Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

  And we’re supposed to be tough. With what he’d seen of Cayden, and learned since, he hadn’t thought even the ‘First Five’ could take the kind of punishment dished out at the airfield, and still be standing. He wondered randomly which one this guy was, and whether Cayden would recognise him, after so many years. The thought of Cayden made him glance around again. No sign the older Golem was present, meaning he was long since gone – or long since dead.

  The leader walked past Greg with only a side glance. Greg saw his throat was pulsing, as if he were speaking – except no words came out. Each of the men in green made the same motions, more succinctly. The leader pulsed something back, then turned to face the three captives. There was dark amusement in his look, but the anger was plain behind it. ‘Seems my people are having trouble finding the item you lifted from D.C.’ He started a slow pace around the tank platform, kicking aside chunks of glass and flesh. ‘Nice work, bringing it all the way back home. Smart, too; most wouldn’t consider the hottest zone in the States the best spot to go under. Especially not with such a valuable haul.’

  The leader stopped; something cracked under his heel. ‘Now, though, the triathlon’s over – and it’s time for the trophies.’ He bent forward from the waist, at Greg. ‘Since the Doctor’s still out of it, how about you save us some more digging?’ He jerked his head in Leah’s direction, smiling harder. ‘She’s been no help so far, so maybe you’d like to save her another round with your old squadmate, too.’

  He cast a look around at the destroyed NeoMater equipment, and the chipped and scarred walls. ‘Although it looks like there’ve been a few rounds already – and it seems we’re missing one of the team. He take off, or you bury him somewhere? Family squabble, maybe?’ His eyes glittered in amusement. ‘Saves us the trouble, if so.’

  Rage ripped through Greg’s chest, drowning out the aches and weight. It took all his effort not to grab for the other man’s throat; the move would be too weak, and he’d probably end up with another gassing – if he was lucky. ‘Who – are – you?’ he spat.

  The leader’s eyes widened in mock astonishment. ‘You mean he never once mentioned me?’ He looked over to the Doctor, and shook his head, tsking. ‘It’s never pretty when a partnership ends – but I’d have thought he’d still think of me now and again.’ His chuckle was anything but humorous. He made a mocking half-bow. ‘Sam Hunter, MD, PhD, and a few others. Formerly of CellWorx Labs, and the start-up process for Project Golem – now freelance.’

  Greg fought not to let his shock show. He must have failed, for Hunter laughed. ‘Oh, you do recognise me – or the name, anyway. I’ve had a few others over the past couple decades, so it’s understandable. Living off the grid, and all that, except when needed.’ A mirthless smile. ‘Like now.’

  He ambled over to Garrett’s chair. The Doctor was shifting in the chair – feigning waking up, Greg could tell. Judging by his grin, Hunter knew this, too. He leaned in, and swatted Garrett lightly over the head – though it was still enough to rap him hard against the headrest. ‘Hey, Rich!’ He shook him by the shoulder, none too gently. ‘Still with us? Can’t have a proper reunion, otherwise!’

  Garrett groaned, slowly pulling himself up and wincing. When he lifted his eyes to Hunter’s, however, there wasn’t a trace of pain, just dismayed anger. ‘What the hell is this, Sam?’ he growled.

  ‘A whole lot of things,’ Hunter said airily. With that same attitude, his fist shot out in a quick jab, knocking Garrett backwards and almost toppling him. Hunter grabbed the chair’s arm and righted him before it was halfway over. A little sharper now, he went on. ‘We could start with all that you pulled at the end of your most recent job. Theft and or destruction of government property – specifically, the Project, and everything attached to it. Add to that aiding and abetting a known arms trafficker who snuck in the Seattle Bomb, and actually triggering the blast by forcing interdiction. Plenty of reasons right there to stick the needle in.’ The sharpness grew stronger. ‘Or we could take it all the way back to the beginning – when you forced me out of what we’d spent years putting together, ruining everything I’d done, all the work with you, and solo. Then taking the whole thing to the Army anyway, after I’d almost begged on bended knee for the same idea.’ He yanked the chair closer to him, so that they were inches apart. ‘Your choice,’ he said, voice dangerously soft.

