by Carl Damen
Mistaren glared at Edarus, his eyes like dark coals smoldering in an otherwise grandfatherly face. "You could. Wouldn't be the smartest move, in the long run. Holding back important information, that's bad. But after what's going to happen—that's treachery in and of itself."
Edarus felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "What's happening tonight?"
"I told you six months; it's been four. There's a timetable." Mistaren abruptly smiled. "Say, where's that lovely wife of yours? You can't leave, of course, that would look too suspicious. But you, ah, you might want to get Amanda close by, somewhere where you two won't get separated."
"What's going on?"
Mistaren winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Best if you don't know. If things somehow go off-script, it'll be more believable if you're as surprised as everyone else. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some other people I need to see…" He popped a small sandwich into his mouth then wandered away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.
Edarus couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. His imagination ran wild with all of the horrors Mistaren could have planned for the evening. Most of them were probably impossible, beyond even Mistaren's ability to perform. But then, if he had the Defenders under his belt, was anything really out of his realm of possibility?
Slowly a resolution formed within Edarus: he would warn Isaac. Mistaren's assurances were worthless, and he couldn't control Edarus. Edarus knew of a credible threat to the president's safety, and any Secret Service agent he told would evacuate the president, and then Mistaren's little plot would be worthless.
Until the questions started.
Edarus saw the rest of his life unraveling before him: the truth coming out about his involvement with Mistaren, the general's swift downfall, his own downfall as he was sacrificed to the public as the mastermind behind the true E.H.U.D. program… years later, sitting in a maximum security prison, Than coming to visit him, asking him why he had thrown it all away… himself asking why he had missed the call for greatness, all because he was too afraid to fight for the greater good of the nebulous future.
He went to find Amanda.
"Ed," she muttered as he dragged her away from a group of lobbyists she was working on, "They were about ready to make donations-"
"I think you should probably stay close tonight, you know?"
She jerked her arm away from him. "It's too late for the touchy-feely crap, alright?"
"I just—I have a bad feeling, okay? Something just seems off tonight."
She stared at him in puzzlement.
"Look, let's just stay together, okay? Hey, look over there." He pointed at an older woman behind Amanda. "I'm sure the congresswoman will want to steer funds your way."
Amanda continued to stare at him, then turned and made her way to the congress woman. Edarus followed.
They stayed together for the next twenty minutes, mingling with the crowd, soliciting donations for Amanda's charity and exchanging pleasantries with Edarus's colleagues.
Soft chimes of music caused everyone to drift away from the open areas of the ballroom and congregate at the tables set before a large podium. Edarus helped Amanda into a chair, then sat down himself and and looked to see Isaac Latterndale mount the stage and take his place behind the podium. He looked out at the crowd, his face solemn, and began to speak.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, friends and colleagues, it is wonderful to see you all here today. We are gathered here today to remember a profound event, the great awakening that the United States had at the dawn of the 21st century, that so defined our history and culture for so many years..."
The speech droned on for ten minutes, heartfelt but bland. The president expressed the same sentiment that had been expressed on every anniversary since the tragedy of the September Eleventh attacks: Sorrow for the innocent lives lost, respect for those gallant men and women who sacrificed their lives to save others, righteous indignation against those who would perform such actions against civilians and, rather incongruously, a hope that America had learned from these attacks and would be more humble in the future.
This last bit bothered Edarus. Despite his position, he wasn't a particularly strong patriot, and he certainly wasn't spoiling for a fight with any country for any reason. Still, he felt that, since America had been so wronged in the attacks, it was their right to strike back and secure peace. Instead, their retaliatory war had been vilified, and was now seen as a massive embarrassment, leading to submissive foreign policy that admitted, by deed if not by word, that they believed themselves deserving of international aggression. Of course, that was all ancient history now, and couldn't—
"—be prouder to serve this nation as it grows ever stronger, ever more ready to take its rightful place in the global community."
The applause that greeted the president's words shook Edarus out of himself, and he focused back on Isaac.
The president graciously accepted the applause. "Thank you, thank you all. Now, I know you're all probably rather tired of me going on, as I tend to do, and you'll want to hear someone a bit more concise and eloquent." He paused to let a fresh round of applause die down. "So! Without further ado, I'm proud to introduce my esteemed colleague Senator Mitchell Terstein."
The audience clapped, the president left the stage, and… no one came up.
Edarus's throat tightened. He glanced around, expecting to see someone slipping through a door or a rifle sliding out from behind a curtain.
The applause died and a polite silence ensued.
No one came to the stage.
Edarus was about to jump up, was about to warn Isaac of his immanent danger, when the silence changed to excited whispering as someone came on stage. It was definitely not Senator Terstein.
The newcomer was short, with a thick beard and stubby, dirty-looking dreadlocks. Unlike the other male guests in their tuxedos, this man wore layer upon layer of ragged coats and scarves. He scratched at his large nose as he approached the podium.
