The Never Army

by Hodges, T. Ellery

  “After everything?” Leah asked. “You’re just going to help me?”

  “I know what it means to you,” he said.

  Leah blinked, feeling tears forming. So much gratitude mixed with so many questions. Why was he being so kind? Had their roles been swapped, she didn’t believe she’d have forgiven him. He acted as though there was no wall between them—when they both knew she’d been lying since the day they met.

  “Thank you,” was all she managed.

  He nodded, and in somewhat classic Jonathan fashion, she immediately sensed that her gratitude had made him uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t thank me yet, conversations with Heyer never go the way you hope.”

  As he turned to go, she watched his back with a familiar curiosity that—apparently—she would never be able to fully turn off. Since that day in the garage, there were times he behaved in a way she didn’t recognize, but sometimes that fell away, and the Jonathan she knew was there.

  This was one of those moments. Which was how she knew with utter certainty that Jonathan had just evaded something. She had no idea what. At the moment, she didn’t want to press her luck. As she caught back up to him, he asked, “Will you reconsider the food and the shower?”

  She nodded. “Are you going to tell me what is going on here?”

  “Seems I can hardly avoid it now, can I? But there are some things that need my attention. I’ll leave you with someone who can answer most of your questions.”

  She was disappointed. She didn’t want to wait and didn’t want answers from a stranger. In fact, there were a few questions she wanted him to answer while she could look him in the eye.

  “Tell me this, how long have you known who I am?”

  He grimaced a bit. “It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated?” Leah asked. “I’m just asking—days? weeks?”

  He gave a defeated sounding sigh. “It’s a matter of perspective . . . for you, half a day. For me, a few months.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him as they walked. Four seconds of silence passed before she knew he’d felt her gaze and still hadn’t elaborated. “Come on, you knew that wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “Well, I did warn you,” Jonathan said. “None of your questions are going to have any simple answers. Might as well try to understand Calculus before learning Algebra.”

  Her face softened. “Then teach me Algebra?”

  “Are you kidding,” Jonathan smiled. “I’m terrible at math.”

  Son of a . . . seriously? How could it be that—somehow—nothing had changed. She might as well still be standing in his driveway desperately trying to get him to open up. Why was he still so walled off after everything she’d seen?

  She felt like a shaken soda bottle, ready to explode if she didn’t let the pressure out in tiny increments. She took a long breath and released it slowly as they turned a corner and found a woman waiting for them.

  Jonathan introduced her as Sydney.

  She was dressed in business attire, much like Olivia, but Sydney was older and possessed a much friendlier disposition. That wasn’t to say she looked particularly kindly at Leah. Rather, her demeanor was reminiscent of Beo and Mito as they put her in the cell the night before.

  Distrustful . . . just short of open hostility.

  “Thank you again for doing this,” Jonathan said.

  “It’s no problem, Jonathan,” Sydney said.

  He turned back to Leah. “I have to go, but Sydney will get you sorted out for the time being.”

  Leah glanced at the woman doubtfully.

  “Wait, you’re just leaving me with a complete stranger?”

  “We’ll talk as soon as I can,” Jonathan said.

  He was serious, already stepping away.

  She followed, grabbed him by the arm. “Jonathan, please, just let me say something.”

  He stopped, glanced at her hand on his arm and waited.

  “You were never just a means to an end,” she said. They were words. She meant them, but they sounded so hollow when all her actions had contradicted them.

  He took her hand from his arm, held it for a moment. When he spoke, he stared at her hand, avoided her eyes. “I know.”

  He let go, and she stood staring, watching him leave.

  I know? She scowled after him as he retreated. He knew? Couldn’t he have elaborated on that? If he had said more . . . something else—anything else—and it might have made sense to her.

  “Ms. Delacy,” Sydney said, reminding her that she’d been left alone with the woman.

  Leah turned back, studied Sydney’s face, and sighed. “Well, you don’t like me. And clearly don’t care if I know it.”

