by Bill Denise
Alexander watched as the room descended into pandemonium, while the smile Dr. Baksa’s simply beamed.
Vindicated. He thought, she’s been completely vindicated. Then his thoughts turned to super-powered soldiers and how he could use them most effectively.
**** ****
Damon walked into his room after his shift in the kitchen and immediately noticed the shower running. How many times can she shower? He thought in exasperation. After only a few weeks with his new “roommate” he was about ready to kill her. He laid down on the bed and waited for her to finish.
Things were not going very well, and Damon was sure Michael had intended it that way. From the very first night, Damon was fighting off her advances, but eventually she got the idea. He fondly recalled the look on her face when he made her sleep on the floor. At least I gave her a blanket, too bad I didn’t have an extra pillow, though! After a day or two, when she realized he was serious she became cold and quiet; which he found was a welcome change from her normal chatter.
The worst part was how distant Andrea had been ever since Melanie showed up. Damon went from being her star student to her biggest failure in the matter of a couple hours. He couldn’t bear the look of utter disappointment on her face. Deep down, he always hoped that he and Andrea would be together. Part of him realized it was a somewhat childish dream, but recently it had seemed possible. At least until he had made the fateful decision to bring Melanie home. He replayed the events of that day again and again, trying to figure out where it went so wrong. He couldn’t find a way to make it turn out differently, short of killing Melanie in cold blood.
It’s been almost long enough for me to approach Michael and ask that she be moved elsewhere. Surely I’ve learned the lesson he intended. He can’t expect me to keep her here forever, can he?
He sat up with a start when he realized he had fallen asleep. Glancing at the clock he counted twenty minutes since he came into the room and Melanie was still in the shower. Is she trying to get us both kicked out? He thought incredulously, and then it dawned on him that she might be trying that very thing!
Damon stormed into the bathroom, “Melanie! This has got to . . .” he stopped, looked around the small room and drew back the shower curtain.
Melanie was not there.
Damon’s mind raced, and his thoughts spun in ineffectual circles. One conclusion appeared amid the confusion, but he couldn’t believe it. He desperately tried to come up with another answer, but it was futile.
She’s a spy, he thought, his mind clearing, she’s gone back to her gang and she’s going to bring them here. I showed her the way, she’s collected intelligence for weeks and now she’s executing the plan! Damon bolted for the door.
“ANN—DREE—AAAAA!” he yelled as he tore down the hallway to the training rooms where he knew he’d find her. He burst through the doors and interrupted her in the middle of a class.
She met him with stony glare that could melt steel, but she quickly softened when she sensed his distress.
“Andrea! She’s gone, Melanie is gone, she left the shower running and she’s gone!”
He watched her eyes dart side-to-side in small jerky motions as she digested what he said. Finally she took on the look of determination and started into action.
She grabbed his shoulders and held them firmly. “Demon—we need you now more than ever. Forget everything that has happened and focus on this: chase her down. You know she’ll have to take the path you showed her on the first night, it’s her only safe way. Track her, catch her—”
“—and kill her.” Damon finished the sentence for her.
“Yes. Take a minute to arm and armor yourself. You’ll be alone until I can get the troops mobilized, which will take at least fifteen minutes. You can do it, I have faith in you.”
She quickly rose up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
“Be careful,” she said simply, “and stay alive until we get there.”
“Will do, boss,” he replied simply before turning to run for the armory.
After barely a moment to watch him go, Andrea turned to her students. “You heard, call for the muster and bring everyone here. NOW!” They scattered in controlled chaos.
Damon arrived at the armory, and the woman on duty never questioned his authority to take whatever he needed. He put on a set of heavy gloves, a plastic-armored vest to protect his ribs, and a lightweight helmet. He finished his preparations with a set of side-handled batons, and a couple long knives. The woman handed him a tracker, one of only two that Family owned. The radio device would allow Andrea and the others to find him easily.
“You’re a genius,” he said to the woman and kissed her on the forehead. He then took off at a sprint to try and catch his little spy.
When Damon reached the door where he had brought Melanie in barely a month prior, he called to the guard to find out what he knew. When no one answered the hail, Damon’s blood grew cold. He spent a precious minute looking around the area and finally found the body of a guard who he didn’t even know; his throat had been slit. The little bitch is armed, too. That’ll make it easier to kill her at least.
He wished there was time to do something for the guard, but his death was best avenged by stopping Melanie. He took off as fast as he could manage down the trail. Along the way he kept a careful eye for the telltales that would indicate her passage. Everyone trained for patrol memorized the myriad different trip wires and other indicators that would alert them to the passage of someone who did not belong. Therefore, since Damon was finding most of them disturbed along the way he could be sure that she had passed through here. The debris in the area was also carefully laid out to allow a path if you knew where to look. With training and practice, one could navigate the path quickly and quietly; someone unfamiliar with the route would be slowed significantly, and Damon hoped it would be enough for him to catch up.
