Holy War Read online

  Caesar Calderone himself, better known as Colonel, was also a military veteran. He personally interviewed every applicant to the company, needing only a short time to make a clear-cut decision. Often it was ‘no.’ Nobody knew what influenced him, but Hairo was lucky; Colonel approved his hiring.

  In their meeting, after describing the company’s requirements to the new hire, Caesar said on parting:

  “Make a character in Disgardium, Hairo.”

  “Is that mandatory? I thought my work didn’t involve video games.”

  “I’m afraid it does!” Caesar’s voice rattled like a bunch of nails in an iron bucket. “The company’s purpose in real life is merely to support the Excommunicado clan in the game. Our businesses are no more than investments. Do you know who the investor is?”

  “The clan?”

  “Right. Most of your duties will be in real life, but first and foremost, you are a member of Excommunicado. You just get your paycheck from the company.”

  At first, Hairo got an old veteran as a partner, but he soon retired. A new Exco noob replaced him—Willy Brizuela. Routine took over: alongside Willy, Hairo patrolled the clan’s residential district, protected Colonel’s mansion, escorted the clan leader or someone from the office on trains… It was boring. Boring and humiliating: players in the clan’s main staff treated him and the other sendee workers with contempt. This was not expressed in words or deeds. After all, according to corporate policy, everyone was formally equal. But it came through in looks, tones, whispers behind backs.

  As it emerged, the function of the security sendee was not just security, but also intelligence and counter-intelligence, and what Colonel jokingly referred to as proactive defense, by which he meant his brother’s protection racket. Excoinmunicado was always at war with someone, be it hot or cold: with competitor clans, the government, the Triad… And that meant that when two serious Threats appeared, Colonel gathered his security officers in secret and told them to start digging. He didn’t just want to find the Threats in real life. He also wanted to prevent his sworn friends from the Alliance from suspecting anything.

  After studying the analysts’ reports, Hairo decided that one of the Threats must be a noncitizen. Hairo himself was one, and from a place known as Hell on Earth, in the Guyana Cesspit. He got citizenship through ten years of sendee in the peacekeepers, then changed his address, but never forgot his old noncitizen friends. It was them—in the Guyana Cesspit and neighboring Cali Bottom—who he went to for information.

  When one of his agents told him of some strange events in Cali Bottom, Hairo’s ears pricked up like a hunting dog on a scent. He started to dig, and his efforts were rewarded: one of the students he and Willy intercepted in the sky over Cali was the Threat! But he hadn’t decided what to do with the information yet. First he needed to meet the Threat, understand what he wanted. Maybe get some more intel…

  He downed a painkiller, drank down his coffee and got ready for work. His wife Maria kissed him, adjusted his collar and sighed anxiously.

  “Hairo…”

  “What, dear?”

  “Have you spoken to Caesar? About that promotion?”

  “Yeah. He told me where to stick it. When Joao learned that I’d gone over his head, he shouted loud enough to break windows.”

  “Oh, no…” she groaned. “We could lose our home, Hairo! If you don’t confirm your status, they’ll increase our mortgage rates… What about Isolda? How will we pay her…?”

  “I’ll fix it. Don’t worry…” Hairo pulled his wife close and hugged her.

  He hadn’t yet told her of the money from the Threat in Dis. He’d split the money fifty-fifty with Willy, and it was all still in the game. He had to think about how to get it out. Back then, when he’d met those teenagers in Cali Bottom, Hairo had improvised. But now that all his hunches were paying off, to his own limitless surprise, and he’d gotten the money for the copper bar, he was panicking, afraid of losing it. Nothing prevented him from withdrawing it all to his account. Nothing except the unavoidable questions from the financial services. They had unlimited access to player transactions in Dis, and the metal bar he’d sold for a million wasn’t worth even a single gold coin. There would be questions that he could not answer. And then… Hairo didn’t want to think about what might happen then.

  “Gotta go, darlin’,” he gently released his wife and left the house.

