Controller

by Stephen W Bennett

  “Crap. Good idea. I guess I didn’t want to scratch a paint job.”

  He slung the confiscated rifle across his back using its strap, and climbed onto the hood of a shiny black Mercedes and walked up to the roof, wincing when he heard the pop of metal sagging and rebounding as stepped to the roof. He could see the rectangular plexiglass structure, placed between the service lane and boulevard. He could see through the clear panel at the near end and saw a lone figure standing at the other open end, by the handrails on the up and down escalators. People were standing all around the clear sided rectangular structure facing out and were already three or four bodies deep. A human shield was forming.

  When he jumped down, he noticed that Gorka had started following the crowd. Pushing between people, Grayson caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Mike, we need to get down into the subway tunnels. Over a hundred people already surround him, and these others will join them. We need to get below and come up from behind him.”

  Gorka seemed almost surprised and distracted. “Oh. There you are. I know why he needs us.”

  Grayson caught the man’s use of needs us, but he asked why anyway. Mike pointed at a storefront window. The business sold small electronics and portable televisions. Several display models were turned on, and they each showed two tanks moving up a wide street that looked as if it could be the one they were on, but several blocks away and out of control range. They were pushing cars that blocked the roadway aside or just climbed over and crushed them, as curious people were marshaled away from the affected area.

  The TV image, apparently taken from a portable shoulder camera zoomed to show a silvery bump under the front left side of the turret of each tank. It was a side view, but Grayson suddenly knew why the South Koreans weren’t worried about the NK Controller assuming control of these main battle tanks. The drivers wore a Faraday suit. With the crews of both tanks protected this way, they could get close to the man they needed to nullify. That was a nice word, but the nullification was going to kill many unwilling innocents.

  Gorka started to turn away again, and Grayson realized he was responding to the steady pull of Agent-X’s mental call to the crowd to form around him. The desperate man obviously knew the tanks were coming.

  “Mike, how would we get down into the subway tunnels and get behind him? I don’t know much about subway systems. You’ve been in those in Washington.”

  “Sure. Cross the street. I’ll bet another entrance is on that side.” His mind wasn’t fully under control, but they had a half block yet to cover.

  Grayson pulled on his arm, “Show me.” He didn’t want him getting too close to that transmitter.

  “I’ll meet you there, Dan. The shortest way is this direction.” The man was trying to pull away, as the siren mental call was winning the battle for control of Gorka’s mind.

  “We can get closer to protect him if we go around the crowd.” He wanted to get him below ground, hoping to shield him from the Controller’s radiated thoughts. He could leave Gorka there if he weren't under that mind control.

  That tactic appeared to be working, and Mike let Grayson lead him across the street, through the increasing press of people drawn to their left. So long as Grayson angled slightly in the same direction, he could tack across the flow of bodies to the other side of the street without Gorka pulling too hard to their left.

  There was a matching rectangular station entrance on the opposite side of the street, but it would be impossible to reach that without getting so close that Mike would be irresistibly drawn to form part of the mass of bodies protecting the man at their center. If the people were willing to risk crushing it seemed improbable the tanks would simply run them over. The men in Faraday suits couldn’t climb out of the tanks, or Agent-X would have them attacked. It seemed like a standoff was in the making.

  The rumble of the tanks sounded from behind Grayson, as one of them gunned its engine to push a delivery truck out of its way. That’s when he saw two other silver draped figures protruding from the top of the wide low tank turrets. There was a heavy machine gun mounted atop each, with a shielded gunner, or they were probably the tank commanders. If they got close enough, they could minimize collateral damage when they killed Agent-X, harming as few innocents as possible.

  The Controller employed a couple of responses. One was a hideous measure intended to keep the tanks at their present distance. Horrified, Grayson watched as people hiding behind cars or between buildings rushed to throw themselves in front of the treads of the tanks.

