Glancing over to my left, I saw Wallunda and Maria had squared off by the fires. Invisible to the screaming crowd, they wrestled for leverage as they tried to hip-toss each other into the flames. Gray Beard was nowhere to be seen. I had a nagging feeling one of the bullets had found him.
When splattered blood began to clog the visual receptors of my suit, the Tattoos could make me out well enough for one last charge. I closed tight, refusing to give them room to throw their spears. Wading in with the meteorite, holding it two-handed, I battered their hands and heads and arms. My attack folded them back on each other in confusion. They broke ranks and ran.
The moment I turned to see if Maria needed help with Martinelli’s bitch, I felt the barrel of a pistol bury into the small of my back.
“I am not sure how you played with my guns, but there is no way I can miss from this distance. Don’t try it. Doctor Duarte, put down your rock and come over here. Do it now if you want this sinner to live.”
TRANSMISSION:
Martinelli: “Don’t you trust me?”
Duarte: “Never.”
From the log of Cpl. Salvatore Bolzano
Firefighter II
(English translation)
An eruption of gunfire roused me from a restless slumber. “Father’s taken us to a fireworks show,” I thought. Opening my eyes, I saw it was Lorenzo emptying his pistol into the night. Gouts of bright orange flames. Was it a mirage?
Perhaps I napped for a while, for when I opened my eyes next, a great battle waged before my eyes. Littering the ground were more than two dozen bodies as a jump-suited whirling dervish laid waste with a mighty metallic hammer. “Has Thor been sent down to teach Lorenzo manners?”
I must have dozed again, for when I next took stock of the situation, the dervish knelt in the mud by the fire as Lorenzo held a pistol to his head. Wallunda danced over a fallen form, flailing it with a willow stick, lashing its back and legs as she filled the com line with a Tattoo victory song. I was thankful when Lorenzo ordered her to shut up.
I fought to keep my eyelids open as the storyteller limped into the scene, trailed by four mangy dogs.
TRANSMISSION:
Martinelli: “Sal, hey, Sal, wake up! We caught them. We really did it.”
From the log of Paul Kaikane
Recreation Specialist
I needed Martinelli to make a mistake, lean close where I could grab one of his guns, but he stayed behind me, just out of reach.
“I know what you are thinking, you sinning bastard. Don’t do it. The Lord wants you alive. He says the doctor will be more pliable if she has you to protect. Let me ask you something, Specialist, are you a religious man?”
“If you’re inviting me to join your church, no thanks.”
From the corner of my eye I caught Gray Beard shuffle from the shadows. My tackle looked to have wrenched his knee. He could barely walk. His entrance drew gasps and cries of wonder from the slaves as they too began filtering back into the firelight.
“Look who the cat dragged in,” Martinelli said. “You, sir, are a difficult man to kill. I promise to do a better job next time around.”
“Leave him alone!” Maria shouted. “You promised us safe passage. What happened to dinner and discussion?”
“That was before your little show. Shame on you for attempting to subvert my congregation with native mumbo-jumbo. All bets were off after that. Power down your suits. Up with the visors.”
Tattoo warriors drifted in from the trees to pick up their spears and point them in our faces. None wanted anything to do with Gray Beard, who stood apart, summing up the situation with three spears over his shoulder. Over the com line in Tattoo dialect, the sergeant ordered Wallunda to tie the storyteller to a tree.
“Torture!” Martinelli snarled. “Tell the women they have permission for fun. Save the last for me. I make the kill.”
Our warnings put the old man’s head on a swivel, but he still didn’t know where Wallunda was until she gave him a solid push in the back. Stumbling on the injured knee, he wheeled his arms to keep from falling. Maria and I began to rise, but Martinelli stilled us with a command.
“Stay down! Move again and Kaikane dies!”
With a wince, Gray Beard caught his balance and turned to face the threat.
Martinelli’s voice boomed from his helmet in Green Turtle dialect.
“Old man! Drop your spears and stop the fight. We will kill your friends if you do not obey.”
