Timberwolf

by Tom Julian

  Once Gray had left, Cardinal Jacob beckoned Izabeck to approach him. He pulled him close, so his secretary couldn’t see. He pressed his fingers onto Izabeck’s forearm and the skin glowed in a pattern of squares for a moment—first yellow, then orange, and then red. “God’s will be done on all our worlds as it is in heaven.”

  Cardinal Jacob released Izabeck, his forearm hot and the chamber inside whirring. Izabeck tried not to show how much it hurt, but his face betrayed him and he squeezed his arm to his side. “It will cool down in a few moments, son,” Cardinal Jacob said as he steadied him by the shoulder. “I needed to give Bishop Gray one more chance to see things my way.”

  BREAKOUT

  “Jesus! Don’t open the door!” Achilles yelled. “I rigged it to explode.”

  Salla stood on the outside of the infirmary. At her feet was one of Gray’s men. The name on his armor was Ulric. She’d sprayed him with a crowd control nerve agent Station Corps officers kept on their person in case of riots. He’d sleep for a while and wake up with a very bad headache. “Okay. I’m backing up. I’m backing up.”

  “I can’t disarm it. I made it too fast. Get a stick or something and turn the handle.” Salla saw a fire extinguisher nearby and took it from its holder. “Yes, that’s fine. Just throw it at the handle.”

  Salla threw the fire extinguisher at the handle and the door exploded outward with a crack, dangling from its top hinge. Achilles was out in the smoke almost instantly. “What’s the plan?” the tiny man demanded. He wielded two surgical saws he’d detached from the wall.

  “We’ve got to get you to Nina. Then we get out of here.”

  “Is Timberwolf going to be able to help us?”

  They ran along a curved hallway, and ducked into a side corridor when Salla caught a glimpse of some of Gray’s men coming towards them. “If I had a plan, that would be part of it.”

  Gray slapped Ulric on the face and the man stirred. He rubbed his eyes and then stood up suddenly, coming to attention. Michael yanked on the mangled door to the infirmary and it clanged to the deck. Gray looked into the empty room where Achilles had been held. “Who?!” Gray demanded.

  “That woman that works for him!” Ulric pointed to Drogel, who went pale and seemed to shrink six inches.

  “Where’s your vice?” Gray demanded. “The one with the Nova tattoo.” Drogel didn’t have an answer. “It’s time to meet Wrath.”

  THE BOX

  Timberwolf knelt over the open box. He unzipped a canvas cover within and there it was—the gift. When he had met Ivan Dacha on Telock Sen, Timberwolf had been desperate to get Kizik out of his head. A few weeks before that he had tried to kill himself in his apartment. He put a plasma pistol to his temple, but couldn’t pull the trigger. Not that he didn’t have the will, but Kizik wouldn’t let him.

  He’d then even set up the pistol on a tripod and rigged a timer to fire randomly. Sometime within thirty seconds, the pistol was set to fire a plasma burst at him at the highest setting. He stood a few feet from it and waited. It hadn’t worked. The presence forced him to dodge away, Kizik somehow knowing when the blast would come.

  Suicide missions for Dr. Tier hadn’t worked; actual suicide hadn’t worked. He had even found himself starting bar fights against entire bars, but after the first punch he would just let go, the presence taking over. He’d find himself standing over a dozen bloodied men, not knowing how they’d gotten that way. One day he found a business card under his door from Ivan Dacha of Highland LLC. On the back of it was written: We can get it out.

  In the box was their answer to his problem—a rig of black fighting armor. Timberwolf had expected Ivan to perhaps put a probe of some kind into his brain or administer some cocktail of drugs to drive Kizik out. Instead, Ivan gave him the box and told him things would become clearer later. Timberwolf had almost dumped the rig in the desert of Telock Sen. He knew they were putting him in their pocket and the rig was a tool for him to do their will. Back in the infirmary, Achilles had finally made it clear what the deal was. Get rid of Gray and we’ll get rid of Kizik.

