Prelude: Nick Weiss (part 1)

Prelude: Nick Weiss (beginning)
by David J. Bouchard


"What have we got Jim?" asked a tall, lean man in a sharply pressed, dark gray suit, the collar of his coat stiffly starched up over the tops of his ears, a short, dull red scarf knotted neatly at his neck, a matching, wide-brimmed hat covering most of his dark blonde hair.

"So they sent you again, eh Frank?" replied the average height, stocky man, who ran his hand over his balding head while exhaling slowly. His own brown suit was neat enough, but not so sharply ironed, his own collar drooping at the corners, his gray woolen scarf old and a little threadbare – an old gift that he always favored. "It's a damn mess, that's what it is. Behind here."

Heavy tarps hung in the wide hallway, condoning off a section of it, police tape holding it firmly in place. The man named Jim led the man named Frank through these, through a heavy door with a reinforced window, and finally into the scene of a massacre.

"Christ," Frank swore quietly. The room was a large student lab in the basement of MIT's Ætheric Studies Department .he room was filled with enormous devises the likes of which Frank had never seen; reinforced three-foot tall capacitors, an Æther-powered generator, burned out energy repeaters, shattered and burned out gemstones, ornate wire screen, and below it all a ten-foot diameter steel disk, remnants of the precious metals and gemstones used in its intricate circuitry scorched to slag.

Then of course there was all the blood.

"What the hell is it?" Frank asked after a moment of taking the whole thing in. He'd been working for the Federal Bureau of Ætheric Affairs for almost thirty years, and had never seen anything like this.

"Professor Xien, who teaches advanced Ætheric Mechanics, told me that one of her students had gotten it into his head that he'd cracked teleportation, and had a cadre of his fellow students helping him. This is what's left," replied Jim in a grim tone.

Frank sighed and shook his head. This wasn't the first time he'd heard of such a thing; every now and then some idiot or lunatic thought they'd figured out the impossible. You couldn't move something from A to B without crossing the space between; it was literally impossible. Entire divisions of every government on Earth had tried for decades, starting around World War I, to figure out how to make the breakthrough, but ultimately it was determined that it could never be done, and one by one the projects stopped. Usually the attempts just wasted a lot of money and materiel, but every now and then the results cost lives. This one was the most spectacular example of that he'd ever heard of.

"There's more, look at this," Jim said, pulling a piece of paper from his coat pocket. Frank frowned as he unfolded it, and read it over. It was a police brief on one of the students.

"Nicholas Weiss, exchange student from Munich in Germany. IQ 211, ÆQ..." he trailed off. "This can't be right.

"Three hundred twenty five," Jim finished. "Every school on the goddamnn planet wanted this kid. His ÆQ is higher than Einstein's, Himmler's, Hawkings... Pick a name. The staff treated him like the second damned coming."

"I can see why. I can also see why that made him arrogant enough to try this stunt." Frank read down the page. "Grades are all where I'd expect them to be for a kid like this... due to graduate this spring. Well so much for that. So what exactly happened?"

"As best as the forensics guys can tell,"Jim said, scratching his chin, "the machine was designed to gather a huge volume of energy and then spin a four-dimensional hole in space-time. Anyone standing here when that hole formed would then find themselves on the other end of, well, wherever the thing was pointed at. The computers were all fried, but forensics carted them off to see what they could dig out of them – they were using those new forged-diamond hard drives."

"Can't have been cheap," Frank muttered, looking over the circuitry on the disk. "Hey Jim, I'm a little rusty on my quantum theory; any chance this thing could have actually worked?"

"What? No, of course not, why?"

Frank paced about on the thing, moving a few steps this way, then that. "And how many kids?"

"Just this Nicholas and six others, one supposedly his girlfriend, but I don't see why that matters."

"Because I see where they marked all the evidence they took," he said, gesturing around at little flags of paper stuck to fat, plastic, inverted Vs, "and there's not enough blood."

"There weren't enough body parts either, but that's what happens when something like this blows up in your face."

