by A J Blanc
“So,” Milo began hesitantly. “What were you doing before you signed up with CID? Did you get any relatable training before then?”
Will was drinking his beer so heartily that Milo’s question seemed to catch him completely off guard. He finished the drink in two more large gulps, then gave Milo a look like he had forgotten he was there.
“Yes, well… Um, after the war, I went to medical school, you see. I was looking for work as a medical doctor when I learned my talents could be useful elsewhere.”
Will paused a moment to order another beer before continuing. “What about you? You seem more cut out for a military investigator than I am. What made you go for the Marshals?”
Milo watched, mildly impressed, as Will downed half his second beer as if he were a pledge at a frat house, or a sailor on shore leave. He looked at his half-and-half iced tea lemonade, slowly being diluted by melting ice, and considered ordering a beer as well. If his decades of military training and experience taught him anything it was to avoid alcohol while on duty, so he ultimately decided against it.
“Quite simple really. The Army had been part of my life for so long I couldn’t think of anything beyond its reach. So I let my wife decide. She’d put up with enough of my moving around and whatnot, I figured it was her turn to steer the ship, so to speak. One of her six sisters had moved to Chicago alone the year before and wanted some familial company. My CO knew someone high up in the Marshals Service and recommended me. I was able to split the last six months of my fourth enlistment while I trained for the Service, as well as choose my duty station when I completed both.”
Will chugged the rest of his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sounds like a cozy transition. Too bad more vets separating from service don’t experience that.” He paused, and considered the hundreds of vets who aren’t so lucky. “Married huh? Any kids?”
“Kids? No. I have twin teenage daughters who think they’re thirty. Sometimes I’m surprised to come home to see them there because they could probably get a job that easily earns more than my wife and I make together and move to a bigger place… Seriously though, they’re good kids and they make their parents proud every day. I just wish they had a little more ambition; not too much though. You?”
“Yeah. A son. Just turned nine a couple months ago. I can’t imagine my life without him. You’re still relatively young and in good shape right? I can barely keep up with my son as it is. I don’t want to think about how much trouble teenage girls can get into. But I suppose there is a double standard with that sort of thing.”
The first genuine conversation between them was cut short by the arrival of their late lunch, or early dinner; however one looked at it. Like his beer, Will devoured his mountain of a sandwich as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Milo looked on in amazement, wondering how this could be the same man who was just speaking fondly about children less than a minute prior. He shook his head and started in, as Will was already halfway done. Milo had only taken a few bites when some commotion in the bar area grabbed their attention.
Suspended above the bar, projected by dozens of holographic emitters, was the all-too-familiar opening title song for The Most Dangerous Game. Several patrons of the restaurant were hooting and hollering as the line-up of hunters was announced. Next was the introduction of the runner. The image of a man labeled as Prisoner 74205 was displayed with some stats scrolling between still pictures and video clips of him performing various actions. Watching the scenes publicizing some of the man’s physical prowess and weapons skills got the growing crowd abuzz, but all Milo and Will could do was exchange pensive looks. The mocha-skinned young man preparing to participate in a contest for his life was none other than Marcus Hyde.
“Damn,” Milo muttered loudly. “They sure didn’t waste any time getting him suited up, did they?” Will just shook his head in shame. Milo knew exactly what he was thinking; if only they had reached him sooner, or exited out the back door instead…
The transport from Rosen headquarters in Reno, Nevada touched down on the pad at Zone Jupiter; aptly named due to its size and inhospitable sub-regions compared to the other proving grounds. The pad began to lower into the underground caverns that were once silver mines, and the still growing restaurant crowd went wild.
Hyde was out of the transport craft and geared-up as the pad approached the halfway point. He leapt off before the descending lift reached the bottom and sprinted away from the pad through the maze of tunnels that made up one of the sub-regions of Zone Jupiter. While the mine was once a thriving network when in operation, it had since gone into disrepair and was sealed off for a time well over a century ago. Then Rosen purchased the land, and they didn’t hesitate to reopen it, following a rushed clean-up operation that likely cost more than the land was worth.
