The General called for order and weighed the proposal for a time. Then, after a pause, he nodded. “I think we'd like to learn more, Mr. Aderhold.” He turned to the other department heads and sought their approval. “If it's all right with you, we'd like to schedule a formal meeting, and perhaps an exhibition of this thing.”
Aderhold chuckled. “It would be an honor.”
12
Three months in the concrete prison had ripped ten pounds of mass off of Silvio's already lean frame.
Eight, sometimes ten hours a day he'd been stuck in the cockpit. At first he'd practiced only the most menial of maneuvers. Fist-forming, a swinging of the arms. Then, about a week in, he'd been allowed to take his first step in the machine. Now he was running, could kick and punch and generally do whatever he wished while at ARTEMIS' helm. The giant was the very copy of his own body, and she was wonderfully receptive to his commands.
But there had been a cost.
The rigorous training had left him ill, depressed. The perpetually grey Icelandic weather may have been partially to blame for that, but that the strict schedule he was forced to keep and the draining nature of his work were the main contributers there was never any doubt. Dark circles had developed under his eyes, he slept very poorly night after night and was eating far too little to sustain this pace for much longer. The staff, even the kindly Dr. Deal, seemed intent on pushing him to the very furthest limits. Every time he hit a new milestone, performed or mastered some new movement, they did not take the time to celebrate. They wondered what hurdle he might jump next. Their focus was always on the next maneuver, the next session.
There had been accidents, slight injuries. None serious enough to thwart his training in any meaningful way, but sufficient to give him quite a fright. Now and then, when his focus deteriorated, ARTEMIS was known to lapse mid-movement, sometimes falling or malfunctioning. These malfunctions would result in awkward movements or tumbles that would leave Silvio shaken. Though hardy and nigh impenetrable, when ARTEMIS hit the ground, he could feel it. The cockpit would be terribly jostled, and he'd win his share of bumps and bruises on the way down. Problems with the wiring had led to his being zapped on numerous occasions. Small, reddish burns marred his temples and breast where leads had gone haywire and electricity had cooked his skin. Then there were the daily spinal “infusions”, as Dr. Deal called them. It turned out that, aside from merely allowing him to share electronic impulses with ARTEMIS' computer, the spinal apparatus was a two-way street, delivering a potent cocktail of drugs that would help him focus and keep up with his training. Adrenaline was sometimes used, as were certain drugs called nootropics, which supposedly helped him stay calm and on-point mentally. Racetam-class drugs were fed to him before and after training sessions in order to promote neuroplasticity and to allow him to better memorize the movements he was practicing.
Just what any of that shit meant Silvio couldn't say. All he knew was that the powders he was forced to guzzle in water tasted like hell, and that the skin along his backbone was growing thicker and rougher to the touch.
Dr. Conway had been especially strict with him, allowing him to work even when he felt himself on the verge of fainting. The mental force necessary to wrangle the ARTEMIS unit was great, and more than once, after losing focus or suffering great physical strain, Silvio had pushed himself too far. Despite this, he was never yanked out of the cockpit or assisted. No measures were taken. Instead, Conway would wait in the laboratory, tapping his foot or tut-tutting impatiently while Silvio got his shit together and fought to resume.
It was too much for him, but as the days wore on and the three-month deadline neared, he found at least the motivation to continue. The nightmare was ending. His sentence was drawing to a close. When this was finished, he'd be able to return home to his girlfriend and daughter, and with a good deal of money, to boot. All of that lovely stuff Trask had talked about when he'd first signed on, the potential for curing blindness, was long out of his mind. He didn't give a damn about it anymore. He just wanted out.
The staff were very careful to limit his understanding of the machine to those things that concerned him as pilot. Of its construction he knew vanishingly little. ARTEMIS was built of a “revolutionary” alloy, which featured nanoparticles. The resultant combination made it practically unbreakable. Dr. Conway, the designer of the unit, knew a good deal and was always willing to sing praises about his great invention, however the details he provided were scant, and he was careful not to reveal too much about how the unit functioned, giving only generalities and citing intellectual property laws.
Initially, when the research team had asked Silvio to practice his boxing maneuvers in the cockpit, he'd been reticent. Why had they brought him out there to shadowbox in a giant robot? Were they looking to test its capabilities as a weapon? Even when no answers were forthcoming, Silvio figured this was the case. While ARTEMIS might someday go on to become an asset in fields like medicine or search and rescue operations, it would first be developed as an instrument of war. That it would not be used for violence seemed inconceivable to Silvio in retrospect. It was perfectly suited to battle, impervious to damage and extremely deadly in the hands of a qualified, trained fighter.
It was then that Silvio understood why he'd been chosen. As a trained fighter, whose test results had proven him a good match for the unit, he'd been selected to test its combat capabilities. Now, three months on, he'd shown the research team everything they'd set out to learn.
ARTEMIS was not only capable of being used as a weapon, but it could make a damn good weapon, at that.
The incredible strength of the machine lent Silvio's already powerful punches an unimaginable boost. Tests had been done outside the volcano, and Silvio had managed, with little difficulty, to tear apart a wall of stone with some few jabs. He could kick in the thing, jump, tumble and even headbutt if necessary.
