“So you were the one to get rid of Davis and convince the doctor to release me early.”
“You flatter me. No, I don’t have that kind of talent, but my new friends do. They do share my opinion of you, though. I wouldn’t count on anyone coming to your rescue. Every single instructor has been distracted. It will be hours before they realize they’ve been tricked.”
“So you are going to do me in?”
“Not personally, but that’s the idea.”
The Weavers grinned menacingly. Brent heard the shuffle of troopers leaving their tables. The mass of Weavers shifted around; a female Weaver stepped out from the mass. She had a particularly nasty look on her face as she addressed him.
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Angela. They call me the black widow. Care to guess why?”
“Well, since I don’t see a red hourglass on your butt, I’m guessing it has something to do with you being deadly.”
Brent heard an assembly of laughter behind him; even a few in the mass of Weavers let out a chuckle despite themselves. The girl flushed red. A hand rested on Brent’s right shoulder.
“Are you always this jovial when facing death, sir?” said the hand’s owner.
“Dante?” he asked in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
“We all heard something big was being planned.” Owen took a position next to Dante. “When they found out it was going down, the bookies spread the word. When we found out you were the target, we naturally came running.”
“Of course I couldn’t let Owen come alone; he’d be lost without me.” Hiroko winked as she stood to Brent’s left.
“Friends of yours?” Cassandra asked, butting between Hiroko and Brent.
“We’re his squad from the exams. And you are?” Owen asked.
“A squad mate from the FF,” Cassandra answered with pride.
“You ended up there, sir?” Dante asked in surprise.
He shrugged. Angela was fuming with rage as she watched the miniature reunion.
“Sorry, where were we?” Brent asked mockingly. “Oh, yes. You were threatening me, right?”
“Act as tough as you want. You know you are finished.” Angela struggled to contain herself, it was obvious she was furious beyond words. “There is no way you can stand against us all. What is one Weaver against an army?”
“Wow, who woke up on the pissed side of the bunk this morning?” Marie shouted.
“Be nice. I’m sure she just doesn’t know him like we do,” Liz called out to Angela as she hid behind Marie. “You know, once you get to know Brent you might like him too.”
A massive horde of troopers started pouring into the mess hall from the various corridors. As they passed by they bowed to Brent in the all too familiar fashion of the tripod. Row upon row of troopers took their formation around Brent. The Weavers might have an army, but he had an armada. Some of the Weavers grew hesitant, taking a step back from the horde, while most remained firm. Some Weavers even licked their lips in eager anticipation.
“So many, all lined up like cattle for the slaughter.” Angela grinned to herself. “Although I have to wonder.”
“Wonder what, spider lady?” Owen asked.
“What happens when you remove the spine from the dragon? Without your hero will you still fight?” Angela took a step toward Brent.
While Brent appreciated the gesture, the gathering was a bad idea. In normal circumstances they’d overwhelm their foes and make short work of the smaller group. These were not normal troopers though – these were Weavers. The fact some eyed the horde with bloodlust terrified him. A chill ran down his spine as he felt a cool fog creep over him. Turning, he found Dante to be its source. Brent felt a similar sensation coming from a small number of the other troopers standing behind him. The sensation was a familiar one; he remembered it from the first time he had spotted Dante. At the time he couldn’t understand it, but now he knew exactly what the feeling meant.
Dante was defending himself from Weavers, obscuring his emotions as best he could. Something struck Brent as strange. Focusing back on the so-called “black widow” he noticed her face was devoid of emotion. She stared at him coldly and calculatingly. He looked around the mess hall; there wasn’t a single outline or aurora to be found. If he had lost his ability to sense emotions, then how could he tell when someone was blocking those abilities? A deaf person wouldn’t know when someone was whispering. A blind person wouldn’t know when someone was wearing camouflage. If Brent could tell someone was trying to hide their emotions, then he must somehow still be able to sense them in the first place. He took a step toward Angela.
“Let’s answer your question. Hit me,” he said, issuing his challenge. “Hit me with your best shot.”
A brief moment of surprise flashed over the girl’s face. The mass of Weavers hesitated; they hadn’t counted on him standing up to them directly. Angela didn’t have any of the nervous actions of the less talented Weavers. Her body remained perfectly still as she started her attack. He could feel despair licking at him like smoldering flames. Brent didn’t resist; he studied the girl and his own body.
Unlike when Jamie had attacked him, no aurora of black flame engulfed his hands. He could hear the troopers and Weavers alike holding their breath as the black widow started working on him. The despair oozed and churned. Depression filled him. He took it all in, not offering even the slightest resistance. There it was, the true attack. A massive surge washed over him; suicidal thoughts bubbled to the surface as the wave of despair crashed against him. Thoughts of ending his life flashed before his eyes.
This was how the black widow killed her victims; she convinced them they wanted to end their own lives. Well-timed surges of depression and regret ensnared the target until they couldn’t stand any more. The emotions grew stronger and stronger. There was something odd about the attack. Brent could feel the emotions; he watched as the suicidal thoughts crawled through his mind, but none of it had any effect on him. He studied his arms; still no outline.
