Will glanced at the webbed glove still binding him to Aramis, and watched as the nanos finished their work, dissolving the material until his hand was free. Aramis had slumped to the ground, writhing in agony, his hands clawing at his head as if he could rip the pain from his skull. Will felt no unique malice toward the man, and the obvious pain evoked a brief bout of sympathy for the Hunter. Will knew he hadn't enjoyed being in pain in his first encounter with the Hunters in the year 2030.
He put thoughts of concern for Aramis aside. Athos and Porthos were still quite healthy, and both were intent upon subduing Will by whatever means necessary. The transport ship, with its prison and Aliomenti reinforcements, would arrive in just a few minutes. Will intended to finish his mission before that happened. Escape had never been his intent, but given how things had now escalated, he feared the Hunters might well try to kill him to prevent the assumed escape attempt.
He focused his attention on Athos.
The lead Hunter pulled out his sword. Will recognized the weapon as the one Athos had drawn in the year 2030, almost a millennium into the past as Will had lived it. Will studied Athos’ movements and read his Energy, trying to deduce when the man would strike. As he calculated his evasive maneuvers, the solution to his problem appeared at the sight of Athos’ unblemished face.
It was so obvious now.
He took a deep breath, taking strength and calmness from the fresh air, feeling the Energy feedback from the trees and brush in the vicinity. He could hear the transport craft now, likely less than two minutes from landing. The engines rumbled the ground just enough for him to feel it.
Will’s memory of the attack in 2030 flashed before his eyes, and though he’d seen much of the attack through eyes denied the corrective lenses he’d needed at the time, there was no mistaking that the scar on future Athos’ face wasn’t there now. Athos had insisted upon slashing open Will’s face in that future attack as payback.
The gash in the skin would provide the opening in the skin he needed for the storage of the pods. The nanos and pods would prevent the skin from stitching back together. The marring of Athos’ face would mean freedom for Will’s friends.
Will called forth a sizable number of his nanos, directing them to assume the form of a sharp dagger. He recalled the pods through the surrounding nanos, directing them to form the cutting edge of the blade. As expected, Athos charged Will, driven by rage at the idea that Will was about to escape yet again, mere seconds before Athos would have celebrated his greatest achievement.
Will sidestepped the Hunter’s sword, slashing his dagger across Athos’ face, just under the right eye, slitting open the skin. As commanded, the nano-encased pods stayed inside the gaping wound. Blood poured out of the gash, sliding down Athos’ cheek. The Hunter was stunned. He reached up and touched the warm, salty liquid, and stared at the crimson fluid on his fingers.
“It will never heal,” Will told Athos as he sent a few extra nanos into the gash, commanding them to keep the wound open long enough to scar. “You’ll have a scar there forever, to remind you each time you look in the mirror that you failed to capture me. Yours will be an ugly scar, to symbolize the evil you enable.”
Athos continued to stare at the blood on his hand. He was clearly disengaged from the battle at hand.
Will turned to face Porthos.
Rather than draw his own sword, the Hunter folded his arms across his chest. “Going to cut me up too, Stark? I thought you didn’t approve of violence.”
Will shook his head. “I’m not going to hurt you, Porthos. Athos came at me with a sword and I defended myself.”
Porthos’ look was one of pure loathing. He was a man incapable of seeing the evil of the Oaths he enforced; in his mind, Will had broken a vow he’d made. That made Will a dishonorable man, one unable or unwilling to keep his word. It mattered not to Porthos that Will had never made the Oaths; any memory to the contrary had been planted there by Arthur.
“You’re going to be imprisoned for your crimes,” Porthos vowed.
“How can that be, Porthos?” Will shook his head, watching as the transport craft was landing in a clearing a hundred yards away. “I’m leaving now. How do you propose to find me so that you can imprison me? It’s not like you’ve had much luck finding me, except when I’ve made mistakes or baited you to my location.”
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten this, Stark, but I can Track your Energy scent better than any bloodhound.”
Will shrugged. “Perhaps, Porthos. But that ability has never been of much use against me, has it?” Will glanced over at Aramis, who continued to writhe and whimper on the ground nearby. “And what if you do find me? Perhaps you’d like to end up like Aramis, mind blown apart and lying on the ground in tears.”
“The only one who’ll be lying on the ground writhing in pain will be you, Stark," Porthos hissed. “Your day is coming.” He drew his sword, holding the weapon at the ready.
More than likely my hour is coming, Will thought, as a wistful look crossed his face. “Yes, perhaps it is.” He watched as the transport craft touched down on the opposite side of the clearing, watched as Aliomenti poured out and began running toward them. Perhaps they were neophytes; Will wasn’t sure why they didn’t teleport. “Best to be prepared then, isn’t it?”
He felt a crushing blow against the back of his head. As he’d talked to Porthos, Athos had regained control, reacquired his rage, and had moved upon Will with a sudden bit of teleportation. The hilt of Athos’ sword sent Will staggering toward Porthos, who waited with his own sword outstretched. Too disoriented to stop himself or teleport away, Will fell into the blade. Porthos pushed forward, burying the sword in Will up to the hilt.