As a decorated Colonial Cavalier, who helped secure and protect some of the fledgling interstellar colonies during his three tours off planet, being in cramped, underground environments was like second nature to Hyde. His speed and efficiency moving around the caverns would make one think he had lived there most of his life. He rounded another corner, not hesitating to choose which route to take when faced with forks in the aging tunnel system, and deftly avoided the various hazards along the way; both natural and manmade.
Suddenly, he stopped. The dozens of hidden cameras cycled through the claustrophobic space until they found the best angle to show him tinkering with something. “Looks like he’s taking apart a seeker,” Milo said curiously, stopping his hand midway to his chin. He instead grabbed his glass and took a drink to resist that urge.
In seconds Hyde had removed a piece of one of his seekers, and stuffed the remaining component into a gouge of the crumbling rock wall. Only about ten seconds had passed since he paused in the tunnel. Now he had turned around to explore another shaft of rock, and place a second neutered seeker probe.
“Brilliant,” Milo declared. “He removed the propulsion system, so they don’t move around and give themselves away. They’ll still transmit, but the hunter won’t be able to detect them as easily. He’s creating his own security grid, inside a tunnel system he’d presumably never been in before.” Will nodded at the remark but didn’t take his eyes off the show.
Hyde entered a larger chamber, which looked to be the mine’s ore processing center, with some fairly modern pieces of machinery thrown in to give the appearance it was still functioning. He clipped the proverbial wings of two more seekers, placing them in strategic locations around the space, and did a quick recon of the cavern. He quickly progressed around the space, studying some of the machinery, and found a partially protected hiding place that had a nearly full view of the area.
He took a moment to relax a bit, providing the production team a perfect opportunity to advertise some sponsors, but it was far too short a reprieve for anyone to get comfortable. Hyde had just finished a fruit-oat protein bar, with its logo clearly visible for all to see, when his forearm display, presented on the left of the main viewing area, was pinged. Something, or someone had set off one of his passive seekers.
Hyde readied himself for action by shifting around his gear for maximum offensive efficiency. Seconds stretched slowly by. Everyone in the restaurant was on the edge of their seat with baited breath. A full minute passed. People began to return to their meal or drinks, as well as breathe, when there was definitive movement at the other end of the vast, underground chamber. The eatery became so quiet, the slightest shift from anyone could be noticed from opposite ends of the dining area. On impulse, everyone began to lean forward as cameras began to zoom in on a nondescript corner.
Chapter Eight: Cautionary Tale
Cameras from around the cavern came to life as a dark figure crept out of the shadows. The dim, dated light fixtures did a fine job of maintaining the intruder’s anonymity, but once his attire was glimpsed, everyone who had even a small level of show knowledge knew who it was.
The imposing figure of a burly man was evident even in the poor v
isibility, but what really gave Hunter McCone away was his trademark helmet and flight jacket. The brass-colored, green lens helmet looked like something out of the early-to-mid twentieth century. The brown leather jacket may have had an even older design, but neither were what they seemed.
The helmet, an homage to one of his father’s favorite movies as a child, held the latest in audio/visual technology. Any noise, no matter how faint, would be instantly identified. If its sophisticated internal system failed to identify the sound, a catalogued list of the top three likely sources would be displayed. The large, emerald green lenses were sensitive enough to detect unnatural disruptions in air movement, as well as many other features, including of course a high level of protection from physical impacts.
Elad McCone was recruited into the hunter fold shortly after his performance in quelling the food riots in the Disney Region of California as a lieutenant in the state’s Governors Police Bureau. His aggressive, tactical command decisions that left dozens dead and many more wounded, were quietly praised by some officials in the state capital, but very publicly decried as a level of unprecedented and unnecessary brutality.