  He watched with revulsion as five men, and two women died, their bodies splattering on the pavement like smashed insects beneath heavy battle tank treads, before the drivers were even aware of what was happening and stopped. More people threw themselves on the street in front of and behind the tanks, and some inserted their heads, arms, or legs through the openings in the wheels and treads below the side shields. The tanks couldn’t move without killing people.

  Part of the horror was because it all happened so silently, without a single shout or scream, even from those crushed. That command to stay silent was what Grayson sensed from the deadly mass control instruction, sent to people previously conditioned to obey, triggered by what was apparently a code phrase. Agent-X surely had some training in how to apply his control before embarking on this mission. No telling how many North Korean political prisoners died while he learned some of his capability.

  The greatly increased broadcast strength of the transmitted group command, which was very specific, acted out only by the people that Agent-X had individually prepositioned well before Grayson and Gorka had arrived. It was triggered when he said the proper phrase to obey his next commands, whatever those words would be. The transmitter in his fanny pack must have at least two power settings because the signal strength had increased. It made sense to Grayson in hindsight, because the current radius of control had seemed slightly less than what Grayson had seen applied to rioters on the stadium cameras.

  Gorka had not budged, despite the greatly increased signal strength, nor other people that were not close to the tanks. That was because they weren’t the minds Agent-X targeted. Grayson now knew he’d allowed his companion to get so close to the source of the controlling mental commands that, at the increased strength, he’d blindly obey just like the others. No matter what he was instructed to do that might end his life. He’d have to abandon Gorka if there was any chance to complete the mission.

  Or, I can leave him unconscious, Grayson thought.

  He unslung the rifle, which had a black plastic stock, or perhaps it was some carbon composite material. It wasn’t as heavy as wood, but a butt stroke to the back of Mike’s head should put him down long enough to use his belt and necktie to secure his hands and feet after he dragged him out of harm's way. He might suffer a concussion, but being forced to fight on behalf of the NK agent didn’t sound like a ticket to survival.

  He didn’t count on Agent-X’s second response coming right then, which he ordered when two foil suited crew members from each tank climbed out to try to remove the people blocking their movements.

  Shoot the men in silver from the tanks!

  Gorka snatched the rifle from Grayson’s hands before he could react and leveled it towards the two tanks, nearly a block and a half distant. It was an unfamiliar weapon, and the safety was still engaged, so he was momentarily thwarted in obeying the murderous command. At least long enough for Grayson to grasp the handguard and the narrowest part of the stock, pushing the barrel up, and trying to twist the butt stock down and away, intending to use it in a sideways stroke to the side of Gorka’s head.

  The former sawmill worker had a strong grip, and he managed to retain his hold on the pistol grip below the safety, and the weapon didn’t pull free. Gunfire was sounding from around them, as uniformed police officers, and men in plainclothes fired towards the tanks, some with automatic rifles like Grayson and Gorka were struggling to control. They were too far for effective pistol use, but that
didn’t dissuade them. They accidentally shot people standing close to their line of sight and hit some of the people blocking the tanks forward motion and quite a few of the people the men in foil suits were attempting to pull away from the sides of the tank.

  Three of the silver-clad figures also dropped, and two then crawled along the sides, staying low to the ground towards the rear, using the people with arms and legs stuck through the tread gaps as human shields, heedlessly catching bullets intended for the tank crew. One silver clad figure, which somehow the reckless gunfire missed, clambered quickly onto his tank and scrambled behind the turret for protection. The heads of the drivers quickly ducked down, and they reached up to pull their hatches closed.

  “Mike, stop!” Grayson still had a good grip on the rifle, but Gorka seemed determined to regain control. His expression didn’t register as angry, and he didn’t speak, but his clenched jaw and white knuckles reflected his determination to obey the constantly repeated Control orders to shoot and kill the tank crews.

  Another crew member was now motionless next to the tank on the right, but one from the left tank made it around to the backside, after failing to pull his now motionless comrade out of the hail of bullets. In a quick move at the top of the tank on the right, the first crewman to get to cover climbed onto the turret and nearly dove headfirst through the open hatch.