Will remembered Eva’s encounter with Maynard centuries earlier, remembered the elder Adam’s execution a half century ago. It was odd that he’d go the same way. “Not again,” he whispered.
Will watched Porthos’ face, knew his Energy levels must be dropping, for the Hunter’s face revealed a look of triumph. He knew that he needed to get away now. He would have let them take him alive. But now?
His original Nautilus submarine had long been mothballed, retired in favor of newer vessels. He and Hope had parked it a few dozen miles off the coast of Philadelphia, a choice of deep sentimental meaning. The craft was still operational, and though safe houses might have been a closer and more practical choice, the submarine that had served has his home for so many centuries was the only place Will wanted to go at that moment. With a groan of tremendous effort, Will teleported away with Porthos' sword still embedded in him, leaving the Hunters as failures once more.
The Nautilus was quiet. The lighting was kept dim while the craft “slept,” waiting to be put to use. It felt like home, though. It smelled like home. The familiar thrum of the salt water engine was a welcoming sound. Hope’s presence seemed to permeate the entire ship.
Will phased out momentarily, letting Porthos’ sword drop to the ground in front of him. The pain was incredible, and his breathing began to labor.
This is it, he thought. This must be how it all ends for Will Stark.
Will had lived his life well and had few regrets. People he knew and trusted were there to help Hope, were there to make sure that she and his younger self would meet, fall in love, marry, and, after some difficulties, bring forth their children. They’d be there to ensure everything was ready when the time travelers from the future arrived to rescue his younger self and start him upon this long journey. His definition of a successful life had long been a simple one: he’d lived well if his children were born as expected. They’d learned the cure for ambrosia for Hope, found volunteers willing to ensure she had all the assistance she needed. He had no reason to think that the life of Will Stark had been a failure.
The unloved child had succeeded in ways his parents would never have believed.
The darkness enveloped him, and Will Stark smiled.
It had been a wonderful life.
XXVII
&
nbsp; Traitor
1994 A.D.
He was the son of perhaps the most powerful Energy user in the world at the time of his birth. The power gave him the quiet confidence to let events unfold with patience, comfortable in the knowledge that his heightened senses and vast Energy stores would give him the ability to adapt to anything. That confidence, the lack of a need to prove himself, led many in the Alliance to believe he was of only a modest power level, aided by the fact that he refused to let loose his Energy at full capacity even to color code the Energy bands accordingly.
For so powerful a man, Adam felt completely helpless.
He’d watched the events unfold from within one of the invisible flying craft the Alliance possessed. Will hadn’t wanted anyone there, but Adam had insisted he tag along and be prepared to act in the event anything went wrong.
Will had finally relented, but with a caution.
“You must understand what 'going wrong' means,” Will had told him early that morning, prior to heading to the casino resort. “I know that I’m meant to vanish from the world soon. I expect that today is the day that will happen. I might be captured. I might be injured. I might even be killed. You will probably consider each of those outcomes to mean something went wrong. I don’t. The only failure occurs if I leave the island a free man without transferring the pods to Athos. If they capture me, or injure me and then capture me, that’s success; even if I’ve not transferred the pods at that point I still have the chance to do so as their prisoner. If I am killed but have transferred the pods, that’s also a success.” Will sighed. “Taking this risk is my responsibility. I won’t ask others to take a risk I’m not willing to take on myself. If I try to escape without doing my job, you must intervene and make me go back. If I am killed without transferring the pods, you must then step forth and make sure that transfer occurs.” He fixed Adam with a pointed stare. “Do you understand?”
“But…” Adam hesitated. “You almost make this sound like a form of suicide, Will. Why do you want to see your life end, literally or through your imprisonment by the Aliomenti?”
“I have no interest in dying today, any more than I did yesterday,” Will replied. “My immortality means I don’t age. It doesn’t mean I can’t die. And I want my life—or my death—to have meaning. If my mission is successful, if I’m able to plant those devices and free those prisoners, I will be happy. If that’s my last act on this earth, I will die a happy man. Hope is well-protected. Thanks to Eva she knows what must be done to bear our children. Thanks to you she knows it will all happen as it must. This version of me isn’t needed anymore, and history makes that clear. There is no record of this version of me after 1994, Adam. There is no record of any version of me after 2030, not until I show up in the future with you via the time machine. I know I’ll vanish. The only way that my disappearance becomes meaningless is if I don’t use that event to help as many additional people as I possibly can.”
Adam bowed his head. “I wish you’d be selfish for a moment. Our group needs you. Humanity needs you. The world needs you. And Hope needs you.” He sighed. “Why not forgo this trial for them?”
“I’m one man, Adam. The world existed before me, and it will be fine after I’m gone. All I ask is that you and the others look after Hope and my children. Take care of them. Will you promise me all of that, Adam?”
Adam looked him in the eye and took a deep breath. “For you, Will? I will make that promise. I just hope I deliver on it with you at my side.”
Adam had kept his promise not to interfere, even when events, by Adam’s mind, took a turn for the worse…
Will had not deviated from his path. He’d played the part well, gave every indication that he was trying to escape. But he’d been knocked senseless by Athos and stabbed by Porthos. In that instant, Adam wished he'd made no such promise. Before he had time to consider breaking his word, Will vanished from the scene, but not before blasting Adam with one final telepathic message.