  Once at the base, he met his partner, detailed the plans for the day. They agreed a work front and Hairo and Willy set off on their patrol routes.

  “Brought it?” Hairo asked soundlessly, just moving his lips.

  Willy nodded.

  Flying above one of the Zones, their Shark stopped above a small village of the Wild Ones. That was the name for the inwinova that left for districts declared by the authorities as unfit for life. Inwinova! Hairo spat mentally. Individuals of no value to society—that’s what sneering citizens called noncitizens. But Hairo had childhood friends from among the people who lived in those places. Willy knew people there too. Good people, with big hearts…

  The partners regularly dropped crates of UNB rations—universal nutrient blends—along with clothing and medicine. But today, the cargo contained something else.

  “I gotta take a leak,” Hairo said loudly for anyone who might be listening in the future.

  The Shark stopped a couple of yards above the surface. Willy silently passed the crates of machine-guns and ammo to the people that met us. They were old guns, long since removed from production. Echoes of war.

  Once the ‘packages’ had been taken, Hairo launched the Shark rapidly and resumed the previous route. The colorful men below, with their worn clothes and rugged faces, raised their fists as one and shouted something. Hairo nodded, though he didn’t think they saw him. In the Zones, you can usually see the air you’re breathing.

  Willy and Hairo didn’t discuss what had happened; they’d talked it all over yesterday. ‘Hunters’ sometimes went to the Zones; successful citizens thirsting for adrenaline. They set up so-called ‘safaris,’ shooting the Wild Ones. There isn’t a sirigle animal left in the world that isn’t protected by law, Hairo thought bitterly. But you can shoot a whole village full of Wild Ones unpunished and get nothing but silent approval. It cannot be said that the Wild Ones were defenseless. Unlike the ‘hunters,’ they had nothing to lose; they fought tooth and nail. But knives and whips are no match for plasma rifles and machine-guns.

  Hairo had learned yesterday of another ‘safari’ preparing to invade the Zone in which his friends lived. He couldn’t protect them; he risked being turned into an inwinova himself, if not worse. But he could support them with weapons…

  For the next few hours, he and Willy patrolled a large area that included Cali Bottom and the Guyana Cesspit. The airwaves were quiet. The whole clan was responding to Nergal’s Summons—the event began that morning.

  Willy was reading the latest news of Dis. Suddenly, he did a double—take.

  “Something’s happened! Mary Mother of God… Hairo, look at this!”

  Morales looked at his partners comm screen. The video showed the blessing ceremony at the temple square in Vermillion. The High Priest spread his arms, recited prayers. Bright waves emanated from him, covering the whole square. The crowd surged forward as the masses rushed to get closer to the blessing.

  “Here, watch now!” Willy said excitedly.

  For a few moments, the screen was filled with white. The cameraman fell and the colorful picture turned monochrome, but Hairo had enough time to notice bodies burning away to ash.

  He went back to controlling the flyer, immersed in thoughts about the Threat. He was still waiting for an answer after agreeing to meet them. Willy continued to watch the videos flooding the net from the explosions in Bridger, Vermillion and Fort Smith, listened to eyewitness testimony. Then the speakers whined, and the partners heard the familiar voice of Joao, the security chief.

  “Attention all patrols! Number One has dec
lared a general assembly! Everyone get off your asses and get to the base now! That’s an order! Confirm receipt, over.”

  Hairo grabbed the radio.

  “Morales-Brizuela squad here, confirming, over.”

  The voice of Vladimir, one of their colleagues, stood out from the series of answers from the other patrol groups.

  “Boss, this is Krasnov-Kalinich. We’re far away. What’s going on?

  Over.”

  “Vlad, keep the channel clear! I repeat! Everyone back to base!”

  “Don’t be an asshole, Joao!” Vladimir exploded. “We’re over Siberia! We’re checking out some Russian inwinovas! We got half the globe to traverse! What the hell is up?”

  Joao sighed over the airwaves.

