by Ballan, Greg
The Esper weapon was large and foreboding, requiring extreme concentration to wield it effectively. Erik swung the seven-foot weapon with great care. He executed the complicated motions as he recalled them from Jakor’s memory, and as he did, he felt the spirit of the Esper warrior rise in his human body. The ultimate sense of control and discipline that had made the Esper soldier a force to be respected in peace time, and feared above all else in wartime, flowed freely through his human-Esper soul. He swung the Ahn-Soh-Lak faster, his human body mimicking the Esper movements as best it could.
For the first time in over a month, he felt something other than sorrow. He now enjoyed a sense of freedom. To an Esper soldier, death was to be honored and embraced; after a life of 30,000 years, death was a welcome reprieve. The Esper emotions swept through him engulfing his pity, engulfing his pain and locking them away as he let the other part of who he was rise to the surface.
The energy that now flowed through his body was intoxicating – he allowed more of his Esper-self to surface, and felt a tingling in his eyes. As they changed to a hot aqua blue, he felt increased physical power flow through his body.
As the hybrid warrior, there was freedom from loyalties, obligations and responsibilities. It would be so easy to allow the metal-skinned warrior to emerge and escape into the night, unfettered by the duty that bound the hapless human to this world.
Even as a part of his mind longed for freedom, images of his wife and daughter flashed inside his head. He saw the cemetery, the grave of his best friend Steven Forrest, and the fresh grave of his beloved Shanda. Erik lost his concentration for a fraction of a second, and the weapon flew from his grip. The weapon hummed and moaned as it flew through the air.
“Come to me!” Erik screamed in both thought and words. The weapon stopped in mid air and hung there momentarily. The large weapon seemed to melt and wither. It became a perfect two-foot narrow cylinder and then flew back to settle into Erik’s outstretched hand.
He placed the weapon in its satchel by the flat bench. He had found escape from his problems for a few glorious moments, but becoming the hybrid warrior was not going to erase the pain and he needed to be at his best – if not better. There was a life at stake.
Erik was tired of the spy game and decided at that moment this would be his last assignment. He approached the 880-pound barbell and put one hand on the heavy steel bar. He marshaled his strength and slowly began to push down on the bar. The anger and frustration flowed through him and into the hapless steel.
“No more. I missed out on some quality time with my wife and daughter because of this shit; no more after this.” His arm bent the heavy steel barbell.
Erik heard a gasp behind him and spun around. Monique LaSalle stood by the women’s entrance to the gym, her mouth wide open, eyes locked on the deformed barbell. The teenager’s knees were visibly shaking.
“How could you bend the steel? How could you do all those things?” she asked amazed. “Never have I seen anything so amazing in my life.”
Erik had been too wrapped up in his own emotions and failed to pick up on the presence of the young socialite.
“What did you see?”
“All of it, I hope” Monique answered. “I can understand why your government thought that you could protect me.” She inspected the damage he’d done. “Can you fix this?”
Erik approached the barbell and methodically removed the plates then stacked them on the weight trees. He placed one end of the bar by his foot and held the other end of the bar with his left arm so that the bar was facing away from him. He carefully spun the bar so that the bend he had put in it was facing him directly. Erik then positioned his right hand on the bend and with a burst of force he was able to remove the noticeable bend he had placed there moments earlier. He held the bar out like a shotgun and leaned his cheek against it like a man sighting a rifle.
“Straight as an arrow,” he replied, placing the bar back on the bench.
“That thing you were swinging around before, it changed in shape and size, it stopped in mid air when you called to it,” Monique stammered. There was an undertone of fear in her voice as she struggled to maintain her composure.
“I’m not like other people,” Erik began in a soft assuring tone. “You have no reason to be afraid of me. I have no intention of hurting you, that much should be evident.”
“I’m not afraid. But you haven’t answered my questions. How can you do all those fantastic things?”
“It’s a very long and unbelievable story,” he answered evasively. “I don’t think that it’s in the best interest for either of us to be getting into it. The less you know about me the better it is for you.”
“Mais non alors.” Monique gave him a pointed look. “Let me phrase it differently then. Tell me now or I let my father know what I’ve witnessed down here.”
Erik whipped around, and the young girl flinched.
“Monique,” Erik began with a stern look, “don’t go down that road with me. Your father wouldn’t believe what you witnessed here tonight.”
“Maybe or maybe not.” She shrugged. “But are you willing to take that chance?”
Erik considered her words and thought of past strategies he used with his daughter. What better way to earn her trust than by sharing a little bit of his past.
“Is there a place where we can talk privately?” he asked.
“Yes.” She looked up and said, “On the roof of the compound. But first.…” She walked away into an office area and then returned to the gymnasium. “A gift, a small gesture for a new friendship,” she said as she tossed a video disc toward him. Erik caught the disc and a feeling of relief came over him.
“There’s a security monitor inside each corner light fixture; they respond to motion.” Monique waived at one and added with a smug face, “That’s how I know Daddy would have believed me.”
