by Chris Lowry
“We need to be stronger,” she couldn’t sit in her seat.
Her body hummed with energy and excitement, she felt like someone had loosed a plasma bolt in her arteries, firing her up.
“He’s alive,” she wanted to sing.
“We’re triple posted as it is,” Bram said.
“We have snipers at every level of access. He can’t fly, walk, crawl, or swim anywhere near here.”
“But he might try. And as far as we know, he’s not vulnerable to our weapons.”
“That’s why we have that,” he pointed to the vial on her desk.
She had covered it in a glass cube, sealing it away from the room but keeping it in full view. It was death wind, and a whiff of the airborne virus would kill the Templar, attacking his vulnerable immune system. In theory.
Nova had a hypothesis or two about the boys in R&D and their theories.
“We can’t rely on that,” she said.
“Then what? You’ve seen how our guns affect him. What are we supposed to do?”
“He may not show.”
“Robe pulled him out of the frying pan, it’s his turn to return the favor,” said Bram.
“And we have Darwin.”
“I’m aware of that. But I had Research working on some plans we found in Darwin’s old files,” she keyed in access to her terminal.
A hologram appeared over her desk, a floating green blob of indistinguishable lines.
“That’s new,” Bram admired.
“Computer brought it online today. But that’s not what I wanted to show you. Watch,” her fingers attacked the keyboard in a machine gun stutter of strokes.
The green matrix hovering inches over the surface of her desk broke apart, scattered and reformed random patterns that slowly grew together to outline a bulky humanoid form.
“It’s a Suit,” Bram shrugged.
“Looks like one of the Series A models.”
“Almost. Conrad disallowed this model. It was too powerful for the user. And it’s damage potential was off the chart. It ripped through Mob like dead meat.”
“Like the Templar.”
“Right. That’s who it made me think of. I knew Conrad always had other designs. This one might beat the Templar and help us hold the Mob back.”
“I hear a but in there.”
“But, it’s a drain on the user. That’s why we never produced it.”
“How? Couldn’t we use the enhancer’s we’ve developed for the E series Suit and take the load off the wearer?”
“No,” she shook her head.
“This model uses a biomech interface.”
He sat up in his chair.
“Biomech? The Council outlawed that years ago.”
“The test runs drove Troopers crazy. they couldn’t handle having a Computer inside of them, a part of them.”
“You said you had Research on it?”
“They’re trying to make the Suit work without biomechanics. Right now, we have two prototypes of this model.”
Sweat broke out on his brow. Bram wiped it away with his forearm.
“You think it’s the only way we can beat him?”
“I’m not asking you to do it. I’m not even authorizing their use yet. But if it comes down to his coming back, we need this machine to capture him.”
Bram slumped in the chair, letting the information wash over him. Part of the code was sacrifice of oneself for the team, but he wasn’t sure if it meant giving up your conscious for survival.
He glanced at the reports on her monitor, recalling in the deepest recesses of his memory the basic mechanics of how this Suit worked. It was an integration between Computer and human, a symbiotic relationship that made the Suit and man nearly one in the same.
Even outside the shell, the wearer carried components with him, micromachines floating in his bloodstream, black access cells on the biceps and thighs, and a tube from the spinal cord that stuck somewhere out of the neck.
He shivered.
Nova hadn’t asked him, but the question was there, even if unspoken. Bram could have one of those Suits to protect the Troops from the Templar.
“What’s the vial for then?” he asked.
She sat on the corner of the desk, facing him.
“I was waiting for you to ask,” she moved from her desk to the window.
“The truth is, I don’t really know what’s in that vial. R&D tell me it’s the flu, something we wiped out years ago. But Bram, you took Bio like I did. Viruses evolve, just like us. How do I know I’m only going to kill the Templar with that glass jar? What if I unleash a plague? What if it kills half of everyone? I can’t be responsible for that.”
“So we sacrifice one man, for the sake of a chance. And there are no guarantees on that.”
“My dilemma,” she held up her hands and paced around the room. She stopped behind his chair and stared at the portrait.
“I thought about taking the Suit myself.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Don’t you think I know. I’ve been trained to lead these Troops, I can’t-”
The door slid open behind her.
She turned, Bram leaped across the room, crouching.
Webster stepped through the door, looking at both with surprise.
“You are fast,” he told Bram.
“Hope I’m not interrupting.”
He sauntered across the room to her chair, and sat down, propped his feet up on the desk.
“Make yourself at home,” Nova said, dropping her hand to the pistol at her belt.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he grinned.
Bram stalked to the corner of the desk. He fought down an urge to reach across the ebon surface and crush the throat of the smiling man.
“We’re in a meeting,” Nova said.
“I think I know what it’s about,” Webster said.
“I hear your prisoner was alive and maybe coming for some friends of his. I took the liberty of making arrangements. Ju?”