He only allowed himself a single distraction from his chase. He looked up for a second as he passed by the beacon, and sure enough, it was still lit.
After everything I did for her, everything I sacrificed, she can just throw it away like this. The whole thing was a scam, and I played into it like the perfect idiot. His anger grew while he ran, and it was easy for him to channel all of it toward her, preparing himself for the inevitable fight to come. Quick and decisive, don’t even let her speak, he counseled himself, although he doubted he’d have any trouble killing her this time.
He didn’t stop running until he reached an old collapsed water tower that he needed to cross over to the next building. Since this was off the path and beyond the perimeter, there were no more easy signs of her passage to follow. Judging from her route so far, he assumed she was returning to where he had first found her.
Crossing over quickly and without incident, he looked down into the alleyway where he first saw her. He concentrated on controlling his breathing. His hearing would not be effective as long as his breath was ragged and heart was hammering.
It took a full minute to calm himself well enough to really try to listen for signs of life. Sure enough, he heard voices, although he could not discern their source. He circled around the alleyway, staying on the rooftops in order to keep what little advantage he held.
Once again, he praised the wisdom of the woman at the armory as he turned on his beacon. Because of her forethought, this little device saved him from worrying about leaving a trail of signs for Andrea to follow, and that could very well save his life tonight.
He watched from his new vantage point as a few men and women came out of a nearby building to gather in the alley. Kyndra’s concubine, he thought as Melanie came into view, bantering and laughing with her friends.
He could barely contain himself, but he remembered his training and waited to make a tactical assessment.
Chapter Three
Renard stood as Avelina entered the room.
“Thank you, my dear, for meeting me in private,” he said as he led her to a table
set for two.
“Of course, Reverend, it’s really my pleasure.” She looked pointedly at Jeffrey Allen sitting in the corner. “And good evening to you, Jeffrey.”
Jeffrey simply nodded and smiled, then returned his attention to the screen in his lap.
“My dear Doctor,” Renard began, “I must congratulate you on your amazing breakthrough. You were right about the D-SAP material; you always said it would pay off someday. Please accept my extremely late apologies.”
“Thank you, Reverend. I must confess to an unhealthy level of self-indulgent pleasure and great feelings of satisfaction. Kyndra please forgive me.” She and Renard both made the ritual motion of right hand to heart and bowing slightly.
Renard replied, “I’m most positive that you are forgiven. And the feelings are justified, you have a right to be proud of your work.”
Two waiters entered and placed salads in front of them, made some adjustments to the settings on the table, filled their water glasses, and disappeared through a side door.
Renard continued after they left, “There are so many questions I want to ask about the program, I’m not sure where to begin. And I didn’t want to ask in front of the others, as I do not trust their ability to keep a secret this big.”
“I’m happy to answer anything for you, Reverend. I also agree with your assessment of the other Council members—with all due respect,” she hurriedly added.
“Of course, of course, and I know I can trust you with the sensitivity of what we are about to discuss.” He chewed his salad thoughtfully while he considered the years she had spent in the Kyndraist educational system. At times like this, he hoped the loyalty training was strong enough. “So you’re ready to actually begin the operations to create this man-machine, super-powered soldier?”
“Oh yes, all we need is a volunteer. We call it the Human Implanted Enhancement program, by the way.”
“Do you have anyone in mind to become the first implanted human—whatever?”
“Well, we haven’t screened anyone yet. I imagine that we will be able to find many volunteers in the ranks of the armed forces.”
Renard set his fork down on his now-empty salad plate, leaned forward, and looked at her intently. “Avelina,” he said earnestly, “you must listen to me very carefully. If this program is to work at all, we need to have complete secrecy. If anyone finds out about a super-soldier assassin running around killing in the name of the Council, we will have an immediate revolt, probably in all systems.
“Therefore, if we are going to keep this secret, we need to get our volunteer from elsewhere. We must find someone who will not be missed or noticed at all.”
“Street gangs,” Jeffrey said, startling both Renard and Avelina.
“What?” Renard asked. Avelina had to turn in her chair to look at him as he continued.
“Street gangs. They raise some of the toughest fighters around, and they keep no records, so we could snatch one of their best fighters and no one would ever know.”
“Jeffrey,” Renard said formally, “once again you humble me with your quiet genius! Can you make the arrangements?”
“Certainly. It will be easy.” He tapped away on his screen.
Renard returned his attention to Avelina, confident that Jeffrey would set up a program that would yield results quickly. “When could you begin work?”
“As soon as we have a patient. All of the D-SAP scales have been produced, the structural support system is designed, and weapons systems have been chosen and tested. We are ready to move forward.”
“I must commend you yet again on the thoroughness of your preparations.” He looked up as the waiters returned and in a flurry of activity cleared the salads and presented the main course.
