by Jan Domagala
Whenever he felt he needed to recharge his batteries there was no other choice, he returned home every time.
That’s how it had been this time. After the incident on Research Station Five and his realisation of how the project had altered him, he made a decision, one he had been thinking about ever since he returned home.
After retrieving the data card from the traitor Howard he began to wonder about the harm that data could do – not the good, but the harm.
If the Alliance knew it was still out there, to what lengths would they go to obtain it? If it were returned to Col Sec, would they develop more experiments like the one he’d endured to perfect the Super Soldier? Where would they stop? How far were they willing to go?
And then there was the effect it had had on him and would have, in the future. The Confederation would not leave him be if they knew the extent of the changes taking place in his metabolism. He would be forever under scrutiny, under examination or worse, some sort of super agent sent on covert ops where the chance of survival was usually nil, but now of course that had all changed.
That was why when Sinclair told him that all the data had been downloaded onto the card and deleted from the memory core, he told him that the card had been damaged and the data corrupted and therefore he had destroyed it.
Sinclair was furious, obviously, especially when Stryder told him that there had been no changes after the last run of tests he had undergone.
To all intents and purposes, the project was dead in the water.
He knew Sinclair didn’t believe him, but his leave was granted anyway. Stryder knew that Sinclair still wanted him working for him, but he wanted him voluntarily and not having been coerced.
As he lounged on his veranda overlooking the coast, with the verdant blue seas and sailing boats below, he took out the data card and looked at it again. On the small table at his elbow was a long, cold drink that he lifted with his free hand and took a sip. It was white rum and pineapple juice over a mound of ice cubes. Savouring the taste of the blended flavours he pondered the small object in his other hand.
What should he do with it? Should he return it so they could continue their research and take the consequences, or destroy it as he had said?
There were potential advances in medicine to be gained from this research. Many lives would be saved if they could harness it, but also, as with any great discovery, there was an equal potential for harm.
It was a dilemma that had plagued him this past fortnight. He was no closer to an answer now, than he had been at the start.
“Hello in there. Is there anyone home?” said a female voice from below the veranda.
Hurriedly putting the data card away in the pocket of his shorts, Stryder got to his feet and went to the railing at the edge of the veranda.
Wandering around below, looking about her was a young woman. As she turned to look up she wore an expression of frustration on her lovely face.
She was tall, standing around five feet ten, with an athletic figure and a full bosom. She was wearing a tight, low-cut white tee shirt and khaki shorts that showed off her shapely legs. On her feet she wore open sandals. She was dark skinned and her complexion was almost perfect.
Her dark eyes were like limpid pools in which a man could drown, given time. Although dark skinned, her nose was slender rather than squat and her lips were full and sensuous. Her hair was braided, long and pulled back from around her face and tied off at the nape of her neck.
When she spoke her voice was soft and smooth as silk.
She said, “Hello, can you help me please, I seem to be lost?”
Although she was asking for help, he got the impression that this was a situation she was unaccustomed to. She gave off the air of being very self-sufficient.
“Certainly, hold on I’ll be right down,” Stryder said. As he passed through the lounge he made a quick detour to his wall safe where he deposited the data card. Then he continued to the staircase, which would take him down to the front door below the veranda.
As he opened the door she was facing the other way, her back to him as she took in the amazing view.
“Hi,” he said. As she turned he added, “I’m Kurt Stryder, please come in. Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Thank you, but it’s really not necessary. I just need you to point me in the right direction,” she replied.
“If I can, I will, but first some refreshment to speed you on your way, Miss err…?”
“If you insist, my name’s Zara Hardy,” she said reluctantly, stepping into the villa.
“There’s no need to worry Miss Hardy, I don’t bite,” Stryder said with a smile, as he followed her back inside.
He indicated for her to go upstairs and when she reached the top of the landing she said, “Very nice Mister Stryder.”
“My friends call me Kurt,” he said coming to stand next to her.
“But I hardly know you,” she replied coyly, smiling at her host.
“Well, let me get you that drink and we can rectify that now, can’t we?” he said going over to the mini bar by the wall.
He poured two fingers of white rum into a tall glass tumbler then poured a good measure of pineapple juice over it topping it off with a handful of ice cubes.
“There you go, that should refresh you a little,” he said as he handed her the drink.
After tasting it she said, “Very nice.”
“Join me,” he said as he walked through onto the veranda. She followed him and took the offered seat next to his.
“Now this is very nice. You’ll have to be careful Mister Stryder, I may not want to leave,” she said smiling.
“Kurt, call me Kurt,” he insisted.
“Okay, Kurt,” she agreed with a nod of her head.
“Tell me where you’re looking for?” he asked.
“I’m actually trying to find my way back to Jacksonville, but I must’ve taken a wrong turning somewhere along the way.”
“Jacksonville’s not that far away actually I’ll give you directions when we’ve finished these drinks and you can be on your way.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it, really. If I can ever repay the favour, you only have to ask.”
