by M. Lorrox
“Already did, as soon as I woke up.”
“Very well.”
In another minute, after she gets pants put onto her, Balena feels less embarrassed by her bare ass. “Injury report?”
“You’ll be able to limp around tomorrow, but you’ll not be able to use your knee for a couple weeks. Your back should be healed tomorrow night or the day after.”
“That bad huh? ...I meant about the others.”
Gabriel sighs. “Leo’s wounds are clean. His arms are healing over, and with every passing second, the chance of reattaching his hands—if we had them—decreases.”
Jesus, that’s such a nightmare... What a fucking monster.
“Hecate lost portions of a few muscles on her right leg, and I don’t have the equipment to help her here. When we get back, she’ll be able to recover, but she’ll be on crutches for months.”
Balena sighs.
“Owen took a pellet in his thigh, but I removed it, and he’ll be fine. It probably hurts like hell—he’s walking on it—but he’s not complaining.”
And Stephanie got infected… “Is that it? You or Charlie?”
“We’re both...physically unharmed.”
Charlie and Owen carry Stephanie to a nice, quiet spot beneath a tree. Charlie sets her feet down and waits for Owen to lower her head and arms. “Do you want to dig on the side here?” Charlie takes the folding shovels out of a bag.
Owen shakes his head. “Thank you for your help, but I need to finish the rest…alone.” He takes a folded shovel, secures its head, and starts digging in the soft earth.
As Charlie walks past him, he places his hand on Owen’s shoulder, and they share a sigh.
Owen nods, then he shakes off Charlie’s hand and continues digging.
Back at the base, Charlie brings all the remaining equipment cases to the water’s edge, then he ties each to another. He tows them all back to the boat as the last moments of the sun-glowed sky fades to a star-sprinkled dark. When he reaches the boat, he hears a single gunshot’s report echo in the distance. Rest in peace, Stephanie.
For a moment, Charlie floats in the saltwater of the sound. He feels the liquid swirl around his body, the fabric of his ACU rippling against him, and the slow waves lifting and lowering him. Towering around him on all sides, ancient mountains cradle him, and the trees lacing the slopes whisper a prayer in the breeze. Charlie shuts his eyes to the world. His inner anguish an oil to the water of peaceful nature surrounding him. He takes a breath of the serenity in, trying to steal or even borrow some of the calm energy, then he opens his eyes and returns to the present.
After hauling the gear onto the boat, he returns to Eddy’s side and pets his head.
Lars enters his lab with Peter following behind. The dozens of people on his teams work at stations stretching deep into the room. Lars glances at Peter over his shoulder. “This will just take a second, give me the bag.”
Peter hands forward the bag with Eddy’s hands.
Lars glances around the lab, looking for the head of his Biotechnology team. Ah. “Trinn, come here, would you?”
She looks up. Damn, he’s early. “Coming.”
When she approaches, he extends the bag out to her. “These are vampire, put them into solution and chill them.”
She takes the bag. “Uh, yes, sir.”
“How is your team progressing?”
She nods. “Fine. We should have the full quantity of the protein a couple hours before the deadline.”
He smiles. “Excellent. As soon as you have a quarter ready—twenty-five million—inform me.”
She raises her brow. “Okay, well, let’s see... That’ll be pretty soon. Probably only an hour or so.”
Lars nods. “Wonderful. When it’s time, mix the virions with plasma, but don’t add any saline or other electrolytes.”
Okkaayyy. She walks away.
Peter starts to turn but Lars raises a hand. “Just one more moment.” He looks around the lab again. Hmm. Where’s Anne? What’s her assistant’s name... “Ken, are you in here?”
Ken did have his head ducked down, hiding behind the machinery used to replicate the epithelial cells, and he groans under his breath as he raises his hand up and looks at Dr. Melgaard.
Lars waves him forward.
He hurries toward the two grumpy-looking men. “What can I do for you?”
“Anne told me her plan of infecting the cells in stages. As soon as the first batch of virions is ready, 60% if I remember correctly, inform me.”
He nods. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
Lars leans his head forward. “Do not forget this.”
“I won’t. You’ll know as soon as they’re ready.”
Lars turns and waves the assistant away, then he motions for Peter to lead the way out.
Peter starts walking. “Pushing your plans up?”
Lars follows behind and grins. “How long were you a knight?”
Peter closes his eyes and sighs. “About three centuries.” Here it comes...
“Mmm. In that time, have you ever been involved in anything close to as grand as this?”
“Nope.”
“Then do not worry yourself with the details, just do what you are told.”
“’Kay.” He smiles. Maybe command will tell me to kill you someday.
When they reach the security outside a restricted hallway, Lars steps in front of Peter and presents his identification to a guard. Lars is cleared, and he tells the security guards to allow his guest to pass as well. The guards nod, and Lars leads Peter into a crisp, white hallway.
Peter studies every inch of it: the width between the walls, the number of cameras, the steps they take toward Nicholas’ room, and the number of doors they pass.
Lars stops beside an oversized door and swipes his card to unlock it. The relay clicks and unlocks the door, and Lars opens the door for Peter. “Your son awaits.”
