by R S Penney
“So what's our play?” Pedro asked.
Jena stood with her back turned, facing the table with arms crossed. “I'm thinking it's time for a little good old-fashioned recon,” she said. “I'll have Anna and a few other people we can trust follow one of those vans back to the source.”
Pedro looked up at her with his lips pressed into a line, blinking as if he wasn't sure what to make of the woman who stood before him. “That assumes that they're operating out of a centralized location.”
“You have a better idea.”
“Not as such, no.”
“Well then, I suggest-”
Something was wrong! Anna felt it like a cloud of anxiety that had left a tightness in her chest. Her legs itched with the instinct to get up and move, but she couldn't be sure of where she was supposed to go. In fact, she was only certain of one thing. She couldn't say how she knew, but she did.
Gaping at the wall, Anna felt her eyes widen. She blinked a few times by reflex. “It can't be,” she whispered. “No, no, Bleakness take you! Why would you come here when we told you to go after the Key?”
Jena spun on her. “What?”
Anna winced, then let out a shuddering breath. “It's Jack,” she muttered in a voice thick with tension. “He's here in the city. Don't ask me how I know, but I can feel it, and I know that he needs our help!”
When she looked up, Jena was frowning and shaking her head as if Anna had just said the dumbest thing imaginable. “The stress is getting to you, girl,” she said. “We told Jack to go after the Key, remember?”
“Right. Because he's so good at following orders!”
“Anna…”
On the other side of the room, Raynar sat in a wooden chair with a book in his lap. The boy looked up, squinting at her. “I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it, Jena,” he said. “My people have discovered that even normal human beings are capable of a rudimentary kind of telepathy.”
Jena shut her eyes, breathing deeply to remain calm. “You think this is telepathy,” she said, whirling around to face the boy. “Well, if that's the case, what's our next move? Can she send him a message?”
Raynar stood up carefully and dropped his book to the floor. “I doubt it,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to scowl at Jena. “I said 'rudimentary telepathy.' She won't get anything but a vague impression.”
“Like Jack's location?”
“No,” Anna said. “I don't know it.” At this point, she was starting to feel stupid. Honestly, what was she thinking, insisting that she knew Jack was here? She trusted her intuition to give her a sense of how to proceed but not as a tool to divine information that she couldn't possibly know.
“Then,” Jena said with a sigh, “we continue on as we have.”
As he emerged from the trees onto a field of green grass, Jack felt his fear vanish like dew under the glare of the hot sun. The pavilion was a small distance away, but he walked calmly. Those guards in front of the shed might have seen him, but even if they had, they would soon have problems of their own.
Under the pavilion, Grecken Slade stood with his back turned, apparently looking over the details of some holographic display. Jack could just barely make out some of the image before it wavered out of existence.
Slade stiffened.
The man spun around to face Jack with a smile that would make frost appear on a hot summer's day. “Hunter,” he said, taking a few steps forward. “I must admit, I didn't expect to find you here.”
Jack felt a grin blossom, then shook his head in contempt. “Lovely to see you too, Greck,” he said, striding through the grass. “It's nice to know that you still dress like a man on his way to a Jane Austen cosplay.”
“And your wonderful japes!”
Thrusting his chin out, Jack squinted at the other man. “You even have the dialogue down!” he said with a nod. “I've gotta give you credit for authenticity, Greck. If there was a costume contest, you'd take first prize in the pompous British wind-bag category.”
He came within a few feet of the pavilion, and from here, Jack could see that it did not offer much in the way of cover. A narrow aisle ran from one end to the other between two lines of picnic tables, and wooden beams across the ceiling supported the roof. Those beams were themselves supported by rectangular wooden pillars spaced at even intervals on either side of the aisle.
Slade stood halfway across the pavilion with his arms crossed, watching Jack the way a hunter would watch a wild buck. “So is this the part where we fight?” he asked in smooth tones. “A chance to resolve our differences with violence?”
“Looks like.”
“A pity.”
Jack closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and then letting it out again. “Oh, wait, I forgot,” he said, stepping underneath the pavilion's roof. “This is the part where you give me the chance to join your little cult.”
Slade grinned, then lowered his eyes to stare down at his own feet. His soft laughter was chilling. “I'm afraid not. Your talents are nothing short of remarkable, but you insist on following a misguided moral code.”
“Well I've always been a bit of a stick in the mud when it comes to wanton acts of brutality,” Jack replied. If he could draw this out a little while longer, keep the other man talking, Harry and Ben would have a chance to do their jobs. “You know my friends are always telling me I need to loosen up, but I just don't think terrorism constitutes proper behaviour for a civilized adult. I guess I'm old-fashioned that way.”
“Oh, Jack…What I would give to have you on my side.”
“What is your side?”
Slade turned, sitting down on the edge of a picnic table with hands folded on his knees. He stared off into the distance for a little while. “I serve the will of the gods, Jack. The true gods of this world.”
“The Overseers?”
