Epoch (The Templar Future Book 1)

by Lowry, Chris

  “Get Bram,” said Robe.

  “Shoot him and be done with it,” Darren countered.

  “Shut up, Darren! Go get Bram.”

  “You’re not a team leader,” he sulked.

  Robe rounded on him.

  “No, but I am in line for Director. You want to wait to follow my orders until then?”

  All the men came to attention. One man gasped. They all knew Robe was being groomed and taught, but everyone surmised it was for Second, taking Bram’s place when he assumed Command. No one would have guessed Robe was next in line for the Assent.

  Darren held himself proud, refusing to answer as he walked out of the door.

  Robe turned to the Templar.

  “I’m sorry about him,” he explained. “Darren holds a grudge.”

  The Templar looked Robe directly in the eye. And smiled.

  “He will get over it. He is a good soldier,” he said.

  He didn’t really think so. He thought none of these boys would last a long minute in a real battle. They were soft, undisciplined and relied too much on their armor. But Eleven taught him diplomacy, even if he chose to ignore it on most occasions. And a situation like the one in which he found himself, surrounded by the enemy with plasma rifles aimed at his head, he was willing to adapt. Success by deception. It wasn’t his preferred method, but survival was what counted.

  “May I sit?” Robe asked, motioning to the floor across from the prisoner, but still out of reach.

  The Templar motioned him down.

  “Do they really call you Twelve? Your people, I mean?”

  The Templar shrugged.

  “What do they call you?”

  “I’m Robe.”

  “I remember you from our previous encounter. Twice, correct.”

  Robe nodded, even though it wasn’t a question.

  “You came in the hover car and again with the girl,” the Templar continued.

  “Nova Laud,” Robe answered. “She is our Commander.”

  He motioned to the young men with raised rifles standing around the wall.

  “We’re the Troops.”

  “You were brave to stand before me.”

  “It’s my duty.”

  Finally, the Templar thought, a concept I can understand. Duty meant following orders despite question. If these people remembered the basis for duty, then perhaps more common ground could be found and exploited.

  “The Troops are soldiers,” he said.

  “Oh yeah,” Robe was eager to open up. So far, no one had been able to talk with the Templar. “We’re the elite.”

  The Templar bit back a smile.

  “Who do you fight?”

  The skin between his eyebrows furrowed as Robe concentrated.

  “The Mob, mostly. We had some wars in the Interior for a while, but that’s over now, except for border skirmishes. We sort of act like guardians to people.”

  “Bodyguards.”

  Robe shook his head.

  “No, not quite. We protect everyone.”

  “But not the Mob.”

  “Well, they’re not people, really. They’re the Mob, that’s who we protect people from.”

  The Templar nodded, acting as if he understood. He noticed several of the guards had relaxed their vigilance, but the rest kept their rifles trained on him.

  “I fought the Mob,” he said. “On the street.”

  “Yeah,” answered Robe. “We’re not sure how you survived that. No one has before.”

  “They were people.”

  “No, they just look like us. They’re like animals-” Robe started to say.

  The Templar nodded and looked at the door where Darren disappeared.

  “Where am I?” he asked Robe.

  “They haven’t told you?”

  “No.”

  “I thought they would have explained it to you. you’re from the past.”

  “They told me. Where am I-” he searched for the right words. “Where am I from where I was?”

  Robe looked at him, concentration etched on his face.

  “When I was brought here,” the Templar said. “I was fighting in a village. The village was on a river in the territories. Where am I now?”

  Robe nodded, understanding washing over him.

  “The West Coast,” he said. “Dr. Darwin brought you here in a time portal.”

  “Who?”

  “Darwin. You trashed his lab. Don’t you remember?”

  “No,” said the Templar.

  “Why did you fight so much when you got here?” Robe asked.

  The Templar studied the young man, weighing his answer.

  “The battle rage was on me. You’ve fought before?” he waited for Robe to nod. “When I fight, I can think of nothing else. From the beginning of my training, I have been told to win and survive at all costs. When I came here, all I encountered was a different fight. That Mob poured through the doors and attacked me. What should my response have been? Maybe I was wrong.”

  He looked at Robe doubtfully.

  “But I feel I did the right thing at the proper time. I survived.”

  Robe smiled at the Templar.

  “You shouldn’t feel remorse about the Mob. They did attack you first. That’s all they do. But us, we came to help you.”

  “How was I to know? You came on me in battle, dressed in armor. How was I to hear an announcement when the blood rang in my ears and my warrior cry split the night air asunder?”

  Robe leaned forward, feeling like he had a breakthrough.

  “You’re right. You didn’t know who we were. For all you knew, we were attacking you.”

  “That’s right, my friend. And again, when I woke in captivity, how was I to know it was for my own good? All I knew was that everyone attacked me since I got here. All I knew was to fight back.”

  The Templar went on, sharing himself with the guards. His hypnotic tone soon had them entranced, weaving a pattern of shared fear and misunderstanding. Soon all the guns were down. It was time to act.

