The two old Troopers embraced. Friends, fearing each meeting would be their last.
“Morning, Chief. That water for me?”
“Back at you,” he said holding out the bottle. “You bring Marta and Luna back safe?”
“Nah, they brought me back. My two ladies take care of me good, left ‘em down in the nursery with all the little ones.”
Loyal knew the team looked after each other and operated as a well-oiled machine. “So, what happened over there in Builders land?”
“When we went for the babies, Troopers blocked the stairwell.”
Colt paused for a minute, took a quick pull from the bottle, and continued. “This old woman guides us up ladders and between walls ‘till we is up three floors, then back down a different way.”
Colt paused again, crabbing the fingers of his free hand, front to back, over the white-black stubble of his buzz cut.
When Colt had been a fifteen-year old boot Marine, swinging on a fake I.D., Loyal had watched him preparing to deliver reports. Remember, discard and then catalog each useful fact into the simplest outline. When the question of this new Marine’s birth certificate came across Loyal’s desk, one interview with the boy convinced him to approve his forged paper. Once Commandant Whiteside’s stamp was on the query, no one would question a lost certificate.
“The stairwell and three floors was all jammed with troops.” Colt paused, waiting for questions. He had more, but never mixed subjects.
“Were those troops in Battle Groups?”
“Builders always use male Hunters in Battle Groups. These was all females. Ain’t no judge, but they looked like what them Builders call Others. You know, them females was huggin’ on each other.” He paused, crabbing those fingers again. “Plenty of females wearing Hunter’s armor, they looked capable enough to get the job done.”
“They are setting up a trap. The question is, for whom?”
Loyal knew he would have to wait to find out what Colt held back.
“Best we do not take chances on these troops going to that new building of theirs.”
Loyal knew that his wife, Dr. Missy Painter-Richards, the Prime Minister of their Crosser Government, had an alliance with a faction of the Builders, called the Others. That alliance could be in jeopardy.
“Builders cannot be trusted with a force that large so close to our home.”
“Something else, my girls can take us back in that building should you want.”
“Okay, we might need that. Meantime, you and your two ladies dump those breathers and get downstairs to the Congress Hall as quick as you can. Missy will need body guards when she meets with the Opposition Party to debate why she should remain Prime Minister.”
With that, Loyal clasped his friends shoulder and started to turn away.
“You will need me and my ladies to keep the odds even when you meet up with all them different folks at that building they call One Nine,” Colt said.
He was hoping he would not miss the fight he had predicted.
“Once she is done with the political bull, she will fill you in on what she wants,” Loyal breathed a deep sigh, he dreaded the next part.
“We briefed Teams Two and Three. They will go with me.” Loyal expected, and got, Colt’s instant acceptance of his command decision. Now he would start his good-natured bantering to hide his disappointment.
“I get to steal babies and you take all the fun.” Colt looked down to his helmet.
“Tell me something old man, Dog and Cat still with Missy?” He was not trying to hide his smirk.
“Yeah, be careful, they have been edgy lately. And no, I still do not let them in the bedroom at night.”
Loyal could not stop his hand from rubbing the deep furrows on his buttocks. Cat sure could scratch out a wild party.
“Soon as those two mangy animals sniff my ladies, it’ll be the four of them together again. They did train them after we found them in the tunnels.”
“Yeah, and you had them trained to protect Missy only.”
Loyal grinned and continued. “Sometimes my butt wishes their parents had died instead of escaping from Central Park Zoo.”
A handshake and quick nods ended their meeting. Loyal stopped for a moment in the hallway. Colt’s dry palm had contained a mini computer disk. Information passed with their parting handshake. Now he would find out what his friend’s hidden data had been.
He slipped the disk into the reader slot in his ancient phone. The large block letters appearing on his screen were brief.
BOY BABY AFTER ONE NINE—RECORDING DEVICE HERE ON STAIR—GOOD AIR IN TUNNELS—
In a flat ten seconds, Loyal was back behind his desk, watching his closed door. The next few minutes would be critical. He must do nothing to agitate his wife’s protectors.
As if on command, the door bumped open. One hundred plus pounds of black, male canine padded quietly into his room. Nose to tile floor, it completed the circuit of the room. Sitting back on its haunches by Loyal’s desk drawers, the timber wolf looked back to the entry and snarled softly.
A thin, stately woman glided quietly through the portal on a squat four-wheel riding platform. She stood proudly upright, supported by a square extremity poking up from the platform’s deck: it might look like an oak timber if it did not gleam. Three large clamps, the timbers scaffolding, held her from mid-thigh to below her shoulders. Missy was too proud to allow someone to push her in a wheeled chair.
A long tan shape followed, obviously feline and the same weight as the wolf, yet sleeker. The female cougar cleared the doorway, turned and looked back to the hall.
Both animals relaxed as the automatic door closed, but not Loyal.
He could scratch the wolf’s ears, but no way would the animal let him up. Slowly he eased out the bottom drawer of his desk. Dog sniffed, teeth lunged into the drawer and withdrew two identical fuzzy toys.
