Sleepers and Scouts

by Phillip Murrell

  “You ISH disgust me. You stumble onto your powers and do not realize their full potential. The ISH blood flowing in you has made you weak.”

  Seal Pup back hands Jillarni and draws blood from his mouth.

  The other Templars seem surprised by the police officer’s actions.

  “No jurisdiction in space,” he simply states.

  Jillarni stops speaking, but his eyes display his hate, mostly for Flaimeson.

  “We need Ajit to bring Saager here, then relay parts as necessary,” Votary decides.

  “Can we call them from here?” Seal Pup asks.

  He instinctively looks at SOT. She throws up her arms in disgust.

  “Don’t look at me. Captain Vagina Beard just ruined that chance.”

  “If their communication still works, we can reach them from here. That station was not damaged when I took the bridge,” Flaimeson says.

  He rushes to the station. Seal Pup and SOT follow. Votary motions for Nijigen to watch over Jillarni, then follows the others as well.

  “Do you know the ship’s identification number?” Flaimeson asks.

  “No,” Seal Pup admits.

  He looks at Votary.

  “Why would I know that?” Votary asks. “I just call it The Lair.”

  Flaimeson grunts. “Can you at least point out its general location on the map?”

  “That I can do,” Votary answers.

  Flaimeson focuses his active search for a Gudz ship. He soon gets a response.

  “Well, if your people are paying attention, this should work.”

  The signal is sent, but the Templars are dismayed when nobody answers.

  “Would they be sleeping?” Flaimeson asks.

  “No, not tonight,” Votary answers.

  “Plus, Sahil doesn’t need sleep,” Seal Pup adds.

  “Well, they are not answering,” Flaimeson states.

  “We’ll figure it out later,” Votary announces. “Right now, we need to make sure the Vengeful ISH is clear of enemies.”

  “You mean the Ahika?” Flaimeson asks.

  “Not anymore. It’s my ship now; I’m calling it the Vengeful ISH,” Votary insists.

  “I like it!” Seal Pup cheers.

  “Very confrontational; good. Most people can’t handle confrontation,” SOT says.

  “But ISH is not a polite word,” Flaimeson complains.

  “Even better,” Votary says. “I’m taking its power away.”

  Flaimeson slumps his massive shoulders. “Father and I will have words on this.”

  “Do you see Abel here?” SOT challenges.

  “Do not refer to him by his given name!” Flaimeson shouts.

  “He prefers it,” SOT says back.

  She steps close and presses her chest against his own. She has to arch her head to stare up at the Malignant defector.

  “Not now!” Votary shouts.

  The two challengers reluctantly take steps back.

  “Flaimeson, do you know what happened to the green statue outside the bridge?” Votary asks.

  “What statue? We do not have decorations on Malignant vessels.”

  “He wasn’t a decoration. He was an augment made of gas. One of my people turned him into a statue.”

  “I do not know of it. The augment you mentioned is half human. He is from Earth. Why do you ask?”

  “Because the statue wasn’t there when we came back from auxiliary power. I assumed you were cleaning up the battle, but from the looks of it, that hasn’t happened.”

  Votary waves his arms to encompass all the bodies still lying on the bridge.

  “Come to think of it, I’m not sure it was there when we left the bridge either. We’ll add it to the list of things to watch out for as we clear the ship,” Seal Pup grumbles.

  “No time like the present to get after it,” Votary says. “Nijigen, stay here with Flaimeson and watch over the disgraced captain. Seal Pup, with me.”

  “Coming,” Seal Pup says.

  The Two Templars grasp their melee weapons and head out the bridge door.

  Carlos steps out of the Colberton jail with a smile. He allows the warm summer night air to engulf his body. Sally, Mitch, and Abel wait for him and cheer as he strides over. It’s clear that Mitch is keeping his distance from Abel.

  “I told you we’d get you out,” Sally states.

  “How’d you do it so early? I thought I had to wait for the morning?”

  “I can be quite persuasive,” Abel answers, “and I’m needed elsewhere. I didn’t want to leave until I fulfilled my promise to Sister.”

  “Thank you, Abel,” Carlos says.

  He turns his attention to Mitch. An unspoken awkwardness lingers between the two.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve said it earlier. I’m sorry, Mitch, for pointing a gun at your head.”

  Mitch fans his eyes as tears pool. “I appreciate that. I don’t blame you. I couldn’t move either, and I know it wasn’t you, but it still feels cathartic hearing you apologize.”

  “So, we’re good?”

  “We’re good, Carlos.”

  “So, what do you want to do?” Sally asks.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Carlos asks.

  “Not really,” Sally somberly admits. “Most places are closed, and the stores that are open are understaffed.”

  “It’s the Osaka Riots all over again.”

  “Not quite that bad,” Mitch says.

  “Damn, I was really craving some Captain Crawdaddy’s,” Carlos bemoans.

  “I can make that happen,” Abel says. “Why don’t I conjure some up and we can share a meal. Afterwards, I have to see how my Templars are faring.”

  “Do you think Bill is alright?” Mitch asks.

  “I’m sure he is. He was my second Templar of this batch. He’s had more time to prepare than most.”

