CHAPTER EIGHT
AMBUSH / FRIENDLY FIRE
Hexadecimal sat in her throne, admiring herself in her mirror. "Tessa, dear, I'd like you to come here for a moment," she called.
There was no answer for almost a millisecond. Hex's eyes narrowed, and she called again, "Tessali?"
She heard the sound of scuffling feet, but no one came into sight. "What is wrong, child?" Hexadecimal asked, partly exasperated, partly worried.
A small, unfamiliar figure stepped forward, her long hair swishing softly, and Hexadecimal jerked back with a gasp. "Who are you? What have you done to — Tessali?"
She almost didn't believe that it was her charge, until the child spoke in Tessa's clear voice. "Hex, what else can Daemon's Children do?"
Ethan Hertz spoke into the communications system to the leader of the system they had entered. "Yes, we're harmless. You can check the ship if you want." After the Command.com had consulted with the flight crew that hovered on both sides of Ship, Ethan finally received permission to land.
Once they were safely docked, Ethan turned to the silent figure hunched in the co-pilot's seat. "We're here, Mouse."
Her brown eyes were distant, but she heard his words. Her gaze still unfocused, she asked in a dull voice, "Where are we?"
"This system is called Chidis," Ethan explained. "It's isolated, so they shouldn't know about Daemon or the Guardians. We can hide here until we figure out where to go." When Mouse still didn't answer, he sighed. "Come on," he urged, pulling Mouse by the arm. She withdrew sharply, but after a moment she sighed as well and slowly rose from the chair.
Mouse was silent as she and Ethan entered Chidis' Principle Office to announce their arrival into the system. Chidis seemed rather primitive compared to the Supercomputer, or even Mainframe. Its buildings were tall and skinny, built close together like a group of dominoes stacked side by side. Indeed, each building seemed to lean against the other, as if supported by the one beside it.
Ethan used some spare units to buy them lodging at a run-down hotel. Mouse barely took notice of the place as they climbed a steep staircase to their rooms.
Ethan unlocked the door, and Mouse pushed past him and disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the sound of a shower running, and he decided to let Mouse alone for the moment.
Mouse emerged fifteen milliseconds later, her wet hair plastered to her forehead and neck. She sat down across from Ethan, using a towel to dry her hair and letting her legs hang over the edge of the chair.
"What now?" Mouse asked, and her eyes were livelier than they had been a micro ago. It seemed that her code had fled from her body when Ray was captured. Now Mouse had pushed aside the grief and was focusing on the task at hand.
Ethan smiled warmly and clasped her hand. Mouse didn't return the smile, but she didn't look so worn out. She pulled her hand out of his and continued to dry her hair.
Ethan leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. "What were you doing that brought you to Freenet?" he asked.
Mouse explained that she and Ray had been jumping from system to system looking for something — she refused to say what — neglecting to tell Ethan the entire truth.
"I know about the Mainframe movement to stop Daemon," he cut in when she hadn't explained anything useful. "Do you want to return to your system?"
Mouse considered as she kneaded the rough towel between her hands. "We should rescue Ray. Would he still be in that compound? Or would the Guardians have taken him someplace else?"
Ethan's jaw clenched, but it was barely noticeable. He had freed Mouse so she could be safe from Daemon, not so she would walk into the super-virus' traps! Even as he processed that thought, the veins around his forehead and his icon clamped down, suppressing his rebellious intentions. He was forced to always follow Daemon. There was no way around it.
Ethan swallowed and said, "They've probably taken him to the Supercomputer. Daemon is usually there, and she may want to infect your friend." It was the complete truth, after all. Ethan's throat ached as he fought to say that they shouldn't go, that if they did, Daemon would surely capture Mouse, and then Ethan's former love would be gone forever.
"Then we'll go there," Mouse said, and Ethan's whole being rebelled. He suddenly began to cough violently and lurched forward, as Daemon tightened her iron grip on his will.
Ethan straightened up, knowing he couldn't win against Daemon. "All right," he agreed crisply, knowing with cold dread that Daemon had been listening to the entire conversation and was preparing for them.
"Tessali," Hexadecimal said again, her voice soft and gentle and filled with awe. She reached out her arms to embrace the small child. Tessa's body relaxed with relief, and she burrowed into Hex's arms.
As she stroked the girl's hair — long, flowing maroon hair where the child had been bald just some time before! — Hexadecimal marveled at whatever gift the User had bestowed on Tessali to change her appearance so drastically. "The duckling has grown into a lovely swan," she whispered to her charge.
Tessa slowly raised her head, her eyes wide. "You're not . . . angry?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"Angry? Never!" Hexadecimal replied. "Well, maybe at those sprites or my brother . . . but never with you, my baby. Why, I love that this has happened. It's so unexpected, yet amusing. User knows I love disorder!" She cackled gleefully.
Once her laughter had stopped, however, she leaned forward and studied Tessa intently. "Yet, I don't know why this has happened," she mused, tapping one long finger against her chin.
"I do. I know everything," Tessa replied in a whisper.
Once out of the sight of her fellow nobles, Avina yawned and tried to work the kinks out of her back.
"Man, a meeting can really wear you out," she muttered to nobody as she raised her arms over her head and stretched. She saw Bob smile, and Avina dropped her arms.
