The Never Army

by Hodges, T. Ellery

  The gleamers allowed Bodhi and Sam to gather dangerous speed when they had enough space and a straight enough line of sight to really put the throttle down. This attack was choregraphed, they struck both their targets at nearly the same instant.

  Suddenly, one Ferox who had been standing over the intersection on a rooftop corner and another across the street hanging off the edge of an apartment’s small balcony, became one with the pavement. From where Jonathan watched, it was a bit like watching a man get hit by a locomotive without ever having heard or seen the thing coming.

  Dropkicked knees first, the Ferox shot into the intersection so hard that the two were driven into the street like nails. Two smears of black Feroxian blood ended in two craters where the street had swallowed the bodies.

  This created about six seconds of frantic confusion in the horde before the two were spotted. Then the horde roared in their general direction.

  This was how the chase began.

  Jonathan followed from above, watching Sam and Bodhi race down separate streets with the horde on their tail. After a few blocks headed in the same general direction they converged back together. The two weren’t moving at full speed, if they had, the Ferox wouldn’t have been able to keep up. Instead they were keeping the mob just close enough to feel as though they might close the distance.

  However, despite the scarcity of combatants that were approaching from the east, the way wasn’t clear. They soon had to deal with Ferox that were coming at them head on and from side streets.

  The two were competitive with one another, and it brought the best out of them. They never lost their focus. As a result, a number of these Ferox took their chance to swipe at them as they passed only to come up empty. Some flew at them from the left or right, crashing through walls and windows, as Bodhi and Sam left them in their wake.

  One came at Sam, intent on a full head on collision, but either didn’t gauge the height of his jump well enough or underestimated the man’s maneuverability. Missing Sam by inches, it allowed the man to pounce off the monster’s back as he evaded, and Jonathan got to watch the surprised Ferox run headlong into the swarm on their tail.

  As he continued to follow from above, their destination became clear to him. He knew they’d be on a course for the waterfront, but he now saw they were more specifically heading for the ferry terminals at the west end of the city. Sam and Bodhi emerged out of the streets lined by taller buildings as they opened to the wide, mostly empty, parking lot around the massive terminal.

  Six more of Bodhi’s team were waiting at the edge of the terminal.

  At first, Jonathan was uncertain that the Ferox would fall for this. They had an instinctual fear of water and would be wary of pursuing them off solid ground. Then he saw the genius at play here.

  A Ferox had no concept of a boat. Sure, they likely understood things could float, but a ferry was such a massive vehicle, they might not even realize they were leaving land. They likely wouldn’t even notice a difference when they left the pier.

  Further tempting them were the six men Bodhi had waiting in front of the ferry. Their devices unshielded and shining brightly in the night. They drew the eyes of the Ferox leading the pack, keeping their attention from the periphery, as the six backpedaled onto the boat.

  By the time Sam and Bodhi were rocketing through the ferry’s vehicle holding bay, the first of the Ferox had given no thought to stopping. The mob was no better, following the front-runners who had already failed to notice when they passed a threshold of solid earth to boat.

  However, Sam and Bodhi didn’t stop. They dove right out the ferry’s other side and over the water. Jonathan watched as they came to a stop, shredding the surface of Elliott Bay for resistance before coming to a hover a few inches off the water. Finally, the Ferox ground to a halt as they reached the end of the ferry. Some weren’t so lucky, the rapid stop causing those behind them to barrel the leaders off the front end of the boat and into open water.

  Jonathan heard Bodhi’s voice over the communicator. “Alright, let’s hope you guys haven’t been skipping leg day.”

  A second later, the ferry groaned and shot away from the pier. It happened too fast to be the work of its engine. The six men who it had seemed were retreating onto the boat had re-shielded their devices, braced themselves under the terminal, and used their combined strength to thrust the boat into the bay.

