Superego: Betrayal Read online

  Superego: Betrayal

  Frank J. Fleming

  Superego: Betrayal Copyright © 2022 by Frank J. Fleming. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Allison Barrows and Romas Kukalis (http://www.midsizemedia.com)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: March 2022

  NTM Publishing

  ISBN-13 978-0-9786832-4-5

  Other Novels by Frank J. Fleming

  Superego

  Superego: Fathom

  Sidequest: In Realms Ungoogled

  Hellbender

  For the latest by Frank J. Fleming, and to sign up for his Substack, visit:

  FrankJFleming.com

  For Linda O’Neall, my favorite mother-in-law.

  CONTENTS

  “Goodbye”

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  “Secretary”

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  “Loose Ends”

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  “Hurt”

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  “Panic”

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  “Trap”

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  “Confrontation”

  Chapter 19

  “Danger”

  Chapter 20

  “Same”

  Chapter 21

  “Manipulation”

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  “Team”

  Chapter 24

  “Control”

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgements

  About Frank J. Fleming

  “Goodbye”

  I killed her when I let her get close to me.

  It was an odd feeling. Every moment we shared — every human connection we felt — was just another nail in her coffin. And when I legitimately cared enough about her to want to spare her from her fate, it was too late. I knew by then that this moment would come.

  This was part of the game, though. I was supposed to be a normal, human woman. Sylvia Robbins of Dubora. Well, my cover was that I was a secret agent for the Galactic Alliance, and I guess most people wouldn’t call that “normal.” Still, beyond that, I was supposed to be a regular person. That meant an effort to be social. That meant friends. And that’s how Sherry ended up sentenced to death.

  She was an office drone at the government building I called my home base on the planet I pretended was my birthplace. We also lived in the same apartment building. So it was natural that we hung out — she was a plausible friend. She took the least amount of effort in my quest for the sheen of normalcy.

  She was as boring as most people. I tried to be reasonably boring as well. I explained my many absences with the story that I worked as a secretary for a diplomat, which meant lots of travel — just another layer of lies in the life I was given. We often got drinks after work and talked about men we dated. She seemed to attract a lot of creeps. I think if I bothered with some intense analysis, I could explain precisely why, based on her psychological profile and its interactions with her base reproductive urges. Instead I stuck to giving Sherry useless supportive platitudes that never helped her not make the same mistakes.

  I also told her about how I was unlucky in love. Someone of my age and attractiveness was expected to date, so I did. Everyone I met bored me so much, though, that every date was excruciating. It was that biological reproductive drive again. A female wants a higher-status male, and everyone I met was so far beneath me. I tried to stick with dating “alpha” males — at least as they saw themselves — and then became overly needy. This usually got them to break up with me or ghost me pretty quickly. The silly thing was, despite that being my goal, it always stung just a little. And that hurt is what I confided in Sherry as we consoled ourselves watching romantic comedies.

  Those movies were so vapid and predictable — yet comforting. You always knew exactly what would happen as soon as you were introduced to the two leads. Usually, they would start out hating each other, but by the end, as emotionally manipulative music would play, they’d realize they were meant to be and kiss. And then would come the tears. Sherry was an absolute sap for it, completely bawling by the end — even if it was one we’d watched countless times. I’d cry too; I just had to put myself in the right state of mind, and then I was susceptible as well. They’re called “happy tears,” but I don’t think they are. They’re tears of sadness for things I know I’ll never have — knowing things will never be that simple.

  But that was our thing. And I grew comfortable with Sherry — unlike I had with anyone since the caregivers of my youth. Eventually, I wasn’t just confessing my made-up trouble about my dating life or job but things that actually bothered me. I told her about the crushing pressure of all that was resting on me, all of it amplified by the demanding eye of my father, who literally wanted nothing less than perfection from me. I said this all abstractly to her, but they were far more personal details than I had ever confessed to anyone. And she listened intently and consoled me. This was no act for her; she really cared about me, and I was her best friend.

  And then the Fathom came. All the plans I had — all my careful work — were being torn apart by something even my father had not foreseen. And I was scared — scared like I’ve never been in my life. I kept it together, though — in public. But alone with Sherry wasn’t public. I was an absolute wreck around her. And she did everything to cheer me up when she should have been even more scared — an insignificant nothing liable to be crushed in this intergalactic war. And she was a comfort in it all, though unfortunately I couldn’t be around her much, as the conflict kept me away most of the time.

  It had been almost a month since I’d last seen her when I finally came back “home.” By then, everyone had heard the news of the deaths of the remaining leaders of the Galactic Alliance. All knew of the triumph of the Fathom. So now she was the one in need of comfort, scared to death that the Fathom would retaliate against the planet Dubora as they had wrought so much destruction on other planets that had defied them. I assured her that wouldn’t happen.

