by Chris Ramos
The hissing of the gas tanks and Cole’s low moaning were the only sounds. All eyes fell to the Father, for his decision was not merely for Cole, but a confirmation that he really would do anything necessary to accomplish his goals. He trusted Captain Ian explicitly in the field, but couldn’t help wondering at his current motives against Cole. He knew Tym shared his distrust.
The Father looked deep into Ian’s eyes, trying to gauge his intent. He might just want Cole out of the picture, still considering him the main reason for Emma’s demise. But would he do so in the open, with everyone watching? No, Captain Ian would wait for a more opportune time when no one was watching.
With a mental note to watch Ian more closely in the following months, the Father made his decision.
“Ian, my friend,” he began, dropping his title on purpose to establish this as a humanitarian request and not an order. “Fetch the compound. And hurry! We have to end this.”
THE BEACON
When Ian returned, he was holding a canister no thicker than a club and shorter than his hand. It was indented so fingers could grip it securely and adorned with two yellow stripes running widthwise. The shape made it easy to be thrown, and the stripes were a universal sign for “stay away.” Ian took one last look over at the Father, and after receiving a nod, twisted the top of the container until he heard a loud snap. Captain Ian took two long steps, jumped at the containing booth and pulled himself up the ledge. With his free hand he wrenched the secondary exhaust cap off, holding his face back from the gas backlash.
Captain Ian glanced into the containing booth and saw Cole thrashing on the ground. His hands were holding the side of his head as he was kicking and wriggling from an unseen web. Ian dropped the canister into the cell, replaced the cap and effectively sealed the Compound 2-XR gas inside. Even though he still resented Cole, he hated to inflict this kind of pain on him, but there was no turning back now. Cole’s nanos would never give up.
Ian jumped the distance off of the booth and landed with a thump, one knee bent down to absorb the impact. When he stood facing the crowd, they were solemn. Then each expression changed into wide-eyed disbelief, some pointing behind Ian at Cole’s containment. Ian turned to comprehend.
That’s when the screaming began.
Cole was throwing himself at the tank wall, clawing at the plexi surface to no avail. The air in the tank began to change as the old gas began mingling with Ian’s new chemical weapon. The air was thick, and turned a dark green. Cole’s screaming was louder than the machinery, a tortured howl, echoing down the corridors and raising the hair on the back of Ian’s neck.
“Galen!” Cole shrieked, “never again!”
“Tym,” the Father yelled. “You need to figure out what is happening, and find a way around it!”
Tym wasn’t listening. He brandished his Master Sci glove, and suddenly every digital screen jumped free of their devices and was layered in the air before Tym. The information obeyed Sci Tym; he was the orchestrator now. He leapt into a furious dance, swiping and pulling information screens, overlapping the previous screens of information with the next at such a speed, the Father lost track of what was happening. He had only seen Sci Tym this furious with his Sci glove once before, when they first decided to build an intricate hub of information and establish the Movement. Back then, Sci Tym worked day and night, erasing histories, breaking into security systems as, piece by piece, he liberated the members of the Movement.
Now it looked like he was reading the entire history of nanos, every version and every schematic written about those infuriating little bugs. Tym was furiously sweating without the ability to wipe, so he resorted to blowing through his lower lip, angling his breath upwards. The screens layered more and more quickly. He was breaking down the new models, searching for matches, sending signals to Cole, and hoping for a return blip, verifying the newest model. Tym knew when Cole was born and he knew when the nanos would have been injected. How could these be so advanced?
Unable to focus through the pain, Cole was calling for Emma, calling for his mother, calling for his father, to no avail. Where were they? Why can’t they hear me? He saw the faces of Tym, Galen, Gretchen; his feelings cycled from hatred to friendship, torture to relief. His throat hurt. Pain coursed through his veins. He was hot, then cold, and hot again. Cole was drifting. His mouth was open to his jaws’ breaking point, but there was no sound. Numb from the cold, too much, so bitter. Cole held his arms out for an embrace.
