CnDP - Quartermaster

Quartermaster


Wade wanders.

Yes, Stryfe has food synthesizers.  Yes, Stryfe is physically almost identical to Nate (maybe a little creepier at the edges of the smirks).  Yes, Stryfe lets him kill or maim whatever he wants.

None of that changes the lack of television, books, music, and games in Stryfe’s fortress.

So, when Wade’s boredom gets the best of him and Stryfe refuses to amuse him with bedroom antics (because apparently ruling the world with an iron fist involves a surprising amount of work), Wade wanders.

Time has no meaning, so it doesn’t matter to Wade how long it takes to make a perfect mental map while he wanders.

He knows every bump and hollow of the foothills around the fortress.  He can navigate the remains of the city within a radius of about ten miles, above and below ground.  He knows that the nearest rebel patrols are at least twenty miles distant—maybe that’s why Stryfe doesn’t really care how far he ranges into the ruins.  In any case, the ruins are pretty boring compared to the labyrinthine architecture at work inside the fortress.

He found the main power generator.  He found the water recycler.  He found something that probably used to be a dungeon (empty now).  He found the various mutants hooked up to machines to serve as the fortress’ main defense system.  He found the barracks, where surprisingly normal guys were polishing up their boots to do Stryfe’s bidding.

The first time he finds the armory, he feels like a kid in a candy store.

There are rows upon rows of guns, knives, swords, and gizmos sealed behind clear panels, shiny and cool-looking and begging to be used.

“Toys!” Wade shrieks with childish glee, and runs at something big and impressive.

~Unauthorized presence detected,~ booms a loud computerized voice overhead.

The lights in the room turn red, a siren starts to go off, and metal shutters slam down over all the cool gadgets.

~How have you gained access to this room?~

Wade looks around, but nobody’s there.  “I walked in the door?” he tries.

~We were not informed of any new personnel being added to the rosters.  What is your name?~

“Wade Wilson.  Why?  What’s yours?”

There’s a pause.  ~We are the Quartermaster.~

Wade frowns.  “Are you plural or singular?  Make up your mind…”

~We are a collective.  We…were not always thus.~

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression,” Wade mutters.  “Can we knock off the red alert thing, Q?”

The lights flick back to white and the siren stops, but the shutters stay closed.

Wade plops down in the middle of the floor.  “So.  Let’s hear it.”

~We do not understand.  Hear what?~

“Your story,” Wade says, waving a hand.  “You can’t just say something like ‘we were not always thus’ and then not say what you were like however-long-ago.  Who were you before?”

~We…we were several.  Our name was Anthony Stark, and they killed Steve to get to us.  Our name was Reed Richards, and they threatened our children.  Our name was Henry Pym, and they drugged us.  Our name was Henry McCoy, and they took us while we were sleeping.  Our name was Jack Hammer, and they got us while we were shopping for groceries.  Our name was Forge, and we were betrayed by Lucas Bishop.~

“Weasel, ol’ buddy!” Wade cries happily.  “I wondered what happened to you.  God, that was…what, like…like a thousand years ago or something, right?  Nah, longer than that…  Wow, so you’re a genius-in-a-box now?”

~We are many geniuses, and our hardware is a quantum canister.~

“Right.”

~Stryfe took us from our native time and forced us to computerize one another.  Now we make and dispense weapons and armor for his troops.~

“Bummer.”

~You…sympathize?~

Wade waves a hand.  “Sure.  I mean, Stryfe’s hot ‘n all, but the more I get to know him, the more of an egotistical jerk he turns out to be.  Plus, I was sorta thinking of trying to save the world before he offered cookies.  Just…y’know, it seemed like the kinda thing Nate would want,” he finishes awkwardly.  Suddenly, he doesn’t feel quite so cheerful anymore.

~Would you be willing to…do us a favor?~

“Is this some kinda test?” he asks, looking around at the ceiling.  “Stryfe?  Honey, I thought you said you were too busy to play today.”

~We are not Stryfe.  We are the Quartermaster.  Stryfe is in his chambers, coordinating a strike against pocket resistence in gridsquare 13C.~

Wade thinks about that for a few seconds.  “Not that I’m saying I’ll do it or nothin’…but what kinda favor are we talking about?”

There’s another long pause.

~Kill Stryfe,~ says the digital voice.

Wade laughs for two whole minutes.  When he catches his breath again, he waves a hand over his head.  “You’ve gotta be kidding.  I’ve read the fanfics.  I know how this kinda thing turns out—it’s always a trap.”

