Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  There is no moon out tonight. Gun avoids the light pools cast by the intermittent street lights, preferring to stay in darkness. He passes the occasional merc patrol, but the streets are otherwise deserted.

  The hole is located in the southeast corner of the compound, in the merc headquarters. No one stops Gun when he enters. No one questions the unusual array of weapons hanging from his belt.

  Access to the sublevels of the base does require use of a retinal scanner. Gun widens his eye, pausing to let the red beam scan him. His father will know who it was that freed Li Yuan. He doesn’t care.

  When the elevator door opens on sublevel three, he comes face-to-face with a smear of blood on the wall.

  Adrenaline spikes through him. His mind races. Is this a Global infiltration? Sabotage from within?

  Why hadn’t he brought a real gun? Tranq guns and shock batons? What had he been thinking?

  He drops into a crouch and pulls out a tranq gun, feeling like an idiot as he eases down the hall. Small puddles of blood dot the smooth concrete floor.

  At the first corner, he finds a body. It’s an Anderson merc, a man Gun recognizes as Todd Olson. He experiences a flash of regret for not knowing anything other than the man’s name. Going forward, he will make it a point to know more than names.

  Gun retrieves the weapon from the man’s belt. He continues down to the hall. More blood is smeared on the walls and floor.

  He’s almost reached the hold when he finds two more bodies, both of them dead and stripped of their weapons. They lie beside the open door of the hole.

  Gun stands still, listening beside the doorway. His mouth goes dry at the thought of Li Yuan lying dead inside.

  Everything is silent. Somewhere in the distance is the drip-drip-drip of a leaky pipe.

  And then he hears it. The softest whisper of a boot against the floor. Honing in on that sound, he whips around the doorway, weapon raised.

  Li Yuan crouches inside the door, smeared with blood and dirt, a gun in each hand. The room around her is a littered with four other bodies. One of those bodies belongs to his father. Li Yuan isn’t even breathing hard.

  No Global infiltration. No sabotage. Just one, superhuman woman taking on seven mercs by herself. And winning.

  Here he’d been worried for her safety. He need not have bothered.

  “Gun.” At the sight of him, Li Yuan sheaths her weapons. “You came.”

  He nods, feeling foolish. “Yeah. I was going to free you. Guess you didn’t need me.”

  “It’s the thought that counts.” Her gaze travels across the room to the unmoving body of William Anderson. “I didn’t kill him,” she says. “Though I can, if you want me to.”

  “No.” Gun shakes his head. However much he despises his father, he doesn’t want to see him dead.

  Li Yuan shrugs again. “I’m leaving now, Gun. It was nice to meet you.”

  As she steps past him, he says, “You could have left anytime. Why didn’t you?” He feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

  She pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. “I spent the last two decades under the thumb of Global Arms. I needed to know what life was like at Anderson Arms before moving my family here.”

  His chest contracts.

  A test. This had all been a test.

  “You know I can keep her safe, don’t you? All of you.” His voice comes out as a croak. He aches at the thought of Sulan going somewhere else.

  Her voice is gentle when she answers. “I don’t doubt your sincerity, Gun, but your father is a sadistic lunatic.”

  He nods, throat tight. “I know.”

  “That being said, I can see life here isn’t bad. Anderson is good to his people. It’s other people he throws to the wolves.”

  Gun nods again.

  “I can’t say the same for Global.” Her face hardens. “No one is safe from the Winns, most especially their own people.” She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll be seeing you, William Gunther Anderson, Junior.”

  And with that, she turns and disappears out the door.

  23

  Test

  The only sound it the tap-tap-tap on his father’s index finger on the desk. Anderson is bruised and bandaged from Li Yuan’s take down. Gun stands before him, awaiting whatever sentence Anderson has drummed up for him.

  What will it be this time? Sensory deprivation room? Make him walk barefoot on a deserted stretch of road for hours on end? There’s no telling how creative his father will get.

