The Golden Hope
by Elliot Bowers
Chapter 9
Swift confidence made for her stride in crossing the grand gleaming floor—her white bootlets clicking out the quick pace of her steps. Her her pale moon-silk hair fluttered behind her, as did the cloth of her royal robe—an open robe. And the robe did not hide much, open to show off the pleated skirt and close-fitting silk worn beneath. The outfit revealing and accentuated her lithe figure, the shapes of smooth lean legs flowing into graceful hips, a flat abdomen and slender torso, only her arms being hidden by the sleeves of the open robe. Her face was just as beautiful—large green eyes in a round face of high cheeks and pert nose. Yet as beautiful as the girl was, the look of dead-set confidence upon her face would make for fear for those who knew of her.
Those under her control knew, such as the two massive metal-bodied men behind her. The guards were nine feet tall and with gigantic bodies that were almost as wide, palace guards that needed no armored vehicles because their bodies were just as strong as anything on tank treads. They were large and armored, mighty machines of fighting, but even they knew to respect her.
The guards saw that look before. It was with that very same look upon her face that people's heads were cut open to make way for electrodes and blood-infusion bypass tubes—keeping their brains alive with stimulants and oxygen-enriched blood while their bodies were tortured to death. That was the sort of look on her exquisitely beautiful face upon commanding the slaughter of an entire city simply because it failed to meet production quotas—the murder of everyone from the limping elderly to the toddling young in cradles. There were cries of adults and children alike in being shot, chopped, impaled, burned, whipped, skinned, defenestrated, disemboweled, decapitated, sliced, slaughtered, and made dead, dead, dead. That was the look that came upon her face on the day that her father died following the War.
Since then, the pale-haired beauty would see to it that the land still under her control. It was her decision that this land would not fall into the decadence and pathos of the wastelands and the useless bands of muties that roamed it. The government over this land was a monarchy, and monarchy was control.
It was especially unfortunate that her twin sister decided to take into something so foolish as myths and legends. To seek anything but direct control over the land, to go off on foolish gallivants for silly baubles and trinkets of superstitious power was a wasteful effort.
And that was why Princess Dahlia would have her twin sister returned to the capital city and to the palace by most any means necessary. If it meant tearing apart cities and villages on top of that to get her, it would be done. If it meant sending out two of Father's closest council to beyond the lands in her control, such would be done. To have Princess Kyrie returned instead of going off on quests of folly was part of what Dahlia wanted.
Unfortunately true, this also meant dealing with the likes of a disgustingly gluttonous fool from one of those other realities that occasionally leaked into this one. Terrible, it was. There was no controlling what fools seeped or fell into this universe. Such was yet another aspect of things going awry.
Yet true was how that absolutely ridiculous fool, a sloppily dressed madman, had somehow retained the intellect and wisdom of a researcher and physicist. The fool was much like the masters of science and technology from the days of old. Was it not for his knowledge, Princess Dahlia would have had him killed slowly over the course of six days.
Upon coming close to the appropriate door, Princess Dahlia made a sideward throwing gesture, a swish of her left arm made without breaking the rhythm of her leggy stride. With that gesture, the door of traditional steel flung open—the jamb broken, the hinges nearly snapped. It was not that the door was motorized in any way, it was the result of Princess Dahlia using the abilities built within her own synthetic body.
Like her sister, Princess Dahlia's own synthetic body was designed with energy manipulation capabilities—a body of synthetic skin over myogel muscle tissue, a skeleton of gleaming titanium deeper within. Nuclear-powered components inside of her chest supported her real, living brain. But there was more to Dahlia's body than just synthetic beauty. Dahlia's metal skeleton had superconducting strands of a secretly formulated alloy that allowed for extremely intense magnetic fields. With mere thoughts and gestures, Princess Dahlia could control all metals and all forms of electromagnetic energy—even able to bend light itself. Because even fleshies had traces of iron in their blood and flesh, Princess Dahlia could lift up and throw crowds of people by using her electromagnetic control abilities.
