by Andria Stone
Mark tried to soften the blow. “Mrs. Yates, several days ago a universal order went out for all military personnel to be scanned for implants. Any unsanctioned devices are being removed. Patients are, in all likelihood, being returned to duty with a clean bill of health. We were all scanned before leaving Terra. It’s just a matter of time before all personnel undergoes the procedure.”
Axel’s tablet pinged. He read the message, scowled, showed it to Mark, Eva, and Kamryn.
Shit, shit, shit. Dimitrios was on the way to Lunar to personally relieve Yates from command, take him into custody, and appoint a new general to the post. Lives had been lost. More were about to be ruined.
It all lead back to Beth Coulter.
***
Unknown to the others, the two sergeants had received covert orders. They were to keep Mrs. Yates and her daughter from communicating with the general and as far away from him as possible. Without knowing his state of mind, or anyone else’s on Luna, the sergeants were entrusted with keeping two additional people safe until Dimitrios and his security forces arrived.
They couldn’t spend the next three hours in the pantry. It had already become too small for the six of them. Kamryn approached Eva with an idea; all four women would fade into the Plaza, doing lunch, drinks, or beauty spa—hiding in plain sight. Everyone except the two women in uniform, stepped out of the pantry for a moment, allowing them to change into civilian clothing, to blend in better. Kamryn also removed the tablet from Mrs. Yates’s bag, thereby alleviating the possibility of any communication—to or from her husband.
The two sergeants agreed upon a code to use for where to meet, plus an emergency code for any dire situations, which they did not want to use. Axel and Mark were too easily identified, so they could not possibly hide in plain sight. They were relegated to the pantry for the duration. Just as well. Axel was tired of Luna. He’d encountered far too many problems here. He sat on a crate, stretched out his legs, and leaned back. “I’m relieved to be going home.”
“I just hope we all make it in one piece.”
“We should have been on that shuttle.”
“Yes. My mother almost lost another son today.” A sadness came over Mark as he spoke the words.
“So…you can thank me now, Blondie.” Axel delivered a power punch to Mark’s bicep and then laughed like hell.
They traded blows for a moment until it seemed as if the air was getting thin in that small room.
“I’ve had a very unpleasant time here myself.” Mark started looking around at the crates of supplies. “Do you suppose there’s anything in here to drink?”
“Oh, no. Not happening. Not until we’re all standing back on Terra firma.”
The two men shared childhood stories, raunchy jokes, and played mental games of one-upmanship to occupy the time until their tablets pinged with the alert Dimitrios had arrived. They abandoned their hiding spot, sought out the rest of their party, then took the most obscure route to the docking bay. The six of them maneuvered through the security barriers again, staying as inconspicuous as possible.
Apparently deceived as to the purpose of Dimitrios’s visit, Yates came down the ramp, ready to greet the general, only to be rendered unconscious at once, then carried aboard the shuttle. Mrs. Yates and her daughter broke through the crowd, sprinting into the airlock with seconds to spare before Yates’s shuttle departed.
Now reduced to the original four, Axel continued to observe the changing of the guard. Without the usual fanfare of such an auspicious occasion, General Wanda Reynolds became the first female commander of all Lunar Bases. She was bronzed-skinned, Amazonian in stature, with buzz cut hair, and uniform creases so sharp they’d draw blood if anyone dared come too close.
A trio of military doctors, plus the same number of combat majors were a part of her contingent. According to Dimitrios, the medics were to conduct scans of every living human on Luna; the officers were to deal with any unforeseen disagreements regarding the change of command. Since he wasn’t in the mood for a leisurely visit, as the next shuttle arrived, his troops ushered him back through the airlock. Axel hurried his party aboard right behind them for the return trip to Terra.
***
Once they were back on Terra, in the cocoon of the underground base, where they felt safe among friends, a euphoria descended upon them.
Mark managed to find a quiet moment with Petra. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me—for us all. When I saw this, I thought of you. It’s not a gift. It’s a souvenir of our adventures on Luna. You can accept it.” He handed the jacket to her.
