The chair flew backward and slammed against the white wall.
What the...?
“I see you’ve already started experimenting with Energy,” a new voice said. “That’s excellent. You’ll be a fine pupil.”
Will turned and saw the brown-haired man from the escape vehicle, wearing a pale green bodysuit. The man was grinning at him.
“That’s the Energy? That warmth?”
“Indeed it is. Most of my pupils take quite some time to notice the Energy at all, dismissing it as a post-Purge fever or some other form of fantasy. Most of them also possess very little Energy, so it’s not difficult to understand why they can’t sense it or manipulate it. You already possess a decent quantity, which suggests that you’re predisposed to this type of skill, even with absolutely no training.” He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Those Hunters were looking for a man named Will Stark, the man who possessed the greatest ability to produce, acquire, and manipulate Energy of any Aliomenti in history. New as you are to Energy work, I dare say that at some point, the Aliomenti will wish they’d kept you captive when they found you. It looks like they may have found the right man after all. And they helped deliver him straight into the hands of their enemies.” Adam smiled.
Will smiled too.
XV
Duel
The Assassin sat on the floor in the room with his back against the solid wall, waiting for someone to come for him. He was trapped here in this room of uniform color with no windows or doors, and he was enraged, so much so that he was prepared to litter the room with bodies.
Everything about this place was strange. Since he’d awakened from his capture and crawled from the trunk of the vehicle, he’d detected no sense of Energy. He was accustomed to being bombarded with Energy in the Aliomenti communities he frequented, most notably the Aliomenti regions of Headquarters. Here, there was nothing. His experiences and inability to escape led him to conclude that he was in the hands of the Alliance, but if that was the case, he should sense at least some Energy. Was the Alliance now devoid of Energy? And if so, how were they restraining him?
He stood and faced the wall behind him. There was something very strange about these walls. He had seen the man who had called himself the Mechanic walk straight through the wall, yet there was no sign of an opening. He leaned close, his eye nearly touching the surface, trying to identify the materials used in its construction. He noted two details of interest. The surface of the wall gave off a soft glow, and he felt a gentle breeze coming from the wall, noticeable only when he was this close to the surface.
The Assassin moved back from the wall and began pacing. The wall was built of some type of permeable material. It kept him in, yet somehow allowed in exterior light and air. He detected no sounds from the outside, and had felt no moisture from outside precipitation. Was this room a standalone building? Did it have one or more walls — or the ceiling — facing the elements? Or was it part of a larger structure, perhaps a fully isolated room? That would explain some of his puzzling observations. They could control the amount of light, air, moisture, and noise available from the outside, and allow only what was desired through the permeable walls. Such permeability apparently allowed an Alliance member through, but kept him from leaving. He allowed himself a brief, grudging moment of respect for the Alliance; they’d created an exceptionally useful bit of Energy work here, one that mysteriously gave off no sense of Energy in its operation.
The brief sense of commendation ended. He needed to leave this building. Though he was in no danger of suffocation or otherwise succumbing to the elements, he was still trapped in here by supernatural means. He would leave, exact his revenge, and return to Headquarters where he belonged.
The Assassin slapped himself on the head. He was thinking like a stupid human, who would need to walk through a door or crawl through a window to leave a room. He could teleport, albeit only a few feet at a time. But that should be enough.
He marched back to the wall until he stood only a few feet away. One typically needed to have a firm picture of the target location in mind to teleport successfully, and unfortunately he had no idea what the outside of this building looked like. He had no idea of landmarks, or even the exterior shape, size, and coloring of the building housing him. So how should he do this? Could he just say “go forward five feet” and have it work? He’d need to test the approach.
He moved back several paces, and then spun around in circles until he had no idea which way he was facing. Once the disorientation was complete, he dropped his short sword straight down as a marker of his starting spot. He concentrated on simply moving himself forward two feet, without opening his eyes, and felt the familiar sense of displacement indicating he had actually moved. He opened his eyes and turned around, and the blade was two feet behind him.
Perfect. It worked. Not something he’d typically need to use, but in a situation like this, it was a critical nuance to his skill. And it would be the downfall of the Alliance, especially the man named Fil.
After retrieving and sheathing his weapon, The Assassin marched back to the wall, stood two feet away, and closed his eyes. He performed the same exercise, projecting himself forward four feet this time.
He felt the familiar sensation of displacement during the teleportation, but his body was jarred immediately after. When he opened his eyes, he found himself pressed flat against the permeable, but solid-to-him, wall.
Frowning, he moved back just a few inches, so that he was nearly touching the wall surface, and repeated the process. Once again, his teleportation effort only succeeded in smashing his face against the very solid surface of the wall. He grabbed his sword and stabbed at the wall in frustration, but the weapon merely bounced off the surface, without leaving even a small mark.
“You need to develop better learning comprehension.”
The Assassin whirled toward the voice, short sword instantly in his hand, assuming a defensive stance.
A young man sat in a chair he hadn’t previously noticed, lounging casually. He had short, jet-black hair, and wore wraparound mirrored sunglasses, a human fashion item that aggravated The Assassin greatly.
