by Gerry Hart
Derek ran sensored fingers along Rave’s face, neck, and chest.
“Her life signs are low. She needs medical attention.” Derek said with worry.
Zack stifled a sarcastic remark.
“Zach, call it in.” Terrain ordered.
Zach pressed a stud on the side of his neck, activating a portable microphone. “Crisis Master Central, Crisis Master Central, Crisis Master down. I repeat: Crisis Master down. Emergency medical transport to CMH 001 is required. Utmost urgency! Please respond. “
“Acknowledged. “ It was Marsh. “Zach, is it Terrain or Rave?”
“Rave, sir.”
“Will she make it? “
“It’s… not good. “
September 7, 4072, 3:00 pm.
Crisis Masters Headquarters 001 was a floating fortress positioned on the borders of Techno-World’s troposphere. On a clear day, the inhabitants of the Spires could see it and the criminal penitentiary, the Loft, floating in the sky.
CMH 001 acted as both administrative hub and spaceport. 001 housed the Crisis Master’s three starships which compromised The Last Humanity’s space fleet. The fleet was the colony’s third and last line of defense from alien invasion.
The first line of defense is a one-dimensional portal. The portal is programmed to admit humans and certified aliens access to and from the hidden universe. The savior called “Moses” built the portal as a parting gift to the colony. No one could use the portal without proper authorization. It could be destroyed, but the destroyer would only win a pyrrhic victory because destroying the portal seals the hidden universe from the real one.
The colony’s second line of defense is O.B.S.E.A.C.C. OB serves as a defense platform as well as a planetary monitoring system. Its artificial intelligence is programmed in all forms of military strategy. Its hull is plated with titanium steel armor. Its weapons system consists of two dozen smart nuclear missiles and micro-precision lasers. It is the Crisis Masters administrative and military branches’ opinion that, if any invasion force manage to survive the first two line of defenses, said force’s remaining fleet would be no match for three heavy duty battleships.
Rave Henderson lay in a bio-restorative chamber. The chambers were another of Professor Ibdigor’s inventions, designed to amplify a body’s regenerative abilities exponentially. As Rave dreamed, bones healed, wounds sealed, and bruises faded.
Derek the automaton stood before the chamber like a silent sentinel.
Crisis Master Marsh and Terrain stood just outside the entrance to Rave’s room.
“Makes you wonder if it’s really necessary to have an automaton with feelings. “ Marsh pondered aloud.
“Is its work substandard? “ Terrain responded.
“No. Above board, in fact, but I would deny that to these Stooges. “ Marsh complimented but then said with reserve. “It’s just how can an automaton … love ? And why … Rave? “
“You’re married right, Greg? “
“Yep. “ Marsh sighed. “Twenty years. “
“You ever wondered why you chose to marry her? “
“Well, I always assumed it was because I didn’t want to be alone. “
“No. You’re missing my point. “ Terrain corrected.
“Why did you choose to marry her? “
Marsh thought about his wife then smiled.
Terrain looked at Marsh and smiled. “Answered your own question?“ He turned his gaze back to the silent sentinel in front of Rave’s chamber. “No one can predict who becomes attracted to whom or what direction that attraction will take. “
“What about you, Terrain? You got someone in your life yet? “
Terrain thought about a lovely android who was trying to help him get over his wife’s death, but his response was: “Just my kid, Greg. That’s all I can handle right now. “
September 8, 4072, 2:00 a.m.
Crisis Masters Mender Terrain, Oliver Negatt, Jason Munson stood watch with Terrain’s and Munson's Dahlia over a busy stretch of flyway. Their 'craft hovered in an off -the-way alley, three passengers in front, three in back. The three Crisis Masters drank coffee and talked about the death of Negatt's Dahlia. Negatt was a young, black, muscular man with a chiseled face and perfectly rectangular cut hair. Munson was a short, red haired, wide eyed, and freckled face Caucasian with a slim but taunt body. The two wore Crisis Master Patrol uniforms: blue jumpsuits, black, leather belt and boots, and rectangular-sideways cap.
