Protector

by Luke Norris

  “You got it,” Tin replied. No sooner had he spoken than a swell of water rose in the middle of the deep pool, the landing craft burst from the water, where it had been parked submerged on the river bottom. Rieka preferred to have it out of sight when she was on these reclusive training sessions.

  She stepped inside and felt the seat mold to her body. “Let’s find ourselves a runaway girl, Tin.”

  The craft shot into the sky, flanked by twenty drones flying in an inverted V. In a few short minutes they were nothing more than small glistening dots before they winked out of view as they left the planet's stratosphere.

  14

  DEEP WATER

  Oliver hacked desperately at the thick canvas safety belt that held him fast. He had noticed something off about Eorol’s disposition when they were in Shar. It was unusual. The man was overacting, and it heightened Oliver’s sense of peril about the man. Shael and Targon seemed oblivious to the overt warning signs. Their proximity to him in the past made them blind to the obvious. Oliver felt Eorol cooking some rotten plan, but wasn’t sure in what form, or when the treachery would come.

  He had secretly hidden the small knife on his person, at the beer garden in Shar, for this very eventuality, or something inevitably similar. It was a contingency. However, nothing had happened the entire trip, and he’d almost begun to give Eorol the benefit of the doubt. But now the dire situation, clearly Eorol’s design, had manifested itself.

  Oliver focused on cutting through the last harness strap. He was almost free. This chair would be a ball and chain if he couldn’t release the final strap. Come on dammit.

  He looked down at the base of the chair and saw the last remaining bracket pulling apart under his weight. He wouldn’t make it in time. He looked up at Shael. She’d seen it too and was terrified. A new plan was required!

  Oliver started boosting.

  He focused on the adrenaline. It triggered the implants that allowed him to speed up his metabolism to many times that of a normal person. The pandemonium around him immediately began to slow down. Shael’s screams changed pitch to a drawling bass. The terrible roar of the wasp’s straining turbines became low fluctuating sound waves. The debris that was sliding out the lopsided aircraft were falling in slow-motion. Each metallic clang as the loose bolts bounced were at further intervals apart.

  The pathetic small bracket, which had clearly been put there to sabotage his seat, finally gave way. The chair slid toward the open door and the stormy black abyss. Oliver’s driver instincts had taken over. Survival becoming paramount focus. No fear. Only pure concentration on the present moment. The chair was nearly at the door. Shael’s mouth was moving so slowly, he could lipread the individual vowel-sounds.

  Oliver gripped the chair tightly and reached up to the strap with his knife. He waited. The chair had to be underneath him when he cut the strap, or he would have no leverage, and simply fall into the stormy night sky. The chair rotated over, so he was falling headfirst. He kicked with his foot on the edge of the floor, to force the seat to complete the summersault. For a moment there was blackness and death below him.

  The chair was now completely outside the vessel and falling away to oblivion. One meter away from the wasp. Two meters. Finally, the chair rotated right over to face the wasp again. Now! He cut the strap and freed himself.

  Like an agile cat, Oliver pulled his legs up to crouch on the seat, then in the same motion, he sprang, arms outstretched.

  Under normal circumstances trying to get purchase or support from an item in midair was hopeless, it would merely absorb the force by moving away in the opposite direction. But with Oliver boosting, his powerful leap thrust the large clunky metallic chair away from the aircraft, like a projectile shooting into the black void. In turn, Oliver was able to propel himself back toward the opening. He was outstretched in the air, fully extended. But it wasn’t quite enough. His momentum was insufficient. He was going to fall short.

  At the last moment, the door swung open a few centimeters wider, and Oliver’s fingers found purchase on the steel ribs above the door seal. Salvation.

  Oliver hung there. He was still boosting, and driver mantras were rolling in his head. There was not a moment to waste. The wasp was hovering, stationary in the air. Once the wasp starts moving the acceleration will be too strong for me to hold on against.

