Firesign 1 - Wage Slave Rebellion (49 page)

Outside, Luhi was already several streets away.

I
TRUST YOU’VE HAD YOUR FUN
, came a voice out of nowhere. It sounded like a middle-manager detailing a brand-new filing system, only twice as bored.

“For now,” said Luhi.

D
ID YOU FIND SOMEONE OF INTEREST?
came another voice, as cold and dusty as a sealed tomb.

“Maybe.” Luhi smiled. “Those three accomplished a lot with very little help, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to stop. They could turn up in interesting places.”

I
’M SURE THEY WILL
, said the first voice dryly.

A
ND WHAT ABOUT THAT YOUNG LAD?
came a third voice, this one warm and giddy, and as ageless as the desert sand. It sounded like multiple voices speaking in perfect synchronization. Y
OU SEEMED TO BE HAVING FUN WITH HIM
, it added with a snicker.

“Maybe him as well. There’s just something about an unfortunate man I cannot leave alone.”

N
OR CAN
I
. THOUGH FOR DIFFERENT REASONS,
I
SUSPECT,
said the second voice.

Luhi’s lips turned up at the corners. “Perhaps so.”

Luhi turned off the main street and entered an alley, heedless of the danger her path should have entailed. In fact, she walked right past a gang drinking beer next to a pile of trashcans, but they didn’t seem to notice her at all.

“I think I’ll keep an eye on those three,” said Luhi as the darkness wrapped around her, and her body began to lose its shape. “Will any of you be joining me?”

I
’M SURE YOU’LL KEEP ME ABREAST OF THE SITUATION
, said the first voice. It did not sound excited.

I
WILL BE WATCHING THEM
, came the second. I
WATCH EVERYONE.

C
OUNT ME IN!
said the third. I
HAVE A FEELING THEY’RE GOING TO BE A LOT OF FUN.

“All right. It’s settled then,” said Luhi as her form shifted and faded away. I
’LL BE BACK UP IN A BIT.
D
ON’T WAIT UP.

*      *      *

A lone man walked down an empty street, his hands thrust into his tattered robes as he sauntered through the greedy morning air. Normally a collection of gases couldn’t be covetous, but Houkian air managed it. This was, after all, the great city of merchants and thieves, oftentimes both in the same person. Anyone walking through Houk alone was just asking to leave without any money in their wallets. Whether they would have any merchandise to show for it depended on how generous people were feeling that day.

None of this worried Mazik. He walked with his head held high, his eyes forward, and his shoulders thrown back. He ran a hand through his tousled black hair and smiled at a joke no one else could hear. He looked as if nothing bothered him. In fact, nothing did. Not today.

Mazik stopped in front of a plain brown building. It had seen better days, though not by much—it had started off in bad shape, and had only gotten worse from there. Now it looked like a partially melted to-go container that had been left in the microwave for three hours too long. On High.

Mazik opened the door and entered.

The entry hallway was unchanged, with its dark doors and empty rooms filled with the shattered dreams of failed businesses. Mazik headed for the only door with light peeking out from down by the floorboards, the one at the end on the left. He entered.

The lobby was unchanged as well, with its rickety plywood desk, its flimsy chairs, and the sad potted plant slowly dying in the corner.

The secretary looked up and gasped. “Mas Kil’Raeus, w-welcome back!”

“It’s good to be back,” said Mazik, smiling warmly. He leaned against the desk. “How have you been doing lately?”

“Me?” said the secretary, flabbergasted. “Uh, fine! But what about you? Is it really true that you fought a god?”

Mazik nodded. “It is. I’ve been a bit … busy,” he said, deliberately, like he was reading from a script.

The secretary waved her arms like a fan watching an attractive actor take off his shirt. “Ohh, I’ve never known a real adventurer before! What you did was so
amazing!
”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” said Mazik, scratching his cheek with false modesty.

“Slick, it’s you!” boomed an equally cheerful voice from across the room. Mazik watched as Pickner bustled over, his bald head shining as his lips turned up in a politician’s smile. He started to reach for Mazik’s hand, then changed to a friendly punch on the arm, then cycled through three other aborted greetings before he finally settled for a pat on the shoulder. “Congratulations! We were happy to hear about your success, and that you and your friends made it out okay.”

