by Chris Lowry
“So we sacrifice one man, for the sake of a chance. And there are no guarantees on that.”
“My dilemma,” she held up her hands and paced around the room. She stopped behind his chair and stared at the portrait. “I thought about taking the Suit myself.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Don’t you think I know? I’ve been trained to lead these Troops, I can’t-”
The door slid open behind her. She turned, Bram leaped across the room, crouching.
Webster stepped through the door, looking at both with surprise.
“You are fast,” he told Bram. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
He sauntered across the room to her chair, and sat down, propping his feet up on the desk.
“Make yourself at home,” Nova said, dropping her hand to the pistol at her belt.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he grinned.
Bram stalked to the corner of the desk. He fought down an urge to reach across the ebon surface and crush the throat of the smiling man.
“We’re in a meeting,” Nova said.
“I think I know what it’s about,” Webster said. “I hear your prisoner was alive and maybe coming for some friends of his. I took the liberty of making arrangements. Ju?”
A large figure stepped into the room. It was a prototype Suit, moving with a fluid grace that belied its size.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Bram said.
“I am content, Second Commander,” Ju’s once animated voice now had a flat metallic ring to it. “Mr. Webster offered me a chance to experiment with a new Suit and work for my Team. You approve, Commander?”
“Mr., see, that’s respect,” said Webster.
Nova reached across the desk and jerked him out of her chair by the lapel of his coat.
“How long has he been in that?”
“Too long for you to disassociate. He’ll lose it if you pull the plug.”
Nova growled. Webster struggled to free himself from her grip.
“How dare you-”
“I gave him a choice,” Webster defended himself, squirming.
“Ju? Did Webster tell you about the side effects?”
His face remained neutral, but his metallic voice held a tinge of worry.
“What side effects?”
“Did Webster tell you about losing your identity in the interface?”
“What does that mean?”
“You won’t be you anymore,” Bram said. “The Computer part of the Suit will integrate itself with you.”
“I am stronger. I am faster. I am improved.”
Bram put his hand on the young Trooper’s shoulder. The metal was cold and unyielding.
“But you’ve lost-”
“I’ve had him in the Suit for two days, he doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” he disentangled himself from Nova’s grip and moved by the door. “The Computer has accessed his current status and deemed it favorable. Sorry to go over your head Commander, but it’s for the best.”
“I hate you,” she said.
“Love, hate, what does it matter. When I have the prisoner killed, the Council will see how ineffective you are and instate me.”
He bolted for the door.
Bram launched himself, Ju reached out and caught his leg in midair.
“I am sorry Sir, I cannot let you chase him.”
Bram dangled off the ground. Webster stopped at the door.
“You like? A little bodyguard program I threw in at the last minute.”
He ran out of the room.
“Stephen!” Nova yelled.
Stephen stepped in the doorway, holding Webster up by one arm. The man squirmed and squealed, but could not get free.
“You wanted him?”
Nova pulled her hand off the intercom.”
“Bring him in.”
Ju advanced on Stephen.
“I am sorry Commander. I cannot let you harm this man.”
She stood in front of Ju and placed both hands on either side of his faceplate, searching his dead eyes.
“What is your primary program?”
“Obey the Commander.”
“And if that program violates a secondary command?”
“Disregard the secondary command.”
“Right. I order you to hold this man until I give you permission to release him.”
Ju dropped Bram and took Webster from Stephen. He held him in a bear hug, squeezing him tight.
“Let me go. I’ll tell the council-”
Nova leaned in close, touching his nose with hers.
“You’ll tell them nothing,” she threatened.
“Will you need me for anything else?”
“Thank you,” she dismissed Stephen.
Bram curled up in a ball on the floor, massaging his ankle.
“That grip,” he moaned. “Your strength must have doubled with that Suit.”
“Current estimates are one hundred ninety five percent increase over your model of Suit, sir.”
Bram shook his head.
“You got your volunteer,” he said to Nova. “You don’t have to use the vial now.”
Nova looked at the Trooper standing against the wall, acting as shackles.
“At least you would have had the choice. You’re going to hurt Webster.”
“You can’t prove anything,” he gasped, struggling to draw a deep breath. “There are no records.”
She pointed to the cameras running in the corners of the room.
“I’m not worried,” he said, half laughing.
“You better be,” she answered.
66
The Templar sat up quickly, wincing at the rush of pain in his left arm. He palmed the sleep from his eyes, and searched the empty room, brain racing to discover what changed in the last few seconds to wake him.
He shifted his legs over the side of the bed, raised himself slowly, testing his strength. The engines had stopped. His knees were wobbly, but blood brought back feeling, although it was mostly aches and pains of disuse. He had only been down for two or three days, but his system needed more time to recover. The infection on top of the punishment from fighting was taxing him beyond endurance. He flexed his muscles, invigoration them. Still, duty called, and his body had no choice but to be ready. If the engines were stopped, they must have arrived or were going to be attacked. H heard no guns, or the roaring whisper of hover cars, so he assumed the latter.
