Black Book, Volume 1 (Black Book (Volumes))

by Dylan Jones

  “Shit, it seems we've come a long way since the wars. People are too damned quick to forgive.”

  “Not everyone it seems.” The President smiled. He swiped his own badge. It flashed amber and buzzed. The President looked puzzled and tried again. Red light. The receptionist looked flustered. The General seemed unshaken.

  “It's okay folks. Just a simple security measure. High ranking officials need double-clearance to pass through the doors from here on in. Prevents any kidnap attempts. You'd thank me if you were being dragged through at gunpoint by some nut job right now.”

  The receptionist flinched a little.

  The General spoke into his badge, pressing the pad of his thumb against the outside as he did so. “Double-clearance required for primary entrance. General Jim Daniels requesting.”

  A female voice, electronic, spoke over the room's speakers. “General Daniels, recognition confirmed.”

  A few seconds passed and an older bespectacled face appeared at the door, making visual contact. He spoke into his badge, his voice amplified through the room's speakers. “Double Clearance response. Lieutenant Adams responding.”

  Again, the same female voice. “Lieutenant Seymour Adams recognition confirmed. Guest to confirm within 10, 9, 8...”

  “Swipe your card please Mr President, or we'll have a damned Swat Team on their way here in just under 6 seconds.”

  The President looked bemused and swiped his card. It blipped and turned green. The door unlocked with a hiss of warm air. General Daniels ushered the President through into the dark corridor, before following him in. Lieutenant Adams stood to attention as they passed, then sealed the entrance behind them. The reception area went back to its calm air-conditioned normality. The receptionist blinked and tried to remember what he had been doing earlier.

  “So where exactly are you stopping the bad guys from taking me?” The President grinned as they walked through the maze of dark brushed steel and black rubber. Warm yellow pin lights followed their progress through the corridors.

  “Not where Benjamin, but when.”

  The President shuddered as he considered the possibilities; A whole new breed of terrorism.

  They arrived at another set of large plate glass double doors. The General swiped his card then requested double clearance for the President. A short man in a lab coat confirmed the clearance from inside the locked room, and the female computer started her monotone countdown again. The President swiped his card quickly this time, turning it green. As the doors slid open, the President looked thoughtful.

  “How do you decide who's a high enough risk to warrant additional security?”

  “Well, we run a series of algorithms. Each iD card as you know is personal to the individual, so it's just a matter of deciding who's at risk. With you, it's easy. Top priority. No question. Then we have various diplomats, royalty, even celebrity names crop up on the protected list. Aside from that it's an automatic green light for all official personnel and their vetted guests. Then it's back to red light for the regular folk. We want to keep them out for different reasons of course.” The General grabbed an electronic clipboard from the wall and signed in with his thumbprint.

  President Freeman scanned the area, and saw people milling about with a hushed urgency. “Simple but effective solution I suppose. Can't it be compromised?”

  “Not easily. They'd need someone with access to walk them in and an accomplice to confirm clearance on the inside. And we screen our personnel from birth. We know more about them than their own mothers.”

  They walked into a long, bright room. Lined against the furthest wall were glass tubular booths, like upright sleeping pods. Maybe ten in all. Banks of electronic lights and cables hummed quietly between them. The pods were all empty, except one. In the nearest were two men. Both strapped in at the midriff, facing outward through the glass, back to back, with only a sliver of plate glass between them. They were naked, clean-shaven and greased with what looked like petroleum jelly. Electrodes linked their heads and chests. One of the men looked to be of native American descent. His eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly. His chest muscles spasmed intermittently as he meditated. The other was a bear of a man. He stood almost a foot taller than his companion, and his viking-like frame filled his half of the pod. He breathed rapidly, his chest rising and falling quickly. He was huge. The President thought he looked bigger than any soldier he'd ever worked with. He looked more like an Ox.

  “Mr President. Meet our Beta Soldier.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both.”

  The President raised an eyebrow.

