by Chris Lowry
He was near collapse, the infection and battles past too draining on his weak body. He pushed backwards, worming between the crush and stopping when he bounced off of a desk.
Unseen hands swiped his legs, he went down.
They tore at him, ripping the loose shreds of clothing, scratching his exposed skin.
An arm landed on his face, he ripped into it with his teeth, snapping the muscles and tendons.
A body screamed in his face, he smashed his forehead against it’s head, crushing it to a pulp.
It fell on top of him, shielding him from the others for a moment, until it was torn away and vanished.
Bruce landed beside him.
The young assistant was screaming and firing his small gun, the barrel so hot from plasma blasts it smoked and glowed white.
The berserker was on him, that state of mind achieved in battle by so many men, that called for complete and utter destruction of the enemy.
The Templar could control his, but could Bruce? His face was distorted in a grimace of hatred and rage, spittle flew from his lips.
He reached down with one arm and jerked the Templar to his feet.
Together, they rolled over the desks into a small enclosure protected by Reanna and Pip. Bruce alighted on his feet and didn’t stop shooting.
The Templar shook off his weariness and stood beside them, a small island of three desks holding back an ocean of writhing bodies.
The Mob turned from them, focusing on a new danger at the rear.
“Troops,” Pip screamed.
Beyond the top of the Mob, they could see the crimson flash of plasma bolts and glimmers of silver Suits hovering above reach as they fired into the bodies below.
“It’s working,” the Templar cried.
“Hold them off.”
He leaped onto the tops of the desks and ran for the wall. Only a few bodies in the Mob noticed and tried for him.
Reanna picked them off as soon as they made a move for him.
He turned and raised his rifle at his team and fired. They ducked behind the desks, dragging Bruce down with them
“What is he doing?” Reanna shouted.
The window above them shattered with the blast.
Sunlight streamed in, washing over their small island of desk.
It lasted but a moment, and was blotted out by a fountain of bodies as the Mob used the new avenue of escape.
The desk next to them shifted.
Pip held her gun to the opening.
The Templar poked his head through.
“In here,” he said.
He pulled them into tiny cubby holes formed in the upturned desks.
“Hide,” he whispered.
“We won’t make my ship,” Reanna said as she passed him.
“Not in my plan,” he whispered back.
He shoved Bruce into a small pocket close to him.
The young man lay back, exhausted, the battle rage gone.
“What are you going to do?” Pip asked.
He lay a finger beside his nose, telling her to be quiet.
She watched. He peeked around the edge of the desk, watching the Troopers clear out the room.
They chased the Mob out of the window, following them. The last lone Trooper mounted the desk to jump through the opening.
The Templar reached out for his leg and dragged him under the desk.
He grabbed the gun before it could go off and scooted it to Reanna. The Trooper struggled, rumbling the desks.
The Templar grabbed his neck and squeezed. The Trooper went limp in his arms.
“Don’t kill him,” Pip looked on, worried.
“How do you get this off,” the Templar struggled with the helmet.
“Let me,” she moved beside him in the tight quarters and worked it loose.
“You know him?”
The Trooper was barely a man, his young face still soft and smooth.
“He’s new. Last class, I think. I don’t remember his name.”
“Strip him down, give Bruce his Suit.”
She nodded, an idea of his plan forming in her mind.
“What about me?” asked Reanna.
She had pieced together the puzzle and knew what he intended.
“You don’t know everything yet,” he smiled, chiding her. He put his finger against his nose again.
“Oh dear,” a new voice said from the doorway.
“It’s the Director,” whispered Bruce.
“How are we ever going to clean this up? That Darwin has caused a lot of trouble for this place.”
“Excuse me, Director,” a new voice joined him.
“Mr. Gargon, I wish I could say I was pleased to see you again.”
The voices moved closer to the desks.
“I didn’t want to come here. We answered a distress call. How did they gain entry?”
“I have no idea. Nor why they chose to attack this office. Have you found any bodies?”
“Just Mob,” a thud sounded from the corner.
“They left some of their dead this time. That’s odd.”
“Odd. Why did they bring all these chairs into here? That’s what I would like to know.”
“They brought the chairs in here?” Harry asked.
“Who else? The entire room is in shambles.”
“The door was unlocked, Sir,” Darren jogged up the hallway to join them.
“Impossible. I locked it myself last night as I left.”
“I see. Seal off this room,” Harry ordered the unseen Troopers. “Let’s take these bodies back to HQ for analysis.”
“What should I do?” the Director called after him.
“Fix the window before tonight,” he answered. “And double check the lock on your door this time.”
The Director was left alone in the room. He moved a chair or two, then gave up. He closed the doors and locked them behind him.
Pip watched the Templar.
“What now?”
He stood on the desk and peered out the window.
“Come on.”