  I couldn’t tell her the truth, though — that I knew for sure that the Fathom wouldn’t retaliate against our home world because they were all dead. The secretive group who tried to control the universe had all been murdered in secret. And now my father was in control of all that was theirs. So I instead stuck to the assurances someone pretending to be a secret agent pretending to be a diplomatic secretary would tell her friend.

  I told her that though it was a hard pill to swallow that the murderous tyrants had succeeded, it had a silver lining in that the wanton death and destruction were done with. The Fathom would now concentrate on rebuilding and not razing planets. Everyone she knew was safe. This only allayed her fears a bit. It still felt like the world was ending. And in a way, it was for both of us.

  Because we were both in need of the warm feeling of familiarity, we picked a favorite movie w
e had seen many times before. A career businesswoman has to go back to her backwater home planet, where she has inherited a farm. She meets a man there — someone she had known from her childhood — much less sophisticated than her stodgy fiancé back at the metropolis of Vesa, and initially, they hate each other, but…. Well, it’s insipid. There’s not much point in describing the plot. But there we were, in our pajamas, glued to the screen for a movie we’d seen more times than we could count.

  I’m being poetic there; this would be our fifth time watching it. I’m a stickler for details.

  Anyway, I had gotten up to get more chips, but I was quick about it to make sure I was back for the film's climax. I arrived just in time, standing behind Sherry holding the bag of chips as the protagonist realized she loved her home planet and the charming yokel who is not as dumb as he initially seemed. Though a misunderstanding had torn them apart, they’ve found each other again and know the truth of their love. As they finally — finally — lean in to kiss, the music swells, and it’s perfect. Everything is perfect. A single moment when finally everything makes sense.

  The shot from the blaster hidden behind the bag of chips entered the back of Sherry’s head. I picked that moment because I knew the movie would have her full attention. And with that careful shot into her brain, she was dead before she had the slightest inkling anything was wrong.

  I set the gun and bag of chips on a nearby table. It was then that the wave of emotion finally broke through the dam of my professionalism. I fell into a nearby chair, bawling from a hurt unlike any I had ever felt.

  “The next phase begins,” my father had told me. “It’s time to cut all ties to your previous life.” I told him that Sherry didn’t know anything about me that was useful — which was probably true — but he said it was best to be cautious. If that were true, though, my brother Rico would be dead already. No, this, like so much else, was a test. I had to show him that I was human enough to make a true friend and that I was able to overcome those feelings when required.

  My father offered to have someone handle this for me, which seemed like a small mercy, but I figured it was another part of the test. No, I was going to handle it myself. That way, I could assure it was done as kindly as possible — as much as murder ever could be. Also, some small, primitive part of me that cried for justice said I deserved the emotional aftermath of doing it myself.

  And a punishing aftermath it was. For a while, it did not seem like I could overcome the emotions pounding against me. Painful was the word for it, and at the time, it felt like a torment that would have no end. There was this aching sense of loss for which I could find no words but that instead came out as loud sobs. But beyond the sadness was anger — mainly at myself. For a moment, I saw myself as others did: an absolute monster. Terrible. Despicable. Deserving of any punishment one could imagine. It entered my head to grab the gun from the table and turn it against myself. Or my father.

  It was all rather fascinating. At least that’s what I thought when I successfully separated my rational mind from the emotions raging inside me, as my father had taught me — to let the feelings come and study them but not let them control me. And they were quite interesting this time. It seemed such an odd evolutionary adaptation to ever let emotions completely debilitate someone like that. But sentient species are complex animals, and extreme emotions are needed to motivate people to care for each other. To form communities. To not kill each other even when it’s temporarily convenient. What seemed like a profound spiritual loss were just evolved signals in my brain trying to orient me away from antisocial behavior that didn’t help the herd. But, of course, those primitive parts of the brain would never understand our greater plans.

  As I separated and analyzed the emotions, they faded away. Soon I was just sitting still in the dark, seeing the credits roll on the screen in front of me. I stood up. I couldn’t see Sherry’s corpse, as it had slumped over on the couch. There was no need to do anything about the body; I was never coming back here.

  I had a universe to run.

  Chapter 1

  A good measure of success is how one deals with failure.

  If you’re doing anything difficult, you’re going to fail at times. You’re going to have setbacks. You’re going to get shot, stabbed, or thrown off a building (I’m talking about setbacks in my line of work; you can replace that with whatever piddling crap you’d find devastating). I had my hand ripped off once (got a new one, but it’s never been quite the same). I was set up to die and shot in the back by my father. I woke from a coma in the middle of an invasion led by a powerful, secretive alien race. And thinking I defeated them and “saved the universe,” I actually handed over their power to said father who shot me and gave him the ability to make copies of himself. And maybe immortality.