  “Men… I don’t know the details, but it looks like the Threat has cooked the whole Alliance…”

  Then the comm crackled. Hairo checked the message’s sender, looked at Willy. He understood without words. They’d both been waiting for the Threat’s response.

  “Let me take the wheel.”

  “3 PM/ET. Will wait five minutes today and tomorrow. Private room. Invite cipher attached” That was it. No signature, no return address. Flagged burn-after-reading.

  Morales deleted the message, checked his watch. Only ten minutes to the set time—three in the afternoon, Eastern time.

  “Descending, need a piss,” Hairo said.

  When the flyer landed, he went outside, taking a VR helmet and manipulator gloves with him. He synchronized with the comm and pulled it toward him. A way to talk in a private room without a capsule.

  He had to wait for the appointed time to arrive and the link to activate. The program activated. Hairo chose a default avatar and entered the room. The cryptoworld loaded instantly: an empty room with black walls. At the center was a small wooden table with a lamp. Two chairs next to it.

  Using the gloves to control the avatar, Hairo walked to the table and ‘sat/ A couple of seconds later, a figure separated from the far wall; a young blond man, something from the base set of standard avatars.

  “Hairo,” the boy nodded, sitting at the table. The voice sounded sweet, appropriate for the avatar, but the security officer didn’t let the soft voice fool him. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.”

  “Thank you for the mil,” Morales chuckled. “All our units just got called in. They say someone blew up all the Alliance bosses. Your handiwork?”

  “I w’on’t deny the obvious. Neither of us have much time, so let’s talk business. I’m sending a contract for a million phoenixes per year. My friends and I need security. We have funds.”

  Hairo wanted to show off what he knew, point out what had the kid shook up: Sheppard was clearly the Threat. He was the only one that talked like this out of those five students—Hairo had carefully studied the dossier for each. Rodriguez and Lee had a different style of speech. Abdualim wouldn’t have risked the meeting. As for Melissa Schafer, she was still in the sandbox.

  He wanted to, but… decided against it.

  “What’s stopping me from just going on earning a million a week, instead of a year?”

  “The fact that I won’t pay you any more. Your intel’s going out of date. I’m not planning on hiding much longer. I’m sick of it. But I don’t need extra attention either.”

  “I get that… Why me?”

  “I’ve studied your biography, the public part of it. Born and raised in Guyana, you lived through the war. A veteran many times honored. You lost your legs. Not only do you have friends in Cali Bottom, but I’ve heard tell of Hairo Morales. They say the Lobo can be trusted.”

  Hairo’s breath caught. It was a good thing it didn’t show on his avatar. El Lobo, the Wolf, was his childhood nickname. Few remembered that now.

  “So can you be trusted?”

  “Are you sure you have a year? If I agree, I’ll want payment in advance.”

  “Even if I don’t have a year, the clan does. I’m offering you a contract with the clan. The money is legal. And it’s after taxes, in cash.”

  “I want a million and two hundred. Six hundred each for me and my partner.”

  “Six hundred? We can do that…”

  “Do you know why?” Hairo interrupted. “Life has taught me not to back people into a corner. In desperation, a man will promise a great deal, but I don’t have any use for empty promises. If I come over to you, then I want stability. Willy and I will work for your clan a year, and if all is well, we’ll discuss a promotion then.”

  “Agreed, Mr. Morales.” The boy stood and offered a hand.

  Hairo shook it, held on.

  “Just to be clear… Is contract control enabled?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Speak your offer.”

  “I, Alex Kieran Sheppard, representing the Awoken clan, offer a yearly contract to Hairo Morales and his partner…”

  “William Brizuela.”

  “… William Brizuela for a total of one million and two hundred thousand phoenixes after taxes for working in the clan’s security sendee. Payment for the first year of service will be transferred within three days of this moment.”

  “I, Hairo Morales Garcia, representing myself and the interests of William Brizuela, accept the Awoken’s offer. I give my word not to disclose any information I have received during negotiations.”

  That was it. No way back. A verbal contract had judicial force, although a few formalities yet remained. Hairo gathered his thoughts.

