Jericho Johnson: The Gauntlet of Time

by J. A. Stowell

  Then Mr. Stare held up a clenched fist, silencing his chattering platoon. He took a step toward me and I involuntarily took a step back, or would have had I not been up against a concrete wall as it was.

  Mr. Stare was close to me now. The smell that emanated from the suit was a mixture of a little motor oil and a fried motherboard with a hint of gun powder. He stared at me and I returned the menacing stare right back. Although, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t feeling the least bit threatened by me.

  What can I say? I gave it my best shot, I guess.

  His right hand reached for his helmet and I could hear gears gyrating and whining as he did so. It was actually so futuristically nerdy that I got chills when I heard it and instantly knew that if I didn’t get killed by the dude in front of me, I was definitely going to ask him where I could pick up a suit of my own before heading home.

  Mr. Stare tapped a button somewhere on the right side of his helmet and with a resounding hiss and a little cloud of steam, the face part rose from the chin and I got my first real look at his face. When I realized what was happening I had a few last minute thoughts of what I wanted this soldier from 2340’s face to look like.

  And I was not disappointed.

  The first thing I noticed was that his left eye was gone and had been replaced with what my fan boy mind could only discern as a cyborg one, which glowed yellow. The right eye seemed to be normal but there were several dark rings around both sockets, indicating that he probably spent more time wearing his mask than not.

  His skin was ghostly white and his features, which were hard to notice because he seemed to not have eyebrows, were pretty blank. For a Soviet super soldier, I mean.

  Reaching toward me with an armored hand pulsating with red glow, he touched my face, the cold metallic fingers causing me to draw back quickly and banging my head against the stupid wall.

  “Английский язык?”

  Dude, I was really getting tired of all this Russian.

  “Look, I said I don’t speak Russian!” I said in agitation, “English, okay? Savvy English?”

  For those of you who were around at the beginning of my story, you might be thinking of saying, “But Jericho, doesn’t your glove decipher languages for you?”

  I really hope you guys remember that because right then, in the snowy hills of 2340 surrounded by ferocious hell troopers making demands in another language, I, your adorable story-telling amigo, Jericho Johnson, did not.

  I’m not going to waste time telling you how ticked I was at myself when I thought of it way, way later because, honestly, what’s the point?

  (And it wouldn’t have mattered by that time, anyway. But you’ll see that in a minute).

  Apparently Mr. Stare wasn’t too thrilled about my getting short-fused with him if the slamming of his mask and shouting of orders at his men was anything to go by. The seven of them stalked away from me about fifteen feet and turned around, cocking their rifles.

  Death by firing squad seemed to be the only thing on my menu right then and let me tell you, it wasn’t looking appetizing in the least. “Hey, c’mon, guys!” I said, holding my hands up higher in the air, “We’re all warm-blooded mammals with opposable thumbs here, right? Why all the hostility?”

  Then a female Russian voice came from behind them and they all turned away from me.

  Yes. Chloe to the rescue.

  Except that just when I thought little miss Russia had finally come to save my sorry butt, the platoon parted a little and I got a look at what I thought was Chloe.

  My shoulders sagged when I saw it was just another one of the red troopers. The seven men started speaking to her--I guess it was a her, I mean, it sounded like a her, anyway, but the cyborg suits weren’t exactly the most flattering as far as a woman’s figure was concerned.

  Just saying.

  They pointed to me, explaining the situation of the freezing billionaire that they were about to use as target practice. Nodding, the newcomer stepped into line and leveled her rifle at me.

  Wow. I know I’ve already told you guys how much the day was starting to stink but, man, a firing squad? Really? In the snow?

  Gosh.

  I closed my eyes and turned my face away. “I can’t believe my sushi tacos are going to go to waste…” Those were my last words before I heard the first gun fire

  Chapter 13

  My lucky number thirteen. The number just happened to fall on the chapter where I was the most lucky in this tale of awesomeness but hey, kind of cool, right?

  The discharged rifle that made me wince like a five year old getting a flu shot didn’t send flames of pain through my body nor send explosions of concrete whirling around me. The gun kept firing and I glanced at my attackers who were being attacked by the eighth trooper.

  I say attacked, but since they were all focusing on me and all she really did was take two quick steps to the right and spray a hailstorm of bullets into the men lined up like ducklings it was really murder.

  But do you think I cared about what correct wording my salvation needed right then? I most certainly did not.

  The female trooper ran to me and opened her mask.

  “You certainly have a way with people, Jericho.” Chloe said, her face illuminated in red glow.

  “My devilishly good looks that all the ladies die over sometimes make men want to put me against a wall and shoot me to death,” I told her, lowering my arms which had fallen asleep somewhere through my bout with the Russian monsters. “Nice suit, sweetheart. You’re a regular iron maiden.”

  Chloe shrugged and I again heard the clicking and gyrating of gears and small pistons as she lifted a shoulder and I had to fight the urge not to kiss her again. Curse you, inner nerd, curse you to helheim and back.

  “What were those guys?” I asked as I made my way to what was left of the seven troopers. “Ah…” I muttered in disgust, “I see you hit them all in the head. Someone’s been playing Duck Hunt.”