  But he held himself in check.

  In this strange land, the young men had reached out to him, lowered their weapons when they felt safe around him. He liked a team, had been part of a group since before he could walk and although he could function alone, he was by nature, a member of a pack. That instinct reared up in him as he planned to kill them all, and he discarded the idea.

  “Honey and vinegar,” he thought and in his mind, he heard Eleven’s laughing approval. “Learn more about your environment before any action.”

  The voice in his head droned out a tactics lesson he was forced to memorize so many years ago in his youth. He could use these Troops to learn the lay of the land that was so strange to him, and if needed, he would kill them later.

  Now though, they were warming to him. Soldiers sharing a common bond of being soldiers, having faced battles and feeling the same emotions. He let them start talking, spilling their stories of minor engagements that terrified them, and he absorbed it all. They warmed to him, moving close in a semi-circle. Guns were still held, but relaxed and at ease.

  The Templar was happy to note the friendship in their eyes and reverence with which they talked about his capture. He relished their attachment as a plan formulated in his mind. A different plan.

  Bram and Darren leaned against the doorframe, listening to the conversation inside. The prisoner was telling a story about his past, a battle at a river that ran red with clay or the blood of villagers. Darren clenched his teeth in rage, but Bram held him back.

  “Wait,” he whispered. “Learn.”

  The voices inside stopped. Bram’s ears picked up the stealthy pad of footsteps approaching the doorway. He pulled his pistol and aimed it head level.

  The door slid open, Bram jumped back. Robe kneeled on the floor, his pistol drawn and pointed at Bram’s groin.

  The Troops laughed, even the prisoner. Bram was not amused.

  “What the Hell are you doing?” Darren stepped ov
er Robe and pointed his pistol at the Templar.

  The other Troopers were quiet. Robe rolled around, tracking Bram as he came in the room.

  “I got the drop on you Bram. Where was your mind?”

  “In here,” the Second said. “What’s going on?”

  Bram kept his back to the wall, his eyes on the Templar. He noted the free limbs and relaxed pose against the far wall.

  “We had it all wrong,” Robe explained, rising to stand beside Bram. “We’ve misconstrued the situation and that’s what led to all the fighting, right?”

  He looked to the Templar for confirmation.

  “The Templar was in shock from his travel and we further aggravated the situation by attacking him. I know, we didn’t really attack him, well, the Mob did, but he didn’t know who we were. All he knew was that Harry tied him up, and where he comes from, that’s what they do right before they kill you.”

  “Who untied him?” Bram asked.

  The Troops looked at each other.

  “I released myself,” answered the Templar.

  “You broke an immobilizer and energy bonds?” Darren called from the corner where he crouched, his gun still on the prisoner.

  The Templar nudged the metal that had been around his torso.

  “This? I cracked it. The energy bonds were hurting me.”

  “Why didn’t you ask us?” Bram questioned him.

  “Would you have let me free.”

  “No.”

  “As I expected. So I did it myself.”

  “And if we decide to immobilize you again?”

  “We won’t,” Robe interrupted. “I’ve carried on a conversation with him, Bram. He won’t do any more damage, will you?”

  “If you tie me up again, I will get free.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Bram.

  “We could shoot him again, knock him out,” Darren braced his feet.

  Robe slid in the line of fire as the other Troopers watched.

  “You will not shoot him. This is unnecessary. We have been acting civil with one another and no harm has come of it. I will not allow you to disrupt these proceedings.”

  Everyone in the room stared at Robe.

  “You’re ordering around the Second?” Darren teased.

  Bram stood with his back to the wall, fingers resting on the handle of his gun, ready. He didn’t care if Robe ordered him around or not. He was watching the prisoner. The man was coiled like a spring, muscles so geared up and tense, they jumped and twitched in his legs and hands as if they had a mind of their own.

  “How many of us could you kill right now?” he called to the prisoner.

  The Templar smiled and several guards picked up their discarded guns, holding them at their sides, but close.

  “All but you,” the Templar said. “And this one in front of me.”

  He nodded at Robe.

  “Him, I’d let live because of his kindness. You, because you could get away in time to warn others.”

  Bram smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “You couldn’t stop me?”

  “It would be difficult. I think I could wound you, but I don’t know what your communications are like. You may be able to call for reinforcements before I could finish with you.”

  “He couldn’t get us all,” Darren challenged. “We’re too many.”

  Robe stood firm.

  “He won’t get any of us. I’ve started something here. We are attempting to create a peace between us and learn from him. Don’t ruin all that.”

  “Set your guns to stun,” Bram ordered. “Fourth level will hurt you, but not kill. We use that level to take down rogue mammoths and rhinos, but one through three didn’t phase you in our last encounter.”

  “We’re not going to do this!” screamed Robe.

  “Out of the way!” Darren shouted.

  The hum of the plasma rifles filled the room. Robe stared around at the guards.

  “I won’t kill them,” the Templar whispered, still leaning against the wall.

