and illuminated by a single guttering candle in a sea of darkness. She pulled the figure partially into her own mind, and the light brightened.

The figure blinked. She was an old woman, with skin loose on her arms, hair gone completely white, and a face that might have been Stella’s–after living a life of seventy or eighty hard, hopeless years.

“Goodness,” she said. "So this is what it’s like to be inside a mind that still works. I’d forgotten.“

"I’m sorry I took so long,” said Yiskah. "We didn’t know.“

The old woman smiled sadly. "I’d almost given up hope. You’ll see Prime gets these?” She nodded to her precious treasure–a stack of notebooks. "I’d like to think all that time was of some use. Although I’m afraid that the quality dropped a bit in the later ones.“

She picked up the top notebook on the stack and flipped it open. It contained what looked like a child’s drawings in crayon, along with a few cryptic sentence fragments. The old woman smiled wryly. "I worked with what I had.”

Yiskah nodded and concentrated, making the notebooks part of her gestalt. "There, it is done.“

Yiskah put her arms around the old woman as she slumped in relief. "Finally. I was so arrogant when I started, but the smallest things were a burden, by the end.”

“So there is nothing left of him?”

“No. The last bits went with… whatever happened first.”

“That would have been the destruction of the amplifier helmet.”

“Ah. I might have thought of that if I’d had a more functional mind. Then whatever broke the link happened and I started to fade.”

“Stella died.”

“She did?”

“Doc Future built her a new body and brought her back.”

This smile was weak but genuine. "So she did get him.“

"Yes. Both of us did.”

“Well, that makes a nice dream to end with.” The old woman closed her eyes. "Are you ready to take me away? Because I’m ready to go.“

"Yes.”

And Yiskah held her, as light and life faded, until there was nothing left.

*****

Yiskah leaned against the wall of the corridor while she waited for Lif and Journeyman. They had stopped at something unseen a few cells down.

“Another thread crosses here,” said Lif. "Woven by the same man.“

"Yeah, this is where the alarm mesh picks up again,” said Journeyman. "One-eyed Jack did the whole thing, and he built to last. It’s still up everywhere except the annex and the new staff cafeteria–and those were both built or rebuilt after he died. Damned clever magician.“

"Did you ever meet him?”

“No, he was killed during the Lost Years, while I was still a kid. I wish he hadn’t been; I’d have really liked to have him as a teacher.”

They started walking towards Yiskah again as Journeyman continued. "His only fault that I know of–and this is pretty common among magicians–was that he was bad at documentation. He told Doc a lot of stuff, but it wasn’t really organized, and– Whoa, Yiskah, are you all right?“

Yiskah raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t expect this to be an easy day, and I haven’t been disappointed so far. Shall we continue? DASI says Flicker is still talking to Mechmaster.”

Journeyman was perceptive enough to realize she didn’t want to discuss Brainwave, so he didn’t ask, and Lif followed his lead.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” he said.

*****

“Come in, come in!”

Mad Hatter had started improving at the same time Brainwave declined, probably for the same reason. He was a cheerful older man wearing a skullcap, and his living quarters looked more like a cramped apartment and workshop than a cell. He had never really belonged in the Box–it was doubtful he would have been convicted for the one crime he was originally arrested for, even if he had been ruled competent to stand trial.

But there hadn’t been any other mental health facilities capable of coping with him–his instability had been known even before Brainwave sent him over the edge by forcing him to create the amplifier helmet, and he could and had unleashed artifacts capable of causing widespread disruption at the drop of a hat.

DASI had noted that his recovery had been steady for the last several months, and Yiskah’s mind-scan didn’t find him impaired at all.

“Have you heard about my mice?” Mad Hatter gestured to three cages along a shelf. Most of the mice within were looking out with apparent interest–and they were wearing tiny hats.

He was, perhaps, still a bit eccentric.

*****

It was the pictures that made the difference. But not the ones Flicker had expected. DASI had put together the selection–they were mostly taken from monitor cameras during the mad scramble to prepare for the Xelian fleet.

“Who is that?” he asked as she turned the page in the album.

“Oh, that’s Osk–she’s one of the Choosers I told you about.”

He frowned. "That engine is from the X-23, and weighs 732 pounds empty. How is she lifting it, and what is she standing on?“

"She can fly, and Choosers are just as strong or stronger than the einherjar. I guess they were short on engine lifts that day–everyone was in a big hurry.”