  Instead of walking away on Telock Sen, though, he’d tried out the rig, taking it through its paces in the desert. The armor was more advanced by leaps and bounds than the standard pressurized rigs that Gray’s men wore. Made from the biological armor of a Sabatin, it was invisible to all forms of detection except sight. Heat and pressure resistant, it was designed to allow the wearer to descend to a planet through an atmosphere. It wasn’t necessary to carry a weapon as it had its own assault package built in. The right gauntlet had a plasma driver that was almost inexhaustible. The left gauntlet had a chemical laser that could cut through almost anything. The rig could throw holograms, E.M.P.s, launch cyber-attacks, release nerve agents, and a lot more. It had blown him away. He recalled Sergey smiling at him after he’d tried it. “You’re not going to give it back, are you?”

  In the cell, he pulled on the gauntlets first, the ribbed and scaled components activating and locking around him. Next came the chest plate and ankle guards, each gripping him perfectly and dropping sensor threads into his skin. Timberwolf was becoming the rig and the rig was becoming Timberwolf.

  Outside, one of Gray’s men had his hand on the handle. His armor read Mose over a Celtic cross within a Believer symbol. Earlier, Michael had pulled him aside and told him that if Timberwolf had asked for it, then Gray wanted him shot. Timberwolf blocked the cameras and was tearing the cell apart. This seemed like asking for it to Mose. The Outpost security guard back in the control room implored Mose over the intercom, “Please do not open that door!”

  Ignoring her, Mose motioned for Pinther, another fighter, to back him up. “I’m going to open that door in thirty seconds,” he said to the security guard. “That cell best be filled with gas.”

  With a hiss, the cell started to fill with a pale yellow vapor. It wafted up over the porthole and seeped out under the door. Mose waited a minute, then took a breath and turned the handle. The door opened with a creek, the hall filling with gas. There was a moment of nothing as they both approached the cell. Then in a flash, something metal came flying out at them. It was the cot Timberwolf had torn from the floor. Following it immediately was a flash of black as Timberwolf kicked Mose across the hall. Before Pinther now was a demon, the gas from the cell rising around him. It looked like someone had molded Wrath into human form. Deep black, fierce, brutal—animal and man and technology.

  Timberwolf took a knee and fired a concussion blast from his fist—an RPG of air that slammed Pinther against the wall with a crack. Before he could fall to the deck, Timberwolf was on him, taking the rifle from his hands. Mose was recovering now and Timberwolf took the butt of the rifle and drove it into his chest, knocking him into the corner. Both of the men were on the deck now, crumpled and moaning.

  In the security control room, the guards had their hands up. Timberwolf stood in the doorway, his suit hissing and smoking from the action. He lifted a thumb and motioned to the hall. “Get the hell out. Take the stairs.”

  The guards scattered and Timberwolf used his heads-up display to access one of the computer terminals. The screen flashed through the network drives until he found what he wanted. The computer in his rig brute-forced its way through the security. When he uploaded the virus, the electronics around him began shutting down almost immediately and the lights dimmed. The Outpost’s sensors, weapons, elevators, docking clamps—everything except life-support and the artificial gravity—went off-line. He’d never tried the cyber-weapons package before and had expected it to take at least a few minutes to kick in, but it had been like flipping a switch. Damn, this thing is good.

  UNLEASHED

  Wrath stalked the corridor, swinging his head with purpose, checking the nooks and crannies of the curved hall. Gray, a half dozen of his men, and Drogel were twenty steps behind. Thomas monitored Wrath on his heads-up. “Wrath’s got nothing…nothing.” They were sweeping the outer hab ring now, finding no sign of Achilles and Sa
lla. The other teams working the inner hab ring and central core were coming up empty as well.

  One after the other the lights down the corridor faded to brown and then went off with clacks. Drogel checked his smart-device. “We’re losing security feeds! There’s power outages all over The Outpost.”

  “Call over to Mose! Where’s Timberwolf?” Gray asked.

  Michael tried to reach Mose, but didn’t get a response. “He’s not answering.”

  Gray shook his head in disbelief. Just a few minutes ago everything had been wrapped up. If Timberwolf was out, Gray needed to find Achilles and get the hell off The Outpost immediately. “Thomas, Wrath knows what he’s looking for. Let him go.”

  “Wrath, d’maaesh shalosh.”

  Detached from human purpose, Wrath took off following a scent only he knew. He scrambled into an elevator that was darkened and stuck open, bursting through the top into the shaft. He grappled up the cables effortlessly, sensing Achilles above him. At the top of the shaft he stopped and peered between the closed elevator doors.

