Note: As you may or may not know, this story was meant to end with the previous chapter. It was nearly a year ago that I finished it, and, since then, I haven't been able to put it out of my mind. It isn't my best work. Still, I really, sincerely like it. Time, I think, has made a better author of me, and I can finally do The 'Mon In The High Castle justice by giving it the conclusion it deserves. Specifically, another two chapters and an epilogue.
5. Secret Weapon
The boy slept. He had done so for nearly a decade, but he could not have known that. Time had ceased to pass for him in all respects. Preserved beneath the glass was the ruddy face of a twelve-year old as it had been when he had fought for his life, and lost. The memory of that time had not faded, and surfaced, in fits, as a nightmare, but he had passed from the waking world with a radiant smile stamped on his features. It had mystified his captors, and he was further heartened by their ignorance—not all was lost. Some of the others had lived, escaped. He had been led into Etemon's sanctum without a trace of fear in his heart. He had looked into Datamon's calculating eyes, and something in his own gaze had so disturbed the Director, so utterly unnerved him that for a moment there was no distinguishing between captor and captive. The boy was not beaten, then or ever. Datamon had realized that. That smile had not slackened, not even then, not even when the Gazimon beat him with their nightsticks. The most grotesque tortures threatened my Kokatorimon had left him unfazed, and Datamon knew better than to implement any of them—it would ruin the boy as a specimen. His mind was his only component that could be safely assaulted, and it seemed impervious.
At last, there was no alternative to an absolute erasure of memory. The procedure was successful, but only initially—the slightest familiar sensation would trigger a chain reaction, restoring the boy's mind in a matter of hours. If there was any one thing Datamon could never tolerate, it was uncertainty, and the boy was too unreliable to serve. So Datamon had sealed him away, our of his sight in a state of perpetual stasis. The Director had not looked on him in seven years. He slept on.
And, as suddenly as they had forced him into sleep, the computers surrounding him failed. They had fed him, breathed for him, and now their work was finished. Their plugs had been pulled. The boy was jolted awake, out of a shining, glorious dream. There had been a game, soccer, fans cheering frantically, a single, pure voice raised above all others. A single word escaped from his waking lips—Hikari… Then reality came over him, and the shards of the dream fell away. Agony gripped him at the loss, though, since he remembered nothing of it, he could not say why it had been so precious to him.
Demidevimon whistled. "Datamon, ya sly old son-of-a-bitch…had this hidden away the whole time, didja?" he exclaimed. He was the first sight the boy's eyes registered, his high voice the first sound, his nicotine-tainted breath the first scent. The boy recoiled.
"And it isn't any sort of clone, oh no," another voice muttered. It was cold and cultured. "This…is the original model! Mm…splendid." The speaker was a fleshy creature, resembling an oversized brain that had sprouted great tendrils and eyes. The boy could not have recognized Vademon.
"Welcome to the world of the living, kid!" Demidevimon said, "You feelin' alright?"
Without hesitation, Taichi Kamiya nodded. He climbed to his feet.
With sinking spirits, Spencer entered the palace throne room. Its decoration had not changed since Etemon's death. The only sign that his reign had ended was his throne, which stood empty. Demidevimon, powerless and hopelessly small beneath the hall's high roof, perched on its arm. There was tense silence as Spencer approached, saluted and stood at attention.
Demidevimon indicated the throne with an outspread wing. "Big chair," he said, "Hard to fill."
Spencer said nothing.
"Anyways," Demidevimon began, "Glad you came. Not everyone's showed up when I summoned them, ya know. Some of the technocracy's cleared out." His voice, which had been a grating whisper a moment before, rose to a shout. "What's it take!? Just what the hell does it take, anyway? Why don't they listen, what's wrong? Waited my whole life for this job…Etemon wasn't my first boss, I groveled t' all of them, yes-master-no-master, all the time thinking Some day it'll be me in that big chair, me throwing orders around…that was the only thing that ever kept me going. And now I'm at the top and they still won't listen. Ha!" His laugh echoed through the hall. "But you'll see, you'll be the first to see—my Secret Weapon. Guards! Vademon!" he called. Behind him, at the far end of the hall, double doors swung open. Brilliant white light shone through, silhouetting a cluster of figures. Spencer peered at them. Gazimon, S.S, at least five of them. Then there was a taller being with a bulbous head, Vademon, he guessed.
