Gremlins are Malfunctioning Read online

  Table of Contents

  Gremlins Are Malfunctioning

  Book Details

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Gremlins are Malfunctioning

  SUSAN LAINE

  A year ago, supernatural creatures swarmed the earth—and ensured that human technology could no longer function without them.

  Eliot Tate works for the Civilian and Environmental Protection Agency, so he's on the receiving end of customer complaints about their gas gremlins. Despite his efforts, though, he can't figure out what's wrong.

  He gets help in the form of Alek Saroyan, an agent with the Mythkin Energy Research Facility, but right from the start the two men despise each other. With antagonism, the gas gremlin problem, and rising questions about mythkin sentience hanging over their heads, Eliot and Alek are going to have find their own balance if they stand any chance of restoring the balance that's been lost.

  Gremlins are Malfunctioning

  By Susan Laine

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Nicole Field

  Cover designed by J. Ang

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition August 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684313440

  Print ISBN 9781684313549

  Chapter One

  "The gremlin in my car isn't working properly."

  Eliot Tate suppressed a sigh. All cars had quite literal gremlins in their gas tanks. What was so special about this particular gremlin-and-vehicle combo? Also, was it possible for the customer to have given him any less information? Eliot plastered on his winning customer service smile. "Are you a returning customer, sir?"

  "Yes. Here's my CEPA card. It's currently valid, I assure you." The man was in his twenties and sounded obnoxious, judging by the smartass tone of his voice. He handed Eliot a card showing his membership in the Civilian and Environmental Protection Agency (CEPA), which was required of every man, woman, and child over the age of fifteen these days.

  Eliot swiped his blond hair behind his ear and tapped on his keyboard, typing in Mr. Paul Smith's client number. Information popped up in several columns but thus far none involving his vehicle. "Make and model, please."

  Clearing his throat, the man appeared both apprehensive and annoyed at once. "I…Yes, of course. Toyota Dash 2018. It's a bright red SUV. Just bought it earlier this year."

  "Energy source?" Eliot asked on autopilot.

  Mr. Smith harrumphed in obvious vexation. "Petrol, naturally."

  Eliot quirked an eyebrow. The customer paled and gulped, his gaze darting away. Exactly right. No one challenged Eliot in his own workplace. He returned to his original issue regarding the information Mr. Smith had given him. "There's a problem with your gas gremlin? Please describe the issue to me in detail."

  "Well, uh…" Mr. Smith frowned, scratching behind his ear, as if buying time to search for the right words. "It's growling a lot."

  "Gremlins always growl, sir," Eliot noted, his light-green eyes narrowing.

  "Yes, yes." The man waved in frustration. "But, like, are they supposed to do that all the freaking time? Even when I'm driving perfectly normal, not speeding or anything?"

  That was unusual, Eliot had to admit. "Is growling the only complication?"

  Mr. Smith shook his head immediately. "No. God, no. When I'm on the freeway, the car starts to stall. I have to pull over. But the second I do, the car starts to work again." He leaned over the desk, anger in his expression. "I think that damn gremlin's messing with me. I demand to have it replaced."

  Eliot pursed his lips. "You are aware, sir, that CEPA does not do vehicle maintenance? I advise you to take the car to a registered Toyota brand repair shop."

  Smith snarled. "Yes, I fucking know that, goddammit. But I want to file a grievance."

  Eliot frowned. "Against whom, sir?"

  The man blinked, his ire temporarily forgotten. "What do you mean? Toyota, of course. I need a car that works. They paired me with a faulty, vicious gremlin."

  "You claim that they did this to you on purpose?"

  "Yeah, sure." He hesitated, biting his bottom lip. "How much do you think I could get?"

  "I suggest you submit that question to a lawyer, not a mechanic, sir."

  Mr. Smith banged his fists on the desk. "Why the hell do you think I'm here? CEPA has, like, legal counsel on staff, right? Ones specializing in prosecuting corporations, right?"

  Eliot stood. Even before he glared down at him, the client backed up a step. Only then did Eliot speak. "Please don't hit the counter, sir." His voice was cool and collected. He'd dealt with belligerent customers before. Like kids, they needed a firm hand to rein them in.

  The two security guards by the door were a secondary asset.

  "I'm sorry," Mr. Smith murmured, his apologetic tone only half-genuine. "Emotions are running high, I'm sure you understand."

  Eliot sat back down. Instead of engaging with Mr. Smith's words, he told the man, "I can give you three numbers for local law firms on retainer with us. Any one of them can help you, if you wish to pursue legal action against Toyota."

  In his head Eliot wondered why Smith bothered. Most big corporations were finished, gone down after the introduction of the mythkin into the world. Many of the world's largest companies had been based around energy and its production or creating items that had become obsolete and futile. For example, who needed experimental hoverboards or futuristic urban transport pods when one barely had enough energy for a basic car? In some areas, technological progress had ground down to a halt.

  Mr. Smith sagged in relief after receiving validation for his concerns. "Thank you."

