by Carl Damen
Ken took the weight of the thin Defender, rolled, came up to his feet grappling with Jack. They both broke apart, began swinging at each other, neither hitting, too evenly matched. Suddenly, Jack struck out with his third fist, his invisible fist, flattening Ken's face and spraying out even more blood. He reached inside with the fist, found Ken's heart, began to squeeze it.
Ken gasped, clutched at his chest, narrowed his eyes. Jack was flung backwards, scraped along the rough ground for a yard, his back torn and bloody. He came up, lunged, found all feeling below his waist disappear, stumbled and collapsed, his legs flopping and twitching, trying to find a signal from the brain.
Jack glared up as Ken leaned over him, his flattened nose slowly extending, snapping back into place, the flow of blood drying and stopping.
"Before, back when it was just a swing or two at my head? That was kind of cute. You were just trying to show you weren't totally broken, were still fighting back. That was good, that was spirit. But this? This is just goddamn sad. You don't get it yet, do you? You can't beat me. I rule here, and you have no choice but to fall in line."
Jack tried to muster a wad of bloody saliva, to spit it up into Ken's face, but it merely fell back into his own.
"I know all about you, Johnny-boy. I've read your files and I've read your mind. What you don't seem to realize is, while you're stuck here, I can leave whenever I want. What's to stop me from going up to Philadelphia, from finding Lucille Dawkins, from doing whatever I damn well please to here?"
Jack began to twitch.
"You may think the outside world is gone. In a way, it is. You can't touch it. But it can sure as hell touch you. I can come back and tell you just exactly what I did to her. Hell, I can do one better. I can show you, I can give you a nice vicarious conjugal visit to your little girlfriend. How'd you like that?"
Jack continued to twitch, his eyes growing wider.
"Good." Ken straightened and walked away.
As feeling began to return to Jack's body, as he was able to roll over and stand, to see the stunned and piteous looks of his compatriots, a voice came into his mind.
Now will you do it? Now will you bide your time with me, join me in subverting men like him? Now will you be one of my Defenders?
Jack walked stiffly back to Cyd and Naomi, scooped some bean-paste off the ground, ate it.
What do you want me to do?
9
Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Basic routine remained, but details changed for the Defenders. No longer did they learn hand-to-hand combat from Ken; now, there were weapons. Rifles, blades, clubs, artillery, cavalry, armor. One day Ken came in wearing a heavy grey suit, a scaled-up and significantly tougher looking child of what he had worn when he was tormenting them in the small rooms. He presented the Enhanced Human Ultimate Defense System to them, showed them how to put it on, how to operate it. Over the coming weeks they all got the chance to use it, to become one with it.
Allen's training also changed. No longer did he teach them how to communicate or manipulate the body, but how to change and effect the mind. They learned to misdirect, to become invisible, to get information from people with their targets left none the wiser. Over the coming weeks they learned the subtleties of being spies, able to go to any place unnoticed, able to interact with anyone unremembered, able to do anything untraced.
And at night... at night was were things changed the most. As they lay resting, their bodies relaxed but their minds alert, Allen would come to them, tell them things.
Our goal is simple... We will bring war and strife to a complete stand still... We will be a threat that unites mankind... Not a common enemy for them to fight, but a potential doom so great they dare not bring it down upon them... We will be a force to be reckoned with... If all goes well, we never will be reckoned with...
Roosevelt said "Speak softly and carry a big stick..." We will speak softly... We will be a big stick...
One night, while Allen was in their minds, Jack called out to him, Why? Why does this take so long, why are you keeping us here, making us suffer while you fill our heads with dreams and futures we dare not hope for?
For some time, there was no response. Nervous energy began to well up around the half-sleeping bodies, resentment aimed at him for interrupting their prophet. But as the time stretched, as the tension mounted, some minds reached out to Jack, minds that saw the world as he did.
Shara, young and frightened, wishing she had been the one to die in the little room with two chairs, constantly terrified of the life she lived, terrified of what she would have to do in the future. Melana, fierce and angry, desperately in love with what Allen was saying, yearning for the day when she could break from this place and enforce his will. Merd, the soldier, the army man who was plucked from his unit and was perpetually horrified at what his brethren had done, horrified nearly as much by the sedition Allen preached.
Finally, Allen spoke. You have heard me use the Q-bomb metaphor before, use the film as an example for what I hope we can become... So if our goal is so pressing, why do I linger? You've seen the movie, haven't you? The Mouse That Roared? In the end it turns out the Q-Bomb is a dud, could never have really kept the world in check if it were tested... I delay to ensure that our Q-Bomb goes off without a hitch...
The reasoning made sense; the nervousness dissipated and the minds relaxed. But the answer did nothing to sway the uneasy.
Where does that leave us? Jack asked. What do we do while we wait?