"There's no scorch marks either, not around the disk, under the free-standing equipment, or on the ceiling. Not even a scratch or a smudge."

Jim stared at Frank as he started putting the man's line of reasoning together. Jim worked for the FBI; he was an investigator, but he specialized in people, not Ætheric tech; that was Frank's job. But he was right; the floor was shockingly clean, the walls too. There was a lot of blood – the victims were blasted to pieces when this thing blew up – but there didn't look like there was enough blood.

"Maybe it got vaporized?" he asked, hopefully. Frank finally stopped pacing and turned to look at Jim.

"Yeah, maybe it did."

***

Nick Weiss groaned in the agony of one who, upon waking from a long sleep, wished for a swift death. He hurt in places he didn't realize he'd had places that could even feel pain. Like his brain. Time passed, and his closed eyes showed him only black and the fuzzy red haze that accompanies the awareness that one's eyelids didn't block out all light. A his awareness spread, he began to realize things, experience senses, and remember.

His face felt as if it were ripped raw and left laying on gravel, his mouth was bone dry, and the smell of deathly rot and raw, blazing smoke assailed him. He wasn't sure which way was up, but eventually decided that up was away from the gravel bed he had. Slowly, agonizingly, as if his muscles were made of lead pudding, Nick moved. It was feeble at first, but after what felt an eternity he finally rolled onto his side.

Gravity betrayed him after that, and he continued to roll. Rather than land on his back, though, he discovered himself tumbling, rolling sideways down a rough, barren slope covered in exposed stone and harsh scree. Shouting, he covered his face instinctively as he fell, until he finally rolled out onto a flatter space and skidded to a stop, blood streaming from his neck and knuckles.

Eyes open this time he moved his hands, this time finding himself on his back and staring up at a sky made entirely of fire, scattered clouds of ash and smoke drifting lazily across from one horizon to the other. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he forced himself up, sitting and staring at the black, barren hillside he'd fallen down, and others all around. He was in a wide defile in what seemed like volcanic badlands and low hills. Running raw, bloodied hands through his filthy, matted, wavy blonde hair, he winced and looked about, his chiseled, narrow features harsh in the glowering light. Orange-red light suffused everything, saturating it as if to in fact murder all other color.

"Fuck," Nick rasped, followed by a wracking cough. He coughed for several moments, and spit out gray phlegm mixed with god-knew-what. He spoke again, his voice more steady, American English with a heavy German accent.

"Hello!" he called out, slowly struggling to stand. His clothes were less dirty than they should have been, but then he'd made them practically indestructible for a reason. His blue denim jeans and heavy boots were woven over with golden thread, with engraved rivets bolted into specific spots, distributed evenly across, and in strategic places fine gemstones were hidden in tiny, woven-shut denim pockets. They could have protected him from a rocket launcher. His long, heavy leather trench coat was likewise protected, though its tall collar was flattened down around his neck and refused to stand up properly. Only his scarf was damage, thickly matted with blood. His blood.

He pulled it off, panting. Just the act of standing had him panting, and he could feel himself sweating under his clothes. His white shirt, a little dusty but as similarly unharmed as his other clothes, was doing nothing to help him cool off. It was late winter, and though it hadn't snowed in weeks, it hadn't been warm. Here it was.

"Great, I finally overcome the greatest Ætheric technological obstacle in history, and it kills me. This must my punishment for my hubris." Nick took one shaky step, then another. "Come to think of it," he muttered, slowly getting his legs working, "my Virgil is a little rusty but I thought I thought the burning skies were on the Third Circle."

"That would be the Third of the Seventh Circle, actually," said a woman's voice behind Nicholas. He turned a little too quickly in surprised, and stumbled, landing hard on one knee and cursing in German, a habit he abused endlessly at school since it wasn't commonly spoken and almost never well when it was.

