Sleepers and Scouts

by Phillip Murrell

  Can’t this guy see how annoying that is? he wonders.

  Three trailers and one hundred and eighty blinks later, Mr. Polite realizes that he’ll have to broach the subject with his unaware offender. Mr. Polite stands from his seat and moves down to whisper in the man’s ear.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Mr. Polite begins. “Would you please turn off your earpiece? The blue flash is annoying and distracting.”

  Mr. Polite is unprepared for the man’s reaction.

  “Man, calm down, it’s just a kid’s movie. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Sir, I’m just asking you to be polite. I can’t enjoy the movie while it’s blinking.”

  “Man, just sit back down. I’m trying to watch this with my daughters.”

  Mr. Polite notices the girls, nine and ten, sitting with their father. Mr. Polite wills himself to remain calm for their sakes.

  “Sir, please just turn it off, or I’ll have to go see the ushers.”

  The large man jumps up from his seat and pushes his chest against Mr. Polite’s chest. Although Mr. Polite is nearly eight inches taller than his aggressor, he acknowledges that the man has significant brawn. Mr. Polite decides to endure the mild torment and goes back to sit in his seat.

  “Watch your kids, people. Chester over there came alone,” the rude man says.

  Some of the audience laugh at Mr. Polite and others shush the muscular man, but Mr. Polite feels immense embarrassment. He doesn’t feel he should have to apologize for liking G rated films.

  The rude man sits back down and ignores Mr. Polite, but the blue flash continues. Mr. Polite fidgets with the gold ring on his right hand and stares at the flash. It blinks. Mr. Polite is completely unaware as to why the milk carton and the chocolate bar need to win the Supermarket Circuit. All he can focus on is the blink.

  “Sorry, kids,” Mr. Polite mutters. “You don’t need a father figure like that.”

  Mr. Polite imagines force shields holding all forty-three patrons in their seats with their mouths held shut. He can sense their apprehension and terror, but he doesn’t care. The blue flashing earpiece floats off the man’s head, then violently jams itself into his ear. The man’s body convulses as a slow trickle of blood leaks out. Eventually, the man stops moving entirely and slumps to the side. Mr. Polite keeps everyone else pinned to his or her seat as he munches on popcorn and sips his soda for the remaining duration of the film.

  By the time the movie ends, one that Mr. Polite reminds himself to praise on the internet, he can already smell the collective stench of the evacuated bowels of his silent prisoners.

  “You’ll be free to go in a moment,” Mr. Polite announces to his captives. “I didn’t want to do this to you, but my hand was forced. Remember, kids, Mr. Polite says to always respect other people.”

  Mr. Polite is about to make another statement about morals when he feels the urge to use the bathroom quickly overtake him. He’s only able to make two steps before his pants also fill. Mr. Polite searches the audience. He knows that another augment must be in the auditorium.

  “Who did that? Who did that?” he demands to know.

  Mr. Polite searches the eyes of each person. Most try to avoid his gaze. Some eyes are too full of tears to be useful. Mr. Polite hears the ushers enter the auditorium to clean up. He uses force shields to push them back into the hallway and seals the door. He can hear the banging on the door by shocked workers.

  “I don’t have much time left. Pretty soon I’m going to have to punish everyone older than twelve in here. Who did it?”

  Mr. Polite finally notices a woman who stares defiantly back at him. He levitates her out of her seat and pulls her toward his face.

  “I’m guessing you.”

  Mr. Polite allows her to speak, but he keeps the rest of her body immobilized. She seems terrified, but surprisingly has just enough spirit to confirm his suspicions.

  “Good guess. How’d you like a taste of your own medicine?”

  Mr. Polite finds the woman to be attractive. His palms sweat as he speaks to her.

  “You aren’t scared of me?”

  “I don’t like bullies,” the woman says, but her voice indicates that she’s terrified.

  “I’m not a bully. The bully started all this. I just wanted to enjoy the film.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself. The movie’s over. Just leave us alone and get out of here.”

  The woman sniffs a trail of snot.

  “But I’m not a bully. I can prove it. I have to prove it.”

  “What?”

  Mr. Polite takes away her ability to speak once again. He uses his force shields to float her body behind him. He leaves out the emergency exit. The moment he departs with his captive, the remaining guests are able to rush the other doors while screaming.

  Maria adjusts the straps on her backpack. She walks down a trail on the side of a mountain. Following her are Sally, Smith and last, Mitch. Mitch’s armpits tell the tale of several miles hiked. His constant scowl reveals that it isn’t the way he would have preferred to spend his Easter Sunday.

  “It’s getting dark. How much longer until we get back?” Mitch complains.

  “We’ll be there soon, baby,” Smith says. “You need me to carry any of your stuff?”

  “How are you not tired?” Sally asks. “You’re barely even sweating.”

  Smith smiles. “SEAL, remember. I’ve travelled many a mile with a much heavier pack.”

  “I’m sure,” Maria says. “Don’t forget that you’ve been behind me all day.”

  “It’s the best view,” Sally quips.

  “Not for those two,” Maria fires back.

