by Jake Bible
The prince laughed and poured himself a drink. “Anyone care for something?” They all glared. “Oh, yes, you have yours… Very well, Julian, last week I would have agreed with you. But, this week…”
The holo changed perspectives to a grand estate. The image circled a great old castle three times then came in close and settled before the main entrance on the large gravel drive.
“That’s Wildshire Downs!” the Brit exclaimed. “How did you do that? Satellite images combined with crane work?”
“Please, Julian, you’re being dense,” Alex grinned. The image switched immediately to a waving Prince Alexander standing in the empty drive. With a flourish of his hands the air behind him shimmered, then was filled with a large aircraft. The sun glinted off the reflective biochrome. Everyone in the room gasped.
“That has to be fake!” Timon said. “Special effects any ten-year-old could do.”
“Which is why I have prepared a demonstration,” Alex’s grin grew wider and he downed his drink in one gulp. “If you’ll follow me to the roof, I’ll show you all that it is very real. You may leave your drinks. Refreshments will be provided on board.”
“On board?” Julian asked.
Alex didn’t answer, only smiled.
***
Sirens could be heard in the distance and Heather yanked Billy to his feet giving him a good, hard slap. “Wake up, scabhead! We gotta go!”
Billy staggered a bit, then found his balance, his hand going to his cheek. “Did you really need to do that?”
“Want another?” Heather glared. “Great job protecting her.”
Heather knelt next to Melissa and Beth, admiring the BC stitch work. “You’re learning fast,” Heather smiled at Mel.
“Thanks. It’s all still a little fuzzy, but the skills are coming together,” Melissa responded, helping Beth to her feet, putting the wounded girl’s arm around her shoulders. “Couple more hours and we should know what special skill set I have.”
“I look forward to finding out,” Heather nodded. “But for now we need to get the fuck off this beach.”
“How far do you think we are from Amsterdam?” Beth whispered.
“Billy?” Heather asked, glancing at the still groggy junkie.
“Um, not sure,” Billy said, shaking his head. “I’m guessing just a few kilometers. Get me somewhere where I can focus and I’ll make us a hydro-skiff so we can take the canals.”
***
“There’s nothing here, Alexander,” Timon growled as the group stepped onto the nightclub’s roof. Sasha cleared his throat and Timon rolled his eyes. “Your Highness.”
Alex smiled and snapped his fingers. “Mr. Styles? If you please.”
The space before them began to shimmer and warp and almost instantly was filled with the same aircraft from the holo.
The vehicle was pure BC: shiny, reflective and sleek. It was long, over fifteen meters, and the wings were short and brushed back, giving the impression of a moth’s wings at rest. It stood seven meters high with a meter of empty space beneath it. Except for the open cockpit on the side, there wasn’t a single window. In that cockpit door stood a strikingly handsome man, late thirties, with a wide grin on his face and an equally wide cowboy hat on his head.
“Howdy, y’all. Captain Edgar Styles at your service.” Styles gave a quick salute, then leapt from the cockpit and walked briskly to the group, his hand extended. “Glad to meet ya. Y’all ready for a ride?”
The group looked from Alex to each other, stunned.
“Is this guy for real?” Timon asked.
“As real as a heart attack, pard.” Styles winked.
“As real as a heart attack,” Alex laughed.
***
“Valerie Adams here, live from what was the site of the American Base in Suffolk,” Valerie said into the holo cam, her body covered from head to toe in a protective suit, her face obscured by the clear face mask which was quickly fogging up. “As you can see behind me, the devastation is horrendous. And quite dangerous as the radiation levels are lethal and the LOM has sent in its Atmospheric Containment Agency to control any fallout. While the ACA has declined to speak with us, rightly so since they are quite busy, we have been told that similar operations are in progress at bases, or former bases now, in Spain, France, the Holy Roman Empire and anywhere an attack has been…” Her head cocked, Valerie listened intently for a moment. “Folks, it has come to my attention that all American bases have been destroyed! Also, it appears that the American Family Combat Units that are embedded in each Monarchy are under assault or have been executed. We are trying to learn more as we speak, but it appears that the long thought defunct terrorist sect, El Rojo Muerte, or The Red Death, has claimed responsibility…”
Mr. Brown Eyes switched off the holo. “Seems like the story is holding strong.”