The salesman slithered forward. "Honored Captain Spencer," he announced volubly, "Allow me to present the future bodyguard of the great Demidevimon, sovereign ruler of File and Server, whom Datamon has unwittingly provided for us. The Lord Tai!" With an elaborate gesture of presentation, he slid aside.
A human child stood behind him. Spencer looked upon the face of the Lord Tai and staggered back. It was youth incarnate that stood before him, a figure so resplendent that everything seemed withered and ancient beside it. His magnificent mane of hair had been cropped close in a military style, but he was no less imposing. There was no question that he was the genuine article, there was a light in his eyes that was absent in those of clones. His uniform was the same close-fitting set of fatigues worn by the technocrats, but its cloth was dyed a vibrant blue, rather than their black. His shoulders, wrists and waist were marked with yellow, and a design of inlaid gold was blazoned across his chest. It was circle divided in two by a vertical line—two capital Ds, joined together. Demidevimon, apparently, had designed an emblem for himself.
"Datamon, he'd scrubbed the kid's mind clean. Didn't know who or where he was when he woke up. But we fixed that," Demidevimon gloated.
"Lord Tai, relate your story to Captain Spencer," Vademon requested.
The boy spoke, his voice loud, bright and unfaltering. He recited his lines as though they had been carefully memorized. "I was once leader of a criminal gang known as the Digidestined. We killed and injured many Digimon while opposing Etemon, during the crest war. The Director—…" He broke off, his face twitching slightly. Concerned, Vademon moved forward, but Tai quickly recovered himself. "Sovereign Ruler Demidevimon," he said, "Showed me the…the unfortunate error of my ways. My only wish…at present…is to be of use to him," he finished, with a contented smile.
"Well done," Vademon commended him.
"This's it," Demidevimon cried, "My ticket into the people's hearts! He's a natural! Aint he a natural?"
Spencer raised a paw in query. "A natural what, exactly?"
"A natural stooge!" Demidevimon said, "He looks good, sounds good, no ambition…perfect!"
"We ought to be careful…" Spencer began haltingly, "There's no telling…with Datamon's creations…"
"No time! It's gotta happen now, now, now, I've gotta…what's the word…consolidate my power while there's still a chance. But listen, I've got it all planned out. It's set—three, four hours from now, we hold a big ceremony…parade, speeches, the works…" Demidevimon grinned manically.
"What's the occasion?" Spencer asked.
"An execution!" Demidevimon pronounced.
Vademon spoke: "There is a considerable amount of chaff remaining from Etemon's reign. Political dissidents, Gazimon and the infamous Datamon, as well as two now-useless clones and their uncontrollable digimon. We intend to stage a mass execution, a brilliant spectacle, really. Lord Tai had agreed to be our executioner, and I think he will do a magnificent job. Am I right?" He turned to the boy, who nodded eagerly.
"Just tell me what to do," Tai enthused.
"And what's your interest in all of this?" Spencer asked the salesman.
Vademon scowled, then said quietly: "If you must know, Demidevimon has agreed to allow me a post in his government, in addition to my meager payment. I am to replace this Datamon as his overseer of the dark network."
Spencer nodded, forcing air through his teeth. A terrible thought rose in the back of his mind, and pushed its way to the fore. "If I may be so forthright, my liege… There is a significant chance, if this plan of action is carried out…that Datamon will escape. At the moment, he's powerless, isolated, but if we bring him out into the open…he must have had contingencies, he was a meticulous planner. He may be counting on some outside force to free him. The weaker the security surrounding him becomes, the more variables are introduced, the greater the threat that he'll…"
"That's enough!" Demidevimon cut him off with a wave of his wing. "I hear ya. Message received. Listen, Datamon can't possibly be under any more security than when he's right under our nose. He'll have guards. We can do this."
"My liege, I must protest, better to destroy him as soon as possible, quietly, we just can't risk…" Terrible thoughts consumed him. Once, he had thought Datamon's vengeance was inevitable. The next instant, it had seemed he was safe forever. Now, again, doom seemed most likely.
Demidevimon spread both his wings, in an effort to appear as large as possible. "Silence! Don't let that captainship go to your head. I've spoken, and that's how it's gonna be!"