“They are more than they seem.”
Tossing his head back, Jack rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Yeah, and so is Optimus Prime!” he snapped. “Doesn't mean we should start worshiping him. The Overseers are aliens, Slade, not gods.”
In response, Slade got up and clasped his hands together behind his back. He strode across the width of the aisle, sighing with obvious frustration. “How would you define a god, Jack?” he murmured. “What makes something divine?”
“Ooh! Instead of fighting, can we have a spirited debate?”
“Answer my question.”
A response formed in Jack's mind, but he quickly dismissed it as inadequate. The truth was that he had never really considered the question. As a child, he'd been taught about the god of Jesus Christ, a being that was supposedly all powerful and perfectly good. One look at the world around him was enough to prove that false, but that didn't mean there was nothing beyond the confines of this universe.
He'd always felt a vague sense that there was something out there, but he had no clue what it was. That was the problem with the word 'god;' it had been stretched to mean so many different things over the course of human history that it was practically useless as a concept for…Why was he wasting time on this? Oh yeah, keeping Slade distracted. “I don't know the answer,” Jack admitted. “But I can tell you that any being that would have you murder and torment innocent people isn't worthy of worship.”
Slade puffed up his chest to suck in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Ah, yes,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to glower at Jack. “The influence of western religion. Your people are hindered by the idiotic notion that gods should be nice.”
“Go to hell!”
“This is hell, Jack,” Slade whispered. “You make it so.”
“I'm not interest-”
Before Jack could finish his sentence, Slade spun around to face him. The man drew aside his coat to reveal a pistol on his right hip, then pulled the weapon from its holster and pointed it at him.
When he saw Jack come out of the trees a little ways off and begin making his way toward the pavilion, Harry gave the signal. “Now,” he whis
pered, glancing to the side to see his partner.
On his right, Ben stood tall and imposing in that black armour. The man withdrew a small sphere about the size of a golf-ball from his belt and tossed it underhanded into the distance. Right out into the open.
The ball landed some ten feet away from the guards who were still standing with their backs to the shed's brick wall. They snapped to attention but quickly dropped their weapons when a hypersonic pulse threw off their equilibrium. Both men sank to their knees, clapping hands over their helmets as if to shield their ears.
Harry emerged from the trees.
He lifted his pistol in both hands, squinting as he took aim. A quick squeeze of the trigger, and that was it.
A bullet flew over the open grass, struck the man on the left just under his chin – Harry had always been a good shot – and caused his body to spasm with a jolt that could rival anything you'd get from a taser. He fell flat on his face.
Harry barely caught the sight of Ben doing the same to the other guard, and then the way was clear. “Is it safe?” he asked his partner.
Ben heaved out a sigh, then looked down at the ground in front of him. “The pulse was only designed to last a few seconds,” he said, starting forward. “You can get in close now. Let's finish this.”
They ran to the shed.
A wooden door in the brick wall was shut tight. Ben stepped forward as if to pick the lock with his multi-tool, but Harry laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. “We don't have time,” he insisted.
Ben glanced over his shoulder, staring at him through that red visor. “You have any better ideas?” he asked, jerking his head toward the door. “I mean unless you plan to just punch through the door…”
“Actually…”
Harry raised that hand that carried the N'Jal, erecting a force-field with his mind, a shimmering barrier of electromagnetic energy that looked like ripples spreading across the surface of a pond. He sent it speeding forward and watched the force-field slam into the door with enough force to crack it in half. Two wooden slabs fell to the ground right outside the shed.
Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. “Sometimes you just have to take the direct approach,” he said, marching through the grass. “Come on. Let's get this over with.”
Inside, the shed was just big enough for two people to stand side by side, packed with shovels and rakes and other tools that were propped up against the windowless walls. Of course, there was also the very obvious piece of alien technology right in the middle of the floor.
It looked like a fire hydrant in terms of size and shape, but instead of the traditional red or yellow, this thing was made of something that looked like chrome steel and it had blinking LEDs all over its surface.
Ben stepped forward, thrusting one fist out to scan with his multi-tool. “A standard jammer,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of the thing. “With a password to boot! I won't be able to crack it in time.”
“Step aside.”
The other man rose and did as he was told, moving off to the side of the shed and pressing his back to the wall. When he was clear of the blast-range, he glanced at Harry and nodded his consent.
Harry raised his pistol in one hand, frowning over the length of his arm. “EMP!” he growled. The LEDs on his weapon turned white.
He fired.
White tracers slammed into the jamming device with enough force to push it back to the back wall of the shed. The thing shorted out in a shower of sparks, then let out one last squeak before it went dead.
Rolling up his sleeve to expose the multi-tool on his left arm, Harry started tapping at its screen. He brought up the communications app, and to his great relief, he was able to place a call.
“And if we don't know where he is!” Jena protested.
The woman stood with her back to Anna, hunched over with hands pressed to the table's surface so that she could snarl at Pedro. “Scouts are the best resources we have at the moment, and I'm tired of arguing!”
