Contractor (9 page)

order to propagate life, they must consume

it."

Daniel took a long breath. "Holy shit."

"Quite."

"Back up a minute. What’s a heat

death?"

"The probable end of every universe.

You know that your star is burning through

its fuel, correct?"

"Well, yeah," Daniel said. "But it’s got enough for a few billion years, right?"

"True. But what happens when it runs

out?" Xik pointed into the sky. "The sun is the energy source of your entire solar system.

You could move to another sun, use other

stars. But eventually, eons into the future,

they will all burn themselves out. That, or

collect into black holes. But even black

holes will eventually radiate away the last of

their energy. One by one, all the billions of

galaxies will vanish into blackness. The

universe will be nothing but scattered gases

and background heat—a silent state known

as heat death. The energy which sustains life

and motion itself will have been used up."

Daniel mulled it over in his head. "And

their solution to this problem, basically, is to

gather everything together?"

"Yes. We’ve run the numbers, to borrow

a saying from your language. According to

our mathematics, it doesn’t work out.

Therefore, on both moral and factual

grounds, we oppose their campaign of

universal genocide."

"You gave me the impression they were

bugs. Mindless drones." Daniel sat on the

roof tiles and folded his legs underneath him.

He looked up. Puffy clouds floated along in

the sky, oblivious to the tiny things on the

ground. "This is worse. They’re an empire of

zealots. They must think what they’re doing

is the right thing to do."

"You’ve grasped the situation soundly.

We tried to reason with them, but our many

diplomatic missions have all been destroyed.

We’ve long since stopped sending them."

Xik folded his arms behind his back.

"They’re a monolithic force trying to crush

everything. What I’ve told you is most of the

little we’ve learned about them. They aren’t

interested in cultural exchange."

"This is a hell of a lot to take in."

"It is the reality of the world you live

in."

"It’s kind of depressing," Daniel said.

"We’re fighting for a universe that will burn

out."

"Better than a universe in which

everyone is dead."

"Can’t argue with that."

"In any case," Xik added, "that end is still an unfathomably long time away. Over

100 trillion years for your universe, about

the same for mine. Enough time, I suspect,

for us to find a better solution." He made a

sort of grim smile. "We’ll be gone by then

anyway."

Daniel looked back. "Hey, if you’re so

advanced, don’t you have super-medicine?

Immortality?"

"We live about 400 years. That is

considered…enough. After that time, we

have a choice to either commit ourselves to

recycling or go into stasis. Or keep living—

but that’s frowned upon."

"So -"

Xik raised his white-gloved hand. "I

can’t go into the details, Mr. Fitzgerald. It’s

a bit hypocritical, but aside from giving you

the means to defend yourself, I’m not to

interfere. Especially concerning technology."

Daniel shrugged in acceptance. The

Klide lifestyle wasn’t really relevant,

anyway. Earth had bigger problems. "So…

extractors are pretty tough?"

"One could rip you limb from limb quite

easily."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Daniel rubbed his nose. "And overseers?"

"There are a variety," Xik said, "though the most common aren’t very flexible, for

magicians. Makes them easier to train. Their

magic is still extremely powerful, of course,

and being a sentient individual as smart as

you or I, they’re much more dangerous."

"You know…if we don’t kill that

extractor, a lot of people are going to die in

three days."

"Yes. A lot of people."

"Isn’t there anything we can do?"

"No."

Daniel didn’t know what he felt then.

He’d signed the contract and had his magic,

and he was still a useless weakling. The

world was spitting on him and laughing

about it.

Xik must have seen it on his face.

"Remember this anger, Daniel. Remember

how you felt when you saw a spawn on your

brother’s back. You’ll need that feeling."

"You think so?"

"Your earth is a complicated place.

Humans, like many races, are capable of

great irrationality, be it from love, or hate. I

fear that the Vorid are merely one of your

worries."

"…I’m not surprised."

"Really?" Xik said. "So suspecting of

your own people?"

Daniel shifted on the tile somewhat,

drawing in one of his legs. "You mentioned

love and hate. You forgot fear. I wonder

what a wizard is afraid of?"

Xik gave him a grim nod. "Your magical

orders might very well have hidden more

history from us than we expected."

"Everyone has skeletons in their closet."

"Too true."

"I don’t blame them, though. Seriously."

"The ever-pragmatic Mr. Fitzgerald

doesn’t blame them for the consequences of

their fear?"

"I don’t have a right to," Daniel said,

"considering I’m no longer human, am I? I

turned myself into a monster to get what I

wanted."

"…that’s quite a suggestion."

"It’s true." Daniel looked at his hands. "I have to kill things, now. It’s part of the

program." He stared at his fingers a bit

longer, then glanced back to Xik. "But we’d

rather die on our feet than live on our knees.

Said a great man at some time. I forget."

"…I’ll remember your words," Xik

said. "I am sorry, Daniel."

"It’s the reality of the world I live in,"

Daniel repeated. He sighed. "I can’t trust

anyone, can I? Wizards, or contractors. I’m

wanted by one group as a criminal, and by

the others as a potential source of power."

"Not everyone is bad. But yes." Xik

turned away. His voice was quiet. "Stay

hidden, Daniel. Stay safe."

"Are you leaving?"

"You’ve put me behind schedule." Xik

smiled. "…I was surprised you changed your

mind so quickly, though. Even if it was for

your brother."

