by Ran Vant
“I suppose not. You were right. It is too dangerous. I was wrong.”
“I want it destroyed as soon as possible.” It was an order.
“Very well,” Red mumbled. Red turned and left.
Blue smiled with a certain kind of pleasure. She finally got her way. But this was just a start. Soon, more things would be going her way.
Red exited the room, head hanging low. As he walked down the hall, his pace gradually picked up and his head slowly rose. Red would order the Greendust to be incinerated, of course. It had to be done. The order would be put into the system, with the advice and consent of Blue, to show that he did what he was supposed to do. Then the team would move the Greendust from its new, temporary storage location to the furnaces. He would make sure that the orders clearly spelled out exactly how it was to be done, based on the specific instructions given to him after consulting further with Blue. Everything would be done one hundred percent according to the regulations, per Blue's orders. And everything would be documented well in advance.
77.
Disruption
After days of considering it, Michael thought he had found the way out.
The hardest part was not the broader patterns of the guards, but rather the lack of consistency in behavior to a specific stimulus. Michael had been testing them, prodding them subtly, but the truds were often inconsistent in their reactions. Michael could only see a miniscule portion of the variables that affected their lives and he was not used to operating from his current position. Without Magritte, without its organic brain, without Rex Skyguard, without his team, without his winged armor, without his power, everything was new. But he thought he had found a weak point.
As a Guardian frequently tasked with breaking into labs and other facilities protected by primitive trud technology, the technical solution was slightly easier. He knew the engineering principles so that he could efficiently destroy security measures with one well-aimed fist of energy. Michael of course did not have the energy beam, but he did have the engineering knowledge. And that suggested that all he needed was a bearing mechanism. Something to concentrate the force of his body onto a narrow point. All of his strength applied at the base plate would probably be enough to displace the energy field receptors buried in the floor. No unmodified human would have a hope of breaking through the alloy used in the base plate. But as everyone should have known, Michael did not have the body of a normal human.
Michael thought there were two possibilities. First, the security system might notice the misalignment and shut itself down to prevent damage to the base line equipment. But he doubted that was the likely outcome. He thought his chances of encountering the second possibility were better. He’d seen it happen before with early generation fields. Instead of shutting down, the security system would probably interpret the disruption in the energy field as a breakout attempt and surge the power. But nothing would actually be cutting the energy waves; the extra power would be hitting the displaced receptors instead of an object trying to pass through the field. And with the increased power and no receptors to catch all of the energy, any cabling in the concrete channel would now begin to cook. At the same time, any electrical signals running through the channel would be disrupted. This would likely cause a sequence failure, allowing Michael to crash through the energy field to the side of the damaged receptors. Without his armor, energy burns were a possibility, more than a traditional human could tolerate, but it would not be enough to stop Michael. He would be out.
But at least one problem remained: if they were sequenced, which direction were they linked? Which side would fail? Without the ability to see in non-visible spectrums provided by his mask, the disrupted energy field likely wouldn't look any different. He could hope for a flicker to indicate whether he should jump left or right, but it might come down to chance. It was a fifty-fifty chance whether he was the one to survive, to return to the Ancients, or the one to remain trapped in a cage, to remain tethered to the earth forever.
The time was late, however, and 50% was all Michael had for now. And it all depended on a simple piece of conveniently shaped high strength metal: the bearing mechanism. It was broad and smooth at one end, but tapered to a point that would focus the strength of his body onto the energy field system's base plate. It was part of one of the currently unused leg irons, where the spiderlyn would be fastened to the floor. The truds had made another mistake leaving it there. The instrument of his confinement would become the instrument of his freedom.
**
Now, while the behavior of individual truds was difficult to predict, Michael nevertheless knew their general patterns of movement, when they tended to visit, when they were most alert, the schedules of the guards... The truds tried to mix it up, but it was nonetheless predictable most of the time. The limits of human concentration and the need for truds to sleep dictated a certain pattern, a rhythm to the days.
And he knew who had the watch.
The timid one, the one named Franklin, was back on duty. Gildur and Rosie, the ones who never lowered their rail guns, the ones most concerned about triple redundancy, would be nowhere near the room if he had the rotation pattern correctly memorized. Yet, it was still daytime. The base would not yet be locked down, and therefore Michael would be able to move throughout the corridors. One could learn much from listening to the complaints of guards who thought they were out of earshot, longing to get out to the surface before the deadline of dusk.
This was the moment for which he had been waiting.
**
The timid Franklin had left the room. But Franklin had only been there an hour, so his departure was only temporary. The guards never worked a shift less than four hours. Michael had planned his attempt during Franklin's shift because if there was a confrontation, he would be by far the easiest to defeat.
