Crossing Rubicon

by A J Blanc

  Marcus knew he had to work fast, because his vision was blurring and he was becoming light-headed from the blood loss. He poured the remainder of his canteen over the hole just below his liver to get a better look at what he had to work with. He dabbed the area with torn fabric from his shirt and pinched the hole as best he could. With a shaking hand, and sweat pouring off his face, Marcus cauterized the wound with the laser wire cutter. Without anesthetic, and a steady hand, the pain was unbearable. He wished he had something to bite on, but it was over in the longest seconds he’d ever experienced. He slapped his last proderm patch on the area and passed out, in a very uncomfortable posture next to the still twitching hunter.

  ~

  Marcus awoke to the hot afternoon sky, beckoning him to another horizon. Even though he wasn’t a pilot, he loved being in the air, or at the very least off the ground. It had been ages since he had flown, but this was a different sensation entirely. He may be delirious, but he had the distinct feeling the clouds were moving, in the opposite direction they were traveling just a moment ago.

  A wave of dizziness swept over him. His body was being held in place by restraints. Through immense strain he was able to turn his head slightly to see two men guiding the stretcher he laid upon to what looked to be a shiny, new triage medical extractor, or as his ilk liked to call them, a Timmy. He rested his head back down to face the sky, relief easing the tension in his neck and shoulders.

  In what felt like hours, Marcus’s head began to clear, the pain fading like the drifting clouds he had focused on as he fell unconscious the second time. He lay on his stomach and could hear the whirr of the mechanical arms, still working on his back injury he supposed. He could also hear one of the medics arguing with someone via the telepresence system that allows anyone present to confer with practitioners.

  “Negative. I can’t guarantee how leaving a dead kidney in the body will affect his performance. Nor do I recommend waiting on installing a new one. The damage to his spleen has been repaired, and he mitigated further tissue damage when he cauterized himself with a laser cutter, but he can be transported to the med station and back in less than an hour in a much better condition… to assuage any question of fairness that may come up by our loyal fan base.”

  “I get what you’re saying,” the feminine voice on the other end began, “but you know how they’ll respond if I forward your request. ‘It’s an acceptable loss, leaving essential functionality intact,’ they’ll say. Besides, he still has one good kidney, and he may not even need that one for long anyway.”

  The man in the TME sighed heavily. “Your misanthropic attitude notwithstanding, the man just won his second round, in spectacular fashion I might add. I think he’s earned a little optimism in surviving the third. Could you humor me by at least asking? A little empathy in our line of work hasn’t been completely depleted yet, has it?”

  “Very well. Stand by please,” the woman responded before switching off her screen; seemingly unaffected by the man’s question of morality.

  “Nicely done, doctor,” the other man said. The voice startled Marcus. Not only because the source was coming from right next to him and he hadn’t noticed the man standing there, leaning against some storage bins, but also because he was certain he recognized it. He forced his eyes to focus on the tall figure. The man nodded cordially, and Marcus couldn’t decide if he should be relieved or incredibly worried.

  “You guys just can’t get enough of me can you?” he asked, feeling more groggy than he sounded.

  Milo smiled, and continued focusing on a tablet he tapped every few seconds. “Can you blame us? We’re trying to get you out of here kid, but we’re not out of the woods yet.”

  “Anything?” Hal asked apprehensively.

  “Nothing. And please stop asking. You have a patient to attend to anyway, one we might need to move under his own power very soon. How much of what you told that machine posing as a woman was true?”

  “What’re you guys talking about? How did you get here?” Marcus interrupted, feeling his vigor returning. The mechanical arms had recessed back into the ceiling. He tried to sit up, Hal gently preventing him.

  “It’s pretty simple really,” Milo volunteered, a proud smirk slipping through his faux-stern façade. “We caught up with the source Watson was getting his intel and marching orders from. She told us about the old zone network. Then, since our contact inside Rosen didn’t answer her phone, we had to come up with our own way to get close enough in order to hack into that system. Mister super-spy here came up with the idea of commandeering a Timmy at the nearest med station, allowing us to kill two birds with one stone… the second being finding a way to get you out. Questions?”

  Marcus traded stares between both men, gauging their seriousness. He couldn’t tell if they were joking, crazy, or both, so he just went with it and left the details alone.

  “Uh, when you put it like that, I suppose not. So… what’s the plan from here?”

  “That sounds like a question to me,” Milo retorted. “We’re waiting to get word about the hack. Or for Rosen to grow some integrity, and either allow us to take you to a medical facility, or let actual law enforcement take care of you. Whichever comes first. Either way, be prepared to…”

  Relentless beeping from his tablet cut him off. Milo resumed his dour perusing of the screen, while the other two stared in anticipation. After what seemed far too long to process what he was reading, he looked up to two pairs of wide eyes.

  “Oh, sorry. We’re in business. I was just reading the particulars, but I suppose that’s not as important as us getting the hell out of here. I’ll drive.”

