by Bill Denise
Quickly assessing the situation, he ran parallel to the building and jumped, putting his foot on a window sill and using it to push himself higher. He landed on an old fire escape, and continued his run at the aircraft. When he reached the end of the fire escape he jumped again, hoping he could make the distance. While he was in the air, gas spewed out of the muzzles and dropped quickly toward the ground. Holding his breath, Damon reached out with both hands, dropping one of his batons.
He landed squarely on the back of the craft, and was able to hold on despite the jarring impact. The vehicle dropped altitude quickly under his weight before stabilizing and leveling out. He smashed at the nozzles until the gas stopped flowing. The craft dropped again, and Damon realized it intended to fly him into the cloud. He took a deep breath and jumped down.
The gas was nearby, settling and flowing outward quickly, so he ran from it. As far as he could tell, all of the gang members were now down and out. He had not caught another glimpse of Melanie, which he regretted. He really wanted to introduce his fist to her teeth. Ah well, maybe another day!
**** ****
“What the . . . !” the controller was fighting violently with the controls, and the captain had to come over to see what she was doing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, unable to tell for himself what was giving her so much trouble. Her screen looked devoid of targets, but it convulsed drunkenly.
“He jumped on me—it. He jumped on it!”
“Why did you get so close? It’s not necess—”
“I didn’t,” she snapped, “uh, sorry, sir,” she finished contritely. “He practically flew to get there, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What’s the ETA on those units?” he yelled to any other controller that would answer.
“Gear-down right now, sir,” one of the others answered.
“Good,” and the captain turned his attention back to the screen, which now showed Damon running away from the cloud. “Don’t lose him, he’s our big, fat BONUS!”
**** ****
Damon stopped short as two large aircraft settled at the end of alleyway, completely blocking his path. The only other way out was back through the cloud. He looked at the building to either side but found no help there.
“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE,” a strangely electronic-sounding voice said.
At least six armed and armored figures exited from each craft. He recognized them as SecForce, the paramilitary policemen from the City. His mind raced and he tried to figure out his next move. The sleek, black armored figures formed into a loose semi-circle blocking his escape. Their faces were completely covered by visored helmets, and no skin at all showed from underneath their uniforms.
Feeling cornered and still on an adrenaline rush from the intense combat, he made a snap decision. As Andrea had told him many times before, snap decisions are almost always bad!
“We’re not going to . . .”
Damon didn’t wait for him to finish, but charged as fast as he could. One of the men leveled a small but nasty looking weapon and Damon prepared for the worst. Two small projectiles came out and cut into Damon’s skin through the plastic armor. Wires trailed back to the gun and suddenly Damon was overwhelmed with electrical shock.
His muscles were convulsing and did not want to respond to his demands but he strained against the pain and forced his hands to move. With one hand he grabbed the projectiles and pulled them out. Now free from the electric shock he quickly wound his hands in the wires and yanked the gun from the man’s hand. Swinging it over his head in a wide arc, he whipped it all the way around and back at the shooter. The wires stretched as he swung and when they hit they wrapped themselves tightly around the soldier’s neck like a bola. He went down clawing at the wires and making panicked noises.
The others started yelling and threatening Damon, but he didn’t listen. He kept running toward the smaller group, intent on breaking through their line and escaping. These were trained soldiers, unfortunately, and they moved shoulder to shoulder to block his path. He hit the line of four men hard, and they all went down together in a tangle of bodies.
Damon fought frantically, trying to keep them off balance so he could extricate himself and escape, but they were too well armored and too well trained. He knocked two out before they were able to subdue him and zip-tie his hands behind his back.
One of them walked up to the group of men as they each stood, trying to regain their composure. He spoke, apparently into a radio “Sir, we’ve got him. I think you’re right, he took out three of us with his bare hands.”
The figure then spoke to the men holding him, “Put him in the 'craft, and let’s get out of here.”
**** ****
Andrea looked down on the alleyway as the cloud dissipated. She marveled at the number of bodies strewn throughout the area and tried to recreate what happened. She could tell some of the bodies were simply knocked out by the gas, but she could also see that many—so many!— had been taken down violently. Damon, where are you? She checked the scanner again and realized the signal was actually a little further ahead. She looked over the group one more time, but did not see Melanie. Too bad, I was planning to bring her back home as a trophy.
“He’s farther up,” she said to her group of fighters, twenty-strong.
Various comments greeted the scene below, all expressing awe-filled respect for what the Demon had done. The high-pitched whine of aircraft taking off surprised them, and after a moment’s hesitation, they all began running toward the sound.
Two sleek SecForce aircraft lifted into the dark sky and turned to zip toward the City.
“Andrea, do they 'ave him?”
She looked down at the tracker and saw the indicator moving away quickly. Her heart sank and she was not sure she could speak. “Yes,” she whispered. Then louder, “They’ve got him.” With a lump in her throat she watched the lights of the aircraft disappear into the distance.
