Time to Expire

by Chris Ramos

  Cole looked down into the room, as Captain Ian threw a Doctor across the room.

  “Oh, what have I done?” Cole asked quietly when the Doctor landed.

  Cole turned back to Galen, but he was gone.

  I can still use the information here. The screens surrounding him were logged in from Galen, and Cole’s name was still flashing through the procedure. His files were here, his life was here. Cole could end this now, try to erase his entire existence according to LifeSpan.

  However, connected to Cole’s file were others. Loved ones’ files. The whole Jenkins line was here, following his mother’s last name, which Jon took as his own.

  He opened the digifiles: Jon Jenkins, Mary Jenkins, Hester Jenkins.

  He saw his father’s memories playing above him. Cole saw his harsh treatment at the hands of the Doctors. Cole wept as he watched his father thrashing in his seat. He witnessed his draining.

  Cole watched the recording of Galen torturing his mother and his aunt. He saw them fall under his glove, drained of life.

  Cole’s innocence was drained with them, and he vowed to stop LifeSpan at all costs.

  “Time’s up! Move out!” Captain Ian ordered. “Where is Cole?”

  “No, you cannot take him,” a Doctor said, holding the side of his bloody head. “He still doesn’t understand the glory of LifeSpan.”

  Captain Ian turned, grabbed the Doctor by his coat, and leaned in. “Do I look like someone who cares about the glory of LifeSpan?” Ian smiled.

  He pulled the Doctor up as he stood, still holding the Doctor’s coat, and threw him across the room. The Doctor slid across the floor toward the door. His body was abruptly stopped by an outstretched white boot, and a large, cloaked figure stepped into the room. He was not smiling.

  Agent Rufus saw three Collectors walk into the room. “Party’s over, boys,” Rufus said to the soldiers, under his breath.

  The Collectors spread out.

  “Duggan, McHenry, find Cole and get him out! Tell the Father we are sorry for his loss. Emma was a true soldier.” Ian never took his eyes off of the Collectors as he spoke. Walking sideways, his hands were moving around his armor, checking his pockets, loosening straps. His men did the same. Some were even digging their heels in, like cats ready to pounce.

  The lead Collector reached into his robe and produced the standard billy club. They realized anyone who would openly challenge a Collector was a fool, and anyone who was wearing armor was an instant threat. Hopefully they were a challenge.

  Captain Ian was nervous, but careful not to let it show. He couldn’t let his soldiers down, not now, not while facing the one threat they had trained so hard to beat. But their training had been cut short, and Ian doubted they were ready.

  The Collectors were an incredible force, true, but they also had weaknesses, and his men were charged with finding those and exploiting them. They had run this scenario too many times to count in the virtual simulator.

  One thing Ian did know was their strengths, enough to give them all the respect as fellow soldiers.

  Inexperienced and outnumbered. Yes, eight to three is not in our favor, Captain Ian thought. We will take casualties today. Emma was the first to fall.

  “For Emma!” Captain Ian yelled.

  His soldiers echoed and charged forward.

  The Collectors stood against them like stone pillars parting rushing waters.

  A red-bearded Collector faced off against two soldiers and Captain Ian. He was the unfortunate one to have three on him, but he didn’t seem worried. The Collector spun and dived, flaring his heavy cloak all around him, keeping the soldiers at bay.

  The soldiers watched for an opening, finding none. The soldier on Captain Ian’s left ran out of patience and decided to charge into the Collector, baton raised.

  The Collector grabbed the edge of his cloak and pulled quickly, dragging the hem across the soldier’s chest as he reached his target. The soldier felt a burst of pain and looked down to see that his armor was cut across his abdomen, exactly where the plates separated under his rib cage. Blood was pouring out of the opening, and he dropped to his knees, arms pulled in tightly to stem the flow. The Collector stepped back, letting his cloak fall, blood dripping from the razor-edged hem.

  Captain Ian looked down at his fallen man, saw another fall in the corner of his eye, and cursed. He took a step back and reached into a pouch tied to the back of his belt. Let’s try this, he thought.