"…if this…" Daniel murmured. "If it’s

all a dream—if it’s all some insane

nightmare, it doesn’t matter what I do. But on

the off-chance it’s real, I should take it

seriously. That’s what I decided."

"You would come to that sort of

conclusion." Xik walked to the end of the

roof and raised a hand. "Until we meet

again."

"Happy trails."

Xik paused. "A question. Do you really

think my appearance is off-putting? No one

else said anything."

"Totally. Just get a simple black suit.

My eyes bug out every time you move."

Xik tipped his puke-colored top hat.

"Then I suppose I will." And then he

vanished.

Daniel slipped the stone Xik had given

him after explaining how to conceal himself

out of his pocket. It was a smoky green oval,

cold and smooth. He rolled it through his

fingers. It didn’t even need magic to work; he

just had to squeeze hard. Xik couldn’t help

him fight, but if he absolutely needed to talk,

Daniel had a line of communication to the

Klide.

For a moment, Daniel almost didn’t

believe any of it had happened. He closed

his eyes. The tang of his magic power was

there, a burning ball at his center, a white

little flame. But for some reason, his insides

were numb. He laid back and folded his

arms behind his head.

A multiverse hurtling toward an

inevitable heat death 100 trillion years in the

future. An alien race of religious fanatics

bent on absorbing all sentient life. Another

alien race fighting back. A world of

magicians living in secret. And himself, a

contractor, a human Vorid that could absorb

his enemies and grow stronger.

All in less than 24 hours. And here he

was, relaxing on his roof. Maybe video

games really did desensitize you to this stuff.

Except if he died, he wasn’t going to

pop back to life.

There had to be a good reason the

absorption magic was forbidden. Something

terrible had happened; he was sure of it.

That’s how people operated. Given a car

accident, they put up a stop sign. After the

fact, sure, but at least they acted.

But it was also the only choice he had.

Besides, it was like Xik had said—weapons

weren’t intrinsically good or bad. It was

how they were used that mattered.

Or, he’d just made himself the bad guy.

A monster. A nuke about to go off.

Daniel sighed. Worrying about the

morality of it wouldn’t do him any good. He

was a contractor now. A Klide mercenary.

More practically, he was isolated. He

couldn’t rely on whatever organization was

already out there, and he definitely couldn’t

rely on other contractors. He was on his

own.

Daniel put the green stone back in his

pocket and jumped down from the roof.

****

On Sunday night, Daniel lay awake in

his bed. He stared at the clock for a while.

His jaw ached. He clutched his sheets up to

his chin.

It felt like cowering from the

boogeyman.

Tense as he was, he could easily feel the

tiny white orb at his core, his very soul

itself. It was his connection to magic—to the

underlying motive force of the multiverse.

The width of that energetic pipeline that

determined magical strength. Daniel’s was

still small…but bright.

As Xik had taught him, he hid it away.

He mentally buried himself with plastic

wrap, one layer at a time. Like scrying, it

wasn’t that hard—willing it was enough. He

just had to stay focused.

Xik hadn’t gone into much detail on the

sigil-based human magic, but the contract

made it possible for him to exercise his

powers intuitively, just like Xik’s race. He

didn’t have to direct things with sigils, or

structured spells—just keep his mind sharp

and his thoughts clear. In terms of magic, he

was more Klide than human.

Something sharp and dark cut at

Daniel’s senses. He clenched up even

tighter, balling his knees into his chest.

It faded.

Daniel kept himself wrapped in his

blankets and his powers. He stared at the

clock on the wall. For thirty long minutes, the

wall-mounted device became a terrible

machine counting his time away.

Click. Clack.

Click. Clack.

Click. Cla-

The dark edge came again.

It was like the sheen of an oil slick at

night—black, but viewed at the right angle,

suddenly reflective, the colors oddly twisted

and warped. And there was a sort of stench

that hung over it, somewhere between bad

gas and old car engines, that made you think

you’d never breath fresh air again. An oil

spill on the fabric of reality.

And then it was gone.

Daniel couldn’t fall asleep, but he

wouldn’t want to anyway. He waited another

hour, eyes peeled, senses as keen as he could

make them.

Nothing happened.

He crawled out of bed and checked his

brother’s room. Felix was tangled up in his

comforter. His breath was the small, even

wisps of deep sleep. Safe and sound.

Daniel slipped back to his bed. He slept

in fits and starts, twenty minutes there, ten

minutes here. The ticking of the clock echoed

in his head. Even when he dozed, he could

still hear it, a constant, glaring clatter that

wouldn’t leave him alone. When his alarm

finally sounded, he felt like he’d been staring

at the wall all night.

The morning tumbled into an exhausted

blur. Hot water from a shower. Dressed.

Bowl of cereal. Then school. Lockers

slamming. Glaring fluorescent lights. Pale

yellow hallways.

History class came, and he finally

unloaded that paper on Mrs. Faldey’s desk.

He trudged to the back of the room and

slumped into his chair.

His classmates babbled. Everyone

flipped out notebooks and pens and pencils.

The normality of the sounds was like a

lullaby. He was half asleep by the time Mrs.

Faldey’s voice squeaked through the air.

"Good morning, good morning! Hope

nobody’s caught senioritis at the last

minute!"

For a moment, Daniel felt a flash of ugly

annoyance at being shaken back to the

present, but he couldn’t stay mad at her. He

rubbed his eyes, then blinked to clear the

bleary haze.

Mrs. Faldey had to turn sideways to fit

her love handles through the door; her bright

red dress was big enough to substitute for a