Clambering back to his feet, he reached inside his coat, and pulled out a shockingly large pistol, the tip of which was mounted with silver ringed emerald. The source of the voice, a few meters away, a woman he didn't recognize. She wore white, a dress in some ancient style he also didn't know. She was exquisitely beautiful, chestnut hair tumbling down her shoulders in ringlets, her dress modest of cut but flimsy of material and thus leaving less to the imagination than it might otherwise. Nick had a hypothesis as to why pop up into his thoughts instantly. She smiled as she watched him.

"You're a very smart one, I think," she said, her lips smiling slightly and curtsying slightly. "But then, how else would you come to be here?"

"Don't fuck with me lady. It's not a good day for it," he managed, his face a scowling mask.

"Ah... but perhaps you're right. I sense you just might use that... weapon? Yes, a powerful weapon indeed. And of your own creation. You're an Artificer, I see. What is your name?" she asked sweetly, not moving.

"That's on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know," he replied, a sardonic twist to his lips.

"Oh," she said, respect in her tone. "Then what shall I call you? I cannot simply call you 'hey you' now can I? It would be far too rude, and that simply wouldn't do for one with such power."

"I don't care. You can go play hide and go fuck yourself, I'm getting out of this hellhole." Nick slowly began to back away from the woman, weapon leveled clearly at her chest. He was a fair shot, not great, but his gun was more than up to the task at any distance, especially this close. He stopped, though, when he bumped into something and spun quickly.

"Really now, you should be more gracious. I only want to help you, and others will come soon. The scream of the world your arrival made could be heard from the Wall to the Pit."

Nick practically leapt out of his skin as he threw himself back, scrabbling to put distance between himself and the native. "Son of a bitch! I get myself killed trying to teleport and you can be in two fucking places at once?"

"Well I am not as you yourself are, clearly, and in this place different laws govern. One with your knowledge and wisdom should know this." she said, laughing softly.

"And where is this place?" Nick demanded. "Say the name."

The delightful looking woman crossed her arms, but raised one finger to her chin in thought. "Æbysia, in your 'scientific' terminology. Hell in the words of your ancestors. Although Virgil didn't quite get it right. He was a brilliant man, but no prophet and certainly no World Walker."

"World Walker?" Nick questioned, his face contorting in confused thought.

"Do you not have a name for them? Men who can step from one world to another? Well no mater. Regardless Æbysia is where you are, and violence is your sin. Well, the one that immediately landed you here, anyway, you have others."

"What do you mean? I never hurt anyone." Nick insisted, his face as angry as his voice.

"But their blood is on your hands, just as yours is on the rocks here," she countered instantly. "Seven souls entered a room that day, but only one left."

"Bullshit."

"Now, now," she chided him, rolling her eyes. "Denial is beneath you, and such vulgarity is inappropriate before a lady, or didn't your mother teach you otherwise?"

"You don't really think I buy that 'lady' business, do you?" Nick asked, his mouth twisting sardonically.

"I suppose not," she sighed, lowering her hands to her hips, palms forward. "But you are nevertheless in need of my aid if you are to save yourself, and your time slips away like sand through the eye of the glass."

"Nothing's free, especially if you're what I think you are. What's the catch?" he demanded. The woman smiled. She took a half step but stopped when Nick pulled the trigger. A line of white energy a full inch thick flickered into and out of existence, flashing to the ground between them and leaving a small crater, though throwing no debris.

"Impressive..." she said, serious all of a sudden. "Very well. I wish to be free of this place. Free me and I shall help you."

"Help me what? You still haven't told me what I get out of your Faustian pact."

"You're too smart for your own good. Very well, I'll put it simply. You can free yourself of this place, with my help. I simply wish to leave with you – that is all."

"That's it?"

"Indeed. Do we have an agreement?"

"Fine then. But if you screw with me or fuck me over, I will turn you into an annoying memory," Nick promised, lowering his pistol. "I'm Nick."

"Call me Beth," she said, curtsying again. "Now we must leave here. Others are coming, and none so polite as I."