Michael yanked the leg iron free from the floor and swung the spiderlyn so the heavy bolted end that had been in the concrete swung up to his arm. Those monitoring the hidden cameras, which he assumed were there watching everything, would soon notice, so he wasted no time. With one motion, he slammed the metal wedge into the base plate. The first blow severely bent the plate. Two more hits and he was confident the receptors were displaced. He could already smell the warming plastic of wiring covers in the channels. Then, fate smiled upon him, for there was a brief flicker, and Michael dove through the faltering energy field.
Michael rolled to his feet. He didn't feel anything more than warm skin. The flickering energy field was not enough to burn him; it was merely enough to make him feel alive. A Guardian of the West walked free once more, and his captors would soon learn what he was capable of, armored or not.
The truds had moved him to a room without bars, so the next barrier was merely a door. Michael went to the door and cracked it open. The corridor was empty. It also was longer than he had expected, so he didn't waste a second. He sprinted down the hallway, knowing it would be impossible to casually blend in and having no experience with the art of camouflage among people. Whatever stood in his way would regret it.
A man in coveralls appeared from an intersecting hall. Michael did not slow down. Lightbringer raised his elbow, striking the man in the windpipe violently, crushing his windpipe and causing his spinal cord to be displaced from the base of his skull. The man fell dead to the corridor floor.
Lightbringer ran on. He turned down the next corridor, intuitively sensing it was the widest, most used, and most probable way out. But just as before, a person stepped into his path.
In less than a second, he knew: the person was Maren.
Michael dropped his elbow, tucked and rolled, rising a few meters farther down the corridor past Maren, and kept running.
Then two soldiers entered the corridor not far ahead. They immediately recognized Michael as an unauthorized person and raised their rifles.
“Stop!” One of the yelled.
Michael knew he could not close the distance in time to get both of them, so he sp
un and headed back towards Maren.
Maren stood frozen in her tracks as the man, the machine, she had cared for charged back at her. His face was emotionless. It was not filled with anger. It was not filled with fear. It was not covered in exertion or even determination. It merely was... aware.
“Don't shoot, you might hit the girl,” one guard advised to the other. “The rounds will tear right through him.”
Michael again neared Maren, again had the chance to harm her, to use her as a shield, to take her hostage, but he didn't so much as brush her as he sprinted past. The two guards charged after. When the guards were clear of her, they would unleash a hail of fire.
Or they would have, if they had had the opportunity. For down the corridor, around the corner, back by the holding cell, Franklin had stood only momentarily with his mouth agape at the empty cell with an apparently still functional energy field. Then he moved quickly to the wall, pulled off the plastic cover, and did what he had been trained to do. He punched the emergency intruder/escapee alarm. And then, throughout the corridors, halls, rooms, and passageways of the levels above and below and the level he was on all experienced a sequence of brief pulses of light and energy waves.
Electrical pathways in the brains of everyone on all three levels were briefly disrupted, and everyone collapsed in unconsciousness, including Michael. And poor Franklin.
78.
As Predicted
“Blue needs me on the surface. But everything here should be back on track. The shielded quick reaction force was there in no time. The genbot is back in the cage, no worse for his little escape attempt,” Doctor Psycho reported.
Red shook his head. “The one with the bars, I hope.”
“It has a more modern energy field. It won't happen again.”
“I was told it was impossible for him to escape the first time,” Red said. “Pardon my skepticism.”
“We didn't know it was an old field system. The security engineers learned something from watching the genbot displace the field.”
“We can't afford to not know, Doctor. Now a man is dead. We've been wrong time and time again and the window of opportunity is running out.”
“There is a little good news. We weren't completely wrong. We know at least something,” Doctor Psycho said.
“Yes, what is that?” Red asked.
“He behaved as exactly predicted,” the Doctor noted. “He didn't touch the woman.”
79.
Dangerous Games
“I told you he was dangerous,” Jack said. “I knew he was dangerous from the first moment, when we should have frozen him solid in the lab. He was a time bomb, and I knew it. A genbot is too dangerous to play games with.”
“Everything about our whole lives is dangerous, Jack. You knew that when you joined the Natural Human Alliance and the Organization. You knew it and explained it when you talked me into joining you. And this just goes along with the rest of it, if not more so. Don't you know how important this is?”
“I know how important the mission is. That machine is not part of the mission.”
“Not originally,” Maren said.
“Not now.”
Maren crossed her arms. “The Colonel seems to think so.”
“Red has several side projects that have nothing to do with the primary mission. If only you knew.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Maren asked, annoyed that Jack would dangle classified information that she wasn't allowed to know about as if it were some magic card that granted him automatic victory in any argument.
“All I was saying is that it was dangerous.”
“And you want me to say you were right all along, that we should have frozen him when we had the chance?” Maren asked.
“Well, that would be nice...” Jack admitted, a little smile growing on his face. He kind of liked hearing it, actually. 'Lieutenant Mode' began to fade away. “But what I really meant to say is that I am glad you are all right. I was worried. I was afraid you were hurt, that the genbot would find a way to hurt you. Of course our lives are dangerous, I just want to protect you.”
