No longer able to control her ability to ghost through objects, Brynja had opted to wear one of my remodeled smart-fiber suits. The flexible alloy allowed for a full range of motion, but solidified on impact like an airbag in an old gas-powered car: when a projectile made contact with the suit’s fabric it hardened, causing even the highest caliber bullet to bounce harmlessly to the ground.
London – my shiny new swarm robotics suit – was with my team of engineers, being prepared for the next phase of the plan (assuming I’d survive long enough to put it into place). Either way I needed protection. For the mission I’d chosen to wear the navy blue smart fiber suit that had protected me throughout the occupation in Northern Alberta, and it was still in perfect working order, if a little scuffed and battle-scarred around the edges.
Peyton and Gavin opted for the suits as well; Peyton had worn hers in Alberta and was relatively confident, all things considered – though Gavin seemed more skeptical about his suit’s effectiveness.
“So bullets are one thing,” Gavin asked, adjusting the chunky metallic gauntlets that fit over the charcoal-colored bodysuit. “but what about the giant that attacked South Africa? This is some sick looking armor, Mox, but I don’t know if it’ll hold up to something really gnarly...like a stomp from a fifty-foot monster.”
“We’ll be in a confined area,” I explained. “Darmaki will send in someone with more finesse to defuse the situation. And the goal won’t be to hurt me.”
“Right,” he said, snorting out a laugh. “Whoever he sends might not hurt you. What about the rest of us?”
“Don’t sweat it,” McGarrity replied, draping an arm over Gavin’s shoulder. “I’ll have your back. Remember, I have experience with this shit. I single-handedly won the second Arena Mode tournament.”
Brynja cocked her head, hands on her hips. “Really? I think your definition of ‘single-handedly’ might differ a little from mine.”
McGarrity rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m just saying, I know what I’m doing out there. And I’m bringing some serious firepower with me. If anyone gets in my way it’ll be slice and dice.”
He mimed the motion of swinging a broadsword with both hands, adding his own lightsaber-like sound effects with each stroke. Of course when he generated his sword it was completely silent, but that didn’t stop him from embellishing.
“We’re not here to kill anyone,” Peyton sternly reminded him. “We just need Darmaki’s superhuman to think we’re going to capture and torture him...right?” She looked at me expectantly.
“Right,” I said quickly, trying to convey as much confidence as possible. “And don’t worry about who might come after us...I have this entire situation under control.”
I didn’t. I had no idea what kind of a nightmare I was getting us into.
A cold bead of sweat rolled from my hairline, streaking down my temple. At a poker table I could out-bluff the best in the world, but in real life situations I was a terrible liar. I dragged my palm across my forehead as inconspicuously as possible, just as Brynja caught my gaze. Her eyes narrowed, blue-painted lips pressed into a tight line. Did she notice me fidgeting? Possibly, but I felt like it was more than that. She was reading my mind. Burrowing through my darkest thoughts – all of the potential pitfalls and grimmest predictions I had about this mission. The things I’d never dare speak aloud.
Or she suddenly realized that I was simply full of crap (which was equally true, more often than I cared to admit).
Brynja turned and glanced out the window towards the floating city that was rapidly approaching. “Well I’m glad you have everything figured out, ‘chief’. Because if you don’t, we’re all gonna be mashed into meat waffles.” She let out a frustrated sigh before gesturing to her back. “And this piece of junk had better work out there.” The long, narrow rifle she’d been assigned was latched to the magnetic strip on her armor’s spine. It was designed specifically for this mission, and could only be fired once before necessitating a lengthy reloading process (a process we didn’t have time for during combat). It had been tested several times by my team of engineers and in theory it would work, but being in the field is rarely the same as being in the safe confines of a controlled testing facility – there are just too many variables to account for.
