Flesh Blood Steel

by David Jones

  “Is it safe?” she asked.

  Jake nodded.

  Oliver gave a hand signal and another woman and two men clomped into the room. They were not cybrids. Beside Oliver they looked like clumsy toddlers.

  “On the ground, reb,” said one of the men. He retrieved Calvin’s rifle then forced him to lay prone on the dirty carpet.

  “You too, girl,” the regular woman said to Anya, who complied without argument.

  “They didn’t hurt me,” Jake said. “In fact, they pulled me from that wreck outside.”

  Oliver flipped up her mask. She was one of the most beautiful people Jake had ever seen outside of movies and television. Her eyes were so blue they looked almost purple. A strand of thick, red hair hung over one of them. She pushed it back into place with annoyance.

  “They’re still going on det/ret,” she said.

  Jake was about to ask what det/ret meant, but realized that would be a mistake. Best not admit his confusion until he had a better idea what and whom he was facing.

  “How did you find me?” he asked instead.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Oliver asked.

  The slight twist of her neck combined with an upraised brow told Jake he had said something wrong. Obviously, he should know how Cymobius had located him. He could try to bluff his way out, but that seemed like a rather poor plan. Best to barrel through, see what happened.

  “Actually,” he said, “my cybrid was off for some time. I’m not sure if I’m feeling okay or not.”

  That must have been the right thing to say. Oliver nodded. “Your Spearcast resumed once the unit rebooted. That’s how we found you.”

  Spearcast—must have something to do with wireless communication. If that were true, did it mean Jake had access to the internet via his cybrid? He would have to explore that possibility when he got the chance. He nodded as if he knew what she was talking about.

  “You fit to travel?” Oliver asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Sounds like playtime’s over out there.”

  The gunfire and explosions had ceased. Was everyone who had carried Jake out of the wreckage earlier now dead? He shoved that thought aside. He had to focus, but he was finding that particularly difficult at the moment. It was as if every thought branched into its own little fuzz of stems and leaves, ideas he desperately wanted to follow. He had never thought so clearly, so precisely, or so thoroughly as he did right now.

  Oliver keyed a mic attached to her suit. “Central, this is Briar Rose.”

  “Go ahead,” said a clear, static-free voice.

  “I’m requesting immediate extraction. Harris is acting a little strange.”

  Jake’s heart gave a start. Had he been acting weird? Would he know if he had? He had no idea how to act like a twenty-nine-year-old version of himself. He considered telling Oliver what had happened to his memories, but dismissed the idea.

  He needed more information before he admitted his problems. What if the answer to cybrid malfunctions was to eliminate the person housing it? Anya had said these people were killers. What would stop them from killing one of their own if he went, in their eyes, insane?

  Or worse, what if he did admit what had happened and Cymobius repaired him? That would mean a return of all his memories from the last thirteen years, wouldn’t it? Jake would revert back to the assassin Harris. Did he want that?

  Hell no.

  “You think I’m acting strangely?” he asked.

  Oliver nodded. “Where to start? How about, why do you look like a teenager? What, was this some sort of teen rebel faction you were trying to infiltrate?”

  Jake glanced at Anya who was now standing with her hands zip-tied behind her, one of the regular men holding her wrists. She shook her head ever so slightly, but it was too late.

  “Why are you trying to get confirmation from that girl?” Oliver asked.

  “I’m not.”

  Oliver rolled her eyes. “I’m every bit as perceptive as you, Jake. In what galaxy would you throw a look at someone in front of me and think I wouldn’t notice? What is it you need permission for, and why are you looking at some girl to get it?”

  Before Jake could answer, Oliver’s mic chirped and a voice said, “Extraction in two minutes. Get to the street.”

  “Roger that, central.”

  Oliver eyed Jake, her look shrewd, calculating. “You’d better get it together, Harris, or I’ll finally take your spot as top dog in this outfit.”