Anna squeezed her eyes shut, banging the back of her head against the soft couch cushions. I don't need this, she thought, ignoring the anger that tightened her chest. Will the pair of you stop butting heads for five-
Her multi-tool beeped.
Someone was calling her!
Swiping a finger across the screen, she watched as Harry's face appeared. The man smiled at her. “Oh thank God!” he said with obvious relief in his voice. “Anna, where are you? We need your help.”
Anna felt a smile that she couldn't fight, but she quickly took control of herself. “In Brooklyn,” she answered. “Why? Where are you?”
Harry glanced over his shoulder as if he thought trouble might be coming around the corner at any moment. The tense frown on his face confirmed it. “Prospect Park,” he said. “We just took out Slade's jamming equipment.”
“You're in New York?”
“That's what I just said!”
Only then did Anna notice the silence. She looked up to find that Jena had turned around to face her with a face as pale as snow. The other woman licked her lips, but she said nothing. It didn't matter; Anna could see the question in her eyes. “And Jack?” she asked. “Is he with you?”
“You might want to get your ass down here,” Harry said. “He's about to go up against Grecken Slade. Alone.”
She looked up at Jena.
The other woman pursed her lips and nodded once. “Go,” was all she said.
Chapter 14
Anna burst through the door.
Dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, she sprinted down the front steps of the safe-house, then doubled over and let out a breath. “What are you doing?” she asked, straightening. “Why are you out here?”
She spun around.
Pedro was leaning against the door-frame with his arms folded, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “You wanna rescue your friend,” he said. “You planning on running all the way to Prospect Park? Even for a Keeper, it'll take a good twenty minutes.”
Baring her teeth in a snarl, Anna lowered her eyes until she was staring down at her feet. “You offering me an alternative?” she asked, eyebrows rising. “Because you should know it's not safe for you.”
“Do I look like a guy who wants safety?”
“No.”
He marched down the steps toward her with his arms swinging, refusing to meet her gaze. “Look,” he said, stopping right in front of her. “I get that I butt heads with your boss, but I'm trying to help.”
Anna looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking slowly as she considered that. “All right,” she said, nodding once. “You can drive. But you stay in the Bleakness-cursed car, and you get out of there if bullets start flying.”
“Deal.”
Before Jack could finish his sentence, Slade spun around to face him. The man drew aside his coat to reveal a pistol on his right hip, then pulled the weapon from its holster and pointed it at him.
Jack raised both hands instinctively, twisting space-time in a way that stretched the world before him into a smear of colour and transformed Slade into a rippling figure who was pointing a gun at him. Bullets sped from the barrel of the pistol, hit the patch of warped space-time and curved upward to hit the pavilion's ceiling. Chunks of wood rained down in a flurry.
Jack dropped to a crouch, transforming the Bending into a time bubble in the shape of a tube that stretched through the aisle between picnic tables. On the other side, Slade was perfectly still.
Jack charged forward, releasing his bubble.
He slammed his shoulder into Slade's chest. The man was thrown backward with enough force to knock the pistol from his hand and hurl him onto his ass. “You wretched little boy,” Slade hissed.
The man popped up with fists raised in a fighting stance, sweat glistening upon his flushed face. “Let's finish this,” he said in those smooth tones of his. “I've grown weary of your constant meddling.”
A smile bloomed on Jack's face, and
he bowed his head to the other man. “Glad I'm still a thorn in your side,” he said, stepping closer. “It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when I think of how much pain I've caused you.”
“Hardly any real-”
Jack snap-kicked, driving a foot into the other man's stomach. The impact forced Slade to back up with a gasp, doubling over as he tried to regain his equilibrium. Jack rushed in to end this.
He back-handed Slade across the cheek with a blow that would crack bone in any normal human being. A second punch to the man's stomach forced Slade to back up once again. Now to end it.
Jack kicked high.
The other man leaned back, catching his shoe in both hands. A little Bent Gravity lifted Jack off the ground and flung him sideways, dropping him hard onto the surface of a picnic table. He landed sprawled out on his side, rolling and grunting in pain. The other man was a force to be reckoned with. It took effort for Jack to get back on his feet, effort to spin around and face his opponent.
Slade leaped from the aisle, flipping through air and landing poised on the edge of the table. There was no humanity in his eyes, just a cold rage that insisted he would end this by the most efficient means possible.
Slade threw a mean right-hook.
Crouching down, Jack brought one hand up to strike the man's wrist and knock it aside. He used the other to slam an open palm into Slade's nose. The other man stumbled and groaned.
Slade fell backward off the edge of the table, catching himself by slamming both of his hands down on the floor and rising into a handstand. He flipped upright, then kicked the table with enough force to push it backward. Bent Gravity did the rest.
The table slid out from under Jack, surprising him. He stumbled off the edge, landing hard on the pavilion floor. Hunched over and dazed, he tried to recover before-