  “That makes me feel better hearing that.”

  “What do you mean by this batch?” Sally asks.

  “I’ve been on this planet a long time, and augmentations are nothing new.”

  “Meaning?” Sally presses.

  “Meaning that anything you heard explained away as folklore or legend probably has an augmentation answer. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Hard not to, but I’ll try.”

  “So, who’s hungry?” Abel asks. He rubs his palms as he waits for their answers.

  All three humans raise their hands. Abel creates an elaborate dinner of shellfish and other seafood. He makes a wooden picnic table appear that’s covered in newspaper. Buckets of food rest atop it with ice cold beer. The food containers even sport the Captain Crawdaddy’s logo.

  “Shall we?” Abel asks.

  His guests eagerly sit down and slurp the head juices from their crayfish. For a moment, they seem to forget they’re in the middle of the parking lot outside a jail.

  Port and Karmic walk through the hallways of the Vengeful ISH and look for any hidden enemies. Port still carries her assault rifle at the ready, and Karmic holds a Gudz talwar.

  “How many times do we have to go through this place?” Port complains. “My old bones can’t take it.”

  “Votary says to keep going until he says stop.”

  “That young man needs to learn more compassion.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me. How’s Lottery?”

  Port shakes her head. “He’s still unconscious. He terrified me when he lost control of his augmentation. I was certain one would turn on us and kill me, Gallery, and Nijigen.”

  “I hope he pulls through. I don’t like feeling under strength like this. We’ve already lost Karen, Jake, Zoe, and Curtis.”

  “How about two more?” a sinister voice suggests.

  Karmic and Port whirl and find
Guntho, Vape, two orange armored marines, and the speaker. They’re the priority targets that Votary and Flaimeson sent them to look for.

  The speaker is a pale man with long black hair and a clean shaven face. His body is tall and slender, but still seems powerful. He twirls a silver kilij and challenges the Templars. Karmic grips his talwar. Port fires her rifle at the group of people.

  The speaker moves remarkably fast to avoid injury. Guntho turns into a giant tar monster, and the pens lose velocity when they strike her. Vape transforms into a cloud of smoke, and sizzling pens splatter on the far wall after passing through his form. The two generic marines are not as fortunate, and their bodies are promptly ventilated by Port’s gunfire.

  “Get them, Vlad!” Guntho roars.

  Vlad side steps and avoids the remaining shots from Port. He closes the distance, moving eight times the speed of a normal human, and stops in Port’s face.

  “Cheater, cheater,” he accuses.

  Port tries to butt stroke Vlad, but he moves out of the way. He rips Port’s helmet off and grabs her throat. He thrusts at her stomach with his kilij. He looks shocked when his sword appears in Gabriella’s hand instead of sticking out of her chest.

  “Clever, girl,” Vlad says.

  Before Gabriella can swing the recently acquired sword, Vlad points the fingers on his right hand and plunges the sharpened nails into her throat. He pulls his nails out, sticky with blood, and plunges them back into her neck two more times. Gabriella slides down the wall, mortally wounded, and writhes. Vlad’s sword clatters on the floor. He promptly retrieves it.

  “Port!” Karmic screams.

  He slashes at Vlad, but the man expertly parries each attack. He spins his blade around Karmic’s sword and pries it from the Templar’s grip. The talwar clatters onto the floor. Vlad prepares a powerful thrust and plunges it into Karmic’s stomach.

  “No!” Guntho warns.

  Karmic grins as he looks at the surprise on Vlad’s face when he reaches down at his own body. The wound burns slightly, a possible effect of a silver blade, but quickly heals itself. Now it’s Vlad’s turn to gloat.

  “Cute trick.”

  Guntho sends a stream of tar at Karmic, which splatters and secures him to the wall. Guntho transitions back to a woman, remarkably, her armor also transitions. She doesn’t stand nude as Vape does.

  “This one is unique,” Guntho says. “We cannot kill him, so we must detain him.”

  “Want me to carry him?” Vlad asks.

  “Not enough room nor time. Consider this a gift from one Malignant to another,” Guntho says to Karmic.

  Karmic grits his teeth and tries to break free, but he can’t. Guntho and Vape walk past him. Vlad stops only long enough to touch the tip of Karmic’s nose with his finger and wink at him.

  Karmic screams in frustration as he hears the Malignant sympathizers walk off in search of an escape pod.

  “Port!” Karmic screams. “Port! Hang on!”

  Gabriella wheezes on the floor. “Promise me you’ll . . .”

  Gabriella doesn’t finish her sentence. She dies on the corridor floor as her blood turns cold.

  “What? Promise you what, Port?”

  Karmic listens, but his head is secured in a way that he can’t look at his fallen teammate.

  “Port? Gabriella?”

  Karmic’s heart sinks as he accepts what the silence means.

  “Help!”

  Soon he feels a thump in the wall.

  Darsh lies on a bed in the medical bay of the Vengeful ISH. He slowly sits up and looks around. Seated near him are Akio and Kimmy with their helmets off and set on a nearby cart.

  “Akio, look,” Kimmy says.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, DJ. How do you feel?” Akio asks.