  Milo dashed into the only seat of what service members referred to as the cockpit, since the piloting and overall shape of the Timmys had more in common with commercial aircraft than standard military or emergency vehicles. They’re also designed to travel quite fast, due to the impetuous nature of their passengers. He fired up the engines and took off as if they were shot out of a cannon. He stayed low to the ground however, in hopes of confusing any tracking equipment that may be used against them. Almost immediately after takeoff, monitors came to life all over the craft.

  “Medical shuttle two-eight-two, you have not been authorized to return to base. What are your intentions, over?”

  All three men exchanged glances. Hal shrugged his shoulders and responded. “Control, this is 282. We have a medical emergency on our hands, and our patient can’t wait for the situation to be discussed by a committee.”

  “Understood doctor, but it has been determined that prisoner 74205’s identified injuries do not require further attention…”

  “Oh? When was this going to be shared with us? I reported that he was already prepped. That’s not a condition where we can sit around twiddling our thumbs.”

  The new person on the other end took on a haughty expression. “You’re getting the message when the decision was made, doctor… I didn’t catch your name and operating number.”

  Hal opened his mouth to respond when all the screens with the angry man’s face went dark. He looked over at Milo and saw a glimmer of satisfaction from his over-the-shoulder profile glance.

  “Sorry, but it’s probably best we don’t engage with anyone. Especially those of us who have a job to worry about… One that won’t have my back if I get caught conducting some good old-fashioned corporate theft and espionage.”

  “Yeah, I think I get the picture,” Hal remarked snidely. “You undoubtedly just saved me from an impending boring conversation anyway. So, what should we expect them to throw at us? Can we assume they’ll let us go with an unconditional surrender?”

  “Don’t hold your breath. They’re probably trying a remote shut down right now. If Alena’s efforts are as debilitating as she claimed, they won’t be able to do that, or coordinate with any of the zone’s automated systems. Since we’re still moving, I’ll wager a guess it’s at least a partial success. So what they’ll do next, I assume, is send manned secu
rity craft to intercept us. Recycled patrol craft from the war, if you recall seeing those cloud cars docked at the other side of the landing pad from the Timmys.”

  “If they’re anything like the ones at the colonies,” Marcus cut in, “those can pack some serious firepower.”

  “Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I kinda doubt Rosen has access to that level of weaponry.” Milo said, not fully convinced of his own assurances. “They are however of the same class of craft, I suspect. Doc, if there’s anything else you need to do to get ready for a chase, now’s the time to get creative.”

  Milo banked the TME hard to starboard. They were now heading due east, instead of northwest where the zone medical facility sat.

  “Where do you have us headed now?” Hal wondered. “I didn’t think going the opposite direction was what you meant by getting ‘creative.’”

  “We need to get out of Rosen territory; east is the shortest route from Zone Jupiter. Isn’t that right Marcus?”

  “Um, yeah, I think so. How would you know that though?”

  “Sorry son, trade secrets. If I told you I’d have to kill you. Though since that threat obviously doesn’t that bothers you, give me a minute to think of a less clichéd one.”

  Chapter Eighteen: Endgame

  Sonya left the Game Master’s office in a huff. Although she was expecting to be passed over for Hyde’s third round, given what the man classified as ‘lapses in professionalism,’ it was still an upsetting decision. She had never been snubbed for anything in her entire professional career. To make matters worse, it had been the second time she’d been denied that day!

  She roamed the hallways of the Network building in a haze of anger and disappointment. This had all started when I received those anonymous messages a few weeks ago, she blamed. She had an enviable job that didn’t give her a moment’s pause, until what she first assumed was creepy fan mail had somehow found its way into her inbox. Since then, she had taken a look at her life and realized how lonely she truly was. She also began questioning if Rosen was the ethically responsible company they appeared to be when she was recruited into their ranks.

  At that moment, a soft alarm was activated. It gave off the distinct tone of the keys of a large xylophone being played at a slow, steady tempo. Sonya laughed to herself, thinking that noise would never inspire anyone to take action. What the alarm did succeed in however, was to snap her out of her trance-like state, because even though she had never heard the sound before, she knew it was regarding those two federal agents she tried to help earlier.

  She checked her smart watch to see if she had missed any calls and saw that she had three messages awaiting her attention. Without even listening to them, she quickly came to the realization that they were going to need even more help getting out of whatever predicament they were in still mostly intact.

  She took the express lift down to an underground tram system, which lead to, amongst other places, a landing pad with a workshop that housed a variety of craft from Rosen’s impressive fleet. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she said aloud into the vacant tram car.

  ~

  The four long, trying weeks since she agreed to look into Rosen for the DIA had culminated to this moment. Alena was inside their system, disrupting zone communications to aid in her associates’ escape, while uploading the evidence Watson had procured onto their own streaming servers.

  Despite all that, something didn’t feel right. She had the nagging suspicion that she was missing something. She ran a quick diagnostic of her operations and there it was. Rosen technicians were naturally trying to shut her out, but doing so in a way she wasn’t likely to detect until enough control had been regained to block and track her.

