The Dark West

by JT Dylan

  FORTY-ONE

  The last of the alarms were shut down manually, one by one. The space station finally became quiet again. Smoke still drifted up from the wet launch room floor and seeped in through the cracks in the gallery overlooking the scene. The man in the pneumatic chair reversed away from the blacked out window and with his head slumped, left the room. His assistant took one last look at the charred room below and followed him out.

  It took him almost thirty seconds to catch up with his boss. The chair was a sport version. His boss had never been shy of a little adrenaline.

  “How is he? Any news?” The old man’s voice was strong and calm, and he spoke without slowing down or turning around. The dark corridor added to the effect that his boss was simply a young man trapped in an old body. His assistant struggled to keep his own voice calm and keep the pace.

  “He’ll live. The shot was a little higher than expected but the medics were on site. The squib detonated perfectly and the Kevlar composite absorbed the impact as designed.

  “Good. Let them know we’re coming. He’ll need to be de-briefed. As will the B-Team. And call the Ox’s superiors. Officially, we’ll have to inform them of his mutiny.”

  “But sir, the man is a hero. Surely…”

  “They don’t know that. Hell, we’re not even supposed to know that yet. Assemble the relevant personnel and have them ready for me would you?”

  “Yes sir. Of course.”

  The custom built wheel chair took the corner at its full velocity, and almost banked rather than turn into the second leg of its short journey. The suited assistant took that as his queue to drop back and slowed to a walk, flipping out his communicator and dialing in all the staff required for the next few meetings.

  He watched the chair motor on down the grey hall, silhouetted against the bright ceiling lights at every ten feet. He shook his head in admiration. Some men seemed born for this job. He wished he had the same strength and stomach.

  The gunmetal black chair stopped by an elevator door, and the old man’s gnarled hand pressed the access button built into the chair’s armrest. An infrared signal pinged the elevator’s control panel and the light turned from amber to yellow. The sound of the descending cage vibrated the whole section of hallway, and the chair rolled back a fraction despite being in park mode. The old man blew out a long, tired breath and adjusted his collar.

  The doors opened and he entered the elevator, closing the door remotely from his chair and using the voice command to signal the floor number.

  “Medical bay. Lower base.” The doors closed, and the elevator began its descent. The old man sat in silence and watched as the lights tracked up the elevator through the crack in the doors. The slither of orange reached the top of the doorway, then vanished before starting again at the bottom. A soft whoosh sound accompanied each passing light, and each one was quicker than the last. The elevator was designed to accelerate slightly with each floor it passed. By the time they approached the lower Medical floors, the light passed from floor to ceiling in under a second. The old man realized he’d been holding his breath and shook his head at his own irrational fear. The light slowed down to a crawl and the feeling passed. The doors opened with a deep guttural sound and the old man wheeled out into a sterile smelling light grey corridor. Security doors to his left and right prevented him from going any further without clearance. This particular floor had been especially cleared out for this occasion however and there was only one technician on the other end to allow entry, as requested. The old man rolled toward the doors on the left, and tapped a button on his chair. An electronic voice spoke over the intercom.

  “Personnel, please identify for entry. Double clearance required for medical bay G23.”

  The old man tapped the security badge pinned on the inside of his dark jacket and spoke up.

  “Freeman, Benjamin.” He paused, before adding, “Retired.”

  After a few seconds, the porthole on the door opened and the General’s face peered through. He smiled as he spoke. “General Jim Daniels here. Project leader. Security confirmed. Let him in.”

  The doors pushed open and out and Jim Daniels limped out to greet the new arrival. He winced and clutched his side as he did so, but smiled through the flash of pain.

  “Well, well, well. You were right you crazy son of a bitch. Seems your trajectory memory may be a little off though,” he said, patting his bandaged side.

  The chair whirred from the darkness and the light from the medic-bay lit up old Freeman’s frail face directly. The years had carved deep lines into his skin and his hair was mottled with tight pure white curls. A single streak of jet-black hair zigzagged from his temple to his ear - an anomaly of age, youthfulness refusing to let go.

  Freeman smiled and scratched his chin with a liver-spotted right hand. His voice cracked a little. “I’m sorry about that Jim. I thought you might not go along with it if you knew exactly what a stubborn bastard I could be when I was younger.”

  “I’ve known you long enough for that.” The General let out a chuckle and winced again, before raising his hand to signal he was okay. “It’s like being winded, but with a sledgehammer. The doc says two broken ribs, which will heal fully by the end of the week if I keep the solution on it between bouts of saving the world.”

  Freeman laughed himself at this last. “We’d best get to it then. God knows what we’ve just started, and now all we have to do is see it through.”

  Freeman pressed the chair’s control stick forward and whirred past the General, leaving him turning awkwardly on the spot and struggling to follow the old man’s progress down the hall.

