## Prince of Nothing
The Saint Lucille Shard of the Singularity Network appeared to have been scooped from some far-flung future and dumped into a tiny backwater island. It was a hyperboloid of toughened smart glass, changing colors and tints to suit the hours and seasons, buttressed by white wings swooping along the circular base in ascending arcs to blast off into an asymptote that reached for but never quite touched infinity. It was designed by a machine intelligence to venerate the coming machine superintelligence, drawing in those who sought to leave the flesh behind for communion with silicone and chrome. Despite the wet heat that enveloped the city, it felt cold, alien, sterile, an unnatural monolith that deliberately set it aside apart from the world and beckoned the foolish and the damned to enter.
Yuri didn’t know which he was. He hoped he was merely foolish.
Two security guards stood watch at the front door. In their white shirts, black pants and matching ties and shoes, they carried the air of law enforcement and none of the legitimacy. The guns at their hips and the Power behind them was all the legitimacy they would ever need. As Yuri approached, they trained their jet-black smartglasses on him.
“Yuri Yamamoto,” the taller of the two sneered. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m representing the Sheriff on a matter of vital importance,” Yuri replied.
“You’re the last person in the world who should be here,” the shorter one said.
“I’ve got an appointment.”
“The Shard is closed to outsiders,” the taller one said.
“No problem. I could come back with the SRT. They’ll find a way to open it,” Yuri replied.
“You’re threatening us?”
“I came here because I wanted to talk. Man to man. Or machine, in your case. That’s all. If you don’t want to talk to me, you’ll talking to lots of badges soon.”
“That’s not our call to make.”
“I understand. Then again, I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to _you_. Each and every one of you on your network.”
The guards froze.
Then, as one, they spoke, their voices a flat, synchronized monotone.
“You threaten the Will of the Net?”
“I don’t make threats. I’m not here to make war on you either. Believe me, if I wanted to, I’d have opened the conservation with gunfire. I’m just here to talk to the sysadmin in charge of this shard.”
“What is it about?”
“The shootings at Watson’s four days ago.”
“We had nothing to do with that.”
Yuri smiled. Tightly.
“Do you think the SRT cares? Someone tried to kill them. They’re out for blood. Me, I’m trying to make sure no one else dies. At least, not without a good reason.”
A long pause.
“Coming from you, we question those words. But we detect sincerity.”
“There you go,” Yuri said. “Take me to the sysadmin. We’ll sort this out.”
A longer pause. Yuri wondered if their computers had crashed. If so, he didn’t think banging them together would help.
“We shall guide you to him. Do not make any unexpected moves. We are watching.”
The guards ushered him inside. Cold air blasted into him, _too_ cold for Moreno, for men used to working under the sun. He fought down an involuntary shiver.
The guards frog-marched him past the reception desk and into the lift lobby. The receptionist stared at him with a blank expression, constantly watching him from the corners of her eyes. The second the guards brought him before an elevator, the doors magically opened.
“Enter,” the guards said as one.
Yuri obeyed.
The doors closed behind him.
Yuri spun around. He was alone in a cramped metal box. There was no console. No controls. A moment of irrational claustrophobia set in. If this was a trap—
But it wasn’t.
A bright green ‘8’ appeared on a glass panel next to the doors. Above the door, another glass panel displayed a red ‘G’, then a ‘1’, then a ‘2’. A quiet humming filled his ears.
Yuri exhaled, and waited.
On the eighth floor, the doors opened.
Yuri stepped out into a richly appointed office. Sunlight flooded in from wall-length mirrors to illuminate flooring of alternating strips of gray and white marble. Sterile white LEDs on the ceiling banished all darkness from the room. Luxuriant leather furniture and tempered glass tables formed focused workspaces at every point of the compass. Monitors at strategic corners displayed holographic windows and images.
There was no life here. No soul. It was just a space, a place to impress visitors, to administer the needs of an organization, to plot the digital apotheosis of mankind—and no more. It was cool, blank, empty, a void that sucked away a man’s vital force to leave behind a sterile nothing.