Bruce slid through the door, startled by the Templar.
“You’re up.”
He nodded to the boy.
“The engines have stopped,” he said.
Bruce went to a locker in the corner and rummaged around. He stood up with a small rifle.
“We met the harbormaster,”
“Have they boarded?”
Bruce shook his head.
“He’s new. Reanna expects trouble.
The Templar pointed to the small gun, laughing.
“And you’re are going to fight?”
Bruce blushed, lowered his head and shrugged.
“I don’t know how to fight. I was taking this to Pip, just in case she needs it.”
The Templar nodded and motioned Robe ahead of him through the door. He followed slowly, allowing his legs to get used to the exercise, feeding them with blood and fresh oxygen.
“Are we going to fight?” he asked Bruce, wanting answers before they reached the deck.
“I don’t know. The guy wants money, lots of it. And Reanna thinks he’ll call us in, no matter what. I think she might be right.”
“Why?”
“I got a feeling about him. He doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Trusting your instincts now?”
Bruce looked over his shoulder sheepishly.
“I don’t know. I mean, we’re back home now, and I don’t have to stay with you, right?”
“I was planning on leaving you here,” the Templar confirmed.
“But when we were working
the other night, I felt like I was part of the team. I’ve never felt that way before,” he stopped in the narrow corridor, turned to face the Templar in the dim light. “I mean, I worked with Darwin for almost a year, and with other professors before him. No matter what I contributed, even if it was just getting coffee so they wouldn’t disturb their train of thought, or feeding them equations they didn’t have time to work out, they never gave me credit. I don’t want fame, or my name in a book. But I would like a thank you every so often. I’d like to know that what I’m doing mean’s something, that it’s not all worthless. I felt that last night. I was part of something, I was helping to save two lives and even if I am on the wrong side of the law, it doesn’t matter. I’m doing work that means something, and it doesn’t just pay the bills. I feel like I matter.”
The Templar watched his passionate speech with an indifferent face. He reached out with a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
“You do matter,” he said in a low voice, pushing past him to go on the deck.
It was enough. He could almost feel the loyalty, like a warm wet cloth exuding off Bruce. Now the boy would try anything, learn anything because he mattered to the Templar, mattered to the team. Eleven would be proud. That was the hardest part of leader training, learning how to recognize the moments when they came, moments customized to make an individual member feel indispensable to the team, fostering a stronger bond. Bruce just gave him one such moment, and he responded. Bruce would follow, and take orders, and die if needed, all because he mattered to the team.
The Templar stopped in the doorway, staying in the shadow. The sun was still high, but setting. No one looked particularly concerned, though darkness would bring the Mob, even to the water’s edge, hunting for prey. He watched Reanna and the harbormaster gesticulate wildly. They were yelling at one another, but the stiff breeze off the Mainland carried their words away from him.
Pip flanked Reanna, her hand hovering over her pistol grip. She was watching the two hard looking men who came to guard the harbor master.
Suddenly, Reanna reached out, grabbed the harbormaster by the neck and twisted. He flipped to the ground, gasping for air and flopped about like a fish out of water.
The Templar laughed out loud.
The noise distracted the two guards. They paused, guns half drawn. Pip shot them, one right after the other.
Reanna turned to the Templar.
“So, the dead walk?”
He ambled slowly out to them. Pip turned the bodies over, relieved them of their weapons and kicked the bodies overboard. The once silver armor of her Suit was dull and dirty, carbon scored from plasma blasts and caked with dried mud from the island. She had an assortment of weapons slung over her back and shoulders, cast offs from encounters in battle. She was a far cry from the shiny, elegant creature that first watched him in the fifth level cell.
“It will take more than some little bug to kill me,” he bragged. “You look less like a Trooper every day.”
Pip looked at herself.
“After their actions at the village, and with you, I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” she shot back.
In contrast to Pip’s dirty, but fully covered person, Reanna wore little. Her torn and ragged clothes from the island had changed color, and maybe shape, though it was hard to tell, there was so little of it. She still looked like a jungle princess, though her feet were now covered with long legged boots that came to her knee. Two spears were crossed on her back, but she had added a pistol to her hip and a rifle across one shoulder.
“Why did you kill him?” the Templar touched the dead body with his toe, edging him to the side of the boat.
“He was going to call us in.”
“That’s what Bruce said,” he nodded to Bruce standing a few steps behind Pip.
She turned to him and smiled.
“Good eye Brucy.”
He smiled, trying to look tough. They all laughed at the effort.
“Will someone miss him?” the Templar asked.
Reanna sat on a crate lashed to the deck.