  “Li Yuan Hom is gone. But you already knew that.” Anderson stops tapping, leaning back to lace his fingers over his stomach.

  Gun shrugs. No use trying to deny it. He’d called in a medical unit to retrieve Anderson from the hole, but didn’t accompany him to the hospital. Rather, he stayed down in the hole to supervise the cleanup. Five of the seven mercs were dead. The remaining two were severely wounded, but would recover.

  “Li Yuan is loyal,” Anderson says. “Steadfast. She will be a good operative when she joins us.”

  Gun blinks. “What?”

  “She will be a good operative when she joins us. I’d heard she was one of the best. I needed to see if she lived up to her reputation. I have to admit, she stayed in the suite for so long I started to doubt her. I was looking forward to seeing how she held up under a little torture.”

  Gun stares, incredulous. “You mean, this was all a test?”

  “Everything is a test, son. Haven’t you learned anything from me?”

  “What makes you think she’ll ever come back here after the way you treated her?”

  “Please.” Anderson waves a dismissive hand. “This is the best place for her family and she knows it. Why do you think she tolerated my treatment of her? She wanted to snoop around and see what life here was like. I gave her a glimpse. Within reason.”

  His father knew all along Li Yuan was testing the waters. How had Gun been so blind? For some reason, this makes him angry.

  “I can think of half a dozen corporations who would welcome the Homs,” he says.

  “That’s your fear talking, son. You’re worried your girl is going to end up somewhere else. Don’t worry. Li Yuan will bring her here.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  Anderson smiles. “I am indeed. How else do you think I’ve survived so long in this world? I was made for crazy.”

  Gun stares at his father, unable to respond.

  Anderson is more than happy to fill the silence. “You showed you care for our people. You could have taken live weapons into the hole to free Li Yuan. You didn’t.”

  “Five men died down in the hole!”

  Anderson’s nostrils flares. “Those men were all exposed to high levels of radiation on a recent mission. Their time on this earth was limited, and they all knew it. Death by an esteemed mercenary is preferable to wasting away in a hospital bed.”

  “So they were prepared for Li Yuan’s attack? They knew she would try to kill them?”

  Anderson’s silence is his answer.

  Gun shakes his head. “You took away their freedom of choice.”

  “I gave them quick, honorable deaths. There isn’t a man among them who would have preferred to die in a hospital bed. Just ask the two survivors.”

  “If you’re trying to convince me you did a good thing, it’s not working.”

  Anderson sighs. “Judge me all you want, son. Someday, you’ll stand in my shoes. These will be your choices to make. I can only hope you will make wise ones.”

  Gun leaves his father then, turning over everything he’s learned. One thing is for certain: no more blindly following his father’s orders. No more trying to conform to his father’s warped worldview. From this day forward, he will be his own person.

  “I will not let this crazy world define me,” he mutters. “From now on, I’ll define the world.”

  Whoever he turns out to be, he can only hope to be someone Sulan won’t be ashamed to call a friend.

  E
pilogue

  It takes almost three full days for the effects of the Dream Dust to wear off after the Vex battle with Claudine. Gun has ample time to wonder if he is indeed a person Sulan considers a friend anymore.

  He’d been worried about his father hurting Li Yuan and driving a wedge between him and Sulan. The bitter truth is that he never needed his father’s help. No one made him lie and deceive Sulan. He did that all on his own. The wedge that existed was his own making.

  “Any more vomiting?” Nate backs into the room, carrying a tray of food. He pauses inside the doorway, giving a loud sniff. “Yep. Still smells like vomit in here.”

  Gun chucks a pillow at him, purposely missing. “I haven’t puked since the day before yesterday.”

  “Just checking.” Nate sets the tray down on the bed and promptly snags a piece of buttered toast before plunking into the nearest chair. “Seriously, bro, how are you feeling?”

  Gun eyes the breakfast tray, but doesn’t take any of the food. He’s been sedentary for three days. The thought of shoveling food into his body does not sound appealing.