A moment later Karin emerged from the cockpit and distributed the jellybeans. Brynja spread her palm and accepted it without turning around. She was still pissed about what I’d said in the conference room back in Fortress 18. I didn’t blame her. After all we’d been through together I didn’t have the right to overrule her – to brush off her suggestions without any consideration. But for a mind reader, she sure as hell didn’t know what I’d been going through. No one did. I wanted to tell everyone about my tumor and headaches, and about the voices that had been rattling around inside my head, but the time never seemed right. What was the right venue? When was the correct moment? How do you sit all your friends down in a room and tell them that all the money in the world can’t buy you any additional time? The moment would come, and eventually they’d all understand. My meds were controlling the pain, my contingency plan was on standby...everything had been taken into account. Eventually I’d tell them all the truth, but not now. They didn’t need this kind of stress, especially right before we landed.
We pressed the jellybeans into our ears and Karin returned to the cockpit, testing our audio. Solid connection, no lag. Satisfied with our communications, everyone leaned into the passenger bay walls at our pilot’s instruction. Long magnetic straps emerged, buckling us into place as we prepared for landing.
The five of us marched into St. Mark’s square, heavily armored and armed to the teeth. I’d figured that by late October, much of the summer crowd would have long returned home, giving us ample space to work with. I was partly right. While not overcrowded, the wide open courtyard that led to the basilica still bustled with activity, despite the fact that superhuman battles were breaking out globally. Tourists fed pigeons and snapped photos, wandered between the endless rows of stone columns while snacking on lemon gelatos, and generally carried on as though that sort of thing doesn’t happen in this part of the world. Even with the possibility of being pulverized during a superhuman fistfight, you’re simply not going to stop Europeans from cashing in on their vacation days – especially the elite who had money to burn. We drew a few curious glances, but no one seemed alarmed. In a city famous for its ornate masks, they might’ve thought we were simply decked out in elaborate costumes – or, that we were part of a more enhanced security force.
However, there was no shortage of ‘regular’ security in the square, and just a minute after our arrival a squat, olive-skinned police woman crossed our path, stopping dead after catching a glimpse of our faces (we’d intentionally left our helmets off so our faces would be recognizable). The officer yanked the com from her shoulder, shouted something in Italian, and scurried away in the opposite direction.
It was happening, right on schedule.
I turned towards my friends. “This is what we were waiting for,” I said, attempting to steady the tremble in my voice. “It should only be a couple minutes now. Everyone remember their places?”
Peyton pressed her lips against my cheek and smiled weakly. She nodded and led Gavin off to the far end of the courtyard, concealed behind rows of stone columns that flanked the square.
“Brynja...”
“I know.” She jammed her thumb towards the customized rifle on her back and replied with an exaggerated nod. “We went over this a hundred times. Point, pull the trigger...I’ve watched movies, I know how guns work. It’s not rocket science.”
“All right, all right,” I said cautiously, “just double-checking.”
“OhmygodIknow,” she huffed, each of her words spilling into the next. “This isn’t double-checking, this is zillion-checking. I get it.” She stomped away, taking her place at the opposite end of the square, leaving me alone with McGarrity.
“It’s just yo
u and me now, bro.” He began shadow boxing, throwing hooks and uppercuts as if he were warming up for a prizefight.
“Awesome.” I said flatly. “Just remember that you need to put on a show. Make it look like you’re trying to hurt them, but don’t go in for the kill. Whoever Darmaki sends after us, we need them alive, or the plan falls apart.”
It didn’t take long. A tense minute ticked by and a swarm of police poured in through the opening of the square; the wide-open piazzetta that led to the waterfront. The frightened officer had called for back-up, and the cavalry was now at her back. McGarrity and I held our ground as they rushed across the courtyard, guns drawn, shouting at us in a language that I barely understood. I’m pretty sure a burly, moustached man screamed ‘bastard’ but I couldn’t be sure. Language barriers aside, I knew exactly what they were asking us to do.
I dropped to my knees, lacing my fingers behind my head. McGarrity did the same. I gazed skyward, awaiting the swirling purple lights and flashbulbs to appear. Fat pigeons drifted by and a single cloud rolled lazily into my field of view. But there was no sign of the jet.