***

"Marla Rheese, 26, local – girlfriend of Nicholas Weiss. Reportedly together over a year and a half, one student described her as 'totally obsessed' with Nickky-boy. I guess he tended to draw people in like a magnet." Jim shook his head and moved on through his notes. They sat in a booth at a local night-haunt, working through their notes as fast as their coffee. "Anyway, he treated her more like a groupie than a girlfriend, or so it says here. Sounds like he had a narcissistic streak."

"Stephano Herrera, 25, Los Angeles; he came here on a scholarship after wooing the rich and mighty at the..." Jim rifled through his papers, "Greater Los Angeles Area Æthertech Inventor's Competition."

"Doesn't that just roll off the tongue," Frank replied dryly.

"Charpal Gupta, 28, New Delhi; his family has cash. I guess his grandparents' temple sits on a Nexus and the fees to channel Æther out of the place are outrageous. Not a bad racket, if you can make it legal."

"Some guys tried that same stunt down in Florida, accidentally drew every alligator for ten miles to them. Three dead, church was trashed."

"It's illegal for a bunch of reasons, and that's one of 'em. You do circuitry wrong and things go all to hell real quick. Anyway, moving on... Anne Smith, 25, Chicago; nothing special. Single child, one living parent, working her way through college." Jim looked up at Frank, who just grunted and took a swig of his coffee. "Ehrm, Martin Cole, 25, DuGere Brittish Columbia. Academic performance scholarship. Poor-ish family, divorced parents and two siblings, a brother and sister."

"Pretty normal," Frank muttered.

"Yeah. Last two are more locals; Jerry Reed, 26, and Jen Dol, 25. Nothing remarkable in their respective files. Pretty normal lives, parents together, no siblings."

"Any run-ins with the law?"

"Nothing. Nikky-boy's parents said he used to be mischievous as a kid, but nothing a night without supper couldn't straighten out. He's got a few blog posts in German talking shit about France, but that doesn't surprise anyone, those countries haven't gotten along since the Soviets fell apart.

"What about that Nationalist wave last decade?"

"Nothing much. Social media posts making fun of the alt-right is about all. Seems like kinda a know-it-all that gets away with it because he really does know it all, and everybody knows it."

"So he's a good kid with a clean record and his head on straight, but arrogant – maybe a little too loudly. So here he is, about to graduate, and I'll bet you the bill he decided, hey, what better way to blow them all away at the graduation ceremony than to teleport there and show everybody he's even smarter than they even thought. So they fire it up, test it a few times in secret, and when everything is looking good, in hops Nick. Can't let anybody else be the first, it's his baby, his genius on the line. Ego gets the better of good sense. So they fire it up and boom, everybody gets blasted to bits because teleportation doesn't work."

"Sounds like a good theory," Jim replied suspiciously, "but...?"

"But," Frank replied calmly, "What if it did work? Not perfectly, not right, but it worked – it sent him somewhere."

"Come on Frank, you can't be serious."

"The forensic boys double checked for me. There's enough parts and blood to fit six kids, not seven. The DNA tests and Ætheric Resonance tests haven't come in yet, but I'll bet they back me up. All that energy and matter, he had to go somewhere, even if it was all over the walls. But he didn't, I think. I think he teleported somewhere, but not where or how he intended. Maybe he's dead, maybe it dumped him over the middle of the ocean, or on top of a freezing mountain, or a damned desert. Maybe he's lost in the woods a mile from a highway somewhere, who the hell knows? But the point is, he was displaced from where he was."

"But..."

"But nothing. Other students, faculty, all heard a boom."

"Explosions do that."

"So does air displacement. If those forensic gear heads can get something off those hard drives, my bet is that we find two booms." Frank finished his coffee and set the cup down firmly.

"You're crazy. I'll take that bet. Fifty?" Jim asked, setting his notes down.

"Make it a hundred. Christmas is coming up, I want to get my wife something nice."