Dog moved around the desk, carrying the toys to the feline, offered both by dropping them at her feet just in front of their water bowls. The cougar, with the pretentious name of Cat, daintily picked up one toy then dropped it quickly, hissed at Dog, and bared its claws. Loyal wondered if animals could think. If so, he would bet Cat made an observation: you slobbered on my toy, fool. Yes, she is every inch a female.
“Well, well, Dog,” the Chief leered. “Who is this fine looking piece you brought me this morning?” With the animals engrossed by toys, he was free to move.
“Loyal Roberts, you really should think about something besides sex.”
“You seemed perfectly happy with those thoughts last night, Missy.”
“Yeah, well, this is today.” Prime Minister and Dr. Missy Painter-Richards blushed. She was twenty years younger than Loyal yet she appeared frail, an old women of eighty years. The garish bandana she insisted on wearing to cover her baldness, did not succeed in its job of hiding her advancing sickness.
The bombs came first, then her birth. Her mother, trapped on the top floor of this building, gave birth to Missy while the nuclear winter raged. Breathing toxic air interfered with a body’s normal growth.
Missy pushed free of the platform’s obscene extremity and took the first step from her riding platform. Her new canes—she had designed them herself—worked perfectly. They adjusted automatically to changes in terrain. They would be her stability just in case she had to stand up straight for any length of time.
“Guess I’ll have to call Sergeant Nancy Edwards to relieve me.”
“Do you have a dictionary?” Missy asked sweetly.
“There’s one in my bookcase, dear heart. Should I bring it to you?”
Visibly amused, Loyal moved around his desk and stood before her.
“Look up the word ‘eunuch,’ and then ask the Sergeant her opinion.”
With a short chuckle, careful of the watching animals, Loyal crouched and reached to hold her. His arms moved under hers as he tenderly lifted her torso. One thick hand pressed where spine and hips met. The other arm supported
her shoulders. She was too thin, a rail supported by faulty ties. He began to raise her to a straight, standing position. The thick grating of bone on bone rumbled under his hand. Her canes adjusted automatically.
“My babies, have they arrived?” She said, standing almost straight.
“Yes, waiting for you in the next room. Let me carry you.”
Missy raised one eyebrow, moved slightly away, and then forced her weight back onto her canes. Inside her mind, she was pounding the lid back onto her mental trashcan: raw pain contained for now. Finally, she was standing as straight as she was going to.
“They’re newborn, Missy. They can’t see whether you’re walking or not.” He knew better but he had to ask. “Okay, I’ll get the door.”
“Stay!” Missy ordered Cat and Dog. Loyal stood at attention, holding the door open. “Not you, old fool. Follow.”
He followed, mock saluting all the way.
Dog and Cat in the open doorway, watching.
Ignoring the shabby makeshift receiving room, Missy’s only focus was the three small canisters grouped side by side on the battered gurney. She deliberately avoided looking toward the two male nurses as they turned their heads, trying to hide smiles. There was no doubt in her mind that her husband’s comic salute continued to mock her.
“John, are you to attend me?” she asked. The nurse wore no nametag, blue scrubs brightened against his ebony skin.
Missy made it her business to know everyone around her. In fact, as a couple, she and Loyal did nothing to hide who they were—a strange habit, for politicians.
“Yes, Prime Minister,” John answered, dwarfing her as he moved to the gurney.
“And you, Bruce?” Missy nodded to the second male nurse. She knew him to be John’s domestic partner.
“I will swaddle, Prime Minister.” Bruce moved to the opposite side preparing to disconnect the canisters from the main air supply tucked under the gurney. His worn white scrubs had turned his pasty hands, face, and hair to mottled gray—a grub uncovered in a compost heap.
“Good. Will our air hurt these tiny beings?” Missy asked. Without waiting, she reached to the fastenings that would open the first small canister.
“Ten minutes to scrub and clean them will not hurt. May I help?” John replied.
“Thank you, no. I’ve waited too long.”
Missy’s trembling hands tripped the latches and John took the lid away. She gently picked up the little girl. Her older, pale hands deepened the child’s dark skin to almost mocha brown. Missy held her to the light. Perfect! One little cry, tiny pummeling fists signaling the child’s displeasure.
Twice more she opened a canister. Twice more, a different display as she lifted each little girl. All three infants, each a different shade of russet, mirrored a different heritage—too early to guess about the final hair color.
God, circumstance has forced us to steal babies! No, need is not theft.
Missy blinked away a tear.
“Already fighters,” she whispered. “No male!” she said, biting the –ck from her favorite gutter phrase.
“Colt said his contacts would not discuss Males until after One Nine,” Loyal replied. The two remaining pieces of information passed via mini-disk were only for him.
“These three small girls will not help our gene pool. We are very close to that point where we Crossers will no longer be viable. No more excuses, we must have a male”
She turned to address John. “Quickly now, deliver each to her volunteer mother. They have only a short time to form their bond.” Handing the last child off, she hunched her stiff body back onto her canes. Missy huffed once.
Who moved that door? Not too far, move.
Dog and Cat waited, hyper-alert now, their charge was moving.
