by J. G. Martin
The raider screamed and grabbed his now bloody crotch. Derek smiled grimly and opened the passenger side door. A quick shove and the wounded raider exited the vehicle headfirst. His screams also ended when he struck the ground. Derek grabbed the wheel and struggled to regain control. With such a large vehicle its mass kept it moving in the direction it had last been going and it was slow to stop. It took all of Derek’s skill and strength to steer in the direction of the skid and prevent the transporter from flipping. For one hair raising minute it tipped onto one set of wheels and almost rolled, but he managed to slow it enough and get it straight enough to prevent the crash. The massive vehicle slowly rolled to a stop as Rora pulled up alongside.
They ditched the ATV, but Derek disabled it after stripping it of usable parts. Rora used the first aid kit in the transporter cab to bandage her wounds. She had been hit three times, but all were minor. It looked like at least one was a fragment that had ricocheted off the ATV. She would live, but it was her first time being shot so it was an emotional experience for her. As the adrenaline wore off she cried a little. Derek put an arm around her to comfort her.
“Don’t worry, you get used to it.” Derek told her. “The bonus is that chicks dig scars.”
She laughed and replied. “What about guys? Do they dig scars?”
“Only if they are places you only show in private.” He joked.
Chapter 25
June 21, 2029
Raider Camp near Hartsfield-Jackson Airport Atlanta, GA
The raider camp was a makeshift affair, built from scraps of corrugated metal siding and lumber. Blankets served as windows and doors, and there was trash everywhere. Guttering torches provided the only light in the primitive camp. Maximillian’s olfactory sensors detected a strong smell of human waste everywhere in the camp. It was in short, a disgusting and pathetic place that he had no wish to be in any longer than he had to.
If everything had worked as planned he wouldn’t have had to be here much longer. The raiders should have been returning with the transporter and shuttle shortly. Then he could have taken the shuttle back to his base in Seattle. It would have been simpler to just destroy the shuttle, but Father had been explicit in his instructions. He wanted the shuttle captured and returned to the Collective.
To that end, Maximillian needed the transporter and the only remaining ones were inside the NASA complex where he couldn’t get them. So he needed to wait for them to come to him; and they had. He had upgraded the cultist wannabes he had found living in the airplane graveyard and armed them with more advanced weapons. Their pathetic imitations of the true glory of a Humek had sickened him, but he had to work with what he had available. The leader had been especially sycophantic once Maximillian had provided him with the armored exoskeleton.
He hadn’t expected the imitation cyborgs to kill Derek and destroy his convoy, but he did count on them weakening them significantly. Their main mission had been to disable the other vehicles to prevent pursuit of the transporter once it was taken. Maximillian had even provided a jamming device to allow them to conduct an ambush and increase their odds of success. He knew someone was helping Derek, but he had been unable to determine the origin of the mysterious signal.
The raider scouts had provided a good play by play of the ambush and the disposition of the surviving convoy forces. Maximillian could see the airplane graveyard with satellite imagery, but the device was preventing him from seeing an area around where he assumed Derek to be; so he had to rely on the scouts. He had instructed them to go ahead with their phase of the operation. At nightfall they had attacked the survivors and kept them pinned down while they stole the transporter.
The raid had gone perfectly. The raiders had executed his plan surprisingly well and had gotten the transporter without any casualties. He could see the transporter on thermal from the satellite as it pulled away from the graveyard. The raider’s vehicles were small green blobs alongside and behind the massive blob of the transporter. They moved away from the graveyard at a good pace and he waited with anticipation to finally complete this part of his mission. Father would surely be pleased.
But then it had started to go all wrong. The last raider vehicle had disappeared and Maximillian had assumed it destroyed, but then other vehicle blobs began to disappear. One shrank and stopped moving, indicating that the riders were dead. Another exploded in a ball of flame that glowed almost white in the thermal view. Yet there was no other heat source on the view to indicate where the attacks were coming from and the convoy survivors didn’t have a vehicle to chase in.
