Blackjack Messiah

by Ben Bequer

  "Doubly as effective as the portable device onboard the blimp," he said, and though I knew he was talking to me, it seemed as if he was pontificating to everyone in the cave. "We'll see how well you hold up against this device, Mister Blackjack."

  I felt like vomiting, like crying, and a total coward for not throwing these chumps off me and stopping the process before it killed Razorstrike. She was a villain, sure, and a piece of shit at that. Hell, the woman took pleasure in hurting people. But no one deserved to die like that. She felt every second of it, until her body was torn inside out, and then, even after.

  I wanted to shrug these pricks off and put Snyder in the device, see if he had any of the shit that came out of Razorstrike. If not, we were going to see how he managed the last few seconds of his life. I wanted to then put the Chosen in there, then the rest of the techs that were running the machines. Hell, there were eight tubes, I could do them in batches.

  I was about to, I was inching towards it, so much that the two guys holding me tensed up, but the doctor shouted something that arrested me completely. "Flush the waste and ready it for another subject!"

  Behind me, one of the techs hit a button and the tube emptied. What remained of Razorstrike, blood, bones and all, along with the contaminated fluid gushed down an escape hatch on the bottom. In a second, it was empty, only the breathing mask dangling inside.

  "God, what is wrong with you people,” I said but Doctor Snyder waved me off and the Chosen took me further into the cave. There was another bank of monitors, each one subdivided into several windows with views of individual holding cells. At the screens were a pair of Chosen. These guys each wore a device that reminded me of a pared down cattle prod. The four guys dumped me at the feet of two guards. They looked over at Whisper, barring her way. "You can go now," one of the guards said, but she stood her ground.

  "Didn't you boys get orders?"

  I started to get on my feet when one of the guards threatened me with the prod. I needed to see how powerful the device was, so I stood, and sure enough, he jabbed me in the stomach. It was a massive hit of electricity. That I had taken a hard blow in the midsection moments before made it worse, but all in all, the prod wasn't enough to hurt me. I pretended, poorly, of course. I'm no actor. I curled up on the floor, saying, "Sorry," over and over again.

  Whisper spoke to the two guards again, but I was looking past her at the four Chosen that brought me here. They marched away as if on parade. "Come on," she said, helping me to my feet, and leading me to the back of the cave. Beneath the catwalk, almost too dark to see was an imposing circular door. One of the guards followed us and the other stayed behind, opening the gate for us. It rotated out of the way on a complicated set of gears. It took almost thirty seconds for the thing to open.

  We went through and it sealed behind us. The lighting in here was feeble, only a bit of illumination coming from a central row of incandescents. To each side was a large glass panel, with about three feet of rock dividing each cell. Every one of the cells held prisoners. I recognized Bubblerella, leader of the Ladies of Pain, inside the first cell we passed. Another group huddled in the dark across from her. In the next one, though, I saw someone I knew well.

  Lady Armada.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Lady Armada Redux

  She was laid out on the ground, naked as the day she was born. Her skin was wet, and the floor around her was splashed with some sort of gel-like fluid. She was unconscious, and her body was replete with bruises and lacerations. Frankly, she looked dead. I rushed the glass, falling to my knees. "Armada!" I said, but she didn't budge. "Open it!"

  "You don't give the orders here," the guard said, moving in with the prod.

  "Open it," Whisper said.

  He paused.

  "You heard me," she said. "Doctor Snyder’s orders. Says he has something special planned."

  That was a lie. Thus far, Snyder had taken every opportunity to dig at me. No way would he have kept something like this hidden. He couldn't help himself. I wanted to look Whisper in the eye, to thank her for lying on my behalf but Armada was the priority. The guard took forever to process, proving that it was a feature, not a bug in the previous model.

  "Open number four," he said, speaking into a headset mike, and a moment later the glass slid up. I didn't wait for it to stop, slipping in as soon as I could fit, rushing to Armada's side and cradling her body against mine. She was cold and felt fragile compared to when I had last seen her, but her pulse was strong.