John finished cleaning the last child and handed her gently to Bruce, then moved away to the wall phone. The volunteer mothers were waiting one floor below.
Bruce prepared the last diaper. Before dressing the infant, he removed the small, white, remote recording device from his pocket. Quickly covering it with surgical tape and cushioning it with gauze, he applied this new bandage to the child’s healing belly button.
The white swaddling came next. This garment appeared almost identical to the other two, only a small tear in the material near the child’s throat made it different. The right adoptive mother would spot it quickly.
He took time for a deep sigh. The old man had almost caught him placing the remote sending unit in the stairwell.
He had used up almost all his good luck for today.
Back in the office, Missy pushed the “adapt” control near the square extremity. The center of the stationary platform “adapted” slowly by spinning around to face back towards the entrance door; no need to jockey the platform around to exit. It took a few minutes for her to clamp herself back against the metal square.
She turned once more to Loyal.
“Again no male, all three are fine baby girls. Our last chance is tonight when our nurse meets with that rogue Hunter. Our price for safe passage for his troops through our territory will be one healthy, male child. If not...”
“We can’t fight them,” Loyal replied.
“They do not know that. Our nurse delivers our ultimatum tonight. The price is high, we shall see if he is serious. I am almost late, and Prime Ministers are never late for Call to Order.” Missy smiled, starting to leave.
Somehow, he had to make her feel his concern.
“Prime Minister,” Loyal said, using her full title to make sure he had her attention. “When you enter the Congress Hall and call the Council of Representatives to order, speak from your platform. Please do not climb the podium. If the Council sees how weak you are, they will replace you on the spot.”
“Never,” Missy murmured, feeling unsure. Was she worried about climbing the podium, or speaking from the platform, or this new threat of playing two ends against the middle?
“If you can get past your bluster, you’ll understand. The Council is looking for any excuse to dump you and attack the Builder’s Number 2 Building. They have convinced our people that just seizing this baby factory will guarantee them victory”
“That is just foolish. We can do this peacefully with your plan for One Nine.” Missy was once again Prime Minister.
“Wait just one minute, there is a plan?”
“Of course dear,” Loyal said, side stepping only a little.
“Remember, that Superior who we are dealing with is selling her idea by pleading to our need for male children,” he continued. For emphasis, Loyal stood by her side, looking directly into her eyes.
“I will journey to One Nine, a dangerous trip where death can come at any time. If I am killed, our assembly will replace you.”
He reached to hold her hand. “I have detailed Colt and his ladies as guards until I return”
“No, I have Dog and Cat.”
“The Council banned them from entering with you.”
“We will see if they can stop us,” she huffed, obviously not wanting to broach the subject biting at her neck. She huffed a second time, deciding she would not voice her need: stay with me tonight. At the unspoken words, she choked back tears.
“Will you be with your troops tonight?” she asked instead. She decided to accept Colt and his troops rather that put Dog and Cat at risk.
“Yes, always before a battle,” Loyal whispered. A note of regret soothed his reply.
“When you finish with One Nine, I will need you back in our home.”
Loyal gently squeezed her hand, no other reply was necessary.
Prime Minister Painter-Richards, never willing to deal with her fears, excused herself.
Hurrying to her prearranged meeting with someone named Devil, she forced down threatening sobs. She refused to have red eyes when she met this person in the dilapidated structure attached to her building by the old High Line train terminal.
Once her platform navigated the short crumbling bridge from her
basement, the next part required her canes. When she had secured herself over the two handles, she managed a pseudo upright stance. Dog and Cat circled her, unsure of her intent. She had insisted her animals accompany her to this conference. Only her refusal to attend without them, had convinced Devil’s courier she was serious. He reluctantly agreed. Missy, no less reluctant, explained what Devil could expect from Dog and Cat when they arrived.
Cat ranged ahead in the darkness and was quickly out of sight. Dog growled softly as her cane rang from bumping against unseen rubble.
“Give me space here; I know I am making too much noise.” She thought he shook his muzzle in disgust.
Not much light, she thought, continuing slowly until her toes felt danger.
Cat stuck in one spot, her long feline body stretched out in preparation to lunge from her strike position. Tip of her tail curved up, twitching, and ears alert, extended paw barely touching the cluttered floor ahead. Only her tail stopped twitching when a small lantern, hood slowly removed, revealed the outline of a woman in doctors scrubs.
“I am Devil,” the woman’s quivering voice stumbled over her unfamiliar title.
“Dog, search,” Missy had to make sure this was no trap.
Dog searched into corners and rubble from one side of the space to the other. He ignored a wide swath between his feline companion and their visitor: except for his complete circle of the frightened woman. He quickly returned to Missy growling softly to Cat as he passed.
“Well, well, it is Edith the Butcher come to meet me. You have picked an apt code name. Devil is so you.” Missy watched Cat relax and drop to her belly.
“Yes, you would remember that. Let me see, I believe they called you...oh yes, Ball Buster. I see nothing has changed,” Edith said as she slowly reached down to the lantern increasing the light.
“Handy thing this, fueled with the banned substance alcohol—banned, yet plentiful.”
“Edith, is there something you need?”
The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) Page 9