~Your mind, like ours, is not open to Stryfe’s view.  However, you possess an ambulatory physical form.  We are isolated and do not possess the proper controls to cause direct harm to Stryfe.  We can give you tools to make your task easier.~

“Uh-huh.  Sure you can.  And the second I try to use one, everyone will pop out from behind the furniture and yell ‘surprise.’  Only instead of ‘surprise,’ it’ll be ‘kill the traitor.’  And really, why would I kill Stryfe?  He’s a real prick sometimes, sure, but he sorta-kinda knows me, and he’s good in bed, and he gives me cookies.”  And he looks so much like Nate…but Wade doesn’t mention that part, because he still has a little pride left somewhere.

Another pause from Quartermaster.

Wade feels he’s made a pretty good argument.  Let whoever is behind the curtain chew on that one and try to figure out whether he’s harboring seditious sentiments.

~You must realize that Stryfe’s good treatment of you will not last.  The only reason for him to have brought you here is to keep you under observation.  More than likely, he is trying to find a way to kill you.~

Wade laughs for another minute and a half.  “Well, good luck to him.  Nobody’s found a way yet, and I spent fifty years trying after Nate d—”  He stops laughing.  It’s been more than a thousand years, and he still can’t say it out loud.

~What about Hope?~

“What about it?” Wade drawls, already getting bored with the conversation.

~Not it.  Her.~

Red hair, green eyes, happy smiles, laughter.

Old loneliness returns, almost smothers him.

She was seventeen, head held high, when she loaded Nate’s old plasma pistol and pre-programmed the timeslide module.  I’m going on ahead, she said, so brave…  Wait for me, okay?  And take care of Nathan.  And he promised that he would.

She’d long since jumped forward when Nate died—thank god, because Wade still doesn’t know how he’s going to break that news to her when she gets back.

Gets back.

He jumps to his feet.  “What year is it?”

~It has been three thousand, nine hundred, and six years since the birth of Christ.~

“Stryfe’s been in charge for eight hundred years?!”

~Seven hundred and forty-two.~

He’s been Stryfe’s pet killer for more than five and a half centuries.  What a monument to boredom.

“Well…shit.”  He starts pacing.  “There’s only about fifty years before Hope’s supposed to land, and Stryfe needs to be, like, gone before that…”  He claps his hands to his head.  “Oh noes, Q, I only have fifty years to come up with something, and I suck with plans!”

~Much less than that, if our calculations are correct—and they always are.  Take this.~

A drawer on one wall hisses open.  Inside is a little canister with a pill in it.

“What is it?” Wade asks, because he saw the Matrix and doesn’t believe in swallowing strange pills.

~It contains a nanomite compound that will, in a way, reinforce any telepathic shielding you may already possess.  It will ensure that Stryfe does not see or suspect any plots against him on your part.~

“What if you’re lying?”

~We are no longer capable of lying; only redirecting attention and refusing to answer queries.~

“So if Stryfe asked if we were planning to kill him, you couldn’t say no?”

~We would reply that the Quartermaster is physically incapable of causing Stryfe harm or reading your thoughts.  Stryfe can be remarkably narrow-minded in his complacency, and we are experienced in composing evasive responses.~

Wade nods.  “Good answer.”

Oh, well.  What the hell, right?  It’s not like he has anything to lose by acting, and Q definitely has Weasel’s brain in there somewhere, to know when Hope is going to arrive.  He opens the little canister and takes the pill.  He waits to see if anything is going to explode.

Unconsciously, he starts to move his fingers.  It’s an old pattern, comfortable—something his hand just does when there’s nothing else to do.  It’s a lot more impressive with a knife in his hand.

~The nanomites are functioning as designed.~

“Cool beans.”

~We have been working on some small side projects that will aid you; they should be completed within the decade.  Do not let impatience cause you to act prematurely.~

“They make a pill for that, too,” Wade quips.

When Wade wanders back to Stryfe’s side, the conquerer doesn’t ask him where he’s been or what he’s been doing.  Typical.

Wade finishes exploring the rest of the fortress before he returns to the armory.  It takes a year.

~Organic presence detected—welcome, Wade Wilson.~

“Any explosive ballpoints, Q?”

The computer seems perplexed for a moment.

~The significance of your query eludes us.~

Wade arches an eyebrow.  “Wow, half a dozen geniuses in there and you’re confused by a reference to James Bond?”

~Ah.  James Bond.  Ian Fleming.  Espionage fantasy.  We recall, now.  We cannot give you weapons, Wade.  Only tools.~

“But I have a tool.  He’s seven feet tall, full of himself, and secretly likes to cuddle.”

After a brief pause, Quartermaster goes on as though Wade hasn’t said anything.  ~However, even tools can be used for destruction.  In this case, we present a stealth module.  It is significantly superior to the stealth modules currently in use by Stryfe’s forces, as it includes an optical camouflage element in addition to usual radar, thermal, and electronic masking.  Be aware that rapid movement will compromise the effectiveness of the optical camouflage.~

A new drawer opens, and Wade finds a dime-sized black disk within.