Of course, the nine-foot cyborgs behind her had metal bodies and could be destroyed with gestures. Dahlia chose to make examples of more than a few palace guards who chose to merely mention her name in the wrong contexts. Then their brains would be scooped out from their magnetically mangled skulls and dumped into slop-pits for mutie slaves to consume.
It was control. Though princes Dahlia could not summon energy and directly obliterate others, there was the ability to physically control people where they stood. They could be manipulated like play-pieces on a game board. And to her, they were.
Ah, but there was a limit to this power. There always are catches, always limits. The limit on Princess Dahlia's ability was in how her abilities were restricted to available energy in her environment. Her ability to control electromagnetic energy was not the same as being able to summon energy. Dahlia was not able to bend the fabric of reality to bring about energy that was not already present. That would be the ability of Princess Kyrie. And so long as Princess Kyre was out and about, wasting her abilities, consolidating control over the lands would be all the more difficult.
The bright orange-reddish light of day slanted through amazingly tall windows to illuminate this side-hall. Princess Dahlia knew that the madman would be within one of several palace office-rooms turned into laboratories. In that the advisors to her dead father were long dead, killed during efforts of the War, they would no longer need them. Some of them now served as the insane scientist's laboratories.
Princess Dahlia heard insane chuckling coming from behind one of the metal doors. Swish-clank-k-k! A swift sideward gesture with her left hand, and the metal door was flung open. Striding into the room, the princess wasted no time in getting to the point of this meeting.
"I demand answers, Doctor Nova," said the princess. "Do not trifle with me this day. My patience is quite limited. Should that patience be crossed, you shall know a taste of the consequences."
…
This laboratory was once a place of decent and comfortable size, the size of two living rooms put side by side. Considering how even a moderate amount of room in the grand palace was at a premium for those not of royalty, this was an especially valuable space. Yet now, most of that space was set aside for the scientist's meandering efforts into science and technology. At the left side were multiple engine-sized machines of energy and computers on carts. Three desks were at the far right, with thick folders full of papers atop them—hand-written notes. Off in the corner was something that looked somewhat human and strapped into a chair—the top of his head sawed off and with wires poking in. Those wires led to several computers.
Dr. Nova himself was at one of those computers when Princess Dahlia came in. He truly did resemble the ancient motif of mad scientist: a rumpled laboratory coat worn over a business-casual outfit of slacks and buttoned-down shirt, a striped tie around the collar, wild gray hair flaring out from his scalp, a wrinkled face that did nothing to dim the bright gleam of wide-awake intelligence...or madness… The semi-circular mark upon his forehead seemed not to have changed in all the decades it existed there, set into the skin.
He was sitting at the computer, but he was doing nothing especially important with it at the time; the seat was just serving for a place to rest his butt while his mouth consumed food. In his left hand was a ceramic bowl of flan, a spoon in his right. That spoon was in his mouth since Princess Dahlia strode in—was still in his mouth.
"Mmmph?" went Dr. Nova's inquiry. Mmmph was all he could manage in that the intense and tangy sweetness of the fruity desert was already filling his palate—while mental reams of information flooded his mind. Both mouth and mind were full, hence his inability to produce a coherent response.
The spoon was metal. Princess Dahlia set her eyes upon it, making it whip out of Dr. Nova's mouth with such speed as to make spittle go with it—sending the spoon across the office-turned--laboratory. Any harder, and some teeth would have gone as well. Dr. Nova suddenly looked sad—not just out of the sudden ache, but because he would have to get something else with which to eat his wonderful, tasty, delicious flan!
"Your response is far and away from being appropriate, Doctor Nova!" declared Princess Dahlia, anger darkening her voice—usually a deceptively sweet voice of angelic soprano. "Even with the best and rarest of equipment at your disposal, you remain incapable of identifying the future paths of my sibling. Are you or are you not able to obtain knowledge of her whereabouts in a timely manner?"
Dr. Nova stopped whimpering, a man looking suddenly brightened. "Ah! That is certainly a question worthy of extrapolation!" He stood up and walked over to where the mutie was strapped into the chair, wires going from the creature's exposed brain to the computers. "We are dealing with karmatronics of a sort that I have not encountered before in my own native reality. This other universe has some basic laws of reality that are fundamentally different from my own—the likes of which become ever more apparent to me over the multiple years I have come here. It is therefore of no surprise that such a fundamental force as karma should operate in ways dissimilar to that which I have previously studied before transitioning into this universe.