Spencer brought his nose to the glass of the cell. "An execution has been arranged, prisoner. Demidevimon requires some spectacle to divert the people's attention. He seems to think death will serve admirably."
Datamon whirred to life. He had not even absorbed his jailer's first words. More pressing matters demanded his attention. There was much to plan. "Repeat yourself," he demanded.
"Don't presume to order me about," Spencer said. Their angry stares locked for a moment. He went on: "Very well, I'll condense the news for you. You're to die, along with a pack of your technocrat aides. Four hours from now. And don't imagine telling you this pleases me."
Datamon was expressionless. "Wallow in your shallow victory while you can. All things pass. Some more quickly than others." He seemed to think. His eyes shut, and there was a tremendous whirring noise as his processors were stirred to life. "You are an imprudent creature. Your greatest error was the defiance of your better. My ability is greater than yours. Because of this, you are sure to lose."
Without even offering an answer, Spencer presented Datamon with his back. He, also, was occupied with other matters. Datamon's threat was wasted on him, not because he doubted it, but because he knew it was only a matter of time before it was fulfilled. Pessimism and blind terror seized him as easily as idealism once had. Perhaps, with the execution, there was a chance…
No. Datamon would escape. If nothing else, he was strong, stronger by far than Demidevimon. He would find a way.
Young, drunk on emotion, Spencer had acted unthinkingly. He looked back with horror on what he had believed to be revelations. How could he have ever thought he knew anything? He had freed the girl, yes, but that was all he had managed. He was now to inflict misery in Demidevimon's name, until Datamon destroyed him. And he had no one to blame, he imagined, aside from himself.
Indeed, Vademon thought, there was no doubting Datamon's ability. He could deconstruct the mind of any digimon and rebuild it to whatever end he chose. Under his scalpel, undesirable traits were cut away like so much excess tissue. The equivalent of years of corrective therapy was administered within a few hours. He could render a subject psychotic or benevolent as he chose, and the younger the subject, the simpler the procedure. It was an elementary virus that had infiltrated the psyches of rookies Biyomon and Gomamon, deleted their moral codification and left them otherwise unscathed. Only the compulsion to protect and aid their partners remained, and Datamon's clones were as near to their partners as any living being could be. When they became the more murderously inclined Birdramon and Ikkakumon, they were no less in Datamon's thrall. At his command, they had murdered without hesitation, though there were few left to murder by that time. When the allies of the Digidestined fell they did so with incredible rapidity, rushing from their hiding places to aid each other. It was then that Datamon had put his first humanism to use-'Like shooting fish in a barrel'.
Vademon was not Datamon. For all his arrogance, he was aware of that. There was a chance, relatively slight, that the Agumon on the operating slab before him had been subject to the same treatment as the others. More than likely, it had not, since its partner had never been put to use. What bewildered Vademon to no end was that Datamon had not simply cloned Tai, as he had Joe and Sora. The technology was available to him. There had been nothing to lose, everything to gain. Well, it wasn't his place to second-guess anything the Director did, he reasoned. Datamon's intellect, boundlessly superior to his own, must have seen some sense in all of it.
Agumon's induced stasis device was identical to Tai's. To determine if the digimon could be of any use, he had only to pull the plug. Simple enough, and armed Gazimon stood by, Rothstein himself among them, should anything go awry. Still, he didn't dare. Better to have the boy do it himself.
"Fetch our specimen," he commanded Rothstein, without turning. The technocrat scowled as he left to obey. The salesman had been at the palace for only a day, and already he commanded more authority than Demidevimon's oldest and staunchest allies.
A minute passed, and Vademon made a show of inspecting Agumon, not wanting to seem idle. At last, returned footsteps sounded. It was Tai who entered first, moving with the lazy, strolling gait that he had assumed since his awakening.
"How can I help?" he asked. His smile broke out as he looked on Vademon. Then, taking in the rest of the room, his gaze fell on Agumon. "I remember—," he murmured, with sudden urgency.
"No," Vademon snapped, rushing forward, "You remember nothing. You've never met this creature before, he means nothing to you, understand? He was specially bred to serve your needs."
Tai blinked forcibly, and shook his head as though to rid himself of some notion. "Specially bred to serve my needs," he repeated, "Right. Got it."