  “That’s not the point,” Robe croaked, betrayal cracking his voice. “I want you to feel safe. I made a promise, and I can’t keep it.”

  “I don’t blame you,” the Templar put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve extended your friendship. I promise your safety. And for you, I won’t kill any of these.”

  “But he wants to show us he can do it,” called Bram. He pulled his pistol and adjusted the energy level.

  “He’s made to fight, Robe. You have to understand that. And he won’t let us put restraints on him. We have to knock him out and shackle him then.”

  “Wait, You’ll let me do it,” he turned to the Templar. “I pledge they won’t hurt you, not while I’m here.”

  “Me either,” chimed a second guard, lowering her gun.

  “That’s mutiny!” screamed Darren.

  “Thanks,” said the Templar. “Maybe, in a moment.”

  He leaped with a panther’s shriek, scaring the Troops into a second’s hesitation. He landed on three of them, knocking heads together and rolling away with a rifle.

  “Stun four!” he shouted as he shot Bram in the leg. He flipped backwards, landing on his knees and hit Darren on the chestplate.

  Plasma blasts seared the air around him, but he slipped between the bolts, taking his time and neatly knocking each Trooper down with careful aim.

  It was over in seconds. He stalked to the door where Bram had fallen through.

  “Gotcha,” Bram breathed, a microsecond warning before he blasted the Templar in the chest. He flew back through the door.

  Bram called for reinforcements.

  The Templar sat up and shook his head.

  “Level four just itches.”

  Bram, Robe and the other guard stared in amazement. Bram couldn’t hold himself any longer and passed out.

  “How did you do that?” Robe asked.

  “They’ll be coming now, won’t they?” the Templar cocked his head to one side, listening. “I can hear their footsteps.”

  Robe tried to hear, but only the echo of emptiness rang back to him.

  The Templar dropped the rifle and held his hands out to Robe.

  “Better to bind me now as I promised, or else I’ll fight them too.”

  Robe picked up the rifle.

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” he promised again.

  “I know,” the Templar smiled and shared it with the other guard.

  “What do they call you?”

  “I’m Pip,” she said.

  “I’m glad you and this one didn’t fight me.”

  Robe fastened the energy bonds around his wrists, hands in front.

  “Me too,” said Pip.

  “You can keep your hands in front,” Robe told him. “You should be more comfortable that way.”

  “Good.”

  The Templar said against the wall. Robe and Pip joined him as the reinforcements poured through the door in two by two formation.

  Nova Laud was not long in following.

  “Want to tell me what happened?” she asked, surveying the scattered bodies being wheeled to the infirmary. Her Second was propped against the wall, waiting his turn.

  “Bram and Darren wanted our prisoner to demonstrate some techniques,” Robe answered.

  “Demonstrate? And how did you two not get hurt?”

  “We chose not to fight, sir.”

  “was that in violation of a direct order from your Second?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure it was an order, sir.”

  “Explain.”

  “I think you should wait for Bram to tell you that. My view was a bit colored.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I argued against fighting. I had made peace with the prisoner and was in the process of exchanging information when the fight began.”

  “And what started it?”

  “I can’t say, sir.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “The boy stood up
for me against those two,” the Templar interjected. “We were talking peace and they wanted to know how fast I was.”

  Nova turned her icy glare on the prisoner.

  “Who freed you from your bonds to fight?”

  “He had freed himself, sir. It just made sense not to fight him,” said Robe.

  “None of this makes sense. I guess I’ll have to watch the vid-corders to find out what happened. You’re dismissed.”

  Neither Robe nor Pip moved.

  “You can go now,” Nova said.

  “If it’s all the same to you, we’d like to stay and talk with the prisoner some more,” said Robe.

  She waved them off and posted double guard around the perimeter of the room. But something in the back of her mind nagged at her.

  Why would Bram pick a fight?

  Why was the prisoner free to fight?

  Why was Robe arguing so hard for the prisoner’s rights? She hoped her plan wouldn’t backfire on her. She didn’t want Robe to be afraid, but neither did she want him to champion a lost cause.

  “Robe, see me in my office later.”

  “Yes sir.”

  She would bring him in and talk about his new attachment. That should clear the air.

  Webster was sitting in her chair when she walked through the door to her office.

  “Move it,” she said, but need not have bothered. He was scrambling away from it even before she was completely through the door.

  “I was just . . . warming it up.”

  His outfit was different, and his hair was gone, replaced by a close cropped military cut favored by the Troops. The air around him was the same, a scheming salesman. She had read on history discs about a class of citizenry from the far past that held dominion over others called politicians. She was glad she lived in an age when the computer could make every decision about government and logistics of everyday life. When she read about the liars and salesmen who ran countries, it was no wonder to her there had been an economic collapse that ruined the world.

  Humans were able to pick themselves up from the rubble, wipe away the aftermath of their destructive tendencies. Still, men like Webster seemed to proliferate in any environment. He wasn’t a power man himself, but had influences on the computer council and held sway with the budget programmers. She didn’t like him, but she had to tolerate him.