Turning toward the amplified sound, he tossed the spears to the side of camp where most of the slaves cowered in the dark. The invisible bitch grabbed him roughly by the elbow and turned him away from the fire. It was a bittersweet look he cast over his shoulder, one full of sadness. We had brought the man nothing but trouble. He let loose a mournful howl that turned every head his way.
Quick as a mongoose, he pivoted to wrap his arms around the invisible form in a bear hug and lift it into the air. Leaning backwards, he let their combined weight carry him over. Twisting in mid-air, he drove her back-first to the ground. A classic take-down. With the suit’s protection, Wallunda probably didn’t feel a thing. The punches and head-butt to the helmet certainly had no effect.
Stunning him with an invisible stiff-arm to the chin, she scrambled to her feet and skipped away from his attempt to trip her. As he pushed himself up, Gray Beard pulled a knife from the folds of his tunic.
“A flint blade cannot penetrate the armor of a suit,” Martinelli laughed. “Watch this. It should be fun. Wallunda is quite the dirty fighter.”
As Wallunda made her first, running attack, I saw Gray Beard had his head down. At the last second, he dove to the side to avoid her savage punch. Guy was watching the footprints as they appeared in the dirt. On her second pass, instead of diving away, he lunged forward to tackle her at the knees. Working his way up her body by feel, he placed the blade tip at Wallunda’s neck, on the seam where her suit joined the helmet.
It had been more than curiosity that had driven him to inspect the suits on the raft. He had been looking for a way to defeat them. With a mighty shove, Gray Beard slammed the blade home to the hilt.
Wallunda’s suit flashed to a bright sun, then began a rhythmic, electric pulsing that matched her twitching body’s spasms.
Keeping one pistol pressed firmly to the side of my head, Martinelli raised the other and took aim at Gray Beard. The old man’s wrinkled face turned from side to side as he searched for the next invisible attacker. “Run!” Maria wailed in Green Turtle, but it was too late.
“You’ll never outrun me, murderer!”
I was turning to make a move when an atlatl bolt zipped by my face to bury in Martinelli’s thigh with a wet “thwock.” Rolling out of the line of fire, I felt the heat of the pistol’s muzzle flash. He fired point blank into my back–and missed. Flipping my visor down, I saw Martinelli once again taking aim at Gray Beard. Another bolt plowed into his shoulder to knock him on his ass.
His wails amplified by his helmet, Sgt. Martinelli dropped the guns to clutch at the bolt in his shoulder. He tried desperately to yank it free. The tone of his whimpering sent the Tattoos once again running for the trees.
TRANSMISSION:
Kaikane: “Jones! Is that you? You’re alive?”
Jones: “Roger that.”
Kaikane: “Hold your fire. Do you read me?”
Jones: “Affirmative. I’m coming in.”
Kaikane: “Wait ’til I secure these guns. OK. Done. Bring it in.”
From the log of Paul Kaikane
Recreation Specialist
I scooped up the guns, tucked them in the front pockets of my jumpsuit as I had seen Martinelli do, then called Cpl. Jones in from the dark. I hardly recognized him. The man had lost at least 50 pounds. His back was bent like a question mark.
“My brother,” I shouted as Maria and I converged on him. “You look great.”
“You are one lying mother fucker, you know that? Don’t touch me. Popped my back out
throwing those darts. Need a place to lie down. You got this shit covered?”
Maria gave him a soft pat on the arm. “You survived. They told us you were dead.”
“Was dead. Tell ya’ll later. I gotta lie down. Suggest you quit yammering and get that man off his cross. Been up there going on three weeks.”
Gray Beard’s nephew Tomon and his wife wandered in from the dark to help us cut the leather ropes holding Cpl. Bolzano to the cross and lower him to the ground. Maria pressed two fingers to his neck to determine he had a weak pulse. Tomon and his wife seemed real upset about his condition. Once we got him out of his suit, they took over spooning water into his mouth and rubbing ointments on his sores.