Peter’s only response is to walk past Lars, who stays outside and watches from the hallway.
Peter walks up to a floor-to-ceiling plastic barrier. He presses his hands against it and peers through, but all he can see is fuzzy light, and dim, blurry shadows moving beyond. He steps back and sees cleanroom suits hanging on the wall. I can’t catch anything. He reaches up to unzip the plastic so he can enter, but Lars sighs.
What an ass. Peter turns. “What?”
Lars motions to the suits on the wall. “Those are for him, not for you. You must put one on.”
“He’s a vampire, he can’t catch anything.”
“There is a lot of sensitive equipment in there, so if you are going to go in, PUT ONE ON.”
Fine. Hanging with the suits are ear-loop face masks and safety goggles, and after quickly putting on the gear, he unzips the plastic. He steps into a bright room with people—all wearing similar white, marshmallow-man type suits—bustling around with tools and equipment. A few of the people lean over a table in the corner, while dark wires and machines flashing red digits stretch out from the corner like a demon’s wings. Peter swallows and walks over.
When he sees his son—for the first time in months—the first thing he wants to do is vomit. My god. One of the other people in the room walk in front of Peter, and he grumbles. He steps to the side, places his hands at the suit’s waist, then glares. “I’m here to see my son. Get out of my way!”
The others pause what they’re doing, then a voice comes on over the speaker. It’s Lars. “Give them five minutes alone, then continue working alongside them.”
A few of the people sigh or roll their eyes to each other, but they all cease what they’re doing and walk out.
Peter waits for the last to leave and zip up the separator, then he steps up to who—or what—is apparently his son.
The head of the table is in the corner, and lying on top—
at first glance—is a robot. Thick steel in a humanoid shape shines in the light. The feet have rubber tread, the knees have overlapping plates that hide artificial muscle strands and silicone, and at the waist are more overlapping plates but also things that look like attachment points for clamps. The shoulders and elbows are protected like the knees, and the hands are covered in solid, metal gloves. Most large surfaces of the metal suit are covered with diamond-shaped ridges and valleys.
But not all.
Above the shoulders sits nothing but a dome and more attachment points. There’s not a single piece of flesh exposed, not a shred of evidence that inside is his son. Peter shakes his head, then he gripes when he’s reminded that he’s wearing cleanroom gear and is looking through a thin piece of plastic. He rips off his goggles and face mask and looks upon the creation before him—with as little technology between them as he can manage.
“Nicholas?”
“Dad?” A voice emanates from a speaker to Peter’s side.
He glances at it, then back to the shiny dome where a head should be. “How are you speaking?”
“Larynx mic, direct to radio. You’re back from your mission, huh? How’d it go?”
“Fine. Fine... Are you okay, son?”
Nicholas lifts an arm. “Yeah, I mean, I’d much rather not have been in that explosion, but I feel fine now. The doctors are really nice.”
Peter closes his eyes, not able to ignore for another second the tanker explosion that changed both of their lives forever. He shakes it away, then reaches his hand out and sets it on the steel upper arm beside him. “Can you feel anything?”
There’s a pause before the voice comes back through the speaker. “A little. When they bonded what was left of my muscles to the artificial fibers, they attached some pressure sensors to the outer shell. I know your hand is resting on me now.”
Peter smiles.
“What?”
“Huh?”
“You were smiling. I can see you by the way.” Nicholas motions with his other arm to the various machines and wires surrounding him. “There’s a couple cameras in here, and I’ve got a screen wrapped in front of my eyes. I can switch what I see. It took some getting used to, but it’s like playing those games I used to… The ones you hated so much. Remember?”
“Back in Portland… Before the zombies.” Those days were the best of my life.
“Yeah...”
Peter starts to cry. “It’s so nice to hear your voice again. It’s been a while...son.”
“I know. My birthday is coming up, right? The big two-five.”
Peter freezes. Nooo, that was four months ago... “So, uh... I don’t know what else to say really. I’m so glad you’re...here.”
“Well, I have something to say... Lookout, I’m going to sit up.”
Oh... “Yeah, okay.” He moves away from the table, giving Nicholas plenty of room.
Seemingly without effort, Nicholas sits up. Wires and tubes trail, connecting into an opening in the steel on his back. He swings his legs off the edge of the table, and he positions himself so he’s aimed at his dad.
Peter watches in amazement, staring at his own, distorted reflection in the shiny dome of a head.
“Dad, I wanted to say that I’m sorry for arguing with you about leaving Portland. If we left when you wanted, we wouldn’t have been caught in the explosion.”
Peter shakes his head. “No, you can’t think about alternate realities. What happened, happened. There’s no need to apologize for it.”
The metallic torso sort of bobs, and then a sound that could only be Nicholas’ laughter comes through the speaker. “I forgot, I can’t really nod anymore... I wanted to tell you something else too, Dad...”
“Go ahead, son.”
“Thank you... I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You saved that whole bus, and you saved me.”
Peter reaches out and pushes his hand against Nicholas’ upper arm again. “You were always nicer than I was... You and I, together, saved a lot of people. They’re certainly thankful to you.”