  All in all, Jonathan estimated that they had baited at least forty Ferox on board when the ship began rocketing away from the shoreline. But this did leave him wondering, how did Bodhi plan to finish the job? Forty Ferox on a boat was forty Ferox they didn’t have to deal with in the streets, but they weren’t exactly taken care of either.

  That was when Lance and Matthew’s red dots reappeared on his HUD map. The two having emerged on to the roof of the terminal’s adjacent control building. One look at what they were carrying, and he understood why Bodhi had saved the muscle for last.

  As the Ferox began to realize what was happening they tried to race back across the ferry, hoping they still had enough time to make the jump back to land. A few succeeded—the rest got to witness Lance and Matthew arching toward the ferry. Each hefting a massive set of chains attached to two wrecking balls.

  The back end of the ferry collapsed as the two men swung the biggest flails ever wielded in the history of combat into the boat’s hull. Both men fell into the water immediately after, but Sam and Bodhi were quick to swing by and fish them out.

  All that was left now was to deal with the Ferox who hadn’t made it onto the boat before it left shore. As their allies began to drown, the rest of Bodhi’s team emerged from hidden positions around the ferry parking lot to surround the remains.

  “Mr. Clean,” Jonathan said, as he dropped into the parking lot himself. “Go ahead and end the scenario.”

  The projection ceased, and for a moment, everyone stood in a black void as surfaces reset to their default. Within a few moments they were back to standing inside the projection chamber. Each time they ended a larger scenario like this the physics were disorientating. Individuals who had seemed to be standing far away were suddenly closer. Those standing on rooftops or hovering over the water suddenly standing on a flat surface.

  “How’d we do?” Bodhi asked.

  “Good, your team knew their roles, and everyone played to their strengths.”

  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming?”

  “No buts, a few warnings and some notes,” Jonathan said, no longer addressing Bodhi but the entire team. “The Ferox without a leader are likely to fall for these sorts of tricks at first. But these scenarios don’t take into account the larger scope of a drawn-out conflict. When we are fighting them for real, they will be in communication with Malkier and their Alphas, and they will have a chain of command. Alphas and Reds that are nearing the final transition will have more self-restraint. Now, we’ll be keeping them as busy as possible, fighting on multiple fronts. But you need to expect them to get wise to tricks quickly. They’ll learn not to blindly follow you into buildings or commit to a pursuit drawing them toward water. Eventually realize you’re using illusions to distract them as well.

  “So, when you plan a maneuver like this, be cautious not to show too many cards unless you do enough damage to make it worth it,” Jonathan said.

  “What would make it enough?”

  “I have some ideas, but . . .” Jonathan smirked. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  THERE WAS A wide-open swath within Hangman’s Tree that was being used for physical training. What started as a sparsely populated affair had now been expanded twice and was still in a constant state of use. Lincoln and Mr. Clean had to arrange daily shift rotations to make sure their soldiers could lift weights on a regular schedule.

  Shortly after arrival, Lincoln had asked that his quarters be placed at the center of it all.

  “You asked to see me?”

  Lincoln found Jonathan standi
ng in his doorway. Behind him was a series of data displays that had the trainer so absorbed he hadn’t heard Jonathan approach.

  “Yeah, something I thought you should see,” Lincoln said.

  “Problem?”

  “The opposite,” Lincoln said. “At least if I’m right.”

  Jonathan smiled. “Sounds like good news.”

  Being charged with training an army to save the world had a way of making a man hold his personal problems at bay long enough to get the job done. A little under a month after being fired, losing his livelihood and clients, and falling into a bender, Lincoln looked tired but engaged. A good sign, because he now had more ‘clients’ than anyone could have effectively managed without Mr. Clean.

  “So, I never told you this,” Lincoln said. “But you’re abnormal.”

  Jonathan raised a brow. “I’ve always appreciated that blunt honesty of yours.”