Renard continued between bites of his food, “Let us return to the discussion of secrecy. I trust very few people with a secret this important. How many individuals know about this program—and I mean know anything about it? Scientists, doctors, biolectricians, guards, students, custodians; we need to know the names of everyone associated with the project so we can ensure their commitment to secrecy.”
“Reverend,” she said in a tone that allowed no dissent, “I know exactly what you are saying. You’ll use this list to round up everyone you intend to imprison or kill.”
“I . . .” Renard sputtered.
Avelina held up placating hands, “Please, do not be offended,” she looked him directly in the eyes, “but do not try to deny it.”
For a long moment they stared at each other when Renard finally looked down and said, “I would NOT kill them! But you’re right, I want to hold them, and it would be patronizing to try and tell you otherwise. Really, I intend it for their own safety, you must believe that!”
“Good, thank you. For this very reason I have labored long and hard nearly in exile, to make sure the list would be as short as possible.” She pulled a mini-screen from her pocket and tapped out a few commands. “I have sent the list to Jeffrey, but I have one caveat.”
“That is?”
“I still need all of these people in order to finish the project, AND I will need them in the future if we are to make improvements to the original design.”
Renard breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, glancing over to Jeffrey, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Of course, my dear. You can keep your small team intact, but if I get suspicious of anyone, they will be removed from the project.”
“Thank you, Reverend,” she said with obvious relief.
Renard inclined his head, “Truly, I’m merely here to serve you. May Kyndra smile upon our venture as we bring revival to the Consensus.” They both made the ritual gesture before Renard followed up with, “Now let’s enjoy this wonderful meal!”
In the background, Jeffrey was reading initial reports from his investigations of the people on the list.
**** ****
Damon decided that he was prepared to take on the group all at once, even though he counted thirteen targets, plus Melanie. They were positioned perfectly for him to drop down and use surprise to take out at least three before they could react. They were lightly armed, so he was not concerned about ten to one odds. Besides, with a little luck I could knock out four or five in the initial attack.
He cinched down the straps of his armor, making sure nothing would come loose during the fight. He gripped one baton in each hand by the side handle, oriented with the long end running down his forearm and the short end sticking forward. Moving to the edge of the roof directly over his targets, he dropped into the alley.
With uncanny precision, he landed directly on the shoulders of the nearest victim, his one-hundred-plus kilograms breaking bones as his landing was nicely cushioned. Spinning quickly to take advantage of the small window of opportunity, he twisted the batons around to their full length and tried to hit as many heads as possible before snapping them back into the original guard position. From there he punched into one man’s throat, another’s sternum, and finally hit a woman full in the face.
Now his remaining targets were backing out of range, so he took a moment to assess the situation. Six down! Better than I ever hoped for! He felt a surge of adrenalin at his good fortune. However, more had come out of the building and he still faced ten opponents, now scattered around him.
Finding the largest of them, he rushed in, blocking a heavy blow with the baton on his left arm and driving the other upward under the man’s ribcage. The big target went down and Damon rolled to his right, taking a glancing blow from a crowbar to his helmet.
The wielder of the crowbar was off balance from the swing and Damon easily dispatched him with a quick strike to the back of the head. The other gang members tried to surround him, but he moved too quickly for them to get organized.
More men and women came out of the building, but Damon was no longer counting, and he no longer cared. In fact, he was laughing. The gruesome violence he administered gave him a feeling of release, letting all of his anger and pain flow out into t
hese nameless victims.
Melanie had disappeared.
**** ****
“Cap, we’ve got a disturbance just inside the Ruins, Sector 94, I think it aligns with that directive that came down this morning.”
The captain looked up from his screen and said, “Uh huh, send it over.”
A window popped up in the corner of his screen showing the view from a Dragonfly hovering over the scene of the disturbance. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus; he really hated night shifts.
He watched the drama unfold for half a minute and saw one large man take down an easy half-dozen attackers while more kept coming. Sitting forward, he gestured to enlarge the window for a better look. As the seconds ticked off and more assailants dropped, he realized he had found a legitimate target.
“Do we have any units nearby?” he asked, afraid the target might be lost in the onslaught.
“We got two, but they’re 2 minutes out.”
“Dickson’s death.” Too long! “Drop the Dragonfly in and gas 'em. Hurry! And get those units moving fast, I want them there in 1.”
The controller didn’t reply, but immediately took manual control of the Dragonfly. She flew it in close to the fight scene, and prepared to dump gas on the whole area. It would put everyone to sleep and give them a headache, but otherwise it was harmless. She also sent the location and the orders to both units in range.
**** ****
Damon was bruised and battered, but he hadn’t taken any serious hits. The pile of inert bodies around him was beginning to hamper his movements, and he wondered if these chumps would ever stop coming out of whatever hole was spawning them.
Movement caught his attention over the heads of his attackers and he saw a small, thin bodied aircraft descending. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but when the front opened and gun muzzles emerged, he didn’t need to know anything more.
