by Chris Lowry
“We can’t see him.”
“I don’t know where he is,” the Academy Administrator stood in the doorway of Darwin’s laboratory. He was a tall thin man with long wispy hair that floated around his head as if it had a mind of it’s own.
“His terminal hasn’t been logged in since yesterday. Maybe he’ll show up later.”
Darren trailed after Harry as he searched the lab.
“I thought he spent all his time here.”
“Well,” the Administrator adjusted his glasses. “He does have a flat somewhere.”
“That’s a lame defense,” said Darren.
“He’s lived here since his wife died. Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him or Bruce.”
“The assistant’s gone too?” Harry went to the Computer terminal.
His fingers tapped a series of commands.
“What’s the matter with this thing?”
The Administrator settled in a chair beside him.
“Let me check.”
He typed so fast it sounded like a machine gun. He looked up at Harry with wide eyes.
“This terminal isn’t logged to the Network.”
Harry shoved him out of the way.
“That can’t happen.”
“What does that mean?” asked Darren.
The Administrator looked pale, his eyes watery.
“The Doctor was working independent of the Main Terminal.”
“It means we have another anomaly,” Harry broke in. “There’s no record of his work. We have no idea about him.”
He clicked his com unit and patched in to Bram.
“Bad news,” he said.
“Let me hear it.”
“Darwin’s gone.”
“I suspected that.”
“There’s more. His terminal operated independent of the Central Processor.”
“Impossible,” the Second’s voice was flat in the com link.
“It happened.”
“I’ll tell the Commander and we’ll feed the information to the Computer.”
“I know what it’s going to say,” Harry fingered the handle of the gun at his waist.
“It has to be official,” said Bram.
The connection was cut.
“Seal off this area and call in a squad,” Harry instructed Darren.
The Administrator hurried after Harry through the door.
“This is very bad, isn’t it.”
“The Doctor signed his death warrant. The Computer won’t accept stand alone.”
“Death,” he gulped.
“It’s against the law to operate independent of the Net. Punishment is usually termination of the Unit and culprit.”
The Administrator turned and rushed down the hallway without a word.
“You sure put a bug in his pants,” Darren giggled.
“He’s going to purge his system and sign on,” said Harry.
“These scholar types always try to fly one by. I just put the scare in him.”
“I’m scared,” said Bruce as they left the path and stopped at a clearing.
They had been walking for nearly two miles, twisting and turning on a well worn path through the woods. Robe noted seven or eight areas of defense where just a few men could hold a squad on the path for a short while.
The Templar walked as if to a homecoming. Pip and Darwin watched him in awe, both studying his methods. Darwin stopped once to take notes, but Bruce hurriedly pulled him to his feet, not wanting to leave the doctor behind.
The path stopped at the edge of a huge clearing surrounding a small lake with a waterfall. The clearing was surrounded on three sides by the dense forests, but the fourth was a large bluff that rose above fifty meters.
A clear waterfall bisected the bluff, plummeting to crash in the lake below. It pooled into a small lake, about one hundred meters wide, before snaking through the woods in a wide stream.
A community was built between the stream and bluff. Forty or fifty large houses stood in a series of circles, one within the other. They were squat and thick, built to withstand both air and ground assault.
Robe stared at the mushroom shaped structures.
“Is that wood?” he asked Pip.
She shrugged.
The roofs of the homes looked like giant tortoise shells, and blended in with the ground and woods.
“Don’t worry,” she said, but didn’t sound too convinced herself.
Scattered among the houses and along the lakeshore were the Corsairs. Men and women, dressed alike in ragged homespun clothes and castoffs. They worked at various labors, some fishing, some tending small gardens scattered around the outskirts of the outermost circle of houses. One by one, they stopped working and stared at the small group emerging from the woods.
As one, they turned and silently fled.
“What a reception,” said Robe.
“I expected as much,” said the Templar.
The three pirates that lead them to the village sprinted after the villagers.
Robe stepped up beside the Templar.
“What now?”
“In my squad, we would attack, tearing apart any defense before they had time to solidify it.”
Darwin walked up behind them.
“But you were supposed to protect innocent villages.”
The Templar grinned.
“Who told you?”
“It’s right here in my book,” Darwin lay his satchel on the ground. He started to dig out his book, but the Templar stopped him.
“I will take your word on it,” the smile on his face didn’t touch his eyes.
“Your book and my life seem to have little in common. We will go over it sometime, and I will tell you the truth.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
“I thought you were interested in them,” said Pip.
“You are a part of a force for good in the world. You protect the weak and use your might to fight for justice. That’s what the book says. If you didn’t do that, I don’t want to know.”
Darwin slumped over, defeated.