  “Remember, I used to collect data about your progress before each session?” Lincoln asked. “Lean muscle mass percentages, weight, measurements, yada yada.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Well, everyone’s body reacts to training differently. You were committed, in your early twenties, ate clean, and took the right supplements. All of that factored in, you still always made progress a little faster than expected.”

  Lincoln turned to Mr. Clean’s display of hovering charts and data, flipped through a few pages, and pulled a graph to the forefront. “Turns out I wasn’t crazy. This is a graph of how well the general population of males your age react to similar training and where you placed on it.”

  Jonathan looked over the curve. “I’m in the top two percent.”

  “Yeah,” Lincoln said. “You don’t break the graph, but you’re still at the very rare end of the spectrum for how well your body reacts to training. Until now, I figured you had just won the genetic lottery.”

  “Until now?” Jonathan asked.

  Lincoln flipped through a few more graphs to bring them to the forefront.

  “Well, before I didn’t have an alien supercomputer with access to any data on the planet and a never-ending supply of test subjects.”

  “Right . . .” Jonathan trailed off a bit. “What exactly have you been up to here?”

  “I’ve had Mr. Clean start keeping track of all the same bodily metrics of our soldiers,” Lincoln said. “There is a statistical anomaly going on amongst implanted men.”

  Jonathan came to stand beside the trainer, his arms folding over his chest. “You’ve got my attention.”

  “Every soldier is in the top fifteen percent,” Lincoln said. “I cross referenced it with their compatibility estimates and there is a definite correlation. More compatible they are to their device—the faster they make progress. The implant is doing something on a biological level even when it isn’t active.”

  Jonathan studied the chart for a moment. “It could be simpler than that. The people who are compatible might just be those who are on this end of the spectrum in the first place.”

  Lincoln gave him a knowing look. “Right, cause that never crossed my mind. Mr. Clean, you want to explain?”

  “Lincoln’s conclusion fits the data,” the AI replied. “With a sample size this large the metrics are quite trustworthy. Many of these men came from military backgrounds and were accustomed to training before being implanted. They all have managed significant increases in physical fitness since being implanted.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Well, this wouldn’t be the first time we found out these things can manipulate biology while they aren’t technically active.”

  Lincoln gave Jonathan a curious look, this was news to him. Jonathan shook his head at him. “Never mind. This is good news . . . I’m just not sure what to do with it.”

  Lincoln nodded. “I was getting to that.”

  The trainer’s expression became uncertain; he walked away from the data and leaned against his desk. “You asked me to do whatever I could to pack muscles on these guys, said it was okay to think outside the box,” Lincoln said. “Their diet and exercise are all dialed in. But there is a way to push the envelope—I just don’t know if it’s a place you want to go.”

  Jonathan frowned. “You’re thinking steroids?”

  Lincoln shrugged. “Well, hear me out, Mr. Clean and I could take a group of volunteers—”

  “No,” Jonathan held up a hand to stop him. “I get why you’d consider it. I’m not appalled, desperate times desperate measures, I get that. But, no, this option is entirely off the table.”

  Lincoln was surprised. He knew this wouldn’t be an easy sell, but Jonathan seemed to think it was a complete nonstarter.

  “Jonathan,” Mr. Clean said, “rest assured, we can test without endangering the safety of any volunteers. I can monitor their biometrics—”

  “No,” Jonathan said again.

  Lincoln couldn’t keep his expression from becoming annoyed. Jonathan clearly noticed, as he quickly made a point of closing the door to Lincoln’s quarters.

  “Look,” Jonathan said. “I know your heart is in the right place. So, what I tell you now doesn’t leave this room.”

  “I can only promise to keep information from everyone but Heyer,” Mr. Clean said. “You know—”

  “I was addressing Lincoln specifically, Mr. Clean,” Jonathon interrupted.

  Lincoln’s expression softened a bit. “You know I won’t say anything. I just want to understand the problem.”

  “I have firsthand experience of what can happen when you introduce a—hormonal variable,” Jonathan said. “The results are highly unpredictable and incredibly dangerous.”