  "Get me water!" I said, but the glass was already closing.

  Whisper's eyes were wide and pleading. She mouthed "Later."

  I turned back to Armada, carrying her to one of the metal beds that were anchored to the stone walls. The guard started away, but Whisper remained. I looked back at her and she held her hand out as if to hold me back. "Later," she mouthed, again.

  I wrapped Lady Armada in blankets from both beds and placed her atop one of them. Her skin was cold and pale, her breathing was ragged. If not for her pulse, I would have thought she was dead. She shivered under the blankets, and I laid next to her, sharing my body warmth. She shifted next to me, but the movement was aimless, her mouth trying to form words and failing.

  "It's okay," I said. "I've got you."

  She touched my cheek with a feeble fingertip and closed her eyes. I folded the blanket over her arm. Armada was a big girl, but I managed to keep her balled up inside my midsection as much as possible. I fell asleep myself, but the noise of the machine outside, and all the electricity flowing through ungrounded cables woke me with each surge. I was half falling out of the tiny bed, but eventually, we settled into a proper spoon with my big arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  I felt her stir only to fall asleep again. The second time she woke, she tried to push my arm off of her. She spoke in a harsh whisper. I sat up and rolled her over so she could see me. Her eyes widened with shock. "Relax," I said, trying to soften my voice as much as possible. "We're both being helped captive."

  It was like her brain slowly clued her into the idea that she was here with me. As it happened, Armada started peeling herself off of me, and when that was too slow, kicked me away. None of it hurt, but Armada at a quarter strength was still pretty strong. I got out of the bed, arms out. "Did they put you in the machine?" I asked, knowing the answer, but I wanted to remind her that I wasn't the bad guy - at least not in this instance.

  Armada pushed away from me until she reached the rock wall, hitting her head. "Hey, careful with that. You realize we're in this together, right?" Her eyes flicked to the blankets and widened, swiveling to me, bare-chested and traced my body, stopping at my midsection with sudden horror.

  "Sorry about that," I said, putting more space between us.

  "Y-you..." she said, closing her eyes, almost passing out from the effort.

  "It's a normal thing in the mornings," I said, waiting for my morning friend to go away. "I'm really sorry. You want some water?"

  Armada didn't respond, but I figured we could both use a drink. The cell had a tiny toilet and a faucet, and luckily, the water was working. I washed the grime and blood from my hands and arms, then ducked my head under the cold water, scratching at the many hardening scabs all over my head, neck, and shoulders. There wasn't a mirror in the cell and I was glad for it - I didn't want to fit an image to how weary I felt.

  I cupped some water in my hands and brought it to her. She was asleep, but the touch of the cold water on her lips brought her back. As soon as she identified it as water, Armada drank it down greedily, but as she followed the hands and saw who I was, she batted my arms away. "Fine," I said. “Die for all I care."

  I drank directly from the faucet, it was cold and tasted like a mouthful of nickels, but it soothed my throat. I threw more water on myself until I was drenched down to my pant legs, taking my sweet time and using up as much water as I wanted. Armada was fast asleep in the same position as I had left her, uncomfortable and leaning back agains
t the wall.

  "Fuck it," I said, getting her another handful of water. Semi-conscious, she was easier to help. After a few trips, I sat in the other bed, across from her. She was shivering again, and I was cold as well. I got up and rolled her on the bed so she was facing away from me, and settled in behind her once more.

  I don't know how much time passed. Mostly, she slept and I rested lying next to her, and I think her warmth did me about as much good as mine did for her. They left us in there long enough that I was tired of sleeping, aching from being in the same position for too long. I got up, stretched, went to the bathroom, tried working out, hit the bathroom again.

  Quiet was good, though. Better than the horrifying screams of the machine. The delay told me one of two things was true. Either the device required a long ramp-up time, or they were following regular hours. I figured it was night outside, though I had nothing to guide myself by.