"Um, hello…" he said experimentally, leaning into the microphone atop the podium.
The whispers increased in volume, and Edarus saw several Secret Service agents rush along the sides of the room, only to abruptly stop some twenty feet from the stage and stand stock-still.
Mistaren had really done it. He had co-opted the Defenders. Edarus knew who, what, this man was, and with that knowledge came the abrupt closing of Edarus's window of opportunity. Whatever the outcome of the next few minutes, he was stuck with Mistaren to the end.
"Hello," the man said again, and conversation ceased. "My name is, uh, Merd Lanlin, Private First class, U.S. Army." He paused for a moment. "Retired. Not who you expected, but… uh, after that introduction I'm going to try and be as concise and eloquent as I can." Someone in the front row stood. "No interruptions, please. I promise I'll be quick."
The man in the front row didn't sit down, but he didn't move, either. One arm stood out as if frozen in place.
"I want to talk for a minute about the E.H.U.D.s. Now I know you all know about the E.H.U.D. system. Damn fine machines, definitely, but they're not why I'm here. Reason I'm here is the super-soldiers. You know about them? The rumor going around that the suits're just sort of a cover for government testing program, trying to improve our soldiers."
The room was dead silent. Edarus closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. Beside him, Amanda reached out and pushed her hand into his.
"Well, those rumors were absolutely true. Not accurate, but true. Anyone can tell you it doesn't take half a trillion to make a wearable tank; that's stupid. But it does take that to make super-soldiers. The Defenders they were called. Same acronym, E.H.U.D., so disguising purchase orders was easier, but the 'D' was Defenders."
He paused and glared at the audience, daring someone to challenge what he said.
"Of course, as bad as super-soldiers is, there's nothing wrong with it, as long as you go legal. Take the first two test subjects, for instance. Two career military b
oys, get hyped up on the super-serum, next thing you know, they could kick Captain America's ass. But the government didn't stop there, oh no." He chuckled. "The whole last administration—hell, most of this administration, probably, the president definitely—went ahead and captured a hundred innocent civilians, and—" He stopped and scratched his chin. "Well, I wasn't a civilian, but I damn sure weren't no volunteer. Anyways, they kidnapped us, tortured us, made us do things to break our wills, then made supermen out of us. And I don't know why, but here we are on your doorstep, fifty of the toughest sons of bitches you'd ever want to meet, and we aren't happy."
No one spoke. Edarus felt unnaturally confused, unable to form words. Lanlin was doing this. He thought of going for his phone to call for help but... it suddenly didn't seem important. Lanlin was taking this seriously.
Amanda's hand was warm in Edarus's grip.
"There's only one man you have to blame for all this, one man who put together the bill that started all this shit, one man who got it voted in, one man who stayed with the project and made sure it went off without a hitch, ready to fuck the world over and establish the new American order. One man I'm going to kill tonight." His arm rose, elbow bent and hand skyward. The hand dropped, an accusing finger pointing straight at the overweight old man in the front row. "President Isaac Latterndale."
Those words seemed to loose something in the room. People suddenly moved, panicked conversation erupted, the president stood and began to noisily denounce his accuser.
Edarus watched as a cadre of Secret Service surrounded Isaac and took aim at Lanlin.
Lanlin, smiling, laughing, reached into his pile of coats, looking for all the world as if he were going for a gun. It was enough for the president's cadre of Secret Service agents. All other sound was drowned out by gunfire.
As the echoes died away, Edarus found Amanda pressed close to him, her arms wrapped around him. Between the imminent danger he knew awaited and the warm body next to him, he felt more alert than he had in years, primal purpose coursing through his veins..
At the front of the room, Lanlin stood, smiling and unscathed. Floating in the air before him, some still vibrating, most glowing slightly, were nearly a hundred bullets.
Amanda pulled away, half-standing with the rest of the audience to stare in silent fascination as the bullets began to drift together, glowing brighter where they touched and fusing into one another. Soon Lanlin stood behind a head-sized sphere of lead which began to spin, faster and faster, until—
Edarus knocked Amanda to the floor, kicking over the table in the process. He didn't see what happened next, but he heard a sharp crack, wet ripping sounds, strangled screams.
He levered himself up and cautiously looked over the edge of the table. Lanlin was leering at the mangled pile of agents surrounding the president. A few of them must have been alive, because more gunfire erupted sporadically from the pile, but the bullets all swung wide, veering off into the crowd and burying themselves in fleeing guests.
The pile shifted as agents rose into the air, only to be brought back down with bone-breaking force.
Edarus dropped down and looked back to Amanda. She stared at him, eyes wide.
"Don't do it."