We propped Sgt. Lorenzo Martinelli up against the base of the cross and let him gripe for a while before I walked over, put my foot against his leg and pulled the atlatl bolt from his thigh with one violent tug. Evil shit was lucky. He fainted out of sheer fright the moment I laid my hands on the bolt in his shoulder.
It shut him up for a while, but it wasn’t long before he was wailing again. “Help me, help me. It hurts.” We flipped up his visor so his friends could see his face. They were disinclined to render any aid or comfort to the big boss. The ones brave enough to approach the fire cast nervous looks his way, but none stepped forward to help. Chicken shits.
“Doctor Duarte, help me. Do something for my shoulder before I bleed to death.”
“Your jumpsuit is doing a better job than I can. The blood is stopped, but you are probably going to lose that leg and arm. Not much mountain climbing in your future, I’m afraid.”
“Oh Lord, please help! Lord, I need your assistance now!”
His prayers sounded more like negotiations than pleas for mercy. “If you help me, I’ll be a good warrior in your army.” Something like that.
Turns out, the old man did wrench his knee when I knocked him and Maria down. Once the adrenaline of the fight wore off, the poor dude was in some serious pain. Maria ripped a length of skin from one of the dead warrior’s kilts and wrapped it tightly around his leg along with a couple flexible willow splints for support. His mood brightened considerably when Jones led his old dog in from the dark.
“Thought you were lying down.”
“Hurts too much. Didn’t want this dog getting eaten after all this time.”
Once the bitch caught the old man’s scent, she went crazy. Yanking the cord from Jones’ hand, she bolted to Gray Beard’s side to cover him in dog kisses. She wagged her tail to beat the band. They had a good howl together and soon the rest of the mutts were circling him, demanding their share of his attention. Dogs never show me anywhere close to that much affection. Of course, I don’t speak the lingo.
By this time, the slaves had pulled one of the horses off the fire and were gorging themselves on steaming meat. Tomon made sure Maria and I each got a shingle-full of loin before he returned to nursing Bolzano.
Sitting in a pool of blood, Martinelli struggled to stand, then called out to Maria. “Duarte, come here. I want you to hear something before I die. Don’t you want to know how we did it? How we infiltrated your precious Team? You would like to know that, would you not?”
Maria walked over to his side, keeping her distance the way natives do around cobras. “Go ahead, tell me.”
Jones and I moved close to see what he had to say, both of us ready to stick a spear in his ear if he tried to pull another gun or something.
TRANSMISSION:
Martinelli: “You are so far away. Come closer. Why must I shout?”
Kaikane: “Don’t do it, babe.”
Martinelli: “What are you afraid of, surfer boy? You have the guns now. Why don’t you just shoot me? Put me out of my misery.”
Kaikane: “It’s still an option. Don’t push it.”
Martinelli: “I’m dying. Can’t you see? I just want to confess my sins. You would like to hear that, would you not? Sit down so I don’t need to shout.”
From the log of Cpl. Salvatore Bolzano
Firefighter II
(English translation)
Feeling a coolness against my skin, the touch of fingers probing my flesh, I awoke to find I had been laid on a wolf skin. Tomon and Gertie exchanged approving looks when they saw my eyes were open.
In the distance, I saw the Americans gathered around Lorenzo. He had his visor up and was slumped against my cross.
I tried with all of my might to warn them. “Do not trust him!” I wanted to shout. “Never trust him!” My throat remained dried shut. My tongue was a fat, swollen toad clogging my mouth. My efforts to speak sounded like choking. Tomon hoisted me to a sitting position as Gertie pressed a turtle shell bowl of greasy water to my lips.
Struggling to see past the concerned faces of my native doctors, I observed the impending disaster in disjointed snippets.
TRANSMISSION:
Martinelli: “As you must know, it was the computers. Once they were breached, your Team became our Team.”
Duarte: “Impossible. The methods were foolproof.”
Martinelli: “If that were the case, how did I get here? And Salvatore? Believe me when I tell you, if your computer knew our real names and backgrounds, we would still be creating mischief back home. Face it, it’s true.”
Duarte: “The church sneaked in a couple bad apples, that’s all.”
