Warrior Chronicles 1: Warrior's Scar

by Shawn Jones

  Dar said, “There is no way. Especially with Kay here. In lightning is too dangerous. That is how her husband died. Why?”

  “There’s someone scouting the bunker. Wills, has anyone tried to open the door? Is the new barrier still up?”

  “Yes it is. All three barriers are intact.”

  “Okay, begin the lockdown procedure. Every seal gets the Formvar. Remember how I showed you to set the Claymores? Put one in front of every seal. There’s a bad storm here, but I will get there as soon as possible. If you start hearing the mines go off, lock yourself up in the transport chamber, got it?”

  “Okay. I will get started now. Please hurry.”

  “I told you, Doctor; you’re part of the family. I’m on my way.” Cort disconnected. “Dar, show me the storm front on a map.”

  It was all surreal to Dar. He was in the smallest of the family’s flights. Even so, it was over a thousand pounds. Cort was wearing his CONDOR suit and carrying the flight through the storm. Since the storm had slowed, it was only twenty miles to the southeast edge of the front. They had left Sköll at the compound with Clare and Kay. Cort put the flight on the ground when he reached a place where the rain had lessened and there was no lightning. Dar lifted off before Cort had closed his hatch.

  Once in flight, Dar said, “That was a pretty neat trick. So I know you are thinking about what is coming up, but I would like to talk to you about something.”

  “The kiss?”

  “Gods, no. Your trip to Mars is not going to be long enough for that discussion. It is about you getting synthetics.” Before Cort could interrupt him, he said, “Just hear me out. I know you do not want them, and I can understand some of your reasoning. But you are at a severe disadvantage right now. Only your suits protect you, and you cannot wear them all the time. Besides, you said your suits protect you against electrical weapons. So I doubt a disruptor would bother you as long as you had one of them on. Which you would have most of the time anyway if you did not have the nano-synthetics. I think you need to revisit the benefits though. You would heal very quickly. I am talking hours instead of weeks. Your immuno-defenses would be incredible. You would be able to process food more efficiently, and need less of it. Even water would have more benefits for you. You would live longer, and stay healthier longer. There have been studies about immigrants from non-allied countries who get them. They do not get the full benefit, but they get a lot of it.”

  “Dar, I appreciate your argument, but there are three problems with it. The synthetics would consume my Atlas interface. That would render my suits useless. They are too great an asset if there really isn’t anything like them in this time. Two, I won’t make myself susceptible to the disruptors. It’s just not going to happen. Finally, and most importantly, I like how I look. I don’t mean the scars and all, but in general. It’s my understanding synthetics are responsible for how uniform you all look. Don’t get me wrong, you are all beautiful. But you are all the same. If there were a way around those three things, I would consider it.”

  Dar was silent for a moment before saying, “I understand those points. Only the first two have merit though. Regarding the genetic changes, that took several generations, and could only happen in vitro, via the mother’s synthetics. And they didn’t disperse all recessive traits. Only those from the father. The effect was the same, but for the purpose of this discussion, the distinction is important. The mother’s synthetics didn’t attack her own recessive genes because they were hers. The father’s were not. And when the baby gets its own dose of synthetics, the mother’s synthetics are consumed and the child’s take over. So it took several generations for the elimination of the recessive traits. And modern synthetics do not affect genetic markers anyway. We recognized that problem too late, but we did resolve it. I don’t have an answer about your first two points, but we can work with a great geneticist and maybe she can come up with solutions. It is worth talking to her anyway.”

  “No. We don’t need anyone else knowing about me. Even Thoms was willing to die before recognizing whatever scientific benefits working with me might offer. So we’re keeping the loop at four of you for the foreseeable future.” Cort said.

  “We do not have to increase the ‘loop’ size. I am thinking of Kay.”

  “What? Kay is a geneticist?” Cort asked.

  “Yes. In fact, nearly all of your descendents are scientists of some sort. The trust was set up with two parameters to benefit the family. If you serve the military or government, you get a salary from the trust. And if you go to university, the trust loans you the money, interest free. If you complete a doctorate, you do not have to pay the money back. Consequently, you have a lot of highly educated descendents.”

  “And here I don’t even have a degree. Imagine that.” Cort said.

  Dar continued, “Regarding Kay, before her husband’s death, she was a preeminent geneticist. The scientist you prevented from killing Clare and Wills was one of her protégés.” He specifically phrased it so that Cort would know Dar appreciated his actions. “Until her husband died, Kay had been working on a new type of synthetic. I do not know how that would relate to your requirements though. You would have to talk to Kay about it. Which brings the conversation full circle. I would like you to talk to someone who is an expert in synthetics. Maybe there is a solution to be found.”

  “Perhaps. I will talk to her. But no promises. I’m not compromising my combat effectiveness for any reason. By the way, how many descendents do I actually have? It can’t be just the three of you and Clare’s brother.”