Jack expected another delay, but this time Allen replied instantly, a hint of giddy excitement suffusing the words. You are an architect, yes? You have a structure you love, something that inspires you?
An image of Sky Crest, cold and glistening, rose in Jack's mind, and he was surprised to see it mirrored in Allen's.
I worked on it, you see... I was an electrician there... Now, take this structure, break it apart, and rebuild it... Make it something greater, something beyond what you could ever hope to build, and build it... As you study helicopters with Ken, work through every bolt and girder of the foundation... As you learn to speak around language barriers with me, work through every tile of every walkway, every pipe and every inch of wiring... When your building is complete, when you could build it if only you had the men and supplies, then we will be ready, then we will rise up to be the Q-bomb, to be the benign threat that unites the world...
And as Allen's voice faded from his mind, and as their prophet continued to enlighten his disciples, Jack began to disassemble Sky Crest, to look over every part in his mind, to try to find something he could make of it... And for the first time since he had killed Suzanne, he felt a spark of hope...
The commonly held view was that three years had passed. A count of days and nights had taken some time to start, and even when it had, a fine consensus could never be reached. Biological clues could not be readily used either. Every ten to fifteen days a swarm of soldiers would enter the room, line them up, shave them; finger and toenails would break off naturally under heavy use. Periods were also inaccessible to them: the bean-paste contained some kind of birth control.
Still, the semi-random haircuts, the rough day count, the pure guessing gave them a count of three years learning to be Defenders when Ken and Allen both came to the front of the room and announced that there would be a day of rest.
"You've learned all we could teach you," Allen said.
"Some, more so than others." Ken glared at Jack.
"So, starting tomorrow, the General will come and you will all be evaluated. Should your skills meet his expectations, you will be released to perform missions on behalf of the United States government." Unsaid in any form, should Ken overhear, were the words, "You will begin to perform the great works I have made for you."
The men left, and the Defenders stared at one another. They had heard Ken speak of him, extoll him as the soldier's soldier, the best military leader America had. Whether it was true or not, General Loblen
Mistaren had a mythology surrounding him in the minds of the Defenders, and they had no particular desire to see the man in person. Thad all seen the General in Allen's memories, and there he had been a cruel man, ready to use them, to hurt them, to take them from the living world and into this dark place.
This is our best chance... Jack said. This is when we should strike, kill the general, kill Ken, run from this place...
Some minds echoed his, others resisted. One—Melana—answered. I want to leave this place as much as you do... But Allen has not yet told us that the time is right...
Naomi joined in. How is your tower, Jack? Can you build it?
An image of a skeletal structure clawing its way into the sky, with arms branching off and curving to meet the ground, passed through all of their minds.
When you have it whole, when you can show me it in its entirety, I will follow you...
I will follow you now... Another voice, rarely heard, rumbled through the Defenders' shared mind. I was once one of the General's men, one served under him when he was a colonel... He has betrayed me, and for that I will never forget him, never let him live as long as he is in my sight... Merd stood and walked to take up an new place at Jack's side.
Anyone else?
A nervous ripple passed through the shared mind, but no one moved.
Vince? Shara?
I will not move until Allen tells me to...
And I will not move at all... I killed once, never again...
Jack sent out a burst of intense frustration, then lay back and tried to fall asleep...
He never did.
When the lights brightened to signify the morning, when the other Defenders began to sit up to yawn, to stretch, Jack was already up, still struggling with killing Mistaren. Do it now? Wait for Allen?
His thoughts were interrupted by the click of boots on concrete: three sets. Allen first, Ken last. Between them, the thin form of a man in his late sixties, wearing an unadorned green uniform. He stopped in the middle of the room, waved off his companions, and stared out over the sea of hate filled faces that glared at him.
A toothy grin split his face. "My, but what a glum looking group of motherfuckers. Haven't they been feeding you well? Believe me, if this was a Chinese operation, or a goddamned Russian one, you all wouldn't be looking so fat and happy." His face drooped and his smile disappeared. "But that fucking do-gooder Latterndale made sure you all won't be either of those."
Confusion emanated from the Defenders, and the General's face went momentarily slack before snapping into angry focus. "Fendleton! Are they reading my goddamn mind right now?"
Allen stepped forward, his body language that of a knowledgable counselor rather than the cowed subordinate Mistaren was obviously expecting. "No, sir, they're merely expressing a need for clarification of your comment. If they were reading your mind, you wouldn't feel it."
Mistaren glared back at the Defenders. His face looked vaguely frightened, but his mind conveyed nothing but disgust. "Turn on the scramblers; I don't want any of these E.H.U.D.s rooting around in my head."
"Sir, I can assure you that they will practice the upmost discretion—"
A look of shocked embarrassment fell over the General's face. "Oh, I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to imply that your men were ill-mannered." Then he sneered. "Now turn on the fucking scramblers! These are prisoners, not guests. Or was I mistaken in believing that you're one of my men? Maybe captain Wendleferce can handle flipping a switch!"