“We have complete control of all media at the moment,” Mr. Plain smiled. “Even with eyewitness reports circling about, there are so many crackpots out there making huge claims no one knows who to believe.”
“Where are we with actual containment of the FCUs?” Mr. Continental asked.
“Reports indicate there are a few individual stragglers still unaccounted for, but we are close to a 97% extermination rate,” Mr. Plain answered. “That includes all known Ghosts.”
“Ghosts as well?” Mr. Brown Eyes asked, surprised. “That is well ahead of schedule.”
“They didn’t see it coming,” Mr. Plain grinned. “We caught all of them completely off guard.”
“How very un-American,” Mr. Brown Eyes laughed and the others joined him.
“Are all the Monarchs ready to make their statements when ordered?” Mr. Continental asked.
“They are and none are the wiser,” Mr. Plain replied. “We are right on target.”
***
Charlie Masterson watched from the hillside as the LOM ACA units put their massive atmospheric processors into place. He knew once they turned those on and their energy shields were activated, he wouldn’t stand a chance of getting into the blast site to retrieve his father. Charlie smiled at the thought of his father, Blue, and how that son of a bitch seemed stronger than a cockroach and ten times as resilient.
Charlie was pretty impressed with himself for escaping a LOMSD ambush without a scratch. Only he and Tolson had made it out. He tried to get Tolson to come with him, but the woman was more concerned with tracking down her own family, which was to be understood.
But, looking down on the scorched crater that was once the base he grew up in, he couldn’t help but smile with respect that somewhere down there his father was still alive. Or at least had been alive long enough to activate his secure beacon before the radiation fouled the signal.
Charlie kept watching the ACA, and their accompanying LOMSD guards, and hoped he could find the weak spot, the way in, soon. He melted back into the shadows, his custom Shock suit reflecting the scenery about, making him almost invisible to the naked eye, while his suit’s jamming tech made him completely undetectable by sensors. He may not have been a Ghost like his father, but he was one tough Shock trooper.
***
“Now ladies and gentlemen,” Styles called over the com from the cockpit. “In your seats you will see two shoulder straps and a lap belt. If you would be so kind as to secure yourselves I’ll really give you a demonstration of what this baby can do.”
The VIPs looked at each other, eyes wide in amazement as they sat inside what Styles had called the “BTT”. Most were annoyed that he wouldn’t elaborate as to what the B, T or T stood for, but those thoughts were gone the second they lifted off from the nightclub roof and shot out of Amsterdam and over the Channel.
“We will be going faster?” a short, pudgy woman asked, the color of her skin turning a deeper shade of green. “How fast does this go?”
“Mach 2,” Prince Alexander responded, highball glass in hand. “No need to worry. I’ve done this a hundred times. It’s all perfectly safe.”
&nbs
p; “All strapped in?” Styles asked, his voice echoing in the passenger cabin. “I’m punching it in five, four, three…” All the VIPs scrambled to secure their harnesses. “…two, one!”
The press of the g-forces as the BTT rocketed into the night shoved the VIPs back into their seats. Alexander laughed, seemingly unaffected.
“Why…aren’t…you…pushed…back,” Timon stuttered, his eyes wide and face white.
“Gravitational stabilizer,” Alex smiled, spinning his finger about, indicating the whole of the cabin. “Something I worked up. Keeps my drink from spilling.”
“Why…isn’t it…working on…us?” the pudgy woman asked.
“Oh, your harnesses counter the effect,” Alex responded, sipping casually from his drink. “I just wanted you to feel the g so you know why you need the stabilizer. It isn’t standard installation and we’ll discuss costs for the extras when we return.”
“Anything else…we should know…about?” Timon asked. “Any other…extras?”