  “This stuff isn't throwaway like we had during the wars Ben. Plus, as you know, The Company doesn't have deep pockets these days. No spoils of war to keep us constantly funded. Cost exceeds a billion per pod per launch, if it works or not. We have to minimize the risk of errors any way we can.”

  “Two Betas, in case one wastes your money by not surviving?”

  “There's a little more to it, but essentially... yes.”

  The President whistled softly, “I'm glad I got out when I did. That doesn't exactly boost morale. Why stop at two? Doesn't it make sense to launch four, five, ten guys?”

  The General smiled. The President still had the same dry humour. “Believe me, we've considered all the options Ben, and two is just fine. After that, it gets too expensive to house them during the launch.”

  The President shook his head in awe. It had been years since he'd been anywhere near a time pod. He massaged his upper arm from habit, calming a phantom pain that had long gone. “Stats?”

  General Daniels studied his notes, “Nano cells enable them to use 67% of their muscle power instead of the usual 20%. Night Vis brain patches as standard; Infra red and UV. Synthesised blood cells allow 58% increase in oxygen concentration. Big Red here can lift close to four times his own weight, stay underwater for 7 minutes at maximum exertion or see a man blink three miles away in the dead of night.”

  “Impressive. And the little guy?” He nodded toward the Native American

  “Those were the little guy's stats. His real name's Wolf. Big Red to his buddies. Never call him that to his face. Anyway, no stats for the big guy. File's classified. Fast tracked from The Company's special ops. Apparently the best there is.”

  The President studied the soldier. Through the thick glass, the Ox's chest looked like a slab of armour plating. A small oriental man with snow white hair scurried past and flipped a selection of intricate switches on the Ox's side of the pod.

  “We'll be ready to initiate their launch in a few minutes Ben. Want to settle in for the ride?” the General motioned to a separate viewing area staged a little higher within the room.

  As the President made his way up the gantry stairs, the two-storey steel wall behind the pods buzzed down, revealing a secondary glass wall to be the only thing between them and the vacuum outside. The President's breath caught in his throat as he saw the view. Millions of stars pricked a black sky, and looming large and centre, a thousand miles away, the dying planet Earth.

  He'd seen pictures of course, and holographs, but never like this. The wars truly had been brutal. He released a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. Outside, a smooth piece of debris the size of a football floated upward past the window, bumped gently against the glass and resumed it's path into deeper space.

  The President dropped himself into a leather chair as the station rumbled on its ever-constant orbit. No one knew whose side had struck Earth's final blow. Some said a hole had been drilled far into the Earth's core by the synthetics, and a thorium bomb released inside. Others thought it was a targeted surface blast from the American lunar estate. Whatever the cause, the effect had been devastating. It had ended the wars, but at the greatest possible cost. The millions who weren't killed had to be relocated to already overpopulated colonies.

  A third of the Earth's spherical area now floated in fragments above its orbit. The planet looked like an a
pple core just after a firecracker had been detonated inside. At ground zero, the surface mantel had evaporated as if it were nothing, and the molten core had exploded far out into space, cooling into a perfect freeze-frame of the atrocity.

  The President forced his attention back to the mission. He watched the General suggest a few last minute adjustments, saw the familiar restrained excitement in the personnel's faces. They were close now; He remembered the electric atmosphere all too well.

  Inside the pod, the Ox's breathing calmed to match his co-pilot's, and the President watched him close his eyes as he prepared himself for the countdown.

  3.

  The dog was a mongrel. Jack was sure of that. The damned thing could smell him. He was sure of that too. Jack crouched behind the thick roots of a tall old oak. Two miles east were some primitive wooden structures, an outhouse and a dog on a long rope. The dog was barking, looking straight toward him. Couldn't see this far maybe, but his nose seemed to work just fine. No one had paid any attention to the animal yet. But they soon would. There was a fresh water stream about halfway between them. It cut directly in between him and the dog. There was no way to skirt around to it either. No trees, no rocks. He'd be totally exposed if he went any further. Unless he wanted to crawl through the grass for miles like a god-damned snake he was going to have to shut that dog up somehow. He was already feeling nauseous. He had to get hydrated soon or he'd be in trouble.

