Sleepers and Scouts

by Phillip Murrell

  “You believe in Allah, right, Amine?” Abel asks.

  “Of course, I do,” Amine answers.

  “Then you recognize an afterlife. So do Gudz and Malignant. Death is only inconvenient for the living. The soul survives. Don’t ask me in what form, because I don’t have that answer, but I know it survives.”

  “So, is the War of Perpetuity just some kind of contest?” Jayden asks.

  “Yes, in fact, we informally referred to it as Our Contest. Two teams fighting for honor.”

  “Is that really the only reason for the war? Could we maybe talk the Malignant into a truce?” Smith asks.

  “Highly doubtful,” Abel answers. “You see, humanoids are not the only kind of sentient life in the universe. There are countless races out there. The Malignant don’t agree with allowing them to explore in human space. There’s too much variability among the aliens. They prefer to keep them from interacting with us. Our War of Perpetuity keeps us trained to fight the animals whenever they try to peer into our side of the universe.”

  “So, it’s just a big staring competition between the tough kids. Us kindergarteners have to get trampled in the process?” Amine questions.

  “We’re off on a tangent right now. Let’s assume the fight with the Malignant is inevitable. How do we fight them?” Smith re-focuses the conversation.

  “There are three stages of combat with the Malignant. We can win at either of the first two and keep the planet safe. First, there will be ship-to-ship combat. It will be in outer space. Unfortunately, we only have two ships that could partake in this type of battle, and neither was meant for it with a large ship like the one the Malignant displayed last year.”

  “So, you’re saying we can’t win a space battle?” Smith asks.

  “I’m saying that we can’t win a ship-to-ship battle. We can still win in space. That’s stage two of combat. Both sides attempt to scuttle the command ship of the opposing side. If we can disable them, we can board the ship and take it over.”

  “Donc nous jouons capturer le drapeau?” Gabriella asks.

  “That’s an astute metaphor,” Abel admits. “I never thought of it like that before, but it is kind of like a game of capture the flag. Stage two is our only shot at victory.”

  “Why?” Smith asks. “What happens at stage three?”

  “Ground invasion. At that point, there won’t be enough of us to stop them. Between your drones and Lottery’s clones, you can take one of their ships. If we take the scout ship here now, we can use that against the invasion fleet when it comes. We have no hope of stopping a determined Malignant force.”

  “Shouldn’t we just surrender now then?” Jayden asks.

  “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that,” Smith declares.

  “Why can’t you just destroy them all when they get here?” Saager asks.

  “Because I’ve sworn not to interfere. I’m called Father. The Malignant have a leader they refer to as Mother. Neither of us will directly interact because of our power. She can bring her own destructive power, although not quite at my level,” Abel says.

  “That sounds a bit boastful,” Jayden declares. “How do you know she can’t take you?”

  “Calm down!” Smith demands. “I don’t want to psyche us out by contradicting Abel. The bitch can’t hang. That’s good enough for me.”

  “Good,” Abel announces as he rises from the table. “Then I hope that focuses your training strategy sufficiently.”

  Abel leaves the room. All eyes turn to Smith.

  “Take the rest of the night off,” he says. “I have to rethink this thing.”

  The other Templars quickly leave before Smith can change his mind. He rests his head in his folded arms and lies on the table in despair.

  Brock drives Claire from D2I back to her home. She catches him looking at her through the rearview mirror again.

  “Is there a problem, Brock? Did I spill something on my outfit again?”

  Claire briefly searches her clothing to look for errant burrito morsels.

  “Nah, Claire. Nothing like that.”

  “Then why do you keep staring?”

  “It’s this thing that I have. I like to look at beautiful women.”

  “You better stop that. Benji wouldn’t approve.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t. That’s why I don’t make it so obvious when he can catch me.”

  Claire smiles at Brock’s flirting. “So, you only make it obvious when I can catch you?”

  “Well, not intentionally, but I could always change that if you prefer. You are the boss, after all.”

  “I am the boss. Remember that before I decide to put you in a pool boy uniform.”

  “You say it like it would be a punishment.”

  “Stop it! You’re so bad.”

  “Guilty as charged. I can pull over if you want to spank me.”

  Claire covers her face. She understands what Brock’s doing, but the primal part of her can’t deny he’s an attractive man.

  “So, is that a yes to pulling over?” Brock asks.

  He turns on the right turn signal and begins to veer to the side of the road.

  “That’s a no,” Claire says. “I don’t need a scandal now or ever.”

  “Like I said, you’re the boss.”

  “I am.”

  “So, feel free to let me know when you do want the scandal. It’s part of my job.”

  Claire covers her face. “Don’t make me regret you.”

  “Never, Claire. I aim to please.”

  “Just drive me home. Benji is waiting.”

  “Yes, Claire.”

  Votary and Constructor fly the Eden over Eastern Europe. The flight is quiet and tense. Neither enjoys the company of the other, and both are quite content to remain quiet.

  “Why can’t you teleport?” Constructor asks.

  “Because most powers don’t work with me.” Votary sighs.