**** ****
Damon sat in his cell for the third straight day and wondered if they were going to leave him here forever. Maybe this is the torture, death by boredom!
With nothing else to do, he ran through the events of the last couple weeks yet again. He cursed himself for ever rescuing Melanie, and then again for bringing her home. He realized now the importance of the training he had neglected. Mercy. If only I had listened to that lecture. If only I could have swung that bar and killed her right there. Or even if I’d only knocked her out and let the traps and guards take care of her.
So far, the SecForce people had been cordial, though quiet. Damon imagined they might be little rougher had he actually hurt any of them. Luckily, the men he took down were fine, with only bruises and soreness. Idly, he thought that he’d love to get his hands on a set of their armor. It seemed light and flexible, and he knew from first-hand experience that it was effective. He daydreamed of escaping with a couple sets of that armor and bringing it back to Andrea.
Oh Andrea, I hope you can forgive me. The kiss was encouraging. He smiled at the thought.
Today, they brought Damon out and led him to another room. His hands were shaking; he’d heard many stories about the horrible things SecForce did to their prisoners. He flinched as a set of heavy double doors groaned open and he was pushed into the room.
His eyes darted from side to side as he searched for an escape, but the room was mostly empty. It contained only a couch and some comfortable-looking chairs gathered around a coffee table. He didn’t see any of the torture devices rumored to be used by SecForce, although they could be somewhere else. Despite his fears, he felt surprisingly safe. This place looked a lot like the common rooms at 4C.
After a few minutes alone, the door opened and a uniformed man and woman walked in.
“Hello, son, I’m Captain Remmen and this,” he gestured toward the woman, “is Colonel Tashus. He held out his hand for Damon to shake.
Damon hesitated before reaching out to shake the man’s hand and then the woman’s.
“Captain, Colonel,” he addressed them politely. Do they know why I’m here? Are they in the wrong room? Am I in the wrong room?
Damon stood more than head taller than both of them, and neither one had the look or carriage of a fighter. They didn’t appear the least bit intimidated or scared, which made Damon nervous. He actually felt better when two armed and armored guards took positions just inside the door.
“Sit, please, Mr. . . .” the man waited for a name from Damon.
“Demon. Well, not Mr. Demon, just Demon.”
“Hmm, really? Surely that’s a nickname? You must have a real name, no?”
“Well, my real name’s Damon, but no one calls me that,” No one but Andrea.
“Damon, good. And a last name?”
“A what?”
“All right, where are you from, Damon?”
“I’d prefer you call me Demon.”
“Of course. Where you from, Demon?”
“The Ruins.”
“Of course. I meant a little more specifically, where do you live within the Ruins?”
“With my Family.”
Captain Remmen sighed, glanced over at the colonel, who had not moved since sitting down, and then continued, “Demon. Don’t be difficult. We need to know where you’re from so we can get you back home.”
Damon grunted, and then said, “Right. Why don’t you just drop me where you found me?”
The captain never missed a beat, “We need to contact next of kin to come pick you up and sign the paperwork.”
“Not buying it, I’m old enough to sign for myself.”
The captain paused and looked thoughtful. “Demon, we’re trying to help you. Why were you taking on that whole gang by yourself? Why was there a group of twenty other people rapidly approaching your position, moving across the rooftops?” He paused, waiting for Damon’s answer. “Maybe you didn’t know, but there were more than seventy members from the gang you were fighting. We gassed them and took them down temporarily, but we did not detain any of them. They are still free to pursue their original plans.” He waited again to see if Damon would understand the implications of his statements.
“We scared off your friends, and the SecForce soldiers stayed in the area long enough to ensure the other gang members were not eliminated while they were incapacitated. Even though you left only fifty-some members still able to fight, how do you like the odds?”
Damon didn’t like the odds at all. He knew that the Family had average fighters, other than Andrea, but he wasn’t sure they could take on a group that size. He also knew that the Family was sorely lacking in weapons. For these reasons they had adopted the defensive and secretive approach to security in the first place.
After a long silence, the colonel spoke for the first time.
“Damon,” she said, her voice held an air of command that reminded him of Andrea.
“Demon,” Damon corrected.
She inhaled deeply, and then continued, “Demon, we have you on camera killing at least six people, and attempting to kill many more. You also assaulted four SecForce officers, one with the intent to kill.” She paused, studying his face. “Do you know what penalty these crimes carry?”
Damon looked her in the eye without wavering, “I have no idea, please tell me,” he replied coolly.
The colonel’s annoyance was starting to show as she said “Murder and attempted murder carry sentences of at least ten years. Assault on a soldier with the intent to kill carries a minimum twenty years. Depending on the judge, you could be going away for a long, long time.”
Damon looked down as she made her pronouncement, his bravado severely shaken. He had practiced this situation in training, but it felt much different when facing real consequences. He tried to imagine so many years behind bars, but he couldn’t. For the first time tonight he felt real fear.
