by Russ Linton
We'd shared a moment outside before all hell broke loose. A tough guy on the outside, I suddenly got why I understood Danger more than anyone else. I don't know that he has any other power other than the one that tells him he's gonna die, or get hurt. And while he's a hardass compared to me, in this world where he lives, he might as well be made of eggshells and glass.
The psychic bubble made this the ultimate hideout for a guy trapped in a hostile world. He'd even told me how he found Whispering Pines, and I'd started to wonder what other holes there were in the defenses. Other ways...
"You want a lead?" I say, loud enough and sudden enough that Eric jumps. "Hound's right. Talk to our prisoner, Destructo. Check the feeds! He was lounging like this was a day on the beach when the whole building was about to come down."
"See?" Xamse, whose been observing quietly, flashes a smile brighter than his new bling. "You are not powerless. Nobody is." The smile fades. "But people need to live their lives without governments or warlords telling them how. Ruse or not, Russia is using this event as an excuse to "stabilize" the region. Never can there be a return to Augments as weapons of nations. Never clashes over ideologies or politics. You can run your operations as you see fit, Crimson Mask, but I will not continue to fund you."
"Sir," says Dad and my eyes bulge. Did the Crimson Mask just call somebody, sir? "We had to respond to the Crimea incident—"
"Had to?" Xamse cuts right into Dad's explanation. "If you did not, I wonder if your friend would have not been abducted?"
I'm ready to forgive new Xamse for the whole taser incident based on this exchange alone. However long he spent as Drake's minion must've been hell, but that and a lifetime of struggle has forged a backbone I don't think even Dad could break. From the look of things, he isn't going to try.
"You're right," says Dad. "We were set up. It was sloppy. Will you reconsider if we can sort this out? We just need some time to find our missing man and to do that, we could use your help."
My jaw has lost all feeling and I think might be resting somewhere mid-chest. Everybody else is taking Dad asking for help as a normal, everyday occurrence. Admitting he was wrong. It took me two years on ice and helping to dismantle a clandestine government operation before I got this much from him.
"Nothing is permanent," says Xamse. "No deal completely unmade. I have learned this. Also, I have learned one must be firm to get what one wants. You are on your own until this blows over, as they say."
Screens flick to the Nanomech corporate logo. Mike drop. Holy shit.
Dad starts handing out orders. "Eric, get me anything you can on Destructo's movements before we collared him. And I want a list of names, ideas for whoever could be behind this. Ember, back to the infirmary." He cuts off a retort. "I need you healthy. No funds means no transport and with Aurora down, it's up to the two of us to keep the team mobile. Danger, Hound, with me."
He's marching toward the barracks hallway, the old soldier and the older soldier in formation with Danger lurking at the rear. They stop short of the door and Dad turns. "Spencer, nice work. See what else you and Eric can come up with. We'll be questioning the prisoner."
Then he's gone and I'm watching him trail away on the monitors.
"Who the hell is that guy?"
Eric's confused until he notices I'm following Dad's progress. "I told you, he's changed."
I keep track as they shift from screen to screen, all the way to the prisoner's cells. A quick check with Danger, and Dad opens Destructo's cell, making sure to fill the entire frame so he can catch any heaters. Dad gets his hands on the guy before the others step in. With Danger watching from the doorway, he restrains the prisoner while Hound talks.
Next cell over is Charlotte.
When the team got back, the second thing Dad did after dropping Ember and Aurora at the infirmary was go to her cell. I watched them together. Saw her fear release as he stepped in and held her. He sat beside her on the bed, his massive frame unreal in relation to her emaciated body. They held hands. I could almost see Mom sitting there.
"What do you think?" Eric's asked something and he's waiting on my answer.
"Whatever," I mutter
"What's that supposed to mean? The little temper tantrum Destructo had in his cell. You think that's what gave us away?"
"Could be. Makes sense." I do my best to rejoin reality.
"Genius, Spence. Vulkan's power set could allow him to sense the tremors. He'd need to be in the general area, but I think you're right. The whole thing with Destructo was a setup."
"All this to get Polybius?"