  Sydney raised a brow, as if considering her next statement for a moment. “You and I account for two thirds of the women here. Jonathan felt it would be more comfortable for you if another woman accompanied you to the showers and your new quarters. Do you know why I drew the short straw?”

  Leah shrugged.

  “I suspect,” Sydney said, “that it was because he does not believe Paige can bear the sight of you at the moment.”

  “Oh no,” Leah closed her eyes. “Paige . . . she’s here? She knows—”

  “She knows as much as the rest of us, Ms. Delacy,” Sydney interrupted. “And why Jonathan is trusting you is a mystery to everyone.”

  Leah nodded.

  A few seconds ticked by, and Leah realized that Sydney was waiting for an answer.

  “I . . . I don’t know either.”

  Sydney was quiet, eyes narrowing as she studied Leah, seeming to wonder if her shame was genuine. “If he really was more than a means to an end for you, I suggest staying away from him.”

  Leah frowned as her eyes met Sydney’s.

  “Jonathan has made a lot of calls thus far. We haven’t understood all of them, but for the most part they seem to have been the right ones. If he is going to succeed, the people in this building need to trust him . . . but no one thinks you should be here. Let alone allowed to set foot outside the brig. So, you claim to care. Don’t make yourself a constant reason for people to doubt his judgment.”

  Leah took a moment to absorb her words. “What he is trying to accomplish? I don’t even know what this is. Frankly, I’m getting the feeling Jonathan doesn’t want to be the one to tell me.”

  Sydney sighed. “Well, Jonathan wants you cleaned up, fed, and shown to your quarters. Mr. Clean will then educate you as to what exactly we are trying to accomplish here.”

  “Mr. Clean?” Leah asked. She recognized the name—The Cell had believed it the alias of a hacker working with the alien. “Who is he?”

  “Not a he . . . exactly. Let me put it this way,” Sydney said. “You’re standing in him.”

  Morning had come when Anthony looked up and saw the lights across Heyer’s chest. For a moment, they seemed to radiate more energy than usual. A second later Heyer’s eyes opened.

  Anthony stood up from his chair to help the alien as he slowly sat up. A moment later Heyer’s legs were hung over the side of the exam table. He noted his lack of clothing as he looked down at the white sheet covering his pale skin.

  “Mr. Clean,” Heyer said. “You appear to have moved yourself.”

  The AI’s avatar nodded. “Protocol.”

  Heyer looked to Anthony, as everything took on new meaning. “So, I was captured?”

  Anthony nodded. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  As Heyer thought for a moment, his expression darkened. “We lost Rylee.”

  “That was two days ago.”

  Heyer’s expression took such a grim turn, Anthony could practically feel the anxieties surging through the alien’s head. “Take it easy, the world hasn’t ended . . . yet.”

  Heyer paused a moment and asked, “What have I missed?”

  “The short version. You and Jonathan were taken prisoner by The Cell. Jonathan led an extraction team from the inside. Once we had you out, we couldn’t revive you without getting the brac
er off.”

  “Where is Jonathan now?” Heyer said, his face turning grave.

  Anthony paused for a moment. “He . . . he’s leading.”

  Heyer’s face gave away a lot as he seemed to absorb that answer, his demeanor alternating between doubt and relief. “Leading, despite the broken bond?”

  Anthony shrugged. “Well, like I said, that was the short version. But . . . what I know of the longer version still doesn’t explain how Jonathan seems suddenly immune to the bond’s effects.”

  “Mr. Clean?” Heyer asked.

  The AI’s shrug practically mimed the one Anthony had just given him. “I can shed no additional light. You are aware of the records from the Foedrata Arena. Jonathan is the first to recover without intervention.”

  “No one has simply asked him?” Heyer asked.

  Anthony looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Frankly, it’s . . . a delicate subject at best. We’ve been too relieved that he pulled out of it.”

  Heyer seemed troubled, but after a few moments of contemplation he looked as though he was quite done sitting on the exam table. Then he looked down and recalled his lack of clothing.