  “Where are your trousers?” The boy, six, maybe seven, had been in the tree above him all along. So much for years of recon training.

  “Who taught you to sneak up on people like that? Get down here boy. Quietly.” Jack kept his voice low. The wind had carried his smell to the dog, it would surely carry their voices too.

  The boy giggled and climbed down. His poncho snagged firmly on the last branch and the boy yelped in panic, his neck suddenly pulled upwards by his own weight against the rag, his feet kicking only air.

  Jack sprang up, hoisted the boy out of the overcoat and put him down safely on the grass. Somewhere in the distance the dog stopped barking. The lad wiped a tear from his eye and shrugged off his calamity. Jack grabbed the Poncho off the tree and tore the neck line a little more.

  “Hey! You can't do that mister, that's mine.” The boy's fists were already tight balls of fury.

  “Calm yourself son. I'm only borrowing it,” Jack stepped into the poncho like a woman would her skirt, “Besides, if it weren't for me, you'd likely have no neck left to put it around. So quit your hollering.” Jack winked, and the kid seemed satisfied with that and sat down quietly.

  Jack felt ridiculous in the garb but suddenly a lot less vulnerable. “Now tell me, was that your dog hollering over there boy?”

  “That's Barkuss. He barks.” The boy smiled, his straw hair and toothless grin sending a shiver down Jack's spine. A memory? Already gone. It happened a lot these days.

  “Who lives with you and Barkuss? Is your Pa home?”

  The boy shook his head resolutely, “And I don't have no Ma either, so you can save your askin.”

  Jack knelt beside the boy, “Who feeds you and your dog son? Who looks out for you?”

  “The man does.”

  “Which man?”

  “That'll be me, sonny.” A sturdy looking old timer stepped out from behind the tree. He was aiming a rifle directly at Jack's head, and his hands weren't wavering. “What's your opinion on that?”

  4.

  The President watched the pods all light up, one by one, even the empty ones. A low, unpleasant noise filled the chamber. Like scratching steel rods across ceramic. Tubes that snaked into the pods stiffened as they filled with black liquid. The General busied himself with two main data monitors. He signalled a tech over. Pointed at some figures. The tech shrugged. The President couldn't hear anything over the howl of machinery now, but lip-read well enough to get the idea. Something wasn't right. Nothing major judging by their reactions. No one shouted, no one ran, no machines were powered down. The retraction was still going ahead. Maybe just some calibration issues. The Ox opened his eyes and smiled at him. The President smiled back politely. Wolf was still motionless.

  As he glanced over the machines again, President Freeman felt uneasy. He swiped a thumb across his brow, and it came away wet. Just the anticipation and the electrical humidity perhaps? He didn't think so.

  He had survived years of intense warfare by following one simple rule. Always follow your gut instinct. During training for the Elite they'd been trained ruthlessly. He remembered the burning cabin test. Only one entry point. Possible hostage situation. His superior barking at him to get in there. Screaming in his face. The hostages would all be dead if he didn't go immediately. They were going to fail him if he refused. He had followed his gut. He had ignored the Major, commandeered his truck, and rammed it through the hut's wall.

  Inside were six drone synthetics, heavily armed. No hostages. The surprise attack allowed him to take four out before he even got out of the truck. The other two he killed with his hands.

  Out of a hundred and thirty eight soldiers, he was the first of only three men that made it through to Elite squadron that year. General Jim Daniels had been the second. Their missing Alpha Soldier Jack had been the last. The three of them had become brothers over the years. Had survived together. Never lost a fight. Never left a man behind. Until now.