  FORTY-TWO

  Akuti ran through the scene in her mind in many different ways and then acted instantly. Her main focus was the old man. The others were only there to protect him after all, and to tend to them now would not be a logical step while the old man was hurt on the ground. She pulled him up off the floor to his knees, and was surprised at how heavy he was. He was out cold and a dead weight. Shelter was the first priority. They were vulnerable here, and a second attack would catch them off guard and unable to defend themselves. They had passed a large fallen tree only minutes previously. It was badly positioned across the path, and offered only minimal protection from most angles, but it was on slightly higher ground and within walking distance. It would have to do. She placed her right shoulder under Grey Wolf’s armpit and used all of her reserves to stand up straight. He swayed a little under the motion, and almost pulled both of them back down, but she counter-balanced and took a calming breath before moving again. Using the same method she had used to carry the young livestock as a child, she put her head down and moved onward. She let herself fall forward a little with each step, her strong leg muscles stopping the fall each time, and keeping the movement flowing in the direction she was facing. If they were attacked now, she would be unable to defend herself or the elder, but she pushed the thought away. There was nothing else to do now except walk on one step at a time, and that was all she allowed her mind to dwell on. There were no sounds behind her. Taroo was silent, his breathing shallow, and the forest further behind him offered no more surprises for the time being.

  It took her much longer to get to the tree than she thought it would. The ground was rockier on foot than she remembered, and the horses had made it seem easy.

  She lay the old man down in a cluster of thick branches at the fallen tree’s base, and took a moment to re-consider her possible actions. Grey Wolf’s breathing was regular and strong, so she guessed he was in no immediate danger. She could either try to awaken Taroo or stay and guard the elder. She decided that the risk of leaving the old man was worth gaining an extra pair of hands to help her. She covered the old man as best as she could with the foliage and raced back toward the attack site.

  Old Grey Wolf was alone again. He opened his eyes and exhaled, wincing as he pushed himself to his feet. Checking that Akuti had not returned or changed her mind, he waited a few moments bef
ore walking away from the safety of the path, and deeper into the forest.

  FORTY-THREE

  Young President Freeman stared into the polished aluminum wall mirror. His beard was longer than he usually liked it, but high security military wings for delusional national security risks were not the best places for razor blades it seemed. He wheeled back into position at the window. It was dark outside now and he could hear the other inmates settling down for the night. This usually involved screaming and shouting and general high decibel activities, rather than the expected opposite. Freeman supposed it made sense, given the nature of his accommodation. He heard footsteps as his own personal butler came to tuck him in for the night.

  Showtime.

  The orderly was in good spirits and had a pair of white earphones dangling from inside his collar. Tinned music spilled out of them.

  “How are we tonight? Any flying robots with us this evening?”

  Freeman remained silent and distant as usual as the orderly went about his evening routine. Freeman had been force-feeding them nothing but silence for weeks now, getting them accustomed to his long bouts of absolute compliance and docile nature. He wasn’t sure if it had been long enough yet, but he guessed it was as convincing as it was going to get. They had seen him do nothing more spectacular than drool for almost forty-five days, and he had faked the need for help to eat, drink and urinate for his entire stay. He had forced himself to lose his balance on a couple of occasions, even spilling himself helplessly onto the ground at one time as two orderlies had tried to help him into bed. The overall effect wasn’t entirely what he hoped, but it was still enough. They were still cautious around him, and still almost borderline professional. This was the military after all. Professionalism and effectiveness were habitual and bad habits were difficult to fall into here. But a couple of the orderlies had become almost comfortable around him. And that was how he needed them.

  It needed a certain type of individual to deviate from the set routines in an establishment where the most effective way to do things was programmed into the routine from day one. The individual in question would have to be happy enough in his job to want to do it correctly and to the letter, but would need an air of arrogance that would let his own judgment cloud his ability to recall his training, for only a moment. And he’d have to be tired and alone.

  Freeman had studied the patterns of the orderlies’ shifts meticulously over the course of the past few weeks. He knew that the morning shifts worked regular hours and were always the same team. The afternoon and late shifts were pooled from a different group of staff, but also included some of the morning crew, looking to do some overtime. Every once in a while, a morning crewmember would clock off in the early afternoon, and would return in the evening. His partner on duty would do the same, but for some reason would not do so until later on. Not until after the evening room change. Freeman guessed it was either cutbacks or shortages, and while it only meant an hour or so of being understaffed, Freeman had identified it as a weakness. This only happened every eleven days. It had happened on Freeman’s first day there, and it had also happened on the forty-fourth day. Which was today. It was an essential part of his escape plan. Which was why it had to be today. If he didn’t he would have to wait another eleven days. He was done talking to apparitions, and he was done drooling down his own damned chin.

  The nurse was called Brian. At least that’s what it said on his shirt collar. Freeman let him complete most of his routine. He watched in the window’s reflection as Brian cleaned out the supper tray behind him. Watched him fold down the stiff sheets on the steel bed, and plump up the pillow. Brian whistled as he did so, and Freeman almost felt bad for Brian.

  Almost.