"... so Ophelia, my youngest daughter, was pretty broken up. The Dahlia wasn't too close to people, not even me (that is if you discount our bond), but he was close to Ophelia." Negatt finished.
"A person shopping for a dog or a cat will choose the most appealing one." Munson's Dahlia said from the back seat.
Negatt felt he had just been insulted. "Are you comparing my daughter to a pet?"
"Relax, Ollie." Jason consoled. "Big D was probably complimenting your daughter because, out of everyone you knew, she was liked by your Dahlia the most. Apparently, she liked him too or she wouldn't have been so upset. "
Oliver thought a moment then nodded.
“How long were you and your Dahlia bonded, Officer Negatt?” Terrain asked.
“Not long, sir.”Negatt replied. “A year, maybe a little longer. Did you join our patrol just to ask me those two questions ?”
“Nope. There have been sightings –“
Suddenly, as if finishing Mender Terrain’s sentence, an alarm went off in the hovercraft. It was coming from the S.C.G.P.S. The monitor exhibited a small red triangle moving north on the map.
“Summabitch !” Terrain said in astonishment.
"We got a flag! " Negatt yelled.
Munson was in the driver's seat. He kicked in the turbos.
“Were they flagged for speeding?" Munson asked as he dodged traffic.
"Hell No!” Terrain exclaimed from the back seat as he fiddled with an electronic device. “Something else!"
"Target: fifty yards." The S.C.G.P.S. spoke. It emphasized its statement by targeting the quarry on a targeting system built into the windshield.
"Five light frequencies in the car are all identified as Phillip Tork currently wanted for murder.” Terrain exclaimed. “That car is what we want! Don’t lose it!”
"Walkways!" Munson yelled suddenly, taking the hovercraft into a dive.
"Computer, sight target!" Negatt ordered the S.C.G.P.S.
Munson started to climb. "This section is full of pedestrian walkways. We might lose them. "
As if on cue, the S.C.G.P.S. targeted their quarry. “Target: thirty-three yards. "
"They've gone under the walkways too." Negatt observed.
"So we're on their tail. So what? " Terrain said in frustration. " We can't bring them down as long as we're in this through way. "
Negatt powered down his window. He positioned himself on the door and drew his laser pistol.
"Move to the left!" He ordered Mason. "I need a clean shot!"
Munson moved the hovercraft to the left. Suddenly, their quarry went into a power dive. Munson instinctively followed.
Munson forgot about Negatt.
Negatt fell out of the 'craft but the inertia dragged him towards the back of the car. Negatt lost his pistol but managed to grab onto an extended chrome lining around the power windows. The powerful G-force made it impossible to make his way to the open window again. However, Negatt knew, if he did not do something soon, Mason might be forced to straighten the car, causing him to lose his grip and fall to his death.
Negatt fought the G-Force and moved his hands along the extended chrome lining. Negatt believed there was a slim chance to move along the lining and position himself next to the 'craft window he had left opened. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, Negatt fought to move. Through his tearing eyes, he noticed the chase had plummeted between Sections 6000 and 7000, the concrete foundations of Techno-world. If both cars did not pull up soon, a crash was imminent. Negatt continued to move. He was almost in reach of the open win
dow.
Suddenly, Munson straightened the car. Negatt lost his grip, his mind flashing an image of the inertia careening him against the concrete foundations.
A furry hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him in through the back window.
It was an awkward situation. Negatt was sprawled along the two Dahlia’s and Mender Terrain’s lap
Negatt didn’t care. He was relieved then he became furious. "Dammit, Munson! I was sitting on the fucking window! "
"Terrain said we can't lose these guys." was all Munson could say.
Negatt looked up at Terrain. Terrain gave him a mea culpa look then shrugged.
Their quarry dived again. This time, it looked like they intended to crash the car.
"They're getting too close to the ground. I don't know if I can follow them." Munson yelled.
Suddenly, their target's car exploded on the ground in front of them. The blast momentarily blinded Mason. When the fire and smoke cleared, Munson realized a collision with a concrete foundation was imminent.