  “Now I need to fly to the base right away. I’ll find out what Colonel wants, and tomorrow morning I’ll resign. This is an irreversible step, kid, and I have a family: a wife and daughter… Tell me, how are you guys doing out there? Who are you most afraid of?”

  “Nobody is a threat to us in Dis. In the real world… The Alliance of Preventers, the Triad… Maybe Snowstorm. To grow, we need a place where we’ll be safe.”

  “You can add the Cartel since Exco is involved. Colonel will definitely bring his brother in. Never mind, we’ll deal with it. How many of you are there?”

  “Over a hundred, counting the noncitizens. They have an option for abase…”

  “We’ll discuss it once I’ve left Exco. For your own security. I suggest we meet at your friends’ place tomorrow in Cali Bottom.”

  “The roof of block thirty-six, Hairo.”

  Morales nodded and finally released the Threat’s hand. The boy kept his gaze fixed on him.

  “You know, Alex…” Hairo said. “I changed my mind. A million is enough for Willy and me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is the first time I’ve seen a citizen talk about noncitizens without using the word ‘inwinova.’ And we’re going to need a lot of money. Defense droids and turrets ain’t cheap. And you can forget about community flyers, Alex. We need a Shark.”

  “Why?”

  “Because after what you did this morning, you can say goodbye to the quiet life.”

  Chapter 1: First Battle

  I SOARED HIGH above the desert atop Storm and watched. The sun leaned down to the horizon, but I was sure the battle would start before nightfall.

  The Alliance of Preventers had recovered after their fight with me and were gathering their forces into a single thrust. They were rushing to Tiamat’s temple so fast that by the time I’d come to an agreement with Hairo and returned to Dis, they were already approaching the Stronghold of the Destroying Plague.

  And I didn’t know what to do. If my plague abilities were ineffective, then getting into a fight with a few thousand top players wasn’t just stupid, it was suicidal. It would be easier to eliminate myself as a Threat. If only that were possible, that would have been funny.

  All the new Plague. Fury explosions in the frontier forts were no more dangerous than a firecracker to those who answered Nergal’s Summons. But those who caused the explosions died: the Yoruba members, who hadn’t taken the blessing. The Radiant God kept his promise and gave his followers protection. News of this travel
ed at the speed of light. I hadn’t had time to read the news properly, but the headlines made it clear enough: End of the Class-A Threat, Ace Up the Alliance’s Sleeve, It’s All Turned Around, Pyirhic Victory… That last one probably referred to me crushing the Alliance’s camp.

  All that remained was to figure out whether the blessing protected them from all abilities related to plague energy or only from Plague Fury.

  I counted twelve columns, matching the number of clans. The Alliance forces were moving on foot, without mounts. Maybe Nergal’s blessing didn’t extend to them. Each column consisted of three raid groups with a hundred men each—a total of three thousand and six hundred players and almost the same again in pets and minions. There was a broad groove cut in the sand, clearly made by the wheels of the Great Portable Altar as it carved its way through the desert in the rear. The real one this time. Unlikely that they’d dragged a second fake deep into the desert.

  The army kept catching aggro from mobs, but even with their massive level advantage, few of them reached the tanks. I couldn’t figure out how the preventers had managed to overcome the penalties; they shouldn’t have been able to hit a mob sixty levels above them at all…

  Around six miles from the preventer army, another army approached to meet it in uneven rows—the undead. Shazz had apparently leveled up his strategic skills, because he sent some scouts out in advance: Banshee Lieutenants and Bone Gargoyles, which reported on the alliance’s troop movements.

  Now the walking dead and the other nightmarish creatures were moving in apparent disorder behind and to the sides of a walking skyscraper. Deznafar, Battle Avatar of the Departed, was covered in rotting flesh and chitinous plates like the kind I’d seen on the Ravager. All eight of its massive undead legs sank almost halfway into the sand, and the monster left behind two deep ditches. Our entire fort could have fit in either one.