  Grayson wasn’t idly watching as all this happened, he had elbowed and head-butted Gorka, to no effect, and decided it was time to get dirtier. He stamped on his partner’s left instep with his right heel and then brought his left knee up in a blow to his crotch. Both had to hurt, but Gorka barely winced at either hit. It was like fighting a movie zombie.

  There was a command to those with guns to rush the tanks and climb on them to kill those inside. Gorka tried to drag Grayson along, but his left foot wasn’t pushing very well, despite his seeming to ignore the probable break. At least ten men ran towards the tank, those with pistols were dry firing, not having been ordered to reload. Being a puppet master didn’t make Oz all powerful.

  Even had they been ordered to reload, assuming they carried spare magazines, it wouldn’t have gotten them into the tanks if they were sealed. That proved to be irrelevant when the turret diver on the right-side tank reappeared standing up. He was directly behind the .50 Browning Machine Gun, which he charged, and fired a dozen rounds into the sky to warn the poorly armed attackers. He may as well have spit on them. The return fire came close, but the shooters were running. The tank commander may have been reluctant, but his next rounds were fired in short three round bursts and proved highly effective. He took down those with rifles first, aiming for their legs. With his weapon, he could blow off parts of their lower legs, and the heavy slugs did just that in two cases. It didn’t prevent those hit from firing off the remainder of their magazines as they crawled or laid on the ground.

  When the gunfire lessened, the wounded man from the left tank dragged himself into the top turret, but he didn’t need that machine gun. The handful of men still running towards the tanks, futilely pulling triggers of empty weapons, were picked off less violently with his and the other commander's sidearm when they tried to climb onto the tanks.

  The armed resistance appeared to be at an end, even if the tanks couldn’t move without killing more civilians. That was until the tank commander saw two men struggling for control of a rifle, just over a block and a half away. The commander lifted his binoculars. The two men were westerners. He’d just been forced to kill Korean police officers, and possibly National Security agents. He wasn’t about to cut these two assholes any slack. Unfortunately, they were mixed in with Korean civilians.

  If one of them gained possession of the weapon and charged the tanks, he’d leave nothing but chunks of red meat to mop up later. He’d already reported what had happened by radio, and now more men in Faraday suits were coming. But not in tanks this time. He’d objected to the pretentious show of overkill with two Black Panthers, knowing what had happened at the stadium with civilians. He was overruled.

  Grayson was tiring against a man that fought like an automaton, who acted as if the pain didn’t exist, and appeared to be on an adrenalin pump.

  He spared a glance at the tanks and saw he and Gorka were under direct observation, by the man that had just used the heavy machine gun to kill the attacking armed police. It didn’t take a genius to see who he wanted to shoot next if they were clear of bystanders.

  That abruptly changed, due to the vagaries of the NK agent. A convoy of vehicles carrying a few hundred armed troops in Faraday suits was approaching from the opposite direction on the boulevard, and that convoy was better able to weave around stalled automobiles and delivery trucks. The tanks had been sent first to draw the limited amount of firepower of the weapons within the affected area.

  Grayson didn’t know this of course, but the Controller knew, perhaps from radio or TV coverage. He elected to retain the protection of the human shields around himself on his side of the street, but those on the other side of the street were redundant. He ordered them to run towards the new threat, and suddenly the protective bystanders around Gorka and Grayson started rushing away from the tanks. Fortunately, Gorka no longer wanted to charge the tanks with the rifle he’d tried to wrest from his partner. Now he wanted to rip the foil suits off the men arriving from the other direction. If the first men encountered were reluctant to shoot unarmed people, they’d soon join them as armed puppet recruits when the civilians tore open their fragile suits. They would then turn their weapons on their fellow suited comrades.

