Recruits Series, Book 1

by Thomas Locke

“There was nothing to be gained by alarming you in advance.” Carver turned so he could address both of them. “You know the drill. Create the portal, pass through, return. Then in the second portion, raise the shield, defend, attack. You have already successfully accomplished both tasks. Remember your lessons. You will do fine.”

  Sean followed them up the steps and into the house. He pretty much managed to ignore the Examiner’s irate presence. Something at gut level told him the Examiner was not the reason for how he felt. Which was not a good thing. If there was a threat out there worse than having his mind wiped, it had to be bad indeed.

  Carver asked, “Which of you wants to go first?”

  “I am the one to make that decision,” the Examiner snapped.

  Carver just sighed.

  The Examiner pointed to Sean and said, “You. Out.”

  “Go wait in the kitchen, Sean.”

  Sean wanted to tell Carver how he was feeling, but their instructor remained in the living room. The door was shut and Sean could not hear anything beyond a faint murmur. Ten minutes later Dillon walked in, flushed but pleased enough to declare, “Piece of cake.”

  When Sean took his place in the living room, the Examiner’s frown seemed somewhat displaced. As though things were so far removed from his expectations that he was being forced to rethink his assessment. Which should have been good for a grin. But the sense of unease remained, even as Sean successfully created the portal, passed through to the train station, and allowed Carver to draw him back.

  Sean performed three more transits. Throughout the test, the Examiner did not actually look his way. Carver, however, appeared genuinely pleased.

  When the Examiner remained silent after the fourth transit, Carver opened the kitchen door and said, “Outside, both of you.”

  Carver positioned them under the repaired awning, then said, “Raise your shields, then on the Examiner’s word you attack.”

  The Examiner protested, “Once again, those are instructions I should give.”

  This time Carver did not back down. “Follow the protocol you practiced all weekend.”

  Tirian glowered at Carver and said, “Shields up.” A moment’s pause, then, “Attack.”

  Sean sent the blows at Dillon, he got the licks in return, they both plowed furrows in the bare earth, same as before. Again, Sean was fairly certain the guy did not bother watching. After a few minutes the Examiner said, “Enough.”

  Sean nodded in response to Dillon’s wide grin. Inwardly he tried to identify what had him so knotted up. He wondered if maybe that was all it was, learning to accept that the bad old days were truly behind them.

  The Examiner did not seem to be able to hold on to his customary heat as he said, “This changes nothing.” He took a step, like he was walking off the rear porch, and vanished.

  Carver sighed once more, then said, “Inside.”

  When they were seated around the kitchen table, Carver said, “What the Examiner in his wisdom failed to inform you of is that you are ahead of schedule.”

  Dillon said, “That’s good, right?”

  Carver looked at Sean’s brother, like he was trying to decide how much to say. “It is better than that. You appear to be accelerating. You have both managed to attend night class. Your skill with the Serenese language is improving. Your shields are well grounded, your attacks almost natural. Your training overall is moving at twice the standard rate.”

  Sean asked, “So we’ll be done in two weeks?”

  Carver’s implacable gaze turned his way. “You are so eager to be rid of me?”

  “No,” Dillon said. “Definitely not.”

  Sean replied, “I just want to be done with the tests.”

  “The tests will continue for several years. Longer, if you specialize. But the risk of being mind-wiped ends with the conclusion of tier one. And yes, that could come more swiftly than expected.” Carver glared at the empty space beyond the kitchen door. “No matter what the Examiner might think.”

  “Well, all right.” Dillon grinned at his brother. When Sean did not respond, he asked, “What’s eating you?”

  “Ever since midday I’ve had this feeling that something’s seriously wrong.”

  Carver waved that aside. “Such unsettled moments are part of learning to transit. Your entire definition of reality is being redrawn. Be patient. Rest when you feel the need.” He pulled out a drawer in the table and withdrew a manila envelope. “I have something for you.”

  The “something” turned out to be two sets of keys to the Charger.