  Achilles and Salla were on the other side. The elevator chimed as the lights flicked off and the door opened only a few inches. Salla checked her smart-device. “There’s no power anywhere,” she said, shining a flashlight into the shaft. “We’re not taking the elevator, anyway. We need to jump across.”

  They worked the door and got it open. As Salla sized up how she was going to jump to the ledge on the other side, the cable whipped past with a zing. She carefully peered into the shaft, watching the cable whip against the sides as it fell. As she looked down, Salla felt a breath wash over her shoulders and heard a sound like a hacksaw moving lightly over piano wire. Turning slowly, she found Wrath’s toothy silver smile above her. She pulled back, pushing backwards along the floor on her haunches.

  Wrath uncurled from the shaft, flicking his silver tongue. The light from Salla’s flashlight captured the worst parts of him as he came towards her; gleaming teeth, bayonets coming from his forearms, his pupils narrow slits when the light crossed his face.

  “Don’t move!” Achilles threw his hands up and got between her and the beast. He gingerly approached Wrath, his hand outstretched and fingers dancing. He sang softly, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Daddy’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.” Wrath cocked his head and calmed as Achilles continued, “If that mocking bird’s too cruel, Daddy’s gonna buy you a swimming pool.” Wrath was hunched down now, tail sliding back and forth along the deck. “If that swimming pool turns blood red, Daddy’s gonna shine up your armored head.”

  Achilles drew close, placing his fingertips on Wrath’s temples. When he did, the beast rolled over, unconscious and breathing heavily. Salla got to her feet, legs wobbly and shaken. She approached Wrath, putting her hands on his side. “Jesus, how’d you do that?”

  “Oh, you’ve got to build in ways to protect yourself from your own creations. That’s bio-weapons engineering one-oh-one,” Achilles answered.

  “Thank you. I’m glad I know that.”

  “Wait, shush!” Achilles cocked his head and sniffed the air. He pulled Salla behind Wrath for cover, like he was a mound of sandbags. The footsteps of a single person were approaching. “Timberwolf Velez?” Achilles challenged the darkness. A figure was there in the dull illumination of the life-support monitors. The edges of the figure pulsed orange for a moment and it moved closer. Salla peered around Wrath’s bulk.

  “Vice?” Timberwolf illuminated himself fully so they could see him. For some reason, Salla’s first instinct was to touch Timberwolf’s rig up by the breastplate. It was ribbed to the touch and hot. Under her fingers, the components in Timberwolf’s armor whirred and sizzled and left her stinging from a static shock.

  “Jesus, so that’s what was in the box?”

  THE RIG

  Gray and Thomas had watched the feed from Wrath’s remote camera on their heads-up displays as he’d cornered Achilles and Salla. They’d watched when the view rolled over as Achilles soothed Wrath. They’d also watched as Timberwolf appeared and stomped the camera with his boot.

  “Did you see what Achilles did?” Thomas said. “That song must have been a kill switch.” Thomas found Wrath’s location on his smart-device, three levels up in a storage room.

  For just an instant, Gray had seen what Timberwolf was wearing. He’d heard rumors that Highland might have something like this on their drawing board, but it looked like they’d rushed a prototype into production. He pulled Michael close so the others couldn’t hear. “He’s got a rig of Sabatin armor. What do you know about that?”

  “It’s like Wrath plus Timberwolf plus a ridiculous weapons package. We’ve got him two dozen to one,” Michael said.

  “We’re still fucked, aren’t we?” Gray responded, and Michael nodded. Gray’s military mind clicked on. Gray turned to the men and called out over the com link to the others searching elsewhere. “Timberwolf is out. We’ll form into three squads under Michael, Sol, myself. We’ll take positions in CB4. They have to go through there to get to Dacha’s ship. Thomas, wake up Wrath.”

  CONTACT

  Gray’s men fanned out through Cargo Bay 4, the space still filled with the Sabatin containers in varying stages of disposal. The floor was slick with chemicals and the air held the pungent smell of the chlorine mixture. Overlapping chatter spilled out over the com channel as the men fanned out. “Watch the chlorine patches… Got cover… Sol’s up front… Call out… Sol… Izabeck… Scariot… Mountainrock… Windwhistle… Bison… Forestground…got a pressure flux…” The men cleared the space, covering each other and moving efficiently through the multilevel labyrinth of boxes, anterooms, and equipment.