  Eliot gave the man three calling cards. "Here you go, sir." Then he refocused on the data collected. Maybe it would be easier to talk with him now that he had the information he'd come for "Is this the vehicle's original gremlin?"

  "Yes." Mr. Smith did seem calmer now.

  Eliot typed the information in and asked, "Is the gas gremlin digesting exhaust fumes and excreting petroleum in normal fashion and up to regular, acceptable levels?"

  Mr. Smith hesitated, frowning, but finally nodded. "I think so. I mean, the instrumentation hasn't shown any red flags. Should be okay then…right?"

  Eliot held back a smartass retort. Car control panels weren't a forte for every driver. Mr. Smith seemed quite unaware of the operations of his own vehicle. Then again, too many people he came across in this job were the same.

  "
I'm sure it'll be fine, sir." Eliot added to the files that the dashboard hadn't indicated any problems to the user. The control panel wasn't wired to the gas gremlin, per se, but it detected aberrations in petroleum and exhaust levels. "When you take the car to a repair shop, Mr. Smith, will you see to it that CEPA gets copies of the issues list and the repair logs? That way we can conduct our own investigation and hopefully solve the problem before it reoccurs with other clients."

  "Yes, of course. I can do that." Mr. Smith pocketed the cards, offered a strained smile, and left without saying goodbye. Not that Eliot ever expected common courtesy from customers more used to litigation than civility. Sign of the times. In the back of his head, Eliot counted Paul Smith as the seventh person today to complain about the gas gremlins acting up—and it was only ten-thirty in the morning.

  What on earth was going on today?

  *~*~*

  "Francis? Can I have a minute?"

  Eliot peeked into his supervisor's office at lunchtime that day. A middle-aged man with shockingly white hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a pudgy midsection looked up from a file in front of him. He was a pencil-pusher type, but also the nicest boss anyone could ever hope for.

  Francis Cook was the chief administrative manager of the main branch of CEPA. He was always overworked but never let that deter him. One could expect a welcoming grin one hundred percent of the time.

  He blinked now and smiled. "Oh, Eliot. Yes, of course. Come on in. What's up?"

  Eliot walked in, shut the door, and took the seat opposite the desk. "It's only lunchtime but I alone have had over a dozen complaints today of malfunctioning transportation gremlins. Cars, motorcycles, trucks. I've asked around and other clerks have reported similar accounts."

  Francis had leaned back, perhaps anticipating a relaxed talk. Now he leaned forward onto his elbows and frowned. "Really? That's odd. Over the last year, gas gremlins have become a proven and valid energy source. They shouldn't be experiencing that many hiccups."

  Eliot shrugged. "There's so much we don't know about them. This situation was sort of thrust upon us."

  Francis grunted in a steadfast agreement. "That wretched Stump, his accursed cabinet, and those greedy republicans. They really threw us to the wolves."

  Personally Eliot would have used harsher language to describe the ex-president of the United States who had dumped the world into a stinking, magical mess. Folks were still reeling from Loreblast—the calamity that had struck on American soil a year ago at an oil pipeline, bringing mythkin into the world—and spread worldwide from there.

  "Any such issues with other energy sources?"

  "One with a coal ghoul and three with oil hellions. But I think they were the exceptions. It doesn't look good though."

  "You think there's a fundamental problem with dirty energy sources?"

  Eliot hesitated. It did no one any favors to conjecture. He had a climatology degree in atmospheric dynamics and an ecological energetics degree in clean and renewable energy sources. Eliot despised fossil fuels both on principle and because they were destroying the planet.

  Only…they weren't, not anymore.

  Thanks to mythkin, fossil fuels were safe now. No gashouse emissions, no air pollutants, no harmful environmental impacts. Mythkin simply consumed all the waste products of the energy they organically produced, either clean or dirty. No leakage, no leftover.

  Now that even dirty energy sources were clean, so to speak, who was there left to be angry at or to battle?

  Corporations had been brought down since energy production and refinement were both taken out of their hands and placed into the mythkin's tender care, quite literally. Governments had fallen without the backing of the power industry, their lobbies, and their money.

  There was no one left to blame, not anyone still standing. Not even the ex-president, his imprisoned or paroled cabinet members, or the disintegrated republican party.

  Eliot's sullen attitude, however, didn't help in figuring out what was happening with the gas gremlins. He knew he had to show some professionalism and objectivity. There was no direct evidence to suggest that the so-called non-clean energy alternatives, like coal ghouls or oil hellions, exhibited basic flaws. Thus far only gas gremlins, specifically those used in transportation machines, seemed affected by…something.

  "I don't want to jump to any conclusions," Eliot replied noncommittally. "There have only been serious complaints this past week and all in the greater D.C. area. Maybe this is a new matter. I mean, we know so little about any of these energy monstrosities. Heck, we don't even know what level of sentience they possess. We're in the dark."

  Francis sighed. "True. But without them we'd literally be back in the dark ages. Everything we use, every piece of technology we have, needs electricity. And now that we don't have conventional sources of power left, these creatures are all we have."