"Hells yeah. Encryption is king, jint. You know that. Government files, banks, utilities, private communications, he's like the key to every black box in existence and those that haven't been cooked up yet."
"Any ideas who?"
"Beetle, if he were still around."
"That means Xamse is on the short list."
Eric grimaces. "No way," he says loudly, while nodding.
"Which means I better finish this diagnostic of yours." Alone time with my multitool and the whir of cooling fans sounds perfect right about now.
"Make it so, bitch!"
Is that ever going to get old with him? I toss a half-smile and see he's hamming up a captain's log entry. I'd love to join in but can't shake the image of Charlotte in Dad's arms. I can't even be sure who's putting it there.
Chapter 12
ONE PINCHED FINGER, dozens of swapped cables and a round of voltage tests on the power supplies, and I'm done. I ran what I could on an isolated laptop: system scans, registry checks. My only conclusion was Eric had seriously upgraded from his basement nerdtopia. Petabytes of storage and processing power lay at his fingertips with enough bleeding edge tech that I'm lucky I didn't lose my whole finger.
"Clean," I announce and drop into a chair. "Warp speed...gave her all she's got...blah, blah, blah."
"You sure? Did you check the dmesg log?"
"Yes...and every individual cable...plus...the ifconfig...along with the...ethtool...output." With each heavy pause, I'm doing as horrible of a Kirk impression as can possibly be done.
"Fine," Eric whines. "I don't get it."
"Join the club. 'Cause your wireless is still wide open even if you aren't using it. Can't blame this on a hardware fault though. Xamse sure didn't spare any expense. Half your gear is straight off the R and D shelf. How much are you into that guy for?"
"Me? Nothing. All this belongs to the team."
Right, this "team," this tiny group of holdouts who were the only ones who stayed. The rest? Running wild again and starting to misbehave.
"Why'd they all leave?"
"Who?" Eric asks. His neck stiffens and he adjusts his glasses.
"Don't try and bullshit me of all people. Why, man?"
"Lots of reasons," he finally says. He oozes out of the chair. A stretch, a yawn, and I realize we've been at this for hours. Maybe a day or more. "Mostly the egos. They wouldn't all fit in here."
"King Ego tossed them out of his cage?" I ask, falling in behind as he heads for the barracks.
"Early on, stuff was touch and go, and I was wondering if I'd made the wrong choice. I don't wonder about that anymore." He stops at his room and indicates the ridge of lava rock taking up much of the hall. "Looks like your bunk is blocked."
"I don't have a bunk," I remind him.
"Fine. Take your pick of a new not-your-bunk. I'm going to get some shut eye."
Eric steps into Babe's blue glow, and I watch him shut the door. Track pants and t-shirt, he's already given up the unitard he was wearing when I first saw him post-Killcreek. Probably a saggy mess, what with the weight he's lost. Dad, Eric, lots of stuff has changed.
I open the closest accessible door. More Spartan government decor greets me. The mattress has seen better days, and the blanket could be made of monk hair, but I'm too tired to care. Springs groan as I hit the bed and I'm out.
COLD. SO GODDAMN COLD. I feel it pressing on my c
hest, tighten my lungs. Each breath escapes without a trace of warmth.
I made a promise to never return to the Icehole, one I've broken most every night. She doesn't haunt my dreams. Hurricane, Martin, they've stayed quiet in their graves, too. But this place always comes back. Two years I spent in a frigid waste. For what? Nearly two years outside hasn't thawed me out.
A silent buzz glides through the frozen air. Proximity alarm? Too quiet. Gotta be the door to the safe room. Maybe the system is doing a reboot.
I sit up and the buzz cuts out, comes again. It's persistent this time. An annoying whine a hair's breadth off my shoulder. I don't want to check and see what might be right there. The anticipation forces me out of bed and into the hallway. Moving. Got to stay moving.
Motion sensors don't engage like they should and the overhead fluorescents stay dark. At the far end, a glow emits from the other side of the library. Yep, the safe room, that's got to be it. I'll just close the door a little. Dad's not here to tell me to keep it open. At least I don't think he is.