  Instead of trying to re-enter through the door, Oliver acted on instinct and swung his legs over the landing skids. Then pulled himself across, so he was under the fuselage.

  He allowed his body to slow. Boosting was extremely draining. He had experienced the effects in the prolonged duel against Yarn, half a millennia ago. He would need his strength for the endurance to come.

  Oliver managed to get into a sitting position on the skid, and just in time. The craft rotated back to its proper orientation. He sat there catching his breath. A few moments later, the orange glow from the open cabin disappeared, and he heard the side doors close.

  Oliver found he could balance himself on the landing skids easily, and relax his muscles. He would still need to stay vigilant, so he didn’t accidentally topple off.

  Time to hunker down for the long flight, Oliver resolved.

  There were advantages some to Oliver’s current situation. Firstly, the temperature in this part of the continent was warm, he would not freeze to death. That did not eliminate the possibility of slipping and falling to his death of course. From a strategic point of view, Eorol had shown his true colors and revealed his allegiances. He almost certainly thought Oliver was dead, and this could be useful.

  We are most likely on our way to the zewka central base of operation right now, Oliver thought grimly, and that’s exactly where I want to go.

  Not only was this mafia-style organization, or family, a purge on the Naharainee economy and progress, they had somehow monopolized the aeronautical industry in Naharain. Oliver needed that.

  His driver instincts were strategizing and planning, it honed his sense of purpose, giving him the sensation, the hunger. He knew this was the effects of biochemical programming, but it didn’t diminish the physical feeling. It was like a drug hit. Oh, how he’d missed this.

  They thought they had killed Oliver when what they’d done in reality was activate the driver within. Cougar.

  15

  INFILTRATION

  As the wasp made its way across the continent, the climate changed noticeably. Slowly, as the hours of flying stretched on, it became much colder and dryer. They flew through the next day, and the far reaches of black mountains became visible. Eventually, Oliver realized they were not heading for the Naharain capital, but somewhere geographically closer to the mountains.

  To exacerbate the complication of the changing climate, the wasp was flying at high altitude. Oliver was straining to breathe, and the temperatures were freezing. Under normal circumstances, these harsh conditions would allow a person to survive only minutes, if they were lucky. To combat the obstacle of the cold Oliver had slown his body’s metabolism down, not as much as full cryogenic sleep, but enough bear the extreme conditions. His body required only a fraction of the oxygen when in slow-time. It made him drowsy, and slow to respond. He knew he could easily slip, and fall from the precarious position he was sitting in. He forced himself to stay awake.

  It was the change in altitude that alerted Oliver to the fact they must be getting closer to their destination. The first green light of dawn sparkled on the meandering Tashka, making it look tranquil and pristine, masking the true nature of its yellow waters.

  The wasp had descended significantly, and the air was warmer. Oliver could just make out individual brown roofs from the trading settlements, and fishing villages, clustered along the Tashka banks.

  The light was still poor, but as he scanned the river bank, an enormous commercial facility came into view. Warehouses, large mining vehicles, and rows of wasps like the one he was clinging to. They were heading directly for it on the opposite side of the river.
<
br />   Oliver began the arduous process of bringing his body out of slow-time. He had to hurry, they were descending. The wasp’s shadow danced over the water underneath, and as they flew lower, he could see the blue reflection of the craft on the surface.

  The sun hadn’t yet risen, and the light was still murky. But he’d still be spotted in a heartbeat if he was clinging onto the landing skid when the wasp touched down right in the middle of the facility. He looked down and estimated they were thirty meters above the surface of the Tashka. High, but possible to jump. They had crossed the most formidable part of the current already, and it looked sluggish here. As Oliver steeled himself to jump, it suddenly felt as if they were flying incredibly fast. There was nothing else for it. He lowered himself down and then let his body hang from the skid. There were seconds left before they would be over land. He let go.