A large figure stepped into the room. It was a prototype Suit, moving with a fluid grace that belied its size.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Bram said.
“I am content, Second Commander,” Ju’s once animated voice now had a flat metallic ring to it.
“Mr. Webster offered me a chance to experiment with a new Suit and work for my Team. You approve, Commander?”
“Mr., see, that’s respect,” said Webster.
Nova reached across the desk and jerked him out of her chair by the lapel of his coat.
“How long has he been in that?”
“Too long for you to disassociate. He’ll lose it if you pull the plug.”
Nova growled. Webster struggled to free himself from her grip.
“How dare you-”
“I gave him a choice,” Webster defended himself, squirming.
“Ju? Did Webster tell you about the side effects?”
His face remained neutral, but his metallic voice held a tinge of worry.
“What side effects?”
“Did Webster tell you about losing your identity in the interface?”
“What does that mean?”
“You won’t be you anymore,” Bram said.
“The Computer part of the Suit will integrate itself with you.”
“I am stronger. I am faster. I am improved.”
Bram put his hand on the young Trooper’s shoulder. The metal was cold and unyielding.
“But you’ve lost-”
“I’ve had him in the Suit for two days, he doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” he disentangled himself from Nova’s grip and moved by the door.
“The Computer has accessed his current status and deemed it favorable. Sorry to go over your head Commander, but it’s for the best.”
“I’m going to kill you,” she said.
“When I have the prisoner killed, the Council will see how ineffective you are and instate me.”
He bolted for the
door.
Bram launched himself, Ju reached out and caught his leg in mid air.
“I am sorry Sir, I cannot let you chase him.”
Bram dangled off the ground. Webster stopped at the door.
“You like? A little bodyguard program I threw in at the last minute.”
He ran out of the room.
“Stephen!” Nova yelled.
Stephen stepped in the doorway, holding Webster up by one arm. The man squirmed and squealed, but could not get free.
“You wanted him?”
Nova pulled her hand off the intercom.”
“Bring him in.”
Ju advanced on Stephen.
“I am sorry Commander. I cannot let you harm this man.”
She stood in front of Ju and placed both hands on either side of his faceplate, searching his dead eyes.
“What is your primary program?”
“Obey the Commander.”
“And if that program violates a secondary command?”
“Disregard the secondary command.”
“Right. I order you to hold this man until I give you permission to release him.”
Ju dropped Bram and took Webster from Stephen. He held him in a bear hug, squeezing him tight.
“Let me go. I’ll tell the council-”
Nova leaned in close, touching his nose with hers.
“You’ll tell them nothing,” she threatened.
“Will you need me for anything else?”
“Thank you,” she dismissed Stephen.
Bram curled up in a ball on the floor, massaging his ankle.
“That grip,” he moaned.
“Your strength must have doubled with that Suit.”
“Current estimates are one hundred ninety five percent increase over your model of Suit, sir.”
Bram shook his head.
“You got your volunteer,” he said to Nova.
“You don’t have to use the vial now.”
Nova looked at the Trooper standing against the wall, acting as shackles.
“At least you would have had the choice. I’m going to make you hurt Webster.”
“You can’t prove anything,” he gasped, struggling to draw a deep breath.
“There are no records.”
She pointed to the cameras running in the corners of the room.
“I’m not worried,” he said.
“You better be,” she answered.
The Templar sat up quickly, wincing at the rush of pain in his left arm. He palmed the sleep from his eyes, and searched the empty room, brain racing to discover what changed in the last few seconds to wake him.
He shifted his legs over the side of the bed, raised himself slowly, testing his strength.
The engines had stopped. His knees were wobbly, but blood brought back feeling, although it was mostly aches and pains of disuse.
He had only been down for two or three days, but his system needed more time to recover.
The infection on top of the punishment from fighting was taxing him beyond endurance.
He flexed his muscles, invigorated them. Still, duty called, and his body had no choice but to be ready. If the engines were stopped, they must have arrived or were going to be attacked. He heard no guns, or the roaring whisper of hovercars, so he assumed the latter.
Bruce slid through the door, startled by the Templar.
“You’re up.”
He nodded to the boy.
“The engines have stopped,” he said.
Bruce went to a locker in the corner and rummaged around. He stood up with a small rifle.
“We met the harbormaster,”
“Have they boarded?”
Bruce shook his head.
“He’s new. Reanna expects trouble.
The Templar pointed to the small gun, laughing.
“And you’re are going to fight?”
Bruce blushed, lowered his head and shrugged.
“I don’t know how to fight. I was taking this to Pip, just in case she needs it.”
The Templar nodded and motioned Robe ahead of him through the door. He followed slowly, allowing his legs to get used to the exercise, feeding them with blood and fresh oxygen.
“What is this new harbormaster asking?” he asked Bruce, wanting answers before they reached the deck.
“I don’t know. The guy wants money, lots of it. And Reanna thinks he’ll call us in, no matter what. I think she might be right.”
