Aura Overload

51 – It’s Done

Hector watched the last few seconds of his timer count down and then, two or three breaths later, Opal’s eyes flickered with tiny, star-like lights and the synth blinked, focusing its gaze on him. “Oh, pardon me, Mr. Valerius. That update took longer than I anticipated.”

“It’s fine. I finished my survey.”

Opal looked him up and down. “Were you injured in some way?”

“I was clumsy. Went poking around off the trail down there.” Hector pointed to the thick but manicured forest in the direction of the rim’s edge. “Took a tumble.”

“Oh dear! Do you require medical aid?”

“Some bugs—nanites—would be nice.”

Opal stood and gestured in the direction from which they’d come. “Let’s return to the resort, and I’ll access the first aid station in the security office.”

Hector picked up his duffel, slinging it over his shoulder while still pressing his free hand against the wound on his chest. He didn’t want the towel to fall down into his coveralls. “Sounds good.”

As they walked toward the building and the security checkpoint there, Opal said, “Excuse me, Mr. Valerius, but Mr. Janus would like me to ask if you were satisfied with your security survey. Did you accomplish everything before you fell?”

Hector smirked, watching the synths at the security gate ahead, wondering if the trap was about to be sprung. Should he lie? Should he say he needed more time for his “survey?” After a tense moment of silence, he said, “You can let Janus know that I’m satisfied.” He shifted the bag behind his hip and flexed his right hand, ready for anything.

His escort didn’t change its gait, though, and the synths ahead didn’t react. When they reached the barrier, one of the guards tapped the control mechanism without a word, and the bar lifted, granting them access. A few minutes later, he and Opal were striding down a near-deserted hallway toward the security office. “There won’t be anyone inside,” Opal said, “not at this hour”

“Yeah, it’s quiet. Party’s still going on, though, right?”

“Oh, yes. For another two hours.”

Hector didn’t let the calm nature of his escort put him at ease. He remained tense, watching her every micro-movement. As he realized he’d begun to think of Opal as “her,” he bit the bullet and asked, “Opal, do you have a preferred, um, pronoun?”

“I’m comfortable with feminine pronouns, Mr. Valerius. Thank you for asking.”

Inside the office, Opal opened a locked cabinet and peered inside. “Intravenous or oral?”

The question threw Hector for a split second, but then he realized she was asking him what kind of nanites he wanted. For some reason, he didn’t like the idea of her hitting him with an injection. “Something I can eat or drink.”

“Here we are,” she withdrew a squeeze-tube not unlike the one he’d gotten from Lemon on his first day in this new life of his. He glanced at the label—Medi-Jelly—and then ripped the top on the perforated line before squeezing it into his mouth.

He swallowed and said, “Strawberry.”

“Do you need a change of clothes?”

Hector patted his bag. “I have one. Can I get a minute of privacy?”

“Of course, I’ll wait in the hallway.” After she left and the door clicked shut, Hector squeezed the rest of the tube into his mouth, and then he opened his duffel, digging out the track suit he’d been wearing earlier. His ruined overalls, the bloodied towel, and even the empty tube of nanites went into the duffel. He didn’t want to leave any trace of himself behind.

If they want to find something, they will.

The dour thought was sobering, but true. He’d surely left some micro DNA around Tacitianus’s house—sweat, blood droplets, maybe even a hair. As he tugged on his tracksuit, he couldn’t help thinking about how easy it would be for Janus to screw him over.

//But you don’t think he will.//

Hector grunted, tugging his shoes back on. He was already less sore, and his chest had stopped bleeding even before he pulled the tracksuit on. I know you’re just being a sounding board, but it’s okay, Evie. I’ve been through the scenario a dozen times. If the CEO wants me to fight for him, then Janus would be an idiot to get me arrested. Maybe kill me off so I can’t talk, but he missed the best window for that already.

//What now?//

“Now,” Hector said aloud, “I get a room and go to sleep.” He walked over to the door, bag on his shoulder, and pulled it open. He’d thought about getting a room at the resort, but he liked the idea of getting further away from the mine before someone found the massacre at Tacitianus’s estate. “Opal, I’m feeling exhausted—the fights took more out of me than I thought. I think I’ll head down into town and get a room.”