Munson swerved the hovercraft too late.
5
Techno-World boasts the elimination of every possible homeless problem. Every citizen had an affordable place to live.
The claim was a lie.
Tower houses were sold for 1,000,000 to 500,000 credits. Apartments were rented for 50,000 to 10,000 credits. The 10,000 credit apartments were located between Section 5000 and 6000. Any person or families that could not afford an apartment at these prices were exiled willingly or unwillingly to the Basement.
Section 7000, the ground level of Techno-World, was nicknamed the Basement. Concrete foundations made up Sections 6001 - 7000. The foundations were fifty times the diameter and ten times the height of a giant redwood tree found on Old Earth. Nothing short of an atomic explosion could weaken them.
Until recently, the life expectancy of the populace consigned to the Basement was low. Riots, waste gangs, malnutrition, and extreme exposure were the main causes attributed to the death rate. The government was aware of the problem but it hoped the denizens of the Basement would extinguish themselves like an unattended campfire.
Suddenly, amidst the last two years, the Basement underwent a change. No one knew if it was the work of one man, a cabal, or some secret benefactor within the government itself who could not stand idly by and watch a community's demise. Whatever the reason, life became bearable among the concrete foundations. One person did not prey on another. Violence was not tolerated. Food, clothing, and shelter were freely given to the destitute. Wood and wood stoves were provided for warmth and cooking.
Some mad and compassionate architect blasted out tunnels and adobe rooms within the concrete foundations for shelter. Life was still primitive. People had no electricity, no luxury comforts. Clothing was made by sewing together scraps of clothing or the hides of the creatures that dwelt on ground level. The ground level creatures also provided food, milk, and, when domesticated, companionship. In the end, the populace of the Basement needed to rely on each other. A true community was born.
The government of Techno-World became aware of the Basement community. They were unsure how to deal with the Basement. Conservative factions decide to spend thousands of credits to determine the community's mysterious benefactor. A bounty and a contract were established against this mysterious person, but later rescinded when bounty hunters and assassins began to disappear after entering the Basement.
Finally, representatives of the community met with the government and a detente` was made. The government would acknowledge the community's presence in exchange for a Crisis Master's station. The station was set up in two large connecting adobe rooms. Crisis Masters from the Tracking and Retrieval Department were generally assigned to the station but rotated frequently. The Crisis Masters' presence was tolerated but unwelcome.
September 8, 4072, 7:00 a.m.
Crisis Master Maxwell Hadaver sat by a window on the second level of the Crisis Masters' station, overlooking the morning crowd passing by or loitering outside. Hadaver was a 6' Afro-American with a bowl shaped haircut, pig like features, and glasses.
Hadaver received a signal from his rectangular communication badge.
He tapped it to respond. " Yeah. "
“This is Alexander.” The voice over the com badge identified itself. "You're activated. Proceed with Plan Dupe after rendezvousing with Team Apache at coordinates 882 by 1099. Upon completion of Plan Dupe, you are to take Team Apache and rendezvous with Team Janus at coordinates 956 by 2145. Signal when ready for pickup. "
"Affirmative." Hadaver acknowledged the sighed. “Finally.”
Hadaver picked up his Acrombe laser assault rifle and cocked it. He was relieved to be leaving this dump called the Basement.
Hadaver descended to the first level. He was met by his partner, Michael Berenger. a 6'2" skinny yet muscular Afro American with curly hair and small moustache.
"We got a call. Three Crisis Masters and two Dahlias were downed in the Basement. We have to find them. They were chasing a group of Torks, so we have to be on the lookout for them too. "
"Yeah. I received the same message. " Hadaver lied. "The Dahlias and the automatons ready?"
"They're ready." Berenger smiled.
"Let's get into flak uniforms and roll." Hadaver said, looking Berenger over one last time, realizing how much he wanted to end his despised partner's life.
Minutes later, Hadaver and Berenger led their squad of Dahlias and automatons through the "byways" and "streets" of the Basement.
"Why did you join the Crisis Masters, Berenger?" Hadaver blurted out to his partner.