In front of Yuri sat a prince of nothing. His black suit fitted him so perfectly it could have been stitched around him. His face was smooth, unlined, perfectly androgynous, facial features sculpted and pared down into a sterile symmetry that was neither male nor female but something that tried to transcend both and succeeded only in sinking into uncanny depths. Wide blue eyes stared unblinkingly into Yuri’s own.
In the center of his forehead was a third eye, a cyber eye, rolling independently of the others, looking at Yuri, looking _beyond_ him, looking for the One who walked behind him.
“Yuri Yamamoto,” the Sysadmin said.
His voice, too, was androgynous, too high-pitched to be a man, too low-pitched to be a woman, smooth and blank and free from human hitches and emotions.
“Nat Byron,” Yuri said.
Byron’s tenure had been completely unremarkable—and therefore remarkably suspicious. During his tenure as sysadmin, the Singularity Network was slowly but steadily spread its tentacles throughout the island. His ten-year career had been marvelously scandal-free. There was nothing but praise for him in the press for his tireless efforts to modernize the island. Even the Temple Commission had found nothing to charge him with.
Which meant he was supremely skilled at covering his tracks.
Every Singularity Network operation on the island, every scheme, every plot, every machination hatched by the living machines of the Network was organized, planned, and directed by him. He was the commander of the Sinners’ steadily diminishing forces on the island. When Babylon sent reinforcements, those solders would be placed under his authority. As sysadmin, he was part of the innermost circle of the Singularity Network, one of the guiding intelligences that directed the Will of the Net. He was man, he was machine, he was both, he was neither.
“That was my old name. I am now Sigma Mu Delta Seven-Three-Five.”
The Network demanded everything from everyone in its ranks. There could no higher loyalty to anything but the Net. Once a confirmed member of the Network, an initiate discarded his fleshly name, in its place adopting a name randomly generated by the Will of the Net. The three Greek letters were a symbol of his rank.
Yuri shrugged, as though his tongue had merely slipped.
“Why are you here?” the sysadmin demanded.
“I am following up on the shooting at Watson’s earlier this week,” Yuri replied.
“Ah. A tragedy. It was well that no deputies were seriously hurt.”
“I’ve got some questions for you about the shoot.”
“We have nothing to do with it.”
Yuri grinned like a wolf.
At this time, any normal human would have invited Yuri to sit. The sysadmin did no such thing. He merely sat behind his desk and stared at Yuri, his eyes like laser beams, daring Yuri to speak.
“It was a hit. You and I both know that,” Yuri said.
“We know nothing about affairs of violence.”
“That line might work on a rookie fresh from the academy. Not me. You should know that.”
The sysadmin humphed. It was the first sign of humanity he had displayed. Or, perhaps, he was simply mimicking the manner of the humans he had left behind.
“I repeat: we have nothing to do with the shooting,” the sysadmin said.
“It wasn’t just a shooting. The drive-by crew were guns for hire, cybered up until they could match a cyborg. The robber who hit the store had a neutral implant. We suspect the implant was used to puppet him.”
“Are you accusing us?”
“The gunmen had M480E4 machine guns. That’s mil-grade hardware, issued to Special Forces. It’s not something you just pick up off the Internet. Their gravcar was up-armored too. Stopped everything except armor-piercing flechettes. Hardware like that comes from only one source: the New Gods.”
“There are six other New Gods.”
“And only two with a vested interest in Moreno Island. You represent one of them.”
“We have no interest in killing law enforcement officers.”
“Which is why a kill team with Sinner tech tried to assassinate Janet Clark before she became Sheriff.”
“We have no knowledge of that.”
Yuri snorted.
“Save your lies for someone else. Besides, I’m not here for that. I’m here about the shooting. And something else.”
“Which is?”
“Not too ago, my team and I hunted the Leviathan hiding in the Babylon Metropolitan Area Discharge Channel. We killed it before it could consume the city. As thanks, you flooded the MADC and tried to kill us.”