“That implies that we’ll keep in touch, or is it one of those gestures that people make just to be polite but that they never intend to keep?” Stryder asked. Then after a short pause he added, “I’m sorry, I put you on the spot there.”
“No, it’s fine, honestly, and no, it wasn’t an empty gesture,” she replied.
“Okay then, how about dinner tonight? I know of a wonderful restaurant. You tell me where you’re staying and I’ll pick you up at, say eight. How’s that sound?”
Smiling broadly she said, “That sounds great. I’m staying at the Wyatt Hotel, room 3121.”
“It’s a date then,” he said. Then he stopped what he was doing abruptly, his drink halfway to his mouth, all his senses on overdrive. Something was not quite right. He’d heard something that had alerted him, but to what? He wasn’t quite sure; it just felt wrong somehow.
“Are you okay?” Zara asked becoming concerned at his sudden change of mood.
“It’s nothing,” he said, not wanting to alarm her. It was then that the danger presented itself in the form of three armed men; all dressed in black from head to toe and armed with Arnov mini assault pistols. They had rushed upstairs and were in the middle of the lounge aiming their Arnov’s straight at Kurt and Zara.
“No one needs to get hurt here. If you just do as we say then it’ll be over before you know it. Slowly, put your hands on your head, you’re coming with us,” said the gunman in the middle.
“It seems that dinner may be delayed a little,” Stryder said calmly.
8
“You, Stryder, are coming with us,” said the leader of the trio.
“Okay, that’s fine by me, as long as you allow the girl to leave unharmed,” Stryder said calmly yet assertively.
“I can’t do that
I’m afraid.”
“Why not? She only just arrived, she’s lost, came here for directions. Whatever this is about, she’s not part of it and is no threat to you,” Stryder argued hoping they would let her go.
“Do you expect me to believe that? How cosy you two are, yet you say you’ve only just met? I don’t think so,” countered the leader of the gunmen with a sneer.
“Then what do you intend to do?” Stryder asked, probing to learn just how much trouble they were in.
“My orders are to bring you along, it says nothing about your friend here,” was the reply. Stryder wasn’t about to leave it there; it was too non-committal.
“Well, if you can’t let her go, there’s only one other option. Think about it, if she’s lost that means someone’s waiting for her. If she turns up dead then the authorities will be all over you like a rash, not only that but Col Sec too. You do know who I am and why they told you to snatch me, don’t you?” he said.
Glances were exchanged between the other two gunmen. When the enormity of what they were involved in struck home, the leader spoke, having thought it through.
“My orders never said anything about killing anyone, so it looks like you’re coming too Missy. I’ll let them sort out what to do with you later. I’m not getting paid enough for all this shit,” he said.
“I knew I should never have accepted that offer of a drink,” Zara said in a tense voice.
Stryder turned to look at her, stared into her eyes then said, “Don’t worry, this is going to be fine, trust me. You don’t think I’m going to let you get out of our dinner date that easily do you?” He smiled and saw some of the tension in her eyes smooth away a little.
“Very touching, but before you two lovebirds can get to that dinner date, we have the little matter of … what was it again … oh yes, you’re coming with us. Now move it,” the gunman said sarcastically.
“You’re a funny guy, I just might tell my boss to go easy on you,” Stryder countered.
Prodding him in the back with the mini assault pistol the gunman barked, “I said move it!”
“I said I might tell him to go easy on you, that could change you know,” Stryder said.
The gunman stepped in front of him and gave him a slashing blow across the face with his pistol. The blow opened up a cut on Stryder’s left cheek.
“That’s just in case you forgot who’s in charge here. Now move,” said the gunman.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Stryder said.
“Oh, really.”
“Yep, you… I’ll kill you myself,” Stryder said and his eyes bore into the gunman’s letting him know that there was no doubt in his mind he would carry out his threat. He froze beneath the stare and a moment later, when he regained his composure he smiled, a little more nervously this time. He waved his pistol in front of Stryder then beckoned towards the stairs for them to leave.
Zara said, “Are you always such a hothead?”
“We’ll be fine, trust me,” he replied.
“You keep saying that,” she said. She stopped abruptly when she spotted something that made her catch her breath.
The cut on Kurt’s face healed almost immediately and the lead gunman saw it too. He leaned in closer to get a better view, unable to believe his eyes, saying, “What the fuck?” and that’s when Stryder made his move.
As the gunman leaned in, his guard was momentarily down. Stryder and Hardy, as instructed, had their hands on top of their heads. Stryder hit the gunman on the side of his face with a thunderous right cross from the top of his head that travelled downwards at a forty-five degree angle. He twisted his hips as he delivered the punch to put maximum force into it.
The gunman’s head was snapped sideways viciously as the blow connected and, as he was leaning forwards, had no chance to either cover up or ride it. The force of the punch stunned him causing him to rock back on his heels. His eyes rolled up inside his sockets as his senses left him.
Stryder grabbed the mini assault pistol from his grasp before the gunman fell to the floor, out cold.