~Simply tap it twice to activate stealth systems.  We suggest applying it in an unobtrusive location where it will not be unintentionally activated.  Perhaps the collar, or the inside of the wrist.~

So he puts it on his collar (it sticks to his suit like a magnet) and moves his head around to make sure it’s going to stay put.

~We will require a genetic sample in order to proceed with our other projects.~

“Uh, how big a genetic sample?”

~Hold out your hand.~

He notes a lot of evasion in that response.  “Are you fixing to take a finger or something?”

A mechanical arm extends from the wall with a sharp-looking pair of shears on it.  ~It will grow back.  This is for the sake of the greater good.~

“Yeah, because the ‘greater good’ always did so much for me…”

~Do not be such a baby, Wade.~  The arm stretches forward some more, and the shears go snip-snip.

Yeah, Weasel is definitely in there somewhere.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Wade accuses, but holds out his pinky.

It stings like a bitch when the shears clamp down (and Wade says so), but it’s over pretty quickly.  His finger takes five minutes to grow back, and he complains the whole time.

It’s another three years of visiting Quartermaster and the armory before the next cool toy is done, and Stryfe has already begun thoroughly and methodically experimenting with Wade’s healing factor (when he protests, Stryfe just tells him to shut up).  It turns out to be a nanomite boost to his healing factor—a hefty insurance policy that will keep Stryfe from being able to kill Wade by frying his brain or ripping off his head (or other equally extreme measures).

Wade appreciates the timing.

By this point, Wade likes to think he’s made friends with the Geniuses-in-a-Canister.  Quartermaster teaches him the important languages he’s missed by being trapped under a skyscraper, teaches him about the Stryfe’s technology, teaches him about timestream theory and quantum resonance and timeline collision.  He remembers with abrupt clarity that Hope told him she and Nate hadn’t been able to return to the past (present, whatever) because Nate’s timeslide module was broken, and he has Quartermaster teach him everything he needs to know to fix it.

One day, eight years after Wade first found the armory, Quartermaster interrupts a lesson on the telemetry circuit of a timeslide module to say, ~Ah.  It is finished.~

A new drawer hisses open.  Inside is a perfectly transparent sphere about the size of a baseball.  When Wade picks it up, he finds it to be heavy…made of glass or crystal, maybe.  “What is it?” he asks, because of narrative convention.

~Let us call it a timeline resonance extrapolator.  In simplest terms, it is a catalog of the timestream and its myriad branches and bundles.  When given a subject, a date of interest, and a query, it can predict the results with a high level of accuracy.~

Wade wiggles a hand.  “Didn’t that…kinda sorta not work out when Richards tried it before?”

~That equation model was flawed, and we failed to anticipate the auxiliary ramifications of certain specific actions.  Now, with the aid of timestream analysis and sliding technology, we are able to work the equation far more effectively.  The timeline resonance extrapolator makes its predictions based upon timestream bundle comparison and statistical analysis thereof.~

Wade stares at the thing, holds it up to the light.  “If you say so, Q.  How do I make the magic eight-ball work?”

~The timeline resonance extrapolator is keyed to your genetic code and is capable of detecting biorhythmic information.  This will not prevent other instances of you from using it, but will prevent it from being used unless it is being actively and willingly held by you.~

“Other instances?  So, if some other Wade managed to go dimension-hopping, he could use it, too?”

~Or timesliding.  If he or she knew how to activate it or was incredibly lucky, yes.~

“Okay.  But how do I turn it on?”

Quartermaster tells him.  Twice.  And then gives him a step-by-step.

Finally, the thing lights up brightly.  ~Access granted,~ it says.  ~Please input extrapolation parameters.~

Wade thinks for a little bit.  “When will Hope arrive in this timeline?”

Little lights dance through the middle of the sphere.  ~Please specify range of extrapolation.~

~It wants to know how far forward to look,~ Quartermaster says helpfully.

“Within the next fifty years,” Wade tells the crystal ball.

It blinks twice.  ~For the specified range, there are three approximate dates of potential time branch intersection.~

All right, so the thing is damn literal.

“Aaaand what’s the earliest?”

~The earliest point at which a subject designation of Hope arrives in the current timeline is approximately seven years from now.~

That takes Wade by surprise.  “Does she arrive with anybody?”

~In 91% of branches, subject designate Hope WM338 is accompanied by subject designate Nathan Dayspring WM339-Gamma.~

Okay.  Seven years is plenty of time to finish learning how to fix Nate’s timesliding module.

And figure out how to ask the magic eight-ball how to kill Stryfe.

…And then figure out what the hell its answer means.


.End.