  Anyway, I don’t want to make this some sob story. I’m just saying sometimes bad things happen — things you didn’t plan. So what do you do? Do you just sit there going, “Woe is me!”? Not if you are ever going to achieve anything. Instead, you dust yourself off (with both hands — if you have them), and you make new plans. I think what helps me is that I’m a psychopath. Nothing gets to me. That condition has its disadvantages at times — primarily in social situations — but it’s great after you find your entire world crashing down around you. I can just pick myself right back up and move on to Plan B. You might need to calm down and do some breathing exercises or eat some ice cream or whatever — I don’t care (again, psychopath).

  “So, are you still going to try to be the good guy, Rico?” Dip asked. He was the AI in the computer in my head, or maybe just a hallucination developed in my desire to…

  Know what? I don’t want to bog this down going over all my problems.

  I’m going to bring down Anthony Burke, I responded to Dip as I looked at the dusty, reddish-brown sky. That’s good enough. In a way, I had always feared my father, and now he was more powerful than ever. If I managed to just not get crushed by him, that would be a great accomplishment. Good or evil didn’t necessarily factor into it.

  “But what about the other people you encounter along the way? Like what happened here to Calipa. You made this happen.”

  You’d think it was dusk, but it was this area’s equivalent of noon. A chill wind nipped at me. With the sun blocked by the dust, an artificial winter had started.

  The Fathom blew up a part of this planet, not me, I answered.

  “But you knew that might happen,” Dip answered. “Millions suffered because of your choices. A normal person would feel guilty now.”

  I had previously only seen Calipa’s capital city. It had looked like a nature preserve, with all of the buildings integrated into the land to give the appearance of unspoiled wilderness. That place was now a crater, a giant hole that could be seen from space. I was on the other side of the planet from that city, in a smaller city where the buildings looked like buildings. A spaceport was before us, and it was filled with humans and Dallians — a furry species generally larger than humans with somewhat canine-like facial features (bleeds red, by the way) — and there was not a single cheery face among them. It wasn’t just the state of their planet, though. By now, the news of the complete collapse of the former Galactic Alliance would have reached them. The bad guys had won. The “Fathom” were now the nearly undisputed rulers of the civilized universe.

  And I, an atypical person, do not quite understand what guilt is.

  “Perhaps, because of your unfamiliarity with it, you may feel guilt and not know what it is.”

  As usual, I felt nothing. I looked over beside me and saw Diane, her blue eyes staring at the ruined sky and then the devastated people before us. From her expression, I could tell she was feeling things. What had happened to these people pained her. It pained her especially that she had been a part of it.

  “You’ve said you love Diane,” Dip stated. “And you’ve inflicted mental harm on her by your actions. Does that make you feel guilty?”

  I just want
ed to make sure she was mentally with me for what lay ahead. It’s game time, I informed Dip, so I don’t need you pestering me with things like this right now.

  “If recalling your part in the complete devastation of a planet that led to the death of millions and the mental anguish it has inflicted on the woman you love is inconvenient right now, I can set up a reminder for a later time.”

  Don’t do sarcasm, Dip. It doesn’t suit you.

  I turned to Diane. She was still miles away in someplace rather sullen. “Physical touch,” Dip reminded me.

  I put my hand on Diane’s shoulder — a touch that was supposed to be reassuring and not creepy, though I never understood the distinction. “Are you ready?” I asked gently, which seemed patronizing when talking to a trained killer.

  She looked at me and smiled weakly. “Remember our agreement.”

  “No guns, unless you say otherwise.” It seemed unnecessarily risky to me — almost placing the lives of those who might be attacking me over our own — but I’m always up for a challenge.

  She nodded, and we headed into the spaceport. I saw her hand briefly go to her belly — a new unconscious habit when she put herself at risk and a reminder that it wasn’t just her life she was worried about but also the strawberry-sized being inside her.

  Another complication. I had the entire universe against me, and things never got easier.

  We went into the crowd of the dreary throngs in the open-air spaceport. There was a small police presence there, but I was just another human among many. We entered the spaceport bar, a decent-sized establishment only sparsely occupied, as it was before noon here. A human woman bartender gave us a perfunctory smile for customers, but I didn’t have time to return it, as I was too busy assessing what I was walking into. And there he was, sitting with his back to a wall, eyes on us as soon as we entered. He recognized us but had no readable expression yet other than surprise. I hoped his reaction to seeing us would answer one of our many questions, but not yet.