by J. J. Lorden
It was probably excessive, but it was an avenue for venting his rage. The local laws had little power over his private security group, as their contract included clauses placing his team above the actions of local police. Which was really just an easy justification, even back stateside he would have left them hog-tied in the dark.
When he contacted Chris, his stateside commander, to arrange transport and send them home for legal charging, the call did not go as Olli expected.
Chris listened intently to the whole story–never interrupting him once. When Olli finished, after a brief pause, he told Olli to, ‘Wake the fuck up.’ Then ordered him to release the men and get back to doing the job.
The asshat callously justified their actions as ‘Just a drop in the fucking ocean.’ He went on to remind Olli that people all over the world got raped, beaten, and murdered every day, and it wasn’t in the security company’s mandate to be morality police.
Olli responded with nothing but a long, pregnant silence. Eventually, Chris took the hint and threatened him with an administrative penalty if he didn’t follow orders.
That was the end of that.
Leaving the phone off the hook, he walked out of the building, making sure to take the keys to the rapists’ holding cell with him.
His flight back to the states, Olli booked under an assumed name.
Chris could rot and die, Olli hadn’t any intention of ever seeing the man again. Traveling under his real name could have meant confronting the amoral jackass at the airport. So, for a day, he became Alan Watson, mild mannered insurance salesman, and put the whole thing behind him.
After returning home, he drove to his familial land in Northern Maine to soul search and figure out what was next. A few calls to guys he had served with, looking for a privateer company with some scruples, yielded nothing promising.
Soon enough, the truth became clear: the entire private military industry was rampant with abuses similar to the one he’d confronted. Some companies had slightly better reputations, but to one degree or another, they all turned a blind eye.
With no good employment options, he had been considering an operation of his own. About that time, a government vehicle had rolled up the long dirt drive. Initially irritated by the unwelcome interruption, Olli had been floored when one of his oldest friends and his first commanding officer, Clark Leven, at the time a two-star general, stepped out of the grey sedan.
Olli’s family property was modern, but not wanting visitors or to be bothered by the world at all, he’d left behind or shut down his communication devices.
Clark, however, was a trusted friend, and someone who could offer useful counsel. He’d been genuinely happy for the surprise. They shared a couple beers before broaching the General’s reason for driving all the way to Northern Maine.
As it turned out, Clark had come requesting help on behalf of Bendik Texier. The admission had turned Olli’s stomach sour, he didn’t like seeing a man of Clark’s dignity sent on errands by some rich prick.
He understood all the same, Texier’s company controlled many technologies considered to be strategic assets, ensuring he was well connected in the government. And apparently the tech genius had reached out to Clark, looking for trustworthy security help after tragedy had struck his family.
That’s when he learned that Bendik Texier’s wife had died at home in a suspicious accident.
The news surprised Olli, and Clark explained Bendik was leveraging his considerable wealth and influence to keep it quiet, concerned that the media’s involvement would complicate things and affect his efforts to uncover the truth.
Olli initially refused his old friend’s request, sickened by the thought of being pulled into some new web of egomaniacal bullshit. Prior to working as a company merc, he’d been hired by several rich guys for one-off jobs. Escort work, special events, and the like.
“Clark, I’ve been around guys like this, and to a man, they’ve all been complete dirtbags.” Olli remembered the response clearly, something about the strength of his feelings crystalizing the words.
He’d then explained that it wasn’t a money thing; that his life had to have meaning. And keeping some arrogant tech giant one step ahead of corporate hit squads and disenfranchised ex-employees wasn’t part of it.
Fortunately for Olli, Clark was a good friend. He didn’t drop it, instead pushing Olli to give Texier a chance. Olli had been obstinate, refusing to believe Bendik Texier was somehow different.
Eventually, Clark became irritated at his impertinent resolve. The general resorted to an old tactic–one he’d taught Olli to use when guys under his command wouldn’t agree about something that was screwing with unit cohesion.