  “You have something like two thousand adult descendents here on Earth. Of which two-thirds are doctors of some form or another. Very few are associated with the trust though. There are a small number who have forgone any trust-related benefits for personal reasons. A few dozen work in government including three of Kay’s siblings, and a hundred or so who are military. Clare has twenty-nine cousins on Mars as well, plus their immediate families. Including relatives by marriage, there are twenty-three on Mars that are in the military. I will make sure you have their contact information in case the need arises.”

  New Mexico

  “Damn the gods! How many this time?” Mike Rhees asked the man in front of him.

  “Two more killed, two out of commission for at least three hours. We think they have sensors and knew we were coming.”

  Rhees was a fortune hunter. When things from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries started showing up in museums and auctions, he started investigating. What he found intrigued him. Clearly the Addison trust had found something big. He researched public records and decided this was the only place they could have found it. That they pulled out of the UNA annexation deal at the last minute was further proof. Calling his team together, they studied the old historical documents and planned their assault. But they hadn’t planned on this. Usually it was a few disruptor bursts and they loaded up the loot and left. The Asians paid a lot for this stuff. If only a fraction of this old blast bunker was full of the kind of things Dr. Wills had presented, Mike and his guys would retire to Hawaii.

  “Obviously they knew we were here, and they took the time to prepare for us. Which is odd. Wills has never worked a secure site before. How would he have known what to do? And this stuff is illegal. He is not the type to skirt the law, much less break it. No, he has got help. Arm everyone with prowlers. If he has a military guard down there, I want to be able to take them down quickly. And suit up. Four dead is enough.”

  --

  Whoever they were, they were only coming down one tunnel. Wills considered opening one of the others up and escaping, but he knew that Cort gave him these instructions for a reason. The warrior had never questioned Wills’ expertise, and Will’s wasn’t going to question Cort’s. But there were only three more Claymores and four more barriers in the tunnel. The first blast had happened almost two hours ago. Since then there had been four. Wills didn’t hear them. He only felt them through the bottom of the transp
ort chamber. Another low rumble indicated that another Claymore had detonated. That tunnel will not be stable now. We will have to close it off after this. He was surprised that he didn’t doubt there would be an ‘after this’. I really do have that much faith in him.

  --

  “Set me down behind that hill.” Cort pointed to a smooth lump in the farmland leading to the tunnel entrance. “Do not come in unless you get an ‘all clear’ from me, got it?” Dar nodded as the flight touched the ground. “And don’t call for help. If this goes bad, just leave.”

  There was a black flight about thirty meters from the tunnel entrance. It appeared to have taken some damage from a Claymore. There were also four bodybags near the flight. Two men were carrying another toward it. There were three men at a table outside the tunnel. Two on one side, one on the other. Probably the leader. Two more in the tunnel entrance, and more were probably working on the barriers. He only needed one of them alive. Two would be nice, but only one was required.

  Shouldering the MAT, he selected ballistic rounds first. Squeezing the trigger with the two men carrying the body bag in line with his sights, both of their heads exploded at once. He flipped the selector to fire from the other side of the clip. He waited for the round to change out and squeezed the trigger again. This time the flight exploded. A piece of it hit two of the men at the table, including the apparent leader, knocking them both to the ground. One struggled from under the debris, but the other didn’t move. The third man turned and stumbled as he tried to regain his bearings. Then all the still-mobile men outside the tunnel ran inside.

  Cort stood and began walking toward the tunnel. He stepped on the head of the injured man near the broken table. The wet crack then squishing sound was a new one to him, but he recognized it for what it was; the end of another enemy. The suit’s aural sensors picked up another Claymore detonation. There were no screams though. Just what he supposed was the modern equivalent of cursing. Orders were being shouted as Cort’s suit appeared in the tunnel entrance.

  “What in the gods’ hell is that?” one man asked.

  Cort’s voice boomed down the tunnel. “That is correct. You are now in a hell of my making. I see that there are four of you left. You are all trespassing. You have this one opportunity to leave. Put down your weapons and you can walk away after answering my questions.”

  “Prowlers, boys!” one of the men shouted. Then they fired.

  Cort’s suit bled off the excess electricity into the air like a Tesla coil, lighting up the tunnel.

  A man in the back saw the electrified demon continue towards them and dropped his weapons. One of the others shot him. Cort fired into the shooter, leaving a hole the size of an armored fist in his chest. He looked down at the wound, then back up at Cort. Then he fell backward. Cort put the MAT back in its holster and pulled out a disruptor.

  “Which of you dies, and which of you lives? I only need one of you.” Both men lowered their weapons. After securing them to the tunnel wall, Cort sounded the ‘all clear’.

  --

  Cort, Dar, Wills sat around the table in the living area. After neutralizing the synthetics in all the men, Cort butchered the bodies and stored the meat for Sköll and the pigs. While he was doing that, Dar and Wills had begun the cleanup of the tunnel and around its entrance. Using his powered suit, Cort then moved the flight and its debris into the tunnel entrance.

  “So they were mercenary archaeologists.” Cort said. Holding up his hand to stop the men from responding for a moment he said, “Sorry, the ladies and Sköll are here. Continue.”