Is anyone here? Mother, take me away. Mother, where are you now?
Cole slumped to the ground, all of the air removed from his lungs. His body gave an instinctive spasm, his eyes flickered and he gasped his last breath. The Father and Captain Ian rushed to the holding cage under Cole, and saw the small pool of storm-cloud gray ooze. The nanos. They collected into the funnel-shaped bottom of the small room, through the grate. The nano pool was no bigger than a cup of spilled water, but the Father and everyone else assembled knew there were millions of nanos, eagerly searching for a new host. They were unable to climb the slick walls of the funnel catch, but that didn’t mean they would stop trying. They would never stop trying, for that was the nature of the nanos.
Cole was dragged to the floor space between the cell and Tym’s control booth. He was not breathing, his body the color of a hard-boiled yolk.
“He’s dead,” a hushed voice said from the crowd.
Many of those assembled had their nanos removed by choice. However, none had witnessed an extraction like Cole had just suffered. His nanos fought back. After this mess, there probably wouldn’t be a volunteer in a very, very long time.
“Well, of course he’s dead. That was the point,” the Father snapped as he threw a blanket over Cole. “Tym, get over here!”
Tym was already running with a face mask draped over his shoulder, the clear tubing snaking down around his legs, threatening to entangle his short, wobbling struts every step. This forced him into an awkward stumble, on the edge of disaster with his hurried pace.
His arms were raised high over his head, each hand holding a long stick. One red, and the other black. The air was crackling around the sticks, and he was very careful to keep them as far apart from each other as he could. The butts of the sticks were attached to thick, black cording that appeared to be plugged into Tym’s backpack. The true path was hard to distinguish with the amount of buckles, straps, wires and pockets in Tym’s overburdened wardrobe.
The Father was kneeling over Cole, applying a clear gel to his chest, as the crowd tightened around the scene. Tym stumbled past the Father, with the poles in hand and his legs predictably entangled, sending him skidding across the distance. He fell ungracefully on his face, unable to put his hands in front to cushion the fall lest the poles get any closer to each other. They were already throwing enough sparks to force the crowd into a small retreat.
Tym fell a few feet shy of the nano cage collection. He was flopping side to side like a fish out of water, incapable of using his hands and completely unable to lift himself off the ground. Finally, Captain Ian leaned over and grabbed two handfuls of Tym’s jacket.
Suddenly, Ian froze. He was looking at the nano cage.
“Tym, since you seem to have all the answers,” he said as he raised his hand and pointed at the bottom rim sunken into the ground, “what is that?”
A few of the audience members that were next to the team also looked over to the rim. The trapped nanos were many feet below the edge, safely contained in the smooth funnel. However, there was one small speck moving along the top as an insect would walk around the edge of a saucer, searching for a spot to jump down safely. This speck was about the size of a small, black ant. It was moving slowly, searching and pulsing a deep red.
The speck stopped, crested the ridge and moved off of the rim, progressing across the floor at an increased speed.
Tym suddenly found the energy and angle to boost his bulk onto his heels. He focused all his attention on the small crimson anoma
ly as if facing a tiger head on.
“Captain, please hold these.” He handed the poles to Ian, slid off his backpack and walked carefully to the nano cage edge. He reached in his vest and removed a small plastique jar with a suctioned lid.
Within a foot of the pulsing gnat, jar outstretched, he fell upon it.
Captain Ian wasted no time running to the Father and Cole, electric rods pulsing, the cords dragging Tym’s backpack. The Father finished applying the gel on Cole’s chest and laid a metal disc over his sternum. Captain Ian crossed the poles over the disc, and Cole’s body jumped.
After a few tense moments, Cole gasped for breath.
