by A W Wang
The doctor makes deft motions with his hands, and delicate metal instruments drop from adjoining surgical units toward the wound.
As whirs, beeps, and squishes come from behind me, I tighten the hood of my cloak and peer between the curtains.
Although some curious glances arrive from the scattered staff and waiting people in the ward, nothing rises above the level of idle curiosity. Even the two orderlies have recovered and wander between different alcoves, going about their duties without sparing too much attention toward us.
I let out a breath of relief.
As the minutes tick by, the bustle never increases, but a tense moment happens when Emelda, the reception nurse, re-enters the ward. Although she’s on other business, she spares a long look at our surgical alcove.
Her shadow drifts past after I dip behind the curtain.
Not wanting people to get suspicious from my clandestine peeks, I grab a mask and move opposite the doctor’s side of the bed to watch the proceedings.
Surprisingly, color has returned to Jonathon’s face.
“He looks much better.”
The doctor wipes his forehead. “I got all the metal and bone fragments out, but there’s a lot of bruising, some internal, and secondary wounds. Has he been tortured?”
“You don’t want to know the answer to that.”
He frowns under the mask but doesn’t respond.
I tap his shoulder. “We can’t stay here. Can you patch him up as well as you can?”
“He’s stabilized, for now.” The deep brown eyes study me for a moment before he lets out a long breath. “Everything holding him together is temporary. Give me another hour to make things better.”
Too much time has passed, but…
I push my thumbnail under the surgical mask and nibble on the corner, weighing the options of being discovered against having a healthier Jonathon. I nod. “Okay, one hour and not a second longer.”
Music blares from the ceiling. An overhead voice says, “This is the Emergency Broadcast Channel. We have a special announcement. This is the Emergency Broadcast Channel. We have a special announcement…”
Knots churn in my stomach as I peek past the curtains.
A general hologram activates, and a shimmering column of yellow static appears in the middle of the floor.
A moment later, the image resolves into Victoria.
Forty-Four
Despite the holographic form not being able to see anything, I shrink backward.
The blaring overhead voice cuts off, and Victoria animates, her words resonating throughout the emergency ward. “Citizens, greetings. This is the Secretary of Defense. I bring sad news. The President, the leader of our country, has been assassinated in a coup attempt.”
Gasps come from the onlookers.
“Also killed in this vicious attack was the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Allison Taylor. In addition to the Vice President and Secretary of State.”
Never let a crisis go to waste.
I bite my lip as Victoria expounds on her version of events.
“On the heels of New Austin, this is a stunning blow to our nation and our way of life. But, rest assured, we shall prevail against all interference, foreign and domestic.
“I have taken control of the situation and am taking measures to quell this ongoing rebellion.”
“Ongoing,” is a strange choice of term, and I wonder if Jonesy escaped and is causing trouble.
The eyes of the hologram flick over the room as if trying to make eye contact with everybody. “As interim President of the United States, the events of the past twenty-four hours have forced me to use emergency powers. Martial law is in effect, which means the remainder of the Bill of Rights is suspended. The situation is tenuous, but I appeal to you, the citizens, to trust in our government. With your help, this country shall prevail. I shall follow up with more information and directives as details become available…”
As Victoria draws a deep, tired breath, I hold my own, hoping this is the pause before her signing off.
The hologram shimmers, and Jonathon and I appear in all our holographic glory.
My heart skips a beat as my legs weaken.
“These two are fugitives from justice and highly dangerous. Be on the lookout for them and report any sighting immediately,” Victoria says, full of urgency.
After the glittering, too realistic images disappear, the voice from overhead announces, “This has been a message from the Emergency Broadcast Channel. Please go about your day.”
The rest of the ward throws nervous glances at our alcove.
“Time’s up,” I say, retreating inside the curtains. “We need to leave.”
The doctor looks up. “He’s not ready.”
I rush to Jonathon and gently tap his face. “Jonathon?”
No response.
I shake him and his eyes open. “Jonathon, we have to go, now.”
When he struggles to get up, the doctor pushes him down. “You’re nowhere near healthy enough. I’ve stabilized you and stopped the bleeding, but everything’s a patchwork.”
“We don’t have a choice,” I say.
“He won’t survive anything rough.”
Jonathon takes unsteady breaths, blinking, trying to orient himself.
Although he looks better, the doctor’s right. I sigh, weighing the crappy options.
“Just give me five more minutes,” he pleads.
I hold up three fingers. “Three.”
Hums and beeps come as the doctor gets back to work.
The spiders tingle along my nape.
When I peek into the ward, my stomach sinks.
People openly stare, their cupped hands covering rushed whispers and their fingers pointing for emphasis. Worse, Emelda is at the doorway, jabbering into something that looks like a comm device.
A moan of frustration spills from my mouth. Every second that passes lets the situation slip further out of control, but every second I give the doctor tilts the odds more in favor of Jonathon’s continued survival.