"You try managing your own system and four others, when those guys" — she jerked her thumb at the conference room she had just left — "don't do squat. Plus, I've got so much other stuff on my mind." No one else knew of the Daemon threat, and the Countess didn't even speak of it directly, even with her "mercenaries."
Following their nightly ritual for the last few cycles they had been in Azrael, the Mainframers and The Net's Own trailed behind Avina as she climbed up the stairs to her room. She and Ferias entered her chamber — Ferias' own room was adjacent to Avina's — and turned back to her protectors.
"You know, I really can take care of myself," she told them. She heaved a sigh. "But, being the graceful and courteous leader that I am, I acknowledge that your protection is valuable. Happy?" she asked, and Eide actually smiled.
"Thank you for another second of safety, and good night." The Countess grinned. "You know, I think this whole protection thing is working out. Two cycles, and nobody's tried to delete me yet."
"Don't get cocky, Your Grace," Axis reminded her.
Avina waved his words away and shut her door. Once the activity inside Avina's room had ceased and she was in her bed, Bob made a portal that took the six sprites to their apartments in Sector 6. Bob said good night to his companions and watched them all enter their separate rooms. Matrix and AndrAIa went into their own room together.
Like the eyes of a huge beast, the light in the windows in Azrael's P.O. winked out, one by one. Activity slowly ceased to a slow murmur of movement as the system's hard-working peacekeepers shut down their stations for the night.
A young ruler drifted off into peaceful slumber, the weight of responsibility over her people momentarily lifted from her shoulders.
A renegade and a game sprite lay wrapped in each other's arms, kissing and whispering sleepily.
Mercenaries settled in their rooms, each falling asleep at different times. One's quick mind dreamed of Daemon's zombie-like creatures; another cleaned her blaster, humming quietly to herself; and the third cursed the Guardians, even those he currently worked with.
And one of those Guardians reclined on the sofa in his room, unable to find rest. Bob turned his head toward the wall clock and studied the luminous green numbers; it was 2200, but he wasn't the least bit tired.
Apprehension was part of what kept him up; he had been more alert than normal since they had started their job of protecting the Countess. The truth was, however, that Bob missed Dot, back in Mainframe. With the present danger, time away from the woman he loved seemed harder to bear with each passing second.
Bob sighed and twisted around on the small couch, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. Lying on his back with his head on the floor didn't help ease his anxiety, so he slowly pushed himself back up into a sitting position.
Bob leaned forward and rested his head on his hands as he stared at the inanimate television squatting like a dull, gray, bulky thing in front of him. He was even missing Mike's company, in this unfamiliar system!
That's it, Bob thought with a rueful shake of his head. I'm too tired to process sensible thoughts anymore. Standing up from the couch, he went into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.
Less than two microseconds after Bob finally fell asleep, there was activity at Azrael's borders. Several large, dark transports hovered at the edges of the huge system. Soundlessly and without drawing attention to themselves, the transports slipped through the portal that separated Azrael from the rest of the Net.
Each transport held a small army. Two sprites were at the controls, while another stood before the front window. In the lead ship was a tall, broad-shouldered sprite with shaggy black hair. He watched silently through a VidWindow as they flew over Azrael, keeping high in the pitch-black sky so as not to be detected.
"Sir," one of the pilots called, "all our ships have entered the system successfully and without notice."
The sprite in charge turned back to his fellows. His skin was a dark teal color, but his face had been cut and blasted many times since he had been infected. The scars that crisscrossed over his face had made him unrecognizable to anyone who had known Eric Acos, probably even his own wife and two children.
"Good," he said with a curt nod. His voice was low but not very deep; he was rather young, after all. In his hands he held a white helmet that matched his uniform. He pulled the helmet on over his head and secured it under his chin. Once suited up, he nodded to his pilots. One kicked the ship into a descent while the other sent a signal to their fellow ships alerting them of the next step in the plan.
The three transports, each large enough to hold fifty fighters, drifted over the city at an almost leisurely pace. They passed over cramped apartment buildings and spacious mansions, where the system's citizens — young and old, male and female — slept, oblivious to their enemies hovering above them like a serpent waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
It was exactly midnight; most businesses were in downtime, their doors locked and their windows tightly closed. One or two citizens lingered on the street, but there was no other activity.
Azrael's Principle Office loomed up ahead. Each of its eight apexes pointed toward one of the system's sectors. The blue-gray metal shimmered slightly in the small light the lead transport gave off to guide its way.
Azrael, being a high-class system, had guards patrolling its P.O. night and day; the added protection had become even more welcome since Countess Avina first learned about Daemon's threat. As the first transport appeared above the star-shaped Principle Office, the night guard caught sight of it.
The night guard, which was a group of well-trained sprites and binomes, looked up in awe and growing fear as the huge transports filled the sky. Their eyes widened, and their hands went for their communicators — too slowly. The transport that hovered over them turned its guns toward the Azraelians and, without a moment's hesitation, spit out a rapid-fire succession of lasers. The blasts struck the guards and sent them flying sixty feet back. Some were deleted in mid-air, their forms becoming nothing more than a storm of swirling white light; others hit the ground with groans, energy bleeding from deep wounds, some mortal, others just enough to keep them down.