“Who are you?”
“I was told you were looking for me.”
The Assassin scowled. “You’re the one who threw me in... in there.” He gestured toward the vehicle sitting in the center of the room.
“Guilty.”
The Assassin stared at the man. He exuded no Energy, yet showed absolutely no fear in the face of a scar-faced man wielding a sword. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. You’re the Leader’s lapdog, sent to perform the noble, brave work of killing unarmed human women and children. A true model of bravery for all to emulate.” The man clapped in a slow, mocking fashion.
“Humans aren’t worth the space they take up. I’m doing us — and them — a service by ending their miserable existence. The only shame is that I’m not allowed to be more thorough.” He moved toward the man, slowly, his blood-red eyes never leaving the face of this man who seemed unafraid of him.
“You judge an entire species based upon the acts of a tiny few, acting irrationally. Tell me, did you ever bother to follow up on that mob? Learn about the fact that every single one of them was ashamed of their actions, and sought you out to seek forgiveness? Or did you cede all control of your emotions to your hatred and anger, lumping the innocent with the guilty, forgetting that you yourself are committing the very crime you suffered?”
The Assassin stiffened. How could he possibly know? “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No? An Assassin, very much like you, decided that two people very dear to me needed to die, because it had been learned that at least one of them could do things she shouldn’t be able to do The two people killed were my wife and my young daughter. Does that sound familiar?”
The Assassin’s breathing caught in his chest.
“They notified me of what
was going to happen. But they didn’t tell me where, just gave me a link to set up a two way video feed, so I could watch them be slaughtered, and they could see me helpless to defend them. I did watch. I would not abandon them. I met their gaze, told them I loved them, and that I’d avenge them.”
The man rose to his feet, nearly a head taller than The Assassin. “I should hate all Assassins, shouldn’t I? I should kill you on the spot, right here, right now, simply because of what you are. Yet when given the chance, I kicked you a few times, and then I gave you medicine that healed your wounds. Why? Because I won’t give in to the animal nature like you have. I won’t become what I detest.”
The Assassin laughed. “Lovely speech. A morality plea? How comic. And the arrogance, too. You, able to kill me? No one kills me. Least of all a coward too weak to avenge those he claims to have loved. I avenge my own with each bit of blood I spill. You spit on the existence of yours with each life, like mine, that you spare.” The Assassin stepped forward, blood-red eyes glinting, the malice so intense that the temperature in the room seemed to rise.
The man in the sunglasses stood still. The Assassin was nearly upon him, and laughed again. “Foolish human. You should have killed me when you had the chance.” He raised his sword.
The man smiled back at him. “Oh, I’m not foolish.”
The Assassin felt an invisible glove surround him, pinning him still, and there was a look of shock upon his ugly, scarred face. He still felt no Energy from the man.
“I am, though, quite human, just as you are at your core. You deny it as something shameful, but without that starting point you have no way of measuring how much you’ve developed yourself. Or, in your case, how far you’ve fallen.”
The Assassin’s scowl deepened.
“I refuse to deny what I am. The humanity in me prevents me from killing you now, even though I could do so with ease.” The Assassin felt the glove start to tighten, ever so slowly, until he couldn’t breathe. Then the glove released, just enough to enable him to breathe again. “But I won’t. I will not, however, deny others their opportunity to act on their own nature. You see, Assassin, when I rescued you from that burning house, I brought someone else with me as well. Like you, I healed her of her wounds. And now, she’d like to reveal her own inner animal to you.”
The Assassin blinked. Was this man talking about the human woman married to Will Stark? Was this young man, not Will Stark, the one to make the woman and child vanish? How could he do that, with no detectable Energy?
“But before I let the two of you get reacquainted, I feel you must do so on an even footing. She comes to you unarmed. And you must meet her unarmed as well.” The sword was torn from his grasp, before he even knew it was missing, and he watched as it moved through the wall and outside the room, safely beyond his reach.
“She also comes to you not enhanced by Energy, so we will even things up in that area as well.” The Assassin felt something surround his Energy stores, shutting off all access to them, and he felt helpless and human as he experienced the same sensation those meeting Aramis’ Damper felt. He fell to the floor, surprised, as the invisible, restraining glove released him, but quickly scrambled to his feet. Instinct screamed at him to charge the man, but he controlled himself.
“Now that the two of you are on a more even footing, Assassin, I’d like to present an old friend.” The man licked his lips, and then whistled.
A dog, a black Labrador retriever, trotted in through the wall, attracted by the sound of the whistle. The dog seemed cheerful, tail high, panting in the manner of her kind. She trotted to the man with the sunglasses, who patted the dog on the head. “Assassin, meet Smokey. Smokey, meet The Assassin.”
The dog paused, sniffed the air, and turned to face The Assassin. The dog’s hackles rose, and a deep, rumbling growl sounded. The hairs on the back of the Assassin’s neck stood on end. He knew true fear, his first experience of the emotion — on the receiving end — in a very long time.