  Lincoln stood up straighter. “Have you already tried this?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Not this specifically. You just need to trust me. No drugs, no hormones—anything that could drastically change the equilibrium between the body and the device is too dangerous to experiment with.”

  Lincoln held his eyes for a long while, clearly wanting more information. He knew within a few seconds that he wasn’t going to get it. Jonathan had kept secrets from him for months when they were trainer and client, and he could tell when the man wasn’t going to budge.

  “Alright, forget I brought it up,” Lincoln said. “But could you at least tell me what you mean by dangerous?”

  Jonathan appeared to consider, then nodded. “Let’s just say it’s not the person taking the drug I’d be worried about, but everyone around them.”

  Lincoln took a long breath. “Alright, I . . . I won’t bring it up again.”

  Jonathan gave a nod. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yeah,” Lincoln said. “But it can wait . . .”

  “Now is as good a time as any,” Jonathan said.

  Lincoln considered, then took a long breath. “I want to do more than train these guys. I—I want to be part of this fight.”

  As Jonathan studied him, Lincoln could sense his reluctance. “Lincoln, if you were compatible—”

  “I know, I know I’m not,” Lincoln said. “But there has to be something I can do.”

  Jonathan was silent a moment before speaking. “If it won’t take too much attention off the training regimes, I’ll tell Hoult you’ll be coming down to see him.”

  Lincoln’s face was usually a resting sort of scowl, but when he understood what Jonathan had in mind, a grin tugged at the trainer’s face.

  Later that evening, Lincoln went to find Anthony in the Mech wing of Hangman’s Tree. At first, Hoult was nowhere to be seen, but beneath one of the prototypes, the sound of a ratchet socket tightening bolts emanated from one of the maintenance pits.

  “Mr. Hoult,” Lincoln said. “This a good time?”

  “Jonathan told me you’d be coming. Give me a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  While he waited, Lincoln took in the nearby hardware. Where the prototypes had been unloaded from their cargo containers, it was a bit like the show room floor of a car dealership. The differen
t models of the Mech suits not exactly on display so much as hanging by heavy chains a foot or so off the floor.

  The armor of the suits was similar across all models. The weaponry was another story. The vast majority were built to be gunners. Those mods were equipped with two large guns that hung below the arms. Belts of ammunition ran to two large boxes on the Mech’s back.

  Then there were the Thors. Those looked to be carrying hammers the size of a blacksmithing anvil.

  The ones that drew Lincoln’s attention were the bladed weapons.

  The armor wasn’t as heavy. They had been fitted with two large katana-like swords. The blades looked to be hooked up to a cartridge system, such that the edges could be quickly ejected and replaced. Not so different from replacing the head of a razor with a new blade before shaving, except the machine could automate the process.

  Of the bladed Mechs, Lincoln was drawn to a few that had unique paint jobs. By the time Anthony came looking for him, he was staring at one that had a familiar looking design. Blue paint covering half the face of a brushed steel exterior.

  “We call that one The Wallace.”

  “The Wallace?” Lincoln asked. “Like, you stole the paint job right out of Braveheart?”

  Anthony shrugged.

  “What’s a guy need to learn to operate one of these?” Lincoln asked. “Mind you, my previous experience includes two screenings of Iron Man and a slightly embarrassing number of hours playing MechWarrior.”

  Anthony shrugged. “The suits are pretty intuitive. The Gunner and Thor mods take time to get used to. Mostly getting a feel for the limits of the joints, and maneuvering the weight.”

  “And the Wallace?” he asked.

  “The bladed mod is less of a challenge to move but requires a lot more care than the others.”

  “Why is that?” Lincoln asked.

  Anthony pointed to one blade’s edge. “The armor protects from external attack, but these are molecular blades, sharp enough to cut through the armor itself. You make a mistake and . . .”

  He grimaced and mimed a slicing motion with his right hand over his left forearm.