“Hey, you know how I am,” said Mazik, returning Pickner’s salutation. “I was just making it happen.”

Pickner laughed. “I could tell.” He looked Mazik over. “You’re not injured or anything, are you? You look good.”

Mazik gave a slight smile. “Nope. Pretty much all healed up now, but thanks for asking.” He tugged at his collar, loosening it further. “It feels good to be back in the old suit somehow.”

“I’ll bet,” said Pickner. He motioned to a nearby door. “You want to put anything in the coat closet before we head in?”

“No, that’s okay. It’s a little cold this morning, so I’ll keep it on.”

“Sounds good,” said Pickner. What he didn’t say was that he was actually referring to the robes Mazik was wearing over his suit. Rather than the new robes he had been wearing lately, Mazik had opted for his old robes, the ones full of cuts and burns and tears and holes, like a piece of Swiss cheese that had suffered aggravated assault. They were the robes Mazik killed people while wearing. The ones he wore when he slew a god.

“Well, shall we head in?” asked Pickner.

“That’s why I’m here,” said Mazik.

Together the two men walked toward the sales floor. On the other side of the thin wall the dull hum of conversation could be heard, of salespeople pitching products to one another with the fake enthusiasm of those whose bosses were nearby.

“I have to admit, we weren’t sure you were coming back,” said Pickner.

“Why wouldn’t I?” said Mazik. “Adventuring is a dangerous business. Besides, I would never have been able to do any of that if it weren’t for all of you.”

“Ah, is that so?” said Pickner. “I’m happy to hear that.”

The door opened. “Hey, Slick is back!”

The sales floor immediately erupted, practice completely forgotten. Mazik smiled serenely as he was pulled into the room, shaking hands, clapping backs, accepting hugs, and responding to whatever comments suited him.

“Hey Slick, not gunna say hello to your old friend?” said Chzack, slapping Mazik on the back.

Mazik staggered, but smiled. “Just getting to you,” he said, wrapping his hand around the swarthy fellow’s hand and pumping it warmly. “Good to see you.”

“Haha, that’s what I like to hear!” said Chzack. “You’re a lot happier than you used to be. Apparently killing people agrees with you.”

The corner of Mazik’s lips twitched upward, like he was trying to beat back a worrying grin. “Something like that,” he said as he moved deeper into the room.

Rose stepped in front of him. “Slick.”

“Stahl,” said Mazik. The two men stared at each another, Rose wearing his best poker face while Mazik responded with a grin of relaxed, effortless poise.

Rose blinked.

“Good to have you back,” said Rose. He started to pat the taller man on the shoulder, but stopped and let the hand fall to his side.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to be back,” said Mazik. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Is that so,” said Rose. “Well, good. Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.” He turned away.

“Hey, Stahl,” said Mazik.

Rose stopped and turned back. “Hmm?”

“What’s the most you’ve ever made in a single week?”

“1,035Mc commission,” Rose answered.

Mazik smirked. “Heh. All right.”

A cloudy look passed over Rose’s face.

Pickner chose that moment to address the room. “Everybody, quiet down!” He turned to Mazik. “The president is going to be leading today’s announcements. Or at least, he said he wanted to whenever you showed up. I’m going to go find him now. I think he’d really like it if you stood up front with him.”

“I’d be happy to,” said Mazik. “In fact, I was hoping to say a few words.”

Pickner returned a few minutes later, the AIW president in tow. They walked over to Mazik.

“Ah, so you’re the one who went off and killed a god?” The president patted Mazik on the shoulder. “Well done. Sounds like those bastards deserved it.”

“Eh, they weren’t so bad. They were better than some of our customers,” said Mazik. This earned a smattering of laughter.

“I’m sure,” said the president with the airy tone of someone who wasn’t really listening. “Did you use any of our weapons to kill it?”

“No, not really,” said Mazik. “I used some beforehand, but by the end I was mostly just blowing things up. That was a lot more effective.”

“Good to hear our weapons were of some use,” said the president, who only heard what he wanted to hear. He held a hand out, and Pickner placed a clipboard in it. “Thank you.” He flipped through it, and then went back to the page Pickner started him on. “Well, let’s get this started then.