The Templar was about to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned and marched across the clearing.
“What do you think he looks like now?” Bruce whispered.
“I’d be afraid to see,” Pip answered.
The Templar walked to a small wooden bridge spanning the stream and stood at it’s edge.
“Come out now! Surrender!”
The village was still.
“I have seen you,” his voice boomed, echoing against the bluff.
“You will come out or I will destroy your village.”
A plasma bolt seared the air next to his head.
He didn’t even flinch.
“That was off four centimeters,” a strange voice called.
“I give you a chance to surrender, demon.”
The Templar changed the tone of his voice to match his adversary.
“I will call in Hell fire!”
Another bolt shot at him, he dodged it.
“Robe, your rifle,” he called.
Robe tossed him the blaster. The Templar grabbed it from the air and in one motion threw it to his shoulder and fired three quick blasts.
Women screamed from the darkened doorways.
Three limp bodies fell out of three houses.
“Templar!” said Robe.
“Stun Two,” he said over his shoulder.
He turned back to the village.
“We will talk now!”
He walked across the bridge, a king coming home to his castle. The rifle was held ready, and no more shots came from the shadows.
“Who will talk with me?” he yelled, stopping by the first body.
“This one is not dead, but he will not be awake for some time.”
A flamboyant figure clad in bright scarlet and blue silks leaped off of a roof and landed in front of the Templar. He wielded a long thin knife in one hand a
nd a cat o’ nine tails in the other. He flicked the razor tipped leather strands at the intruder’s face.
The Templar caught the whip and ripped it from the man’s hand.
The knife lashed out for his face. He pulled back, letting the man wind himself with wild slashes.
“I’m going to shoot you,” he warned.
The man was silent. He lunged for the Templar.
He shot him. The man crumpled.
“How many of us will you fight?” the strange voice called again.
The Templar watched as figure after figure appeared from the shadows, surrounding him.
“Who are you?” the voice asked.
It belonged to a thin man with a tired look and ragged beard that matched his well worn clothes. The men watched him, waiting his command.
“You are the leader?” the Templar asked.
“Answer my question, demon.”
The Templar dropped the glamour, allowing them to see him as he really was.
The group backed away several steps.
“What sort of trickery is this?” the thin man asked.
“I have come seeking a safe haven.”
“This is a Den, no haven for strangers. Kill him. He is just a man.”
The Templar raised the rifle.
“I spared the lives of your men,” he clicked a switch in the butt of the gun.
“I will do you no favor.”
The thin man stared at him over the sights of the gun.
“I do not fear death.”
Robe stepped to the edge of the circle.
“He’ll kill you call.”
“A Suit,” they whispered.
Four men grabbed Robe by the arms, pinning them at his side.
“It won’t do you any good,” Pip stepped from behind a house, her rifle pointed at the crowd.
“Where are the men who were watching you?” the thin man screamed.
Darwin led the men into the clearing.
“He has fought the Mob and won both times,” said Robe, ignoring the men at his side.
“He is a mighty warrior, more than any you have ever known.”
“We are warriors,” said the thin man.
The men and women cheered.
“These?” the Templar laughed.
“Villagers pretending.”
He didn’t lower his rifle.
“We have eight men with a bead on you, warrior,” the thin man spat contemptuously. “Surrender.”
“I’ll give you one more chance,”
“Now,” said the thin man.
Crimson streaks arced through the air, converging on the spot where the Templar stood.
He was no longer there.
He flipped backwards, landing behind the crowd.
He clicked the gun to stun, shot three, and flipped again, appearing among them.
They tried to scatter.
Pip dropped to one knee and picked off the villagers. She relied on her Suit to protect her from the plasma bolts.
The rifle men were frightened. They had been sure of the Templar in their sights, trained to hit any target, because speed was of the essence when they took a ship.
They were all aiming at his head, ready to vaporize him on command. When they fired, he wasn’t there.
They shot, but he was in the crowds, weaving so fast they couldn’t draw a bead.
The Templar was a blur. He landed beside Robe, clearing the men off of him and shielding him while he sealed his helmet.
“Stun, right!”
The Templar nodded and ran for the thin man.
He caught him easily and lifted him off the ground.
“Call them off.”
“Kill him!”
He threw the thin man over his shoulder and jumped high, disappearing into one of the huts.
Robe flanked the crowd, shooting them as they ran, stunning each into unconsciousness.
As quickly as it started, it was over.
Villagers lay scattered in various positions of flight, riflemen slumped over their guns, but all were knocked cold.
“Where’s Darwin?” Robe called to Pip on the intercom.
“With me.”
He found them kneeling beside Bruce.
“Is he dead?”
She shook her head.