  They didn't come to feed us, which meant they didn’t intend on keeping us alive. The machine on Blitzkrieg’s zeppelin had almost killed me, but the big son of a bitch would do the job. They might get two sessions out of me, or I would sit in there, writhing in agony until I ended up a pile of mush. Neither was an attractive option, but I was low on ideas.

  A camera was mounted in the top corner of the cell. I saw my reflection in the smoky black dome and wondered how actively they were monitoring. There were two guards in the monitor womb, with that giant door separating us. No doubt that thing was built to hold me in at peak strength, never mind my weakened condition. But it opened and closed slowly, and the Chosen seemed to process stimulus just as slowly. If I could get the drop on one of them, I might be able to get through the door before it closed. I would have to kill the Chosen quick and hope the other one didn’t notice.

  It was a shit plan that relied on too many maybes, but the alternative was to sit and die. All it would require was the guy in the control room hitting a button. The door would close and Armada and I were screwed. I looked up at the camera again and saw the lens rotate in its housing as if it were zooming. I guess they were monitoring us. It made sense. I was their prize cow.

  I sat on the bed across from her, satisfied that she was starting to show a little color. Her skin was still pale, but a little bit of pink around her cheeks went a long way. She was also breathing easier, tossing and turning, and occasionally trying to slough off the blankets. I had her wrapped like a burrito, indifferent to her comfort. She woke with a start, reaching back to check the bed, and finding it empty, turned to face me.

  I waved. "Morning, princess."

  Armada choked out a couple of hoarse words, wrestling free of the blankets while still holding them around her like a cloak. Her eyes darted around the cell as more color flushed her cheeks. She fingered the power dampening collar as if she just realized it was there. Her gaze settled on me again, and I swear if she had a spear, the pointy end would be aimed at me.

  "Want some water?" I said, but I didn't wait for her to reply, getting a handful for her. Instead of fighting me, she sat up and drank. The blanket opened up as she leaned towards me, revealing a breast. I focused on a point just over her head, but my eyes flicked at the slit more than once. I blushed when she caught me and took a step away when she pulled the blankets closed around her.

  "It's okay," I said, licking my dirty fingers of the remaining water and taking a seat on the other bed. "I've seen it, remember?"

  "You're vile," she said. “And that hair…”

  "You like it, right? By the way, you're gorgeous, but you are also quite a cunt."

  Her eyes widened. That's the one word you never, ever use with a woman. Fuck it, I dropped it on her lap. "Well, you did stab me for no good reason," I said. "I'm still limping, in case you didn't notice. Normal people don't walk like this."

  She closed her eyes and sat still. I thought she'd fallen asleep when she spoke again, "I-I don't know...know what's happening to me."

  "Your powers?"

  She nodded.

  "Look, it's okay. I'll mend. It's just..."

  "What?"

  I leaned forward, "When you fuck up, you're supposed to apologize. Crazy stalker phone calls don’t count, either. Didn't mommy and daddy teach you how to people?"

  She shook her head.

  "Oh," I said. "Parents die?"

  "I was taken from them...when I was very small."

  "What were you raised on an island in the Pacific, 1,000 miles south, southwest of Fiji?"

  Armada smiled, shook her head.

  "That's from a movie," I said. "Just fucking around."

  "When I was three or four, I don't remember, they determined I was marked by the gods. My family was scared, unsure what to do. They went to the local temple who found me a new home."

  "So, not Fiji?"

  "Crete," she said. "I was raised from when I was a small child to be a defender of the weak and helpless. My predecessor taught me how to fight and how to protect those that can't protect themselves. I also learned languages-"

  "You speak English without an accent," I said.

  "Thank you," she said. "I also learned history, philosophy - all the things the protector must know. I spent years at war, campaigning against those that threatened the innocent. War does terrible things to men, but worse things happen if nobody is willing to fight."

  "Are you from the past?" I said.

  “Yes. One of my deadliest enemies was a sorcerer. She used a spell to send me to this time.”

