by Lowry, Chris
“Yeah, but you were all buddies, right. All for one and death to all, right?” asked Pip.
“What is that?”
“Your motto,” she leaned up, resting her young head against the side of his cushioned seat. “All you guys were one big family. Like the Troops.”
“No,” he said. “I only knew the men I walked with. We kept to ourselves, there was more than enough country for us all.”
He looked out of the window at the city below. The ground looked alive with the flowing mass of humanity that swarmed between the buildings.
“Why don’t these people leave? The Mob?”
Pip sat back, disgusted.
“They’re just animals,” explained Robe. “They don’t really think to leave. They just multiply like rats and infest the City. We can’t clean them out, they’re too many of them. So we hold them off.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Who knows? We used to send boats on the oceans before the Corsairs got too thick. And no matter how clean you scrub a boat, rats always get on them.”
“You were a sailor?” the Templar asked dubiously.
“No, well, I studied it for awhile. One of the Troopers had a vid of an island in the middle of the Ocean and I always wanted to see one. So I studied the sea when I was a kid. But we don’t use boats anymore. Long journey hover cars will carry us across the water and if you visit an island, there’s too much risk.”
“No one goes to the islands?”
“Not anymore. Never know when a Corsair boat will jump you. Or if that’s their base, it’s like sticking your hand out the window after dark. Mob’ll get you.”
“But their is no Mob on the islands?”
“No, I mean, here, if you stick your hand out of a window, the Mob will probably drag you out and eat you or whatever they do. That’s why we don’t open windows, not even during the day. What if you forgot to close it? That’s the end of you. Better safe behind the plas steel.”
The Templar leaned against the canopy.
“I’ve got an idea, once we see the Doctor.”
“I’m taking us to the Academy at sunrise. But that doesn’t mean we’ll find him. He could be anywhere, we’re just guessing.”
“Do your best,” the Templar looked out of the window. Behind him, the girl made sleep noises as she curled across the seat. Robe’s young face was drawn and tired, his eyes circled with black bags. He watched the boy steer the car for a few moments.
“Do you wish to rest?” he tried to ask as gently as possible, though to his own ears, his voice was harsh.
Robe was too tired to catch it.
“I have to fly the car.”
“I can do it. I have observed you.”
Robe looked at him wishfully.
“No, sir, I’ll do it. I can last until we get to morning.”
The Templar nodded, quietly proud the youth had chosen to remain at the wheel. He would not sleep either, but only because he could go for hours longer without it. Soon, he would need a rest of a few days to make up for his lack its past week. He could only push his body so far, it had abandoned him on several occasions since he got here. He kept giving it just enough rest to go on, and pushed it until it stopped. Even the two days as prisoner was not enough. He needed a week of no thinking, no fighting, no planning. And in his head was an old campfire history lesson he overheard by accident. A story about seven castaways on a tropical isle, that no one ever seemed to find. A perfect place to rest. A perfect place to hide.
Bruce woke with a start, not knowing where he was. Noises he couldn’t recognize or place, seeped under the door and filled the room with ghost sounds. Memory failed him for a few moments and panic set in, he backed into the wall and whimpered. This wasn’t his room, this wasn’t his bed. After a few seconds of feeling sorry for himself, and wondering what sort of bizarre atrocities were in store for him in this strange place, he remembered this was Darwin’s room at Troop HQ. There was the Doctor, tilted back in a chair with his head drooping over a book folded on his chest, feet propped up on the table. The Doctor didn’t so much snore as mutter when he slept. Every deep breath would make anyone watching anticipate a snort or snuff. None of that, just a long slow inhalation, followed by muttered tangents and breathy hypotheses, arguments with figments that the Doctor dreamed about.
Bruce recovered his composure and shook him awake.
“Doc, it’s morning.”
Darwin opened one eye and glared at Bruce.
“I was sleeping,” he told his assistant.
“Yes sir, but it’s morning and I thought-”
“Do you know how long it took for me to fall asleep in this chair? I stayed up half the night, and finally when I hit good REM you shake me out of it. I swear you young people. I hope I’m still around when you’re my age, I’m going to call you everytime I get up to go to the bathroom, and you’ll never get a good night’s rest.”
“Sorry Doc. I thought you wanted to get an early start on this morning.”
“You haven’t even showered yet. You could have at least let me sleep through that.”
The showers. men marching back and forth to the bathroom, random pieces of conversation and singing. Those were the strange noises finding their way into the Doctor’s quarters.
“I can’t shower here,” Bruce gagged.
memories of his first athletic contest at school and the humiliation of losing washed over him. Afterwards, he was forced into the showers by an overzealous athletic coordinator, and humiliated even further by his classmates. The taste of soap, stinging and bitter crept up his throat. He swore off public showers and group athletic endeavors that day. He wasn’t about to start here.
“What do you mean? They’re not co-ed showers,” Darwin unfolded himself from his chair and grabbed a towel from the dispenser. “I need you fresh for today, boy.”