  This last thought triggered more alarm bells in his head. He tried to immediately calm himself. Used the same trick they had been taught before time-jumps. Increase distance from yourself. Look at yourself within the room as others see you. Imagine yourself in the pod. He had always found that part hard because they had never actually seen the inside of the pods. They were always... Christ! His thoughts crashed down on him at once. They were always asleep in the pod. To eliminate any chance of sabotage. The Ox was awake!

  “Jim!” The President launched off the gantry and sprinted toward General Daniels. The noise was too loud. The General remained hunched over a keyboard with a superior officer. They scratched their heads and pointed at data streams. An Asian technician looked up idly from her paperwork and stared curiously at the vip running towards the General. At the same time, a door opened behind her and Cal walked in, her long legs swishing through the gap in the lab coat. The President had just enough time to wonder why Cal was wearing a lab coat when the technician's face disintegrated. Her lifeless body slumped forward and Cal stepped over her, her handgun still smoking a thin blue wisp.

  “No!” The President suddenly understood. In that split second his mind pieced together multiple key events. He was trained to react to unplanned scenarios proactively. Never question why. Just win. Survive first, ask why tomorrow. He flipped a steel coffee table up in front of him and ran with it, toward the Synth. Not Cal anymore. Just another Synthetic. She was the first priority. Eliminate the primary threat, then abort the mission and eliminate the other sleeper cell; The Ox.

  The machines howled ever louder but finally the General had heard the commotion. He turned around and saw all hell breaking loose behind him; The President being shot at. The President swinging the solid steel table at Cal's head as she reloaded. A puff of blood on impact. Her head knocked to an unnatural angle. The General vaulted over the desk and put three bullets from his own sidearm in the cyborg's skull.

  The President didn't even pause. He sprinted toward the pods.

  The General saw the Ox pound the toughened glass between himself and Wolf, who was still in a deep sleep. The glass splintered under the force. Ben was still half a room away.

  The General aimed directly at The President's back. “Ben! Lunar Base!”

  The President didn't respond. Damn! Had he even heard?

  The General pulled back on the firing mechanism, breathed out and fired. Just as his finger tightened on the trigger and his hand jerked back with recoil he saw the President tuck into a forward roll. Perfect. Years previously they had used the exact same manoeuvre to eliminate a bomber during a m
oon shuttle hijack.

  The bullet whistled over the President's head and ruptured its target, the capsule's main supply pipe. Oxygen squealed out of the flayed rubber hose. Nothing happened to the power levels. The machines still rolled. Damn it. The auto-shut down hadn't kicked in. The President was already back on his feet and powering toward the Ox. There was no time left for finesse. Brute force was all they had now. Still running at full pace, Ben swung his left arm as hard as he could toward the glass. The heavy table leg he held in it becoming a fierce club.

  The thick glass only chipped, didn't even crack. The Ox's arm was through the inner partition, reaching deep into the twinned chamber. The President's mind raced through possible scenarios. It didn't make sense. The emergency manual controls were directly beneath the Ox, not behind him. The Ox's fist was bloodied, his knuckles shreds of skin from the huge blunt force trauma. The President took a heavy breath. Best bet was to pull him out, worry about details later. He switched to his right arm. Aimed for the glass's weak spot. Near the hinge. A huge blow. The table leg dented on impact but the pod remained intact. An inhuman moan made the President jerk back a step. Black-red fluid sprayed across the inside of the pod.

  “Shit!”

  Wolf thrashed around in his harness like a wet fish. He was cut deep across his right thigh. Arterial spray quickly filled the pod. The Ox had a makeshift blade in his hand fashioned from a shard of glass and was panting heavily. The inner wall lay in fragments. Blue sensor LED's lit up one after the other along the glass bottom where the blood pooled. A klaxon rang out. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once.

  “Chance of a little help here?” Ben shouted. He put his whole weight against the pod. Used his good arm to lift the bottom. It weighed much more than he remembered. “Fuck!”

  “I'll shut the power cores down!” the General opened a floor panel. Started ripping out electrical couplers. Lights went out along the walls. But the pods remained active. Their self-contained lighting throwing a red glow across the room.