  “I need clothes, and the longer version of this story,” Heyer said.

  “Of course,” Anthony said. “But before you jump in, there is something . . .”

  He trailed off as he knelt and pulled a box from beneath the exam table. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied shut with twine string. Setting it beside Heyer on the exam table, the alien looked at the box, appearing somewhat mystified.

  “The team wanted you to have this. Sort of a get-well present,” Anthony said. “It was Jonathan’s idea; he said you’d lost your armor in The Never.”

  “My armor?” Heyer asked in confusion.

  As Anthony watched the alien look down at the box, he could see an understanding setting in. A warmth came to his eyes.

  Despite having lived amongst mankind for centuries, Anthony found himself wondering how seldom the alien had ever received a gift. He’d had a sense of urgency only a moment before, but Heyer’s motions slowed as he took the box in his lap.

  He was not quick untying the tweed knot or removing the paper. When he finally pushed the lid from the box his smile brightened the room.

  Heyer reached inside and slowly lifted out a black hat, a fedora technically. Similar but not identical to his previous one.

  “We were thinking less Charlie Chaplin,” Anthony said. “More—”

  “Walker?” Heyer asked.

  Anthony blinked in surprise. “Yeah.”

  He’d never expected the alien to make the connection. A moment later, he realized that Heyer hadn’t. The alien looked just as confused by what he said as Anthony was to hear it. Finally, the alien turned the hat toward Anthony, letting him see that it was adorned with a loop of black leather, where The Walker was engraved in that same script Mr. Clean always used to name alien steel weapons.

  Heyer looked up from the word, his gaze moving between Anthony and the AI waiting for an explanation.

  “He doesn’t watch television,” Mr. Clean said.

  Anthony shrugged at the AI. “Even if he did, Texas Ranger was a long shot.”

  Heyer didn’t take long grasping the mechanics of how his rescue from The Cell had been engineered. By the time he’d gotten dressed, he was far more concerned with Anthony’s reports of Jonathan’s rapid personality fluctuations.

  This was only multiplied when he learned of Jonathan’s becoming trapped in his queue for twenty-eight activations. By the time he had a decent enough summary of what he had missed to start asking questions, he quickly came to realize that Anthony and, even more stunningly, Mr. Clean lacked a complete picture of what had played out.

  It appeared Jonathan had not been willing to share much.

  “Where is Jonathan now?” Heyer said.

  “He is not currently within my boundaries,” Mr. Clean reported.

  “Where has he gone?” Heyer asked.

  “Early this morning he gave out orders. Mostly to the men from the extraction team with previous military experience. Afterward, he had me activate his implant and requested I transport him into the city to—”

  “His implant is active?” Heyer interrupted, closing his eyes. He shook his head as though the sheer volume of information being flung at him was dizzying.

  “Jonathan intends to acquire an outside contact,” Mr. Clean said. “He expects said contact will be under surveillance by The Cell. I am currently monitoring him for a return signal. He should be back shortly.”

  Heyer absorbed this. “And, what orders has he given out? We’ve yet to discuss Earth’s defenses.”

  Anthony’s hands came up in a please don’t kill the messenger sort of manner. “I told him you’d have questions. He assured me that he’d had Mr. Clean record a message to set you at ease until he returned.”

  Mr. Clean vanished from his display, and a video of Jonathan standing in this very room earlier that morning began to play. To his annoyance, Heyer could see himself still asleep on the exam table in the background.

  “Heyer—yes, I’m fully aware of our engagement strategy. Unfortunately, your original plan is obsolete. Good news though . . .”

  The recorded Jonathan shot a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to where past Heyer slept behind him. “One of us wasn’t napping.”

  “Napping?” Heyer scowled at the screen. “Is that what he calls a coma?”

  “. . . we can still salvage your plan. I had to make some changes. Fair warning, you’re not going to like any of it.”

