by Rick Royster
Rhys struggled to get up but before he could, the clone mounted him. He tried desperately to use his grappling training and tie up the Centurion's arms, but the clone was too fast and far too strong. Elbows and fists rained down like a steady beat of a drum. Rhys took a blow to the forehead, the temple, the cheek, the top of the head… then the forehead again. The last blow split him, blood leaking from his pate, running into his hair and eyes and onto the Centurion’s white gauntlets.
Rhys squirmed again, then moved his arms out wide, the Centurion’s arms following them. He leaned in and grabbed both wrists, locking Rhys down. But this was a mistake; with his face only a couple of inches from Rhys’, he was now exposed and Rhys launched his forehead into the Centurion's already broken nose.
Crunch.
The clone recoiled in pain, both hands flying up to cover his face as Rhys shoved the man off of him and rose quickly to his feet. The Centurion stood up, staggering and swaying like a baby taking his first steps.
Then he righted himself, recovered, and rushed in as relentless as a machine.
The instinctive response came from one of his first jujitsu lessons. Rhys gathered himself. Using the body-drop technique, he stepped inside with his left foot, parried the strike with a basic inside forearm block, turned the Centurion’s arm anti-clockwise and instead of taking him to the ground as expected, he launched him over the cliff.
The clone was completely off-balanced and had no chance of slowing his momentum, and Rhys saw him drop like a rock, head-first.
Rhys gasped heavily and put his hands on his knees and looked over the cliff. At once, the adrenaline that had fueled him in combat disappeared like the wind. His entire body ached, he had a splitting headache, his ears were warmed, his head was numbed. A fight that took maybe twenty seconds left him feeling as if he'd been flogged for a week.
He dropped to his butt and placed his hands on the ground behind him, blew deep breaths out of his mouth, and could taste the snowflakes falling. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.
A moment later, Cayden and Winter made it up the hill. He saw Cayden take him in, no doubt staring at the welts and bruises on his face. Cayden's head flicked from side to side, his hand on the hilt of his deadly katana, no doubt looking for the culprit.
Rhys pointed his thumb over the side of the cliff.
"He's over there somewhere?" Rhys said.
Winter crouched down next to him, gently touched the gash on his forehead, then she went into a pouch on her belt.
"Are you ok?" Winter asked.
"I'm fine, feel like I've been stampeded by elephants but I'm fine."
She gave him a pill and sprayed some gauze over his wound. Rhys placed the pill in his mouth and felt better in a matter of moments. Cayden extended his hand as Rhys grabbed underneath his arm and was pulled to his feet.
"Let's get off this rock; we have a mission to complete," Rhys said.
Rhys dusted himself off.
"Where to?" Rhys said.
Cayden glanced over at Winter, who looked at her wrist-com.
"They’re on the move. Region Twelve," she said.
Cayden looked out beyond the mountains. "Per Global Union protocol, they put their jets on auto-pilot and landed a hundred miles out. We need to make it in a hurry. Try and keep up. I'll get to the jet first and rendezvous with you at your advance location."
Rhys and Winter both nodded in agreement.
Before Cayden could take off, Winter reached out her hand. "Hey, the pilot. Where is he? We have to go back and look for him."
Cayden glanced down beneath them, then shook his head. "We don't know if he survived, but we don't have that kinda time. Sorry, I really am, but if we don't get that Cube, everything falls."
Winter look at him with sad blue eyes, then stared back down to the resort and saw the various rescue vehicles approaching the area of the chaos. She hoped they would find the pilot in good health.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
But Moses said to the people of Gad and to the people of Reuben, "Shall your brothers go to war while you sit here?”
― Numbers 32:6
Matrix thought of his skillset and wished he had been born in the industrial age, a time of production, among men like Tesla, Edison, and Einstein - the first builders of industry.