  No counter-argument was necessary. Eliot understood full well the gravity of the situation.

  Right after Loreblast, the power grid had failed across the globe before people realized the problem was the mythkin. Millions had died in accidents involving transportation, basic machinery, and power lines.

  "What are we going to do?" Eliot asked with concern. "I venture a guess that, if this is happening here, it could be happening elsewhere too. I find it hard to believe that a single town would be affected. Man, if this has gone global…"

  Francis nodded. "I'll make some calls to higher-ups and brainstorm. I'm sure CEPA can find a solution to our current predicament. Don't worry. Go home and rest up. Tomorrow's another day."

  "Yeah, I guess." Eliot stood and headed back to his cubicle to gather his belongings.

  *~*~*

  Eliot yawned so hard he had tears in his eyes and his jaw creaked as he stepped out into the cold, autumnal streets of Washington D.C. At least home wasn't far from the office.

  Wide streets lined with yellowing trees seemed deserted. Lamps cast cold beams onto the cement wet with rain. Thankfully the earlier drizzle had stopped. A chill wind found its way under Eliot's coat and jumper, and his skinny corduroy pants provided little warmth.

  A car whisked by. The howl of an oil hellion from the tank made Eliot's skin crawl. Damn creatures. Too bad humanity needed them now.

  The high pitch suggested the creature was grouchy today. Its sound from the engine block muffled the low hiss of the gas gremlin from the gas tank. Good thing the two were separated by the length of the car, or a brawl was likely to ensue. Mythkin were ornery, even when synergizing. A blowup inside the engine block wasn't unheard of.

  Eliot worked with any and all issues involving civilian and environmental matters, mythkin among them. Despite their use, he wasn't a fan of the energy monstrosities. They unnerved him as much as they fascinated him.

  The city was quiet compared to the way things had been a few years ago. Many folks had renounced their wheels and gadgets upon learning what would power them from now on; some had even gone completely dark and disappeared under the radar.

  Eliot had no such option. But, even if he'd had, he still would have chosen to stay. The city was where his life was, his work and his home. And he wasn't the type to run away from problems.

  His keys jingled as he unlocked the door to his apartment building. He shrugged droplets off his jacket as he made his way to the second floor where he lived.

  No music could be heard through the thin walls and locked doors. Radios had proven tough as voltaic devils made a buzzing sound that either drowned out the music or set people's nerves on edge. The beasts didn't seem to like music. Something to do with harmonic frequencies, scientists theorized.

  Eliot entered, closed and locked the front door, kicked off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket and promptly plopped down on the couch. He was weary to the bone. His stomach rumbled. He should have started on dinner, but was too tired to move or care.

  Instead he switched on the television. A visible lightning bolt struck from the remote to the TV; a blinding
blue light Eliot knew to expect. He shielded his eyes from the flash.

  A deep fizz followed. The TV crackled to life—nearly literally, as it was powered by a voltaic devil. The picture vibrated and colors fluctuated wildly. Another thing Eliot was used to by now.

  The entertainment industry, too, had suffered a near death blow since radios and televisions no longer functioned reliably. Actors and musicians had taken a hard hit to their livelihood even as live music and theater had regained their former glory.

  Right then, a beautiful blonde news anchor smiled politely at the viewers—even though the spotlight above her flickered. Photon faeries could be mischievous little buggers.

  Eliot smirked in spite of himself. He should maybe have felt ashamed at finding the situation amusing. But he didn't.

  "…last night. The state police have yet to issue an official statement." The anchor woman glanced down at her notes. Teleprompters were no longer in use. "In other news, four more decommissioned offshore drilling platforms have succumbed to rampaging oil hellions, two off the California coast and two in the Gulf of Mexico. No loss of lives have been reported. The skeleton crews managed to reach lifeboats and the shore unharmed. The Mythkin Energy Research Facility estimates the platforms will be demolished within a week."

  Eliot was glad no one had died. Pumping oil and natural gas from the ocean floor and the arctic had upset the oil hellions who dwelled in the oil strata. They'd woken up mad as hell. Drilling had also disturbed the water wraiths, whose power over water, ice, and steam made them a hundred times more dangerous than oil hellions.

  And oil hellions could be dangerous in their own ways when they wanted to be. Global destruction of platforms and oil refineries had proven as much. Good thing the factories weren't useful anymore; oil hellions consumed carbon dioxide and produced crude oil, so no plants or industry was needed.

  Coal ghouls were the same. There wasn't a single mine in the world active these days. The beasts absorbed ash, flue gas, heavy metal sludge and generated lumps of coal, plus peat to a minor degree.

  The varieties of mythkin now existed in organic, self-sustaining systems with an output of energy sources and an input of harmful byproducts. As a result, the climate, the environment, humans, and technology were doing better today than they had in the over a century since the industrial age had begun. Whatever one might have thought about the mythkin, one couldn't argue with the results.