  “Yes.” Dar was impassive as he answered, but Wills was clearly disturbed by the semi-cannibalistic way Cort was disposing of the bodies. Especially the two had said he would let live. He did not in fact do so. “The one whose chest you perforated was Mike Rhees. He has been wanted for years, as have some of the others. Unfortunately, none of us could have collected the bounty for their deaths without exposing this facility. So while I do not want real bacon anytime soon, at least not from those pigs, I think your solution was the best option we had.”

  “So what do we do next?” Wills asked. He was still a little green around the gills. Even more so because of his olive brown skin tone.

  “We’ll have to seal off that tunnel. They destroyed the doors and while the tunnel integrity is fine, there’s no way to repair them right now. So after clearing out all traces of the battle, I will fill it in with dirt and rock. In the mean time, you two open the South tunnel. Once that’s done, we will all work on the crates for a while, removing all military and personal items. We’ll get a security team in here for you then, Doctor. After that, Dar and I will head to the Memorial Sea.”

  Kay and Clare came through the tunnel right behind Sköll. “It looks like a war zone out there.” Kay said.

  “Pretty close. Did you have trouble getting around the debris?” Cort asked.

  Kay shrugged. “No, but we worked up an appetite. Will you teach me how to fry bacon?”

  Cort couldn’t control his laughter as Dr. Wills leaned over and lost his dinner.

  The Memorial Sea

  The great inland sea known as The Memorial Sea presented Cort with a problem. During the day it was frequented by everyone from fisherman to recreational boaters and divers. At night, its dark waters were almost black and would be difficult to navigate in. Dar suggested a personal sub, but Cort nixed the idea because if the medallion he was looking for was under the muck at the bottom, he wouldn’t be able to reach it while inside another vehicle. There was also the matter of air. He would probably need more than the air provided by a SCUBA/rebreather system. Dr. Wills had suggested filing for an archaeology dive. But with the fame Wills had attained through ‘his’ find, it was unlikely he would be able to file for the dive without drawing attention to their party, which was something they could not risk.

  Ultimately, Clare suggested the solution. Dar would drop Cort in the CONDOR suit at the coordinates Cort had memorized. When Cort found the medallion or gave up the search, he would fire a dive marker that would rise to the surface and begin transmitting an encrypted signal. Attached to the marker would be a strand of molewire that connected the marker to Cort. Molecular wire, or ‘molewire’ was a high strength cord developed by biologists and engineers that mimicked aciniform spider silk. Dar would then grab the marker and haul Cort up via the molewire. The family trust owned a plant that made the wire, so acquiring the product wasn’t a problem, even though the type they wanted was sold exclusively to security and military users.

  Once dropped, the CONDOR sank. Fast. So fast that Cort considered deploying the marker immediately, in case the suit became mired in the muck beneath. He was about to pull the cord to do so when the sea bottom appeared. Or rather, the roof of a structure on the sea bottom appeared. The CONDOR slid down the small corrugated plastic roof into the weed beneath it. The impact with the structure caused it to fold over. Once he gained his bearings, he began the 2.6 kilometer underwater hike to the Kaw City cemetery. Had he not been underwater, the trip would have taken minutes. As it was, he arrived on the hill of the cemetery two and a half hours later. While the sea bottom was reasonably navigable, he had to contend with an aggressive gar, several water snakes, and curious fish. None were a threat to him, but they did slow him down even more.

  It was ironic to Cort that in the early 1970s, the Army Corps of Engineers had moved the cemetery to this hill when they created Kaw Lake. Now the graves were just as inaccessible as if they had been left in their original location. Most of the markers were down. some burial vaults were visible, and even a skeleton was poking out nearby. Cort found the area of the cemetery he was looking for, and began scanning for a signal. Though the signal was weak, his scanner picked it up. What the hell is that thing? It’s been sending out that signal for over three hundred and fifteen years, that I know of. I can’t believe I’m robbing a grave. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m going to break into it again.

  He followed the signa
l to its source, a half-sized coffin that held the remains of an older brother he had never known. The coffin was partially exposed, its vault broken long ago, probably in the collapse, and when Cort pulled the handle at the exposed end, only half of the casket pulled free. Fuck. The signal got stronger though. His suit lights showed one tiny hand that had belonged to his infant sibling. Cort had to fight the bile in his stomach as he reached in and pulled the remains out far enough that he could remove the lead locket from the child’s bony grasp. After putting it in the small Faraday Cage Wills had made for him, Cort tried to repair the grave. I’m sorry, Nathan. But I had to make sure no one ever would find it. You can rest now, brother. Cort did his best to put everything back in place and covered the grave with several other markers that were strewn about.

  Cort spent five more minutes in the cemetery, ‘visiting’ his parents’ and grandfather’s graves. At the latter, he gave as sharp a salute as he could manage underwater. Reed Addison had been a veteran of World War I, serving in The Balloon Corps where, as he put it, he “went up in a balloon and made reconnaissance signals until the Krauts shot enough holes in the balloon that it started to drop back down to the ground”. After the salute, Cort began the journey back to Washunga. He wasn’t willing to risk someone else disturbing the site where so many of his family were buried, so he had deliberately misled even those he trusted most to protect the last secret from his old life.