He shook his head. “I do not understand why such beings would need or want my mechs.”

“The einherjar can’t fly, and even the Choosers can’t breathe vacuum. And mechs can carry a lot more armor, shielding, and weaponry than the einherjar and Choosers could on their own. And… they are traditional now. Which might sound silly, after only one battle, but the einherjar are convinced that mechs are the honorable and proper way for them to help defend Earth. They are big on tradition, and a lot of their old ones are gone.”

“I see.”

A few pages later Mechmaster suddenly tensed, and his finger stabbed out. "That. Is it a model, or a replica?“

Flicker looked at the picture, then double checked with DASI. "Neither, that’s the original, from 1944. It’s–”

“Der PanzerMann,” said Mechmaster reverently. "The first mech. I thought it was destroyed–broken up for scrap! I was so angry when I heard.“

"That’s what they were going to do, because people kept trying to steal it from the museum–nasty people, too, the last one killed two guards. But Doc couldn’t stand to see it destroyed, so he snuck it into the basement of his old HQ. He worked on restoring it in his spare time–but then he stopped having spare time. He got as far as replacing all the hydraulics with modern high pressure lines, and restoring the smoke bomb thingy, the–”

“Nahverteidigungswaffe.”

“Yeah, that. He got stuck on what to do about the shoulder cannons, because–”

“The recoil when firing off-center. Yes. And two Flak 88s made it terribly over-gunned–it would have been better off with just one.”

Mechmaster stared at the picture for a while. "Did he get the balance linkages working?“

"Oh, yeah. I watched him walk it around a little bit when I was twelve, to settle a bet with Neodymium Man. I kept hoping he’d restore it the rest of the way, because it was cool and one of the ways he used to relax, but he just got too busy.”

Mechmaster stared at the picture some more.

“Um, look,” said Flicker. "I can tell you like it, and I can get you full specs and pictures, but I really doubt Doc will let you have it, even if you do start working for me. I don’t think I’d want him to, even if he would. He really cares about that thing.“

Mechmaster slowly turned to face her, snorted twice, then started to laugh. Soon he was laughing so hard he was gasping and tears were running down his face. Flicker wasn’t sure what to do, so she said nothing.

Finally he calmed and wiped his face. "Yes, he does. Perhaps I overlooked something.” He looked at the picture again and smiled faintly. "So. Flicker.“

"Yes?”

“I will read your references, and your reports, and your compilations, and your poetry. And look at your picture album. And give you my answer in a week. Will that satisfy you?”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

He stuck out his hand and she shook it, then wished him well and started the careful process of getting back out without destroying any doors. She’d done something right, but she still wasn’t sure quite what.

*****

Yiskah was conducting telepathic observations of the effects of enhanced intelligence on rodent social organization while she watched Mad Hatter give a quite sophisticated lesson on magical headgear construction to Journeyman. She found it soothing, particularly by comparison to the rest of the day. Lif was watching the hat lesson as well, fascinated.

“…important part is the crossovers,” said Mad Hatter, tracing an invisible line on the baseball cap he was using as an example. "You must reduce the connection power for those–“

"Ah, yeah!” said Journeyman, “So it connects to the wearer’s power, and not yours.”

“Indeed!” Mad Hatter beamed. "The very key to safely making a hat for someone else.“

"Want treat,” sent Tuft Tail.

“Oh?” sent Yiskah. “And why should I give you another? I already gave you two.”

“Other mice got more.”

“Correct. The others got three, except for Bent Whisker, who got four and hid one. Talk to her.”

Some scampering ensued.

“Thank you,” sent Tuft Tail, overlapping with “Mean,” from Bent Whisker.

“You’re welcome, Tuft Tail. And why am I mean, Bent Whisker?”

“Should give more to others, not take from me.”

Now there was a very sophisticated social argument. Yiskah raised her already high estimate of the effectiveness of Mad Hatter’s mouse thinking caps.

“Treats are limited,” she sent back. “And you all got three from me that you would not have gotten otherwise.”

A pause for thought, then “Fair.”

“…practice by making one for this elegant and perceptive woman,” said Mad Hatter, waving at Lif.

“And why would I need a hat?” asked Lif, amused.

“Has your Sight never been blinded by looking at something too bright? The right hat could fix that. And I’m sure this fine young gentleman would be willing to make you one, if you ask him nicely.”

Lif’s expression changed from skeptical to thoughtful.