“I’m sure we could arrange a discount if you want to stay—”

“No.” Hector forced a smile. “Appreciate it, but I’ve got early plans.”

“It’s a shame,” she said, starting to walk, guiding him toward a wide, central corridor. “The tournament winner usually takes part in a toast, and there will be people hoping to meet you.” She glanced at him and her face underwent a very human shift, displaying something like chagrin as she shook her head. “None of that matters, though—not if you aren’t feeling well.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“There will be rideshare vehicles in the loop; no need to arrange a ride.”

“Perfect.”

Hector managed to extricate himself from the raucous scene in the lobby a lot more easily than he’d expected. The people who were lingering there rather than in the rooms set aside for the party were mostly coming or going, and none of them spared more than a glance Hector’s way. He supposed it made sense; he wasn’t exactly a striking figure in his tracksuit, not when he walked with his head down and shoulder slumped, lugging along his duffel bag.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Opal guided him out and stood with him on the curb while he waited for one of the automated taxi service vehicles to take note of him. “I hope things go well,” the synth said, and when Hector looked at her, she added, “With your employment, I mean.”

A small black vehicle, shaped almost like an egg, came to life and hummed toward them. “Thanks, Opal. You’ve been a big help. I’ll let Janus know.”

“It was my pleasure.” She opened the door of the cab for him, and Hector slipped inside, placing his bag on the floor by his feet. “Good night,” she said, pushing the door shut with a click.

“Where to, sir?” the bodiless voice of the cab’s AI asked.

“Down to Redwick. A hotel.”

The cab’s electric motor hummed, and it started rolling. “Which one, sir?”

Evie?

//There are several with vacancies. Traveler’s Express has the best reviews.//

“Traveler’s Express.”

“Right away, sir.”

As the cab warbled away from the lodge down the dark, winding road, descending the mine-tailing mountain, Hector kept expecting something to happen. He imagined anything from a drone strike to an ambush by masked security personnel. Nothing happened, though, and soon the cab was mixing in with the traffic of the small city, and his destination was blinking on his mini-map, only a few minutes away.

Message Janus. I want to see Britt first thing in the morning.

//Done.//

Nothing from Grando? About Lemon, I mean.

//No updates, though his last message is only about two hours old.//

Hector scowled, bumping his head against the cheap glass of the cab. Now that it felt like Janus might not double-cross him, his mind had more bandwidth to worry about Lemon. He closed his eyes briefly, mentally chasing possibilities: maybe she was taking a few days off from the club, spending some of the extra money he’d helped her earn recently. Maybe she was feeling sick. Maybe she was looking for a new job. Maybe she’s dead.

Hector’s eyes snapped open at the dark suggestion, and he silently cursed himself. The cab pulled up to the motel. Evie paid his fare as he clambered out. As it sped away, he went into the tiny lobby and used the automated kiosk to register as a guest. It assigned him room 214, and the little map said it was on the second floor on the other side of the building, facing the parking lot.

He walked around the building, avoiding the stares of a pack of kids sitting by some vending machines. Then he climbed the concrete steps to the second level and walked along, reading the room numbers. Glancing over the railing, he saw some folks moving about, but overall the mining town, even there at the center, felt sleepy.

Tall buildings loomed all around. Neon signs buzzed, and distant traffic created a background hum that felt almost comfortable as he found his room, pressed his thumb to the bio-reader, and slipped inside. “Pretty good,” he muttered. “Didn’t get into any fights or anything.”

The room was spartan but clean, and the mattress was surprisingly comfortable when he gave it a test. Hector locked the door, then pushed the dresser against it for good measure. His limbs were feeling heavy, his head foggy, and he knew he was going to crash hard. He might have suspected foul play—something Opal slipped into his nanites, maybe—but he knew better; it was the Berserker level. The truth was that he was damn lucky it hadn’t hit him sooner.

Some bottles of water on the bathroom counter were labeled for sale—five bits each—and he chugged two of them before showering and then stumbling to the bed. When his face hit the pillow, he might have counted to three before he slipped into oblivion.

Considering how quickly he fell asleep, Hector would have bet he’d sleep like the dead, unstirring until morning. He would have lost that bet. His sleep was troubled; he woke frequently, sometimes feeling hot and sweaty, and sometimes shivering. On each occasion, when he closed his eyes, images of Lemon or Britt danced through his mind, more often than not pasty and bloodless—corpses. He saw Tacitianus grinning, his face twisting and morphing into a caricature of Drake Conti’s.