  Alena noticed that they already had a foothold on the streaming financial and contract data, which wasn’t as concerning at that moment as maintaining her zone communications link. She threw up a couple of virtual road blocks to slow them down, but it was only a matter of time before the much more experienced and well-paid software techs figured out how she was getting in through their back door.

  Scanning zone security communications, she could undoubtedly see a spike in system processing activity. “The jig must be almost up,” she muttered inside the seemingly empty situation room at the FBI field office on Kietzke Lane in Reno. Due to a lack of trusted DIA assets in the area, Agent Dune ensured her that she would be safe with the Bureau. It took some heated negotiations to allow her to use their computers unaccompanied, but once the Special Agent in Charge learned of why confidentiality and privacy were so important, he saw a promotion in his future and demanded to see what evidence she carried.

  She redoubled her efforts in blocking the zones’ automated defenses, but that would do little in the way of interfering with scrambling and coordinating manned security shuttles. She could see that three PT 109 short-range craft were already en route. With her role in this caper soon coming to an end, quite possibly in grandiose fashion, she hoped the others had a lucky charm of their own to put their faith into.

  ~

  “Do you see them?” Hal asked anxiously, as he scurried around the porthole-sized windows of the medical bay cabin.

  “Not yet, and stop asking!” Milo answered, his own angst raising with the other two’s. “Trust me, when I see them, you’ll be the first to know.”

  The triage medical extractor rocketed toward the nearest safe jurisdiction, which happened to be the state of Utah. This direction, unfortunately, was away from where they obtained the TME, as well as where Milo’s Studebaker was parked. Upon realizing this, Milo recalled his car, but projected their current flight path and instructed it to intercept them by the most efficient route the onboard computer calculated.

  The early afternoon sky was strikingly clear, and with the sun on their back, Milo was further allayed by the unobstructed view. Despite much of the state being utilized by the Rosen Games Network in one way or another, Nevada still retained much of its natural beauty. Even the striking Valley of Fire, with its red sands and picturesque rock formations, which could hypnotize people into thinking they had been transported to an alien world, could sway even the most stoic of individuals.

  The former state park wouldn’t get the chance to test its entrancing reputation this time however. What held Milo’s attention were on the two gradually growing dark specks out of the forward view screen. A twinge of dread probed at his willpower. While he was confident they wouldn’t be carrying any lethal ordinance, aside from perhaps a mounted machine gun, the cloud cars would most certainly have something that would knock them out of the sky.

  “Our uninvited guests are finally about to make contact,” Milo informed the others. Hal appeared behind him, with an oddly composed expression. “One coming from starboard as well,” he added.

  “I think, technically, you’re the uninvited guests,” Marcus corrected as he laboriously put on a clean shirt from a small storage cabinet labeled ‘garment replacement.’ “But I’m not sure they know that yet.”

  “Funny,” Milo retorted. “Can you two secure yourselves to something? I suspect this is about to become a bumpy ride.”

  Marcus nodded and unfolded the two jump seats in the back compartment. TMEs were meant to safely carry a maximum of three people: pilot, medic, and patient. The brick red jump seats weren’t very comfortable, a purposeful design choice so whomever sat on one wouldn’t become negligent in their duties. However, the seats did offer a firm hold of their passenger with a five-point harness attached directly to the hull, and were positioned in a way where there was adequate views of both the medical equipment and at least one of the small windows.

  The dots on the horizon were beginning to take shape. Milo could already perceive the slight downward curve of the delta-shaped wings. He also pictured the menacing, spiked nose piece as to avoid being intimidated by its overt fearsome motif. Milo wasn’t sure if it was intentional, or merely coincidental, that the overall shape gave off an unassuming, even benign, look a
t a distance. To the untrained eye, it would often cause people to stop and stare curiously, due to its outline being unlike anything found in nature or made by man. He had heard comparisons of their silhouette to the Martian ships in the 1950 War of the Worlds movie. Up close and personal however, they told a different story entirely.

  The craft approaching from starboard intercepted first, and swooshed past the view screen so closely it made Milo’s foot hover over the air brake pedal. He knew right away that it was simply a scare tactic to encourage that exact response. Milo didn’t fully fall for it, but the flyby gave him a better idea of what they had to contend with. The menacing, manta-like vessel, nicknamed the cloud car as an unshakeable joke, had virtually the maneuverability of a hummingbird, and could carry enough armaments to provide air support coverage for an entire division. The models currently harassing them looked to be stripped-down versions of their military counterparts; lessening their weight while increasing aerodynamics. The Rosen design also seemed to allow scary graphics to be painted on the dorsal and ventral sides, as well as replace the armaments with ion cannons.

  “They’re carrying buzz blasters,” Milo yelled to the others. “We may be past the point for pleasant…” An explosion rocked the TME, or at least it felt like an explosion. “Is it too late to add that they may be carrying seismic mines as well?”

  Ion cannons and seismic mines were both non-lethal weapons devised to incapacitate vehicles and power grids. Deionizing electronics causes circuits to fry and systems to shut down. Seismic mines use polaric-compression technology to simulate a highly condensed earthquake within a range of a few dozen meters, depending where it was constructed.