“Unless he has more guards, no. We can moor here, for tonight at least. After that?” she shrugged.
“The plan shouldn’t take more than a night.”
“What is your plan?” Pip asked, pushing Reanna to one side and planting herself on the crate.
The Templar watched them with a smirk.
“Funny how two enemies quickly became friends under the right set of circumstances,” he thought, his mind drifting to Nova. He shook her image out of his head, regaining his focus.
“We will go to Darwin’s lab. Bruce has what he needs there. Then, we will go to Headquarters and find our teammates. We should be back at the boat in the morning.”
“That simple?” Reanna asked derisively.
“Why complicate matters,” he said, resting against the rail. “I am not strong enough for an extended campaign. And we do not have the forces to fight two battles, the Mob and the Troops. So we will use surprise and swiftness to our advantage.”
“Good idea,” said Pip. “But you can’t just waltz in and use Darwin’s lab. You have to have access.”
“I’ve got it,” said Bruce.
“Harry would have changed the codes after you and Darwin disappeared.”
Bruce nodded, smiled.
“Darwin wasn’t on the network. He has a backdoor program. Doesn’t matter what they do, I can get in.”
“That’s the first step. How are you going to get into HQ?”
“My leader always told me, “Believe in me and take one step at a time.” the Templar said. “I’m asking you to do the same. Have faith.”
Pip shook her head, not believing.
“You don’t have to go,” said the Templar.
“No, I’m in.”
But her face still looked despondent.
“What do you want me to do?
“Will you stay to watch your ship? Or will you come fight with us?” he answered. “I would prefer your gun by my side, but I am confident of you holding this escape route for me.”
Reanna dazzled him with a brilliant smile that shone against her dark skin.
“I would like to fight by your side. My men can hold the boat.”
He nodded, satisfied.
“Then we will go to the Academy.”
He shouldered his rifle and hobbled to the side of the ship.
“Now?” Pip asked. “It’s too early. There will be people there.”
“If not now, when? I am not ready for the Mob. We will go and act as if it is our business to go. No one will disturb us.”
“How?” asked Reanna, and gasped.
The Templar shifted in front of her, glimmering into a businessman. She looked at Pip and Bruce, to see if they saw the same thing, but they too were clothed in different attire.
“Magic,” she breathed.
“I should have known,” said Pip, following him to the side of the ship.
“Wow,” said Bruce, looking at his companions. “I didn’t know you could do it for everyone.”
The glamour vanished.
“Not for long,” he said. “But enough for anyone when we meet”
He swung over the side of the boat into a skiff that would take them to shore. Bruce and Pip took up the oars as Reanna landed lightly behind them.
The Templar stood in the bow, facing the approaching shore, a gallant general leading his small outnumbered force into the fray to save his men.
67
“Do you think he’ll save us?”
Robe stopped searching along the wall in the dark to stare at the direction Darwin was sitting.
“I hope so,” he said. “But I don’t know.”
The cell was pitch black, the inky kind of dark that only an enclosed room with no outside source of light could have. No fractional seams at a window, leaking in a meager amount of light to outline shapes in the dark. The room was nestled in the bowels of the building, soundproofed so no noise entered or esc
aped. It was designed to break down resistance, to isolate the hard case and trick him or her into thoughts of loneliness and abandonment. Not just by the Troops, but by the whole world, by body and senses. No sight, no smell, no taste, no hearing. Only touch, if one dared venture around the cell in the dark.
Robe knew the tricks and didn’t let them bother him. He searched every square inch of the cell, from the cold bare floor to as far as his fingers could reach up each wall. He looked for anything of distraction, a grain of mortar that could be worked into a hole, a break between the bricks that might become a prying point. Nothing. The walls were marble smooth, seemingly made of one piece, even at the juncture with the floor.
“I think he might,” said Darwin. His voice was tired and raspy. His reaction to being caged in the cell was to talk, convincing himself he wasn’t alone, even with the shuffling of Robe’s searches. He began with thoughts that ran through his head, moving to lectures from times past, memorized formulas, tables, and inventions, both fantastic and realized. Robe felt overawed by the amount of knowledge in this one man, so much learning and experience trapped with him. He listed at first, trying to absorb as much information as possible.
But the cramped quarters and dark emptiness soon got to him. He let the Doctor ramble, ignoring his treatises. Instead, he searched for an avenue of escape.
For his part, aware that someone might be listening, Darwin never divulged secrets. He talked about the Templar, but that fact had already been discovered. He racked his brain for every conceivable tidbit of information he had digested over his years, bringing it up for examination. The sound of his voice comforted him. He was glad Robe let him talk.
“It’s part of his creed, to always go back after his men.”
“Is that your book or fact?” Robe asked.
“Book,” Darwin sighed. “I hope he comes to get us.”
Robe continued his search.
“Me too.”