“He must have caught a blast,” she said.
“One of yours. You never scored well in target practice.”
He nudged her while she was kneeling, trying to knock her over.
“The Templar took the leader into a hut. Think he’ll kill him?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What should we do?”
“Secure our position. Hold against onslaughts.”
“That Troop training coming in handy,” she smirked.
They gathered the inert bodies and dragged them into a tight circle.
“Anything to bind them with?” he asked.
She sat down on a stump.
“We’ll have to hold points. Standard triangulation.”
He nodded.
“Where’s our third leg.”
She pointed to Darwin.
“Great,” Robe said.
He moved to teach the Doctor how to shoot.
Inside the dark hut, the Templar straddled the chest of the thin man, his large bulk eclipsing any resistance.
“You will listen to me,” he growled.
The man stopped struggling.
“My village is quiet.”
“We have taken prisoners. No one was killed,” the Templar assured him.
“How can I trust you?”
“You can’t.”
The Templar climbed off the thin man, offered his hand to help him up.
“Who are you?”
“I have come to your island to seek sanctuary from the City.”
“Every man’s excuse here.”
“I am an escaped prisoner. The Troops you see with me came to my aid, as did the other two men under my command.”
“Troops helped you escape from Troops,” the thin man looked at him skeptically.
“We don’t want what you’re selling. Get out.”
The Templar settled on a mat, rested the rifle across his legs.
“I will not leave.”
“You don’t understand. Suits are going to track you here with their Computer. They will annihilate this village. We’re Corsairs. They don’t even take us to Trial. We’re field executions.”
“No one will find us.”
“They’re probably on their way. I have to warn the others. We have to evacuate.”
The thin man rolled over on his knees and climbed slowly to his feet.
“They will not come,” said the Templar.
“What then?
“I will stay here. I need this place.”
“Impossible-”
The Templar held up a hand, forestalling comment.
“You have little choice in the matter. Either I kill everyone on this island, or you accept us into your group.”
The thin man shrugged his shoulders. He pulled a wineskin off of a peg and squirted a thin stream of red into his mouth, spilling a drop out of the side.
“Some option,” he said.
“I said you had little choice. I would kill you and be done with it, but my team has an aversion to taking life. You have seen me work. You know I can do what I say.”
The hut grew quiet.
The thin man tilted his head, listening for some signs of life in his village. There were none.
“What have you done?” he asked, not expecting an answer.
“We can only do what you say. Who are you?”
“They call me Templar. You may, as well.”
“I am called Bangor,” he opened his arms to indicate the quiet village. “Welcome to Channel.”
Bram stalked the hallway, ignoring the waves and smiles as he passed every Trooper he had trained. His mind was in the office he just left, with the woman he admired and c
herished more than any other thing on this earth.
His heart was there too, but tucked away and kept secret. They had talked about the prisoner and the fugitive Robe, their regent in training. It quickly degenerated from a conversation to a yelling match, with no points made, no ground gained, no results reached.
He shook his head.
They were letting off steam, shedding the baggage that could cripple them in battle on the field or in the boardroom. Still, words hurt. The Suits could withstand plasma bolts, assaults from the Mob, and any amount of abuse the guys in R & D could conjure in their imagination.
Words, however, leaked through every seam, flaying flesh from wounds, grinding salt in scars, decimating ego and esteem.
She was good with them, picking her aim carefully, pinpointing doubts he held in the darkest recesses of his soul and holding them in front of him for examination. She knew where to go, how to get there, and what to do once she was there.
She was brutal.
He could hold his own, usually. Attack her position as Commander, sow seeds of doubt in her ability to lead, and her attack crumbled. Now, though, he regretted every syllable that fell from his lips.
He wondered what effect they might have when confidence was all she had to bolster her.
Bram turned, an apology forming in his mind. A lift opened beside him, spilling Darren to the floor.
“I’ve been trying to raise you,” he stuttered.
Bram nodded toward the office.
“I’ve been in conference.”
“Good news?”
He shook his head.
“Then you’re not going to like this,” Darren said. “Darwin’s gone.”
Bram hit the wall with a fist, cracking the plas-steel shell with a spiderweb of hairline fractures.
“Does she know?”
“She doesn’t answer her link either.”
“What priority did you use?”
“Highest.”
Bram marched to the office door. He knocked quickly and entered.
Nova sat at her desk, staring out of the window.
“You didn’t answer your link.”
She looked at him, her tired eyes reminding him of the days without a full night’s sleep.
“I need a vacation,” she said.
Darren stepped through the door behind Bram.
“Darwin’s missing,” he said.
She tried to compose herself, collect the remnants of authority that were slowly seeping away under the constant barrage of miscalculation.