  Brian carried the tray toward the door, placed it on the floor and came around the other side of the bed to retrieve the bedpan from the foot of the bed, where he’d left it that afternoon. When he couldn’t see it he scooted around until he was between Freeman and the bed and bent down to look under the bed. He never stood back up. Freeman hit him hard on the back of the head with the steel pan. Brian’s head gave a little with the force of the blow, and he slumped face first into the bed, before tumbling less than elegantly onto the floor. The bed shifted a little under the weight, but it made no more noise than Brian’s wheezing breaths did. Freeman listened carefully for any irregularities outside his room, but heard nothing from the hallway that indicated any reinforcements were coming. Only the canned music coming from the earphones broke the natural silence. Freeman acted quickly and stole the orderly’s belt and security card. Then he wheeled himself toward the door, before swiping the lock open.

  Once he was outside the door he would be on any number of security monitors. Which is why he wouldn’t be leaving through the door. Reaching around the open gap with the belt buckle, he blindly felt around for the doorjamb on the opposite side. He wasn’t overly worried about being seen. In this light, any small objects making minimal movements would hardly register on a monitor. Anything that was less than human sized was generally ignored on security screens. It was just a fact of life.

  Freeman clipped the buckle in pace and pulled the door closed, fighting against the door’s automatic closing motor. When the door was flush with the frame he swiped the card again and yanked the belt as hard as he could. The door lock light turned amber, before flashing red intermittently, and the door bolted closed in three separate locations along the frame. Freeman guessed a silent alarm was now warning everyone on the site that an inmate was trying to use a key card inappropriately and that the automatic door had been forced shut manually from the outside to prevent this happening.

  Freeman wheeled himself back to Brian and relieved him of his earphones and music player.

  Moving himself to the center of the room, he used the headphones to gently swing the mp3 player in an arc, generating enough momentum to gradually spin it in a widening circular motion without exerting so much force that it detached itself from its weak connection to the headphone jack. Satisfied that the object was on a semi-consistent orbit around his wrist, Freeman used all of the strength in his legs to simultaneously stand up as straight as he could, and reach as high as he could with his swinging arm. The music player’s path remained in its constant orbital trajectory, but the entire pathway was now displaced vertically, which brought the mp3 player into direct contact with the room’s military-efficient, no-fuss singular light bulb. A hollow deep pop as the bulb’s vacuum quickly de-pressurized, and the total darkness, told Freeman that his aim was better than he hoped. Slumping back down into his chair he slowed the arc quickly into a controlled fall onto his lap. He fought past the burning pain from his acrobatics. The little amount of physiotherapy he’d been able to practice under the cover of darkness each night had helped a little, but he was now running on adrenalin alone and he would have to be quick.

  He pulled himself from the chair and into a seating position on the bed. He took off his standard grey issue t-shirt and with more than a little difficulty, managed to haul the orderly out of his white jacket. He balled this under his pillow out of sight, and re-dressed Brian clumsily in his own sweat soaked shirt instead. Now came the fun part. Using the chair for leverage, Freeman half dragged, half lifted Brian into a semblance of a seating position in the wheel chair and pushed him away from the bed and toward the window. Then, he crawled as fast as he could under the bed.

  Benjamin Freeman then waited for his chance to make the perfect escape.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The General seemed distant. He was toying with a prosthetic limb of one of the technicians. Its base was charred from the events at the lab.

  Freeman chuckled at him and shook his head.

  “Still sentimental as ever I see.”

  The General looked up, smiling. “Just wondering how the hell we pulled off that pantomime in there. Any one little deviation could have killed any one of us.”

  “But it didn’t.”

  “And it didn’t because i
t couldn’t? Or because it just didn’t this time?” the General rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t remember when he last saw his personal quarters. “This timeline stuff is enough to bend you right the way up to crazy.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” said Freeman. “It’s just that when you’ve seen it from my perspective, you get a little blasé about the how and the why of it. Too busy actually dealing with it to ponder about it. I guess that’s a luxury I’ll leave to you lab-rats.”

  Behind Freeman, stacked three shelves high, were various artificial body parts. All of which were surplus stock from the war effort. Decoys. During the end of the uprising they had used the synthetics’ technology against them and staged large civilian retreats using decoy bots. Unlike synths the bots only had a single processing unit and couldn’t think outside its pre-programmed operating window. They were robots only by primitive definition. They could behave and act like both humans and synthetics, but were no more advanced than the software written and stored within them.

  “I can’t believe I fell for it. All of those years ago. And today of course. Such a strange thing to see that moment in my life again as an outsider.” Freeman lowered his head as his mind drifted.

  “Do you wish it could be different?” the General asked.

  Freeman smiled. “Every day. Every damned day.”

  The intercom buzzed. “General Daniels. There’s a call for you. She says its urgent. She won’t leave her name.”

  Daniels trotted to the nearest line and patched the call through. “Daniels here. How can I help?”

  Freeman watched with curiosity as the General’s face became worried and then visibly paler. He placed his hand over the receiver and spoke directly to the old man.