Yiskah smiled. She had encountered plenty of monomania before, but Mad Hatter’s was more adaptable than most. An alert flashed on her handcomp, and she cleared her throat. The others turned to look at her.

“As enlightening as this has been, I’m afraid we have to go. Flicker is ready, but she doesn’t want to come through all the security doors.”

Mad Hatter’s face fell. "I so seldom get visitors–do I offend her?“

"No, but she is claustrophobic. Today has been stressful enough for her already.”

He brightened again. "You know, the right hat–“

”–could fix that,“ said Lif and Journeyman together, and everyone laughed.

"Say, Yiskah,” said Journeyman, “do you suppose you could convince the Box administration to–”

“Already done. It’s not safe for him to interact with most of the other prisoners, and the Box is isolated, but that’s not a problem for you. They’ll allow you to visit if you wish.”

“Excellent. Hatter, it’s been a pleasure to talk shop with you. I’ll be back, count on it.”

They shook hands, and Mad Hatter bid them all an effusive farewell. When they were in the security foyer, Journeyman looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?” sent Yiskah.

“So the amplifier helmet was the problem?”

“Definitely. I wasn’t sure before, but I am now.”

“Guess it was a good thing Golden Valkyrie destroyed it after all, then.”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

*****

Now they were doing the tedious part. DASI had found plenty of inconsistencies in the Box’s computer records–far too many to have resulted from chance alone, even given the disruption from the two most recent escape attempts. But despite plenty of imaginative theories contributed by assorted guards and workers, they were no closer to determining how they had come about.

Or more disturbingly, why.

They were going from cell to cell, checking the records for each against Doc’s outside backup and the actual inhabitant. Journeyman was checking the records against the codes stored in the door units, while Yiskah double-checked with mind scans as necessary. They had already corrected several records claiming that a prisoner was in a different cell from his actual location.

“He will agree,” said Lif to Flicker. "I See it.“

"He will? How can you be sure? I thought you couldn’t see the future.”

“Because his thread is already entwined with yours. He has made up his mind, he is just completing all the preparation you set him before he agrees, out of pride, and to be sure he is ready.”

“Oh, cool, that’s good to–”

“Discrepancy!” said Journeyman, and they all turned to look. "The Giggler is supposed to be in that cell. I don’t recognize the name of whoever is, but it ain’t the Giggler.“ He paused, and they could hear faint giggling coming from inside the cell. "He’s doing a pretty good imitation, though. Yiskah?”

“Interesting,” she said after a quick mind scan. "He thinks he’s the Giggler, but he’s not completely consistent. I’d have to do a probe to–“

"Interesting, indeed,” came DASI’s voice over the handcomp speakers. "According to internal records, he is one of the Giggler’s cultist henchman who was arrested on an accessory charge and transferred here from another facility three years ago. According to external records, he was a visitor, who entered, visited the Giggler, and left. And there was an apparently unrelated, and failed, escape attempt on the same day.“

"Uh oh,” said Flicker.

Several of the prisoners in the Box could shapeshift, and there was a backup security measure to protect against escape by disguise. Whenever anyone left, the Box security system checked against previous entries, and the number of non-prisoners still inside. If the numbers didn’t match, an alarm was raised.

But if a visitor was willing to take the place of a prisoner, and was good enough at disguise…

“Great,” said Journeyman. "Somebody better tell Nighthaunt that the Giggler is loose again.“ He frowned. "Though if this was three years ago, you’d think the Giggler would have surfaced by now. He’s not exactly a low-profile guy.”

“Not so fast,” said DASI. "There were several manual corrections to missing or wrong data in the following several days, and internal records show the Giggler as still present, in Cell 572. Could you go check that, please?“

"On it,” said Flicker who opened doors and waited impatiently for the rest of them as they hurried to a different wing and level as fast as they could. Soon, they stood in front of Cell 572.

“An old thread leads from that cell to this one,” said Lif.

“Whoever is inside thinks he’s the Giggler–and rather more convincingly,” said Yiskah.

“The medical records match,” said DASI.

“Cover for someone else’s escape?” said Flicker.

“Possible,” said Journeyman. He tapped at his handcomp. "So who was supposed to be in Cell 572, three years– Oh no. Oh fuck.“

"Journeyman?” asked Flicker, concerned.

“Shit shit shit. Doc barely caught him last time. He could have caused every single fucking data problem, and worse. And he’s been loose for three years…”

“Who?”

“Tabula Rasa.”



Next: Chapter 20