His skills in this landscape were only valuable in how much death and discord he could deal out for disciples of destruction. He had the knowledge not just to analyze advanced computer buildings, but also to raise new architectural features and, with enough funding, he could become an experimental engineer of note. But in this time, he was only just another instrument of war, a part of the orchestra of oblivion.
Then again, perhaps he wasn't so different from those men. Tesla's intellect was applied to create a death ray; Edison's use of direct current electricity had been used for capital punishment; Einstein's research was co-opted to create the atomic bomb. Perhaps it was the destiny of every man of the mind to have their achievements bring about someone's ruin. If so, he began to think with optimism that his compatriots might use his help to destroy the destroyers. Though, at his age, the capacity to generate a sense of optimism, even in the best of circumstances was leaving him.
No matter what the fruits of his labor would be, he didn't want to see the outcome first-hand.
He watched Rabbit depart, then Goliath shortly behind him. Coming here, he fully expected to follow them. He never set out and chose this path or this life, and the further he ran from it, the faster it chased him. He glanced down at his laser pistol and had the sudden urge to toss it in the ocean. It hit him at once; suddenly, he knew he was done. He was no longer a soldier. He allowed himself to feel how exhausted he really was. His back ached, his arms were sore, and his feet were throbbing.
He was no longer a young man and being in the middle of his life, he had no intentions of dying at the hands of the Global Union - or worse, being taken prisoner. He would be too young to die and still had more than enough life in him to endure a torturous existence at GU interrogator hands.
He came to the only resolution he could. They would be leaving without him.
While nursing a mug of java, Goliath watched the strong waters crash against the harbor walls, some spilling over onto the tarmac. He enjoyed the open water. It had a soothing effect which balanced out his high-strung personality – at least typically.
His nose quickly discharged a burst of air which wasn't quite a huff or a sneeze. The water smelled of fish and acrid metals.
When this was over, Goliath decided to find somewhere on the planet with temperate beaches unspoiled by pollution, if there were any places like that left - patrolling a beach somewhere, skipping through the sand. That was how he should spend his days.
It would be soon, Goliath thought. He'd put this war behind him. Since he’d been a child, it was all he knew. He awaited the day he'd forget what a weapon looked like.
Rabbit took a deep breath next to him and stood, then started off toward the boat.
"Now where are you going?" Goliath grumbled.
"We're going, with or without you." Rabbit peeked back over his shoulder at Goliath.
"Just you and her, huh? Taking on all comers? Going up against the GU, the Coalition and bounty hunters?" Goliath asked. "You won't last fifteen minutes out there by yourselves."
Rabbit had to know there was no way they could complete their mission. In their unit, they were accustomed to being the hunters. Being someone's quarry, however, was something counter to Murphy's nature. And he didn't want to die running.
Rabbit took a few more steps forward before turning back to Goliath. "By ourselves? Not exactly. We both know you're coming."
Not sure whether to be angered or amused, Goliath stared at his coffee as Rabbit made his way toward the boat. He thought of his brother and what he'd do in this situation, and what he'd want Goliath to do. He grabbed his gear and hefted himself to his feet, then followed behind the only family he had left
.
The sun began to rise off the water of the Tel Aviv port. Vast ships were docked at its harbor from nearly every region on earth. A dozen sky-cars and bikes rode the outskirts of the port facility. Tressa looked out from the warehouses which ran adjacent to it.
Matrix stood and talked to a trio of men at one of the docking stations. They wore antiquated clothing from the pre-war era. She peeked over at Goliath who was grabbing more coffee from a well-maintained but clearly aged food stand across from her. It was one of the last remaining places you could buy without possessing a GU commerce chip embedded in your hand or forehead. It was almost as if they had stepped back in time.
The port was no longer a hustling place for tourists and native revelers. Now, it served only to industrially import and export goods, and often a shipment of desperate people fleeing oppression. Given Tel Avivan expertise at shipping passengers in secret, Matrix had secured the perfect getaway. In just a half day, the team would reach their destination.