Silvio put aside his reservations. The cheering of the research team as he put his fighting prowess on display was somewhat intoxicating. It was the only thing sustaining him in his deteriorating state, and to hear Dr. Deal or the other staff in the lab cheering as he mastered a new punch or leg sweep was to taste glory itself. It reminded him of his time in the ring, of those days, now distant, when he'd been considered a fighter of promise. That he might be contributing to the super weapons of tomorrow did not concern him. The machine had been built, and if not him, then someone else would have been at its helm.
The morning after his final training session, Horace arrived at his room and shooed him out as though he were a squatter. He was hurried to the same jet he'd flown in on, greeted by the same pleasant stewardess and flown back to the States with no fanfare. The research team hadn't even stopped in to say goodbye before he departed. One minute he was in his room, half-asleep and looking up at Horace. The next, he was shuffling through the concrete complex, out onto the landing strip and into the jet.
This time, though, the stewardess allowed him an in-flight beer.
***
The flight back home was a quick one. Or, at least, it seemed a quick one. Silvio slept for the bulk of it, coming to only as they landed at a proper airport. He recognized it as San Diego International by the tall, beige control tower, its white top sticking out like a rubber eraser on a new pencil. He set aside his lukewarm beer and wiped the sleep from his eyes, disembarking and waltzing into the terminal, duffel bag slung across his shoulder.
He'd need to find a cab. Either that, or perhaps he'd call Sarah and have her stop by. He rifled through his wallet, found a few bills there and then made his way through the crowds in search of an exit. His skin was awash in that same old Californian heat he'd grown up in, but in the preceding three months his chemistry had seemingly changed. His bones were different now and he yearned privately for a return to the desolate chill of Iceland. “This job has got you fucked in the head,” he muttered to himself as he burst out through a pair of double doors and ambled towards the curb, hand out in the hop
es of hailing a taxi.
Instead, like a shark tailing its prey, a wide, black sedan swung out suddenly between two yellow cabs and sidled up to the curb. One of the rear windows was lowered, and a familiar face looked out at Silvio as he stood, dumbstruck, in the warm sunlight.
It was Aderhold himself.
“Herr Echegaray,” he began in overly joyous fashion. This wasn't the Aderhold he'd spoken to during his interview. This was the Aderhold everyone else knew, the Aderhold suitable for public consumption. He motioned to the seat beside him, patting it gently. “Care for a ride?”
Silvio gulped. Probably don't have much a choice in the matter... Slowly, he made his way over to the car, pulling open the other door, and slipped into the back seat with his duffel bag dropping down onto his lap. The moment the door was closed, the car lurched on, flying through the congested sea of yellow taxis with utter recklessness. Silvio gripped the edge of his seat and looked nervously to Aderhold, whose mask of warmth had been cast aside in exchange for that sinister look he'd known him to wear. “Where... where we headed?” he chanced to ask.
In way of reply, Aderhold handed him a small packet of papers. Silvio had only to glance at it a moment to find the words “Non-Disclosure And Confidentiality Agreement” written upon the top in imposing boldface type.
“Classified,” said Aderhold simply, in his cold, reptilian way. He then offered Silvio a pen. Apparently he had no choice but to sign.
The sedan swerved onto the highway, its unseen driver hanging a tight left, and screamed up the entrance ramp.
13
A large building surrounded in unmarked warehouses, fenced off by ten-foot high fences and swarming with armed guards. From off in the distance, Silvio thought he could hear choppers, too.
This is the sort of place the government makes people disappear to. This is where they send the really bad guys, where they shake 'em down and torture 'em till the world forgets they ever existed. He didn't want to admit it, but the sight of this massive complex looming large before them set him ill at ease. His hands were growing clammy and his already ragged mind was stressed further. There was no telling what Aderhold was bringing him here for, but that it was for something deathly serious was apparent.
Aderhold didn't say so much as another word during the remainder of their car ride. Upon reaching the first of two gates, the driver flashed some token and was allowed entry. The second gate opened for them after a similar display. And then they were inside, weaving between sturdily-built warehouses and long black sedans that looked not a little like the one Silvio was currently inside of. There were a lot of people there; of that much he felt sure.
Exiting the car at Aderhold's cue, the pair were escorted by heavily-armed guards to the center building, the square, black-bricked edifice that'd caught Silvio's eye even from a distance. Every door in the place seemed to be locked by a sophisticated mechanism, requiring fingerprints and the usage of some particularly long numerical pass code.
And then they were inside. He walked along the polished marble floors, his legs shaking in equal parts trepidation and fatigue. He hadn't had a chance to rest yet, to even see his family. Not a minute into the States and already he was getting spirited away by Aderhold. He might've been annoyed if not for the apprehension that stole over him as they headed for what appeared to be a crowded conference room.