Petra blushed as she ran her hand over the soft dark leather with the stitching and the metal studs. “It’s so…me.” She put it on, still caressing the feel of it. “It’s like finding a treasure. Thank you.” She was still smiling when he left her to join his team in the dining hall.
Life was happily returning to normal. They spent time in the fitness center, firing range, and designing a new lab.
A knock at the door in the middle of the night awoke both Mark and Axel. Two soldiers ordered them to dress, pack duffels, weapons, and vests so they could double-time it to Harben’s office. Eleven minutes later, they practically skidded through his door.
“Capt. Warren, you’ve received an emergency message from your family, routed through the CAMRI facility. Your father was assaulted. He’s in ICU. We do not yet have proof, but there may be some indication that it’s related to the incident you experienced in Canada—with the cyborg. The hospital is expecting us. They’ve been notified of the classified nature of this situation. We’re sending a team with you to investigate—take statements.”
“Sir, any news of my mother and sister?”
“Your father was alone when it happened. I believe they’re with him at the hospital.” The stocky, balding colonel glared straight at Mark. “You have a track record, Warren. So, I’m giving you a direct order. Do not kill any civilians. Or that stockade on Luna will seem like a dream vacation compared to where you’ll end up next time. Your shuttle leaves in fifteen minutes. Now get out of here.”
As they raced to the tarmac, Mark commed Eva with the update about his dad. “If they’re coming for our families now, tell your brother to run and hide as if the devil himself were after him.”
Waiting in the shuttle were, Torance, Fleming, the two cyber specialists, four giant soldiers in black tactical combat armor, weapons, plus some very unorthodox-looking heavy armaments. Mark stared at the armored soldiers while he harnessed himself to the hull. “I thought your armor was gray.”
“It transitions. Snow white to pitch black, non-reflective, even changes to camouflage if we need to take a stroll in the woods.”
The shuttle lifted off, became airborne, interior lights faded to deep blue, as did the twin glow strips on the floor. Mark hoped his mother and sister were braving this latest catastrophe. Like most humans in moments of great duress, Mark found himself making irrational promises to any deity listening, that he would forego all his bad habits, if only his father would not die.
Mark still harbored the secret he’d carried since his brother’s death—that he’d been the one to dare Eric to volunteer for the Europa mission—which had taken his life. He carried the torment of that guilt every day. Now his father was another victim of an attack, orchestrated by Beth Coulter. He could not bear the burden of two ghosts. Rage smoldered inside Mark as he renewed his promise to physically rip her heart out to avenge his father and brother.
“Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?” Mark glanced over at Axel, then realized that everyone had been watching him.
“Make promises you can’t keep. I know what you’re doing. I’m telling you it’s a waste of time. Instead, you should be putting all those high-priced brain cells to work figuring out what needs to be done and the best way to do it the minute we get to Portland.”
Axel was right. Mark had been through this same scenario. He looked across at Tor
ance, a combat ER doctor imminently qualified to treat his father. Kamryn, Axel’s badass female counterpart. Petra, the very same cyber who had helped him create the hologram after his encounter with a cyborg. Ohashi sat next to her, another cyber he’d met once, who was said to be a wizard on anything electronic. Plus, the four armored giants, and their various weaponry. All the military people knew their jobs. What Mark had to do was pull the local constabulary into a cohesive unit to track down his dad’s assailant, in Portland, in the middle of the night.
Mark had a plan ready the second they all climbed out of the shuttle onto the hospital’s rooftop. He raced to the waiting room outside ICU, hoping to see his mother and sister. He did.
Leslie Warren, sat motionless, staring off into space, a vacant look in her eyes. Gina jumped up. She ran to him, her face pink and puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks. He hugged her until she stopped crying. “I brought some friends, Ginny. We’re going to fix this. Dad’s going to be okay.”