  “We are well, thank you,” Darsh responds.

  The use of we unnerves the other two Templars.

  “Do you remember what happened?” Kimmy asks.

  “We remember all. We needed more power.”

  “It’s just you now, buddy. No more we,” Akio says.

  “We are always here. Even when you only perceive one of us.”

  “Good joke, DJ, but you’re scaring me now,” Kimmy says.

  “We do not wish to frighten a teammate. Our apologies.”

  “DJ, are you talking about Saager, Ajit, and Sahil?” Akio asks.

  “We are all Lottery. Individuals can be crushed. We are many. We are power.”

  “Okay,” Kimmy says with concern. “Why don’t you try to get more rest and we’ll get Votary and Seal Pup to come by later.”

  “We would like that. Tell us, did we win the battle?”

  “Yeah, we won, DJ,” Akio answers.

  “We are glad. We lost many children in the battle, but we remember them all. It was necessary for the victory.”

  “Just get some rest,” Akio nervously suggests.

  “We shall try.”

  Darsh lies his head down and closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to fall back asleep.

  “What the hell was that?” Akio demands.

  “I don’t know.” Kimmy shakes her head. “But we need to find out.”

  Ibbles walks along cells inside a hidden facility. Flanking him are Roger and Sooyoung. They look solemn, but his eyes indicate ambition.

  Inside each of the cells is a single person. They vary in gender, ethnicity, and age. Some are as young as twelve, and others are well into their senior years. Many speak languages other than English. All look drugged. Their minds are sluggish, and this makes them easy to control. One such prisoner is OP.

  “How long until we can start sending them into the field?” Ibbles ask.

  “This group will take some time. We have to convince them of our cause and make them dependent on us. Purpose will help with that. He has a knack for it. Once we get them to the right point of suggestibility, we can begin training simulations,” Roger answers.

  “Good,” Ibbles says as he strokes his chin and looks at OP. “Some of these augments showed great power. They may even rival the Templars.”

  “The Templars aren’t our enemy,” Sooyoung protests.

  “I agree,” Roger says. “We don’t need to aggravate them.”

  “They embarrassed you, and you want to placate their egos?” Ibbles cries. “Perhaps I have the wrong people in charge of the A-Men.”

  “No, sir,” Roger and Sooyoung say in unison.

  “Good. Then you need to run those who are ready through our simulations. And get them all speaking English.”

  “We have an augment who should be able to help with that, too,” Roger informs.

  “I don’t give a damn. Just get them combat-ready. If anything comes from space again, we’ll deal with it immediately. We have a zero spaceship policy now.”

  “Is that what the President wants?” Roger asks.

  “It’s what I want!” Ibbles screams as he whirls on the pair. “The President knows what I tell him. You do what I tell you. It’s that easy. Don’t cross me on this. I have ways to make you regret it.”

  “You have our loyalty, sir.”

  “Good. Make sure the rest of your team feels the same, then expand upon that team.”

  Ibbles waves a hand to dismiss the pair. He walks away with hands clasped behind his back as he admires a class of twenty augments who are further along with indoctrination. They use a variety of powers to reduce old military armor to scrap metal.

  Stage and Millantra walk toward the prison cells that hold the captured augments unwilling to immediately join the Malignant Empire. Their conversation is casual and mutually inquisitive.

  “So, you call yourself Stage?”

  “It’s my code name for when we’re fully armored.”

  “But if you take off your armor
, your name becomes Patrick O’Shea?”

  “Yeah, it’s one of Votary’s rules. When we’re fully suited we only use the code names. He says it’s for security reasons.”

  “But he does not have a second name?”

  “He does, or maybe she does, but I don’t know it. I think only Abel knows it.”

  “And Father allows you to use his birth name?”

  “He has with me.”

  “But he also uses your code names?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Should I have a code name?”

  “I don’t think it’ll matter for you.”

  “What if I want one?”

  “You can have one, sure. I think that’s a bonney idea.”

  “What should I call myself in my armor?”

  “We usually pick something that winks at our augmentation.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Something that’s synonymous with our power.”

  “I can create pens of different sizes just by adjusting the width of my hands. Therefore, I think I should be Madame Penetrator!”

  Stage laughs at Millantra, but she doesn’t seem embarrassed.

  “Where is the comedy?”

  “I don’t think you want to call yourself that, lass.”

  “How about Lass then?”

  “No.”

  “Then you pick something for me that is appropriate by Earth standards.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  Stage thinks as the two continue to stroll to their destination.

  “How about Caliber?”

  “That would be appropriate. Since the caliber of my pens adjust with my intent. It is appropriately whimsical.”

  “Yes, you just explained it exactly.”

  “I am aware. Forever more refer to me as Caliber in uniform.”

  “Noted. So, why did you and Flaimeson help us?”

  “We are Gudz loyalists. Not everyone accepted the Malignant propaganda.”

  “Why would they?”

  Stage’s question remains unanswered as the duo round the final corner to the prisoner cells.

  “Our destination,” Caliber flatly states.

  She opens the door and reveals eight people held in captivity. They all push away to the far corner of their individual enclosure as Stage and Caliber enter.