"I like helping people. It was a choice between a lawyer, a priest, or a Crisis Master. " Berenger replied.
"Let me guess. You chose to be a Crisis Master because lawyers are useless in this day and age and a priest can't fuck. "
"Not the way I'd put it but you got the gist of it."
"With me, it was a choice between the military or the CMs. I used to live in the Basement, you know. "
"No, I didn't know that." Berenger said mildly astonished. "Seems I don't know much about you, Hadaver."
"Life in the Basement isn't much, Berenger. Oh, it's tolerable now with whoever is keeping an eye on the place, but when I was here...." Hadaver had to quell something in his throat. Berenger couldn't tell if it was a sob or rage. ".... when I was here it was a struggle to survive. People who lived down here tend to forget about that experience or decide not to talk about it.
"In order to get out of the Basement, I had to choose between the military or the Crisis Masters. I graduate from the Academy and look where they send me. It ain't fair, Berenger. Things are going to change."
Berenger became uneasy. "Uh... Max, you're scaring me. You've been acting strange lately. I shouldn't be telling you this but I've been getting warnings from higher up. They're telling me to keep an eye on you."
Hadaver seemed to let Berenger's warning pass over him. "The Dahlia has been warning the higher ups. We'll have to fix that."
Berenger was unsure how to respond to Hadaver's last comment, so he ignored it.
The Basement was like some great concrete forest labyrinth. There were twists and turns, narrow passages, clearings, and small areas the natives referred to as "thickets". Hadaver, Berenger, and their crew approached a group of dwellers huddled around a fire in one "thicket".
"You there!" Hadaver called to a tall black man with ragged clothes.
"My name is Jessup." The tall black man proclaimed proudly as he stood up and approached Hadaver.
Hadaver smiled and corrected himself. "Well... Jessup. We're looking for a man named Phillip Tork."
"Never heard of him."
Hadaver swacked Jessup with the butt of his rifle. He received a sharp pain in his head for the effort. Hadaver looked back at his Dahlia. Rage was in his eyes.
"A fallen angel stands on the precipice of an abyss.” Hadaver's Dahlia said.
"Quote me no more metaphors,
Dahlia." Hadaver warned. "I might just shove them down your throat. "
"Chill, Hadaver." Berenger cautioned. "The Dahlia’s doing his job, but you're not."
"Damn straight!" Jessup shouted. He was back on his feet slapping a log the length and diameter of a pipe into one hand.
Jessup was backed up by the rest of the group that had surrounded the fire. There were ten men and women. Some had clubs. Some had burning embers. Some intended to just beat the crap out of their enemies with their bare fists.
"Showtime!" Hadaver said while firing his rifle.
Two victims sank to the ground before Hadaver's Dahlia or Berenger could stop Hadaver. Jessup came swinging in with his club, taking out an automaton. Another automaton grabbed Jessup's club out of Jessup's hand and shoved Jessup to the ground. Berenger swung his rifle left to right, taking out two more Basement dwellers. Berenger felt he could not fire his rifle because that would put him on a level with Hadaver. The Dahlias stood back to back dispatching four dwellers with alien versions of a roundhouse kick.
The remaining four automatons were faring poorly. The automatons were programmed for minimal force on a human based threat level. If a human possessed a club or like weapon, the automaton would disarm and shove the attacker away. If a human brandished a laser pistol or an equally dangerous weapon, greater force would be required. An automaton could not proceed beyond these two parameters. Since the denizens in this Basement " thicket " only wielded minor weapons, disarm and shove away were the required tactics. However, the dwellers were not discouraged to rise and attack again. Two more automatons fell to dwellers bearing clubs who managed to get past the automatons' defenses.
Hadaver smiled at the carnage. He tapped the rectangular badge on his flak jacket.
"Okay. Move in." He ordered.
Two dwellers tried to sneak up on Hadaver. He turned his rifle on them firing point blank. The dwellers fell due to steaming holes in their chest and stomach.
"Hadaver, no!" Berenger cried upon witnessing the horrid scene.