One armored soldier planted himself as a sentry outside Mr. Warren’s ICU room. Kamryn secured the waiting room area. Axel gathered all the clothing Mark’s father had worn. Petra scanned it for biologicals and trace evidence, then put it in an airtight bag.
The doctor scanned Mrs. Warren, administered an injection, did the same for Gina Warren. Then he entered David Warren’s room to scan him, confirming the hospital’s diagnosis. Torance consulted with the attending physician before the room was overtaken by the military. After a moment, Torance motioned Mark into the ICU room, followed by Petra with all her equipment, and Ohashi carrying two attachés of electronics.
The doctor had placed a medical halo around David Warren’s forehead. “Talk to you father while I monitor his brain activity.”
Mark approached the bed. He choked, looking at his father, half his head shaved, battered, bruised, hooked up to tubes, electrodes, surrounded by blinking machines. Mark bent over to whisper in his ear. “Dad, I’m home. Mom and Gina are okay. I love you. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“He heard you. This is good.” The doctor clapped Mark on the shoulder. “He has one linear skull fracture—no brain swelling—broken clavicle, humerus, femur, with spiral fractures of the radius and ulna. Plus various contusions, abrasions, lacerations. It could have been much worse. I have military grade nanites. Some other enhanced pharmaceuticals I can give him that will aid in a faster recovery. We will help him regain consciousness in a little while. Petra will get a hologram of the incident. Now—” Torance waved him away. “Good hunting.”
As Mark entered the waiting room, he spotted two of his high school teachers. Rachael and Iris Lambert were sisters. One taught math, the other history. After retiring, they’d opened a dessert catering business called The Chocolate Moose.
“Mark, I shot it.” Iris Lambert held up her hand as if she were in class. She hadn’t changed one bit; a stocky, large bosomed, gray-haired woman, with petite hands, who had marked all his algebra tests with a big red “A.”
“You shot what?”
“There was a big awards dinner at the Willamette Mansion tonight. We always supply the desserts. Rachael pulled the van up to the front, and started unloading. I heard a commotion, grabbed the shotgun—thought it might be a bear or something. Heard a man’s voice cry for help. Ran in the direction of the noise. A form was bent over a body on the ground. I fired both barrels. Got it with my trusty old 12-gauge over and under. It should be dead—laying right where I found your dad. Surprised me when it ran off. More like limped. Didn’t know it was your dad until I checked for ID while I was calling for EMTs and the Sheriff. So sorry. If you’re going after it, we can stay here with your family.”
“Who’s the sheriff?”
“Harold Blackwell.”
“Shit.”
“Now, Mark, I don’t have a cuss jar anymore. If you keep that up, you’ll be spending time at our house chopping wood.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Lambert. It won’t happen again. We have…history—bad blood. Was he at the crime scene? Did he bring dogs?”
“No, he wasn’t there. No dogs either. A deputy I don’t know showed up. Here. I have his card.”
“Does Cliff Morgensen still have dogs?”
Rachael Lambert stepped forward. “Yes, he and his brother, Stan, both have about a dozen dogs between them. Even uses the dogs to hunt for lost hikers.” She took his hand, leaning in toward him, whispering, “I saw it.”
He studied her for a couple of seconds.
Rachael nodded, sincerity etched in every crease of her face. She was the taller, thinner sister, not as outgoing or gun-toting as Iris, but just as honest.
“Come with me, please.” Mark led her into the ICU room. Introduced her to Petra and Torance. “Eyewitness.”
They acted in concert, explaining the hologram process while Petra sat Rachael down, applied the medical halo, electrodes, hooked up the screen, before shooing Mark outside.
Mark stepped back into the waiting room. “Miss Lambert, can you contact both Morgensen’s—have them bring all their dogs to the Willamette Mansion right away? Tell them I’ll pay double.”
Iris nodded, holding up her tablet, pointing to the screen. “I’m on it.”
Ohashi approached him “Capt. Warren, I’ve been monitoring all bands, frequencies, and net traffic since I set up my equipment. There’s been no mention of your father being assaulted or any crime committed at the location the EMTs responded to. However, I picked up a small bit of encrypted data being sent to a private satellite just after your father was attacked—from the same location.”