With no other threats to oppose them, the ships went on their way. They floated over the huge roof of the Principle Office, searching for a proper spot to land. As the enemy transports settled down on the smooth metal roof, each spaced apart from the next, another squad of the night patrol rushed up the stairs to the roof.
Armored sprites were already disembarking from the first ship. They were indistinguishable from one another; all wore white armor and helmets that covered their faces to the chin, leaving only a certain colored neck — the only thing that was different was their skin color -- that was gripped by glowing veins.
The new squad of guards hurriedly swept a searchlight over the first transport's hull. On the weathered side of the ship was the faded but unmistakable gold-and-black Guardian icon.
One Azraelian guard near the front of the line, seeing the insignia, slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out. His core-com beating as rapidly as a jackhammer in his small chest, he slammed his fist down on the "panic" button embedded in the wall. Alarms rang out on the rooftop and through the Principle Office, and bright blue and red lights snapped on, momentarily blinding the enemies.
A Guardian leaning out of the side of another transport saw the Azraelian and aimed his weapon at the binome. The guard bravely stood his ground, continuing to pound the button as his body trembled with fear.
A blast of energy caught him in the chest. Now the guard screamed in fear and pain, but in a moment he disappeared in a wash of white sparkles. His fellow sprites and binomes quickly retreated behind a bunker as laserfire rained down on them.
The one guard had done his part to protect system Azrael. Though his life had been sacrificed, the rest of the system had been alerted to the oncoming ambush.
The alarms chimed steadily; not the loud blaring that caused panic, but a slow, calm warning of intruders in the system.
Countess Misoun rolled out of her bed when the alarms went off. Quietly, she moved around the room, gathering what she would need, Ferias right behind her. The Countess turned her icon and rebooted into a sleeveless top and shorts. She opened a hidden door in the wall and took out two small but dangerous blasters, which she strapped to holsters, one on each hip. She gathered her hair up in a simple ponytail.
She looked over to Ferias, who had pulled out a large gun that she strapped on next to her deadly blaster, and they exchanged quick smiles. "I'm ready," Avina whispered. They pulled on dark coats and headed for the Principle Office.
In the apartments, the alarms woke Matrix and AndrAIa first. They readied themselves silently in the darkness, then they went to the room next to theirs. The door opened before they could reach it, and Bob stepped out, also ready. He flashed them a grim smile and pressed his hands together. Golden light illuminated the hall, and a small portal formed. The three sprites stepped through it to the Principle Office.
They entered an underground room and found the three mercenaries and several troops of the Azrael guard already there. It was only one or two milliseconds later that the Countess' three guards, Avina, and Ferias entered as well.
Bob's eyes widened when he saw the usually regal Countess come in wearing battle clothes. "Whoa," he whispered, "she wasn't kidding when she said she could take care of herself."
Avina allowed herself a small smile at the Guardian's humor before she started with brisk instructions.
"Guardians have entered the system. They are somewhere above us right now. As we speak, guards are being set up around the outside of the Principle Office and the sectors, to protect the citizens. But we think the Guardians are going to strike the P.O., so we need teams in there to fight." She looked out over the group, and her eyes rested on the sprites from Mainframe. "I want all of you there, but in different points. If we can have each of you — let's see," she interrupted herself to count, "Bob, Matrix, AndrAIa, Eide, Dram, Axis. Can I count on you six and our guards to defend the Principle Office?"
The all nodded, resolve bright in their eyes.
Everyone bent over a table in the center of the room. Avina placed her hand over a circle built into the table, and a map with a bird's-eye-view of the system appeared.
"The outer forces are being set up in three blocks around the Principle Office." She touched three spots, indicating the positions. "The roadway towards the southern point of the Principle Office is being filled with four triple-rows of guards, if the Guardians come down for hand-to-hand combat. We also have troops positioned around the sides and backs of shops along the roadway, for a small surprise attack."
She put her hand over the eight-pointed star Principle Office. "Now, in the center of the system — we need to defend the four main points: here, here, here, and here." Her fingers followed her instructions, as she pointed at each section. "We need two guards in each point, and then you all" — she looked up at the mercenaries and the Mainframers — "with them.
"In the northern point we'll have the guards. The night shift is already there, so you all will defend that point."
The two guards nodded at their Countess. "Net protect you, Your Grace," they murmured.
"Net protect you," she replied, and they started for the upper levels.
Avina went on, "In the western point, we need Bob and Matrix."
They exchanged blessings with the Countess. Matrix took a moment to put his arms around AndrAIa and kiss her fiercely. "I love you," he whispered.
She kissed him back. "I love you too." They stared into one another's eyes for another nano; then Matrix turned and hurried out the door.
Watching the young couple, Bob felt a pang of sorrow for Dot. But that couldn't be helped right now. He clasped AndrAIa's hand and whispered, "Good luck." She smiled at him, then he left the same way as Matrix, with the guards accompanying him. AndrAIa turned back to the Countess, still bent over the map.
"We need guards in the southern point, as well as Axis, Dram, and Eide," she instructed. The mercenaries and the guards left quietly.