"This one may prove more susceptible to recovery than my calculations suggested," Vademon called to Rothstein, speaking heedlessly over Tai's head, "Keep an eye him, as well. You have my unqualified permission to terminate him if he becomes a threat." Rothstein answered with a curt nod.
Not even suspecting that he had been implicated, Tai continued to gaze at Agumon. "So," he said, "How do we wake him up?"
"Hey!" Joe felt a rough hand on his shoulder. He cringed as the sensations of his environment struck him, dirt beneath him, stale air, the stench of liquor and waste. He had often slept in alleys, having never had a cent of Datamon's currency to his name. However, ten years spent broke, hunted and in fear of his life had not been enough to erase the memory of twelve years of comfortable awakenings, between clean sheets in a familiar house.
The voice that had woken him belonged to a Gazimon. The sight of it was a shock as well, usually he woke out of sight of digimon, and was able to ease himself gradually into the waking nightmare of the digital world. No such luck this time. It was an S.S officer, nightstick in hand, looking somewhat less murderous than his kind usually did. "Hey," he repeated, more softly.
"That you, Spencer?" Joe asked sleepily.
"Captain Spencer! I'm flattered, pal, but I'm just a regular footpad. Joyce is the name," the officer said. Joe pulled himself hastily to his feet, and pulled the hood of his cloak about his face. It was too late. Joyce had seen his face clearly, but apparently thought nothing of it. Joe imagined he bore no likeness to his twelve-year-old self, the individual who was wanted across File and Server for his crimes. "Sorry to have to be the one to tell you," said Joyce, "But you've gotta get yourself out of the street, hear? Some kind of royal parade's coming through here. I was told to clear the route."
Joe nodded rapidly, and climbed to his feet. "Right, thanks…shouldn't be any difficulty, officer," he said hastily in passing.
"Huh! That's a relief," said Joyce, "Thought you were drunk, and I'd have to drag you out of the way. Well, go about your business, then. I'd stay for the parade, if I were you. I hear it's gonna be quite a show." Joe nodded again, muttered his thanks and shuffled away as quickly as he was able to. Memories of the past night surfaced, ideas he had invented and discarded in his last ditch effort to make sense of life. He emerged from the alley and into the broad street. The same war of ideas commenced in his head, what was right, what was wrong…it was too early to think, he concluded. Clutching his head, he came to a stop before an establishment, the bordering alley of which he had chosen to spend the night in. At his feet, a flight of stairs led down to a basement room. The glyph of reliability, the image of his crest, was rendered in blue on the door. A hand-lettered sign read simply—'Kido'. He had arrived at the threshold of one of his own shrines. Reliable, he thought, and gave a dry laugh. The last word he'd ever choose to describe himself. Still, compelled, he leapt down to the landing. There was no sound from within, and the door was unlocked. He swung it open.
The same dawn found Izzy and Sora wide awake, though feigning sleep for each other's benefit. After her confinement, even Izzy's quarters were too vast for Sora to feel at ease. She lay on the cot, eyes forcibly shut. Izzy's prone form was arranged parallel to hers, on the floor, Tentomon's shell serving as his pillow. His mind raced with thoughts of glorious rescues and daring escapes, all painstakingly calculated. He enacted Demidevimon's death by his hand, Tai's liberation, the fall of the great inverted pyramid and, perhaps, the ultimate victory, the end of all Etemon's creations…and he speculated about Sora's past, whatever unspeakable tortures she has endured, whatever dark secrets of Datamon's she had witnessed…
Each knew the other was awake, and hoped that he or she found some comfort in the fact that they had found sleep. They wanted to speak more than anything, but could not. There was so much to be said that it had overwhelmed them, and they had fallen the previous night without a word to each other. Now, the night had passed, and light spilled over the windowsill. It had been light for at least an hour, Izzy approximated. He had every right to be awake. And yet, when he tried to stand, his body protested fatigue. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to.
Then, he was forced fully into the conscious world. The ground shuddered. There was a crescendo of street noise, rattling vehicles approaching, the gathering roar of a crowd. A mellifluous voice was projected through a microphone—
"Good ladies and gentle'mon, one and all…I present to you Demidevimon, slayer of Hope, Sovereign Lord of File and Server!" Izzy recognized Vademon at once. He shot to his feet, grouping blindly for Sora's shoulder. He shook her awake.