Then he realized what had happened. Derek had taken the last vehicle and was chasing them down. The device was blocking Maximillian from seeing the pursuing vehicle. He watched with frustration as the raider vehicles disappeared one by one, with one fleeing. Useless rabble, he raged to himself. Then the transporter vanished from view and another vehicle appeared. That meant that Derek had boarded the transporter and would likely take it back. He held out a brief hope that the raiders on board could defend it, but when it didn’t reappear after twenty minutes he knew that they had failed.
With the transporter vanished under the effects of the device, he had no way to track it down. But he did know where it would be soon. Time to execute the next phase of the plan and this time he would handle it personally. He would kill Storm himself and then destroy the traitors at NASA. Tomorrow he would end it one way or the other. That infernal device was going to be a problem since it prevented him from “seeing” Derek, but he had an idea on how to fix that.
First though, it was time to dispose of any witnesses and relieve some of his anger. Almost casually he drew his pulse pistol and fired a blast at the raider chieftain. The energy bolt vaporized the filthy man’s head, leaving a cauterized stump. The body slowly toppled over as his followers stared in stupefied disbelief. Maximillian’s drones acted in concert with his mental command and opened fire on the remaining raiders. Following the execution of the worthless scum, he had the drones level the rundown camp.
He felt a little better. Now it was time to make things right in the world. At his command they all got in the van and headed south towards Cape Canaveral. It was time to reveal himself and have the final showdown with the treacherous Derek Storm. He would not fail Father this time.
Chapter 26
June 22, 2029
Hartsfield Jackson Airport Atlanta, GA
Despite the darkness, Derek and Rora drove back to the airplane graveyard to retrieve the others. The soldiers and the techs were very glad to see them. The techs checked the transporter to make sure the vehicle and its cargo were still good for the long trip to the NASA complex; while the wounded soldiers were loaded on to the cargo bed under the shuttle and made as comfortable as possible. Once everything and everyone was secured they headed out. It was a tight fit in the cab, but everyone squeezed in.
The first seven hours of the journey were uneventful. They traveled in silence down the abandoned highway, everyone lost in their own thoughts. The techs and soldiers drifted off to sleep; exhausted from the battles of the day and night. Derek handled the large vehicle carefully as they rolled down the still amazingly preserved roadway. He had learned to drive almost every type of vehicle there was as part of his Special Forces and black ops training. And with no traffic or speed traps to worry about he could keep the behemoth right in the middle of the road. Quite frankly it was easier than driving a tank.
He decided to take a different way back than they had come to avoid a possible ambush. They seemed to have a traitor or spy informing everyone else where he was going. So the new route might throw them off. If it was some form of electronic surveillance than it wasn’t going to help. But, better to take the chance that it might. The new route would take them east of Tallahassee on I-10, past Jacksonville, and then down the coast on I-95. It was a risk for Reapers, but they were probably back in their camps licking their wounds.
The sun rose as they neared St. Augustine and they were back within ra
dio distance. Derek grabbed the microphone and tried to contact the command team at NASA. The radio quickly crackled to life in reply.
“Good to hear from you Storm.” He heard Augie reply. “We weren’t sure if you made it since we expected you back last night.”
“We ran into some unexpected resistance from Machineheads and raiders.” Derek informed him grimly. “We lost both MRAPs and most of your soldiers.”
The general cursed. “Those men had families and those MRAPs were a precious commodity.”
“It wasn’t like I was trying to get them killed.” Derek snapped. “They were waiting in ambush for us and had advanced weapons.”
There was a pause. “What do you mean?” Augie asked. “Were they working together with someone?”
“Worse. They were prepared by someone and worked as separate parts of the same plan. Fairly elaborate, actually. And the raiders were surprisingly disciplined. The Machineheads took out the MRAPS and weakened us, forcing us to spend the night. Then the raiders attacked and kept us pinned down while they stole the transporter.” Derek explained.