  “Dr. Fitz says I’ll be cleared for activity tomorrow,” he says. “At least I had some reading time.” He gestures to the stack of old Spider-Man comic books on his nightstand. Rereading them had been like visiting an old friend. “Hope you haven’t been too bored with your free time.”

  Nate shrugs, looking down at his shoes.

  “What’s up?” Gun asks him.

  “I called my sister.” Nate shrugs again, like it’s no big deal.

  Gun raises his eyebrows. “And? How did it go?”

  “She was mad at me for taking so long to return her calls.”

  “And?”

  “She told me to stop pouting like a two-year-old.” Nate fails at suppressing a self-conscious smile. “We just talked about stuff. She likes the new compound she’s living in, but misses her friends here.”

  “Think she’ll move back? She knows my father will take her back into our compound, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your mom? How is she?”

  “She wasn’t home when I called. But I left her a message. I . . . think I want her to call me back. Is that stupid?”

  “Dude, she’s your mom. No, it’s not stupid. The only stupid thing is you giving her the silent treatment all these months.”

  “Sort of like you never asking Sulan out? That was stupid too, bro.”

  Gun sighs, leaning back into his pillows, ignoring the constant ache he feels from Sulan’s absence. “We’re both idiots. Guess that’s why we’re friends.”

  “Guess so. Are you going to eat this?” Nate points to the oatmeal.

  Gun waves a hand. “Dig in. It’s all yours.”

  They banter after that, gossiping about everything and nothing. There’s a brightness in Nate’s eyes that Gun hasn’t seen in months. It’s nice to see his old friend back.

  Nate is working his way through Gun’s orange juice and second piece of toast when someone bangs on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Anderson barges in.

  “Nice to see your appetite is back,” he says, eyeing the empty food tray. Gun doesn’t bother telling him Nate was the one who ate everything. “Come, take a walk with me to the R&D building. Some fresh air will do you some good.”

  Gun immediately notices a gleam in his father’s eyes. Something is up. Whatever it is, he’s pleased. Immensely.

  “Dr. Fitz—” Nate begins.

  “Cleared me for light activity,” Gun interrupts. He’s dying to move around, even if that means taking a walk with his father. And he wants to know what has Anderson so smug. He throws on some loose workout clothes and leaves Nate with the remains of his breakfast.

  His legs are still unsteady from the Dream Dust. He had been hit with an ungodly amount of the stuff. Twice his legs threaten to buckle on the way to the R&D lab, but Gun balances himself with a covert hand on a wall or door. If his father notices, he doesn’t remark upon it.

  The research and development lab is located in the center of the compound, surrounded by much taller civilian apartments. Stationed outside are half a dozen mercs, each with a machine gun in hand. They nod, a chorus of “Hello, Mr. Anderson, hello, William,” rising from them.

  This time, Anderson isn’t the only one who greets each man by name. Gun joins him, making eye contact and saying hello to each merc. His time with Nate’s electronic flashcards have paid off. He ignores his father’s raised eyebrows and appraising look, stepping past the mercs to the double-doored entrance. Gun and Anderson submit themselves to the building’s external retinal scanners.

  “It’s not security if it’s not for everyone,” his father is fond of saying.

  The stainless steel doors slide open, granting them access to an air-conditioned, tiled antechamber. A pretty woman sits behind a large desk. At first glance, she looks like a secretary. Upon closer inspection, the bulge of a gun is evident beneath her dark green blazer. A handful of mercs fan out behind her, all of them guarding the elevators and corridors behind them.

  Gun and his father take an elevator to sublevel eleven, passing through two more security checkpoints. Gun knows what he’s going to see before the doors to the lab open. Maia told him what was happening on sublevel eleven, though this is the first time Gun has been invited to the Skeletex lab. Everything he knows about the Skeletex suit has been fed to him by his father via tablet video clips, and there hasn’t been much to see lately.

  For the past few weeks, no one has even mentioned Skeletex project. Everyone knows it hasn’t been progressing to plan. Anderson has been stewing over it with displeasure.