Laying on that cold bench, staring at the stars, Olli laughed to himself at the memory. He could clearly recall the cold, brown bottle of beer he’d been holding when the General challenged him.
“Okay, you stubborn ass, I’ll fight you for it.”
And fight they did. Olli actually relished the opportunity for the workout, but with no safety gear or padded mats, a shady pine-nettle-covered patch became their arena. For nearly ten minutes, the two salty war-vets grappled, punched, and fought.
Clark being ten years his senior, Olli was surprised by the man’s conditioning and tenacity. An elbow to the back of Olli’s head, nearly resulted in the general winning. If Olli hadn’t twisted aside at the last second, taking it as a glancing blow off his ear, he’d have been knocked out.
Olli eventually managed to tire the general enough to throw off his reflexes, then he baited Clark into an off-balance stance with a feigned kick to the thigh.
When Clark shifted forward and right to counter and kick, Olli pulled it in short and used his momentum to slide by his defenses, put on a proper chokehold, and drag his old commander to the ground.
Despite the general flexing his ample neck muscles and attempting several typically effective breaks, Olli was a pro, and in no time, Clark was out cold.
He released the hold a short moment after his friend went limp. A few healthy heartbeats later, blood flowed back to Clark’s brain and he’d come to.
The two men just sat there in the dirt, bloodied and exhausted, recovering for several minutes. Eventually, Clark broke the silence. “Best two out of three?”
Completely exhausted, Olli laughed heartily. When his laughing eased, Olli begged off any more fighting. “Honestly, I would have agreed to the gig after you threw down the challenge.”
The General guffawed in exasperation. “You bastard. I ruined a good shirt, and now I’ve got to explain my face to Mary.”
His face was a mess–a black eye was already swelling, and a nasty split lip coated his teeth with blood. Olli hadn’t fared much better–he had a blooming shiner too, and a deep thigh bruise from a nearly successful take down.
“I’ve got your word on that then? You’ll do it?” Clark had asked to confirm.
“You do. I’ll do it. If you’re willing to get in the dirt with me, then I can get over my bullshit and give this guy a chance.”
“Good.” The general had sounded more relieved than Olli could recall. “You’re not normal, Eyes, never have been. He and the boy, they need that kind of protection. And we all need them.”
Clark’s deliberate use of his old call sign, outside of an operational theatre, had been indicative of the problems he expected. They shared steaks and war stories that evening around a fire. But the real story of Olli’s life had been cast fighting in that pine nettled grove. He just hadn’t known it yet.
In years since, Olli had found a home at Texier; a place in the world where he fit. The things he’d learned and seen, first running Bendik’s personal security detail and later as security director, had completely changed his perspective. He wasn’t nearly as jaded anymore.
That didn’t mean he trusted rich people. No, Olli knew now, better than ever, that most powerful people were not good people. They had a heartless quality about their every action and word.
A coldness, like a razor, that they wielded to cut people and collateral damage out of their personal reality.
Clark’s words still rang in his mind to this day–the world did need Bendik and Austin. Far more than they even knew.
Fortunately, not every powerful person was like that. The people Bendik trusted, his tight circles, were all solid humans. It was one of the reasons the special forces vet had initially learned to trust the man. You can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep.
Bendik had a code for people. If someone was trusted, he referred to them as a good one; simple enough words that Bendik only ever said in general conversation.
Oliver Ward had learned not to discount them because of casual use. Those two words, coming from Bendik Texier, spoke more about the quality of a person than a Medal of Honor, Nobel Prize, or any mountain of accolades. Consequentially, Olli had memorized every single person he had ever heard Bendik refer to as a good one.
On the other end of the spectrum, Bendik referred to some people as a bit of a leghopper or just leghopper. And in so doing, revealed them as narcissistic, conniving manipulators. That list was quite a bit longer, but Olli still had them memorized–knowing one’s enemies was no less important than knowing one’s allies.