“Smokey remembers what happened the last time you met, you see. She knows that you attacked two humans she cared for. She remembers that you hurt her as well.” He smiled, and there was no mirth to the expression, even without being able to see his eyes. “I believe she’d like to discuss the matter with you, in her own fashion.”
He patted the dog on the head. “Sic ‘em, girl.”
Growling, the dog charged The Assassin. The man threw an arm up to defend himself and fell in the process. The dog seized the limb in her jaws and bit down with every bit of savagery a canine could muster, tearing skin and muscle. The Assassin screamed as the sharp pain overwhelmed him. He tried to position himself to kick her, but with four legs planted firmly on the ground, she easily maneuvered around the attempted blows. Survival instinct kicked in for him, and he moved his torso closer to her, rolling off his backside on to his knees, with the dog hanging on to his shredded arm. The Assassin raised his elbow and slammed it into the dog’s head, but Smokey didn’t react. He tried again, and this time she saw the blow coming. She released her jaws and sprang away, and The Assassin howled anew as he struck his own mangled arm. The nerve endings and muscles were torn and blood flowed freely. The arm was effectively dead.
While The Assassin stared at his injury, the dog pounced again, paws hitting him firmly in the chest, knocking him onto his back. The force of it slammed his head onto the ground, and he saw stars. His instinct kicked in, and he threw his injured arm in front of his face while swinging his good arm in an arc. The good arm made contact, and Smokey was knocked away from him, hitting the ground on her side. Smokey rolled twice, scrambled up on all four paws, and charged the man again. The Assassin had been trying to get to his feet, his good arm under him as he tried to press himself up to his knees, and the weight of the dog landing on his back unbalanced him. He landed face-first on the floor in a pool of his own blood, and felt the dog’s teeth sink into the skin of his neck, the snarling rage filled with blood lust, and The Assassin was very aware that he was going to die.
“To me, Smokey.” The man’s voice carried to The Assassin’s ears, faint. But he felt the teeth release him, was aware that the animal had left him, and was suddenly quite grateful to be alive. He spent several minutes face down on the ground, breathing rapidly at first, then more deeply, until his heart rate stabilized. He was still weak from the blood loss in his arm, but he was alive and would survive. With agonizing effort, he used his functioning arm to push himself up onto his knees, resting back on his haunches.
The man with the sunglasses sat in the same chair, watching him with interest. At his side sat the dog, Smokey, the latter sporting a look of extreme contentment as the man scratched her behind the ears. There was no sign in the dog’s current demeanor of the vicious beast that had attacked and nearly killed him, save for a small amount of his blood on her snout..
“You see,” the man said, “we all have our moments of violence, when our inner animal comes out, including cases when we are actually animals.” He nodded at the dog. “And yet here you see Smokey in a state that would be her most normal, a pleasant and friendly companion, happy with the simplest gestures. When she felt threatened, however, she reacted with violence, though perhaps if she’d taken the time to assess the situation she would have realized that you are currently no threat to either of us, and thus the attack was unnecessary.”
He patted the dog, and Smokey trotted back toward The Assassin. The man lurched backward away from the animal, terrified that she would attack again. He crashed into the wall, that wall that let everyone and everything in and out but him, and he was trapped. His legs kept moving, trying to push his body through the wall, desperate to get away from the vicious beast before she attacked him. He threw his good arm up in front of his face. Smokey moved closer, cautious, and sniffed. He could feel her hot breath on his face, see his own blood still on her snout.
The Assassin’s will broke. She was too close, he was too frail, and he had none of his usual tools of violence a
vailable to defend himself. He let his legs go limp, and dropped his arm from its defensive position. The dog had defeated him, and she would kill him.
Smokey watched him, panting. Then she moved up next to him and licked The Assassin’s face. She sat down on her haunches next to him, tail wagging.
The Assassin was stunned. Wasn’t this animal the same one that had attacked him without remorse only a few moments earlier? What was this behavior?
“She likes to be scratched behind the ears,” the man with the sunglasses offered.
You have got to be kidding me, The Assassin thought. But the dog hadn’t attacked him again. Yet. And so, with a great deal of anxiety, he reached his good hand over, resting it on the dog’s fur, and started to scratch. The dog’s eyes closed, and she seemed to be very content.
“I think she likes you.”
“She has no need or reason to like me,” The Assassin said. “I fully expect her to finish me off at any second.”
“She reacts as instinct demands to defend herself and those she cares for,” the man replied. “If you are no threat, then she’s quite happy to be friends. If you move to attack her, however, or threaten me...well, you know what she can do when provoked.”
The man stood. “Come, Smokey,” he called, and the dog trotted away from The Assassin, back to his side. The man faced The Assassin. “I will send someone in to provide medication that will heal those wounds and help you sleep, at which point we will discuss your future options.”
“You can’t trust me,” The Assassin snapped. “I’ll kill every single one of you when I get the chance. You should execute me now, not restore my health.”
A Question of Will Page 16