“We had nothing to do with that.”
“Bullshit. The Singularity Network was holding the pumphouse at that time. That means the Sinners deliberately opened the silos to flood the MADC. That is all on you. You and the Net.”
A pregnant pause fell. The sysadmin was no doubt consulting with the Will of the Net, downloading the information necessary to understand the context.
A lesser criminal would have simply denied knowledge of the incident. Both men knew that the Net was a hive mind. There was no point trying to deny it. Their only option was to come clean… or produce more sophisticated lies.
“The storm threatened to flood Babylon,” the sysadmin said at last. “We had to divert the waters. The ops team attempted to warn you. If you had not received the warning to evacuate the MADC, we apologize.”
Yuri snorted.
“Warning. Sure. It’s enough for you to say the words. No need to ensure we heard anything, right?”
“I was not involved in the operation. But again, allow us to issue a formal apology to you and your team.”
“Save it. As far as I’m concerned, the Sinners broke the ceasefire we agreed upon.”
The sysadmin’s eyes hooded over. His third eye glared unblinkingly at Yuri.
“What do you intend to do about it?” the Sinner asked, his voice now low and slow and dangerous.
“Me, personally? Nothing. However, Sheriff Clark isn’t as forgiving. She’s been busy the past few months, trying to clean out the department. Now, though, now that the SRT is back online, now that she can focus on her campaign platform, well… things will change.”
“What do you want?”
“The New Gods attacked the SRT. More importantly, they attacked _my_ team. That means it’s open season on _all_ the New Gods in Moreno. The ceasefire is over. We’re returned to the status quo ante. Ante the hunt for the Leviathan, that is.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. MISD is going to step up the pressure. We will put the screws to everything and everyone associated with the New Gods. Every business, every front company, every safe house, every affiliated gang, every soldier. We will give everything we learn to the PSB. We’re going to keep at it until we find the ones responsible for the hit.”
“You should target the Guild. Not us.”
“Why? You have proof they did it?”
“No. But we have no reason to attack you.”
“Not good enough. You want off the chopping block? Give us proof or deal with the problem yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I meant what I said. Give us hard evidence that reveals who organized the hit. Failing that, take care of him yourself, and give us proof that he did it. We don’t care who does him or how, so long as he is taken off the streets.”
“I presume you’ve presented the Guild with the same offer.”
“I’m going to. In fact, I’m going to _all_ the New Gods.”
At last, a note of agitation crept into Bryant’s voice.
“Are you insane? Are you deliberately trying to trigger a war?”
“Do you think I care? The New Gods attacked me and mine. Only they have the means and motive to do it. Either I find out who did it and deal with him, or you do it.”
“We could just liquidate you and your team instead.”
“The PSB is aware of our situation. Do you want to make war on the federal government? Not even you have the resources to do it.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Yuri Yamamoto.”
“You—the Network—shouldn’t have tried to drown us. The gloves are off now. From here on out, it’s going to be hardball all the way. You don’t like that, take out the trash for us.”
“Two can play hardball, Yuri Yamamoto.”
Yuri’s smile stretched to his ears, becoming a crescent blade of sharp teeth and twinkling eyes.
“You are welcome to try. But unlike you, I have a god with me. The highest of all.”
The sysadmin’s face flattened into a blank mask.
“We are done. Leave. Now.”
Yuri spun around on his heels and walked away.
The elevator opened to admit him. It spat him out at the ground floor. The guards were waiting for him. They flanked and marched him to the exit. Through the guards’ mouths, the Will of the Net spoke to Yuri.
“Never come back,” the Singularity Network said as one.
“Take care of business, and I won’t have to,” Yuri said.
Love this story? Get the rest of the novel [here](https://www.amazon.com/Babylon-Black-Kit-Sun-Cheah-ebook/dp/B0C3WTH41F/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Babylon+Black&s=books&sr=1-1)!
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