“I’ll shower at the Academy,” Bruce tugged at his wrinkled shirt. “I want some new clothes anyway.”
Darwin turned on his heel and left. For once, he didn’t feel like arguing. Psychologists would have a field day with Bruce, and he gave up that field long ago. Better to let him have his way on this. It conserved energy.
The hall was full of young men and women, some in Suits, some in underclothes with dry towels on their shoulders. During the day, Headquarters resembled the Academy, so much so, Darwin could close his eyes and listen to the footsteps and muttered voices and not know the difference.
“Morning, Doctor,” Bram fell in beside him, matching him step for step.
“Good morning,” Darwin knew the Second. He heard even more rumor about him and wondered how much of it was true. He had the distinct feeling that Bram didn’t care for him, or for any scholar for that matter. Their theories had little practical application to the real world, or so the argument went. Darwin made a mental note to write an article regarding perceptions and how theories really worked for everyone.
“We haven’t found the prisoner yet,” Bram offered. Darwin could feel he was fishing.
“You must be able to read my mind,” he laughed. “I was just about to ask.”
“Commander called off the search for now. She’s changing squads, bringing in fresh men. We’ll start again just before noon.”
“Any idea where they might be?”
“Ideas only. We were going to ask you what he would do, you being the expert.”
“On him, no. On his Order, yes. They were men of honor. He is reacting against a system he finds to be tyrannical. He has no way of knowing we’re anything but. Must I keep reminding you that everytime we reach out to him, we try to counter it with a fight.”
“That’s not what the Computer said,” Bram countered. “It can’t make too much on him, but from studying the vids, it thinks he’s dangerous, more dangerous than anything we’ve ever encountered. The Council believes that too.”
“The Council is not infallible. Even the Computer is Artificial Intelligence. Intelligent, but artificial.
It can not trust it’s instincts, it can not know every possible contingency, because it’s only following a program. A program made by a man, with man’s mistakes and prejudices.”
Bram rounded on the Doctor.
“I think you’re wrong. You saw the man in action. he is dangerous. The Suits don’t phase him. Our weapons can barely stop him. He’s faster than anything we’ve seen, more adaptable than our chameleon Troops. You have to help us capture him, or kill him. He could tear apart the fabric of our existence.”
Darwin leaned against the door going into the bathroom Several Troopers had stopped in the hall to listen to the exchange. Many of them had been ordered to revelry this morning and knew that meant they were on a hunt squad for one of their own and the escaped prisoner. Many of them had mixed feelings about it.
“For an educated man,” Darwin ignored the gathering crowd. “You are very ignorant. We have no fabric of existence. We are prisoners of the Mob, and servants of the Main Terminal. What an this one man do? The Mob is too much for him, and the vast resources at the disposal of the Council surely can stop him. What if he is impervious to a few of our weapons. You have as much as told me that the Computer is building more. That’s what it does. I will not help you find this man. I will not help you kill him. You have the Computer and your Commander and your misplaced set of values. I invited this man to this world to make it a better place. I kidnapped him from his home and no one has given me a chance to talk to him about it, or apologize. All we do is kill or capture. I am glad he is gone, and I hope he finds a place to hide so that he will never be found. If anyone can do it, he can.”
“That’s almost treason,” Bram warned him.
“I am an old man with a long history of service to the community, longer even than you’ve been born. Take your charges and put them in the Computer against my list of accomplishments and accolades. It won’t compute and the Main Terminal will clear me. You can do nothing.”
Darwin turned into the bathroom door, letting it close behind him. Bram reached through and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing.
“I am the Second. You don’t talk to me with that disrespect.”
Darwin reached back through the years to his induction training. He held his breath, grabbed the wrist at his neck and twisted. Bram gasped in surprise and followed the turn, flipping over onto the cold floor. The entire hallway gasped in surprise.
“You do not tamper with what you do not know,” Darwin warned.
He let go and the door closed between them.
“What are you doing?” Robe’s voice hissed in the morning silence of the quad.
The hover car was hidden in the cover of bushes in the open air solarium, where they parked and sneaked through the early morning sunlight to camp in the greenhouse.
Pip complained about the backseat being too cramped, wanting to stretch her legs and the Templar agreed. The dark circles under Robe’s eyes attested to the limits he had pushed himself and his body was sluggish, more so than normal.
The Templar knew they would need to rest before searching out the Doctor and suggested the place as they flew over it, noting the lush vegetation that would hide them from flying prying eyes. He also suspected the plants would hold in the heat, and the chill morning air would wear on his companions. He chose the site for their comfort and safety, relying on them to get him clear of the City later. He let them settle in under the broad leaves of a plant he had never seen, noting with exasperation that field experience was limited. He helped as best as patience would allow, hoping for little more than an hour of quiet. They seemed to sleep, until Robe tried to call to everyone on campus with his question.
“They’re push-ups,” he answered in a low voice so Robe would follow the example.
He did.
“What are they for?”
The Templar paused in mid push, flexing and tensing the muscles in his chest.