  “Holy shit, that sounds awful.”

  “I think she thought I would die here. I am lucky that Epic found me or I might have. He had a telepath that bridged the language barrier. Without his help, I might have ended up like you, imprisoned and vilified.”

  A thousand questions were on the tip of my tongue, but I quelled my curiosity as she leaned back into the wall and closed her eyes again. She was beaten and exhausted, and I couldn’t say I felt much better. The silence was not uncomfortable though.

  "I am sorry," she said, her eyes still closed.

  "Huh?"

  "For what I did."

  I sat up again, "It’s alright."

  "I see things - visions - and they've always guided me. These days they confuse me. I didn't mean to insult Apogee, and when I attacked you..."

  "I know," I said. "I guess I know what you saw."

  She looked around the cell and her whole countenance changed. She sat up, her grip on the blankets loosening enough to reopen that dangerous slit. She scooted into the wall, her eyes wide, rolling across the whole room until they finally landed on me. Then the moment passed and she clutched the blankets around her, but she seemed more comfortable.

  “What was that about?” I said.

  “My vision was of us, here.”

  “What? But we didn’t, y’know. I swear, nothing happened.”

  “I know that. I saw myself naked and you shirtless, holding me. I didn’t question it. I admit that my preconceptions about you fueled some of my assumptions. I am truly sorry”

  “It’s ok,” I said. “I know a little something about judging people.”

  Color bloomed in her cheeks, and I felt a twinge of regret that our prophesied tryst was a case of mistaken dream analysis. Apogee would have killed her and made me wish I was dead, but it would have been worth it. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it. I felt a familiar stirring and drew my legs in tight to hide it.

  “I am also sorry for what happened on the jet afterward,” she said.

  My whole body tensed at the memory of her aggression as I lay in the healing pod. The cold sweat, the racing heartbeat, the real fear that I was going to have to fight her off and lose. Nobody would have believed me if I told them, either. Not a damn one. They would have assumed I wanted it. Apogee would have killed her, but because she was possessive of me, not because she believed I wasn’t a willing participant.

  Armada must have seen the conflict because she bowed her head, unable to bury her own shame. I crossed the
room and sat next to her close enough that the blankets brushed my arm. We sat in silence for a long time, and while I didn’t know what was going through her mind, when I finally did speak she looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I forgive you.”

  She didn’t make a sound, but fresh tears left clean tracks on her dirty face. She scooted the few inches separating us and leaned into my arm, resting her head on my shoulder. Hair spilled into her face, some of it drifting onto my shoulder and down my back. She stayed like that for a while before sitting up again, using the blankets to dry her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Princess, if I’ve learned anything, it’s the power of guilt and forgiveness.”

  "I'm not a princess. I'm the Protector."

  I laughed. "Sorry, I've seen too many movies."

  "But you’re not the only one who calls me ‘Princess.’ Epic did the same all the time."

  "I'd have to explain the whole Han Solo/Princess Leia relationship to you, but I don't think we have the time."

  "I've seen this movie. Epic made me see it."

  “I like that guy more every day. So you know what I mean. Han's the guy every kid grows up wanting to be. Tough and uncompromising."

  "I liked the blond boy," she said. "The handsome one who wanted to become a better person."

  "You would," I said.

  “He didn’t even want to fight. He wanted to redeem his father.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  "Is that why you throw yourself recklessly at villains?" she said. "Is it some misguided attempt at redemption?"

  "I don't know," I said.

  "You'd do better to help the poor," she said. "Use your vast knowledge to aid those who really need help. Rather than to behave suicidally, as you often do."

  "I'm not done yet, Armada," I said. "It's a work in progress. Say, do you have like a real name? Not 'Protector' or 'Armada.' You know, a people name?"

  "Natalia," she said. "I don't know my last name."

  "Nice," I said. "What do you like more, Nat? Naty?"

  "Natalia."

  "Fine. You're no fun."