by Chris Lowry
“You’re going to die,” Bram spoke through clenched teeth. His fingers traced the butt of the pistol strapped to a panel on his thigh.
“You shouldn’t make a wager when you don’t know the game,” the Templar advised, lacing the fingers of both hands behind his head.
“Is that some Templar mumbo jumbo?”
“Common knowledge,” he shot back. “Do you touch the bug you don’t know?”
“We’re going to crush you like a bug.”
“Really?”
“He’s right,” said Nova, moving to stand opposite of the Templar and Bram. She faced the Computer banks.
“Our benefactors can’t afford to have you around,” she said without looking at him. “You take away too much from our image, you endanger our financing and that’s our existence. I won’t have my Troops disbanded for a single anomaly, no matter how intrigued I may be.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I didn’t think you would be,” she smiled, trying to hide it from him.
“You should be,” said Bram from his other side.
The Computer’s normal hum and clicks went up a level. A collective sigh was released as it spit out page after page of information onto a collection tray.
The Templar wanted to ask what was going on, what was this thing he stood in front of, but he held his silence, maintaining the facade. Questions, no matter the basis in general curiosity, would be seen as a weakness, and he couldn’t afford that.
Death did not scare him, but neither did he desire it. His blood burned to fight, to break free and the battle rage boiled just below the surface. He suspected they would kill him. He knew that this court was a gesture, a throwback to some time when justice really may have been served. But now, he would spend five minutes waiting for a pronouncement, preparing himself for when they would choose to move. They would take his life, but the price paid, he swore to himself, would be tenfold.
Nova moved to the sorting bin, knowing full well what the judgment would be. Webster had made it plain that the Money didn’t like the way it made the Troopers look to keep getting beat by one man, impervious as he was to all their methods. Better to kill him in front of the vid screens, record it for playback over and over to prove the superiority of the Troops and their Jumpsuits.
The room was quiet as she read the verdict to herself.
“You move your lips when you read,” the Templar called out.
She felt herself blush. It was the voice of a classroom bully some thirty years ago, breaking past barriers so old and buried so deep, she forgot they had been erected. One of the Troopers ranged along the wall giggled, setting off a small series of snickers and guffaws.
“He knows,” she thought, trying to see past the glamour he was throwing, wondering if it was conscious of not. “He knows we’re going to kill him and he’s trying to beat it.”
“All men, ready your arms,” she ordered.
She held the paper up and read aloud.
“A series of equations regarding your existence has been fed to the Master Terminal in an attempt to determine what role you would play in our future. We entered in all the available information on your actions, and what we knew of your past, all the vids on your interaction with us in battle and conversations. It has been determined that you are a threat, and no matter what promises you may make, you will remain a threat to our way of life. You represent a parasite that will feed off of our peaceful society and bring about actions that we will regret. Therefore, it is the decision of all parties involved that your existence be terminated to end any threat you may pose.”
She looked around the room.
“The motion has been raised by the Main Terminal, I put it on the floor before you.”
“I second,” Bram said.
“How find you?”
In one voice the Troops shouted.
“We agree.”
“And the sentence death?”
“It is merciful,” the room echoed with their yell.
She held the paper up again.
“The sentence to be carried out-” she faltered. “This can’t be right.”
She looked at Bram.
“It says immediately. We never carry out immediately.”
Bram shrugged. The computer whined and spit out another sheet of paper. She picked it up.
“Ready your weapons,” she called, a hitch in her voice.
Bram stepped away from the Trooper, drawing his pistol.
“This is yours,” he snarled.
“On my go,” Nova said.
The Troops clicked the power cells on their rifles, the draining whine louder than the computer.
The Templar crouched, turning one way, then the other, searching for an avenue of escape or an advantage to fight. He couldn’t be taken on the floor, killed like some animal. But the Commander and her Second were across the room, and every gun was trained on him, ready to take him down.
“Better to die in the air,” he thought.
A crimson jet sliced through the steel floor in front of him, it arced in a tight circle around him. Before he could fly, he fell through the floor.
“Fire,” he heard Nova yell.
The blasts bounced against the ceiling above him.
In the darkness, something grabbed his arm. He turned on it, shoving it into the wall, ready to kill.
“Templar,” choked Robe.
He dropped his fist.
“Come on,” Robe recovered and dragged him through the darkness.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then he followed with ease. Behind him, he could hear bodies drop into the tunnel.
“They’re behind us,” he announced. “Give me a gun. I can fight them here.”
Robe kept moving.
“This is a rescue, not a battle. I’m getting you out of here.”
The Templar followed him into the darkness.
24
The commotion behind the doors caused Darwin to raise his head. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes.
“What could they be doing?” he said to no one in particular.
Bruce strolled casually up and sat beside him.
“Where have you been?” Darwin asked, eyeing the new expensive clothes that clung to the thin assistant’s frame.