  The middle Collector was actually on the defensive. His two attackers were fearless, to the point of being reckless. He had a small bruise on his cheek from a lucky blow and was able to retaliate with a few kicks and punches of his own. Their armor had proven to be very resilient against bludgeoning; it resisted his force, dissipating it through the panel he struck.

  He calculated the most productive use of his offense, tucked his billy club back into the jacket clip and retreated a few steps to prepare a strike. The Collectors were trained in the old way of fighting, the Bellicose Method, by Nimbus himself. They knew a time would come when they would exert their true force, not just escorting the recently expired to the Grand Hall of Collection.

  He saw the fear in these two soldiers. He could probably wait for them to be sloppy. Their eventual exhaustion would lead to mistakes, but he was never the patient one. He curled his fingers to resemble a claw and dashed forward, angling his arm down.

  The lead soldier pulled his foot back, thinking he was trying to pull him down, just as the Collector planned. Instead, he leaped at his chest. The soldier was off balance and unable to defend against the full weight of the Collector pouncing onto his chest, crouched like a feral cat. Both men fell, with the Collector landing on top.

  The soldier was pinned and trying to tuck his knees between them to kick the surprisingly heavy Collector off of him. He could see his comrade beating on the back of the Collector with his own baton, to no avail. The Collector barely noticed his strikes as he reached forward and grabbed the soldier’s neck covering. He pulled down with both hands, tearing the armor from his neck.

  Suddenly the Collector had his billy club in his hands and pressed it to the soldier’s neck, smiling triumphantly as he released the sonic wave against their nanos. Nothing happened.

  “That only works on your puppets. I tore those nanos out from my body long ago. You cannot affect me,” the soldier spat in his face.

  “We’ve had some recent upgrades, thanks to that rogue girl.” The Collector tilted the billy club, angling it so the soldier could see two wires running out of the bottom and back up his sleeve. The Collector depressed an alternate button on the club and an incredible surge of electricity discharged through the weapon and into the soldier’s neck. The soldier’s scream brought a quick glance from those battling in the room, pausing the fighting momentarily.

  The current of power continued to course through his body as the Collector held his baton there. Even after the soldier was dead, the Collector continued driving it more deeply into the soldier’s neck as the flesh burned away, smiling all the while.

  Agent Rufus knew he had to switch tactics. His partner fell to this electric Collector, and beating him did little to stop the berserker. Rufus dropped his baton and dug in one of his pockets. Posterior Pouch L15, as Sci Tym called it.

  I don’t care where I get it, as long as it works, Agent Rufus thought as he slid a slender tube out of its plastique sleeve. He threw it at the Collector’s shoulder, where it shattered.

  The Collector stood, staring at the soldier, and reached over to touch the sticky goo making its way down his shoulder.

  “Well, now.” He was brushing the gel with the back of his hand, only spreading the sinuous jelly further around with his glove. “Is the child finished with his tantrum? Now you throw your juice at me? Is this supposed to stop me from frying you like your friend?”

  Agent Rufus fished another tube from an adjacent pocket strapped to his arm.

  “No. But this should slow you down.
” He popped the top off with his thumb and splashed a pale green liquid at the Collector.

  His reaction was quicker than the soldier had anticipated, diving to the side. The Collector almost avoided the solution entirely. Unfortunately for him, only a small amount of Tym’s combustion fluid needed to combine with the jelly.

  Dense blue flames leaped up the Collector’s arm, spreading across the sticky jelly, feeding off of the chemical reaction’s energy. The Collector flew into a rage, trying to remove his jacket before the flames spread. It was too late. The chemicals bonded into a liquid magma, soaking through the fabric and devouring flesh and bone. His arm became useless as the muscle was dissolved from the bones. Still, the magma spread, eating away his abdomen and dripping wherever he flailed. His legs were soon destroyed, removing his ability to stand. The Collector slumped to the ground, attempting to rise, to no avail.

  “One down and two to go. No problem,” Agent Rufus said.