"I am most certainly surprised to find, for example, that the spin of tachyons correspond very closely to karmatronic vibrations. Such frequencies are very susceptible to predictable paths. It is that predictability which leaves one able to foresee ever-so-slight developments in events that would otherwise seem unpredictable.
"Such is where setups such as this come in. Though the material computer technology of this reality seems to have fallen behind, the capabilities have not—such as the successful blending of living brains with pre-existing computer work-stations. Of course, living brain-matter is especially capable of computer calculations provided that one first overrides miscellaneous operations within the brain: speech centers, personality, emotions…" The bowl in his hand raised up to hover in front of his face, making him stop talking.
Princess Dahlia's left arm was outstretched, her fingers in a holding gesture as the bowl hovered meters away. Said the princess, "I am aware of the general subject matter, Dr. Nova. I have followed the aspects of your research for the past several years now. One would presuppose that the implementation of a living brain into your experiments would improve your efforts sixfold at the least. Why do you yet still have incremental improvements?" There was a pause in which her eyes changed color. "Fail me, and there shall be no other chances." A throwing gesture from her, and the bowl of flan blasted across the room to strike a solid wall—leaving the bowl itself a mangled mess that somewhat resembled part of a wrecked metal vehicle. "Do be more productiveThe alternative would be you sharing a fate similar to the bowl you once used. I expect immediate results." That said, Princess Dahlia turned in a swirl of red cape and pale hair—her bootlets clicking in leaving this laboratory, the door slamming behind her.
…
2.
…
"Oh, the flan…!" moaned the wild-haired scientist in lab-coat when the princess was gone. "Why did that flan have to go in such a way? I have such deep regrets for such a loss of something so precious, so scrumptious… So…delicious!" He went over to one of the machines set up in this laboratory—a blocky sort of device that looked like a lawnmower engine with a spigot set in its front. Realizing that there was no bowl, he did what he had to do to get flan.
On his knees, he put his mouth to the hard length of the spigot and began to suck as the machine made churning sounds in synthesizing and pumping. He stayed on his knees, his head moved back and forth as the machine churned, his mouth sucking as the device kept pumping of the thick substance. It was flan; it was delicious! Never mind how this looked.
When the sucking was done—for now—the mad scientist stood up. The hair atop his head looked all the more wild for what was just done, a head full of rejuvenated inspiration. "Ah, flan!" declared Dr. Nova. He looked to the big-headed mutant with the top of the head sawed off and the brain exposed. "I consume it, and my desire for knowledge returns. What is it about flan? Could it likely be the glucose produced from consuming it, an increase in it making for bolstered thought processes? In any event, prior to making unfounded and random hypotheses, we must attend to the matter at hand!"
Never minding a smattering of flan upon his tie, the mad scientist strode over to one of several clunky devices set upon the table behind the big-brained mutie—the devices with wires coming from the mutie's exposed brain. He regarded the analog dials that measured brainwave activity. The brainwaves were an indicator of the mutie's worth to the computing devices: If the indicators went too far down, it would have meant that the mutie's brain was going bad and would have therefore had to be replaced. And since the mutie's brain went with the whole mutie, it would just mean that another dead mutie to be ground up and fed to the other muties in the dungeons.
Yes, this palace had real God-damned dungeons, low and reddish lit, several floors of them—real stone halls, real stone walls, metal doors to lock up, and chains on the walls and real God-damned everything. This palace and the rest of the capital city rested right on top of a decapitated mountain, and the dungeons beneath this palace were carved right out of that same rock. The only thing not so God-damned realistic about them were the florescent light-tubes—giving off a low reddish sort of light that made a person feel sick from being around them too long. Then again, since when did health inspectors ever bother to peruse dungeons? Were there any health inspectors at all?