“I see.” Erik gave her a smile of thanks and made a mental note to ask security about all of the features in place in the compound.
* * * *
When Erik pushed down the bar to the metal rooftop door, he had his hybrid senses on their keenest alert. He walked through, followed closely by Monique, and then detected several security cameras and sensor networks throughout the rooftop.
“How is this spot private?” he asked her, annoyed by the cameras.
“Simple. All of this equipment is bogus. It’s real hardware, but it just doesn’t feed into anything. I installed it with some help from Jean-Paul. I figured if everyone sees all this monitoring equipment, no one will ever consider coming here. Therefore, I get the place all to myself. I come here because the view is spectacular and I simply refuse to share the space with anyone.” Monique took another step toward him. “That is, until tonight,” she added softly.
* * * *
“The view is certainly spectacular,” Erik agreed as he studied the night lights of Paris.
“Erik?” Monique asked, settling down on a large flat vent. “What happened to you? How were you able to do all of those things at the gym? And the sniper, how could you possibly have seen him from such a distance, not to mention smelling the poison in the juice?”
Erik turned to her. He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. He had no intention of telling her his entire secret, but he had to trust her a little if he expected her to trust him in return – while under his protection for the next six months.
“My DNA has been altered at the molecular level.”
“Are you saying that you’re not human?”
“No. I’m still human, but my human DNA is blended with the genetics of another species – a warrior of that species. I have inherited the abilities of that species, plus some unforeseen side effects that I’m still trying to deal with.”
“Like what?”
“You said none of this hardware is wired into anything, correct?” Erik asked.
“That’s what I said.”
Erik held his hand out, palm up, and focused his will. The
air around his hand shimmered. A bright, burning fluorescent sphere of radiant energy materialized in his palm. He held the fiery sphere like a baseball and then threw it up into the night sky. The burning globe of energy expanded and became translucent, until it was absorbed into the dark night sky.
“Fantastique!” Monique exclaimed in amazement.
She looked on as Erik Knight raised his glance to the sky and began to mumble in a language that was not of Earth. He raised a hand, and the sky rumbled. The clouds lit up with angry arcs of lightening. As soon as he put his hand down by his side the thunder ceased and the lightening halted.
The detective’s arms tensed; Monique could see his muscles ripple as her protector raised his arms chest high. He gestured, summoning some unseen force. In response to his summons a gale force wind tore through the city, overturning garbage cans and carrying debris.
“Like that,” Erik turned to face her. “I can manipulate the forces of energy and control weather patterns, if I focus hard enough.”
Shaken, Monique studied her protector with newfound fascination, awe and respect.
“I gather your senses have been augmented in addition to your strength?” No longer so frightened of him, Monique stepped closer to him. “That’s how you were able to smell the poison and see the man on the rooftop.”
Erik nodded.
Monique gave him an appraising look. Had he just told her the truth or spun an elaborate ruse?
As if he knew that she was assessing his explanation, he said, “I have no reason to lie to you. You demonstrated a gesture of trust downstairs.” Erik tapped at the video disc now secured behind the waistband of his gym pants, then said, “and I have shown you who I am. You can trust that what I’ve told you is the truth.”
Relinquishing her doubt, Monique let her arms fall to her sides and her shoulders slumped.
“Fantastique,” she whispered. “Absolutely fantastique.” She paused. “Erik, may I ask you a personal question?”
“That depends on just how personal the question is.”
“Did your wife leave you because of your abilities? Or did she know about them all along?”
Erik Knight turned away to look into the night sky over Paris. “My wife died a little over a month ago. She knew all about who I was and accepted me, as I accepted her.”
Monique felt terrible. She had no intention to cause this man, her protector, any pain, yet she’d just opened up a torrent of hurt. His voice was filled with pain. She gently put a hand on his shoulder.
“I am so terribly sorry. I feel like a complete idiot; please forgive me, Mr. Knight.”
“It’s not your fault; you have nothing to be sorry for.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
Monique resisted probing further, but her keen curiosity was too much. “How did she die?”
“She was killed by a drunk driver. A tanker truck struck her car broadside at an intersection. The truck rolled over the car, jack knifed and then exploded. I was told it happened so fast that she would have felt no pain. I was away when the accident happened, but the moment she died, I felt it here.” He pointed at his head.
“I got the call shortly after the accident and was on the next flight back home. When I arrived on site, the road had been cleaned already. All I ended up with were a few written accounts and some lab reports to look at. They said her body was burned so badly that there was nothing to really bury. The heat and force of the explosion from all that gasoline left me with nothing but an empty coffin.”
Erik turned toward her. “When I’m alone and it’s very quiet, I can still sense a small spark of her life. I even thought I heard her calling to me yesterday.” He shook his head. “There’s a part of me that won’t accept that she’s gone.”
“You must have really loved her. She was a lucky woman,” Monique said as tenderly as she could.
“That’s sweet of you to say, but I was the lucky one. She made me whole. It’s rare to find that special someone; very rare.” Erik turned back toward the night sky, and the two watched the twinkling lights of Paris in total silence.