  “Lucky for us.” Chloe said as she came to stop beside me as I squatted down and poked a finger at one of the dead men’s chest plate. “The side of the helmet is the only vulnerable spot on the S-16. Just be glad it wasn’t an S-20, then it would have been our corpses being prodded right now.”

  The red glow that ran through the veins of the suits had faded into blackness within seconds of the occupant’s death. “I’m guessing the S-20 is a lot bigger?”

  “The biggest yet but it still has its weaknesses.”

  Standing, I took my first look at my surroundings. The safe house seemed to be on some sort of hill but I couldn’t be sure, really, because of the lack of visible distance.

  Then I remembered that I was freezing to death. “Say, Chloe. Where does a guy get warm clothes in 2340?”

  Chloe smiled and tapped an ironclad boot against one of the soldiers she’d just wasted. “Let’s find your size, shall we?”

  Instantly I squatted back down to begin my selection, “Best day ever.”

  Inside, the safe house was about as normal as a safe house in the future could be if Chloe’s nonchalance was anything to go by. But to me it was like the fan-freaking-tastic Starship Enterprise.

  I already felt bodacious strutting around in my new S-16 suit, bending and moving my arms and legs just to hear the awesome sounds the suit made. Chloe had sat down at a desk and was tapping away at a flat projection that floated above it whilst I was getting used to my new duds.

  Chloe had given me a rundown on what the S-16 was capable of while she helped me get into one and my smile and eyes grew larger with each word she spoke. I grabbed a random desk and lifted it with one arm. Laughing, I put the desk back down and leaped into the air, touching the drafty ceiling nearly fifteen feet high.

  “This is the greatest day of my freakin' life!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, cutting a perfect no-handed back flip and landing easily. “How fast did you say I can run in this thing?”

  Chloe, who’d no doubt been i
n one of the suits since she was three, didn’t look away from the screen she was frowning at when she answered, “65.6 mph.”

  “BRB.” I told her before darting outside into the snow.

  “Wait, Jericho-!” Were the last words I heard her say.

  I hit the snow-covered ground running and within seconds I was bounding at what I was guessing was 65.6 mph because I couldn’t go any faster. The frigid wind felt wonderful on my face. All the masks were too mutilated for me to wear. I skidded to a halt close to an outcropping of bare trees, touched one, then I was bolting back to the safe house as fast as my suit’s legs would carry me.

  Chloe was still tapping at the flat screen and frowning when I ducked back inside, not even breathing hard. “Have fun?” Was her harsh question.

  “You have no idea,” I said, sitting on a nearby stool then screaming as it crumbled beneath me and I landed on my back.

  Chloe still didn’t take her eyes off the screen as she tapped her metal-knuckled hand on the stone bench that I just noticed was her desk chair. “The S-16s weigh nearly 400 pounds and aren’t currently used in actual battle anymore due to EMP bursts.”

  “What?” I said, rolling over and getting to my feet, “Are you kidding me? If they had, like, ten of these back in 2001, the Iraqi campaign would’ve literally lasted twelve hours!”

  Chloe stopped tapping at the screen and turned her head slightly in my direction, “How old do you think that suit you’re wearing is?”

  I frowned, not expecting that, and gave my suit a glance over. Chloe had left the right forearm piece off of my suit so I could still use my glove with no problems. Opening and closing my hands as I stared at them, I said, “I don’t know… got some wear on it, I guess, so maybe ten years?”

  Chloe’s burst of laughter made me jump it was so sudden. Laying her head on the desk, her black hair phasing through the screen she’d been tapping away at, she continued to laugh.

  “Ok…” I said, seeing that I was wrong, “Twenty years?”

  “Try almost two-hundred,” Chloe said, getting the reins on her funny horse and sitting back up. “What part of currently not used in actual combat did you not understand?”

  “Oh?” I shot at her in agitation, “And I suppose that the seven guys you just hosed down with lead right outside weren’t in combat at all. Maybe they were just taking a leisure stroll wearing armor and toting machine guns.”

  Chloe had once again returned to tapping away at the screen, “Those were just a few rogue fascists with neither motive nor brains. Perfectly feral at best.”

  Hm. Feral at best, she said?

  “Enlighten me, dearest Chloe, about which side you are on in this case. You mentioned the Fascists and the Lions."

  “Bears.”

  “Lions, tigers and bears, whatever,” I muttered, “Anyway, which side are you on?”

  “Neither.” She replied simply, which was starting to really annoy me. What with her being all cavalier about the whole thing.

  “So that makes you…?”

  “Фракция.”

  “Oh my freakin’ gosh, I don’t speak Russian,” I almost screamed, “You speak great English with a hot Russian accent to go with it. Lay off the foreign dialect, woman, I’m begging you.”

  Chloe stood suddenly, “Возьмите место, пожалуйста,” She told me, waving at the bench she’d been occupying.

  Frowning, I crossed the room and sat down. “Look, Chloe, I’m not really mad, ok? There’s really no need to sit me down like a freakin’-“

  “Cмотрите на экран, Иерихон,” She said, pointing at the screen.