Only a handful of sprites were left. Avina traced her finger over the eastern point on the map. "AndrAIa, we need you there."
The game sprite nodded and said, "Net protect you, Countess."
"And you," the young woman returned gravely. She watched as the last three left. She turned to her entourage: her three most trusted guards and her shadow. "Are we ready?"
"Hopefully," her first guard answered.
Avina gave a small laugh, then they started upstairs. She murmured a small prayer to the User. "Net protect us all."
Eide looked around. "Hey, where's Freeware?"
"He appears to have separated from us," Axis observed. "Perhaps to reach another section, and defend that point."
"Smart sprite," Eide murmured. Her eyes flicked around in the darkness as she tapped her fingers against her gun.
Axis watched her, wishing she wouldn't do that. He could be as calculating as she — past experience had proved that — but the thought of shooting someone made him uneasy. Axis glanced away and focused on the dark corridors that stretched away from them, mentally devising which way they should go.
He cleared his throat in the silence. "Well, we should stay together —" Axis began. He looked behind him to find no one there. Eide had quietly slipped away.
Axis scanned the surrounding hallways for his comrade as he chuckled shakily. "Just pixelacious. . . ."
The beast was awakening.
Already, the entire Principle Office had been alerted to the not-so-very-far-away force that threatened them. Rooms that had been dark for the last few microseconds were now filled with light and the dim shapes of binomes and sprites hurrying along to stop the Guardians' forces.
Because Azrael was the home of a Countess (formerly a Count), the inhabitants had experienced attacks on their leader's life, and they knew exactly how to react to an emergency situation. CPUs were stationed in bunkers at every sector, each with a communications link to the Principle Office and a supply of weapons. As alarms rang out through the P.O. and each sector's bunker, Azrael's fighting force quickly and quietly strapped guns to their backs and sides and filed out of the nondescript blue-gray structure.
The Azraelian police rushed into their transports (also called CPUs) and powered them up. The ground seemed to open, and ten transports flew out of each one. Two CPUs remained on the ground to direct the vehicles in the correct direction. As the tenth CPU crested over the heads of the CPUs on the ground, a rope ladder dropped from an open hatch. The two guards grabbed on and quickly climbed into the transport before it closed its hatch and flew for the Principle Office. The doors to the bunker shut with a metallic clang, and the building blended into the darkness, looking like nothing more than an abandoned warehouse.
There were ten transports in each of the eight sectors, making eighty transports in all. Some of the transports flew towards the Principle Office, but most of the CPUs remained in their assigned sectors, to protect Azrael's citizens. As the Principle Office already had its own platoon of CPUs, not to mention the night shift, a small group of transports was dispatched to the P.O. to combine their services with the guards already present. The rest of the transports hovered at the fringes of their own sectors, adrenaline pumping through their energy. They waited for the fight to come to them — if it ever would — while the sprites and binomes they were sworn to protect lay defenseless in their beds.
The whir of mechanics from the transports as they whooshed by houses didn't go unnoticed. A grizzled binome, his back crooked with age, was jolted awake by the noise of preparations. He wrapped a robe around himself and slowly switched on the lights. When he saw a gray shape at his window, he rushed forward to see what was going on. In the near-darkness, it was difficult to see anything, but the binome squinted his eyes and peered outside. When he saw the CPUs converging in his sector and still others rushing toward the Principle Office, he gasped in horror. His body began to tremble, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the grim scene that unfolded before him.
The old binome wasn't the only one to see what was going on. Azraelians of all kinds jumped out of bed or off the couch when they heard the pounding of boots on pavement and the shouted commands of one CPU chief to another. Lights were snapped on in homes, and faces filled with anxiety and growing fear popped out of windows.
The chief of one platoon of CPUs noticed the people sticking their heads out of their windows and growled under his breath. In this situation, he and his fellow officers needed the citizens to remain in their homes and be as little of a distraction as possible. Shouldering his gun, he broke away from the line of CPUs and hurried back to the first line of houses; these buildings were already illuminated with light.
When he reached the first house, the sprite saw up close the terror on the faces of the binome family: the mother, the father, and the little baby girl. The two adults gasped and pointed at something over the CPU's shoulder, and he turned to look with them.
The Guardian transports were what had prompted the gasps from the binomes. The huge, bulky, black vehicles had latched on to the roof of the Principle Office like fat ticks on skin. Red and blue lights danced on the roof of the P.O.; joined with the laserfire, they momentarily illuminated the scene of CPUs fighting Guardians.
Doors began to open on the street, and citizens in their bathrobes rushed outside of their own accord, morbidly fascinated by the impending danger of the Guardians' attack.
The CPU chief hurried toward a young sprite woman with curlers in her hair. "Ma'am, please get inside," he ordered softly but firmly, placing a hand on her arm.
The young woman's lips trembled. "What's going on?" she whimpered, even as she let the chief push her back inside her house. "What's going to happen?"
"I can't answer that for sure, ma'am," the CPU replied. "Just stay inside, and you'll be safe. I can promise you that much." The woman swallowed thickly and covered her face with her hands.
The CPU turned away, but other sprites and binomes were coming out of their homes. He swore quietly and tried to usher them, one by one, back inside. But as he forced one family into their house, more appeared on the street, staring wide-eyed at the Principle Office. The chief knew he couldn't get them all back inside alone, and no one could afford the distraction these basic people were sure to cause.