Of course not. Moreover, Dr. Nova found out what those dungeons were like from first-hand experience. When he first appeared in this world, things were in chaos as a certain member of royalty made a run for it—not wanting to be around the palace any more. Great big palace guards started scouring the capital city and all the local towns in rounding up, locking up and torturing anybody who looked as if they knew anything. And since Dr. Nova looked as if he knew a great deal, he was one of the first to have been locked up and tossed into an all expenses-paid dungeon suite.
That dungeon was dark and terrible. He still had some blemishes on his skin from being in the presence of exposed heating pipes in the dungeons—pipes leading from the multiple antimatter and fusion generators that provided so much electrical power. Ionizing radiation, it was. There really was little to no telling what would have happened to him physically if he remained in those real God-damned dungeons for far too long. More than likely, the damage to his DNA would have made him vulnerable to terratogenic substances in this world's environment. Then it would have been him with the top of his head sawed open to find out if there was a brain to be used.
"But such is not the reality of the current situation!" cheered Dr. Nova. Speaking to the mutie in the chair, he added, "It is you who has the living brain-matter that is compatible with the software of this particular hardware. Now, would there be a comparable specimen for usage? Yes, yes there are! Yet karma has dictated that you be the one this day. Hmm… Mmmm-m-m… Flan-n-n…? No… Karma! The issue at hand is karma!"
Of course the mutie said nothing in response. Muties had varying degrees of intelligence and capability in terms of comprehending spoken language. He was able to have basic conversations with some specimens of muties brought to the palace for his experiments, as strange as some of their accents were. That was, of course, before he sawed open the tops of their skulls and had the appropriate arrays of electrodes inserted. From then on, the majority of their brains were taken over by the cybernetic processes demanded by the machines. It therefore left the muties as slack-jawed idiots.
Language-wise, Dr. Nova found it an especially endearing coincidence that the very same sort of language spoken in this world was of the very sort of dialect that came to pass in Zalem and Scrap Iron City. Not that Dr. Nova was terribly amenable to the rough-and-tumble vernacular of that wasted industrial landscape, but it was understandable at the least…at the least. The fact that this was an alternate reality and still similar enough to understand the spoken words was the sheerest of coincidence or the work of that guiding force—that of karma.
"Now such is the crux of the issue," declared Dr. Nova—still speaking to the mutie as if the speech centers were intact. "You and I are to continue our meanderings into the very same workings of that which I have stated." He thrust his right hand in the direction of the machines against the wall behind the mutie, the machines to which the mutie's sawed-open skull-bowl was wired.
"I cannot expect the karmatronics of an alternate reality to match exactly those of my previous one. It could very well have been that this reality could have been so different that the very laws of physics and chemistry would have generated an environment incapable of sustaining my own biochemistry. Or it could have been that the processes of my mind would have been befuddled due to alternate rules of particle physics pertaining to electrons.
"The karmatronic principles of this reality, however, are similar to the karmatronic principles to which I am familiarThey are similar enough for me to partake of studies from a very basic vantage point—that of utilizing karmatrons at all! This reality could have had other particles as a fundamental aspect of karma—not this one. Yes, and I have found that one fundamental difference is especially fascinating."
All this time, the mutie with head sawed open just gave that blank sort of stare. The eyes maybe seemed to follow Dr. Nova a little bit. But if not those miscolored eyes did not follow, those bluish ears could maybe not understood to do the same. Who is to tell? Was there, in fact, a slight flickering of the dials, a slight variation in the brainwave patterns? That failed to matter. The wild-haired scientist continued.
"What is the difference? The difference is, the karmatronics of this reality are a great deal more predictable at times than in my previous world—especially considering the wandering actions of the lost princess and her party of three!" he declared. He strode over to a computer monitor wired to those machines—the machines wired to the open head… "Now we shall determine the location of the lost princess in pursuit of the karma-manipulating artifact."
He went madly to work. All of that which he was typing made for digital signals, signals shunted to the mutie's brain—the brain being used as a very powerful co-processor. All kinds of things appeared on the screen. Those would be any series of equations and items, reams of calculations that would have taken years to do by hand. Bu thanks to the usage of a living brain as a central processing unit, it would be done all the more faster. Not that Dr. Nova saw it, but the mutie with the sawed-open head shed a tear from the right eye. The mutie's brain was being used for something very bad, and something worse was going to happen.