“So you didn’t get the shuttle.” Dr. Banek chimed in with concern in his voice.
“No, I got it. I chased the raiders down and brought the shuttle back.” Derek told him.
“That’s a relief.” Dr. Banek replied.
“We should be there in about two hours.” Derek let them know.
There was another pause before Augie responded. “We might have a small problem here…”
“What now?” Derek asked in disgust.
“The Pope is blocking the entrance and threatening to destroy us.” Dr. Banek chimed in.
Derek was flabbergasted. The Pope? He was in New Rome all the way on the other coast. What was he doing here? He wasn’t really the Pope, not in the traditional sense. He hadn’t been elected by a conclave of cardinals in the Vatican. No one was sure if the Vatican even existed anyway. The last he had heard about Europe, they were in the midst of terrible wars of ethnic cleansing after the collapse of the E.U.
No, this Pope had elected himself. He was a former actor, Melvin Glibson, who had subscribed to a harsh form of Catholicism even prior to the Collapse. Following the Collapse he had gathered some followers and using weapons he apparently collected prior to the Collapse, they carved out a small enclave in Los Angeles. They had struck some kind of deal with G-21 that left them untouched by the gangs.
G-21 was an alliance of gangs ruled by the mysterious Imperator. He was once a high ranking LAPD officer. They used a feudal system and each gang was ruled by a so-called Lord. They had carved up the city between them and each stayed in their own respective “demesne”. They only worked together to repel outsiders. They had a loose alliance with Aztlan, the northernmost of the Mexican kingdoms, which protected them from Texas. And the U.S.T.G. didn’t have the reach yet to get to them.
Most of the gangs were Hispanic and Catholic. Since the Collapse, many people found comfort in religion and wanted to hear the harsh words sermonized by Glibson. He gathered quite a following including many of the gang members. He called it the Reborn Catholic Church and it followed the pre reform ways of the Church. Then he started hearing voices after he said he was struck by a bolt of light from heaven. He said that God spoke to him and gave him directions to build a New Rome. He had begun ordering his followers to build a city of marble and gold in the Hollywood Hills.
The first person to question him had been the leader of the LA Crime Family who ran that area. Glibson pointed at him and called down the wrath of god. Everyone began to laugh, but a blast from the heavens had obliterated him right before everyone’s eyes. Glibson proclaimed it the Hand of God and declared himself the new Pope. No one questioned him after that. And he had created a small city where his whim was law and everyone followed on fear as much as faith.
As far as Derek knew, Glibson had never left New Rome. He lived inside a palatial cathedral known as the Palladium. The Pope had become removed from day to day operations of the new church, which was left to the Arch Prelate. The Pope was instead focused on his “spiritual retreats” which helped specially chosen new members assimilate to the church. It was rumored the new members were all young and attractive and the retreats were drug and alcohol fueled orgies. Nothing had changed in the Hollywood Hills.
While he partied, his missionaries roamed the wastelands looking for converts to bring back to New Rome or to start new congregations. But they never had much success amongst the hardened denizens of the wastelands. The U.S.T.G. banned all religion so they didn’t allow the missionaries into their territory. They were never harmed, but firmly sent packing. And of course the Collective was its own religion. So the power base of the religion was concentrated right around LA.
For the Pope himself to travel to the east coast of Florida was extremely odd. Or was it really? Everyone and everything seemed to be standing in opposition to Derek and his mission, so why not the Pope? It was just one more obstacle to overcome in a series of obstacles. It was a good thing that overcoming obstacles was Derek’s forte.
“I’ll take care of it.” Derek informed them with finality before cutting the transmission.
“The Pope?” Rora asked him curiously.
“Yeah, this oughta be fun.” He replied sardonically.