The CPU chief jogged back to one of the grounded transports and sent a message to the CPUs already assembled in the Principle Office. The CPU commander there received his message and in turn sent out an emergency Vid Window to every home.
Azraelians were startled out of their slowly fraying wits when a huge Vid Window popped open in each home, displaying the face of the P.O.'s CPU commander.
"Azrael has been invaded by infected Guardians," the CPU commander began. A mother screamed before she could stop herself and clutched her baby close to her. "I repeat, infected Guardians are in the system. Stay in your homes while we fight them off, and do not attempt to leave. Keep your loved ones close; do not venture outside. I repeat, do not go out. Stay inside."
The message repeated two more times before a new one appeared. Now the CPU who had spoken said, "Keep this window open for further instructions concerning evacuation, if it comes to that. User bless us all," he added as an afterthought; then the Vid Window went as black as the sky outside.
The message did the trick: the citizens who had previously stood dumbstruck outside ran into their homes and embraced family members; at least one member of every house was awake now. Mothers and fathers comforted their children, allowing only one another to see their terror.
Families and friends held each other tightly, afraid that this might be their last night processing. They spoke in hushed whispers or they didn't speak at all, afraid that any sound could lead the Guardians to them.
Some binomes and sprites stole away to their cellars, hoping for extra protection should any transports come their way with guns and missiles. They curled up in silence with their ragged breaths as the only sound. The fear would eat them alive — if the Guardians didn't massacre them first.
While their comrades fought above and outside the Principle Office's walls, several groups of Guardians hurried stealthily through the halls of the star-shaped building. No one spoke as they marched through the unfamiliar structure; there was no need to; Daemon sent them the same commands, to be carried out.
When they arrived at a crossroads, with two corridors branching off into separate points in the P.O., they split into two groups. The groups would each cover one of the four main point of the Principle Office; then those same groups would circle and search through the remaining points.
Half of the original group headed toward the eastern point, their footsteps ringing off the metal walls. As they rounded the corner, they were met with a sight they certainly hadn't been expecting: a group of wide-awake guards and one very annoyed Game sprite.
"Hello, boys," AndrAIa purred. Her trident snapped to full-length with a sharp click. She twirled the hilt between her fingers with a careless air, but her smile was nothing less than menacing.
The Guardians froze in their tracks. By all accounts, the citizens of Azrael should be asleep in their beds, knowing nothing of the impending danger; there should be no one to stop them. They hesitated for a nanosecond, their unliving minds struggling to process the option.
An unseen force rippled through the group like the crack of a whip, jolting them back to awareness. They surged forward as one being, blasters drawn and ready.
AndrAIa and the CPUs stood their ground, tensed and waiting. The sprites and binomes of Azrael's armies gripped their guns and traded nervous glances with their neighbors.
"Hit them anywhere and everywhere," AndrAIa had forewarned the CPUs, her voice low and her expression grim. "Do anything you have to drive them down. These sprites were deleted a long time ago."
A Guardian with skin the color of AndrAIa's hair charged at the game sprite, his fist already pulled back to punch her unprotected stomach. She dodged the hit, but she wasn't able to evade the high kick he sent at her. Her head snapped back, and she fell back several steps, gasping for air. The teal-skinned Guardian advanced.
Crouching low to the ground, AndrAIa gritted her teeth against the queasiness from her opponent's blow and readied herself. She gripped her trident firmly and, when the Guardian neared her, she struck the sharp tip of her weapon directly in his groin. The Guardian howled and lurched backwards, falling off-balance into the wall. More took his place, however, and AndrAIa was too busy with fighting to see what had become of her opponent.
One of the Azraelian sprites dodged the shot a Guardian sent his way. He swung his gun up, searching for a weak spot, or somewhere that was unprotected. Every CPU had learned in the cycles before this night that the Guardians took many blows before they were deleted, and not easy foes. Finally, he shot at the back of the Guardian's head.
The Guardian stumbled and crashed into another. The shot had blown his helmet off, and there was a hole in his neck that gushed energy. A tall sprite from Azrael's guard approached the Guardian and roughly twisted his head to the side. The Guardian made a wet choking noise and slumped to the ground. He didn't get up again.
AndrAIa caught her breath. Her mind raced, and she struggled recall what had happened with the two infected Guardians who had tried to kidnap Tessa: Matrix had shot both in the forehead, and they had still been able to process. But the CPUs had just shot this Guardian and snapped his neck, and he was out of the fighting for good.
AndrAIa was no physician, but she knew from her experiences with fighting that if a sprite's neck were broken — regardless of whatever was keeping the sprite processing — the body would be unable to work. Perhaps, if they could injure the Guardians' bodies to the point of not being able to process, Daemon would have no hosts to fill with her Infection.
Another Guardian took advantage of her hesitation to launch himself at AndrAIa. She set to fighting him off as she scrutinized him. The Guardian wore white and purple armor – it wasn't very heavy, because the Guardians could endure more serious injuries than average sprites – and a helmet that covered his head to the chin. Every inch of his skin was covered, except for the vein-covered area of his neck.