His days as a law enforcer over, he quickly made a name for himself as a new hunter yet to receive more than a skinned knee during the Game. As a small irony, he was given a specially designed riot shotgun as his primary weapon, a choice he claims he wouldn’t have made if the network’s production team wasn’t so insistent. McCone grew to respect the weapon however, due to its versatility and ease of switching between the impressive variety of shells it was loaded with, depending what the situation called for.
The reputation he earned was prevalent as he lurked in the shadows, growing the excitement in the now crowded barbeque restaurant. Projected over the bar, his silhouette waded into the rocky cavern with caution and precision; scanning sections of the chamber efficiently and methodically. He felt confident enough to venture farther into the room, but froze in place next to a piece of machinery: an old ore processor, one that Hyde had manipulated for a few seconds. McCone went in for a closer look at the control panel, and the cameras zoomed in on Hyde tapping carefully on his forearm computer pad.
The control panel exploded with a blinding flash of light. Although he was in no physical danger, McCone instinctively covered his face with his arm until his helmet’s sensory filters activated and his eyes could readjust to dusk-lit space. As fast as they were, the filters weren’t as fast as Marcus Hyde.
Before McCone brought his arm back down, Hyde was upon him. The lithe younger man slammed his shoulder into the hulk-like body of his opponent with all his might. McCone was caught completely off guard and toppled onto the old conveyor belt. Since the incendiary bomb Hyde made from a seeker probe propulsion cell destroyed the controls, the conveyor wasn’t going to be moving anytime soon. Instead, Hyde pulled the pin out of a grenade attached to the flaying man’s left pant leg, and then he ran down the passageway McCone had just entered from.
The restaurant Milo and Will were in was now packed to capacity. The din of the crowd steadily grew and was close to a fever pitch by that point. Even the serving staff was caught up in the spectacle, as orders were piling up on the monitor by the serving window, which offered a glimpse into the kitchen.
Much to the crowd’s satisfaction, McCone came to his senses soon enough to grab the active grenade and throw it safely across the cavern before it exploded. He got to his feet in a jolt, scanned the room briefly, and then chased after Hyde like a bloodhound following a scent.
Some of the virtual spectators in the restaurant were arguing about why Marcus didn’t try to shoot McCone while he was down and disoriented. Others defended him by pointing out the quality of hunters’ body armor. And a pair of business men, recently off work judging by their relaxed dark-blue suits, claimed it was a ploy to boost ratings the longer the match lasted. Milo simply rolled his eyes and Will shook his head at the insipid conversation.
Hyde was running full speed through the tunnel. No one in the eatery, aside from Milo and Will, seemed to be impressed by Marcus moving as fast as he was while carrying what they estimated as thirty kilos of gear on him. Milo didn’t want to hold his breath, but he was beginning to think Hyde may be able to stay ahead of McCone for a while. Though much like the tortoise and the hare, slow and steady could very well win the race. He knew in situations like these, it all came down to wit and cunning.
Marcus came to a fork in the tunnel system once again and didn’t hesitate in choosing the left path. Four paces in and he stopped jarringly. Hyde walked tentatively back to the other path, knowing full well that McCone was getting closer by the second, and casually walked the other direction he just bypassed a minute prior.
“Prisoner 74205 may have just made a fatal mistake, ladies and gentlemen,” lead PR announcer Joram Bachman shared. “That path is what the hunters call the ‘tunnel of doom’ due to its many pitfalls and cave-ins.”
The eatery had fallen tensely quiet as everyone watched Hyde struggle around boulders and debris from centuries-old mining operations. McCone paused for a brief instant, and then agitatedly took the right tunnel in pursuit of Hyde. It appeared to Milo that his shoulders slumped some when he realized his quarry had gone that direction. Perhaps hunters were made aware of their terrain beforehand, he mused.
Minutes drifted away and Hyde seemed to be getting somewhat apprehensive. Milo wondered if Marcus was regretting his chosen path, because the terrain was slowing him down immensely. The next obstacle however, garnered a devious glint in his eyes that was shockingly clear plastered on the screens and projectors of the bar.