  And two packets of cash. Fifties and twenties.

  “I prefer to pay you in advance,” Carver said. “Now go out and celebrate. That’s an order.”

  12

  They went back to the Grill. Of course. Sean did not even bother pointing out that Raleigh was home to hundreds of other restaurants. As far as Sean was concerned, it really didn’t matter where they ate. He still carried his burden of worry. Even Dillon noticed it, despite the fact that the guy was living inside a buffet line of dreams come true.

  Toward the end of their meal Dillon finally groused, “Think you could check your cloak of doom with the lady at the door?”

  “Sorry. Maybe you should just drop me off at the house.”

  “No way. Like you said, we’re in this together.” He pointed at the half-finished burger on Sean’s plate. “You want that?”

  “You can not still be hungry.”

  “No, man, but this is too good to leave.”

  “Go for it.” Sean glanced out the window at the westering sun. He didn’t enjoy being a drag. It wasn’t like him. His general state of mind was mild optimism. But there was something . . .

  Dillon asked, “How much cash do we have left?”

  “You know perfectly well how much.” But he said it anyway. “Seven thousand minus the cost of this meal.”

  Dillon sighed contentedly. “I am just loving this.”

  They left the Grill and arrived at the bank where they had their savings accounts in time to deposit the funds. Just drove up to the outside window, and Dillon chatted with the lady while Sean filled out the deposit form. Like they were two normal people with a normal wad of cash that came from a normal kind of job.

  Dillon asked what Sean wanted to do, and when he didn’t answer, Dillon turned them back down Hillsborough. The five-lane road divided the shopping district known as Cameron Village from the thirty-two thousand students of NC State. Hillsborough was a main artery that defined much of what was Old Raleigh, the good and the bad. They headed east toward the state capitol, passed the Y and the Candlelight Inn, toured the blocks of head shops and bakeries and pizza joints and T-shirt factories, before meeting up with the stone canyons of downtown. Then Dillon wheeled them around and started back. Keeping their speed down, just out for a sunset cruise. Sean should have been thrilled with everything. Instead of acting like he was a card-carrying member of the dark-cloud set.

  The Charger came with an automatic regulator that reduced the engine’s power to just four cylinders when idling or driving at low revs. The switch was remarkably smooth, and the motor still gave off a throaty rumble even when geared down. The noise filled the car with a sense of easy anticipation. Dillon had the radio turned to some HD rock station, which Sean could take or leave. Normally he would have insisted on equal time being given to his jazz, which Dillon absolutely hated. But Sean was still filtering everything through his glum lens. Even the bass line strong enough to thump the car like a metal drum couldn’t touch him.

  As Dillon slid into the turn lane and rumbled past the old bell tower that marked State’s main entrance, Sean tried to argue his way out from under his dark cloud. Gone was any concern over pocket money or summer jobs or SATs or even which college might find room for them both. All of it. Vanished forever. If only they could keep passing those tests. As they rumbled along the university’s tree-lined streets, Sean knew he should have been basking in the dual glows of ready cash and a new
car.

  Which was when the girls flagged them down.

  Three female students stood by one of the many glass-covered bus alcoves that serviced the main campus. Dillon swung the car to the curb like he was always getting signals from a trio of beauties. Which these ladies most certainly were. Two blondes and a brunette. All dressed in mini shorts that fit them like bikini bottoms. Small ones. And tank tops that looked spray-painted into position.

  The lone brunette leaned into Dillon’s open window and gave them a smile Sean felt in his toes. “You guys going to the party?”

  “We are now,” Dillon replied.

  “Can we get a lift?”

  Sean already had his door open. “Ladies.”

  The brunette chose to sit up front with Dillon. Which meant Sean was crammed into a blonde sandwich. Not that he was complaining.

  After all, these were college girls.

  Going to a party.

  Every single fantasy his seventeen-year-old mind had ever dreamed up instantly grew wings and did a fluttery bat thing around the car’s interior.