  Chapter 5

  Link

  Oliver and her crew escorted Jake, Anya, and Calvin outside. Two hulking, six-wheeled military trucks painted dull gray stood on either side of Jake’s wrecked car in the street. Twenty men and women dressed in body armor and carrying rifles formed a wide perimeter around the vehicles. A mob of thirty or forty people, many of them children, pressed close to the armed guards, trying to see what was happening. They wore clothes even more ragged than Anya and her crew. Were these local New Yorkers? They looked like refugees from some war-torn third world nation to Jake.

  A police car, its blue lights flashing in the evening sun, rolled to a stop behind the crowd and two uniformed cops climbed out. They looked grim, apprehensive, their eyes roaming this way and that as if they expected to be attacked by the gathering crowd. The taller of the two—his nametag said Reynolds—seemed to recognize Oliver. He gave her a nod and fell into step beside her as she pushed her way through the mob.

  “You guys lose anybody this time?” Reynolds asked.

  “Nope,” Oliver said. “You guys going to send a team down here to investigate what happened?”

  “Nope.”

  The ring of guards parted at their approach, expertly pushing civilians back by sheer intimidation without actually touching anyone. A handful of the more courageous bystanders tried to ask Oliver what was happening, but she ignored them. Jake found himself wondering where were all the reporters who would have shown up in his time.

  A tall man in a Cymobius uniform stood surveying the wreckage behind the troops. Though he wore no special insignia, Jake could see by his posture, the timing of his eye movements, and the way those around him reacted to his presence that he held command here. He wore no helmet. His gray hair looked like storm clouds, matching his close-cropped beard. He turned when Oliver approached and Jake saw that his name tag read Rudd. Their eyes met.

  The old man’s expression registered shocked surprise and he started as if someone had slapped him unexpectedly on the shoulder. But he quickly mastered his reaction with obvious practice, and gave Jake a nod. “Sorry. It’s just you look almost as young as the first time we met. Glad you made it out.”

  Jake nodded, but said nothing, determined to speak as little as possible. Opening his mouth hadn’t gone well so far.

  “What happened? Ambush?” Rudd asked.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Jake said.

  Rudd eyed him critically. “You feeling okay, son?”

  Jake resisted the urge to look at Anya. Instead, he said, “I think something might be wrong with my cybrid.”

  A tiny shift in Rudd’s shoulders told Jake that the older man didn’t like what he was hearing. Rudd was not a cybrid, or if he was, he was able to hide it well. He moved like a fit man in his late fifties perhaps early sixties, but not with Oliver’s sly precision. Still, it was obvious Rudd knew how to read people, and likely Jake in particular. Something of genuine familiarity lived in Rudd’s gaze, though Jake felt none of it himself.

  “Sir,” said the cop, Reynolds.

  “Hold on, kid,” Rudd said. He turned to Oliver. “Any more scum inside?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What’s the story on these two?” Rudd gestured at Anya and Calvin.

  “They were holding Harris.”

  Rudd’s eyebrows shot up. “How?”

  Oliver shrugged. “Looked like they had him strapped to a hospital bed, but he had already escaped that.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?” Rudd aske
d.

  Jake held the older man’s gaze. Looking away now might rouse Rudd’s suspicions. “I was questioning them, trying to figure out what they were up to.”

  Rudd grunted and took a long look at Anya. She stared at the ground, obviously trying to hide her face. “Look at me, girl.”

  The soldier holding Anya’s zip-tied hands took her by the jaw, forcing her head up.

  Rudd fished a curved phone from his uniform pocket and snapped a picture of her. He tapped the screen a couple of times then turned a questioning look on Jake. “That’s your target. What’s she doing alive?”

  Jake froze. All at once he was aware of every minute function of his body. A slow trickle of sweat ran down his lower back, his stomach ceased digesting the sandwiches he had eaten as adrenaline poured into his bloodstream. His respiration increased along with his heartrate. His eyes dilated, and a pleasant heat rushed through his upper torso, face, and shoulders.