When the disturbing images grew to be too much, and he opened his eyes, staring at his hotel room’s ceiling, his inner voice was unquiet: When did you become so disdainful of Royals? You haven’t lived this shit life long enough to erase who you were. You were Hector Finalis, veteran of the Invicti, Guardian Primus of the Great House of Conti. Where do you get off wanting to punish someone for being a Royal? The questions repeated, echoing through his mind, rephrased a hundred different ways.

He tossed and turned, worrying at the questions and fears he refused to face, until he finally did face one of them: he was afraid that he’d grown resentful—even hateful—of the Royals before he’d lost his old life. He couldn’t remember his final days, his final months, but what if something had happened? It had felt all too natural to look upon Tacitianus scornfully; it wasn’t a new feeling, either; it was something that had festered. Could he have betrayed the Contis? That was the root question; the source of his mind’s disquiet.

He finally allowed himself to sleep with a simple reassurance, one that he couldn’t argue with: even if he could envision himself acting against Drake, there was no way, not a single chance in the Nine Hells, that he would have ever hurt those children. With that comforting thought, he closed his eyes, and the images stopped tormenting him. In just a few minutes, the void found him again.

When he woke, he could hear the sounds of the traffic through the thin motel walls, and someone not far away was screaming for someone else to hurry their ass up and get in the car. Hector yawned and stretched, groaning in pleasure as his back popped several times. The little AC unit kicked on, and cool air fell on his chest and face, drying the sweat from his fitful sleep.

//Hector, you have a level-up report, and you also have some messages.//

He looked at the blinking window on his AUI with the level-up information, but he didn’t read it yet. “Messages.”

//Grando says that Orin checked Lemon’s apartment. She wasn’t there. Orin is investigating today, checking security footage from the last couple of days.//

Hector looked at his clock—0614. “Early still. Make sure I’m on that first train.”

//Understood. Janus sent you a message, too. He said he’s sorry, but the security position you were interested in is no longer available. He wishes you luck with your fighting career.//

That’s it?

//That’s all from him. You have one more message—from Britt.//

Hector groaned. “C’mon, Evie. Just tell me.”

//She said she’s on her way to see you. That was nine minutes ago.//

Hector pushed himself out of bed, climbed into the shower, and stood under the hot spray. While he soaked in the heat, he expanded his level-up report and read through it:

//Corpus vivum conditioning complete and level advancement has been applied. New pathways identified, revealing a convergence opportunity for the Berserker and Watcher archetypes. Likely course of action to trigger an advanced archetype identified. Level results are as follows:

• Strengthened aura pathways, increasing maximum load—use caution when exploring this limit to avoid aura overload
• Aura Pool increased from 18 to 22
• Strength increased from 14.95 to 15.5
• Speed increased from 15 to 17
• Vitality increased from 13.75 to 15.25

End Report.//

Hector had a hundred questions for Evie; he wanted to come up with a plan for advancement, and that meant he needed to study his available options, but he couldn’t concentrate—not with Britt coming, not with Janus’s axe hanging over his neck. He wouldn’t be able to focus until he was on that train and Redwick was fading away behind him.

He got out of the shower and dressed in his tracksuit—not exactly fresh, but not stained with blood. He probed the wound in his shoulder with his fingers, pleased that it was mostly healed. Even when he pressed hard, he only felt a twinge of soreness.

He glanced at the door. Britt’s message meant that Janus or Logan had been watching him the night before. Probably with a drone. The more he thought about it, the more he heard that train calling his name.

He picked up his duffel, filled with evidence that he really ought to burn, and was getting ready to go down to the lobby to wait when a knock sounded on the door. Scowling, he set the bag down and held out his right hand, ready to summon an Aura Blade. “Yeah?”

“It’s Britt.”

He stepped a little closer to the door. “Alone?”

“Yes.”

Hector opened the door an inch, peering out. She was there, an uncanny resemblance to the face he saw in the mirror looking back at him. Her dark eyes were big, her eyebrows arched, her face open with concern. She pushed against the door. “Is it true?” she asked, glancing left and right. “You did it?”

Hector pulled the door open, motioning her through. “It’s done.”