Inspiration struck AndrAIa like a blessing from the User. "Go for the necks – it's their weak spot!" she called to the CPUs. "The neck!" As if to prove her point, she swiftly changed her trident to a spear and drove the razor-sharp point into the neck of the Guardian she currently fought with.
Turning her head away from the heavy scent of energy, AndrAIa narrowed her eyes and shoved her spear deeper, until the point reached what she hoped was the Guardian's spine. She ripped her spear to the side roughly, jerking the Guardian's head with it. As she had hoped, his neck snapped, and whatever life had filled his body fled. AndrAIa dragged her spear out of the Guardian's prone body.
All around her, binomes and sprites were following her reasoning. They had better luck with their blasters, able to score a cleaner shot on the necks of their opponents than with a bulky spear. Hitting the unprotected necks caused the Guardians to falter in their steps. The CPUs took advantage of the weakness to force the Guardians to the ground, where they performed the same gruesome deletion AndrAIa had demonstrated.
Soon, the bodies of ten Guardians littered the floor of the eastern apex of the Principle Office. However, there were many more Guardians still on their feet; some clutched their necks to stop the gushing of energy, and others were as yet unharmed.
AndrAIa's foot slipped in a puddle of energy, but she caught herself before falling. She brushed hair out of her eyes with one dirty hand and glared at the enemies. Bring it on, I'm ready, she thought.
And they did. The Guardians fought without tiring; the only time they faltered was when hit in the necks and swiftly brought down by the Azraelians. AndrAIa's breath burned in her chest and throat, but she forced herself to concentrate on the one Guardian in front of her. Her keen ears could pick up the screams and grunts of fighting all around her. Their contingent wasn't without casualties, either; the bodies of several binomes and one or two sprites lay lifeless on the energy-smeared ground.
AndrAIa gave a cry of rage and rushed forward, stabbing the Guardian opposite her with her spear-point; she fought the teal-skinned one she had encountered before. He dodged her thrusts and tried to bring his gun up for a clear shot. AndrAIa kicked the gun out of his hands and slammed him against the wall, impaling his throat. He cursed her and coughed, bright energy dribbling down his chin. He spit the stuff in her face, but AndrAIa turned her head. The Guardian's energy struck her hair, and AndrAIa quickly became aware of a burning sensation around her scalp. The acrid smell of burning hair brushed at her nostrils, and she shook her head to the side. Of course they would have energy like acid, she thought. They're not living, so their bodies can't be filled with sprite-energy.
AndrAIa yanked the spear out of his body, firmly telling herself that she could clean her weapon and vomit when the fight was over. She spun around, panting, ready for the next attack.
The Guardians were retreating. Now their numbers were whittled down to fifteen, half of what they had been before. They limped away, stopping to grab guns from their fallen comrades.
"Follow them!" AndrAIa tried to shout, but her throat was raw. She coughed and yelled, "Don't let them get away!"
The Guardians retreated quickly, and several uninjured CPUs hurried after them. One Guardian shot two quick shots at the ceiling above the Azraelians and AndrAIa; then he quickly backspaced out of the narrow corridor.
The plaster cracked, and a small sprinkling of dust began to rain down on the binomes.
"It's going to fall!" AndrAIa screamed, bringing her spear over her head reflexively. She jumped out of the way as the ceiling caved in with a loud groan, and chunks of plaster crushed the binomes.
AndrAIa stumbled away, clutching her hand over her mouth. Another gunshot rang out over her head, striking the ceiling at a part where a wedge had already been pried loose.
AndrAIa spun around, but just as she caught sight of the Guardian racing away, a huge chunk crashed down on her head. She pitched forward with a cry that abruptly cut off, and she fell to the ground as limp as a doll.
Weapons — check. Everyone in position — check. Bob sighed as, for the fifteenth time, he mentally ran over the preparations they had made for the Guardians. Enemies — not here yet.
Was that what was bothering him so much? True, Bob didn't exactly have the kind of experience one gets from hours of fighting. He had dealt with his share of bullies, minor skirmishes really, and who-knows-how-many Users.
Yet, with the latter, which he had spent much of his life learning to win over, it had always been a strategy. He had trained and been trained to anticipate the User's next move and jump three steps in front of him.
Megabyte had also required a certain amount of thinking and planning, since he was more intelligent than the average User, not to mention stronger. Hex couldn't really count; she was so chaotic it was nearly impossible to anticipate the next random thing she would do.
Is this what Daemon was like? Bob wondered. Does she plan for minutes — or hours — for an attack like this . . . or does she go for brute force? With the Guardians, User knows she has enough power.
Bob found himself wishing for just a little better understanding of viruses. Matrix and AndrAIa probably knew enough about viruses from the Games to be able to think ahead about Daemon. Of course, knowing the burly renegade, Matrix was probably itching to attack. Then again, Bob didn't really enjoy being a sitting duck, either.
Bob blew out a huge breath of air and licked his lips. Something about the coming ambush nagged at him, a feeling of unease and uncertainty he couldn't explain. He mentally pushed the nervousness to the edge of his brain and ordered himself to stop double-checking everything. Expelling another breath of air, he steeled himself and kept walking.