For years, Olli had no idea what leghopper referenced; he just knew they weren’t to be trusted. He finally got the story on a road trip with Bendik. They had passed an old-school billboard depicting a religious preacher standing in a spotlight with the words–The Church of Illumination. Come find the light–writ large beneath his feet.
Bendik had laughed out loud and proclaimed, “Now, there’s a leghopper if I ever saw one.” Seeing his opportunity, Olli finally asked about it–he still loved Bendik’s explanation.
“It’s all about dogs,” Bendik started. “You ever have a dog that listens, doesn’t steal food, doesn’t get in the trash and is just generally a good dog? He’s a good one. Well, when I was a kid, we had a dog like that. Great dog, I loved him. Gritts, with two t’s, that was his name. Named after my Dad’s favorite food and with an extra ‘t’ because Dad always wanted extra grits.
“At some point, my sister brought this other dog home, because her friend was moving or some such thing–doesn’t matter. That new dog wasn’t a good one. He behaved just fine when we were home. But when nobody was home, he’d get in the trash, steel shoes, dig holes under the fence, and all sorts of other nonsense. A real pain in the ass.
“So, we had this thing at home where we’d watch movies and put the popcorn and snacks in the middle of this old L-shaped couch. Most of us would stretch our legs out, using the coffee table as a hassock to watch the movie.
“Grits would just curl up in his bed and hang out with us, and at first, so would the new dog. But, when we were all comfortable and totally engrossed by the movie, the new dog would sneak up and try to jump over our legs to get to the snacks.
“It really was a stupid dog, there was no way not to notice it. Anyhow, Dad would grab it by the scruff and berate it, ‘God damn leghopper!’ Then toss it outside until the movie was over. So, he became Leghopper, the untrustworthy dog. For some reason that stuck with me, always made me laugh. Lots of leghoppers out there, Olli.”
Olli was brought out of his reverie by harsh blue light filling the atrium. On habit, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away to try and keep his pupils from adjusting. The light vanished then returned moments later but seemingly more diffuse. Peeking, he saw the light cut a swath just beyond his feet to the far wall.
The driver parked and the headlights winked out. Olli recognized the car, it was Austin’s NexU, but the man approaching, tall, refined, with a confident clip in his stride wasn’t Austin.
Motion-activated path lights marked the man, lighting two steps ahead and diming behind him. Olli heaved himself off the bench while the new arrival cleared security, meeting him just inside the door.
“Pete! It’s been too long,” Olli said, extending his hand.
“That it has, Olli. But things need doing, and you know how he can be.”
“I do. Better than anyone but you, probably.”
Pete took his hand and pulled Olli into a hug. “Good to see you old man.”
“Old? Who the hell you calling old? You’re my age, Pete.”
“Didn’t say I wasn’t old too.” Pete stepped back and his face creased in a smirk that was very un-Pete-like.
“Wahoho…” Olli lifted a hand after a half step back. “Why are you smiling like that? What don’t I know that you’re about to tell me?”
Pete was unaffected by Olli’s antics. “Have you seen him lately?”
“About six months ago. Why?”
“Because we figured out how epigenetic manipulation can be used to affect the full body expression of age through the replication of Telomeres. And he’s been using himself as a guineapig.” Pete shook his head and teeth showed in his smile. “It’s unreal, you’re not going to recognize him.”
“Umm… Okay, so I got about half of that. Epigenetics I understand, turn on the good genes, turn off the bad. And telomeres are those little bits on the ends of our DNA right?”
“That’s right,” Pete replied. “They’re kind of like guardians; make sure our cells replicate correctly and help fill in the gaps during the process.”
“Okay, I remember this. Boss talked about it during a trip. The telomeres get used up over time, and they don’t replicate themselves. When you run out”–Olli shrugged a shoulder with a half-smile–“you get promoted to daisy pusher.”