Martinelli: “For an intelligent woman, you are quite naïve. The Team was absolutely littered with rogues of every sort. Gold diggers, diamond miners and artifact hounds. Slots were sold individually or in packages of three. I understand it was all very expensive. My way was paid by others.”
Duarte: “How did you do it?”
Martinelli: “I’m thirsty, share with me some water and I’ll tell you.”
Kaikane: “Stay away from him, babe. We’ll get one of the women to bring him water.”
Martinelli: “Your fear is warranted, sinner. The Lord will not let me die like this. Soon, He will heal my wounds and you will be punished for your sins.”
Duarte: “Tell me how you did it, then we’ll get you water. All the water you want.”
Martinelli: “Isn’t it obvious? How else do you breach an unbreachable system? From the inside, of course.”
Duarte: “Not possible.”
Martinelli: “Ah, but I can hear it in your tone. You know it is possible. We had a man on the inside. Very highly-placed.”
Duarte: “Captain Miller.”
Martinelli: “Close, but no cigar. Miller was a pawn. This man was in the science community, highly respected. I believe he was your mentor. Dr. Gomez was the man selling spots on your Team.”
Duarte: “That’s a damned lie!”
Martinelli: “Gomez had second thoughts. You knew he had a religious childhood, didn’t you? It was something you shared. Did you know he had a gambling problem as well?”
Duarte: “More lies.”
Martinelli: “Gomez was the one who killed the senior officers. His tank was timed to open early. He covered their mouths and pinched their noses, one by one, as they awoke too weak to fight. No signs of a struggle. It was a perfect crime.”
Duarte: “You fucking liar….”
From the log of Lance Cpl. Juniper Jones
Security Detail II
Sergeant played the doc like a fish. While me and her boyfriend stood with our thumbs up our butts, watching. Half our attention was on the natives, milling about jibber-jabbering, and the other half on his lamebrain story. How did we let him get so close? Why didn’t we just finish him off?
Martinelli baited his trap with lies. Lies about The Team, lies about everything. Finally struck a chord with lies about her old boss. Bastard claimed Dr. Gomez sold The Team out. When Duarte leaned down to shake the truth out of him, he struck. Grabbed her in his arms and detonated his jumpsuit. Must have had it primed to self-destruct, ready to rock ’n roll. Wanted to take us all out.
With an ear-splitting crack and cloud of pink vapor, the suit blew up. Concussion
knocked me and Kaikane flat. Everything within 50-foot perimeter instantly covered in mist of blood. Chunks of meat and bone falling from the night sky. As we jumped up to check on Duarte, Kaikane starts beating at his chest. Yanked pistols out of his pockets just in time. Chambers were smoking. Threw guns into dark just as shells began cooking off.
“Maria, Maria!”
Kaikane was all ready to try and shake her awake.
“Careful man, watch her neck. Don’t move her. Step back.”
Boy sat down and cried.
Doc looked like she was sleeping once her visor was up. Checked carotid for pulse. Nothing. Started CPR and felt her suit kick on. Glanced up to see Old Man trot up with armload of spears, worried look on his face.
TRANSMISSION:
Kaikane: “Maria. Wake up, baby! You’re OK. Maria!”
Jones: “Back up, man, you ain’t helping me.”
Kaikane: “Maria.”
Jones: “Kaikane. Gotta pull your shit together now. Get your club and look alive. Something’s up.”
From the log of Lance Cpl. Juniper Jones
Security Detail II
Martinelli’s warriors staged counterattack. Listened to fight while working on the doc. Gray Beard stayed by me, throwing spears, covering my back. His nephew and a few others guarded Bolzano like a pack of Dobermans. Attack was just what Kaikane needed. He and his meteorite mowed warriors down without mercy. Returned dripping so much blood, reminded me of the day we killed the great mammoth.
TRANSMISSION:
Kaikane: “She’s OK, isn’t she? Tell me she’s all right.”
Jones: “Unconscious, but breathing. Suit’s armor saved her. Still, she took a helluva wallop.”
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