Just as Bob had started to feel calm, he heard the footsteps. First two, then four, six, eight, ten; what started as a handful of Guardians quickly became double that number, then double that, their less-than-quiet footfalls echoing off the cold metal walls. Soon a whole army was stampeding down the halls.
Bob ducked halfway under a crate and braced himself. This is what I wanted, he reminded himself grimly as he watched the doorway several hundred feet ahead of him. A seven-foot rectangle of light shone through the doorway, but soon the light was blotted out by many armored figures. They streamed through, but to Bob's relief only a small portion of the original group he had heard came his way. It was actually a smart move, he realized. The Guardians split into several groups so they could have fighters in each section of the Principle Office.
Bob strained his ears, trying to decipher if another group had headed for Matrix's section in the same point. He couldn't concentrate for long, however; already his group was approaching the spot where he was partly hidden.
Bob sprang up and held up his hands, palms forward. The dim light glinted on his armor and his hair, and the Guardians paused and stared hard at him. Their faces were hidden under identical, nondescript white helmets.
"Please, we can be peaceful about this," Bob called out in the silence, his hands still outstretched. "If you surrender, I can get rid of Daemon's control. You could all be fr —"
One Guardian, tired of listening, shot at Bob. Fully expecting it, he dodged the laser. "I was afraid of this," he muttered, as golden light began to gather in his hands. He sent a gigantic wave of Glitch-energy spiraling for the Guardians. It hit the Guardians in the middle of the group and sent them all flying.
It was still surprising to Bob how fast the infected Guardians could recover, looking no less harmed for it. They whipped out their guns and shot rapid-fire bursts at him. Frantically bringing to mind his many hand-eye coordination classes, Bob used his keytool energy to deflect shots, hopefully back onto the Guardians. Some were knocked to the ground, but they jumped up just as quickly.
Bob had no choice but to advance, matching their lasers with golden bursts of energy. He succeeded in knocking the guns out of four Guardians' hands. Now, they came at him with fists and elbows. Bob gathered energy in his hands and released a huge globe. A Guardian collided with the globe and was sucked inside it. He kicked and snarled at the keytool energy surrounding him, but he couldn't break through it.
Bob thrust the globe aside and concentrated on making another. When the next Guardians advanced on him, he sent globes spinning their way. Bob kept creating the globes as fast as the Guardians ran at him. Soon, the entire corridor was filled with captive Guardians who flailed at their prisons.
Bob leaned heavily on his knees and drew several deep breaths. He had never used this much energy since he had bonded with his keytool. Now he began to understand what Glitch felt after being used in Game after Game without any power recharges.
Bob slowly straightened up and surveyed the hall ahead. There were no more Guardians. For now, his part was done.
Matrix treaded silently along his assigned corridor. It was all he could do to keep quiet. For all he knew, there were Guardians already inside the Principle Office. He couldn't sit around until a Guardian sneaked up and strangled him in the darkness. Matrix swallowed and quickly checked Gun's energy case; it was full.
His every nerve was on end, his senses attuned to pick up any sound or movement. His feet touched the ground lightly, soundlessly, and he breathed through his nose. His energy pounded in his temples, and Matrix grimaced as a dull pain throbbed in his head. He had no idea why he was getting a headache — and now, of all times, he couldn't afford a distraction.
He hated being restrained down here, forced to sit and wait for the Guardians to come. Matrix wanted, more than anything, to race to the elevator and reach the upper levels. He would charge right at the Guardians, and he knew he could take them down with the element of surprise and sheer brute force.
But he had been ordered to stay down here. He hated following orders, especially from someone younger than he. But Bob had followed the order, and so had AndrAIa. So here he was, Gun in hand, much resembling a caged animal pacing the confines of its prison, eager to hunt.
And to kill. Matrix stopped short and blinked slowly. The thought had simply popped out of nowhere. It was rather distressing to be thinking thoughts like that when he was about to go into an unwanted battle.
But you always want it, don't you? a voice, the one that had just spoken, taunted. Matrix's muscles tensed at the icy arrogance that laced the dangerous voice. He took a deep breath and willed himself to stand still so he could focus on whoever was addressing him. Was he thinking this? It wasn't possible for anyone to be speaking with him, yet there was pure malice in the mysterious voice that Matrix knew he would never find in his own thoughts.
A moment later, the voice spoke again. You like to fight and delete your enemies. You get a sick enjoyment out of the adrenaline rush.
Something prickled across his skin, raising the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck. Suddenly, a shiver raced across his massive frame, swiftly cutting him to the bone.
He doubled over, taking deep, trembling breaths. He slowly straightened, even more alert for danger. A flash darted across his field of vision. Matrix recalled the silvery specks of light he had sensed in the Roughnecks Game. That had been his Protector signaling his presence.
"Rasta Mon?" Matrix called out uncertainly, but his voice rang out hollowly and unnaturally loud in the hall.
But it wasn't Rasta Mon. The light flashed in his face again, but it was stronger. It seared through his closed eyelids, and Matrix knew someone — or something — was in front of him.
Matrix forced himself to open his eyes. When he gazed around the room through narrowed eyelids, there was no one. Another slash of pain struck him, and he doubled over again, clutching his chest.