“Nowhere,” he answered quickly. “Why do you ask?”
“Nice clothes.”
“I didn’t think you paid attention to stuff like that.”
“New clothes, new car. Let’s just say, my curiosity is being aroused.”
Bruce tried to turn his attention to the door.
“What’s going on in there?”
“They wouldn’t let me in, wouldn’t let me talk to him, but-” he caught himself, waiting, to keep the information about Robe close to his chest.
“But what?”
“If I could have talked to him, I might have been able to determine his frame of mind and give additional insight for them to enter into the Master Terminal. But I’ve been blacklisted, even my terminals have been off lined. I think the decision has already been made and no amount of new information will change it.”
“That’s too bad,” Bruce dropped his head, meaning it more than he let on. If they killed the Templar, his source of information, his fund would quickly dry up and he would find himself back in the same shape as before, broke. Sure, he could write a tell all or two, but how long would that last once the people’s interest moved on to the next subject. He felt like crying.
“I have attempted to interface through three separate networks,” Darwin continued. “And each of them are closed to my specific entry.”
“Let me try,” Bruce took the laptop away from Darwin and keyed in a command and password.
“Any luck?”
“Nope, it’s closed to me too. What can we do?”
He passed the computer back to the Doctor.
“Wait,” he sighed.
25
The tunnel stretched in front
of them, lit only by an occasional wire covered light scattered indiscriminately in the low ceiling.
“What are these?” the Templar asked.
“Utility access tunnels,” Robe was out of breath.
The Templar held him up. He wasn’t even sweating, Robe noticed with envy. He on the other hand, felt like a gorilla was sitting on his chest, crushing the air out of him. He wished he would have worn his Suit. He could have used the energy reserves.
“We can go,” he started out. The Templar fell in step behind him.
“If I had my Suit, I wouldn’t need to rest,” he explained, gasping.
“If you had your Suit, it would slow us down,” the Templar countered. “Like them.”
Somewhere in the tunnels behind them, they could hear the slow progress of the Troops, hampered by their big Suits in the small spaces. They banged against the ceiling, the walls, fell to the floor clanking and yelling as they forced through the pipes and wires after the two men.
“Where will this take us?” the Templar asked.
“Pip’s supposed to meet us with a car. From there we’ll-”
The wall beside him imploded, collapsing in a pile of rubble, eclipsing the tunnel with a dust cloud.
“Troops!” he screamed.
The Templar hauled him past the gaping hole, ignoring the plasma blasts cutting through the silt filled air. He shoved Robe ahead, hiding him with his broad back.
“Go! Go!”
They ran away. Robe had to dig deep to find the strength. He wished for pain dampers now, and pure oxygen. But he vowed he would at least keep up with the man behind him. He ignored the burn in his legs, the stitch in his side that cut him whenever he took a deep breath. He ran until he collapsed. The Templar picked him up and carried him across his shoulders.
“Which way?”
“Turn here,” Robe directed them down a small passageway. It was a dead end.
The Templar dropped him, turning to fight. The floor opened up underneath them. They fell through a slick chute, the stench stealing the air now, making a full breath impossible. The angle was steep and they gathered speed on the glass smooth walls. The ride was over fast. They fell onto a conveyor belt carrying them toward an edge just out of vision.
The Templar was up as he landed, ready to fight.
“What-”
“Garbage chute,” Robe climbed up beside him, leaning against his strong arm. “Pip should be . . .”
“Robe!”
“There,” he pointed through the steam and dimness to a small figure standing in a hover car at the end of the conveyor belt.
“What’s down there?” the Templar pointed at the edge, where garbage and refuse from the building was dumped over the side.
“That’s an alley. Like it or not, we’re outside.”
Outside, freedom but the Templar remembered the Mob. And it was dark.
“What about the Mob?”
“No worries,” Robe said, but his face told a different story. He could see the Templar didn’t believe him.
“They pick over the garbage for food. But they shouldn’t worry about us.”
“And if they do?”
“We have you,” said Robe. He leaped from the conveyor belt to the waiting car. Pip clapped him on the shoulder and jumped in the back seat.
“You stink,” she said.
The Templar landed in the passenger seat beside Robe.
“Buckle in,” shouted Robe. “It’ll only be a minute before they find out where we went. They’ll be here.”
There they were, Troopers in Jumpsuits running up the belt, firing blaster rifles at them.
Robe closed the cockpit canopy and shot the car up like a rocket, carrying it out of range. He leveled off just above the skyline.
“It just got dark,” he said. “We have to stay airborne for nine hours.”
He checked the fuel gauge.
“We should have enough,” said Pip. “What next?”
Her voice was small in the backseat. She was just over seventeen. In the Templar’s world, a seventeen-year-old was a seasoned warrior or farmer who knew how to fight. But in this world, she seemed so young.