***

"I thought you said Virgil got it wrong," Nick said, looking out over the sheer cliff face, dropping down into an angry green mist. Beth was a few yards ahead, and though Nick was hot, she didn't sweat a drop. 'perk of the job,' Nick had called it.

"I said he didn't get it quite right. Hell is made up of layers. You're looking down at the next one," she replied. Nick shook his head and let her lead on. They'd been walking for what seemed like forever; there was no sun, no moon, no way to mark the passage of time. His watch didn't even work anymore. He felt like the heat was killing him, but he didn't dare take of his coat; being it was practically indestructible, and while they hadn't met anything more dangerous than unstable footing, he was wary of danger and kept his pistol handy.

"My next coat is getting climate control," he grumbled, stumbling over a loose rock. The terrain was rocky and uneven, with scree and gravel loose everywhere.

"You're holding up well," Beth's voice sang... mockingly? It was hard for Nick to tell. He couldn't tell if she was as sarcastic as he was, or if he was just projecting. Probably both. She was a demon after all. Probably. An Ætheric entity anyway.

"You know," he countered, "whole fields of academia are dedicated to debating your existence and searching for proof one way or another."

"I'm flattered, but really, those poor fools must have something better to do."

"Oh, you'd be amazed. Stuff you in a bottle and you could probably run a power plant."

"I suppose that's what you would consider an improvement over bleeding the Æther of energy to fuel your devices?" she spat, not looking back. That was the first confrontational reaction he'd gotten out of her in hours of chatter. He smiled.

"Well if we could bottle Ætheric beings, demons especially, a lot of conversationalists would get off our backs. It would be like cleaning up pollution, only bet-" he was cut off as she was suddenly right there, staring up at him, her eyes blazing crimson, her nails suddenly quite sharp on his throat.

"You would be wise to remember where you are and that this is not your realm. We are older than your species; your civilization is just another to flutter along the path!" she hissed. Nick's face widened into a broad smile, and the barrel of his pistol pressed firmly between Beth's breasts.

"Careful sweetheart, it's got a hair trigger."

Their respective words hung thick in the stiflingly hot air, moments grinding by.

Beth stepped back, laughing softly, her hands smoothing the front of her dress. "How delightful you are. So few of my kind prefer to spar with their minds rather than blades or claws. Come, we're close."

Nick let out a very slow breath, his face calm while he lowered his weapon. She rattled him a little, something he hadn't felt since his childhood. Once he began to learn at a shockingly young age how to craft and control Æthertech, he went from 'just another kid' to 'hottest shit around' in every way imaginable. Bullies were never again a problem, friends fell out of the rafters with just a puff of air, and girls practically hurtled themselves at him. He was a genius, exceptional, and he knew it. It gave him a brash confidence, one that grew with his mastery of his craft.

It now seemed to serve for his survival in the face of a threat whose power he could not measure. Could you die twice? You could certainly suffer. As soon as he had a safe place to stop he'd fix his injuries; his coat was unique and held a variety of devices in its interior pockets. He liked to joke that it was bigger on the inside. The nerdy girls loved that one. It was even kind of true.

"Close to the exit?" he asked for clarity.

"Yes," she replied. "It is guarded. You will need to get us past the guard. With your powers, it should be a simple matter.

"Well if the guard is anything like you..." he said neutrally. A moment passed before she replied.

"He is not. He is something else entirely," she warned, her tone ominous. Nick grunted and followed.

"Anything you can tell me? If I have to fight this guy, it'd help to know what I'm up against beforehand."

"I can tell you little; he is unique, and takes on a form and abilities that reflect whomever he fights. What you will face in battle will therefore be unique, specifically formed to be stronger than your strengths, to exploit your weaknesses. You must beat him alone."

"Why can't you chip in?" he asked, irritated.

"Should I aid, he will grow more powerful still. Worse, he knows me and my kind well, and you specifically not at all. He will grow more powerful the longer your duel goes on, so you must be swift and clever if you are to slay him. He will give you no quarter and show you no mercy; once your duel begins, you must finish it lest you die."

"Right."

(to be continued)