Darkness frames the glow and the square of luminance becomes a portal. That isn't the library... I push through a hinged door that brushes the uneven floor with a dry slurp. My feet are on warm, busted concrete the brittle texture of overcooked bread. A blinding sheet of plasma and liquid crystal overwhelms the space beyond.
Screens, lots of them. My inner geek urges forward, a moth to flame, but a faraway warning screams bloody murder from the edge of consciousness. A metal bar to the spine. A book pops open on the center display. Cute, endearing, the illustrations are classics anyone would recognize and that would bring tears—should bring tears. One traces my cheek, chilled and lonely. A little spider spins a web in the corner of the page, spelling out words as it weaves.
Humble.
Terrific.
Radiant.
Shhh.
The buzzing sound worms from my shoulder into the cavities of my skull. Even so, I cling to the belief that whatever is there lurks on the edge of what's real, waiting for me to grant permission to sink bony fingers into my flesh. She will only become real if I acknowledge her, and I don't have any plans to do so. Until she speaks.
"Spencer?"
That warning scream explodes and drowns the buzzing. I spin toward the threat. She stands in the hall, illuminated by the bank of monitors. Sickly and pale, those stretched limbs skeletal and those eyes sunken ovals under a nest of scars.
Charlotte. She found me. I'm falling into one of those cracks on the floor and the inky black space between.
When I can see again, I'm twenty thousand leagues under. Greenish light creates leopard spot patterns, shimmering and flexing. A screen saver for my brain, I'm good with the vegetative state, the trance. Fleeting impressions of terror wait on the other side of this goopy haze.
"Mmmphlblogl..." I want to speak and words aren't buffering in the brain.
The screen saver fades into sleep mode.
WHISPERING PINES. IN a place I know all too well—the infirmary. I've put in coma time here once before.
The long row of hospital beds are all empty except one at the far end. That's the source of the light. Aurora is here.
Farthest from the door, her bed is sheathed in a fine metal mesh. Making out her form in the contained glow takes a while. I figure out she's lying on her side, head propped in her palm, watching me.
"You awake this time?" she asks.
I roll to my back and scratch at the lingering sensation on my shoulder. "This time?"
"You've been sleeping, but not restful. Bad dreams." Her words become faint and though I don't hear the bed move or sheets rustle, she rolls to her back. "Bad. Good. I don't have those anymore."
The infirmary doors swing open. Hound pushes a rolling cart through with Dad walking right behind him. They're deep in conversation. Both have their eyes on my bed and see right away I'm fumbling with the controls and struggling to sit up.
"Whoa, son," says Hound. He leaves the cart in the doorway and reaches the bedside but not before Dad. There's a clack as the swinging door bounces on the cart and in the shadows of the hallway, I see another figure straight out of my nightmares.
Dad helps operate the controls, and Hound stuffs a pillow behind my back while the bed grinds its way into an upright position. "Slow down," he says.
"I'm fine." Biggest problem I see is the IV tangled on the bed rail effectively chaining me to the spot.
"I'm the closest thing ya got to a doctor," grumbles Hound. He returns to the cart and wheels it inside. Doors slip shut and Charlotte shifts to peer through the disappearing crack. "You're fine when I give you a clean bill of health. Just relax and let me check the vitals."
"He means well." Aurora is watching again from her bed. "Do I have color in my cheeks?" she says loud, almost cheerfully.
"Wait your turn," Hound calls in his standard gruff tone, but there's zero bite. He cinches a blood pressure cuff on my arm and grabs my wrist.
"Why am I even here?" I ask.
"You had a fall in the comcen last night," says Dad. He's ditched the Crimson Mask getup for what might be a normal outfit of cargo pants and a button up shirt. His icy stare locks on. "You been sleeping okay? Any habit of sleepwalking? Nightmares?"
That's what happened, a dream about the bunker again. I avoided roommates at GMU for a reason. Hell, I don't have GMU anymore. I'd almost ditched those problems with Emily's help during my failed bid for normalcy.
I go back to staring at the ceiling, hoping to relocate the tranquil place where moving, talking, and thinking are optional. It isn't there. "You talked to Emily. She told me."
He checks behind him before answering. "Yes, we spoke before I had Eric pick you up."