“The Suits make them soft,” he thought.
“Next is up to you,” Robe said to him. “We saved your life, but we can’t go back. I hope you know what that means.”
The Templar nodded. If they fought again, these two young warriors would fight against their friends, men and women they shared their life with.
“Keep us out of a fight for now,” he proposed. The voice of Eleven called to him, offering advice from the grave.
“Find the high ground, measure your enemy. Fight, or move on.”
He could no longer distinguish the voice in his head from the voice in his heart. Somehow, he determined, they must be the same. “Or at least both intent on keeping me alive,” he thought.
“Take me somewhere I can contact Darwin,” he said.
“We can do that from here,” Robe motioned to the on-board computer.
“Can they monitor?”
“You’re right.”
“We can go to the Academy,” Pip said.
“Can the track us?” he asked.
Robe pointed to a hole in the dashboard.
“Pip disabled the device.”
“Will they expect that?” she asked.
“We move as if they expect everything,” the Templar said. “You’ve got eight hours. Tell me the history of your world.”
26
Nova stood on the end of the conveyor belt watching the after streaks of the hover car recede in the distance. Bram stalked up behind her.
“Want to tell me what happened?” she growled.
“It was Robe,” he said simply.
“Impossible,” she said the word, but in her heart she knew it was the truth. Robe had betrayed them. A small part of her cheered him, welling up inside of her with the strong conviction that what he was doing was right, no matter what the money men or Main Terminal thought. But that wasn’t important now. He would be killed, alongside the Templar he helped rescue, once they were caught. He was doing what he believed in and she hated what she had to say next.
“Track them. Shoot them down.”
Bram waited a moment, giving her time to reconsider. They had a lot invested in Robe, not just the training, but an emotional attachment that comes from being a unit that functioned as one. To order his death couldn’t be an easy thing. But she said nothing to countermand, so he turned and walked away.
“Wherever the Hell you are going,” she said to the sky where they disappeared. “Get there and get out of sight. And for all it’s worth, stay there.”
27
“They’ve escaped.”
“What?”
Bruce shook the Doctor awake from an enticing dream where he was a Viking raider straddling the bow of a mighty ship. The young man was flush with excitement.
“They’ve escaped. I don’t know how, I mean they won’t give any details, but the prisoner got away somehow.”
“So this is my signal,” Darwin sat up, adjusted his coat and gathered his satchel.
“What did you say? What signal?”
A Trooper standing by the door looked at them sharply.
Darwin covered Bruce’s mouth with his hand.
“You young people really have to learn to shut up.”
He led Bruce down the corridor to the lift.
“What time is it?” he looked at his watch.
“Still dark outside. Where are we going?”
“The Commander gave me quarters here. I’m going there. You might as well come along, you can’t go home now.”
Bruce stood beside him in the lift, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Why are you so happy?” Darwin asked.
“He’s alive. They didn’t kill him.”
“I thought you wanted him dead. Justice served and all that.”
“Not dead. No, I never wanted him dead. Mayb
e punished, hurt a little, but never dead,” he adjusted the bandage on his arm.
“They kept us in the dark for how long?”
“I don’t know. You were asleep all afternoon. No one came in or left or even said anything. I noticed a lot of radio activity from the Troopers watching the hall but I couldn’t hear it.”
“I wonder how they did it?” the Doctor said aloud without meaning to.
“Who?”
“What? Nothing, thinking out loud.”
“You have a theory,” Bruce leaned the audio recorder in his pocket closer, clicking it on. He hoped Darwin would offer some insight.
“He escaped from a room full of Troopers with guns pointed at him. The man is purely magnificent.”
“So you’ve said.”
“He obviously had to have some help. But now what will they do? There is nowhere to go in the city, and no helping hand to turn to.”
“Lost and forlorn, what a great story,” said Bruce.
“What do you mean?”
“This is going to be a great story to tell my kids. Hell, it’s a great story to tell in the bats. Do you know what the info-zettes are going to run on this? The vids will be crazy with footage and docudramas. You ought to sell your rights.”
“Preposterous. I would sooner shoot you than sully my name.”
Bruce stepped away from Darwin, not sure if he would act it out.
“It’s not so bad. I hear the pay is great.”
Darwin eyed him dubiously.
“I don’t need pay. I don’t need a thing they have to offer. And if you’re as smart as you claim to be, you’ll stay away too.”
Bruce nodded.
“Sure, whatever you say, Doc,” he agreed, but he had no intention of following through. The dollar signs were ringing in his head and with no outside vids allowed into the Trial, his was the only testimony. No matter that he would have to embellish the parts he missed, namely from the time the Templar walked through the door. Who would dispute him? It was time to ask for a raise on his next by-line, he decided.
Darwin led him into a small room with one bunk in the corner. The bed looked soft and inviting, and Bruce realized how tired he was. He never how exhausting waiting could be.