“I’m happy to say that today we’re welcoming one of our own back from a brief detour into the world of adventuring. Everybody give a hand to,” he looked down, “Mazik Kal’Raeus.”

Everyone applauded, more sedately this time, though there were still a few whoops and hollers.

“Sure, go ahead and mispronounce my name,” Mazik mumbled loudly. “I’ve only been working here for nearly two years. Way to go.”

Pickner frowned, but no one else appeared to have heard Mazik other than him, or they were acting like they hadn’t.

The president turned to Mazik. “Tell us, did you learn anything in the course of your adventure that might be a good lesson for today’s address? You said you used our weapons in combat, so maybe some impressions?”

Mazik appeared to consider this. “I have a thing or two I could say, yes,” he said, as if such a thought was only now occurring to him, “but go ahead with the other announcements first. I’ll go last.”

The president nodded. “That works.” He turned back to the group. “So we have last month’s sales numbers in today. It was a good month, with strong growth for three teams. Give a round of applause to…”

As the president spoke and rounds of applause were duly distributed, Mazik shifted on his feet. Then he crossed his arms and began tapping his foot. This made Pickner fidget as well, as he tried to decide whether he should say something or not. They were supposed to stand still and give the speaker their full attention, and Mazik was doing neither of those.

“I’m sorry, this just isn’t right,” said Mazik suddenly, straightening up. He turned to the president. “Would you mind holding on for a minute?”

“What?” said the president.

“Fantastic, be right back,” said Mazik as he walked over to the door and threw it open. There was the sound of surprised conversation and something leafy shaking from the other room, and then Mazik returned with a chair.

“Alrighty,” said Mazik as he planted the chair next to the president. He made a show of dusting it off, and plopped down. “Ahhh. That’s much better,” he said, as if the flimsy office chair was the most comfortable seat in the entire world. He patted the president on the leg. “You can keep going now.”

Pickner’s jaw dropped. He was not alone. All around the room, Mazik’s coworkers stared in disbelief. Everyone knew you didn’t sit down during the morning meetings. It just wasn’t
done
. Everyone held their breaths, waiting to see how the president would react.

The president stared at Mazik for a time. “Well, he’s had a rough week,” he said, turning back to the rest of the room with a warm smile. “Injuries are probably still hurting. I suppose we can make an exception this time.”

“Nope, my injuries are fine,” said Mazik as he leaned the chair back on two legs. “But go ahead and tell yourself that if ya like. Doesn’t bother me.”

Pickner looked as if his heart had nearly jumped out of his throat, clawed its way up his face, and ripped his eyes out of their sockets.

The president chuckled uneasily and resumed the announcements. While he went over the specs of a new product, Mazik rocked back and forth in his chair, staring up at the ceiling with clear disinterest. Then, after a minute or two he began whistling a song—one he apparently heard several years ago while drunk or concussed, if his rambling, off-key rendition was any indication.

“…and the hilt also has bits of red, which I think looks pretty nice,” said the president, pointing to the sword he was holding. He smiled a fake businessman’s smile. “What do you think, Mas Raeus?”

The chair crashed forward onto all four of its legs. “Personally, I prefer something more like this.” Mazik reached into his robes and drew a knife. Its hilt was wrapped in tattered black leather and its crossguard was made to look like bone. He tugged the weapon out of its sheath, revealing the twisted black metal of the cultist’s dagger.

“A little ostentatious, I’ll admit,” said Mazik, “but you wouldn’t
believe
how well it cuts.” He swished the Edge of Ebon Darkness through the air, its edge glinting malevolently in the grimy morning light. Mazik smiled as he slid the knife back into its sheath. “Trust me.”

Pickner twitched. What he had realized was this: here was a man who just made a great deal of money killing a lot of people, among them the
living incarnation of a
god
. A man whose boss was notoriously volatile and hard to deal with, and whose idea of motivation involved insults and fear.

Suddenly, Pickner wished he was somewhere else.
Anywhere
else.

“All right,” said the president, setting the clipboard down on the chalkboard. It slipped off, and everyone jumped in surprise as it struck the ground. The president left it where it fell.

“Now, Mas Raeus, would you like to give us a few words?” asked the president.