  “I’m just spending time being with my man,” Smith says.

  “Humph.” Mitch grunts.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Smith asks.

  “You’re present, but you aren’t here. I can tell when your mind is wandering. You didn’t even speak unless you were answering a question.”

  Smith walks over and grabs Mitch’s hand, but Mitch snatches it away.

  “What did I do wrong?” Smith asks.

  “I didn’t want to come here!” Mitch screams. “A twelve-mile hike up and over a mountain is not my idea of a good day.”

  “You said you wanted to try it,” Smith counters.

  Maria and Sally move farther along the path.

  “Are you two coming? It’s already dark, and we still have a two-hour drive home.”

  Mitch grunts as he moves along the path.

  “Another reason I didn’t want to come today,” Mitch complains. “Some of us have work tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, but not all of us have to show up at the same time. You work nights; you’ll have plenty of time to sleep,” Smith says.

  “Please stop fighting, you two. Or at least do it as you walk,” Maria says.

  “Will you hold my hand at least?” Smith asks.

  Mitch ignores his boyfriend.

  “So, now I get the silent treatment?” Smith asks.

  “Seems fitting,” Mitch responds. “You’ve ignored my interests for most of the day.”

  “I was just looking at nature.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. You were zoning out on me. I’d understand if this was the first time, but you treat me like this all the time. Yeah, you’re physically with me, but not mentally. You’re always distracted.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Smith says. “I promise I’ll ask more questions.”

  Mitch stops walking and looks at Smith. He motions with his head to catch up, then holds out his hand. Smith takes it and gives Mitch a kiss. This act annoys Mitch again.

  “Don’t even bother if you aren’t going to put any emotion into it.”

  Mitch snatches his hand back and walks down the path. A defeated Smith and sile
nt Maria and Sally follow.

  Inside The Lair, Smith approaches the three permanent Darsh clones that type away at their various stations and monitor reports from across the planet. Each wears the sandy brown armor that Lottery has, but have their helmets off. They also have a nameplate in front of their respective workstations. One says “Saager - Learning,” the next “Sahil - No Sleep,” and the last reads “Ajit - Teleporting.” Smith approaches Saager.

  “Saager, do you have a moment?” he asks.

  “What’s up, Bill?” Saager answers.

  “I need your unique talent to help me train all the Templars.”

  “Sure.”

  Saager thinks for a moment.

  “Weren’t you supposed to be on a hike or something today?”

  “I was, but I had to send my clone drone in my place.”

  “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. I understand for work, but in your personal life, too?”

  “I can’t focus on Mitch right now. I have to figure out how we can take over a Malignant corvette.”

  “So, what do you need?”

  “I’ve been in Abel’s library looking for anything that matches up with the images of the Malignant ship that flew by last year.”

  “Did you find what you needed?”

  “I did. The Malignant only keep one design for each type of ship, so it was easy to figure out exactly what type did the flyover.”

  “I assume you want me to read up on it and find a way to exploit its defenses.”

  “That’s why you’re the smart one, Saager.”

  “Darsh says it’s okay, so I’ll change my priorities.”

  “That hive mind thing is creepy. Couldn’t you just say something like ‘I’ll check with Darsh’ and pretend you don’t have an instant answer?”

  “I’ll add that to my list of ways to please everyone around here.”

  “Maybe you should also add ‘don’t hang out with Votary as much,’ too. We don’t need additional snarky comments around here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Saager says as he snaps to attention and delivers a salute.

  “Okay, thanks for that.”

  “Will you try to swap out for the end of your date?”

  “Nah. I’m gonna head back to the library.”

  Smith leaves while Saager reviews the hard copies of the files that Smith left him with.

  Keith rounds the corner of his high school’s track and sprints down the final hundred meters. His black and gold track uniform snuggly fits his defined body as he pushes his legs to carry him across the finish line. His coach stands on the infield with a stopwatch. He marks Keith’s time.

  “Great job, Douglas. Two miles in just under ten minutes.”

  “How far under, Coach?” Keith asks as he struggles to catch his breath.

  He places his hands on his knees and breathes deeply.

  “Stand up and walk it off. Your official time was nine minutes and fifty-three seconds.”

  “Cool,” Keith cheers.

  “Once you catch your breath, go over and stretch out. The rest of your team will be there shortly.”

  “I’ll go back and get them, Coach.”

  “Not this time, Douglas. I want them to see how relaxed you are when they finish. Maybe that’ll get them to run a little faster next time.”

  “Alright, Coach.”

  Keith trots over to the grass and stretches his quadriceps. He notices another teen stretching next to him.

  “Hey,” Keith says to him.

  “What’s up?” the teen responds.

  “You’re Hunter, right?” Keith asks.

  “Yup,” the teen answers. “I’m one of the pole vaulters.”

  “Cool. You play any other sports?”

  Hunter crawls over to Keith and stretches beside him.

  “Football’s my real sport. I’m only on the track team because coach said anyone who wanted to play in the fall better be out here in the spring.”

  “Yeah, me, too. I mean, not the part about only being here for that. I like to run, but I like to play football, too.”