He turned to face the crowd and smirked as best he could. The Father looked down at him, also smiling, and helped him to a seated position. The crowd parted the distance from Tym to the Father, and Cole was able to see what was in the jar Tym now held aloft. A small red pill, with two white stripes running vertically down its middle. It was the demerit Galen had given him on his first visit. He had unwittingly swallowed a trap.
“Tym! Put it down, and get away . . .” Cole warned.
The captured specimen pulsed more powerfully than it had before, and the jar became superheated, forcing Tym to drop it, shattering the container and releasing the item once again. It pulsed brightly one last time and let out an ear-piercing whine. The screech filled the corridor, making all in assembly cover their ears. The shrillness was unbearable, echoing endlessly through the corridors. The ruby beacon became so bright, it drowned out all of the other lighting and cast a deep red glare on everything and everyone.
Tym pulled another container clipped to his shoulder and wrenched the cork loose, pouring a putrid yellow fluid onto the pill. The sticky goo surrounded the pill, muffling the light and noise. However, as it was pushing against the muck, the glow brightened, and the siren’s volume increased, if that was possible.
It all ended as the Father grabbed the sticks and shocked the red beacon with a glorious blast of electricity. The red light faded away and the screeching died, leaving everyone’s ears ringing with the aftereffect.
RETRIBUTION
The relief from the silenced beacon was short lived. The assembled citizens rubbed their heads and ears as their hearing returned. However, a deep quiet passed through the crowd, edged with a palpable fear. The beacon was obviously from LifeSpan. This could not bode well for their hideaway. As usual, they all turned toward the Father for guidance. He looked fatigued.
“Maybe they didn’t hear the signal, eh?” Sci Tym tried to joke.
High above the city, the airspace was usually very quiet. The breezes and soft winds could continue without obstruction.
Today, the calm was broken by hundreds of hovercopters, each carrying five Collectors as its crew. The LifeSpan logo was emblazoned on the copters’ sides.
They were waiting. Strategically placed across the countryside and tuned into one station, they waited and listened for the signal. Collectors were a funny breed; they each hoped to outdo each other, gaining reputation among their elite brotherhood. However, when approached, they would swear undying loyalty to LifeSpan and insist there was no desire for personal gain. Thus, when Choppers Six and Eight received the blaring signal from subject Cole’s homing beacon, the two crews were silently overjoyed, and ready to enact judgment against those responsible for their fallen brothers.
Before the Father could respond to the assembled questioning citizens of the Movement, a call broke through the air.
“Collectors! They are here! Inside the compound!” The call was repeated hundreds of times as the alarm was sent from soldier to mother to child. Soon the Movement was abuzz with activity, shelving was knocked over, possessions were grabbed and families began frantically trying to find their missing loved ones.
Throughout the numerous underground tunnels, screams were coming from every direction. The Father recognized them as death screams. Unfortunately, they were not a cry you ever forget. The Father knew the Collectors were taking no prisoners this time, and the complex was lost.
“Captain Ian,” the Father said, “I fear we may have our very own Battle of Borodino upon us.”
“Let us hope we have better results than Napoleon,” the Captain replied, and gave a solemn nod.
Allie ran as fast as her stout legs would carry her, trying to make it back to her room. Her son would be waiting for her there. She had told him if there was ever trouble, to return immediately to their quarters and hide in the cupboard, and she would return for him.
The only thought racing through her head was his safety; he was everything to her. They were one of the newest recruits to the Movement, rescued by Tym after her husband mysteriously disappeared. Tym had told them about secret projects her husband was working on, and that he would not be returning, but the Collectors would.
On that fateful day, Allie had retreated as the Collectors’ transport arrived, with three of the robed enforcers entering her home. As she watched in horror with her son and Tym, hidden a safe distance across the street, she witnessed the end of her normal life as the three Collectors destroyed her home, erasing all that she had built. She returned with Tym, carrying only her son and the clothes on their backs.
Today, the Collectors were back. The location has changed, but her terms had not.