Bringing up the Arnov, he strafed the other two gunmen before they had a chance to react.
The burst of plasma fire caught the gunmen across the chest sending each one flying backwards in a mist of blood as the bolts tore up their bodies.
They were dead before they hit the floor.
Quickly Stryder went over to them to check their vitals. Reaching down to each one he felt for the pulse in their necks. Finding none and satisfied they posed no further threat, he returned to the first gunman who was beginning to recover from the punch to the head. Hardy had watched the events of the last few moments without so much as a flicker and, as Stryder was checking the two dead gunmen said, “Wow, you’re good.”
Stryder stood over the prone gunman watching intently as he showed signs of recovery and, without taking his eyes off him, said, “Thanks. You’re a cool customer yourself. What are you really doing here?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said remaining composed.
“What are you, local Constabulary, Col Sec, Recon Delta? We’ve just been confronted by three armed men. You watched me neutralise one, and then take the other two out without as much as a gasp. No screams, no histrionics, why is that do you think? If you were who you said you were, just a passing tourist looking for directions, then surely what just happened here would’ve caused you at least some concern, unless you are used to being ‘under fire’ as it were?” Stryder said as he stood astride the gunman. As he began to move a bit more, Stryder placed his right foot between his shoulder blades and holding the Arnov in his right hand, pressed the muzzle against the back of the intruder’s skull.
“Don’t move,” he said. Then, secure in the knowledge the gunman was, for the moment under control, he turned his head to look at her.
“Well, who sent you?” he asked.
As he looked at her he watched her expression change suddenly from blank to surprised and he knew immediately that something had happened behind him.
He turned to see two more gunmen had reached the top of the stairs. Armed also with Arnovs, they were preparing to fire.
Stryder brought the Arnov he was holding up as fast as he could and let loose a burst of plasma fire. Never expecting to hit them, the salvo had the desired effect of making the newcomers retreat down the stairs using the wall for cover.
“Quick move!” ordered Stryder as he struck the gunman at his feet to the head with the pistol to prevent him following. Pushing Hardy towards the veranda he quickly closed the patio doors behind them.
“Oh great, that’ll stop ’em,” she said.
“Toughened glass,” he replied.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked becoming uneasy, thinking they were trapped with no cover.
“We jump,” Stryder said and headed for the railing. He climbed over it and facing away from the house prepared to jump to the ground some fifteen feet below.
“Are you crazy?” she asked her voice going up an octave. Just then plasma fire struck the patio doors as the gunmen fired at them.
“A little, yes,” Stryder replied then jumped.
“Oh shit!” she exclaimed as she followed him over the railing. She steadied herself, and then also jumped.
Stryder dropped the fifteen feet with his feet together and on landing, allowed his legs to bend at the knees to absorb the impact, then rolled as he had been taught by his parachute instructor back in basic training.
Getting to his feet as quickly as he could, he prepared to help Hardy on her landing which he had no doubt she would make with no trouble at all. He had detected within a very short time an iron resolve in the young woman.
She followed him to the floor and, making a landing similar to his, got to her feet with only a little urging from him.
“Okay, where to now?” she asked hurriedly. It seemed to her that they had only delayed the inevitable.
“Now we get out of here,” he replied walking to a door t
hat at first she hadn’t seen.
Stryder placed his hand to what, at first glance, seemed to be part of the design on the wall. A light shone beneath as a sensor read his palm print. One section of the wall slid upwards and around the inside of the ceiling of the chamber it revealed.
“Impressive,” Hardy conceded as she followed him inside the spacious garage. Stryder was climbing inside the driver’s console of the vehicle on the right. Of the two vehicles inside the garage this one looked the fastest. It was a bright red CIV sports hatch, one of the fastest vehicles on the road. The Celeron Independent Vehicles sports hatch was capable of speeds up to two hundred miles an hour.
Hardy got into the passenger seat alongside Stryder who had already primed the fuel cell that powered the sleek ground car.
“Hold on,” he said as the engine roared into life and as he pressed the accelerator the sports hatch sped out of the garage.
Hardy was pressed back into the racing-style bucket seat as the sports hatch left the confines of the garage. It slammed sideways as Stryder threw the car into a power slide navigating a tight turn along the narrow track that led onto the road that ran past his villa.
She reached for the harness and strapped it on once the car was going in a straight line again.
As the car sped past the front of his villa, Stryder saw the other two gunmen exit his home, followed rather groggily by the leader of the first group. They got into a CIV Marauder SUV and sped after them, tyres spinning on the track until they gained the proper purchase needed from the road.
“What happens now?” Hardy asked, her voice calm despite the tension of the situation.
“We get away, then figure out who those thugs are and who sent them,” Stryder said as he concentrated on his driving. The road was narrow, twisting and therefore inherently dangerous.
There was a small coastal town a few miles from the villa, after which the road widened to three lanes before it reached Jacksonville.
“I never saw your ground car as we left my villa,” he said not looking at her.