“Here’s the deputy's card. Can you check him out? Odds are he’s a part of this—somehow. Please send the GPS of the Willamette Mansion to the shuttle. When Petra’s finished with her hologram—send the image to everyone’s tablet.”
The doctor joined the group. “Synthetic skin. We’re positive.”
Mark’s heart skipped several beats. Then a rush of adrenalin began burning through his veins like molten lava. Mark felt a contradiction of emotions. Fire on the inside, with death wishes for Beth Coulter struggling for supremacy over the cold logic of a strategy for capturing the wounded cyborg. He switched on his poker face.
Mark turned to his mother and sister, knelt in front of them, taking their hands. “I have to go now. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
There was a light in his mother’s eyes now; color had returned to her face. They sat united, leaning on one another. Gina’s fingers were laced through hers. They both looked better than when he’d arrived. He kissed their foreheads, turned, then sped off to the rooftop with both sergeants and four armored soldiers in his wake.
Heading from the hospital to the Mansion took three minutes. The shuttle began emitting searchlights around the perimeter as it descended. They jumped free the second the hatch slid open.
The grand Mansion was a charming relic of times past. Three stories, with over twenty-five rooms, now used for all sorts of events. It sat in the middle of a cleared circle surrounded by fifteen wooded acres, rose gardens, with some hiking trails. Mark hadn’t smelled cold, crisp outdoor air in weeks. He felt invigorated. The familiar aroma of Christmas in the Douglas firs, the rich, heady scents of cedar and maple.
All their tablets pinged. The image from Rachel Lambert’s hologram appeared. An exact duplicate of the cyborg from Canada. Maybe the same one? Or were there multiple copies?
Two vehicles had arrived, several men unloaded packs of dogs. Mark ran toward them. He counted a mixture of eleven bloodhounds, beagles, and shepherds. The two Morgensen brothers, plus their father handled the leashed canines, herding them toward the shuttle.
After greetings, Cliff Morgensen, bearded, in a red plaid shirt, stepped up. “Pop came along because he knows these woods better than anybody. All our animals have GPS trackers in their collars so we can see where they’re going. Who or what are we looking for? And why is the military involved?”
“Iris Lambert shot
at and may have wounded my father’s assailant. This is the image Rachael Lambert saw limp away.” Mark showed his tablet to the three locals. “According to Terran military records, he’s on a wanted list for other crimes.”
Axel handed the bag of David Warren’s clothing to Mark. “This is what Dad was wearing when he was attacked—right over there in those bushes.” He pointed to an area off to the right of the Mansion’s front steps. “Dad’s scent is all over his attacker. Your dogs can follow it, right?”
“You betcha.” Cliff pulled on sterile gloves, to avoid contaminating the scent on the clothing, then led the dogs to the bushes. Two beagles sniffed, moved off, noses down, following a trail away from the scene. Twenty feet away, they pawed at the ground. Stan, their handler, searched the ground with his light, then motioned for Mark to come forward.
Mark ran to the spot, looked down, and dropped to one knee. He was stunned. A foot. The left foot—to be precise. No wonder the cyborg was limping. Mark commed the others. “Iris Lambert shot its foot off.”
Both sergeants came running.
Mark pointed to the booted foot on the ground. “Can the shuttle scan metal, or track a metal signature?”
“Yes.” Kamryn used leaves from the ground to pick it up, ran it into the shuttle. She commed him, “It’s a titanium alloy. We’re going airborne to get a fix on a location.”
Mark turned to Cliff. “Turn the dogs loose.”
Commands to: “Find it,” rang in the air.
The pack of dogs took off like they were after a fox. Some howled and barked, others were silent hunters. The shepherds followed an air scent, bloodhounds and beagles sniffed the ground. They were all headed in the same direction. Mark so enjoyed being outside, he ran with the pack as far as he could, until they entered the wooded area.