  “You said most powers. So, which ones do work?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then how do you know some will work?”

  “Just pay attention for any disturbances.”

  Constructor bangs on some keys and pretends to take his patrol seriously.

  “Nope, still clear. How do you know some will work?”

  “Because Abel isn’t sixteen.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “His power makes him immortal, but he prefers to look like a teenager. He tells me it’s because he’s more easily ignored as one.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “I’ve known him longer than anyone else, and he knows me, yet somehow he stays the same age.”

  Constructor doesn’t say anything. Votary becomes annoyed because he has to clearly explain it.

  “He should look like a bag of moving wrinkles. His power keeps him young, but he’s never aged near me.”

  “So, you don’t exactly hand out hugs.”

  “No, I don’t, but I don’t always wear my armor either. He’s seen me without it, and he’s interacted with me. He doesn’t shift.”

  “Interacted, huh? So, you are a chick?”

  “Don’t be crude. You know that isn’t what I meant.”

  “Whatever. Nobody likes you.”

  “Good. I’m not trying to win friends. I’m trying to save the planet.”

  “Then what are we doing over this piece of shit country?”

  “Putting an end to some human traffickers. They like to make kids into slaves. I have a problem with that. You should, too.”

  “I do, but I’m guessing they aren’t Malignant. So, why waste our time?”

  “Nobody likes you either.”

  Votary puts the Eden into a steep dive. He de-cloaks his ship and fires rockets into the side of
a hotel in a busy neighborhood.

  “Shit, man. Ever heard of collateral damage?” Constructor asks.

  “Read the reports that Lottery puts together. That side of the hotel houses the guards. This will be easier now.”

  “Like it was ever going to be a challenge?”

  Votary and Constructor each eject from the Eden and fly through the opening created by the rocket barrage.

  Smoke and dust fill the air of the hotel, but the two Templars are able to see through it with their helmets. Many bodies are strewn around the floor. Some in pieces, some not moving, and a few slowly standing up. Votary pulls out his escrima sticks and quickly beats the survivors unconscious.

  “Let’s go. Clear the floors and take away any incentive for the armed ones to come back to work tomorrow,” Votary orders.

  Constructor stands next to the functional door leading into the rest of the hotel and holds out his right hand. A long shaft of steel emerges from the ground. Each end of the staff has a pristine and expertly cut diamond approximately three inches in length. Constructor twirls his weapon around and motions for Votary to lead the way.

  The moment they pass through the door, machine gun fire fills the hallway. The bullets vary in caliber, but all bounce off the armored Templars.

  “It never ceases to surprise me that these guys still want to fight it out,” Votary marvels.

  Constructor doesn’t respond. He charges down the hallway and impales the lead slaver. The man groans and crumples to the floor. Six other guards line the hallway. They turn sub-machine guns on him and continue to waste their ammunition.

  Votary is impressed by how efficiently Constructor uses his power to eliminate each guard. The first man shoots at Constructor’s helmet. Constructor opens the ground underneath the man’s right leg and lets the pothole swallow him to the knee. While the man struggles to get free, he shifts his focus away from Constructor. Constructor swings his lance around his shoulders and clobbers the man in the head with it. He quickly loses consciousness and falls into the path of machine gun fire. His peers’ bullets rip into his unconscious form.

  Votary flies to the top of the hallway and moves to the backside of the defenders. The remaining five criminals are trapped between the pair of Templars. The rear two guards turn to engage Votary. His escrima sticks strike before they can re-position their weapons.

  Votary hits the first man in his wrist. The thorns of his baton dig into the man’s hand and tear flesh away. The pain of the assault forces him to drop his weapon. Before it hits the floor, Votary kicks it toward the second rear guard. The man instinctively tries to knock it out of the air. Votary uses his lack of focus to strike him in the throat. The man wheezes as four trails of blood pour from his neck. The cuts are superficial, but painful and horrifying. Votary strikes again at the first man and hits him in the temples on both sides of his head. The man grabs his head to stop the ringing. Votary uses the opportunity to connect with a spinning back kick to his stomach. When the man doubles over, Votary grabs him by the neck and flings him into his friend.

  The two guards fall to the ground, and Votary immobilizes them with an adhesive foam and stink spray combination. They scream curses in foreign languages. Votary looks up to check on Constructor and sees the junior Templar leaning against the wall with crossed arms. Behind him are the bodies of the other three guards. Each is impaled by multiple stalagmites jutting out of the floor and walls.

  “I thought this was a take no prisoners type of mission,” Constructor casually remarks.

  “We never take prisoners,” Votary replies.

  “You upset I killed them?”

  “I don’t care how you deal with them. Just make sure you do.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Clear the rest of the building. You start from the bottom, and I’ll go to the top. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  “Does this mean the training wheels are coming off?”

  “Whatever metaphor works best for you.”

  “Okay, but for the record, I’m winning four to two.”

  “Not bad. Get a couple more thousand and you’ll catch up to my overall number.”

  Votary flies off before Constructor can think of a comeback.