  He turned to survey the room, assessing where he would be most useful. He saw his comrades sorely pressed to fend off the other Collectors. Five men were down; only Captain Ian, one other soldier, and he were standing. Suddenly, the odds were no longer in their favor, if they ever were to begin with.

  Captain Ian met his eyes and flashed two fingers then three in a circular motion.

  The sign for retreat.

  He fully agreed with that decision, and ran to his Captain’s side. They joined their last soldier and the three of them went running down the hall. Behind them, they could hear the low electronic whine as the Collectors charged up their energy suits to follow.

  Ian saw the bright silver line running down the hall, embedded in the upper part of the wall. Just like outside, and all across the city, these metallic tracks would allow the Collectors to move at incredible speeds. Most of the population thought this speed was a powerful technology given to the Collectors to aid in their expiration retrievals. It was, but it was mostly to spell doom for anyone attempting to flee a Collector’s wrath. The track was a highly charged magnetized connection from the strip to the Collector’s chest plate. The whole system ran on a specialized frequency. Fortunately, the soldiers had another surprise in store.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Ian saw the first Collector swing around the exit and smoothly enter the hallway, his feet settling back to the ground after being pulled the short distance by his magnets. The other Collector joined him in the hall, getting his bearings. They floated off of the ground a few inches and accelerated towards Ian and company.

  “Attention, soldiers, we are running Scenario Three Six Two. Wait for my signal.” Captain Ian said over his radio. As they ran, each soldier pulled a drawstring from around his wrist. A long pocket ran up the lengths of their arms. The pocket’s contents were single flat stilettos. These custom blades, shining silver from edge to edge, were hinged on the widened end and held tiny springs loaded into their hilt.

  As the soldiers ran, every downward swing of their arm dispensed a stiletto, tossing them behind the men. As each of the blades flew out from the pockets, they were no longer under tension, and their springs popped open in mid-flight. Folding out from itself, each stiletto became a five-pronged star, dropping onto the ground below.

  Another folded blade dropped into the arm holster to take the vacant space and was just as quickly thrown behind.

  Soon the hallway was littered with blossoms of silver, each side laser-sharpened. The magnetically charged Collectors glided over them with no way to maneuver around the soldiers’ trap.

  Captain Ian knew this was a fatal mistake, for the stilettos were made of the same compound as the gleaming tracks on the wall. The two Collectors each attracted a dozen of the blades. Tuned into the exact frequency as the track and the stiletto stars, their magnetic chest plates could not distinguish between the two. The clusters rose in the air and flew into the Collectors. The sharpened points had little trouble piercing the suits, and blood splashed out of their backs. Overwhelmed, their suits powered down, no longer supporting the Collectors’ levitation. As their feet touched the ground, both Collectors slumped to their knees, spitting blood, and collapsed to the floor.

  Thanks again, Tym. I don’t know how you did it, but you found the right tuning, Ian thought, and the soldiers ran out into the night.

  ESCORT

  Cole walked the halls to his new home, hidden deep underground.

  We are heading to safety, lying low for a while. Captain Ian was very clear the night of their escape; nobody would know what had happened. Emma was gone. His aunt and mother were taken from him. His own father was handed over. His old life seemed like a series of terrible conclusions, each outdoing the previous.

  The Movement’s headquarters were actually in an elaborate underground city, long forgotten in the LifeSpan expansions. On the surface, LifeSpan thrived. Citizens had no idea their current town was built on top of history.

  Literally built over everything, Cole joked. New houses placed on top of the old, leaving this town as a shadow. The basement of humanity. Come on down for some fun and leave the sunlight behind.

  It had taken Cole the better part of four days to learn his way through his section, let alone the extra floors of the building around him. The Father stressed that Cole was never allowed to be without a guard.

  Today, he was guarded by Sci Tym. He was the only one in the complex Cole considered a friend. Their immediate connection so long ago in Emma’s house was a turning point in Tym’s life too. He knew the Father was a friend to him, but he was always so serious, burdened with responsibility.