  His conscious thoughts, just a little slower than his body it appeared, caught up to his perceived danger. If Anya was his target, and he had been hired to kill her, then it must look strange to his fellow Cymobius employees when he was found chatting with her in a hideout. It certainly looked like he had been colluding with self-described rebels—ones his employer had been hired to eliminate.

  Jake’s physical responses did not go unnoticed. Oliver shifted ever so slightly into a defensive stance, knees bent, fingers splayed, eyes open wide. Rudd took an overt step back, his arms reflexively bending as if he were resisting the urge to raise his fists.

  Though Anya had said Jake was a phenomenal fighter, that her entire team feared him, he had no memories of learning such skill. His body certainly felt stronger, faster, and more dexterous than ever, but that meant nothing without training to back them up. The only fight training he had ever had was back in sixth grade when he took Tae-Kwon-Do for five months. He had earned a yellow belt. One glance at Oliver told Jake just how far that would take him. And even if he managed to somehow overcome his fellow cybrid, there were the twenty or so armed guards surrounding this little soiree.

  Really, there was only one smart choice, no matter his misgivings.

  “I’ll be honest with you both,” Jake said, somehow keeping his voice calm. “I have no idea who either of you are. My memories of the past thirteen years are gone. The last thing I remember, I was sixteen and in a car accident with my mom.”

  Rudd and Oliver exchanged looks. Rudd turned hastily to the cops. “Tell your chief we’re cleaning up our own mess. You guys can make like hockey players.”

  It took a long moment for Reynolds to drag his attention away from Jake to face Rudd. “You’re gonna owe the city for the street damage.”

  Rudd made a derisive sound. “Like the mayor’s gonna send repair crews down here? The only thing keeping all of us alive right now are my guns and my people. You know you wouldn’t be in this part of the city if it wasn’t for Cymobius.”

  A couple of men close enough to hear Rudd’s words laughed.

  Reynolds eyed them, but said nothing.

  “Tell your boss if he wants money from my pocket he can come take it,” Rudd said. “In the meantime, you and your buddy there best get in your car and head for safer ground. We’re about to pull out and I wouldn’t want to be NYPD down here without backup.”

  The cop looked surly for about a quarter of a second before spinning on his heels to head for his car, his partner in tow. The crowd jeered them as they went.

  Jake was still watching the cops retreat when Anya suddenly yelped.

  Rudd had seized her by the hair and jerked her close to speak into her ear. “What did you do to my soldier?”

  Jake heard the faint pop, pop, pop of individual hairs ripping from Anya’s scalp as Rudd tightened his grip. She groaned, but didn’t resist the large man.

  “Stop that!” Calvin screamed. He tried to get near his sister, but the op holding his cuffs kicked his feet from under him, driving him to his knees.

  “She didn’t do anything,” Jake said. He too tried to run to Anya with a vague notion of separating her from Rudd, but Oliver cut him off. In an instant she had a pistol buried in his belly, her opposite forearm across Jake’s throat.

  “Back that up,” she said, eyes dancing with excitement.

  Rudd ignored them all. He gave Anya a shake, ripping out more hair. She grunted. A few people in the crowd yelled, calling for him to stop, but they fell silent when Cymobius guards pointed rifles at them.

  “What did you do?” Rudd asked.

  “Nothing,” Anya said. “We pulled him from the car. That was all. We saved his life.”

  Rudd didn’t look satisfied with that answer, but he released Anya. He gave the crowd an appraising look. It was clear, despite the guards, they were growing more agitated. He had told the cops they wouldn’t want to be here without Cymobius to protect them. Apparently, Rudd didn’t want to be here at all.

  “Load them with the others,” he said. “And let Harris go.”

  Oliver reluctantly withdrew the pistol from Jake’s stomach, but didn’t holster it. Instead, she held it loose at her side.

  Cymobius ops dragged Anya and Calvin to one of the waiting trucks and manhandled them inside.