  Grayson ran alongside Gorka because they were moving closer to the subway entrance just ahead and because he still wanted to save the man. Aside from being on the same side, he needed the Compeller’s ability to get out of this mess when he didn’t speak the language. When Gorka was forced to slow down because he was at the rear of a pack of slower moving citizen-puppets, Grayson reached over his head from behind and looped the rifle’s sling strap around his throat. He pulled tight, tugging hard on the rifle, and Gorka fell backward.

  The man struggled to pull the strap free with his maniacal adrenaline fed strength, and Grayson didn’t think he could hold him. Even if he managed to hit him in the head, he no longer had any confidence that the blow would stop him. Nothing appeared to slow the people under that powerful compulsion.

  He pulled up close to Mike’s left ear, to see if words might register. He shouted, “Mike! I can’t save you if you keep fighting me. I need your help to stop this insanity.”

  Gorka slipped his right wrist through the strap by his right ear, releasing the pressure that had nearly choked him into unconsciousness. Grayson knew he’d be able to slip his head down and escape the choking strap.

  The Controller’s order was renewed to his puppets to attack the suited troops with greater urgency. Grayson knew he was about to lose this struggle. He screamed, “Stop listening to that son of a bitch! Ignore him. Think for yourself, Goddamn it!”

  Gorka slipped his head free of the sling as he twisted free and rolled over on his right side. Instead of getting up, he groaned and vomited, curling into a fetal position, but looking at Grayson. He said his first words in minutes of silently struggling with his partner.

  “Were you trying to choke me, damn you? I think my fucking foot is broke, and someone kicked me in the nuts. I hurt all over, and I’m half deaf.”

  Grayson took advantage of the brief period of lucidity. He assumed the Controller must have released his partner for some reason. “I need to get you below ground level, in the subway. That might shield you from the transmitter. You’ve been trying to obey that bastard. Move while he’s quiet.”

  “He’s not quiet. I sense him right now, and he’s just across the street. He wants everyone on this side of the street to go after the soldiers in Faraday suits.”

  Grayson realized the steady pressure of commands to intercept that column was still broadcasting. “You still sense that and know his location?”<
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  “Uhh. Yeah, I do.” Gorka admitted, sounding puzzled. He pointed towards a group of people, running past the plexiglass panels of the closest subway entrance. His finger pointed where Grayson sensed the NK agent stood, invisible behind his five deep shields of civilians that faced outward, on the opposite side of the street.

  “You’re displaying my Immune ability. How?”

  “It seems like the way you described it to us. But I don’t know how. I was choking, and suddenly I became aware of the command to run and attack some men in silver suits, and I knew who sent that and where he was. I knew I needed to ignore him.”

  “That’s what I told you to do. I was trying to stop you from attacking armed soldiers with your bare hands. Like they’re going to do.” He gestured to the people running past them. The number of people was thinning out. He glanced at the tanks and saw the man standing in the turret, hands on his machine gun, looking at him and Gorka.

  “We need to get down into the subway, that tank commander shot and killed the armed police sent to attack them in a suicidal rush. You wanted to join that attack and fought me for control of the rifle. He saw us, and I think he held his fire because we had too many civilians around us. That cover is nearly gone. We have to move!”

  “I won’t be able to stand on my left foot, help me hop.” He retched again as Grayson helped him to stand on his right leg, and together they hobbled towards the plexiglass-enclosed entrance on this side of the street. Perhaps it was because they didn’t move towards the tanks, or level the rifle in that direction, but no machine gun slugs sought them out. Or perhaps it was the risk to people only a short distance downrange. In any case, they reached the top of the escalators safely, and trees along the service road median finally shielded them from view.

  Gorka patted Grayson on the shoulder to get his attention. “Uh Dan, I’m feeling less pain, and I feel the need to go after those silver suits. I can’t tell where he is anymore. Don’t trust me.” He was desperately warning his partner that he was falling under the NK agent’s control again. They were closer to that transmitter, and a signal stronger than even Stiles could generate.