Pete moved his head from side to side. “More or less. Point being that we’ve figured out how to both preserve and replicate them. There’s more to it, but bottom line, we may be able to opt out of the aging process.”
“No shit.?” Olli’s head swam. “We don’t have to die?”
“Possibly, End keeps telling me time will tell the tale. But, in essence we can at least live a lot longer.”
“Hehehe.” Olli’s chuckle started low and built to a full rumbling laugh. “Gaud-damn, ol’ boy’s at it again.”
“He is.” Pete said, sharing Olli’s good cheer, chortling in his odd half- snorting way. “He never stops.”
Olli turned his head slightly as he conspiratorially leaned toward Pete. “There’s more going on than even I know, isn’t there? This is just one piece of it.”
Pete’s raised brow, slow head tilt, and reigned in smile confirmed Olli’s suspicion. He was right–Bendik Texier was cooking up a real windinger this time.
Silence fell between them, although not uncomfortably so. Pete nodded toward the bench. “Let’s sit, we’ve got a few minutes.”
“I’m going in, then?” Olli asked as they sat. “Austin and his crew went down about three hours ago, am I going to meet up with them?”
“You are. And, no you’re not. That’s one of the reasons I mentioned Bendik’s appearance. It appears you’ll have two more with you. They’ll be here within the half-hour, and for their sake he doesn’t want you to get excited by his appearance. They’ve made a huge life changing decision tonight and your acceptance of his youthful appearance will help reassure them it was a good decision.”
“Right, I can get that. It’s a confidence play, easy enough really, since it’s not a con, just really fucking cool.” He smiled. “Hah! Growing younger. Damn.”
Pete leaned back, resting his head on the Grak and bracing his hands on the back edge of the bench to look up at the stars. “It’s going to start soon,” his voice was quiet, almost reverent.
Olli could feel his anticipation swell. He was ready for things to start, even if he didn’t know everything, he knew enough. “Who are these two? Got to be special if he broke cover for them.”
“I think we can trust that’s the case, although I’ve never met them.” Pete spoke without looking away from the night sky. “An opportunity arose, due to Austin’s actions earlier today. I sent End the file on what happened. After reviewing it he cal
led and said, and I quote, ‘I got a feeling these are good ones, Pete. I’m bringing them in, tell Olli.’ That was about two hours ago.”
“Earlier today…” Olli considered. “Austin was in the hospital earlier. So they’re from here? Local folks?”
“Yes,” Pete said. “They’re locals, from Raymond.”
“Well, most Mainiacs are alright. Who are they?
“At face value, just a nurse and her son. Beyond that, we’ll find out soon enough.”
11
The Nurse, the Rogue, and the Mastermind
41 Clinton Circle
10 minutes North of Raymond, Maine
May 14, 2064—World Seed plus 7 days, 0 hours, 27 minutes
Nightshade Devil jerked his daggers out of the now lifeless level 89 Mutated Orc corpse and wiped them clean on its ratty cloak. Holding one hand out to the body, he sent the loot directly to storage–there would be time to check it later. With no more targets close by, he activated Stealth, causing light to bend around his body, and crept through the infected woods toward the next red dots on his map.
Ducking under some hanging moss and curving neatly around a massive trunk, he closed on his targets. Devil pressed his back to a dead oak. Just beyond it, three mutated orcs huddled close to a small fire.
He inched past the tree, counting on Stealth to keep him hidden. They were a bit more than an arm’s reach apart. That wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t really a problem either. Using Improved Ambush, which did 300% extra damage he would easily one-shot the first 8-foot beast.
Before the other two could react, he’d retreat, break line-of-sight behind this tree, and reactivate Stealth. His less powerful Sneak Attack ability combined with his Lifesteal passive and Diseased Blades’ damage-over-time poison should end the second in seven seconds or less.
Considering their proximity, he decided to hit that second one with a Crippling Strike. That would keep it down and prevent any interference in his straight-up fight with the third orc. Devil didn’t want to worry about being flanked.