It was hard for Maren to argue with that.
80.
Signs of...
Doctor Psycho walked down the deep urban canyon and thought about the possibility supported by the latest data analysis. He found it almost impossible to believe.
Fascinating. The probabilities indicated by the computer analysis of the data led to an incredible conclusion. Could it really be? As if to accentuate the possibility, a couple rounded the corner ahead of him, holding hands, her head occasionally leaning in to rest on his shoulder for a step or two. The couple walked towards him. The Doctor passed the couple while walking over a grate on the sidewalk, where steam rose from some warm, humid cavern deep below the city streets. He noted the slightly sweet smell of the steamy vapors, but didn’t think much of it and continued pondering the analysis. She was sometimes a bit immature, but… Might it be more likely that the computer model was wrong? In that short of time, in those circumstances? It could be a form of Nighten… But the tone and emotion of her voice, unmistakable signs of-
Poison! Even now, he could feel the defensive antigens and chemicals activating, as his watch pumped in the anti-poison agents to his bloodstream. The sweet steam! The Doctor knew immediately, but as if to confirm, the watch pulsed twice, then pulsed twice again, indicating to the trained wearer that he had inhaled a poison, likely two-stage. He could not react any more than he had mistakenly with his initial start at the poison indicator. If the assassin was watching, any reaction might cause the assassin to send the activator signal immediately. The Doctor needed to behave normally. One minute more and the danger would be largely past as the anti-poison bonded to the surfaces of the poisonous molecules and inhibited the effectiveness of any activator signal.
The Doctor had studied assassination methods. He knew this attack vector. He knew who often used it. What his would-be assassin didn’t know was that the Doctor was ready for it; he only need a little time.
He breathed deeply. With each step he worried about pumping the poison deeper into his system. It was better to keep it concentrated near the lungs, where he inhaled it. The bio-defense watch needed more time to work. He should stop walking, to slow the pumping of the poison through his system, but he needed an innocuous excuse that wouldn’t tip off the assassin, should he be watching. My shoe. He paused to bend over to tie his shoe, hoping that the bio-watch contained the proper anti-poison regimen. If it did, all he needed was a few minutes. If not, well…
**
Casually leaning against a masonry arch, hiding in the old entry way, safely out of view of any surveillance cameras, Flora waited for the love-bird couple to get an adequate distance from the target. She didn’t want to have to kill the bystanders who just happened to be walking across the vent at the same time as the target and who had thus inhaled the same poisonous compound. A few more yards of separation and the couple would be clear from the activator ray. In a few days, the inactivated poison would be flushed from their systems, and they would never be aware of the mini death bombs that had been within them. Of course, if it became necessary, she would send the activator ray and kill the couple, too. Sometimes flowers got pulled up with the weeds. Such was life.
The target knelt down to tie his shoe. It would only delay the necessary separation from the bystanders by a few seconds, so she thought nothing of it. Finally, the couple was clear and the target stood up again, slowly continuing his walk. She raised the small device to eye level and fired the invisible ray at the target’s back. The poison agent in the steam vent was of a kind that, when activated, killed almost instantly, rather than the delayed poison she was more accustomed to working with. Apparently, someone didn’t want this target going very far. Any second, she would see him to start to struggle to breathe and then fall over dead a few moments later. It would be a painful death, but a short one.
**
The Doctor neve
r felt the invisible beam hit his back, but he knew it had struck him just the same. He could feel the poison gaining a grip and the slight burning sensation in his veins and lungs as the anti-poison fought back. He tried to breathe slowly, but he was becoming increasingly short of breath. It was almost suffocating.
He could feel the life leaving him as he struggled to inhale. His vision began to blur. The anti-poison was not strong enough. Perhaps there was an error in the calculations. Perhaps they had changed the attack vector just enough to circumvent his defenses.
Stumbling and falling to the ground, the Doctor knelt over on all fours, fighting to keep consciousness. His veins felt as if they were going to burn through his skin as blackness began to creep in on his blurred vision.
Then the blackness began to recede. Doctor Psycho's vision began to clear. The anti-poison injected by his bio-defense watch was working. The Organization’s scientists and intelligence officers had studied their enemies well, knew about this compound and attack vector, and had deployed it in the bio-watches to key Natural Human Alliance personnel.
With each inhalation the Doctor’s breathing became deeper, but the burning in his lungs remained. Gathering his senses, he lifted one arm, then tried to get his weight on one leg, then two. He rose and took one more deep breath before awkwardly walking towards the busier street ahead. He needed to get off the side street; there might be more protection with witnesses around on the main road.
Though he knew he should be focused on the present, he could not help but think of the foolishness of his being above ground. He should never have left the underground compound until the mission was completed. It was foolish of her to send him on this errand that any number of people could have accomplished, especially given his importance to the operation.