  Despite angling his body to match the trajectory of is fall, and landing feet first, he hit the water hard. It was a jarring impact, like a head-on collision. The wind was driven out of his lungs. A searing pain shot through his left ankle, as it twisted back. Instantly he was drawn along under the surface by the current. It was deceptively swift. He tried to orientate himself upwards. The trauma of the hard landing had his lungs screaming for air. He felt his shoulder brush the silty riverbed, and he put his legs down. To his surprise when he stood, he found the water only came up to his chest, and the bank was not more than five meters away. He waded towards the shore, trying to keep the weight off his left foot.

  He crawled, muddy and wet, up the bank. His body was still reeling from having come out of slow-time. The upgrades, Lego implanted in Oliver centuries ago, had not only gifted Oliver the ability to control his body’s speed, but also nanotechnology. Nanites provided his immune system with an extraordinary ability to stave off disease and accelerate his natural healing process. It had indeed once saved his life when his leg had become infected in the jungle.

  Coming out of slow-time was one of the most onerous sensations Oliver had experienced, both on the ship and the planet. Even the short time on the wasp had harsh after effects. He pulled some brush and foliage over himself to keep his body concealed. He lay on his back, to let himself recover, and quickly fell into a trancelike sleep as his body’s nanites began their frantic task of repairing his body.

  Oliver was not sure how long he’d been sleeping for. He suspected twenty-four-hours at least. He felt refreshed, the effects of slow-time were gone entirely.

  He had to think of a way to enter the complex without alerting everyone to his presence. The longer he could maintain the element of surprise, the more likely he was to find Shael and Targon.

  The zewka needed them for something. Otherwise, they would have been jettisoned from the wasp the same way he was. So he wasn’t worried about their wellbeing. But what did they need them for? Most likely something to do with Targon’s expertise.

  Should I just walk through the front door, guns blazing? he asked himself. No, too dangerous. Stealth is required—at least for the beginning.

  It was the distinctive sound of a low-geared motor on the water that caused him to sit up and scan the river. A barge, overloaded with black-stone, sitting extremely low in the water, was inching its way upriver towards the compound. Further down was another. Looking across to the opposite bank Oliver could make out empty boats going in the other direction. This was a water highway for the blackstone deliveries. His entry point!

  Oliver’s familiar, unrelenting, driver instincts kicked in, as his body came fully back in sync. His programming pushing him to the next task with ruthless efficiency. Oliver knew he had to be extremely careful not to let these feelings sit in the driver’s seat, as it were. There was a vicious and cut-throat side to his driver within, that if left unchecked, would commit depraved, inhuman acts without a second thought. Oliver had vowed never to let this part of himself take control—no matter who the enemy was.

  He eyed the next barge in the distance. If he could swim out into the main flow and simply steer himself, he should be able to intercept its path.

  There were dangerous undertows, even in the shallows, as he had experienced moments ago when he got sucked down. Oliver dragged a nearby log into the water, tested its buoyancy, then pushed himself out into the flow.

  *

  The maneuver was second nature for Karib. He overshot the canal entrance, waited until the marker on the river bank, then spun the steering wheel hard right. He coaxed the heavy-laden hull of the barge, to make a slow turn. It made a forty-five-degree b-line for the entrance to the enormous black-stone depository. The angle was precisely calculated to take into account the speed of the river. Even under the current circumstances, Karib didn’t think about these complex motions. After over a decade of driving barges on the Tashka, the calculations had become muscle memory. Expert precision guided the awkward vessel into the canal mouth, with only meters to spare on either side.

  “You do know who runs this facility, right?” Karib asked again. He had dealt with enough dangerous men in his life to know that this man meant business. It wasn’t just his large athletic stature, but the calm manner in which he conducted himself. But that all didn’t matter, he was doing something fatally foolish, by attempting to infiltrate the main zewka complex. And for what? Piles of blackstone? It was a deathwish that made no sense. In fact, Karib decided that was an apt name for the crazy man standing behind him, ‘Deathwish’.