Victoria probably has a reaction force already in the air. How long will it take for them to arrive? I can’t drag a wounded Jonathon through a battle with any realistic chance of success. But if he dies of his wounds, what’s the point of anything?
Undecided, I chew on a thumbnail.
The comm unit to the stealth ship vibrates in my pocket. It’s a proximity warning for an unknown target coming over the horizon.
Even though the doctor is still feverishly working, I say, “Time’s up. We’re leaving.”
“Just one more minute. He’s a very sick man.”
I shove equipment to the side and rip off my surgical mask. “No, now.”
The doctor brushes my hands away. “You win. Let me close him up.”
“Okay,” I reply, stepping back. As he sutures the wound, I finger an EM grenade. Eliminating the cameras and comm units in the area would help, but the blast would take out all the electronics in the ward, including those used for treating patients.
No other ten sigma would have an issue with this…
I roll my eyes and, instead, grab my comm unit and hurriedly send commands to the stealth craft.
“Done,” the doctor says, moving the surgical equipment aside.
“Can he walk?”
Jonathon pushes himself upright as an answer. When he plops his feet on the floor, his shoulders sag, but his eyes exude strength. “Well enough.”
“His insides are still fragile, and he needs rest,” the doctor warns.
“No time.” I shove my shoulder under Jonathon. As we step from the alcove, the doctor grabs my arm. “Wait.”
Before I can protest, he grabs medical supplies and tosses them into a bag. He hands it to me, saying, “Those are general nano-healers. They won’t cure him, but they’ll help.”
“Thanks,” I say, slinging the precious meds over my shoulder. Apparently, not everyone from 2065 is bad.
“And for God’
s sake, get him to a proper care facility as soon as you can.”
I grab Jonathon, and we stagger toward the doorway.
He gets stronger with each step. When we get into the main hallway, he straightens.
“Can you go faster?”
With a wince, he says, “I’d prefer not to.”
The stealth ship control beeps again. This time, the good news is that the unknown target has been identified as a troop carrier.
I groan. “They’re coming. Let’s move.”
Grabbing his hand, I take faster steps, dragging him along. When we reach the lobby, I draw the pistol with my free hand and shoot the surveillance cameras from the corner and near the doorway.
The virtual reality watchers in the chairs jerk from the harsh sounds and yank off their helmets, blinking to readjust to reality.
Before we plow out the front entrance, I send Emelda a glare.
She backs away, ducking behind the reception counter.
I whip off my cloak for better movement as we rush down the broad staircase. When we hit the street, a whine splits the air.
A black troop transport rises over the edge of town. Rather than get close, the spindly craft hovers, slowly skirting the far rooftops.
Black knights, their armor gleaming in the sunlight, spew from the hold.
“Gotta run, Jonathon,” I say, pointing him toward the stealth ship.
After I empty the pistol at any nearby cameras, I reload with armor-penetrator rounds and follow his stumbling form.
We dodge past a delivery truck, and I guide him down the street.
When I spy cameras on top of the fountain, I toss an EM grenade into the fake water and another one down near the town boundary. We’re far enough from the hospital that the small weapons won’t affect any machines there.
The bombs detonate with sharp bangs, leaving scorches of black, and the colorful holograms flicker and die.
Chirps come from the communicator with yet another warning. I don’t need to check, I can already see the troopship coming at us for aerial support.
“Keep running into the woods,” I scream to Jonathon.
Glints flash on a nearby rooftop.
I fire the pistol, and the round strikes center mass, the advanced warhead sending a jet of nanobots through armor.
The black figure jerks and tumbles from view.
I sprint after Jonathon.
Projectiles shred the fountain’s hologram tower as I rocket by. I streak up the next block while shots pepper the pavement near my boots.
At the tree line, I catch Jonathon and drag him down.
An engine whines and rotor blades thump from overhead.
Jonathon stares at me with panicked eyes.
Through the gale, I point to the clearing but hold him in place. When the first pursuer appears in the gap between the residences, I let loose.
Gray blossoms on the chest plate, and the black knight collapses.
Swivel mounts from the hovering transport fire through the leafy canopy.
As high-powered rounds shower through forest and plow into the ground with dull whomps, I shout through the din, “Hop on, Jonathon.”
He steps to me, and I lift him piggyback and run through the trees, disregarding any notion of stealth.
Creaks come from above as shadows cross the broken spaces in the branches.
More shooting arrives, and wood chips spray as I use all the cover skills of the threads to navigate the patch of woodland.
I pause and make a wild-eyed search, looking for silvery battle-mesh, my stomach in knots from a potential confrontation with a ten sigma.
Wicked gusts blast leaves and dust into the air as the troopship nears.
Blinking, I focus through the whirling storm and survey the clearing.
Glints come from broken sunlight.
I frown. If there’s a ten sigma, then I’ll have to take my chances. I can’t allow the black knights into a better position. With gritted teeth, I run a jagged line through the howling wind, zigzagging between trees and shaking shadows to avoid detection.