“Where the hell is he?” McGarrity whispered. “If the dude isn’t monitoring the simulcasts he won’t send anyone to save us.”
“He is,” I whispered back through gritted teeth. Darmaki had to be...he’d been far too meticulous in his planning up until this point. There was no way that he’d let me get taken into custody, throwing his entire plan into upheaval.
This could be embarrassing.
As the officers descended on us I felt the cold metal cuffs snap across my wrists, arms contorting behind me. I didn’t resist.
When the moustached officer attempted to detain McGarrity he sprang back to his feet, pushing the man away. “Back off, Super Mario. I’m an American – I have rights!” Grabbing fistfuls of each other’s shirts, McGarrity and the officer screamed at each other in different languages.
It was all falling apart. I no longer worried that we’d be locked up; now I was just hoping that I’d leave St. Mark’s Square without getting shot for resisting arrest thanks to McGarrity’s outburst.
Just as Mario had reached for his baton, the tell-tale flash of purple light we’d been waiting for crackled overhead, followed by the gasps and screams of fleeing tourists. I don’t know where the jet landed, or how it had manoeuvred between the impossibly cramped low-rise buildings, but somewhere it had dropped off our savior – the man who was here to keep us from government custody.
The shimmering bronze hulk stormed across the square, shattering stone tiles underfoot. Each step was thunder. His combination of weight and speed caused a wake of crumbled rock to spit from his heels like water behind a speedboat.
Shots rang out. Bullets pinged off of Dozer’s impenetrable skin as he charged, never breaking stride. For a man his size he moved with surprising speed, closing the distance in a matter of seconds.
A metallic fist slammed into Mario’s chest, sending him spiralling across the courtyard; the crack of his bones echoed like an oak tree snapping in a windstorm. Some of the police scattered, while others were tossed like human Frisbees, screaming as they sailed into the distance, their bodies suddenly rubber as they contorted around cylindrical stone columns.
Dozer reached down and snatched me by the wrist, yanking me to my feet with an effortless tug. He ripped off my handcuffs, tossing the crushed piece of metal aside, and latched his hand onto my forearm. There was no escape; it was like having my arm welded to a two-thousand pound statue. I looked up at this behemoth, only a few inches taller than me, but more than twice as wide.
“The boss has a message.” His voice was calm, and not nearly as intimidating as his appearance. “He wants me to keep you safe until the time is right. You’re coming with me.”
“And you’re going to Hell!” McGarrity’s battle cry rang out as his broadsword clanged against Dozer’s chest. A weapon made of pure light could penetrate nearly anything, but for whatever reason, apparently not this metallic skin. The reflective blast was blinding.
Dozer released his grip on my arm, feverishly rubbing the glare from his eyes.
I rolled to safety. “Now!” I shouted into my com.
Brynja’s shot was perfectly placed. The counterweights spun through the air, expanding the net around Dozer’s body. I don’t know how much training she’d gleaned from watching action movies, but whatever she’d seen, it had paid off.
He grabbed a handful of the mesh and stared at Steve and I, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re kidding me with this, right?” Grabbing two fistfuls of the netting, Dozer tore through his confinement like the steel ropes were made of tinfoil.
McGarrity attacked once again, hacking and slashing into the monster’s forearms. It generated an impressive light show but never even scuffed his armored form. Squinting and barely able to make out the figures in front of him, Dozer lashed out with a frantic backhand, slamming his opponent mid-chest. McGarrity bounced across the courtyard and rolled to a stop as he joined a battered police officer, clutching his ribs.
I heard a scream in Italian at my back – it was the officer who had first spotted us. She held a pistol with both hands, trembling with her finger poised over the trigger.
“Okay, okay,” I shouted, palms facing outward. I maintained eye contact and was careful not to make sudden movements, hoping she wouldn’t be startled into squeezing. My armor would withstand a round from her handgun without issue, but I wasn’t wearing a helmet.