  Sighing because it seemed I’d lost the language war, I peered at the screen. “Great.” I said, scowling, “Even the crap you’re making me look at is in Russian. Awesome, Chloe, really.”

  Chloe wasn’t listening because she had started tapping again at the screen with one hand while reaching into a drawer with the other. She finished tapping at the green hologram and produced what looked like a headset from the drawer she’d been rummaging in.

  Chloe then got behind me and started placing the headset on me, all the while jabbering in Russian. “Это - сканер нейрона. Это не использовалось в в то время как, потому что только нет очень многих американцев, оставленных, чтобы нуждаться в том.”

  Nodding just because I thought it would make her shut up, I tried not to sigh while she placed cold metal pads to my temples. Then I felt her hands on my shoulders, “Готовый?”

  Since I figured she’d just asked me if I was ready, I nodded again, “Sure.” I said sarcastically, “Please have a defibrillator on hand just in case I happen to die of excitement…”

  Chloe reached over my shoulder and tapped once somewhere on the screen.

  I felt a small vibration coming from the pads attached to my temples but it wasn’t anything unbearable. Then things started projecting in front of me. It was just one symbol at a time that floated for about five seconds each before being replaced by yet another five second symbol. I was guessing that what she wanted me to do was just stare at the meaningless symbols like I actually cared so that’s what I did.

  The boring tutorial of whatever only lasted around two minutes so I didn’t have to watch very long. Which was awesome because for some reason watching the symbols fade in and out was starting to give me a small headache. “Are we done now?” I asked, rubbing at my left eye.

  “Нет, еще.” Was what she said in Russian.

  But guess what I heard her say?

  “No, not yet.”

  Before I could say what the heck, Chloe tapped the screen again somewhere.

  “Вы только что успешно закончили нервный просмотр русского языка. Спасибо за участие.” Is what projected in front of me.

  And guess what it said?

  “You have just successfully finished the neural scan of the Russian language. Thank you for participating.” I read aloud.

  “Браво, Иерихон.” Chloe said, smiling and clapping her hands together, the resounded clangs of metal ringing around the room. “Bravo, Jericho.”

  I stood. This was incredible. Bowing low, I said, “Twas ничто, действительно. Как я мог взять кредит на чью-либо умную разработку?”

  Ha. I bet now you are wondering what I just said.

  So, just for you, whoever you are, I had said, “Twas nothing, really. How could I take credit for someone else's clever engineering?”

  So yeah, now I was fluent in Russian. Which rocked for real.

  And before moving on to chapter fourteen, let me address the question bouncing around your right-frontal lobe, which is, “Did you learn any other languages while you were there, Jericho?”

  So, just for you, again, I’ll answer your question so you can have some closure.

  噢,但我沒有。 蓬勃發展。 完全是不願意為中國的,是你嗎

  Chapter 14

  “So what’s the plan?” I asked her, scooting over on the stone bench so Chloe could sit beside me.

  “Nothing, really.” She said, accepting the seat. “I’ve been going through the attack reports over the past month trying to decide which route I should take entering the city. I figured you running around in an S-16 for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt anything.”

  Smiling, I went to take off my glove, “You’re the best, Chloe.”

  Then something horrifying caught my eye.

  The screen on my glove was black--something I’d never seen before. Not being like a laptop or anything, in a LOT more ways than one, meant that I had never actually powered the thing down before. I mean, why would I have? It never did anything but glow and look awesome since I unearthed it on my hiking trip of destiny. Thoughts like batteries or charging, in my defense, were lost to whoever
looked at the glove, really, because it just appeared as futuristic as it was.

  But I didn’t know everything about it so maybe my battery had finally gone out.

  Which wasn’t a bad thought, really, because I suppose if it had to run out of juice, running out just before I swapped it for another one was about as awesome of a timing as I could think of.

  “Say, Chloe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I hope you got some D batteries for this thing, ‘cause I’m thinking my Coppertops have finally run their course,” I said, extending my glove to her.

  She glanced at it, gasped, grabbed it, and said in a low cold voice, “Why is the screen off?”

  Frowning and furrowing my brow a little I stated that it was her dad’s gizmo that she’d helped create so maybe she should have asked herself that question.

  Chloe had removed the glove by this time and was freaking big time, man. Jabbing at the screen, Chloe started spouting Russian, which was kind of her thing, you know, when she got really mad or upset. Only this time I was able to understand everything she was angrily muttering and I was one-hundred percent correct on my first analogy of this being some not-so-nice things she had been saying before.

  After not getting any results with her finger jabbing, Chloe raised the dead glove above her head and would have slammed it on the stone table had I not snatched it out of her hands first.

  “Easy, Chloe! Chill out, man.”

  “No!” She screamed, darting her fingers to her glove. Her screen was on, but barely and flickering out quickly.

  Then it was all quiet except for Chloe’s ragged breathing. I looked at my dead glove, “Any ideas?”

  “The EMP grenade.”

  Oh. And I’d thought it was just your average flash-bang grenade. Man, I really needed to get with the times.