  The recording ended, and Heyer turned to the AI. “Mr. Clean, Jonathan’s mind has been through a great deal. Is there any chance his judgment has become—questionable?”

  “Uncertain,” the AI replied. “His personality is a great deal different from the iteration of Jonathan I’ve encountered in the past. That said—he is taking the initiative we’d hoped for, is he not?”

  Heyer didn’t answer.

  After a moment, Anthony delicately cleared his throat. “This is as good a time as any. Jonathan called a meeting later today. Said our presence would be required. He, um . . . also said you might want to prepare yourself, so you aren’t surprised to see who else he’s asked to join us.”

  Heyer looked as though nothing could surprise him at this point. “Did he? And just who else will be in attendance?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  OCT 16, 2005 | 7 AM | JBLM FACILITY

  A HELICOPTER ROARED past as Olivia stepped to the edge of a cavernous hole. She hadn’t slept. Assuming she would be relieved of duty any moment, she figured she’d have plenty of time for that afterward. She sighed. If that were the inevitable decision, she wished Command would send the order down and be done with it.

  She was wearing boots that came up to her knees and had just stepped through mud deep enough to warrant them. The rain had kept up most of the night and turned the area into a miserable sludge.

  The hole she was looking down at marked the location where the UTO—Unidentified Tunneling Object until a better name for the giant mercury worm was decided—had begun drilling its way down during last night’s siege. The small grove behind the hangar’s perimeter was now caked in mud beneath the canopy. The UTO had been capable of spitting earth out of its back end while it tunneled, even when it had reached depths well below the surface. Yet, it had not needed the tunnel to escape. It had disappeared shortly after it consumed the alien’s containment shell.

  The UTO had left behind a passage leading all the way out of the facility. Fortunate, because had this not been the case, Olivia and the rest of The Cell would still be underground waiting for rescue teams to dig them out.

  Her people had been walking the length of the passage with flashlights while others kept the rest of the base’s personnel from getting too close. Experts were telling her that the entry point hadn’t been random. The UTO had dug down with an exacting precision. Taken a route through the earth s
uch that none of the facility’s foundations would be put at risk. That, and the tunnel itself was sloped so a person could walk it without needing to climb muddy walls in the dark. They had even found supports, thick braced metal girders, left behind in places to ensure the tunnel didn’t collapse.

  In other words, it was as though the tunnel had served two purposes. Facilitate her prisoners’ escapes, but also make sure her people weren’t left trapped below.

  So thoughtful of Jonathan and his allies to go to the extra trouble.

  Mankind is going to depend on whether you can take a leap of faith . . . faith in me.

  His words were one of a thousand thoughts going through her mind as she traipsed through the muddy tunnel. Eventually she stepped into the chamber that had held the alien’s shell until last night.

  The power was back up, and the room’s lighting still intact enough that she no longer needed the flashlight as she stepped in through the gaping hole in the wall. She walked across a floor covered in muddy footprints and bullet casings, side stepping areas so ravaged during the attack that it appeared gas fissures had erupted beneath them. Where there had once been a level surface supporting the massive containment shell, all that now remained were the mounting brackets.

  One of her analysts came out of the tunnel and approached her, as she stared at the empty space. “Was about to radio you, ma’am.”

  “Communications are back up then? Good, I need to make contact with Command,” Olivia said.

  “Won’t be necessary,” the analyst said. “He’s here.”

  Olivia glanced at her sideways. “On base?”

  “Upstairs, asking to speak with you immediately.”

  That was quick, Olivia thought.

  Olivia sighed and looked back into the tunnel behind her. “Please, tell me there is a faster way to the surface.”

  The analyst gave her a sympathetic shrug.

  Something had changed.

  Olivia had never had a true face-to-face with Command. Until the alien was apprehended, there had always been precautions in place to protect their identities. This was meant to insulate pentagon officials from accountability should The Cell’s less lawful operations become public knowledge. In regard to investigating The Mark, anonymity had also been intended to keep the alien from learning their chain of command.