Eyes like saucers, she angled the barrel of her quaking gun towards the ground and motioned for me to lay down in surrender. I nodded in agreement as a streak of pink hair whisked behind her. Peyton tackled the officer from her blind side, slamming her to the stone tiles. They rolled and struggled until Peyton caught the woman in the cheekbone with a right cross, slamming the back of her head into the tiles with dull thud.
Across the courtyard Gavin gamely intercepted Dozer, who was storming towards an injured McGarrity.
“Take him alive!” I shouted hoarsely, before Gavin pulled the trigger. The multicolored blast of particles erupted from the gun’s widened barrel, like a buckshot of confetti. It showered Dozer, coating his face and chest.
“Blurgh!” He let out a sour groan, dabbing his fingertips across his tongue (which, from the looks of it, was bronze as well). He glanced curiously at the particles and shook his head once again. “What the hell are you people trying to accomplish here?”
I heard a muffled voice echo from inside his head. Dozer was wearing an earpiece, not much different than ours. His metallic skin vibrated the sound like a low-quality speaker, making it audible to everyone around him.
“You can’t be taken into custody,” the frantic voice reminded him. “Forget Moxon. Get to the extraction point right now, Glendinning.”
Dozer stared at me for a moment, as if he were contemplating his orders. I held my breath and froze, locked in place. The bronze giant let out a growl before hammering his fist on the walkway, pulverizing the stone into dust. He turned and fled, disappearing between the narrow passageways through the city.
Peyton stepped away from the unconscious officer, throwing herself into my arms. Her face fell into my shoulder, pink locks draping over my back.
“I thought she was going to...”
“I know,” I reassured her, running my fingers though her hair. “You did the right thing.”
Brynja and Gavin approached with guns in-hand, and McGarrity stumbled up behind them, wincing in pain, nursing his likely-broken ribs.
Peyton stood upright and wiped a wayward tear with the back of her hand. “Did it work?” she sniffled.
Only one way to find out. I tapped my wrist-com, illuminating a bright blue map of the world, expanding several feet above us. The blast of smart dust that had showered Dozer like a midnight celebration on New Year’s Eve worked as micro tracers – even if you brushed yourself clean of every visible piece, the microscopic remains would give off a signal that could
be pinpointed by satellite. According to the blip on the screen Dozer was still in Venice, a kilometer from St. Mark’s square. A moment passed and the glowing icon disappeared from the map, reappearing in the United Arab Emirates. It was a remote location in the Liwa Desert – the ideal hiding spot. Any doubts about who had been setting me up disappeared.
“Is it the Darmaki dude?” McGarrity groaned, doubling over in pain.
“It’s him, I’m sure of it. And now we know exactly where he is.” I clicked off my holo-map and went to McGarrity’s side, draping his arm over my shoulder. Gavin grabbed his other arm, helping him hobble towards the transport.
“So what do we do now?” Brynja asked.
“The exact opposite of what he’s expecting,” I replied. “I’m going to knock on his front door.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Liwa Desert shimmered under a cloudless sky, stretching in every direction like waves of dented copper. My self-piloted transport touched down on a tarmac, swirling up a sandstorm beneath it. Once the dust settled and the engine had powered down the doors slid open, triggering a metal staircase to telescope into place. I stepped out onto the runway, squinting against the glare of the punishing midday sun.
Darmaki’s estate – the only visible landmark for hundreds of miles in any given direction – was a towering ivory monument. Floating in a sea of manmade waterways, the ornately designed palace was supported by a thousand pointed archways, stretching five stories into the sky.
The sprawling front courtyard was alive with the activity of a small army, all working diligently to maintain the property: merchants and deliverymen purposefully strode across narrow pathways toting food and supplies; women scrubbed marble floors and polished windows; and gardeners manicured shrubs and watered palm trees that lined the property. Far from the metal and concrete structures that gleamed in the distance, this self-sufficient compound bustled industriously, but unlike the cosmopolitan wonderland of Abu Dhabi, there were no technological conveniences to be seen. Not a single road led to or from the palace, and the only modes of transportation I spotted were camels, ambling through the hills of blustery sand.
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