"Hello, one and all!" Izzy heard Demidevimon begin. His voice rasped less than ever, and there was even a hint of authority in it.
Sora was up in an instant, and she pulled the window's shade aside. They peered out. Digimon teemed beneath them; they had formed two columns on either side of the road. Four wooden carts, each drawn by a Monochromon, lurched between the columns. In the first, a contingent of technocratic Gazimon stood at attention, rifles shouldered. In the next, the form of Datamon was unmistakable, wound about with chains. Several other technocrats shared the cart, all of them manacled. The next cart bore two small digimon, brightly colored, both insensible. Izzy thought they had to be Biyomon and Gomamon, but there was no telling for sure. In the last cart, two human children stood, back to back, hands bound together. One was a twelve-year-old model of Joe, the other a similarly young Sora.
"Only clones," Izzy murmured to Sora, and she nodded dully. The fact seemed to give her no solace.
The last vehicle of the parade was heralded by a platoon of twenty-four armed technocrats, every one of them a captain. Spencer, perturbed, marched in the front rank. The vehicle was an iron sedan chair of colossal proportions, blood-red and edged all around with gold leaf. Six Monochromon were harnessed to it.
Demidevimon flew before it, speaking through a megaphone clutched in one talon. Vademon and Kokatorimon were seated within it, the S.S director filling three seats and gnawing at a slab of meat. Rothstein, his chest inflated with pride, was seated behind them.
Then, following the royal seat, one last dignitary marched. Lord Tai. His mount was the most horrible creature most digimon of the city had ever laid eyes on. It was a skeletal lizard over thirty feet in length, claws and talons wickedly sharp. Housed within its ribcage was a vast, porous organ resembling a living missile. Any Digidestined would have known it by name—SkullGreymon. Tai balanced on the very tip of its snout, flashing his smile in all directions and waving to the citizens. Demidevimon's prediction proved accurate. They cheered at the sight of him, and marveled at the obvious might of his digimon. His was a clean splendor that had not been seen in New Cairo for many years, not since the old King's younger days.
Etemon's old concert grounds, paved with cobblestone, stood at the junction of four streets. The first of the carts now came upon it. It came to a grinding stop, and discharged its contingent of Gazimon. They fanned out, marking the square's perimeter and keeping an eager crowd in check. The pervading air among the onlookers was one of confusion, but many sensed imminent violence and hungered for it. One by one, the death-carts entered the square, and came to a stop at its center. Demidevimon's royal seat halted at the mouth of the street. The Lord Sovereign was concluding his speech.
"…And this former foe is prepared to offer a demonstration of his loyalty! Today, you will witness him execute enemies of the state, conspirators, degenerates, and his former villainous comrades," Demidevimon declared. The crowd bellowed. It was difficult to tell whether they cheered or condemned, but, in either direction, their emotions had reached a feverish height.
SkullGreymon passed by the royal seat, none too careful to keep clear of civilians. The crowd surged back. Tai continued to smile and wave. Then, as he and SkullGreymon approached the death-carts, he dismounted with a graceful leap. He landed on his feet, unharmed, and was rewarded with a resounding cheer.
"My servant!" Demidevimon shouted down to him.
"Yes, my liege?" Tai called up.
Demidevimon extended his free claw, indicating Datamon's cart. "Begin with that lot," he ordered. Tai crossed the cobblestones, and stood before the target.
"Fire at will!" bellowed Rothstein. The contingent beneath him lowered their rifles, in the event that Tai should fail, unlikely as it was. Tai nodded summarily in response to the command. He leapt up to the edge of the cart, so that he had clear view of his victims.
Spencer lowered his rifle a fraction of an inch. Leaning forward, he scrutinized Datamon. The Director had yet to make his move, perhaps the execution would be carried out after all. Then, with surge of panic, he realized what had escaped all of the others—
There was triumph in Datamon's eyes. He looked up, and spoke in a level voice to his would-be executioner. "Boy. You remember me. You remember what I require of you. Now, serve your purpose."
Tai turned slowly on his heel, his smile radiant as ever, until he faced the royal seat. There was a moment of resounding silence. A sickening realization came upon Demidevimon and all of his cohorts at once. Then, leveling an upraised finger at them, Tai called out: "SkullGreymon! Kill 'em all!"