Remember your promise.
The Energy outburst from his final act of teleportation was powerful; the flying craft shifted slightly, even from the distance Adam had maintained. Will had traveled a long way after being pierced by Porthos’ sword.
The Hunters wouldn’t be able to find him. If there was any him left to find.
Adam stayed long enough to watch the Hunters receive medical attention from the transport crew. Their faces spoke volumes. Though they’d gravely—perhaps fatally—wounded Will, he’d made them each suffer before the final blow. Aramis looked to be a shell of himself, barely able to stand, his eyes unfocused, his face pale and full of terror. Athos refused treatment for the gash under his right eye. Porthos looked around, lost, as if he’d only just realized that he couldn’t trace Will’s Energy. Adam shook his head. Perhaps the Hunters would leave all of them alone now.
But he knew better.
He checked the sensors that tracked the location of the pods of nanos Will had carried with him. If they were still with Will, Adam could locate him and check on his condition, perhaps even save his life. But the sensors showed Will had completed his mission. The pods moved with Athos. Adam realized that if the pods were embedded in the bloodied clothing they might be destroyed before Athos ever visited the prison level and released them. Adam zoomed the sensors in more closely, zeroing in on the precise location of the pods. And he laughed.
Will had slashed open the Hunter’s cheek and planted the pods in the man’s very skin. There was little chance Athos could destroy the pods now. Adam sighed. It had been a brilliant final move, and one Will had devised after their last discussion.
Every indication now pointed to a brilliant man being lost forever.
Adam commanded the craft to head back toward South Beach, the South American undersea port providing transport to and from the Cavern. He needed to provide a report to the other Alliance members about what he’d seen. He wasn’t certain what he’d seen, however. He knew only that Will had fought the Hunters, appeared to have been gravely injured, and had vanished in a burst of Energy so powerful he could be, literally, anywhere on the planet.
The only thing in question was whether he still lived. Adam had no answer to that most critical of questions.
It was strange, Adam mused, about how all of this had come about. Will had always been open about this point in history. The future history of events—a history he, Adam, would send to Will through the magical diary Will had gifted him—made it clear that Will did not exist after this point in time. Will had accepted this as evidence of his own mortality, and Adam understood that conclusion. A man like Will Stark would not allow himself to be imprisoned for centuries, unable to see his loved ones or aid humanity at large. If there was no record of Will Stark doing those things, the only conclusion must be that Will had died today.
Yet, Will was also skilled enough at hiding after centuries of self-imposed isolation from the Aliomenti that he’d be able to achieve the same effect without sacrificing his freedom or his life. Why had he been so insistent on completing his mission in a manner that made death a possible outcome, even when the technology had advanced to the point that his imprisonment was unnecessary?
Adam’s mind drifted back to another conversation, sparked by Will’s comment about not asking others to do things he himself would not do. The advanced technology might exist, but it had never been tested in the field, within the Aliomenti Headquarters. Will believed someone needed to be there in the event anything went wrong. If the technology failed, he believed he could escape his prison and free the others if necessary. Will wouldn't let anyone but him undergo that trial first. Plenty had been willing; after they’d held the public discussion about the plan, a dozen people had approached and asked to take part. Most of the volunteers had close friends or loved ones who’d been captured; others simply found the prospect a challenge they wanted to take on, one with an immensely high level of satisfaction as its reward.
Will had refused. He had insisted that he be the
first. And out of respect for Will they’d all agreed to abide by his wishes.
Adam frowned. That discussion and meeting had gone well, but Will had been directly challenged. This new idea, one Adam had conceived, called for the Alliance to plant their people inside prisons at Aliomenti Headquarters. The speaker opined that the execution of that plan would prove to be another case of Will sending others to do what he wasn’t willing to do himself, that he’d sit back and watch while others suffered imprisonment, injury, or even death. Will had bristled at the suggestion that he was just like Arthur Lowell, and had stated emphatically that day that he'd be the first to give himself up. And he had done just that.
Adam had a startling thought. Had the speaker, Clint, been aiming for just such a reaction and outcome? Had one of their own truly become so quietly jaded that he’d tried to encourage Will into turning himself into bait?
He felt a chill. They’d perfected the chip extraction technique. Or so they’d thought. Perhaps the Aliomenti had devised their own counterstrategy, a way to plant one of their own inside Alliance Headquarters. If that was the case, had Clint been the first and only, a test case, as Will had planned to be? Had Clint been outfitted with an additional chip or other devices that would maintain his brainwashed loyalty to Arthur Lowell? Or had Clint simply had a bad day that day, and used the chance to publicly vent as a means to counter some other stress in his life?
There was only one way to find out.
Adam stayed only briefly at South Beach. The port was its usual festive place, where travelers to and from the Outside congregated to say tearful farewells or embrace those returning with the joy of their arrival. Adam could feel that general happiness and excitement, but it wasn’t enough to lighten his dour mood. He went into his favorite restaurant, smelled the delicious food being prepared, but only sparingly touched the salmon he ordered. It tasted… dead.
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