Realizing her attack was having no effect, Angela motioned for more Weavers to join her. Dante took a step forward. Dozens of troopers tensed. Brent quickly raised a hand to hold them back. The other Weavers started to work on him. New sensations mixed with the depression. Anger, fear, paranoia, envy, and every other negative emotion he could name lashed at him. Despite it all, he couldn’t see even a trace of any emotion. He had observed for long enough; now it was time to experiment.
Brent focused on the emotions and imagined them fading. Nothing. Apparently just thinking them away wouldn’t work. Suddenly a spike of pain flashed through his right arm. Studying the arm he found no surface wounds. As he watched the arm, another spike of pain flashed through it. Along with the pain was a crackle of green light. The light would briefly streak along his veins, disappearing as soon as it appeared.
He sifted through the layers of attacking Weavers until he found it. It was a subtle attack, paranoia mixed with anger. The paranoia set up the desire to strike out; the anger forced the follow through. When the anger would wash over him, his right arm would momentarily desire to strike out randomly. The green flash of light subdued the desire. The image of the Shard Citadel came to his mind. When the Commonwealth ships launched their warheads against it, the green light had repelled the attack, leaving the Citadel without a scratch. Brent walked to Cassandra and held out his arm, leaning close to her ear he whispered.
“Watch my right arm; tell me if you see anything.”
He held out his arm and waited. Again, the surge of anger came and the arm flashed green. He waited expectantly, but Cassandra never reacted.
“Anything?” he whispered.
“I don’t see a thing. Are you all right?” she asked worriedly.
“Better now.”
Brent returned to his foes, his newfound confidence clearly evident. They doubled their effort. He focused on his arm instead of the emotions. Instead of imagining the emotions disappearing, he imagined
the green light expanding. The light refused to obey. It would flash along his body whenever a particularly nasty Weaver attack moved him to the precipice of action, but it refused to do more. The attacks of the Weavers couldn’t penetrate the flashes of light. Several Weavers ended their attacks, panting heavily. Angela refused to surrender.
“So you are pretty good at defending yourself. Good for you.” Angela smiled sinisterly. “Too bad your friends don’t share that ability.”
The sound of a body hitting the floor echoed through the mess hall. The Weavers were attacking the horde now. The mass of troopers charged the Weavers. As they neared the black-suited foes, they would each in turn stumble. Some would fall to the floor; others would stand perfectly still looking around them sporadically. Angela’s smile expanded.
Brent felt a hand firmly grab his arm. Cassandra was clinging to him desperately, her grip nearly crushing him. Angela was focused entirely on Cassandra. He knew it was only a matter of time until she fell prey to the dark edge of Angela’s attack. He focused on the green armor, but it refused to listen. As he contemplated his hopeless situation, a fire ignited in his chest. He was not about to lose Cassandra a second time. He would save her, no matter the cost. His right arm exploded with pain. It was incredible, as if every nerve in his arm was on fire. The pain forced him to his knees. A small green stream of light was accumulating in his hand. Struggling to get back to his feet, he caught a glimpse of Cassandra. Her hands were wrapped around her neck and were gently beginning to squeeze.
Angela smiled in satisfaction as he watched her pain. Brent focused all his might on the sparking green flashes until they coalesced into a spheroid shape in his hand. He raised his arm and pointed it squarely at Angela. She took a step back from him but continued to work on Cassandra. The orb of green shattered and pulses of green light left his palm with incredible speed, arcing towards their target. As they were about to collide, the stream ruptured. The one thick steam spilt into hundreds of strings of light. Each one flashed about, striking a Weaver.
None of the Weavers reacted. Brent had to blink. In front of him was a massive latticework of green strings of pulsing light. He could feel their every emotion. The sensation was overwhelming, hundreds of strong emotions clashing and warring within him. With all his might, he focused against the endless jumble. The network grew brighter as a single thought developed in his mind – stop.
Without warning the green lights pulsed brilliantly a final time before collapsing into nothingness. The Weavers all fell to the ground. Brent fell with them. When the green web disappeared it took most of his strength with it. The troopers recovered and marveled at the sight. The troopers cheered at their apparent victory and quickly descended on the fallen Weavers.
“She’s not breathing!” Owen shouted, perched over a Weaver.
“His guy isn’t either,” another trooper shouted.
With terror, Brent realized the deeper meaning. They had stopped, completely. They weren’t even breathing any longer. The network of light was gone, but Brent could still feel their emotions; the fear of death was stifling. Struggling to his knees, he focused on the mass of Weavers, trying to undo the damage he had done. His body ached with fatigue while the jumble of terrified emotions assaulted his mind. He begged them to breathe, to go back to before he made them stop.
With a start, the mass of Weavers all gasped for air. Brent fell back to the ground, completely spent, as the last trace of their emotions vanished like wisps of smoke. The troopers went from Weaver to Weaver. The objective of the horde shifted from violence to aid. Quickly, every Weaver was in the hands of the troopers. Those with medical training checked them out while those without listened closely for breath. Dante approached Brent. The fog enshrouding his emotions was gone; apparently he didn’t feel the need to guard against him.