  Garrett wasn’t cowed. ‘I took it to them because I had no choice. You just wanted to cash in, sell ARC and everything else to whoever paid the highest – without even thinking about what it was capable of. What ends it would be turned to.’ He glared. ‘And by the looks of it, you weren’t ruined for long.’

  ‘Oh, I knew right from the start, Dad,’ Hunter said, mockingly. ‘All those hours spent watching skin cells regrow, or muscles re-knit – that was penny-ante bullshit, not even first-year work. You knew it, I knew it, the brass and Vanguard bunch knew it, too.’

  He began to pace around the chair. ‘But no, there were always more tests, more observations, more concerns. No chance of ARC reaching its full potential. If we’d waited even half the extra time you kept pushing for, we wouldn’t have come close to anything like this.’ He waved at the lab. ‘Then, right when the offer of a lifetime drops in our lap, you—’ Hunter stopped in mid-rant. ‘Doesn’t matter. Not now, that is.’

  He came around in front of the Doctor again. ‘And you’re right; I had a few friends left in D.C., even after you tanked CellWorx and practically blackballed me on your way out.’ His smile came back, almost wolfish. ‘Governments never throw away new toys they like – or their makers. Especially not the more covert branches. Once they saw how flaky you were getting over the first round of tests for the Project, they decided they wanted a backup. Somebody who could keep the Project going – or take it in a new direction.’

  ‘That’s where they come in, isn’t it?’ Greg said. His voice was hoarse, but came out clearly enough. Hunter and Garrett looked his way. Past them, he saw Leah’s head rise. Groggy at first, her eyes went wide at the scene. Her arm started to rise; the gas must have worn off quicker, or she was just stronger. He blinked rapid-fire, in Morse: N-O. To his relief, she halted, hand on her chest. They’d taken her weapons along with his, but that hardly mattered, with the right strike.

  Hoping he hadn’t paused too long, he jerked his chin in Taylor’s direction. ‘Probably took half the Pentagon’s budget just to get the Project off the ground. So they took a few shortcuts, didn’t they?’ His mind was still foggy – but with Hunter’s name, and his own anger, everything was falling together clearly enough. ‘No one pays attention to flag-draped coffins anymore, so they wouldn’t for Golem bodies in shipping crates. They wind up in D.C., signed for and ready for the furnace – and then get rerouted to a black site, for deeper work. Maybe one that was part of a contractor, for the very same Project that produced the bodies – and their gear.’

  Hunter made that scornful bow again. ‘Good to see the “all brawn, no brain” image isn’t all true, with your type.’ Seeing Greg’s eyes flick to Taylor, he chuckled. ‘Can’t say the same for him, unfortunately. The ARC upgrades I designed did the trick, when it came to getting him and the rest up and about. Unfortunately, they could only go that far, in the best cases. Had to send the rest on to the furnace after all; they were too far gone, or the upgrades didn’t take for other reasons. This one was a rare exception, although it took a while to straighten him out – and will again, looks like. Then came the endless implantations, the neurosurgeries – a whole lot of shit needing to be done, and a lot of on-the-job learning, so to speak.’ His voice was rueful. ‘Course, wasn’t as bad for them, since I had the technique down pat. Those first few tries, solo—’

  He tugged at the end of one sleeve, drawing it partway back. This let Greg see the long, jagged incisions, running along the inner and outer forearm. Hunter smirked at his recognition. ‘These were a bitch, I can tell you. Decades of surgical experience, and plenty of local anaesthetic – and
I still kept slipping up because some nerve ending or other wasn’t completely shut off. Not to mention the look of me, once these and the rest were done.’

  He began strolling back and forth between the Doctor and Greg, never quite taking his eyes from them as he mused. ‘The rest weren’t that hard, by comparison. God bless the occasional Agency medical team, to make sure I didn’t slice the wrong way.’ He rubbed at his neck. ‘Still can’t get used to the transmitter implants; feels like somebody’s always got their fingers in my throat. Compared to the work done on them, though’—he waved absently to Taylor, and to the men in green—‘I suppose I should count my blessings.’ A crooked smile. ‘A little hard, seeing how many I had.’

  Garrett was sitting board-stiff, arms tense against the ties. He didn’t – or couldn’t – take his eyes from the scars. ‘How in God’s name—’ He stopped. His features drained of colour, from shock as much as anger. ‘The day you left.’ he growled.