Edarus felt a thrill of adrenaline. He knew it would be stupid to go up against Lanlin. He also knew that Mistaren had his hands all over this, and wouldn't let things get too terrible for his chosen puppet. "I need to get out there. I need to get to Isaac."
"You have no idea what the fuck that is out there! You go out there, you'll get killed!"
Their eyes locked for a moment. Lanlin meant death. Amanda meant a chance, however slim, of staying alive. Edarus looked away. He had already made up his mind, had already agreed to be complicit in Mistaren's coup. There was no going back.
Edarus grasped Amanda's hands and looked into her eyes. "I love you," he said, hoping she believed him. "But I've got to do something. I've got to try to save the president."
Amanda's eyes went cold, and she pulled her hands away from Edarus. He crawled out from behind the table and sat up on his knees, trying to find a safe route to the pile of bodies that was still providing some measure of protection for Isaac.
"He's not going to die now, you know."
Edarus ducked down and found Mistaren under a table beside him.
"I'm assuming it's safe to go in and rescue him?"
Mistaren shrugged. "I'm not in charge here." A piece of chair swung past Edarus's head, hitting the floor with enough force to shatter it. "I just set the stage and let the rest shake out.
Edarus felt his determination drain away. Hiding next to Amanda was suddenly a much more inviting prospect. "You don't have any plan past this?"
"We need to get the president to use the scramblers. If he does that, everything else falls into place."
Edarus lurched forward and grabbed the lapels of Mistaren's jacket. He didn't know where this sudden boldness came from; ten minutes ago he never would have dreamed of confronting Mistaren physically. "Will I get out of this alive?" he growled.
Mistaren stared back calmly, oblivious to the deafening noise around him. He seemed to be seriously considering Edarus's question. "That's up to you."
Edarus nodded and ducked out from under the table.
Lanlin's voice rose up over the cacophony, his words nearly unintelligible. "Where are you, you fucker? I know you're there! C'mon out, boy!" Lanlin was playing with his food.
Edarus stopped under a table in sight of the place where the Secret Service agents had died. Even now the pile of their bodies was shifting and sliding as bodies floated up into the air and were flung around. There was no sign of Isaac Latterndale. Edarus scanned the area around the bodies and saw the heap of a crushed table shiver. He worked his way around behind it, belly-crawling through a thick brown pool of viscera. All breathing was through the mouth. By the time he had reached the table he must have looked so much like a mangled corpse that Lanlin freely ignored him.
Close up, panicked breathing could be heard under the remains of the table. Something moved inside, and then the blood-smeared face of the president was looking out at Edarus. "Help me," he mouthed.
A hand grabbed Edarus's leg and he froze, thinking he would be the next body flung into the air.
"The doors are locked!" Mistaren hissed from somewhere around Edarus's waist.
The president's eyes widened.
Edarus took a deep breath, nearly gagged, and whispered, "You need to call in scramblers."
Isaac's eyes widened further. "We can't do that! They don't exist!"
Mistaren pushed his way forward until he was face-to-face with the president. "Damn secrecy; we don't use them we die. We can't hope to starve Lanlin out."
Isaac looked around wildly, breathing hard, then nodded and wiggled around until he brought out his hand, clutching a very small mobile. He typed in a code, then looked up at Mistaren. "Now what?"
Mistaren quirked an eyebrow. "You stay here."
The tirade from the dais abruptly changed. "I'm getting' bored now, Isaac. I came for you, not for your guests. Last chance to be a man about this."
"Don't listen to him." Mistaren reached behind his back and pulled out two blood-smeared pistols, passing one to Edarus.
"You distract Lanlin; I'll get the doors."
Edarus nodded and began to crawl away from the president. Before he had moved more than a foot there was a moment of sudden, absolute silence, followed by a resigned sigh from the behind the podium. "Time's up, Isaac."
The president began to rise into the air, the remains of the table sliding off his back. "Lob!" he hollered, his eyes bulging with fear. "Lob, get me out!"
Mistaren jumped to his feet and ran to the knot of panicked guests clogging the nearest exit. At the same moment Edarus, trying his best to ignore the overwhelming panic that begged him to stay down, also rose and skittered across the slick floor to stand before Lanlin.
From somewhere in the room, he thought he heard
Amanda call his name.
The pistol was up in a two-handed grip. "Merd Lanlin!"
Lanlin looked away from the president, struggling vainly in mid-air, and locked eyes with Edarus. "The hell's this?"
Edarus opened his mouth, closed it, then yelled, "I don't know what the hell you are, but this is your only warning: You are committing an act of war upon the United States, and it will be responded to as such! Cease and desist, and maybe we can talk this through!" Edarus peripherally knew the pistol trembled; he knew he was sweating profusely. But he also knew that if he survived this moment, the sun would never set on his career.
Lanlin sneered at him. "Seriously?"
Edarus shifted his grip on the pistol and tried to dig his feet into a steadier stance.