  “Dick,” Constructor says.

  “I heard that. I don’t need to be next to you for the helmets to work.”

  “Shit. Sorry about that,” Constructor says.

  “Not the first time someone has called me that. Definitely not the last. Good hunting.”

  “You, too.”

  It’s the early morning hours in Colberton, but judging by the number of tourists and street performers, a person would be forgiven for thinking more in terms of how late it is. Donald walks next to a voluptuous beauty. Both stagger slightly from a good night of drinking.

  “You remember when this used to be considered a small city?” Donald asks.

  “No, I just moved here four months ago,” the woman answers.

  “Really? What brought you out this way?”

  “A chance to see real superheroes. What else would?”

  “I was hoping the reputation of the debonair paramedics.”

  The woman snuggles closer to Donald as they walk along the sidewalk, avoiding the throngs of people.

  “You’re a close second,” she admits.

  “I’ll take it.”

  Donald bumps into an augmented man juggling spheres of multi-colored light.

  “Watch it, guy,” the man complains.

  “Sorry,” Donald says.

  The two walk on. Donald looks back over his shoulder at the rude augmented performer.

  “Get a real power!” he shouts. “I’m sick of this place being ground zero for all things auggie. He’s just trying to get laid.”

  “Don’t call him that!” Donald’s date complains.

  “What? Auggie?”

  “That term is derogatory and offensive.”

  “So is his lack of compassion for what this city has gone through. These people swarm here and cause problems. Crime may not be up, but parking is a bitch, and restaurants are always full.”

  “Boo hoo. Your town is getting a much needed economic boost.”

  “I liked it better the way it was. Without all the auggie bangers.”

  The woman pushes Donald away from her.

  “That’s strikes two and three. I’ll no longer need your services tonight.”

  Donald barely cares. “Whatever. Go back and bang Dr. Disco Beat for all I care. It’s clear you’re just here to be a groupie like everyone else.”

  “Perhaps eventually, but I was gonna start with a pity session for a tour guide. I guess you can kiss this panty-free ass goodbye.”

  The woman slaps her butt and storms away from Donald. Ironically, she does walk back toward the light juggler. Donald pulls out his phone and takes a picture of the woman’s tight dress from behind.

  “Spank bank it is,” he says to himself.

  “Inmates, back into your cells,” a prison guard commands.

  Vick and Nate stand in front of their cell, then step inside. The doors close behind them.

  “I don’t want any problems tonight. Get some sleep. You’ll wish you had tomorrow,” the guard says.

  The guard begins his patrol outside the cells. Vick looks at Nate with disgust.

  “Just you and me again,” Vick says.

  “Don’t talk to me. You’ve made it quite clear that we aren’t friends.”

  “Good. It only took two years.”

  “I said shut up.”

  “Oh? Really? You want to be a tough guy tonight?”

  Nate gets in Vick’s face. Their noses nearly touch.

  “Despite what you think, I’m not a pussy. I’m armor. You’re the bitch who hides in the sky.”

  Vick laug
hs, despite Nate’s seriousness.

  “Are you serious, Little Nate? You want to pick today to find your balls? Not with me. Prove yourself with the other guys in the yard. You’re not worth my time. Excuse me.”

  Vick laughs again as he pulls off his prison uniform, leaving him standing in boxer shorts and a tank top.

  Vick pushes his shoulder against Nate’s and moves the other man out of the way. He attempts to lie down on his bunk when he feels a pair of hands grab him by the shoulder and throw him into the wall. The cell’s sink digs into his back and produces a small yelp from his lips.

  “Bitch–” Vick starts.

  He feels a fist dig into his stomach. Vick is genuinely surprised by the power behind the blow. He wheezes and looks up at Nate. The lieutenant has pure fire in his eyes as he winds up for a punch to the face. Vick brings his hands up to defend, but he’s a fraction too slow. Nate connects with the blow, but Vick doesn’t see the stars he expects. His head feels weird for a moment, and he hears the sharp thud of a man punching a concrete wall. It’s now Nate’s turn to express his pain. He holds his hand close to his chest as he looks at Vick with absolute fear.

  “What was that?” Nate demands, his obvious terror beginning to overtake him.

  Vick doesn’t answer and chooses to press his advantage instead. He kicks Nate in the chest and pushes the man back into the bunk beds. Nate’s head strikes the railing of the top bunk, and he instinctively grabs his head. Vick grabs the wrist of Nate’s injured hand and slams it against the bunk. Nate screams again.

  By now the commotion in their cell is known by nearby prisoners. They scream their support for their preferred victor, but others scream for the guards.

  “Help, there’s an auggie in here,” someone shouts.

  Vick throws Nate to the floor and waits for the man to stand back up. Instead, Nate curls up in the fetal position.

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Vick is still confused by Nate’s irrational behavior until he catches his reflection in the mirror. His head is now misshapen. Vick doesn’t feel any discomfort. He touches his skull and the boomerang shape reverts to his normal look. This transformation forces both Vick and Nate to scream in shock and terror respectively.