Matrix fell to his knees. Even as he gritted his teeth and tried to stand up, his muscles tensed, and an invisible force pushed him back to the ground. He stared around wildly, his core-com hammering in his ears. He was filled with anxiety, confusion, unease —
Fear?
Matrix's eyes widened, and he dared not breathe. There was a presence in the room with him. Just the feeling of this other person made his skin crawl.
"Who — who's there?" he finally asked in a whisper. No one answered, and Matrix climbed to his feet, reflexively checking Gun.
You're afraid, aren't you?
The coy tone belonged to none other than Hexadecimal. The virus' amused cackling that followed filled Matrix's skull, and he shook his head from side to side in an attempt to clear it. Why was it that Hexadecimal always appeared in his hallucinations?
Easy, the voice from before — not Hexadecimal's, Matrix could easily tell — replied. She's someone you resent and disagree with. It's clear that she's one of your enemies.
WE ALL ARE.
Matrix cried out at the unexpected intrusion in his mind. Suddenly, a multitude of voices -- whispers, slithers, growls, and clicks — invaded his processor, creating such a din that he couldn't focus on what a specific person was saying. Low, grating voices, and high, shrill voices that dug into his head, worming their way into his thoughts and interrupting his logic.
Faces swam into his vision, blurry forms sharpening into clear pictures. Matrix saw viruses of all kinds, the User in all of his forms, and even nasty sprites that had bullied him in the Twin City.
Hexadecimal's face danced across his sight, only to slowly dissipate. From the crowd of faces, their colors blending together into one picture, Megabyte's features jumped forth.
Remember me, Boy? the virus asked, his deep, rolling laugh echoing in Matrix's bones.
"You're — you're gone," Matrix protested through clenched teeth. "I got rid of you."
You fought me, and the hacker pushed me into a portal, but you never finished me off. Wasn't that what you were going to do? Why couldn't you delete me if you hate me so much? Matrix shook his head helplessly, unable to answer.
The crowd of faces pulled away, and Matrix felt as if a noose around his neck had been cut, allowing him air. He sprang up from the ground, taking deep, loud breaths.
The single voice, the one that had started this, rose again in his mind. Unlike the others, there was no face to accompany this coldhearted speaker. Something in the voice suggested femininity, however.
So many victims, the voice hissed, making Matrix flinch, so many. How many viruses and sprites have you deleted?
It was as if Matrix's skull had been split open, and his processor lay neatly unveiled for this stranger to read. He shook his head again, willing his mind to shield itself from this intrusive being.
You've been fighting viruses all your life, the voice said in a low purr. Moments passed before it — she? — added, But you've never won.
"Aargh!" Matrix screamed. "Be quiet!" Burning hot rage surged through his body, and he lifted Gun and waved it around at the faces. His breath was raw in his throat, and his chest heaved. He could remember this feeling of helplessness and anger by being judged from only one time in his life: the dream of "Number One."
The voices pressed in on him again. Matrix shut his eyes against their cold words. His eyes snapped open, the cybernetic implant spinning madly. Matrix aimed Gun at the largest of the specters. With a cry of fury, he pulled the trigger.
The gunshot reverberated like thunder through the still corridor, and Matrix thought, satisfied, that the voices wouldn't bother him again.
Bob heard a far-off click. It took his brain a moment to process what the deadly sound meant, and his head whipped around.
"NO!" he screamed, but it was too late. The bullet wrenched through his armor and slammed into his gut, the force of it driving him backward into the ground.
The illusion shattered, and Matrix stood disoriented for a moment. His arm dropped to his side, as if Gun weighed a ton, and he felt impossibly weary. Then, a low moaning reached his ears, full of pain. Matrix's pulse quickened; the voice was terrifyingly familiar.
Holstering Gun, Matrix ran straight down the corridor, where he thought he heard the sound. The moans became breathless gasps, and Matrix quickened his pace. When he saw Bob, it hit him in a rush. "No!" he cried, rushing forward.
The Guardian was sprawled on the ground, clutching his stomach. Dark blue-green energy streamed around his fingers, quickly darkening his skin. His pristine silver armor was twisted and blackened from the bullet that was buried in his stomach. Bob's eyes were squeezed tightly shut in pain, and small gasps escaped his mouth.
"No . . ." Matrix whispered again, ashamed at what he had inadvertently done. He began to back away, his mind overflowing with all of the information it was receiving.
Bob opened his eyes to see Matrix. "Enzo," he gasped, reaching out his other hand, also covered with his energy, "please — help me. . . ." But the hulking youth shook his head, as if arguing. With wide, scared eyes, he backed away and finally turned and ran down the hall.
"Enzo. . . ." the Guardian whispered in disbelief.
You did this to me?
But it was in vain. Bob fell back, out cold, as the energy leaking from his stomach gathered in a pool around his fallen body.
As Bob's energy was slowly drained from him, the globes of keytool energy that held the Guardians — Matrix had not even noticed them in his haste and confusion — flickered wildly. They solidified once, then shimmered uncertainly before popping out of existence. The Guardians all dropped to the ground with a series of bumps.
Bob was nearly out; he didn't see what had happened. Without wasting time, the Guardians dusted themselves off, picked up their fallen weapons, and proceeded on to the next point in the Principle Office.