“They are pretty shaken up. Doesn’t look like anything serious, though, sir,” Dante reported.
Cassandra gingerly helped Brent to his feet. As she supported him, she rubbed her sore neck, wincing in pain. Deep red impressions in her neck hinted at the grip that moments ago tried to end her life.
“What just happened exactly?” Cassandra asked hoarsely.
“Brent saved us all.” Marie forcefully slapped Dante’s back.
“Even the Weavers. He helped them, too,” Liz said shyly, hiding behind Marie.
Dante raised an eyebrow as he studied the two girls.
“Pretty brave, aren’t you?” Marie grinned at Dante. “Taking the first step against an army of Weavers.”
Dante chuckled to himself as Liz continued to hide behind Marie. Brent spotted Hiroko approaching from the mass of Weavers.
“Owen says they’ll all make a full recovery.” Hiroko studied Cassandra as she supported Brent.
“Owen? Brent asked weakly. “Thought the instructor forbade him from medic training.”
“He did. Owen passed the survival exam when we were retested, so it didn’t matter. He’s now the best medic in our division,” Hiroko said with pride.
“Looks like you didn’t need our help after all.” Ronald joined the group; Dante snickered at his pink and white uniform. The second in command of the SF paid no attention.
“I didn’t think you would, but you never know,” Tyra said with a shrug.
“Are you all right, Weaver?” Liz asked, the concern apparent in her voice. “You look horrible.”
“I thought I told you to call me Brent,” he said with a weak smile.
Heavily armed men burst into the mess hall. The security personnel ringed the troopers and started separating the Weavers.
“Looks like they figured out they had been tricked earlier than the Weavers had expected.” Hiroko eyed the armed men carefully.
“We need to talk,” Tyra quickly whispered into Brent’s ear before the armed guards reached them. “Meet me on the observation deck when they release you.”
Security personnel started separating the troopers; they created a defensive ring around Brent. Cassandra held onto him tightly as they encircled the pair. Medical personnel followed shortly after. Brent was surprised when he saw Owen giving them orders. What was even more surprising was they obeyed his orders.
“Scandal! Disaster! Outrage! I ought to have the little monsters marooned on a stray comet,” Nathan fumed. “No! Better, a comet headed toward a sun.”
“Now Administer, calm down,” Dr. Benedict said soothingly. “No one was seriously hurt.”
“Not yet. I’m going to send the ringleaders to intensive care myself!”
“I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Old age has calmed him down; you should have seen him back in the day.” Jack chuckled to himself.
“What set him off?” Dr. Benedict asked as she kept watch over the fuming Administer.
“He’s always had a thing about heights. The Weavers attacked his fear and made him think the station was crashing into the world below. When I found him, he was in the docking bay straining against a bulkhead. He was trying to push the station back into orbit.”
“By hand?” Dr. Benedict asked in a mixture of horror and amusement.
“He wasn’t exactly in his right mind.” Jack put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Now, Nathan, please calm down.”
“I’ll calm down as soon as those responsible pay for this!”
“I’ll take care of things; don’t worry,” Jack said reassuringly.
“I say we push them out a docking port; see how the buggers like a freefall to the planet.”
Doctor Benedict motioned for a nearby nurse to join them.
“Administer Bloom, I am temporarily relieving you of your duties.” Dr. Benedict stood firm. “Please follow the nurse. She will help you get a good night’s sleep.”
Nathan raised his hand to protest but quickly dropped it.
“Perhaps a rest is what I need. It has been very . . . busy lately.” Nathan happily followed the nurse.
“You calmed him down?”
“Didn’t have to,” Jack answered the doctor. “Nathan doesn’t stay mad for long. Like I said, old age has calmed him down. He realized he was being childish all by himself.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Stranding them on a comet had a ring of appeal.”
“What happened to ‘do no harm?’”
“I think the Weavers did more than enough harm for one day. How is Brent doing?”
“He’s coping. The whole mess took a lot out of him. He’s remained conscious though.”
“That’s an improvement. Is it true he stopped all the Weavers?”
“Looks that way.”
“I’m not sure what this means, but when he was first brought back here I had him tested for any change in his total mass.”
“And?”
“Down to seventy-two percent of normal. Just like before, I have no idea how or why.”
“Looks like the whole thing took more out of him than I thought. Have you got him on supplemental nutrients?”
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Why’s that?”
“When he was first brought in he was at seventy-two percent. I had him retested before they were going to hook up the equipment. It had been two hours since his first test. He was back up to seventy-four percent – without any assistance from us.”
“Two percent in two hours? Wasn’t he averaging a percent a day?”
“Looks like staying conscious wasn’t his only improvement; he’s getting better at recovering. I’d be terrified if I wasn’t too busy being fascinated. Where did this Weaver come from again?”
Jack shifted uneasily and chose not to answer.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said with only a hint of annoyance.
“Not going to shout at me? It’s been a while since you’ve inferred I’m a monster.”
She stared at him and folded her arms.
“I’m sorry about that. I was wrong about you. You aren’t what I expected. Happy now?”
The Ninth Page 36