  Rudd took a deep breath and said, “You’ve got amnesia then?”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. All I do know is that I’m confused. As far as I can remember, I was sixteen when I woke up this morning.”

  Rudd eyed him for a long moment. “You don’t know who you are?”

  Jake shook his head.

  “You’re a killing machine, Harris. My killing machine.”

  Chapter 6

  Scan

  The armored trucks didn’t fly. Jake sat in the back of one with Rudd, Oliver, and about a dozen Cymobius ops as the huge vehicles rumbled along city streets. He couldn’t see outside. The truck had no windows in the rear passenger compartment. Jake had to content himself with staring at the floor. It was that or look at Oliver who sat glaring at him from the opposite bench.

  Jake took stock.

  His mom was dead. Or at least that’s what Anya had told him. And he had seen no telltale signs that she was lying. She could be wrong. He hoped that was the case. But if she was right, then it was possible, maybe even likely, that his mom had died with Jake at the wheel. That thought put ice in his guts.

  He had some sort of computer in his head. He still wasn’t clear on whether the cybrid was part of his brain, or some kind of separate add-on in his skull, but it was plainly real. He was thinking differently. The cybrid fed him insights beyond the norm. Did that mean he was smarter than he had been? He felt no different—the same high school junior he had been just hours ago.

  But it wasn’t hours was it? Thirteen years had passed. He was twenty-nine years old. That thought socked him in the throat. He was a grown man. He had served in the Army, come out a cyborg of some type, and hired on with Cymobius. And it wasn’t like he could deny that part either. He had seen his bones all silvery like metal, not to mention the way his body healed in minutes what should have taken months if at all.

  He, Jacob Nathaniel Harris, was a hired killer. If he had held any misgivings about that before, Rudd had stripped them away. The man seemed affronted by Jake’s memory loss. It was like one of his prized thoroughbreds had turned up lame.

  But to Jake that loss seemed like a blessing. He wanted no part of whatever had changed him from the person he was now into the killer known as Harris. He couldn’t imagine what those circumstances might have been.

  War perhaps?

  Jake had never given much thought to fighting beyond playing video games and maybe one or two scuffles at school. He had never liked hurting people. But deep down, when he really searched his core self, he knew he could harm others to defend himself, his friends, his family. If a war had broken out, and he had been drafted, he would have fought. He would have killed.

  Still, fighting of that sort was different th
an assassinating people for money. Had war so scarred him that he no longer felt the same way about death—about dealing death? Was this elder version of himself so jaded he would trade people’s lives for money?

  Jake balled his fists between his knees. He was breathing hard without realizing it, his heart hammering inside his chest. He glanced up.

  Oliver still stared at him. Her look was cool, shrewd. Was she eager for him to attempt escape so she could take him out? He found her nearly impossible to read. Aside from the slight rise and fall of her shoulders as she drew breath, she moved not at all. Whatever skill she possessed at reading other people, she clearly used to hide her own inward emotions. Unless she simply lacked those in the first place.

  Jake mimicked her nonchalance as best he could, meeting her gaze. If she could stare daggers, so could he.

  A slow, malicious grin split Oliver’s lips. With perfect exactness she sent Jake a mock kiss.

  The truck rumbled to a stop and Rudd lowered the rear tailgate. The nearest ops started to rise, but he held up a hand, forestalling them. “Harris first.”

  Slowly, keeping one eye on Oliver, Jake wrestled his way to the open door and hopped down. He stood on a circular drive about two hundred feet from a steel and glass skyscraper at least twenty stories high. There were no other buildings in sight. The place was surrounded by well-tended lawns that sported an Olympic style quarter mile track, at least two volley ball pits, and even a baseball diamond off in the distance.

  Three men and three women dressed in lab coats approached Jake. One of the men put a hand on Jake’s back and started guiding him toward a gurney they had standing by. It had leather straps like the one Anya had locked him into.

  “No,” Jake said, resisting. The man was no match for his strength. Not even close.

  “Let them do their jobs,” Rudd said. “They’re trying to help.”