Aderhold led the way, shoving open the door and donning his grand smile for the benefit of the assemblage within. Silvio paused at the threshold, looking inside timidly, before shuffling further and standing just behind the CEO. The room was crammed to the gills with serious-looking men. He didn't even have to look at what they were wearing to know they were government thugs, men positioned at the top of the totem pole. Whatever he'd been brought here for, it was going to be damn serious. Feeling terribly out of place, Silvio hung his head and tried to remain out of view.
One fellow, in a suit, grimaced at him as he walked in. Another, Silvio knew with a single glance at his regalia, was of an impressive military rank. There was enough metal on his uniform to build a small car out of. Others, still, regarded him with bald curiosity or outright scorn. Silvio didn't fit in and it was no secret.
Then, among the sea of faces, Silvio spotted one that looked familiar.
Had it not been Trask looking up at him from across the room, he might've been relieved. Instead he was repelled. The hell is he doing here? He cringed. What the hell am I doing here, for Christ's sake?
Someone in the rear of the room produced a chair for Silvio to sit in, and he plopped down into it without further invitation, eager to escape the scornful glances coming in from all angles. He felt suddenly self-conscious, placed a hand to his face as if to shade his features from view. He didn't appreciate being so scrutinized.
Aderhold spread out his arms and addressed the assembly. “Gentlemen, I bring you the solution to all your ills. Boxer Silvio Echegaray.”
He felt his stomach drop. What did he just call me? Silvio glanced up nervously at the dense group of men, many of whom now leaned in and studied him with curious interest.
Silvio managed to squeak a hello before the first salvo of inquiries began. “And who's this supposed to be?” asked a pudgy bearded man in the far corner, throwing a hand up.
“He's the pilot of the X-001 ARTEMIS,” replied Aderhold, peering back at Silvio. “He is the one who will do battle against the Colossus.”
Doing battle? Against... what, exactly? A Colossus? What the hell was going on?
Sensing the confusion in Silvio's pleading gaze, Aderhold decided to elaborate. “I do apologize. Silvio has been training in Iceland for the past three months, so it is unlikely that he is familiar with what is going on in Michigan.” He paused, looking to Silvio. “Have you heard?”
Silvio's face reddened a bit as he rewound his memory. “Uh... I dunno, I... I remember something about a storm shortly before I left. Something about a town getting hit by a big storm?”
A chorus of sighs and irritated noises circulated about the room. The man with the military uniform done up in medals narrowed his gaze. “You haven't heard about the Tragedy at Nanterre?”
Silvio shook his head weakly. Apparently he hadn't.
The man in regalia introduced himself as General Coleman. “It wasn't a storm that hit that town three months ago.” At the General's order, a number of images were brought up on the conference room's monitors. Some provided video, others still-frames, all of which featured some blackish, enormous thing ambling through lake and forest. Others still showed it destroying buildings and rampaging against military personnel with abandon. “This is the Colossus.”
Silvio watched, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, before cracking a slight grin. He chuckled nervously, glancing around at the assemblage and pointing to the screen. “This is... this is a joke, right? Some intern accidentally pulled up a monster movie on Youtube or...” The firm expressions that met him made it clear at once. They weren't fucking around. This footage was legit, featuring a real, living thing. Silvio shook his head and palmed at his tired eyes, watching the offered footage closely and getting a good look at the beast. It looked incredibly, unimaginably huge. Bigger than anything he'd ever seen before. Bigger than ARTEMIS, even, by a decent bit.
Aderhold picked up where he'd left off. “This is the Colossus, yes, and you will be leading ARTEMIS into battle against it. All other measures short of a nuclear strike have failed. ARTEMIS is mankind's only hope. If this creature should leave the area of Lake Liliana in Michigan, there is no telling what kind of rampage it might go on. Your training has gone very well. I believe you to be ready, and am willing to loan both you and the ARTEMIS unit to the members of this committee as temporary contractors, provided the terms of this contract are maintained.” He produced a small packet of papers from the breast pocket of his jacket, slapping them against one of his palms.
Secretary Nicholson frowned, massaging the bridge of his nose. “We've seen the robot. It's impressive an
d all. But what's so special about this no-name boxer? Why don't we get an Olympic champ in there instead? With a single phone call we could get ahold of a true heavyweight champ. An MMA fighter. Someone stronger.”
Silvio should have been offended, probably, but his first reaction was one of surprise. “Y-you've seen ARTEMIS?”
Aderhold smirked. “Yes, indeed, they have. I had her shipped to the States from Iceland. She arrived just two hours ago. The members of the committee have had a good look at the unit and feel it may be able to take on the beast. Now we must only convince them to put their faith in you.” Aderhold returned to the assembly, pointing to Silvio. “This man has been trained thoroughly. He is the only person thus far to survive the full three months of training. Other test pilots have died after just a few sessions, their minds and bodies unable to take the load. It is a taxing thing, to pilot ARTEMIS, and it takes a special kind of man. I assure you my test pilot is the very best in the world. To attempt to train a fighter of more renown is not only risky, but time-consuming. We mustn't delay, gentlemen. Now is the time to act.”
Bonecrusher: A Kaiju Thriller (The Armageddon Tetralogy Book 1) Page 8