“Plenty,” Alex winked.
***
“Alex?” Styles called over the private com as the aircraft slowed considerably. “Can you come up here?”
“Are we having issues?” Alexander responded, glancing towards the VIPs.
“Not exactly,” Styles responded. “Just get up here.”
Alex smiled and stood up, nodding to the others, but they were all too white knuckled to care. He walked casually to the cockpit door and placed his hand firmly in the middle. The door dissolved and Alexander quickly stepped inside, the door firming behind him. “What, Eddie?”
“Look out there,” Styles said, pointing to the nighttime landscape of England below.
The prince looked down for a moment, puzzled. “What am I looking at, Styles?” he asked impatiently.
“See all those lights? That big crater with all the machinery around it?”
“Yes, so?”
“We’re three kilometers up, Al. Those are big machines!”
Alexander continued looking out the windshield. “I’m not following you.”
“That used to be Suffolk! That’s what’s left of the American Base! Those are atmospheric processors being put into place!” Styles switched on the holocast and a small image formed in the middle of the cockpit. Reports flashed across the holo of the devastation in England and elsewhere. “All hell has gone down! Right when we’re trying to make a fucking sale!”
Alexander sat down, pressing his hand to his forehead.
“What are we going to do, Al?” Styles asked. “I’ve got everything sunk into this project. This shit fails and I’ve got nowhere to go.”
“Just let me think, Eddie, okay? I’ll work it out. I always do.”
Chapter Eleven
“What happened back there?” Heather asked, sitting next to Beth in the small four person hydro-skiff Billy was able to scrap together. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”
Beth watched the dark waters of the canal skim by; the lights of Amsterdam’s buildings created shimmering images in the skiff’s wake. Heather watched the girl for a moment, not sure if she had heard the question. Finally Beth turned to her, tears spilling from her eyes.
“I think…,” she sniffed. “I think I’m going crazy.”
Melissa glanced back, about to make a snide remark, but Heather gave her a stern look and she faced forward again.
“How do you mean, Beth?” Heather asked, taking the girl’s hand in hers. Beth’s fingers entwined Heathers and she gripped them with a ferocity that startled Heather.
“I heard…voices,” Beth said. “Or a voice, no…there were two voices. They were yelling. Things were spinning…I wasn’t me…but I was.”
“Has this ever happened before?”
Beth looked at Heather alarmed. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. My past…it’s all fuzzy, like I’m forgetting stuff, like I’m dissolving.”
“We’re here,” Billy announced, cutting the skiff’s drive and piloting the small craft over to a long dock situated in front of a loud nightclub. “Everyone off. He’ll be inside.”
Two large security guards stepped forward, palms out in warning, as they stared down at the bloody, dirt encrusted foursome. “You can’t dock here!” one of them announced.
“It’s okay,” Billy said, hands out in a placating gesture. “We’re on the permanent guest list.”
“Guests? Who you guests of?” the other asked, activating his wrist console.
“Prince Alexander Tartarov,” Heather said, stepping up onto the deck, not waiting for an invitation. “Tell him his wife is here.”
***
“We got another chunk!” a worker shouted from his incident suit. “Good size too!”
“Yeah, scans show that’s the last of it!” his foreman cried. “Crane it to a lorry! I’ll tag it and set the containment. We’ll get it out of here for LOMSD analysis. Then maybe we can shut this site down and get home!”
“You aren’t fucking wrong there, guv!” The worker tapped at his wrist and activated a hover crane. The machine floated above the chunk of BC, dropped a massive set of claws and gripped the chunk firmly. Lifting it onto the last waiting lorry, the man switched his controls off as the foreman took over. “Driver is giving the thumbs up!”
“Then get it the fuck out of here!” the foreman shouted, moving on to the next step for securing the atmospheric processors and getting them online.
The worker gave the all clear sign and the lorry moved slowly from the site, passing through a massive decon unit, then onto a dark road lined with LOMSD troopers. Once a few kilometers away the lorry stopped, pulling onto the shoulder. The passenger door opened and a body was roughly shoved out into the drainage ditch.