  Thankfully, his inability to respond was masked by the brunette declaring, “I love this song.” Then she cranked the stereo up to a volume that could only have been described as headbanging.

  And suddenly Sean was in between two girls who actually managed to dance in that small backseat.

  Again, no complaints.

  The brunette directed Dillon to their destination by means of sign language. And smiles.

  NC State still had a number of freshmen dorms inside the main campus. But the vast majority of student housing was now outside the Beltway. The university had bought entire apartment developments, over four thousand units, and were building still more. They set up free dedicated bus service that ran 24-7.

  The brunette directed them across the Beltway and into the confusion of countryside being transformed into mini campuses. They passed one cul-de-sac after another, taking a sunset ride through the growing collegiate sprawl.

  They pulled into a half-finished complex, where the buildings were surrounded by raw earth and roads going nowhere. A party filled the avenue and spilled into the weed-strewn meadow. Young people danced and drank and shouted and flowed around bars and buffet tables and . . .

  Cars.

  The center of the lane held every dream car Sean and Dillon had ever drooled over.

  Including a new seven-series BMW. The color was Sean’s favorite, a sophisticated blend of café au lait and silver. Twenty-inch Michelins with racing treads. The most beautiful machine on the planet.

  The blonde next to him said, “Want to drive it?”

  The other blonde said, “What is this, drive? I bet he wants to race it.”

  The brunette turned down the music and said to Dillon, “Forget those foreign heaps. Let’s go drag this baby.”

  Sean was already preparing the standard backseat warning. It was an instinctive response, because if anyone had asked he would have said that he and Dillon had left their thinking brains back at the bus stop where they found the ladies.

  But Dillon said, “Not tonight.”

  The brunette revealed the most amazing pout. “Not even if I ask nice?”

  Dillon said, “Not even for seven thousand dollars.”

  Which made no sense to anyone but them, but it was good for a real smile. Sean was about to ask the brunette to let them out so they could go join the party.

  Which was when he heard the scream.

  13

  There was something about the sound. As though Sean had heard it before. Or maybe it resonated inside him. Like the scream vibrated at the same frequency as his bones.

  Dillon stabbed the front windshield. “There!”

  Sean saw it too. A Nissan low rider streaked up and halted directly in line with them. Eric sat behind the wheel. He leered through his open window, like the sole reason for him being there was to mock them. Like this was what he lived for.

  He draped one hand on the wheel. The other was clenched around Carey’s neck.

  She fought Eric’s grip with frantic futility. She looked straight at them and shrieked, “Help me!”

  Eric shook her like a misbehaving doll. Carey’s hair caught the sunset in a ruby blush. Then Eric goosed the engine and burned rubber in a high-pitched farewell. Dust lingered with the smoke.

  Dillon mashed the stereo’s off button. In the sudden quiet Sean heard his brother growl deep in his throat.

  Brunette complained, “I liked that song.”

  The words jarred inside Sean’s brain. He wanted to ask how she could be so unconcerned about another woman’s distress. But Dillon slammed the car into drive and mashed the accelerator.

  The Charger responded like it had waited all its short life for this moment.

  Up to that point, the engine’s noise had been both beautiful and muted. Now it was all bellowing menace. The tires burned with the same rage that flooded Sean and flamed in Dillon’s pinched features. Dillon fought the wheel, oversteered momentarily, then took aim for where the Nissan swiftly disappeared. The crowd formed a channel of cheering salutes to their departure.

  The blonde to Sean’s left kissed his neck and shouted into his ear, her words as hot as her lips, “Isn’t this fun?”

  The lure was too perfect. That was the thought that slapped Sean awake. He tore his gaze off the road ahead and stared at the girl. She met him with an inviting smile. As though this was exactly what she wanted. Him, the race, the danger high. All of it. Perfect.

  Yet there was something else now. Perhaps it had always been there. But the roaring engine and the racing acceleration and the adrenaline rush all formed a piercing clarity. And Sean saw beyond the woman’s beauty. Into her gaze.