He looked up and tried to keep his voice steady. “What are you offering?”
Colonel Tashus sat forward, suddenly animated and excited. “You may actually like this, Da—Demon. We need someone of your skill and training for a special program we’re starting up. In return for your cooperation, we will send SecForce out to protect your family from rival gangs in the area.”
“Will I be free to go after I’m done with your program?” he asked.
She glanced quickly at Captain Remmen before continuing, “Unfortunately no. You will have to stay with the program for many years to come. Fact is, you will not be able to go back home.” After a short pause she added, “However, your personal sacrifice will ensure their safety. You will be secure in the knowledge that you did everything you could possibly do to protect them.”
Damon put his head in hands and rested his elbows on his knees. Once again, his thoughts were reeling, and he looked to Andrea’s training for help. For the first time in his life, nothing came to mind. The void in his thoughts where he usually found Andrea’s voice left him feeling abandoned.
“Tell me more about the program,” he said, his voice muffled.
Colonel Tashus was obviously in her element as she described the plans for the Human Implanted Augmentation program. She told him about D-SAP armor, how his skeleton would be strengthened, and how weapons would be implanted directly into his body. She described how he would be stronger, faster, and nearly indestructible.
She talked only briefly and in vague terms about the missions he would execute, but she emphasized how it would be for the good of the Consensus.
“The what?” Damon asked, interrupting.
“The Consensus,” she looked at him quizzically.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She was surprised that she had to explain to him about the Consensus, and she was clearly shocked when she realized Damon had no idea there were other planets besides his own.
The more she learned about his ignorance, the more she realized that he was the perfect candidate, and her excitement grew with every passing minute.
**** ****
At home on Havyn, where legend said Kyndra herself settled, Renard looked out the window of his office at the vista before him that never got boring. Even after more than forty years in this office, he never tired of the view. Calling it a window was truly a misnomer, the entire twenty-foot high wall was transparent, and it looked out over one of the largest waterfalls in the Consensus.
Meltwater from the mountains in the background plunged thousands of feet over the edge of a gigantic caldera, forming ever-changing streams all around the rim and collecting in a large lake. The downslope half of the caldera had fallen away eons ago, sending the water tumbling down the steep slopes of the mountainous foothills in an angry river that rolled to the forests miles away and thousands of feet below.
Calling this room an office was also misleading. It was housed in a simple tower soaring one hundred fifty stories out of the center of the caldera lake, but still dwarfed by the rim above. The room was actually a series of offices, meeting areas, and living quarters that took up the entire top of the building. All of the external walls and ceiling could be made transparent, giving magnificent views of the waterfall to one side, and the vast panorama of the foothills and rain forests as far as the eye could see to the other side. The building was accessible solely by water, and numerous docks spread out from its base looking like a grass skirt floating on the water.
More than an office building as well, Renard had spent his whole life here. He grew up sailing on the waters of the lake, hiking through the mountains, and rafting down the wild river. The building was known throughout the Consensus as “The Spire,” while he simply called it “Home.” His childhood rooms were near the top of the building, and much of his education took place on the lower floors. Looking back, he might say that the greatest education took place right here, in this office, with his great uncle Izar Trueblood, head of the Council before Renard. From an early age, Izar recognized that Renard had the right combination of skills, intelligence, and drive to become his heir. He beg
an grooming Renard as a boy, and included him in many of his private meetings and strategy sessions.
Renard turned from the view and looked across the room to a picture of his uncle Izar hanging in a place of honor among all of the previous Trueblood leaders.
“What would you do, uncle?” he said out loud to the empty room. “If I ever needed your help, it is now.” He waited for a moment, and sighed. He missed his uncle acutely even after all these years. He missed his wise counsel and he missed his engaging personality.
His reverie was broken by the entry of Jeffrey. “Good morning,” he said as he entered the room from the secure elevator running through the core of the building. He knew Renard well, and immediately sensed his melancholy. “What’s the matter?” he asked simply, sitting down in a nearby chair.
“What do you know about this Human Augmented—whatever it’s called—program?”
Jeffrey looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, there are many ways to answer that question. I don’t think you’re asking about the operational capacity of the subject, nor do you want to know about the costs for developing the weapon.” He paused, tapping his finger on his chin, “So what is it you would actually like to discuss?”
“I’m worried.”
“I gathered as much”
“Hmmm. I’m worried about the outcome of this Implanted, Augmented, Human—could we please give this a better name?” Jeffrey smiled, while Renard continued, “What will this weapon do to the balance of power in the Consensus? What will this new approach to solving our problems with a super-weapon do to the coherence of the Consensus? And finally, and most worrisome, HOW do we keep this power out of the hands of the Prykes?”
“Human Implanted Enhancement program—maybe we can get Avelina to rename it. What do you mean by keeping it away from the Prykes?”