“They make me stronger.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
The Templar laughed, a deep growl from the pit of his stomach. It was the first time since he was pulled through the time hole.
“I suspect there is much I do your people will not know about,” he resumed his exercise. “Maybe that’s why I always win over you.”
Robe pondered this as he watched the Templar.
After a few moments of push-ups, he flipped over to his back and started trying to sit up. But at the top, he seemed to lose control and fall back, only to try again. Robe extended his hand to him.
“Let me help you.”
“What?”
“I can help you get up.”
“No,” the Templar laughed again, still sitting up. “It’s called calisthenics. My squad was required to do them every morning. A few of us did them morning and evening. It strengthens you.”
“I’m strong,” Robe defended.
“Then try it with me.”
“We were taught not to do physical labor. We develop our minds, so we can program the Computers to do our work.”
“But we have no computer.”
“On board the car, and in our Suits we do.”
“But they can use those to track us.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Pip stirred.
“You are making a lot of noise. How am I supposed to sleep?”
“Hey Pip, watch what he’s doing. it makes him stronger.”
She rolled over on her side and squinted with one eye.
“They used to do that in school, but now, just the Athletes do it.”
The Templar stopped his sit ups and moved into stretches.
“What are athletes?”
“We have these games that we watch,” said Robe. “The Computer arranges contests between Athletes. They’re bred and trained to compete and we bet on them, or watch just for fun.”
“They do t sort of things I do?”
“I’ve never seen them.”
“Sure,” said Pip, crawling closer to them. “I’ve seen them lots. They lift metal plates on bars. They’re as big as you, but some of them are even bigger. They do all sorts of things.”
“Is that why you’re so big?” asked Robe. “Calisthenics?”
“I don’t know. I just do them.”
“Should we do them too? Since we’re with you now?” asked Pip.
“I think so,” he nodded, never breaking his form.
“Show us that push up again,” said Robe. He lay on the ground on his stomach.
The Templar demonstrated a variety of exercises and stretches, ignoring their moans and complaints. No one in his squad dared to complain for fear of reprisal by Eleven. But this was a different place, and to train a new army, he needed to use new methods. His old ways grafted with their learning rate. That much he was sure. He was also sure he wanted to know more about the Athletes.
“I’m not going to have the Doctor arrested just because you don’t like him,” she said.
Bram leaned against the wall across from her desk. She had never seen him pout before, but since the appearance and subsequent disappearance of the Templar, Bram hadn’t been himself. She used to rely on his solidity, as solid in fact as the sun rising each morning or the Computer having answer for her. But he was shaken now. She could tell he didn’t go to bed last night, didn’t take a shower this morning, didn’t bother to change his uniform. He was wrinkled and dazed, sharp eyes drilling into her from under drooping eyelids.
“I just want you to detain him.”
“What has he done?”
He wanted to tell her that he was dangerous, an unreliable factor to the equation of the Templar. He wanted to tell her that the Doctor assaulted him, disabling a grip he shouldn’t have been able to, using training he wasn’t supposed to have. He wanted to go to sleep, and regain his strength, rest his mind. But he had to be up to organize the hunt. He had to requisition and reorganize, shift schedules and change duty rotations. He could have left it up to the Computer, but he liked to have a say in what
went on in his command, a hand in decision making policy. If he turned over any small part to the Computer, then it would be even easier next time until soon, he would only teach combat classes, and even that could be simulated.
“I don’t think we can trust him,” was all he answered.
“I wish that were enough,” she huddled over the keyboard, fingers tapping in a series of commands. “The files on him are clean, and the Computer suggest probabilities are almost nil. He’s clean and we have to respect that.”
“I could post a guard on him. For his on protection.”
“Don’t we have more important things to talk about? Leave Darwin alone. He’s glad to be back in Troop graces. He won’t do anything to jeopardize that standing,” she pursed her lips in thought, looked over her shoulder at the portrait of the Founder. “Besides, he was a friend of Conrad’s. We have to trust him.”
“I don’t.”
“Duly noted and marked. Can we move on?”
Bram sighed and slinked across the room to collapse on a corner of her desk.
“I’ve outfitted three squads for recon,” he said. “Two by air, on ground. The air teams will cover more ground, searching for signs of the car. The ground team will remain in a state of readiness.”
“Have the ground team start a sweep from the alley and move out in a standard search formation,” she amended.
“They wouldn’t have ditched the car so close to us. It was dark last night, Mob would’ve got them.”
“With this guy, we can’t take that chance. Stats say there is a fifteen percent chance he dropped the car around the corner and hid.”
Bram shook his head, frowning. He knew the argument was coming, like storm clouds on the horizon, and yet he couldn’t avoid it. He was too tired, and the disagreement was too familiar an area.
“We know that’s not true. It’s just what the Computer is telling you. Listen to your instinct. Sure, we’ve never encountered anything like this guy before, but you know he didn’t drop the car. He’s got one of us with him, he couldn’t take that chance. Stop relying on the box so much.”
She turned her chair away from him, watching the portrait, and her pale reflection in the plex-steel window.