The laughter sound comes out of the speaker again. “You just said I was nicer than you. I hate to tell you, but I still am.”
“Ha! Got me there, kiddo. Sorry.” He pulls his arm back.
“It’s okay. Did you hear? They’re deploying me tomorrow.”
“I heard. What’s your mission?”
“There’s a boat with an insurgency force nearby. I’m going to take them out.”
“Oh… Did they tell you anything about them?”
“I’ve been fully briefed. They won’t succeed in destroying what we’ve built here.”
Peter tries to hide his wonder. What WE’VE built? “I see. Who are they?”
“All we know is that they’re from a terrorist organization and that they’ve already caused significant damage to some of our facilities.” Nicholas raises the oversized metal hand and squeezes it into a fist. “But tomorrow, I’ll crush them.”
Peter swallows. “I’m sure you will.”
Without warning, Nicholas raises his legs back to the table and lays down. Peter, confused, watches him. “Nicholas?”
No response.
-Vrripp!-
Behind him, the plastic separator is unzipped, and the technicians in cleanroom suits walk in with large, black cases. Peter stands. “What’s going on? Why won’t he answer?”
One of the people walks up to him. “We put him into standby. We need to start installing his weapons.”
Peter doesn’t have to hunt for more than a split-second to find all of his rage. “STANDBY? HE’S MY SON!”
“No, he was your son. Now stand aside, or I’ll have you removed.”
“I... You...” Peter stands aside. “How do you put him in standby?”
“Electrodes in his brain. We can initiate standby, trigger endorphin reactions, and remotely manage his body processes.”
A pair of technicians carry over a large, high tech weapon. It has a variety of optics and a camera, an ammunition feed port and a large ejector port, and a huge diameter barrel—big enough to fit a squash-ball inside. “Please stand aside, Peter.”
He doubletakes. “Jesus, is that a grenade-launcher machine gun?”
“It’s similar to a Striker automatic grenade launcher, yes, but it’s customized for completely handheld and remote use.”
Peter shakes his head. They really are going to be crushed tomorrow.
Gabriel is on guard duty when Owen swims up to the boat. He places his hands on the platform beside Gabriel’s feet, but hesitates before climbing up.
Gabriel scans the sky for drones, glances briefly at Owen to assess his state, then bends down and extends a hand to help him aboard.
He takes the hand and uses it to pull himself up with. “Thanks.”
Gabriel stands. “Of course.”
Ghost sits on the floor, and now that Owen has returned, she gets up and approaches Charlie. He holds his head in his hands as he sits next to his unconscious son. Ghost stands above him. “Sir? I’d like to know what the plan is now.”
Gabriel, Hecate, Balena, and Owen all wait for his response. He looks up at her and swallows. “I don’t know.”
Ghost bites her bottom lip. “Permission to recover Naga’s and Ricochet’s bodies?”
He shakes his head as he stands. “No, we—”
“With all due respect, sir, I AM going to go get Naga’s body.”
Charlie raises his hand up to her and notices that she’s shaking. “Calm yourself. I was saying I want to come up with a plan first. We could use your input.”
She nods.
Owen slips into a dry set of ACUs. “We could radio for help. Whoever attacked us certainly knows we’re here—we don’t have any surprise to lose.”
Charlie scoffs, then realizes he doesn
’t intend to be mean to Owen. “Sorry, no, that won’t do any good. Say we call that navy boat back in Milford. What do we tell them? What would they do? They’ll feed our story up the chain, then eventually they’ll send someone to investigate the facility. All our asking for help will accomplish is more time for Melgaard and his group… That and us being detained.”
Balena, still laying prone on the ground, nods. “I agree. Besides, anything we radio, they’ll intercept. In our situation, whatever surprise we can manage is going to be the only option for success.”
Owen shakes his head, dirt from burying his superior—turned to mud from his swim—still clings to his forehead. “Success? We can’t win this. It’d be crazy to think otherwise. We’re outnumbered, I assume, outgunned, and fuck, outsmarted. We have to fall back.”
Hecate scowls at him. “Listen Owen, you’re nice. I like you. But if you ever say something as fucking stupid as that again, I’ll kick your ass... Seriously. Okay? So unless you have other ideas to present, just shut up.”
Charlie looks at her and sighs. “Take it easy.” He looks at Owen. “I value your thoughts, but let’s focus on plans that achieve our mission, not abandon it.”
He wads up the wet clothes he just changed out of and throws them against the metal wall of the boat. -Splat!- “This mission’s been fucked since we picked up that goddamned traitor.”
Charlie nods. “I agree. So, everybody, how do we unfuck it?”
Gabriel takes a step back from the boat’s opened hatch and glances inside to Charlie. “I’m not sure how to succeed in our mission, but the only real chance we have requires us to heal and try again. There are three of us that are unharmed: myself; you, sir; and Ghost. Three of us have serious wounds that need to heal, and Owen, you could also use some time to heal.”
Hecate laughs. “What do you expect we do, build a camp fire and sing songs? They know we’re still here. They’re gonna to try and finish the job. They’re gonna try to take us out.”