Rora just looked at him with a bemused expression on her face. It appeared that even she had heard of the eccentric Pope in her isolated village. They arrived just a mile or so north of the complex’s gates and saw the huge throngs of people and vehicles blocking their way. Derek stopped the transporter and got out. Rora hopped out after him and the others started to follow. Derek stopped them.
“Stay here with the shuttle. Don’t let anyone touch it. But try not to shoot anyone.” He ordered.
As he moved towards what looked like a golden throne atop a dais in the midst of the throng, the Pope’s followers surrounded him and Rora. The followers looked like they were worked into a frenzy and possibly on some sort of drug. They were all dressed in simple white shirts and pants and wore various shoes, which gave an odd Technicolor look to the feet of the masses. Shoes were hard to come , while anyone could sew a pair of pants; so you wore what you could get.
The masses gave them a wide berth but screamed names and epithets at them, calling them heretics and demons. They waved sticks at the two of them, although none seemed otherwise armed. Rora pulled closer to him, but none of the crazed followers came close enough to actually strike them. They made their way towards the dais until they stood right before it.
There was indeed a golden throne on top of the dais, and a rotund man with long flowing hair sat upon it. He was also wearing white, but his robe was trimmed with gold and he held a golden scepter. On his head was a pretty good approximation of the pontiff’s hat. He was surrounded by armed men in white body armor with red crusader crosses on them. The man, Derek assumed to be the Pope, pointed the scepter at him and began yelling.
“I name thee Demon! I smite thee in the name of the Lord!” The Pope screamed.
There was a collective pause and everyone waited in complete silence. Derek looked around and could see that followers and the Pope both expected something to happen. But nothing happened. After a few long minutes passed and the silence began to stretch, the Pope gestured at Derek again.
“Behold the Hand of God! I smite thee Demon!” The Pope cried.
Again nothing happened and Derek was starting to wonder what was going on. The followers started murmuring amongst themselves and the Pope’s face started getting redder and redder. It looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit. As the crowd started to get more anxious, the guards moved closer to the Pope. Rora nudged Derek as if to ask what was going on and he shrugged. The mystery was answered shortly by a brief buzz in his ear.
“I am blocking a signal emanating from the Pope. It appears to be a Collective frequency and it is constantly changing, so I may not be able to block it for long.” The Voice explained.
“What is it doing?” Derek subvocalized.
“I believe it is connected to Olympus Station, but it is also relaying another signal from there to a satellite in orbit over your position.” The Voice answered. “Let me see which satellite it is…uh oh.”
“What?” Derek asked suddenly worried. The Voice had never demonstrated any concern before, and he was afraid of what might worry him.
“It’s connected to Thor’s Hammer.” The Voice replied with a hint of panic.
“What the heck is Thor’s Hammer?” Derek asked him.
“The U.S. military launched an offensive satellite just prior to the Collapse. It was launched in secret and disguised as a communications satellite so no one noticed it. It fires tungsten rods down at the earth with pinpoint accuracy. Each rod is capable of demolishing a tank. Somehow the Pope seems to be controlling it.” The Voice explained. “But there might be a way to prevent him from doing so.”
“Well don’t keep it to yourself.” Derek reminded him.
“Right. The device should be able to block the signal if you are close enough.” The Voice informed him.
“Wouldn’t the shockwave from the strike kill anyone near it?” Derek inquired.
“Yes. It has a blast radius of about twenty feet.” The Voice confirmed.
“I’m about that close. There’s no way he’s going to risk dropping that on himself.” Derek insisted.
“You assume he knows he is controlling a satellite.” The Voice pointed out. “And that his value as an asset is greater than its desire to kill you and destroy the device.”
“Good point, but I cannot get any closer.” Derek hissed.
The exchange had gone on long enough and Derek had become animated enough that the Pope and the others had noticed. They were watching him intently with looks of pure hatred on their faces.
“Stop speaking in tongues Demon! You’re Master cannot protect for long! The Father will soon hear my prayers and grant me the strength to destroy you!” The Pope yelled wildly.