The troopship maneuvers to cut off our escape path, skirting the boundary of the glade, and sends anti-personnel rounds thumping into the trees.
I grab the controller and enter a command.
Our stealth ship materializes, flying low near the opposite tree line, and missiles flare. The offensive weapons on the craft are rudimentary, but more than enough to defeat a lone troop carrier at a point-blank range.
Detonations blossom under the rotors. The spindly craft wobbles and tumbles to the side. Explosions flare through the woods, the wall of fire searing the more industrious black knights who have gotten ahead of us.
Not out of this yet.
I swivel and blast in a wide arc, taking down a wobbling figure and driving more of our pursuers into cover.
The stubby gray ship lands on the open grass just as I leap past the burning wreck of the transport. I dump Jonathon when we near and open the hatches, tossing in the bag of meds from the doctor.
After we climb into our seats, more black knights reach the edge of the woods.
The instant the cockpit seals, I say to Jonathon, “Strap in!”
Holograms cascade over the interior panels as the engines flare to life.
I nudge the throttle, and the little ship leaps off the ground.
As treetops pass underneath, rounds fly through the leaves and zip past the windows.
I return suppressing fire, shredding the greenery, and engage the power-draining optical camouflage.
A circular panel pops up and displays the city and immediate vicinity with colorful icons. At the edge of detection, dots of advanced-fighter aircraft circle, while higher and near the horizon, an airborne control drone sweeps the countryside with radar.
I slow the craft, willing us to remain undetected as we slither away.
The communications monitor pours out intercepted traffic in text form on a secondary display, and I bite my lip.
Reinforcements are coming.
More black knights charge into the glade and fire in our direction, targeting the engine exhaust.
I curse.
The odds of escape are worsening with every passing second. Time isn’t on our side. We have to get away from the ground fire, but to get anywhere, the eye-in-the-sky has to be neutralized too.
“Hold on,” I say to Jonathon. I open up the throttle, and we rocket skyward.
As the g-forces take hold and push us into the contoured seats, he grunts from the pressure.
Instead of being perturbed, I’m relieved he hasn’t been hit and isn’t any worse for the firefight and haphazard escape.
I keep my fingers crossed, hoping the situation stays that way.
Forty-Five
As we speed from the ground fire and maneuver higher, the ship schematics pop onto the center panel. A healthy green flashes over critical systems while the AI does quick checks for damage.
I sigh in relief when everything registers as functional. With power at a premium, I disengage the active camouflage, which is only useful to mask the visual aspects of the vehicle.
The status board shifts to a side panel, and a map hologram expands over the center console, displaying ominous labels. While the airborne warning craft is the biggest danger to our stealth, two pairs of orbiting fighters designated with red arrows further north are the biggest danger to our survival.
“Multiple inbound threats,” the AI says as everyone moves in our direction.
My eyes roll to the heavens.
If something could go right, just once…
One set of fighters rockets to protect the eye-in-the-sky, which removes the option of killing their means of detection.
Which leaves us one choice…
“We have to run,” I say, turning to Jonathon. “Where do we want to go?”
He hesitates, pursing his lips.
“No,” I say in an admonishing tone. “We’re not getting to New Austin t
hrough this.”
Frowning, he flicks his eyes to the threat board. “Head south and get past the border. The fighters are restricted to US airspace. They won’t chase us down there and risk international sanctions.”
I adjust course toward the Southern Badlands and hit the thrust.
Only two-hundred kilometers separate us from safety.
Seconds tick past while the second pair of red arrows heads toward our last track and away from our current path.
Jonathon jabs at broken lines across the map. “We have to get by the defense network. Some of it’s under construction, but these…”
He points to the bases in front of us.
Images of ground lasers surrounding detection assets drift into my consciousness, and I tighten my lips. “Let’s hope our stealth and AI work.”
“They won’t if we get too close.” He stabs at the display. “We have to thread this gap to the west.”
I bank to angle the ship onto the new track, keeping my fingers crossed.
“So far, so good,” Jonathon says as we level.
A flutter of red appears on the status board.
I twist my head and stare at the rear. My stomach sinks. “Damn.”
“What?”
“The stealth in the tail assembly is compromised. Before we got out of range, a shot must have damaged the coating and our flying has made it worse. This ship isn’t meant to take any punishment…”
My last word hangs as an alarm blares.
“Detection warning,” the AI announces.
“Is there anything we can do?” Jonathon asks, his voice rising a panicked octave.
“The AI is on it, but we’re losing stealth covering. I’m not sure we can stay hidden.”
More good news comes as the control craft focuses its active scanning sweeps in our direction, trying to paint the ship for the world to see.
It’s going to be a battle of our wounded stealth capability against their intact detection capability, not to mention their superior speed, weaponry, and numbers.
I roll my eyes, hating that this combat is about technology and not individual skill.
The pursuing fighters vector onto our track, and I curse.