Marcus approached a large fissure in the rocky ground. He peered down into the abyss beyond with his wrist light and saw nothing but darkness. Hyde dove into his gear bag and furiously searched inside. After a few seconds, he apparently found what he was looking for and tossed the bag to the opposite side of the chasm. He carefully placed something on each side of the tunnel, just before the perilous breach, and leapt over, grabbing his gear and continuing his flight down the path.
As Hyde turned the corner, out of frame, the camera zoomed in on the crevice slowly. Then it disappeared into the rock like it wasn’t there at all. The crowd gasped, muttering and arguing what had happened. Will gave Milo a knowing look and smile. Marcus had placed an adaptive camouflage expander by the hole. Designed for defensive purposes, it was typically used to hide people from attack, or equipment from plunder. Hyde was using his ACE to conceal a probable fatal hazard.
The camera angle changed to show McCone drifting around the bend, quickly but vigilantly like a wraith. Some of the restaurant patrons shouted out warnings, as if they thought the man could hear them from nearly eight-hundred kilometers away, which made Will slowly turn his head to give them a look of derision. Strangely enough however, the scattered pleas appeared to have been answered.
McCone’s hurried pace came to a skidding halt mere centimeters from the chasm. He scanned the area very thoroughly, deciding whether to trust his senses, or the very sensitive audio/visual readouts in his helmet. He probed around by tossing some stones and crept closer to the fissure.
He neared what was assumed to be the edge and visibly relaxed. The crowd followed suit. McCone began to search for the ACE when the right side of the tunnel exploded in a fireball of bright light and stone. The camera that had been active lost signal, so the angle shifted several times before settling on one at the opposite end of the crevice. This camera looked no better than the previous though; the view was still too dark and smoky to identify anything, except more rock.
It took what felt like several minutes for the smoke to clear enough to process the scene. Once it did, several gasps rang out in unison at the sight of the noticeably larger hole in the ground, with no McCone to be seen. Curses and praises alike rang out in the eatery directed at Marcus, but Milo and Will sat as serenely as statues still taking in the spectacle they had just witnessed.
In the few seconds Hyde ru
mmaged through his gear bag, he had managed to also grab a proximity mine, and likely any remaining seeker batteries to combine them into an extra-lethal bomb. Camouflaged by the ACE, McCone was bound to fall victim to one or the other. His demise was inevitable, though probably not in the literal blaze of glory most wanted or expected.
The picture changed to a disheveled but steadfast Marcus Hyde emerging from the infamous ‘tunnel of doom’ into a cave with some natural light. He looked up to see a network drone hovering over him, which garnered a heavy sigh in response.
“Prisoner 74205, you have just felled an experienced and celebrated hunter. To what do you attribute your victory?” The smooth voice of Joram Bachman from the gaming headquarters asked through the drone’s speakers.
Hyde stared at the drone with a life-sized image of Bachman projected in front of him with extreme contempt. It was obvious Marcus didn’t want to even look at the man, let alone converse with him. He knew however that if he didn’t respond there would be repercussions in the form of fewer aid drops, advancement to less desirable locations, and better prepared hunters.
“Training, and instinct. Along with a bit of luck, I suppose,” he answered in his slow southern drawl.
“Very encouraging young man,” Bachman bantered. “Is there anything you’d like to say to your growing number of fans out there?”
Marcus gave the camera a very hard look. “Yeah, I do believe there is. Freedom is only real when you fight for it. As the sun makes its zenith, so must I.”
The camera angle changed and the drone could be seen drifting away, out of frame. Marcus composed himself and continued his trek into the waning sunlight. The restaurant was beginning to clear out, while the game master prattled on about how Hyde had nearly twelve hours until his next match. Amongst the maelstrom of departing customers Milo and Will remained seated, too stunned to move.
