“Do you think it’s the same man who was protecting Louise Myers and Edward Connell? That would mean he has collected three of your guns in the course of killing half a dozen of your men.”
Ernst put the slightest emphasis on each your.
Szeto spoke through clenched teeth. “If it is same man, I want him. The Myers woman can lead me to him…”
“But the One says she is to be left alone. Remember that?”
“I remember. But no matter. I will find him, I will catch up to him one day, and then he will curse his mother for giving him birth.”
“Yes, well, good luck on that. Now, if you don’t mind…” He shuffled assorted random papers on his desk. “I have some of the Council’s business to attend to.”
Szeto left without another word. As soon as the door closed behind him, Ernst shot from his seat and began pacing his office. He could not sit still, not after what he’d just heard.
Bypassed! The One had bypassed not only him but the High Council as well, and gone straight to one of the Order’s enforcers.
Memory of Ernst’s last encounter with the One, here, on this very spot, flashed through his brain. He could still feel the pressure of the One’s hand on his throat as he’d lifted him off the floor, the heat of his breath as he’d spoken so close to his face.
You still might prove useful, otherwise…
Otherwise what he hadn’t said. He hadn’t had to. Ernst hadn’t been able to breathe.
“At last I can take direct action. I may call on you and your Order for minor logistical support, but now that I am free to act, I will take matters into my own hands. I will finish this myself.”
And then he’d hurled Ernst across the office.
Ernst rubbed his throat. The bruises had faded away only recently, but the fear hadn’t.
I may call on you and your Order for minor logistical support…
But he hadn’t called on Ernst. He’d called on Szeto.
Have I been marginalized?
The possibility brought a surge of bile. Like his father before him, he had devoted his entire life to the Order, to helping the Otherness become ascendant in this world. The Otherness would bring about the Change, and elevate its loyal helpers to allow them not only to survive unscathed in the remade world but to oversee it as well. To be Movers among the Moved.
His father hadn’t lived to see the Change, but Ernst fully expected to. He could sense its imminence. And the One would choose those who would be part of the Change rather than merely subject to it. Ernst had fully expected to be among the chosen…
Until now.
He had failed the One and the One had turned against him. No… not against him. Simply discarded him.
He had to find a way back into his good graces. If he couldn’t, it meant all his years in the Order had been wasted. After the Change he would be just another face in the hordes of oppressed humanity… looking up to the likes of Szeto for mercy.
No. He would die first.
6
Now what? Hank Thompson thought as he strolled the hall of the Lodge that served as Kickerdom headquarters.
He was bored out of his skull. Worse than that, he was still pissed that the Internet was rebounding so quickly from the meltdown. His Kickers had busted their asses blowing up the infrastructure while Drexler and his Order attacked from the inside. The one-two punch was supposed to cause a KO.
But no. A couple of days of chaos, and then things started getting back to normal. Amazing how fast they’d come up with a fix for the Jihad virus, disrupting the botnet. Even more amazing was how fast they’d repaired those blown fiber-optic cables. He’d wanted the ’Net down for good. Without all that constant networking, people would be forced to realize that their so-called interconnectedness was a trap. And that would push them one step closer to dissimilation, one step closer to him and joining the Kicker Evolution.
But the ’Net hadn’t been down near long enough for that. In no time their chat rooms and facebooks and myspaces and all that crap were back up and running. Still lots of glitches and bandwidth problems, but pretty much business as usual.
Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em all.
“Hey, boss,” said a passing Kicker, a burly guy named McGrew. He carried a red toolbox emblazoned with a Kicker Man.
A tattoo of the same figure adorned the web between his thumb and forefinger.
Lots of Kickers had asked Hank why he’d never got himself inked with the symbol. He always gave the same answer. Because I am the Kicker Man.
Hank nodded and kept moving, thinking about the Kicker Man. He was more than a symbol to Hank. Years ago the Kicker Man had appeared in one of his dreams and led him to write Kick, the book that had put him on the map and started the Kicker Evolution. He’d appeared from time to time to guide him.
Maybe his frustration in real life was behind that weird dream he’d been having the past few nights, wherein the Kicker Man seemed to be in trouble-attacked by a flock of birds. At least they looked like birds. Hard to tell because it was happening in the dark. Hard enough to see the Kicker Man in the dark, let alone what was attacking him. Whatever they were, they swarmed him, buzzing him from all sides. He couldn’t seem to drive them off.
What the hell did that mean?
He knew it meant something, because the Kicker Man never appeared unless something was in the offing. Sometimes it was good, sometimes not. This didn’t look good.
Hank needed a little distraction. Maybe Drexler was in. Been a while since he’d hassled him. The uptight dickhead was always good for a laugh. Couldn’t tick him too much, though. He was the Order’s head honcho around here, and the Order let Hank use this Lodge as Kicker HQ. Push Drexler too far and he might kick them all out.
He entered Drexler’s office without knocking-Hank knew he hated that-and found the man standing at one of his windows, looking out at the street. The Kickers who hung out at the Lodge called him the Ice Cream Dude because of the white suit he wore year in and year out.
When Drexler didn’t turn, Hank said, “How goes it?” When Drexler still didn’t turn, Hank raised his voice. “Hello? Anybody home?”
Finally the guy turned and Hank felt a little jolt of surprise when he saw his face. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it had changed somehow. The swept-back black hair with the widow’s peak and the bits of gray at the temples were the same. So were the hawk nose and thin-lipped mouth.
The eyes… that was it. As blue as ever, but the Master of the Universe look was gone. Their usual ice had melted, leaving just… eyes.
“Yes, Thompson? What is it?”
His itty-bitty German accent hadn’t changed, but what happened to “Mister”? Ever since they’d met he’d called him Mister Thompson.
Hank shrugged. “Just stopping by to see what’s new in the world of the Ancient Fraternal Septimus Order.”
Drexler’s eyes widened as he took a quick step forward. “Why do you ask? Have you heard anything? What have you heard?”
Whoa. His face was all uncertainty and hunger now. What the hell was going on?
“Nothing. Just sort of wondering if you folks have any more Internet tricks up your sleeve. One that’ll last a little longer. Like maybe permanent.”
“It wasn’t a ‘ trick.’ And it wasn’t designed to be permanent, just long enough…” His voice trailed off.
“Yeah, just long enough for what? At first you said the Internet was all that was standing between the One and the Change. Then you mentioned some lady. Which was it?”
“It didn’t work. That’s all that matters.”
“No, it’s not. Not by a long shot. Things are pretty much back the way they were. My Kickers are just hanging around instead of going out and gathering up converts who don’t know what to do with themselves without the Internet.”
“Your precious Kickers,” Drexler said, looking like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “They’re just tools. As are you.”