Goliath walked up and handed her a cup of Joe. He then passed one to Rabbit and had two left in his hulking hands. He took a long look at Hoss then decided to give him one as well.
"Thank you," Tressa said.
Goliath nodded.
Matrix ambled back over to the team. The rain wasn't much more than a light sprinkle now but washed Tressa in a somber, prescient feeling. "I have four tickets," Matrix announced. "I've been assured you'll have safe passage."
Tressa eyes widened. "Four? What's wrong?
Matrix shook his head as he handed her a package. "Nothing, sweetcakes. This is the end of the ride for me. I'm too old for this. I want to help you but it's not my path or destiny, this is yours."
A tear formed in her eyes as she retrieved the tickets from the bundle. "I understand. You must know, I must do this. My daughter shouldn't be involved in this. Once I free her, I promise I'll figure something else out. It was never my intention to betray the Coalition. Sorry for getting you into this mess."
"Every man here would have done the same as you," Matrix said.
Tressa looked at the rest of the crew. She had a hard time uttering a rhetorical, "Any...anyone else?"
Hoss nodded. "I'm out, too. During this war, I've killed many men for many different reasons. Saving an innocent child would be the most noble ending to a violent career. But my conscience won't allow me to carry it any further. I was loyal to you because we are a team, and I know you would have done the same for me. But now that I know what's on the Cube, I couldn't live with myself if it fell into the GU's hands. I'm sorry."
Tressa put her head down. "Where will you go?"
"I'll make it back to District 3. I have allies and family there. I'll acclimate myself with nature and harmony, leave this war behind."
"More money for us, now it's a three-way split," Goliath said in an ebullient fashion. "What about you, Frenchy? You in or out?" Goliath looked at Rabbit who just stared back at him.
"I'm doing this for her, not some bount-" Rabbit said with derision.
Tressa walked over to Hoss. "If you ever need me, old friend..."
Hoss gave her a long embrace, then she moved on to hug Matrix. Goliath walked over to Hoss and looked him in the eye. "It was nothing personal, cupcake; you take care of yourself."
"Lieutenant," Hoss said. "Your brother was a good soldier and better man. I still mourn him."
Goliath extended his arm for a handshake. Hoss looked at it, turned and walked away in silence.
Goliath smiled arrogantly and rubbed his spare hand on his pants in a manner as if he were dismissing Hoss.
I knew he couldn't hack it.
"You should get going," Matrix said to Tressa. "I'll make contact with Kwan Chang, let him know the new drop time and make sure Sarah is ok."
Tressa nodded. She, Goliath, and Rabbit marched across the street and to the harbor, all three wearing dark trench coats and fisher hats, concealing their weapons and faces. Matrix watched as they boarded the merchant vessel.
Twenty minutes later, the ship was on its way. Below deck in a cramped cabin, Tressa fell asleep looking at a picture of her daughter. Goliath slowly fell into a deep slumber. Rabbit stayed up, just observing both of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
And I looked, and behold, a white horse! And its rider had a bow, and a crown was given to him, and he came out conquering, and to conquer.
Revelations 6:2
As Satria sent the Venom spiraling in toward a landing deck protruding from the reinforced sheer sandstone wall of the biggest of Region Twelve’s cities, she perched herself on the edifice's edge. Like a hawk observing potential rodent morsels, she reviewed what she knew of the town and its inhabitants.
Nothing much had changed in a century.
Despite its reputation for sandstorms, Region Twelve was not a true desert city. There was water a-plenty as the city sat right off the coastline and had an aged but still efficient desalination facility. Subterranean water shifted by frequent earthquakes had produced massive sinkholes large enough to land a fleet of fighter jets, and a century prior created a space where civilization could thrive below the reach of the relentless scouring hyper-winds on the surface.
She knew that decades prior, the city had made great strides in the way of an advanced transit system and technologies, yet their economy still revolved around petroleum. That and exchanges for black market investors for any number of illicit items include weaponized uranium.