Ken stepped forward. "Yessir."
Allen looked down at the General for a long moment, his eyes blank and his mind filled with pity. History will remember you fondly... The greatest irony... He reached into a pocket and pulled out two foam plugs and wedged them into his ears.
Ken left the room.
The Defenders had a moment to feel uneasy, to share their ideas and apprehensions before a high-pitched whine flooded through the space, buzzed through their bodies, sent their minds reeling into disorientation. Some lurched forward, vomited. Most sat and twitched. One or two screamed.
Jack sat alone, naked and defenseless, scared, truly frightened, for the first time in years. Suddenly he was the man awakening alone in the bed; Suzanne, his constant companion, gone, the whole world alien and empty.
He stared around wildly, caught the eye of Cyd. She shook, gasped, reached out to him. Their fingers brushed, but instead of bringing them closer, the human contact only served to underscore the yawning gulf that now separated their minds.
At the front of the room, Allen silently ground his teeth, and stared intently at his boots.
Ken returned to the room.
The General smiled briefly at him before facing down his prisoners. "Major Fendleton's given you a lot of leeway since you started here. Maybe that was good while you were built up, while you became the Enhanced Human Ultimate Defenders. But now it is time to tear you down, to take your trumped up supernatural powers and put them to the test. You may have been Allen's men, but now you'll be mine, and you'll do as I say. Starting today, I'm testing you. You'll be showing off your chops to myself and a panel of interested individuals. Then, if you prove not to be a waste of five years and unknown trillions of dollars in funding, you'll be sent out, you'll work. You'll earn your keep."
He paused, stared at the ceiling, then nodded. "That's all for now. I would wish you bon appetite, but food's going to start being a lot more scarce from now on. I'm not entirely sure you're worth it. If you prove you are, you eat. If not... saves me the trouble of killing you."
The General strode casually from the room. A moment later, Allen ran after him, a moment later the buzzing ceased, a moment later the precious connections shared between the Defenders returned. Relief, terror, wrenching heart-break, all passed swiftly from mind to mind. Lost in the flood of emotion was a single thought, emanating from a single mind: I should have killed him... I should have killed him... I should have killed him...
One by one they were led out of the room that had been there eternal home, out into the hauntingly familiar dark grey halls, past the endless doors. One by one they were led into a thin room with a small gate located across from the door. All was dark save for a pulsing red light above the gate.
The flickering crimson sun enraptured Jack, caught him in a world of color he had long thought lost. As the color held his body, tugged at his mind, he remained aware enough to cast about, to feel the minds all around him. Ken and Allen of course, the dark and the light. The General, a black hole, brilliant in his darkness; other minds interested or vaguely disgusted or bored. And behind them all, primitive with no thoughts save survival, were three points of intense hunger and animal fear. In these alien, thoughtless minds Jack found his kindred.
When the red pulses flared into a brilliant green continuum, when the three dogs burst out of the gate, instinct took over, and he did the only thing he could to help ease their minds, gave them the same gift he had given to Suzanne all those years ago.
Their momentum carried them as far as his feet before they collapsed into warm sacks of fur. It was all Jack could do to keep from crying as he imagined Suzanne, the dogs, and himself cuddled together in a small room, enjoying each other's warmth, each other's companionship.
Several minds were quietly amazement. One was even grudgingly impressed. In one, there was sorrow... I didn't want you to become this... I want you to know I never wanted this from you...
As you once said... 'It's better this way'...
One by one they were returned to their home room, either hurt or well, grieved or elated, terrified or stoic. It had been the first killing they had done since they had decided the fates of their partners; it had been the first killing where they had been fully aware of their actions. None returned from the thin room the same as when they had arrived in it.
One by one they were taken to another room, a cube like their first home, duller and more lifeless, illuminated by a rapidly flickering florescent bulb.
This time, Ja
ck was not alone when he entered the room. This time Ken was there, kitted out in E.H.U.D. armor. He waved nonchalantly as Jack entered. "Hey, buddy; didn't imagine seeing you here."
Jack didn't answer.
"Right. This time you get what you always wanted. This time, I want you to kill me."
As the words began to echo from the bare walls, Jack struck out, aiming at a vein deep inside Ken's brain, intending to burst it and leave.
Something stopped him though, an unseen force that kept the thin vessel wall intact. Ken's waving hand collapsed into a fist, then the index finger extended and wagged. "Bad boy... That'd be too easy. This here is a contact sport. Come at me, bro."
Jack did. He leapt, his torso twisted, his left elbow angled down to strike Ken's collarbone. Ken slipped, lunged under Jack to grab at his legs. Instead Jack reversed in mid-air, his mind pushing off against the ground, twisting his body so that momentum drove his heel into Ken's faceplate.