  And he realized that this wasn’t real.

  Logic was no more important now than when he was walking through walls. Despite everything his eyes saw, he was certain the spark in the woman’s gaze was alien. He could not say why he knew. Only that he was certain.

  This was a setup.

  He tore his eyes away. He could not let her see that he knew. So when she leaned in close and breathed fire on his ear, he did not respond as he wanted, which was to jerk and shudder with revulsion.

  She shouted, “Don’t you just love this?”

  Sean felt his lips pull back from his teeth and hoped she did not catch the lie in his expression or his reply. “This is amazing!”

  Only it wasn’t. It was terrifying. Because as he saw the road race up toward them, he became instantly, utterly certain of one thing.

  They were going to die.

  The Charger ate up the straight-line road. The red Carolina clay exposed by the building sites rushed past on both sides, blurring with their acceleration until they tore down a street lined with dried blood.

  They gradually caught up with the Nissan. But Sean wasn’t watching the car now. He knew that wasn’t real either. He had no idea what Eric drove, but he was positive it wasn’t this. The thoughts punched his brain faster than the Charger’s forward momentum. They were trapped, and this was why the women were here. Or whatever they were. Their job was to get them into this position. So that they could be . . .

  Murdered.

  The instant he made this connection, the Nissan up ahead of them disintegrated. One moment the four exhaust pipes were flashing flames with each gear change. Then the car was no longer a car at all. Only smoke. A single puff of reddish-silver exhaust. And the Charger punched through.

  Directly at the trees.

  The road jinked to the right. The curve was too sharp for their speed. They were milliseconds from a strike and their deaths.

  And the women shrieked their triumphant laughter.

  The Charger struck the curb and was catapulted up. The nose dragged the earth, the car now at a ninety-degree angle.

  And still the women laughed.

  A tree limb was aimed straight at the front windscreen. Another second and it would become a lance through Sean’s hea
rt.

  Sean did not think. There was no time for deliberation. He acted.

  He shook off the women’s hold, then enveloped himself and Dillon in a single protective shield. Sean then used the car’s motion to lunge him and Dillon forward.

  And transited them through the portal he had fashioned.

  He and Dillon tumbled across the polished stone flooring of the massive train station.

  People shouted and leapt aside. Sean took down seven people. Dillon collided with an even dozen as he slid a hundred feet or so and came up hard against a massive electronic sign. One of the metal posts crumpled, but the sign remained upright.

  Dillon did not get up.

  Sean rose, ignoring the angry protests, and raced over.

  Dillon’s hands were bloody. He gripped a shard of tree limb that stuck out of his side, just above his belt. But the pain on his features had nothing to do with his injury. He looked up at Sean and cried, “I killed them!”

  “They weren’t real,” Sean replied. But his brother probably didn’t hear. Because Dillon’s eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

  14

  Sean pretty much ignored the firestorm their arrival created. The people they had decked picked themselves up and shook their fists and shouted. The complaints grew louder still when the uniforms arrived. Sean did not understand a word of what was said, not by the passengers and not by the cops. Their uniforms were dark grey and their belts did not carry anything that resembled a gun. But their stern expressions were exactly what he’d have expected from cops back home.

  The two cops called emergency services. Sean knew this because soon a young woman rushed through the onlookers carrying what at first glance appeared to be a long white pole, but she flipped it open to form a stretcher. She then knelt over Dillon and checked him carefully. She spoke Serenese and finally got Sean to release his hold, shift over, and help them lift Dillon. But as he started to argue over being allowed to carry one end of the stretcher, the woman muttered to him, “Limp.”

  At least, that’s what Sean thought she said.

  He glanced at the cops, saw how they looked at him, and figured they were planning to drop off his brother, then go find a cramped little room with bars where they could lock Sean up. So he did what the woman said and limped. It didn’t hurt that he was stained from knees to elbows with his brother’s blood.