“What about him?” she pointed to the young unconscious Trooper.
Reanna put her foot on his neck and twisted until it snapped. Pip shoved her off him.
“What was that?”
“I’m here for revenge, remember?”
She pushed past Pip and leaped out of the window, crouching below.
Bruce followed her, almost mindless now that the battle was over.
“He might not have been there,” Pip explained to the Templar as she crawled through.
“But he might have,” he said, jumping after her.
“We all have our reasons for being here. But we will work together.”
He stared at her, assessing her.
“Right,” she said.
He led them to a small grove of trees, hidden from the normal public way.
“Our next step is simple.”
“You want me to put on the Suit,” said Bruce.
“Not yet. You have a hover car?”
Bruce nodded.
“It’s a sport model two seater.”
“You need to get us a bigger one,” the Templar instructed.
“Me? How am I supposed to do that?”
Pip tapped him on the shoulder.
“Trade it in.”
“But this is my baby. Do you know how long I’ve wanted one of these, how long I had to wait before I could get one? I just can’t-”
“Bruce,” the Templar pitched his voice in the most persuasive mode. “It’s for the Team.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Bruce smiled sadly.
“But I’ll trade my car anyway. Where should I meet you?”
“Come back here.”
“You can’t stay out all day,” Bruce said.
“Someone will see you.”
“No, they won’t.”
The Templar slowly faded from view. Where he stood, a new tree had taken his place. Bruce looked for Reanna and Pip,
but they were gone too.
“That’s a neat trick,” he whispered to himself and walked away.
“Hurry,” said the Templar’s voice, just over his shoulder.
“I’m getting tired.”
“I’m tired of this,” Nova stared at her scantily clad body in the full length mirror set up in her office.
“I’m not going to do this now.”
“You must,” Stephen stood behind her, admiring her new look, holding her uniform.
“Now that we know about Webster, I think I should go in my Suit.”
“There will be plenty of them there,” Stephen countered. “You look stunning.”
She twirled around, admiring the way the sheer fabric shifted to accentuate the curve of her thigh, the scooped out back that plunged almost to her buttocks.
“Where can I hide a gun?”
“This is a fundraiser. What do you need a gun for?”
“Are you kidding? Have you ever been to one of these? The old men are brutal. The younger ones are worse. And none are the least bit intimidated by my being Commander of the Troops.”
Stephen clucked his tongue.
“Dressed like that, why would they even notice?”
She reached for the shoulder tie.
“That’s it! I’m not wearing this.”
He stayed her hand.
“I was kidding,” he adjusted the strap on her shoulder.
“You look magnificent. We won’t have to worry about our budget this year, and maybe next year too. After tonight, you can put your uniform back on.”
He set her folded bodysuit in her chair and scooted it under her desk.
“It’s only for a few hours,” he finished.
She smiled at him.
“You’re right. How long do I have?”
“Everyone is arriving now. Shall we?”
He held out his arm to her.
The door slid open and Bram stepped through. Nova whistled.
“Don’t you look spiffy.”
He stood tall in a shiny silver Jumpsuit, decorations and commendations jingling on his left breast. The material conformed to his smooth dark skin, outlining the muscles etched on his back and legs. His sidearm was the only piece out of place. The worn handle had been polished, but no matter the amount of elbow grease applied, it looked used.
Nova pointed it out.
“Stephen won’t let me bring mine.”
Bram covered the handle with his hand, as if Stephen would snatch it away.
“I feel better with mine on,” he affirmed.
“Me too.”
She held her arm out to him.
“I was just leaving.”
He hooked his arm through hers.
“Lead on.”
“Are you leading us in like that?” Pip whispered.
She leaned against the wall in the shadows of an alley, four stories above the ground. Her feet were planted in the hovercar, fighting for room on the seat beside Bruce. He looked uncomfortable and out of place in the bulky Suit commandeered earlier that day.
The Templar stood up in the passenger seat.
“Of course I am,” he answered.
He wore the same torn battle gear from excursions on the island, the city, the escape. She had been so intent on teaching Bruce how to maneuver in his Suit, she gave no thought to how the Templar looked. He was scary, carbon streaks scored on the ripped fabric of his bodysuit, blood stained tears outlined wounds.
“You’ll go unnoticed,” she remarked sarcastically.
“I’m your prisoner,” he shot back.
“If anyone asks.”
“With guns?” Reanna touched the holstered weapons at his side.
“No one will see,” he assured her.
“What about me?” she asked.
“I need you to stay with the car, keep it here for our escape.”
Reanna started up, grabbing his torn lapels.
“I came to kill Troops. There is no way I will wait in the car.”
The Templar put his face up to hers, nose to nose.
“This is the most dangerous part,” he growled.
“Look out there. Patrols every five minutes, snipers on every wall. I need to know this vehicle will be here when I come out this way.”