“Why?”
“I got a feeling about him. He doesn’t feel right with me.”
“Trusting your instincts now?”
Bruce looked over his shoulder sheepishly.
“I don’t know. I mean, we’re back home now, and I don’t have to stay with you, right?”
“I was planning on leaving you here,” the Templar confirmed.
“But when we were working the other night, I felt like I was part of the team. I’ve never felt that way before,” he stopped in the narrow corridor, turned to face the Templar in the dim light.
“I mean, I worked with Darwin for almost a year, and with other professors before him. No matter what I contributed, even if it was just getting coffee so he wouldn’t disturb their train of thought, or feeding him equations they didn’t have time to work out, they never gave me credit. I don’t want fame, or my name in a book. But I would like a thank you once in awhile. I’d like to know that what I’m doing mean’s something, that it’s not all worthless. I felt that last night. I was part of something, I was helping to save two lives and even if I am on the wrong side of the law, it doesn’t matter. I’m doing work that means something, and it doesn’t just pay the bills. I feel like I matter.”
The Templar watched his passionate speech. He reached out with a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
“You do matter,” he said in a low voice, pushing past him to go on the deck.
It was enough.
He could almost feel the loyalty, like a warm wet cloth exuding off Bruce. Now the boy would try anything, learn anything because he mattered to the Templar, mattered to the team.
Eleven would be proud.
That was the hardest part of leader training, learning how to recognize the moments when they came, moments customized to make an individual member feel indispensable to the team, fostering a stronger bond. Bruce just gave him one such moment, and he responded.
Bruce would follow, and take orders, and die if needed, all because he mattered to the team.
The Templar stopped in the doorway hidden in the shadow. The sun was still high, but setting.
No one looked particularly concerned, though darkness would bring the Mob, even to the water’s edge, hunting for prey.
He watched Reanna and the harbormaster gesticulate wildly. They were yelling at one another, but the stiff breeze off the Mainland carried their words away from him.
Pip flanked Reanna, her hand hovering over her pistol grip. She was watching the two hard looking men who came to guard the harbormaster.
Suddenly, Reanna reached out, grabbed the harbormaster by the neck and twisted. He flipped to the ground, gasping for air and flopped about like a fish out of water.
The Templar laughed out loud.
The noise distracted the two guards. They paused, guns half drawn. Pip shot them, one right after the other.
Reanna turned to the Templar.
“So, the dead walk?”
He ambled slowly out to them. Pip turned the bodies over, relieved them of their weapons and kicked them overboard.
The once silver armor of her Suit was dull and dirty, carbon scored from plasma blasts and caked with dried mud from the island. She had an assortment of weapons slung over her back and shoulders, cast off’s from encounters in battle.
She was a far cry from the shiny, elegant creature that first watched him in the fifth level cell.
“It will take more than some little bug to kill me,” he bragged. “You look less like a Trooper every day.”
Pip
looked at herself.
“After their actions at the village, and with you, I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” she shot back.
In contrast to Pip’s dirty, but fully covered person, Reanna wore little. Her torn and ragged clothes from the island had changed color, and maybe shape, though it was hard to tell, there was so little of it.
She still looked like a jungle princess, though her feet were now covered with long legged boots that came to her knee. Two spears were crossed on her back, but she had added a pistol to her hip and a rifle across one shoulder.
“Why did you kill him?” the Templar touched the dead body with his toe, edging him to the side of the boat.
“He was going to call us in.”
“That’s what Bruce said,” he nodded to Bruce standing a few steps behind Pip.
She turned to him and smiled.
“Good eye Brucy.”
He smiled, trying to look tough.
“Will someone miss him?” the Templar asked.
Reanna sat on a crate lashed to the deck.
“Unless he has more guards, no. We can moor here, for tonight at least. After that?” she shrugged.
“The plan shouldn’t take more than a night.”
“What is your plan?” Pip asked, pushing Reanna to one side and planting herself on the crate.
The Templar watched them with a smirk.
“Funny how two enemies quickly became friends under the right set of circumstances,” he thought, his mind drifting to Nova. He shook her image out of his head, regaining his focus.
“We will go to Darwin’s lab. Bruce has what he needs there. Then, we will go to Headquarters and find our teammates. We should be back at the boat in the morning.”
“That simple?” Reanna asked derisively.
“Why complicate matters,” he said, resting against the rail.
“I am not strong enough for an extended campaign. And we do not have the forces to fight two battles, the Mob and the Troops. So we will use surprise and swiftness to our advantage.”
“Good idea,” said Pip.
“But you can’t just waltz in and use Darwin’s lab. You have to have access.”
“I’ve got it,” said Bruce.
“Harry would have changed the codes after you and Darwin disappeared.”
Bruce nodded, smiled.
“Darwin wasn’t on the network. He has a backdoor program. Doesn’t matter what they do, I can get in.”