  Smiling still, Hunter moved a hand to his belt, reappearing with a short combat knife. He placed the blade in the palm of his other hand and jerked it down. Blood dripped to the floor, mixing in with the half-dried tank fluids. With no sign of pain, he held out the wounded hand to Garrett and the two Golems. The slash was already half-closed when Greg got his glimpse; much faster than any ARC should work. No. Just the ones you know.

  Nonchalant, Hunter reached into another pocket, drawing out a handkerchief. His eyes – set and hard – didn’t leave Garrett’s as he wiped the blood off his hands. ‘So many months slaving away over the greatest medical advance in human history – you didn’t think I’d leave without taking something besides a last paycheque?’ He tossed the bloody cloth in among the tank wreckage and looked to the green-clad guards. His throat flexed, once. They stepped back into the rooms they’d come from; the sounds of the search rose again. Hunter faced the Doctor again. ‘Wasn’t hard, either, given how trashed you still were after Gwen and Aidan. It was the early version, the first one you’d tested and put aside for destruction or modification – and then forgot about.’

  He looked momentarily annoyed. ‘Hadn’t planned on using it myself, not at first. The Pentagon already owned ARC, in every way except for some paperwork – and had a copy locked away in the DARPA archives. The way you were headed at the time, it was reasonable to assume they’d want another option, and soon. So I went to them – and they said since it’s a prototype, a rough draft, they had “doubts as to its viability”. They didn’t mind how it showed up at their front door, just that it might be a day past the sell-by date.’ The annoyance vanished, replaced by a cold pleasure. ‘I showed them exactly how viable it still is – and got approval for my work inside of an hour.’

  ‘Without a thought for the consequences, as usual,’ Garrett ground out. He seemed to be keeping himself from lunging only by sheer force of will; Greg could see the deep creases in his arms where the ties were digging in. ‘You didn’t even see the field tests, I’ll bet. The poor fuckers who’d signed up for a chance to be more – and were lucky if they wound up brain-dead, shitting in bags the rest of their lives. The ones your “friends” in D.C. threw away, for some mirage of power.’

  Hunter spread his arms, taking in the room. ‘Not just a mirage in the end, though, right?’ he asked, rhetorically. ‘The excess strength took some getting used to, I’ll admit; still can’t grab anything without crushing it, if I’m not careful. But the other perks…’ His left leg lifted a few inches – then shot out with lightning speed. It struck one of the toppled NeoMaters, which had to weigh close to 300 pounds, and sent it skidding off the platform and into the wall with a rending crash.

  His guards came running out at the sound. Grinning, Hunter waved them away, then addressed Garrett again. ‘That first batch was flawed, true enough. But you didn’t see how or whether it could be improved – only that it didn’t work. Same with the prototype for the ARC-retarding compound, I’ll bet.’ Greg’s head whipped up at that. Hunter didn’t notice. ‘Another “containment measure” I’m sure you had a gun to your head to make, for the brass. Luckily, there wasn’t any need for that on my end. So much left sitting around, waiting for the right brain and set of hands…’ He tsked again. ‘And you say I don’t consider the consequences.’

  He gestured to the tanks, and to Greg and Leah, his smile more cutting. ‘Something I’m sure your kids’—the word came out almost as a hiss—‘know more than a bit about now, I’d say.’ He set his hands on his hips. ‘All the effort and tricks to keep them in the dark, and you let them see every part of the old homestead. Getting soft in your old age? Or you get them confused with a family, and figured they were owed the “truth”?’ He snorted. ‘A little late to grow a conscience, if it was the second one. Way you handled the Project’s ops when the Turmoil started, it was like watching somebody else. Somebody who’d finally gotten the message – and was taking it to new levels.’

  Garrett didn’t make a sound. Most of the anger had drained out of him, leaving behind a grim, resigned mask. Hunter clapped his hands together, rubbing them in an appearance of briskness. ‘Well! Enough catching up for right now, I think! Time to get down to business – starting with the hottest.’ He walked up to Garrett. ‘Where’s the canister? None of your kids here have it, and we would’ve seen soon enough if your third one had it on him when he took off – not that you’d be so stupid as to let him run with it.’ He crossed his arms, like an impatient teacher or parent. ‘So – where is it?’