Charlie Masterson shut the passenger door, double checked his side and rear vid views and pulled back onto the asphalt, taking a distinctly different direction than the LOMSD analysis facility set up just a mile away.
***
“Ms. Walton, how nice to see you,” Sasha said, meeting the group at the door, the two security guards refusing to let them off the dock and into the nightclub. “Now get in that tiny thing of a boat and go away.”
“Fuck you, Sasha,” Heather grinned with menace. “We need to see Alex. It’s kind of important.”
Sasha rolled his eyes and glanced at the security guards. They quickly made themselves scarce at the far end of the dock. “Oh, I’m sure it is important. I’ve been watching the holocasts. Doesn’t look like a good time for the…” Sasha trailed off as he spotted Billy. “What the hell is that doing here?” he spat. “Haven’t you caused everyone enough damn trouble, you…you…scabhead!”
“Everyone keeps calling me that like it’s an insult with weight,” Billy shrugged. “Trust me, ‘scabhead’ is one of the better names I’ve been given.”
“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Sasha sneered. “I’m surprised Ms. Walton is even with you, considering you killed her sister. And your own brother.”
“Uh hum!” Heather coughed, glaring at Sasha and nodding behind her.
Sasha glanced around Heather and Billy, noticing Beth and Melissa for the first time. “Dear me! Little Mel? Oh, sweetheart! Come here and give Uncle Sasha a big hug!” The steward shoved past Heather and embraced Melissa fiercely. Melissa stiffened and pushed away. “What? You don’t remember me?” He looked at Heather, offended. “She doesn’t remember me?”
“She doesn’t remember a lot from that time, Sasha,” Heather said. “Please. Can we see Alex?”
Sasha ignored Heather’s plea and appraised Beth. “I don’t know you, do I?”
“Sasha!” Heather shouted, causing the security guards to move towards the group. Sasha quickly waved them away.
“His Highness isn’t available at the moment,” he began. Heather opened her mouth instantly to protest. “But I will show you to his suite and you may wait there until he returns.” He grabbed Melissa by the shoulders and smiled. “It is so good to see you, Li
ttle One. I’ll have the kitchen make some sandwiches. I believe turkey on rye with extra, extra mayo is your favorite?”
Melissa eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
“Oh, sweetie, I know more about you than apparently you do!” He laughed, took Melissa’s arm and led the group into the nightclub.
“I like turkey,” Billy said.
“You get nothing, junkie!” Sasha snapped as they stepped into the swirling lights and pounding bass of the club.
***
Mr. Stone heard Reginald’s strangled cry just as he stepped into the pub’s WC. He debated whether to go back and help or to try to get through the small alley window in the third stall. He knew, in his gin-addled state, neither decision was a safe one.
“I’m going soft,” he slurred as he walked back into the pub’s barroom.
“Mr. Stone,” Ms. Isely’s voice cackled from a dark corner. “Join us, please.”
Stone instantly noticed the lack of patrons and realized his night had gone from career ending to possible life ending. “I’d rather not.”
“Well, the choice isn’t yours, really,” Ms. Isely smirked.
Mr. Stone stood stock still as his partner’s body was shoved from the booth in the corner and onto the dirty pub floor, a mind spike jutting from his forehead.
Mr. Stone stared at Reginald’s blank eyes, trying to muster up some remorse or regret, but all he felt was numbness. He stumbled to the bar and climbed over it, falling roughly to the ground. With a good deal of effort he pulled himself upright and snatched what would have been his third full bottle of gin from the shelf. After taking several long pulls, he slammed the bottle down.
“Fuck you…”
He promptly vomited.
“I have to say, Mr. Stone,” Ms. Isely grinned. “You’re handling this better than expected.”
***
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Alex announced as he walked back into the cabin. “I regret to inform you that by circumstances well beyond my control our trip this evening will need to come to an end a little sooner than anticipated.”