  “You weren’t on the team last season.”

  “I went to school on Fort Chamberlain last year. By the time I got registered for school here, it was too late to try out. I hung out with some of the guys. I guess we just missed each other at parties. I figured I’d dedicate the year to making sure I was buff enough for my junior year and the varsity team.”

  Hunter looks Keith over.

  “With pythons like those, I’m sure coach will find a spot for you. What do you play?”

  “Defensive back. I prefer safety, but I’ll take corner.”

  “Good.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m a linebacker. I’d hate to crush your spirits if you were trying to be my competition.”

  Keith laughs. “Sounds good. I’m glad we don’t have to worry about that then.”

  “So, what do you do for fun?” Hunter asks.

  “I’m up for anything. My girlfriend tells me life is better that way.”

  “Sure. You hear about HardLight Sims?”

  “Nah, what’s that?”

  “Some auggie has the power to make green simulations of whatever you want to do. He charges you ten bucks, then lets you fight aliens or storm Normandy or whatever.”

  “Cool. And for only ten bucks?”

  “I guess he figures it doesn’t cost him anything but rent in a large warehouse. He might as well go cheap and get more customers. I hear he even sets up sexual encounters.”

  “That’s kind of pathetic, but I’d definitely be down with fighting some pirates or something.”

  “Cool. You want to check it out?”

  “Sure. I’ll give you my number after practice, and you can text me the address.”

  “Cool.”

  Keith’s distance coach screams for his attention. “Douglas, if it isn’t too much of your time, you mind actually stretching with your team now instead of chatting with Booley?”

  Keith rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you.”

  “You’d think they’d cut us a little slack since they’re making us practice over Spring Break.”

  Keith shrugs and sprints back to his coach.

  Compel and Karmic exit a portal over southeast Asia. Both sets of boots glow red as they fly over the nearby city. After a handful of seconds, both vanish out of sight from the casual viewer.

  “Where exactly are we?” Karmic asks.

  “I–” Compel searches her memory. “–don’t remember. Where ever Abel sent us.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  “The mission is the same; look for trouble makers and change their minds.”

  “Do you mind if we fly over the country instead? I’m sick of the rich in the cities getting all our attention and rural people left to fend for themselves.”

  “Sure, Karmic. I don’t have an issue with that. I’ll protect and serve whichever group you want.”

  The two change their flight trajectory and head toward the less populated area of whatever country they’re over. It doesn’t take long until Compel notices a pattern in the fields below her.

  “Do you know what crop that is?” Compel asks.

  “They’re just farmers,” Karmic answers.

  “So, you do know what it is?”

  “Yes, but destroying it won’t help these people. It’ll hurt them.”

  “The police officer in me won’t let this fly.”

  “You know they’ll send guards. Most of them are just poor people trying to make ends meet.”

  “They’re being exploited. Sometimes you have to force people into a better way.”

  “Whatever happened to free choice? Isn’t that what Abel’s always preaching?”
<
br />   “I’m not going to allow them to grow poppy. It’s got to go. If you don’t want to help, stay up here, but I’m destroying those fields.”

  Compel flies over the acres of poppy fields below her. She selects a substantial portion of the field and encases it in a purple barrier. She lands among the plants and pulls a metallic cylinder, a piece of Gudz technology, from her leg compartment. She aims it at the plants, and they brown and wilt. She then pulls a Gudz lighter and ignites several plants. She flies above the smoke and watches as the fire soon spreads throughout the plants until it reaches the limits of the energy barrier. Compel flies out of the top of her enclosure and meets up with Karmic.

  “You feel better?” he asks.

  “I do.”

  “We have to stay around until the guards come. If we don’t, they’re going to punish the farmers.”

  “I never intended to leave them on their own.”

  It doesn’t take long for lights to turn on in a nearby hut. Several scrawny men run out and quickly grab buckets of water.

  “Those are the farmers,” Karmic identifies. “Don’t let them get hurt.”

  “Easy enough.”

  Compel flies in front of the group of four men and lands. They take several steps backwards when she appears out of thin air in front of them.

  “Quit your job and find a new profession. You’re better than this,” Compel orders.

  Even though she speaks English, her suggestion is immediately understood and obeyed. All four men jump into the cab and bed of a truck and drive back toward the city that Compel and Karmic flew over.

  “Two more trucks coming down the road. We need to get them before they see the farmers,” Karmic states.

  “Have at it, rookie. Earn the right to fly solo.”

  Karmic takes off on an intercept course with the two trucks. The armed men carry Soviet assault rifles and shoot into the air to get the attention of the fleeing farmers. Karmic pulls out a pair of Gudz pistols and fires into the engine blocks of both trucks. The vehicles grind to a halt, and the men pile out of them. They fire their rifles into the sky and try to track Karmic’s movements. As the bullets bounce off Karmic’s armor, he stops and simply hovers fifteen feet above them. He slightly raises his helmet. His face is still covered, but the flesh of his neck is exposed. Many guards take careful aim and fire at him. Their bullets strike true, and each time a new guard falls over with a bullet wound. Half of the men are killed or wounded immediately.