Allie repeated her oath: My son is not the property of LifeSpan.
She rounded the last corner, descended a small set of stairs and arrived at her door. The lock was thrown—a good sign. Once Allie entered, she called immediately for her boy. The cupboard door flew open wide and he ran to her waiting arms.
“We have to get out of here, now. Everyone is at the far east exit. We have to be fast; they are closing the door shortly and we can’t miss the exodus. We rehearsed this. Do not be afraid. I have you now.”
As she finished her explanation, half of the lights blinked out, flickered and resurged. The Collectors must have been taking out the electric grid. Of course, Tym had backup solar pumps trying to keep the facility lit. Unfortunately, the energy pump didn’t have enough juice remaining after Cole’s recent death chamber had pulled most of the reserves out of commission.
Instead, the entire facility was basked in a pale glow with half the normal illumination, throwing shadows across every corner, enshrouding the maze of metal and plasteel in a soupy haze.
Allie pulled her boy close to her and ran into the hallway. Their vision was blurred, with the sparse lighting only revealing a few steps ahead of her. Luckily, she knew her way around. Allie took the same route daily.
She kept one hand in front of her and the other clutched in a grip only a mother could sustain on her son’s clothing. They could hear discharges of electricity, pulsing through the air, crackling in the dark. People were screaming; children were crying. It was a nightmare to run through the dark maze and not try to help her fellow residents. Nevertheless, they pressed on, for the far east exit was close, and Allie was not leaving all she had fought for.
Five Collectors rounded a corner, shoulder to shoulder, each holding a crackling billy club in each hand. Before them were women from the washing room staff, who were frightened, and rightly so. The Collectors were not the typical image of LifeSpan political correctness. They were white demons with eyes of fire and teeth gritted so hard, their jaw muscles clenched shut.
“Why are you doing this?” the brunette woman managed to ask between sobs.
The Collectors advanced.
“Because,” a strong male voice carried from across the room, “they have no care for human life.” The Collectors turned to see who intruded on their scrap.
A lone soldier stood in the doorway, wearing his chest plate. He held a long metallic pole in both hands, about four feet in length and capped with a solid metal ball. He hefted it like a small flagpole, with the weighted end held taunting the Collectors, pointing them out, challenging their might against his own.
The Collectors barely gave the women another thought as they ad
vanced towards the soldier.
“Ladies, run! Do not look back!” He was hopping from foot to foot, fully aware he stood no chance against five Collectors. His only hope was to last at least two minutes so the women could get beyond the reach of these Collectors-turned-killers.
They looked at each other, confused.
“Where do we go?” the same brunette woman yelled toward the soldier.
He was caught off guard, hoping the women would just run. He didn’t take the time to think about this information. If he said it aloud, the Collectors would know where the secret rendezvous was. On the other hand, if he didn’t tell them, they could run into another pocket of Collectors. If he revealed this information, then he would have no choice but to hold the Collectors at bay.
“Go to the far east exit. Tell them Agent Duggan will be a little late.”
“Who is Agent Duggan?”
“I am! Now get out of here!” He charged forward as the women ran down the hallway, taking the first sharp left and never looking back.
His pole swung towards the lead Collector with all his weight behind it. The Collector raised his arm and caught the pole in his side ribs.
The pole stopped dead. The momentum instantly stilled.
Agent Duggan tried to pull the rod back, but it would not budge. He couldn’t figure how the Collector was still standing. That blow should have broken his ribs, or at least staggered him slightly. He pulled again, frantic to retract his only weapon.
It was too late. The other four Collectors surrounded him.
He felt their hands reach out, and each squeezed different parts of his body more tightly than a mechanized vise. The one he felt the most was the large hand gripping his neck. Agent Duggan began to scream but was silenced when the Collector ripped his throat out, muscle and blood coating his gauntlet. Agent Duggan’s body fell and was kicked to the side. The Collectors advanced to the east.