“Why can’t he do it?” she pointed to the back of Bruce’s head.
“He doesn’t have the battle experience yet. I need you to do it.”
“Don’t put that voice on me,” she warned him.
She collapsed in the seat, her lower lip poking out.
“I will kill someone,” she said.
“I know,” he assured her.
“We need to move,” Pip whispered.
“We’re going to draw attention. All the other cars are around front.”
He waved them in. Pip hit the wall with a laser torch, ripping an entrance hole barely big enough to dive through.
Bruce followed her in.
The Templar looked over his shoulder at Reanna. He winked.
“Fly away. Come back for us.”
“I might,” she smirked.
He jumped in the hole.
The Common gathering room for the Troops had been transformed into a glorious collection of soft pools of light, and simple strains of music lingered in the air from every corner. Formal suits and uniforms were surrounded by perfectly coiffed women in flowing gowns, the fabrics bright as the plumage of exotic birds.
Nova stopped at the entrance to the room.
She took a deep breath.
“It’ll be okay,” Bram said.
She surveyed the sea of people in the room from the raised dais doorstep.
“I think I’m glad I wore this,” she said.
He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the stairs.
“I thought you might be.”
“Do you see the Council?”
“Across the room,” he led her through the throng to a raised platform on the far wall.
They greeted each person quickly when they were stopped, avoiding rudeness but intent on making the platform with minimal interference.
Bram held a com link up to his mouth.
“All stations, check in.”
He listened intently to the chatter of each Suit reporting their status.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Good. Mob activity on the East perimeter. They came out again, but not this way.”
“Did we locate the Trooper?”
“We found him, but they got the Suit.”
Nova stopped searching for the Council.
“They left him alive?”
“We were surprised.”
“Did you issue a destruct call?”
“Of course.”
She looked relieved.
“We can’t have a Suit in their hands. They might find a weakness.”
He rapped his knuckles on the breastplate.
“What weakness?”
She smiled and turned for the Council.
“Webster,” she growled.
The slicked hair was back, but instead of a business suit, he wore an imitation uniform with imitation medals on the right breast. They clinked together as he ascended the stairs two at a time.
“He’s going for a coup,” Bram warned.
Nova didn’t wait for it. She hiked her dress up to free her legs and darted for the platform.
Webster had a head start.
He reached the first Council member, Talbot and pumped his hand up and down, whispering in his ear.
Talbot tapped a floating microphone
“Excuse me,” he said.
Nova stopped at the bottom of the stairs, wishing she had her blaster.
“What do you think you’re doing? This man is a prisoner of the Troops.”
Talbot looked at her with sad eyes. He covered the microphone with one hand.
“I’m only doing what I must. You had the chance to play along,” he moved his hand and spoke to the c
rowd. “Many of you have worried about the current trends in leadership of the Troops, because you cannot be sure of your own safety. That’s why we called this celebration. The Troops need your support, just as you need their protection. But you can’t be sure of their leadership when prisoners are allowed to escape and roam the city, when traitors are welcomed back into the organization and renegades offered positions in the Research Department. The Council has heard your concerns and we have taken actions to assure you of not only your safety, but the continued protection of the greatest fighting unit in history.”
“I don’t like the way this looks,” Bram breathed in her ear from right behind her.
“Did you bring a second gun?” she asked.
A panel on the side of his Suit opened up. She reached in for a small pistol.
“Trouble?” he asked.
“Watch.”
Talbot looked at Nova.
“The Council has voted to replace Nova Laud with Jay Webster, effective immediately.”
The crowd murmured.
Nova felt the floor under her shift. Bram caught her by the waist, held her straight. His eyes moved everywhere.
Webster took the microphone from Talbot.
“Thank you, sir,” he glared at Nova.
“My first action as Commander is to arrest Nova Laud and her Second for public endangerment.”
Doors on all sides of the room slid open and Troops moved in. Nova and Bram pushed through the milling crowd, away from the platform.
“I thought all stations checked in?” she snapped.
“You heard them. It’s a double cross.”
“Ju!” Webster screamed.
“Capture them!”
Ju moved from the main entrance, leaping across the Common room to land beside Nova. He looked at her with sad eyes.
“I am sorry, Sir. I received a countermand from the Computer. My primary directive is to follow the Commander. You are no longer the Commander.”
Bram tried to block him, but Ju picked each up in one hand. He shook their weapons free, and dangled them above the floor.
“Bring in the traitor!” Webster called.
Darwin and Robe were led into the room, shackled at the neck.
“Make room, ladies, gentlemen,” Webster squealed with glee.
“You were concerned about safety, well have no fear. Under my leadership, acts of desertion and treason will be met with swift reprisal.”
“He’s going to kill them here,” said Bram.
A panel on his Suit opened up, he pulled another pistol out.