Gestation Day 42
The incessant drone of her alarm clock woke Nancy Bertoni and she cursed like an angry sailor as she hit the snooze button. She’d been having difficulty sleeping since the whole spying incident began with Michael. But soon it would all be over. Michael’s investigation would be effectively stonewalled, and he would move onto something else.
No doubt, she would have to live with her boss acting like a grizzly bear for several weeks until the bitter taste of defeat waned. To her that was preferable to seeing him fired.
The aroma from her coffeemaker filled the kitchen, and at the beep of the machine, she rose and dressed, then poured herself a cup of coffee. To her, the brilliant invention of a timer on a coffee pot eclipsed all other modern kitchen conveniences.
She settled at her kitchen table, relishing the first sips. She heard her two children stir, and the silence was broken by the sounds of pop music vibrating every object on its base. She shook her head. Why do teenagers have to have their music so loud? Releasing a sigh, she rose and reached the bottom of the staircase.
“Turn it down, Rachel! You’re going to wake the dead.” The volume dropped slightly. “She’ll be deaf before she’s twenty,” Nancy muttered to herself as she returned to the solace of the kitchen. She turned on the tiny television on top of the microwave stand to catch the morning news.
She was only half listening, preparing breakfast when the news anchor introduced a story with the name ‘Michael Sparks.’ Nancy’s stomach went into a knot. She dropped the knife she held, whipped around and watched in horror as a field reporter filled the screen, broadcasting from Finnegan’s Tavern. He related every hideous detail of Michael Sparks’ and Peter Snow’s tragic deaths in a mysterious car bombing.
Nancy turned back to the counter and threw up her morning coffee.
Oh God, please don’t let this be my fault. She wretched as tears rolled down her face. She grabbed a towel and wiped her mouth. A car bomb. She felt as if she would pass out. She caught the back of the nearest kitchen chair, pulled it to her and sat down. How could this have happened? He’d promised her they’d simply stonewall his investigation. She began sobbing. Inside, she knew her betrayal was the cause of his death. The powers that be concluded that Michael Sparks needed to be stonewalled permanently.
She had sold out her boss for money and security.
The cost of that security had come at a high price, two lives. Her guilt tore at her insides. She rushed back over the sink unable to overcome her dry heaves.
“Mom? Mom are you okay?” her seventeen-year-old son asked, rushing to her.
“Just give me a minute, Tim,” she choked out, struggling to reign in her guilt. “I think I’m getting a stomach bug.”
Nancy heaved a cleansing breath, walked over to the television and turned it off. Regaining her composure was difficult, but she went back to the task of preparing breakfast for her kids.
She went through her morning routine in silence, robotic, only half listening to her children as they playfully bantered around the breakfast table. She couldn’t get the image of the flaming car out of her head.
Tim and Rachel finished their breakfast and gathered their school books. Nancy gave her usual speech about paying attention in class, especially to her son who had a tendency to daydream; afterwards she watched from the front door as they piled into Tim’s ‘69 Firebird, a car Tim and his father had restored – a lasting tribute to the man.
Tim had idolized his father and had taken his death very hard. Selling the car would have provided them with much needed money, but it seemed better to hold onto the car, along with all the happy memories.
The engine cranked and fired, and the loud exhaust echoed through the quiet morning. The car pulled out of the driveway, then it rolled to a stop at the curb. Both children got out of the car, looking shamefaced as they walked back toward the house.
“What
’s the matter?” she asked them.
“We need money for lunch,” they said simultaneously.
“What?” she asked in disbelief. “You drained your allowances already? What do you kids spend your money on?”
She started unleashing her patented ‘money doesn’t grow on trees’ speech, when the ‘69 Firebird exploded, engulfed in a massive plume of fire that scattered pieces of the automobile over hundreds of feet.
The concussion from the detonation lifted them all off their feet, knocking them over like bowling pins.
Tim was first to pick himself up, then he helped his sister to her feet. Nancy rose to her feet and shrieked at the disaster then ran over to hug both her children. Had they not stopped for lunch money, they would both be mangled and spread across a hundred feet of roadway. They’d be dead.
She held her children tight. “Are you hurt?” Nancy screamed over the noise the fire created.
“Mom, we’re fine.” Tim looked back, devastated at the billowing inferno that was once his car.
With panic rising within her, Nancy grabbed both their arms and said, “Listen to me very carefully,” she said then gulped. “Go inside and pack a suitcase, both of you.” Then she gave Tim a don’t-argue-with-me look. “I want you to call a cab and go to the bus station.” She disregarded his questioning look while she reached into her purse for cash. “Buy two tickets for Rome, New York. I want you to stay, at your Uncle Bill’s house until I call, do you understand me?” Her face filled with tears.
“Mom, what the hell is going on? Who would do this?” Tim asked, alarmed.
“I can’t talk about that now, Timothy.” But as she said it, all of the pieces fell into place in her mind. “Just do as you’re told and don’t let your sister out of your sight. Do you understand me?”