  Tym didn’t have that weight on his shoulders when Cole was around. Looking over at his friend, Tym felt guilty for deceiving him while Cole was alone here. The Father had been watching him secretly with tiny video drones, another great invention of Tym’s. The Father and Tym had reviewed the footage, and had concluded that Cole was not a threat.

  They had noticed a hardening of character, but nothing they were worried about. They needed to evaluate the long-term effects of his time in the LifeSpan reprogramming facility. So far, he was the same Cole they remembered, but with an edge.

  That was why the Father agreed to meet with Cole today. This was a momentous time for Cole. It was his first meeting since he was liberated by Captain Ian and his soldiers.

  Any mention of the soldiers around Sci Tym was a topic to be avoided. Tym was overcome with sadness for the fallen soldiers. They had risked so much for Emma, and they didn’t even know she was never in the facility. Instead, they were left with rescuing Cole.

  Upon their return, the soldiers were especially vocal about their disappointing mission. To make matters worse, when Tym was unavailable to guard Cole, Captain Ian took his place. He keenly felt Ian’s hatred. Cole reminded Ian of his soldiers’ sacrifices and their fruitless rescue mission.

  The two men stopped walking, and Tym nodded toward a door. It was pale gray, totally smooth from top to bottom with no other markings or switches on the door facing. It didn’t seem out of place from any other door, except this one did not automatically swish open when they stopped.

  “This is the Father’s room, isn’t it?” Cole asked.

  “Yes. He has wanted to see you ever since he heard you were free,” Tym admitted.

  “Then why did he wait until now? I’ve been out for days.” Cole couldn’t help blurting out his frustrations.

  “Already that long? Time flies. . . . Well, that’s a good question.” Tym was stammering, wringing his hands as he bobbed back and forth. “He is a very busy man and he, uhmm, had other appointments to attend to, and he—”

  “Tym, you are a very bad liar,” Cole cut him off. “You could just tell me he didn’t trust me and wanted a few days to watch me.”

  Tym smiled at the blatant truth in his statement.

  “You really are a trouble maker, aren’t you?” he joked with Cole.

  Then he stepped forward and placed his arms straight along his body at both sides and bowed
to the door, tucking his chin in as much as possible, moving his head only a fraction. Cole thought this was an absurd way to greet a locked door. Usually, the visitor would place his palm on the surface, and if the resident were expecting you, the door would swish open. Obviously, the Father would be expecting them.

  Without touching the door in any way, it swished open to reveal the room beyond.

  Tym ushered Cole inside, and immediately his eyes were drawn to the sheer scale of such a place. The walls, reaching up over fifty feet before they met the ceiling, were completely covered with makeshift shelving. Each shelf bowed under the weight of many books. Thousands and thousands of books were littered throughout the room! The floor beside him, the desk to his right, and even the elongated conference table were stacked with books of every shape and size. Some looked very old. They would have to be. Cole couldn’t remember the last time a book was published outside of a digiscreen novella. A book was very rare to have, not because of any illegality of the product, but more so because of the ancient process. It took so long to actually bind and complete a crafted novel. Most books written were published as they were typed, immediately available as a digiscreen download. Books were even released chapter by chapter if need be.

  “I see you are impressed.” The soft-spoken voice brought Cole out of his wonderment and he realized it was the Father’s, coming from the center of the room. Cole stepped forward and peered around a stack of novels over twice his height. Indeed, the Father was sitting at a large, wooden, carved desk, incredibly old-fashioned. He appeared at ease, grinning, and his eyes twinkled.

  Unfortunately, the Father was not alone at his desk.

  Captain Ian was standing at his right. Arms crossed behind his back, his face was a scowl of disgust as he looked Cole over.

  His hatred for Cole was very apparent. Cole understood the gravity of losing men in the field; “fallen” was how they were referred to around the Movement’s membership. With even that being considered, there was still one question that remained, and Cole almost voiced it aloud. Why was Ian so angry with him? At this point, it must be personal.