  The Doctor stayed quiet. Hunter didn’t look disappointed; in fact, he seemed pleased. He drew the knife again, letting the blade catch the light as he walked to the side of Garrett’s chair. He weighed it in his hand, tossed it up and down once, then slashed in a short, downward arc. The upper sleeve of Garrett’s shirt parted in a spurt of red. The Doctor grunted and cringed away in pain, teeth clenched. Blood soaked through the dark fabric, turning it almost black. Greg couldn’t see the wound from his angle, but it had to be deep, maybe down to the bone.

  Still smirking, Hunter bent close again. ‘There’s somewhere between 600 and 800 muscles in the human body, Doctor. That was at least one.’ He checked the blade, now dappled in red. ‘Two or three, best guess; these diamond edges cut deeper than you’d expect, sometimes.’

  Garrett breathed steadily through his nose, facing straight ahead. Hunter moved back into his line of vision. Some of the other man’s humour vanished. ‘Every ten seconds you keep up this vow of silence, another muscle parts – maybe some tendons and bone with them. In less than five minutes, I can cripple you for life. In ten, they’ll need to identify you by your teeth – assuming any are left, by then.’ He brought the blade to the tip of Garrett’s nose. ‘Talk, and maybe you’ll leave here in just a wheelchair.’ When Garrett still made no move or sound, Hunter grunted. ‘Fine. One. Two. Three.’

  Greg shifted into a better sitting position, keeping up his outward slump. He’d thought he was furious and shocked before; now he was almost incandescent with anger. It was a cold fury, though, hard and focused. He checked the guards; they were all focused on Hunter and Garrett – Taylor, too, in a more befuddled way. Leah’s lower lip was trembling – in rage, not shock or grief. She blinked once, showing she was ready. He braced his hands and back against the concrete. Go for Black Hair first; arm, then neck. Then second guard; Leah takes Taylor. Five, six seconds; then—

  Something beeped, interrupting his assessment. The Gaia screen, from which the tank lid Greg had hurled earlier still protruded, blinked into life, showing a map: The Sound, centred on the Facility. Hunter paused in his countdown, looking irritated, and backed up. A red dot suddenly appeared at the corner of the map as he did so – moving westward, tiny lines of tracking data appearing and extending from it. His brows knotted in perplexity. ‘What the hell’s—’

  Greg launched up from the floor before the words were half-spoken. Leah catapulted to her feet as well, moving almost too fast for Taylor to see. One of Greg’s hands fastened on Blac
k Hair’s right wrist, twisting it behind him in the same move, while his left arm wrapped around the guard’s throat. A quick flex with either would snap his arm in three places and twist his neck halfway around, something no ARC could repair, or not fast enough even with ‘upgrades’. Then draw the knife and hurl it in the second guard’s face before he took even a step in Greg’s direction. He’d be throttling Hunter four seconds later, max.

  The Pax effects must still have been lingering, however. His arm shot out for Black Hair’s throat – and missed, by less than an inch. The guard ducked low to avoid the grab, and spun in Greg’s grip, pulling the Golem’s own arm with him. He tried to rip free, but the momentum was already carrying him forward. He brought his arm to block a punch, grasping for the wrist again, and took a booted foot squarely in the abdomen. It only slowed him for a heartbeat – but that was enough for the guard to land a second punch, across his jaw.

  Stars flashed in Greg’s eyes. Momentarily staggered, he felt the guard slip behind him, pulling his trapped arm along, and raised his free hand to stop the armlock he expected. Instead of that, however, Black Hair stomped hard on the inside of his right leg, dropping him to his knees. The trapped arm drove up into his back, almost wrenched from its socket. A hand grasped his hair, pulling his head back; a boot slammed down on his left ankle, pinning it to the floor. In less than twenty seconds, he was immobilised.

  He wrenched painfully against the grips; nothing yielded. Beneath the screen, Leah stood trapped as well, struggling against the other two green-clad guards, their arms pinning hers to her side and wrapped across her chest. One of them sprouted a thin blade from his shirt, and held it to her throat, finally making her desist. Taylor stayed in place, with the same foggy look; he didn’t seem to be taking any pleasure in the capture, professional or otherwise.