  “No sign of Timberwolf,” Michael reported from the far end of the bay. He couldn’t help but peer into an open Sabatin container. A shriveled, dead creature floated in the chemicals inside. Around him, he saw the faces of the men illuminated in their helmets. Their actions were deliberate but unnatural. They were tentative and anxious. They knew they were out of their league.

  Through force of will, Timberwolf had taken on all of them without armor and with only a rifle set on sting. Michael had to admit, the scene had been astounding even by Timberwolf’s standards. Michael had heard some of the men referring to him as “the demon.” They said that he’d been captured by the Arnock and lived, that he’d killed a dozen men on Golgotha, that he’d choked the life out of a Phaelon in hand-to-hand combat, and more. Michael didn’t dare tell them all of that was true.

  Above the space, a window fifty yards wide showed the back half of Nina hanging outside, connected by tethers and a walkway-tube. Sol and a few others tried to manually open the airlock but it wasn’t budging. “Forget it. Get in position!” Gray ordered.

  The men took cover behind boxes and containers, their armor auto-camouflaging. “Windwhistle! You’re up with Sol,” Gray barked. The young man hustled up next to the old infantryman.

  “Men, harden up.” Gray lowered his head and began a prayer. “Our father, who gives his judgment, hallowed be thy name.” The others joined in, their voices getting stronger as they went on. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on all our worlds as it is in heaven. And give us our daily prey and forgive us our failures, as our works bring about your kingdom. So be it.”

  Sol’s heads-up scattered for a moment and then came back. Two blips were moving towards them. “Got something. Two people coming off the concourse.” The men went hot with their weapons and huddled behind cover. Salla appeared tentatively, Achilles following her in the cargo bay. Sol and Windwhistle let them pass and then stepped out of position.

  “On your knees!” Sol demanded as they turned to him. Before they could react, Sol unloaded a plasma burst into Salla and she fell instantly. Achilles dropped to his knees, his face blank. “Show your hands!” Sol yelled, and Windwhistle covered him.

  In the shadows, Timberwolf moved silently. No one saw him on their heads-ups. No one noticed when he was almost on top of three men huddl
ed together behind a container.

  Gray looked over Salla’s body. She’d fallen instantly without making a sound. Sol had hit her straight in the chest, but there hadn’t been even a sigh or a last breath from her. “There’s something…” Gray looked closer. She was either dead or very nearly so, but his heads-up still showed her as green. She should have been either pulsing red or fading to gray. Beyond that, though, there was something else. “Wait! No blood!” Holographic projections, Achilles and Salla shimmered and disappeared, and their icons disappeared from Gray’s heads-up.

  Timberwolf moved like a ghost. He brushed past the three men. One named Forestground looked down to see that a grenade on his waist blinked red.

  “Grenade!” Forestground yelled, trying to pull it from the clip on his belt. In a white flash, the grenade ripped through the space, throwing men in all directions, containers and chemicals cartwheeling through the air. The top half of Forestground was blown all the way up to the lattice works that supported the ceiling of the cargo bay. A corner of metal zinged into Sol’s helmet and he fell dead into Windwhistle’s arms.

  From packets in their fighting rigs, millions of nano-menders injected into the femoral arteries of the wounded men. The microscopic machines rushed through their bodies in a desperate attempt to stop hemorrhaging and repair vital organs, but it was too late for some. Forestground, Dov, and Sol pulsed with gray K.I.A. icons in Gray’s heads-up. A man named Neviim glowed red and his readings showed he was losing blood fast.

  Goddamn! Timberwolf’s rig was good enough to hack into their heads-up displays. There would be no way they’d be able to trust their readings. Gray saw the flashing white square that signified a hostile in his heads-up. Then he saw another, then another, but only one could be Timberwolf. The men were shooting at ghost readings. White-hot plasma fire flashed with a rat-tat-tat. Fires burned and climbed the walls of the cargo bay. Gray helped haul an injured man out of the fight, dropping him behind a container. Overlapping radio chatter flooded the com link: “We can’t target…all over…like the devil…”