"Hold still and shut up," says Hound. "Both of you," he adds and gives Dad the eye.
Dad and I call a truce as the pressure cuff bulb between Hound's fingers sucks in ever more frantic breaths. Pump, hiss, pump, hiss... My happy place destroyed, Aurora's green aura starts to remind me of the shifting water around an imaginary island. I spoke to Dad earlier about his bringing me here but I'd focused on demands for what I'd assumed would be a short stay. One of those demands has already been ignored. More unsaid words fill those empty gasps of the cuff.
"There," says Hound. He quirks his mouth and peers through knitted eyebrows. "Damn lucky, all things considered. Let me check on our girl there." He pushes the cart against the wall and heads for Aurora's bed.
Stuff not said is gettin' said.
"You talked to Emily but not your own son before you dragged him here?" Launching forward, I rip out the IV. "Motherfucker!" Between the hair left on the tape and the needle buried under my skin, the pain is sharper than expected. Blood drips onto the sheets.
Dad is already reaching for a piece of gauze on the bedside table with one hand and warding Hound away with another. His palm easily engulfs my forearm and bears down, lightly. I freeze and he takes note, withdrawing his hand and placing my own on top.
"You wouldn't listen to me," he says. "I thought her or Eric would be a better choice."
I clench and unclench my fist, raising it off the bed. "What choice? And why the hell is she," I stab a finger toward the hall. "Out of her cell?"
"Your mother," he stresses, "was worried about you."
"How is this happening!" I shout, swinging my legs off the far side of the bed and giving him my back.
"We needed an expert on the Beetle's tech. You're the first person, the only person, I wanted for the job. Still do."
His response to what was meant to be a rhetorical question is too matter-of-fact. I don't buy it. He's not trying to give a compliment, he's trying to accomplish his mission.
"I get it. I'm a resource. A tool." I slip off the bed and dig through cabinets, searching for my clothes. I've been more than ready to walk out of this place in a hospital gown before. Hell, a gown was all Hurricane ever needed. "The systems' diagnostic is done. I can get a ride or walk, don't care."
Most of his face disappears behind his hand as he massages his temples. For a second, in his safari-casual clothes, with the commanding glare hidden, Dad appears mortal.
"You can do whatever you want, Spencer. But I still have a need for your skillset if we're going to recover Polybius. I want you in the field."
The race to shimmy into my jeans slows, the hospital gown bunched at the waistband. "Recover" seems too neutral a word. More like "rescue." These guys, no matter how far removed, were human at one time. All of them. Even Charlotte. Some just have more trouble showing it. That's what Polybius wanted to get across to me earlier. Though he never seemed to have that issue. Maybe because when we met, he was as helpless as anyone can be.
Hound talks quietly with Aurora but her featureless visage is pointed my direction. None of these Augments need me, do they? They can handle their own business a hell of a lot better than I can. Right? Still, I'd be lying to myself if I didn't feel...tempted.
"What's the play?" I ask.
Dad folds his hands and settles his elbows on his knees. Hunched over in his seat, I'm above his eye level for once. "We find Cyrus. He's most familiar with Polybius' modifications, the two of you together should be able to track him down."
"Road trip?" I ask.
"Family road trip." Dad's uncompromising Augment presence returns.
Chapter 13
TACTICALLY, DAD MAKES sound decisions. When it comes to family though, he doesn't have a clue what to do with us. We're an inconvenience at best. And right now, he's even confused over who exactly fits the definition.
His operational plan has us dropping into Libya, a former war zone on the verge of becoming one yet again. His idea of a family road trip. At first, I thought he'd developed a sense of humor. Even Hound had a few pointed questions. When Dad explains in his commanding tone though, it kind of makes sense.
Polybius gone, Danger not fully calibrated, there's nobody at the base who can theoretically counter Charlotte. He says this in front of everyone, her included. Why not? Nothing anyone can do if she's playing possum in our brains. He wants her out of the nerve center as much as possible since we can't be sure exactly how the place was compromised. Destructo wasn't talking. Hound walked away from the interrogation more than suspicious. If my theory proves right, then the human cannonball is the connection. If not, maybe we do have a spy.