  Is this what put the gleam in Anderson’s eye today? Was there a breakthrough on the project?

  The research lab has twenty-foot ceilings and walls reinforced with stainless steel. Displayed in the center, attached by wires to at least a dozen computers, is Skeletex suit. Gun takes a moment to study it, now that he’s being allowed to see one up close.

  It’s a giant human exoskeleton designed to attach to a person at the back of all the major joints, with a pale round cap for a helmet. The suit is designed to give soldiers increased strength, agility, and reflexes. Instead of achieving only a few vertical feet with a jump, a soldier will reach heights up to ten feet. A punch or kick will be stronger and more lethal than one thrown by an opponent. The suit also increases reaction time.

  Or at least, these are the theories behind the suit. It’s has yet to be perfected.

  “Christakos!” Anderson booms, greeting the lead Skeletex researcher.

  The thin, dark-haired man straightens as they enter. His skin is pasty due to long hours spent indoors all day, every day. All the scientists have the same look.

  “I received word of your latest breakthrough,” Anderson says. “I’ve brought my son to see it since he was, after all, instrumental in its development.”

  Gun frowns. “Are you talking about the flexible nanobots?” That was months ago. He still gets a sick feeling in his stomach every time he thinks about Hardon.

  “The construction of the Skeletex suit would not have been possible without the nano compound you acquired,” Christakos says, “but the material did pose one unexpected issue. The polymer is so dense it acts as a natural dampener to the electronic field. We could not establish a consistent connection between the suit and a subject without a hard-wired port.” Christakos flinches a little when he says hard-wired, obviously embarrassed to admit he’s resorted to antiquated tech. “The best we achieved was an eighty-one percent connectivity rate. Not an acceptable rate for combat.”

  “That’s where you come in.” Anderson slaps Gun on the shoulder.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gun snaps, not liking that both men know something he doesn’t.

  “It was the Dream Dust attack on you,” Christakos says. “Everyone heard about it. It got me thinking. The programming for Dream Dust connects with the user on a neurological level. Your father retrieved your
avatar and had the Black Tech extracted for analysis.”

  “The tech team had a field day with the program,” Anderson says. “They used the base connectivity code for Dream Dust and created several variations for the Skeletex suit.”

  “And you’ve found something that works,” Gun says.

  “Exactly.” Christakos draws himself, as though trying to match his physical height to the height of his accomplishment. It doesn’t work.

  Gun at last understands why his father is so smug. He’s found a way to take Global’s Black Tech and turn it back on them. Not so different from the way Gun turned the Constrictor back on Claudine. Anderson would eat irony for breakfast every morning if he could.

  “Show us the program in action,” Anderson orders.

  Christakos turns to the nearest lab assistant and says, “Jake, please get test subject Four-Five-One.”

  Gun folds his hands behind his back, interlocking his fingers together so tightly the knuckles creak. He hates using live test subjects, even if they are all willing volunteers and well-compensated for their sacrifice. They’re given the best suits in the compound, a maid, and two custom meals delivered straight to their rooms every week. Some volunteers are from the Anderson compound, but most are gleaned from refugee camps. It’s amazing what the hungry and desperate will sign up for. Most of them die within a few years, though there are a few who have survived almost a decade.

  Test subject Four-Five-One is a stocky man in his mid-thirties. His face is seamed and wrinkled from long years spent living unprotected under the sun. Scars run across his cheeks and hands. There’s an odd angle to his left arm, as though it didn’t heal correctly after a break. Despite these signs of hard living, he smiles affably as he’s escorted into the room.

  “Four-Five-One.” Anderson nods in greeting.

  This is another thing Gun doesn’t like. All test subjects are required to give up their names and take a number.

  “Mr. Anderson.” Four-Five-One nods a return greeting. “I take it you heard about the breakthrough?”

  “Of course he has,” Christakos says. “He’s here to see it for himself.” He gestures impatiently to Four-Five-One. “Demonstrate for him, please.”