The inhabitants still, when they could, followed the old traditions. There were two kinds of people residing in Region Twelve, those who were fiercely loyal to the Potentate Annirus Aurelius, and those trading a small level of independence to engage in rebellion against the Potentate's edicts. Of the two, thanks to newly trained special police forces, those who supported the Union found they had longer life spans and avoided inconvenient maiming, even fatal accidents.
But despite the danger of being apprehended by elite law enforcement, Tressa was here.
How, she knew she could not say; she had no leads that told her so. Maybe it was a woman's intuition or just years of tracking guiding her here by instinct? But she felt it to her core: Region Twelve was where her hunt for Tressa would come to a close.
She would go in alone. Nero and Decimus waited just off the Ivory Coast. Sateria's plan was to pinpoint Tressa's location, then keep her preoccupied and off-balance until the Centurions could attack. She would be a one-woman force, holding the attention of Tressa and her mercenaries. She would get them to chase her and lead them right into the hands of the Federation. Given enough time, the city would be swarming with mobilized Region Twelve soldiers: two squads in full attack mode, with the third spread out through the city's thoroughfares to cover all possible escape routes.
"It will be easier for me to track them and draw them out by myself," Sateria had told Nero on the flight deck of the Pegasus. "Just don't leave me hanging for too long when I call."
"We'll be there to the second we're supposed to be," Nero said, jaw hard and squared. "We don't make mistakes."
"Well-" Sateria began with a smile. "I beg to differ. That alley in Region One was a disaster."
He eyed her coldly.
"Next time," Sateria said as she climbed into her cockpit and strapped herself in.
Sateria's fighter bucked through coils of turbulence; in the eye of a passing storm, up this high, the heavy winds rocked her jet.
She fought the fighter's controls to bring it down enough that the winds had become a mere gale; even after reaching the landing deck, she extended the fighter's anti-gravity bearing to make sure the storm didn't blow her shuttle right off the deck.
Moments after landing, the torrent winds died down to a hiss and Sateria popped the cockpit.
A few of the locals dressed in Region Twelve peacekeepers’ uniforms, easily identifiable by the bright red colors and dragon insignia, rushed out toward the Venom, trailing a variety of tools and equipment behind them. Sateria assumed they were t
he ground crew, and with the Venom's insignia bearing the marks of a high-ranking officer of the Global Union, they immediately attended to her vehicle.
Behind them, a man marched forward dressed in a deep scarlet uniform so perfectly tailored and prepared, Sateria imagined even the inner pockets were pressed. He had black hair and dark eyes and the charm of a fourteenth-century prince.
That was quick, Sateria thought. Almost like they'd been expecting her.
"Greetings, Captain," the Lieutenant Governor said in a thick Italian accent. "I'm Anthony Clay, the Regent of Region Twelve. What duty could bring a talent such as yourself to this humble part of the world?"
Sateria sensed she wasn't welcome but knew that out of combination of respect and fear, he'd cooperate and capitulate to her every whim. Region Twelve enjoyed their privacy; they technically were one of the few civilized places on earth not controlled by the Global Union, and they wanted to maintain that.
"I'm here looking for someone, a squad of Coalition Rangers, armed and lethal."
"The only things deadly here," - he bowed his head in a show of respect - "Are you and that gun."
Sateria knew enough to know the Ambassador wanted to appear as respectful, amenable, and competent as possible, though his thinly concealed anxiety verged on erupting into a full panic. It was understandable; he was caught in an impossible binary choice.
Let Sateria do her job and watch his city be torn apart while terminating Tressa. He would be blamed for the city's devastation and the mammoth repair costs to restore the ancient metropolis. Such a political embarrassment could cost him his job, his freedom, and even his life in this savage post-war world.
Alternatively, he couldn't refuse to offer Sateria his assistance as a public official. That would force him into a fate far worse. Sateria handed him a data shard.