  Somehow Karib knew that although Deathwish was dangerous, and had the eyes of a killer, he was also a good man. A conundrum. He simply had to cooperate with his nonsensical demands, and he would come through this okay. Fine by him.

  Deathwish had an unusual accent, and Karib was only able to decipher some of what was being demanded. He wanted to be taken to the main building? Again, you didn’t have to stow away on a blackstone barge for that, you could enter through the front gate, like normal people. Unless of course, this man had some beef with the family. Well, in that case, Deathwish had a deathwish.

  “Listen!” Karib said beseechingly. “I will take you where you want to go. But these people are dangerous if you get on the wrong side of them… I don’t want to see anybody get hurt.” He tried to turn again to get a look at Deathwish, and again the strong hand engaged the painful pressure point on his neck. He’d done this before, that was for sure. Karib turned his gaze forward again.

  “I’ll make you a deal, Boatman,” Deathwish said, keeping a threatening hand on his shoulder. “If you don’t alert anybody to my presence, then I won’t tell them that you helped me enter the complex, and we are working together.”

  Karib went cold. If they thought he was complicit in any way in helping an enemy infiltrate the facility, it would end very badly for him. Very badly indeed. Everybody had heard the stories of what happens to zewka enemies.

  Karib had spent his life living under the radar, choosing a line of work where he would not be noticed, and there were no expectations of him. He had found his own recipe for happiness, and it worked, for the most part. So how had he come to deserve this horrible twist of fate? Hundreds of barges on the river and Deathwish had to climb aboard his one. If he could just go back to his inconspicuous role…

  “What if you sneak off my boat,” Karib offered, “and we both pretend we never saw each other? I’ll even point you in the direction of the main complex,” he added reluctantly.

  “I was hoping you would come to this conclusion, Boatman,” Deathwish said. “You just give me an opportunity to leave the boat without being seen, and you have my word nobody will know we ever saw each other.”

  “Over there,” Karib pointed to some palatial looking grounds about a kilometer away. “Past the airfield where the white buildings begin. That is where the family are. They run all operations from there.”

  The main house was markedly different from the immediate surrounding quarry yard by the canal. Green lawns, with immaculate gardens, led up to a white stone building. Even from this distance
, Karib could see the pillars and detail. It reminded him of a second-epoch castle.

  It was no secret that the Arif Zewka celebrated the romantic style of the epoch, and prized artifacts very highly. The white stone, of which Karib didn’t even know the name, was a clear sign of wealth, in a place where every kind of rock in a one hundred kilometer radius was either grey or black. The enormous mountains of blackstone gravel that had been deposited by the barges enhanced the contrast to the clean, luxurious structures, which glistened white in the morning sun.

  “I’ve never been up there myself,” Karib said apologetically, “So I can’t tell you more.”

  People like me don’t go to places like that, he thought to himself, and I don’t think I’d ever want to.

  “The best place to disembark without being seen would be just before the unload zone. See those deposits there.” He pointed to several piles which were not yet being processed. “You shouldn’t encounter anybody there. But it’s not too late to abandon this insanity quest. If you stay here in the cabin, I can let you back out, once we’ve exited the grounds. Nobody comes in here, you’ll go unnoticed. What do you say to that?”

  Deathwish was awfully quiet. At least he had removed the threatening hand from Karib’s shoulder. “How about it?”

  Silence.

  Karib dared to turn his head slowly. Still nothing. Ah to hell with it, he turned around. The wheelhouse was empty. Deathwish was nowhere to be seen. Gone, as quietly as he came. The only sign that he had been here was wet footprints leading to the open door.

  Karib was still brooding from the peculiar encounter. Deathwish had left him shaken. It wasn’t just the physical threat from the man, he hadn’t really hurt Karib. He rubbed his shoulder trying to identify where that pressure point was that he never knew existed. No, it wasn’t that, it was his air of fierce determination to mess up the status quo, that really shook Karib. Why would somebody seek out such a thing?