by Bill Denise
The doctors said that the athletic ability could not be programmed; he had to have that naturally. The new body only enhanced the strength and stamina; the skills still came from him. He slowly became proficient in controlling his strength, and the control software helped significantly once he learned how to optimize it. He could now pick up a coffee mug or a glass without endangering the people around him.
Once the team had decided that Damon had good control over his new body, they decided to activate his weapons systems.
They introduced him to a whole gamut of weaponry, from mundane combat blades extruded from the fairings under his wrists to high-power energy weapons. The photon-plasma pulse cannon, affectionately called the “Trip-PC”, was the most fun, dealing incredible amounts of damage over a long distance, but a single shot could deplete his energy reserves by nearly a third.
He carried a varied array of grenades and small missiles that were powerful but had limited rounds. What they lacked in elegance they made up for in brute force.
Damon had very little time to think during the day amid all the activity and training. At night, however, it was a different story. Lying in bed, he found it hard to fall asleep. He purposefully ran through all he’d learned during the day, trying futilely to keep his mind away from thoughts of Andrea and the Family. He hadn’t asked about them because he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth. He tried to convince himself that they were fine, that they were going about their lives as if nothing had happened. With everything that was happening to him, it gave him solace to imagine they were the same as ever. Every night ended the same way; he’d toss and turn, fret and worry, and finally issue the command to his control system to put himself to sleep.
Eventually, the day came when the training was complete. It had taken Damon six months to master control of his new body through physical tests, tactical training, and live-fire exercises. Now he was ready to be unleashed on the Consensus, a trained Demon acting as an extension of the Council’s will.
Chapter Five
“Shrigauri Krych is leading a small revolution—avoiding taxes, not buying from the dynasties, etc. He shows all the signs of trying to break out of the Consensus and pursue independence. You have been sent to stop him. In no uncertain terms: kill him, kill his officers, destroy his weapons cache, and other supplies. Do it quietly, and never implicate the Council in your actions.”
The words came to Damon from his internal communication system, sounding like a voice inside his head. Fortunately, I can turn this one off if I need to, he thought. The voice belonged to Gregor Sckolen, his connection to the Council, whom Damon liked to call his “handler.” Gregor was a military man through and through. Damon was sure they had specifically assigned him in order to instill the values of respect and responsibility.
Damon liked giving him a hard time. “Why?” he asked.
“Why what?” Gregor responded on cue.
“Why do we have to kill him, why not let him declare his independence? There are thousands of other systems, who cares about one?”
“We have to care about every individual planet. If one secedes successfully, others will follow and the entire Consensus will crumble into anarchy. It is for the good of all that we stop these renegades before it is too late.”
“Maybe he’s right and we’re wrong,” Damon baited Gregor.
“The Consensus has succeeded where all other governments have failed throughout history. We have peace, prosperity, and everyone has the opportunity to live a good life.”
“Ha, you should visit my home in the Ruins!” Damon said, offended by Gregor’s assertion. However, in the back of his mind he had to admit that even life in the Ruins wasn’t all that bad.
“Sounds lovely, you’ll have to show me sometime.”
“I’d love to.” But I don’t know where it is.
Recently it had occurred to him that in all the planets in the Consensus, he had absolutely no idea which one was his home. He didn’t like to dwell on it since the bleakness it caused could become overwhelming.
Gregor broke his cycle of thought, “Gear down in ten.”
Damon‘s thoughts came back to the present, in the cabin of a public passenger ship. In order to move secretly, he traveled in the cheapest seats available, which were uncomfortable and cramped, especially for a man his size. He felt sorry for the people next to him.
Once they landed and disembarked, Damon stretched expansively to relieve his stiff muscles. Apparently this new body doesn’t like being crammed into a tiny seat either.
“Do you have any intelligence on our target, or should I torch the whole planet?” He wasn’t speaking out loud, but communicating with Gregor mentally through his secure comm system.
“Of course we have intelligence,” he replied coldly.
Damon smiled to himself; he loved to make Gregor mad. Now I just need to find something to occupy myself until nightfall. Damon wandered out of the spaceport and into the heart of the city.
Later that night Damon crouched on a rooftop looking out over a small park and into the building on the other side. The night was dark and the clouds overhead threatened rain at any moment. Gregor had identified this building as the headquarters for Shrigauri Krych, and it was likely that Damon would find him inside.
He activated only his passive sensors, but even so they provided detailed information to his HUD giving a clear view even in the dark night. He easily identified people moving around the perimeter of the building and on the surrounding rooftops. Unbidden, Andrea’s voice returned to him for the first time in a long time.
Remember, the threats that are easily visible are probably decoys, intended to make you look at them and miss the other, more dangerous, threats. Only move after you have found the hidden threat, the one that can kill you.
Damon actually laughed out loud at the last line in the memory. These losers can’t touch me or hurt me, and they certainly can’t kill me, he told the voice, although he couldn’t dismiss the sadness that accompanied the memory.
“Gregor,” Damon asked, “why don’t I just torch them with the Trip-PC, lob my load of grenades in the smoking hole and call it a night?”
“Because your Primary Mission is to take out the leadership of the rebellion, which requires evidence of their death, and gather any relevant intel from the site. Your Secondary Mission is to locate, identify, and destroy any weapons cache you can find.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“If you proceed as you suggested, it will be impossible to be sure that you have completed any of your mission goals, and we will be forced to call it a failure. And, a display of firepower that significant will certainly cause suspicion to fall on the Council.” The smugness in his voice was annoying and Damon was no longer enjoying this little game.
“Fine, then, we’ll do it your way,” and before Gregor could respond, “Initiating radio silence,” cutting off all communication.
He scanned the surrounding area for additional threats when he realized he was not the same Damon that had skulked around in the Ruins. “What am I doing?” he said to himself, “I’m truly the Demon now.”
With that, he dropped to the ground twenty stories down, his armor hardening before he landed. The impact was loud enough to get the attention of at least one guard. Damon strode across the park in no hurry and made no effort to hide himself. He walked directly toward the closest guard who was struggling to see into the gloom of the park.
“Hey— who are you? Stop there.” The guard shouted as he caught sight of Damon striding toward him.
“Who me?” Damon asked as he leapt over the remaining distance. “I’m a Kyndra-spawned nightmare!” he said as he grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, breaking through the ceramic-mesh armor underneath. He lifted him easily off his feet and growled in his face, “I’m the Demon, come to life,” and he crushed the man against the side of the building.
Damon felt the sti
ffening of his armor a split second before a huge impact hit him in the back, driving him through the wall and into the ground.
Wow, I felt that one! He hadn’t been hit that hard in any of his training. Before he had time to stand up, his armor stiffened again and another shell smashed into him, driving him deeper in the foundation of the building.
He tried to extricate himself from the rubble. It came from behind and above. I must have missed some big guns up there. He ignored Andrea’s voice in his head saying ‘I told you so!’ He could feel the impact points on his back, and his face and shoulders hurt where they had been driven into the hardened concrete. It had been a long time since he felt lingering pain. He scrabbled through the smoking debris, trying to find something in his HUD to identify the attacker. He desperately wanted to move before they could hit him again.
He stopped when he heard voices approaching. Of course! They think I’m dead. After all, who could survive those hits? Damon listened and scanned with some low power sensors. The angle was bad and the rubble interfered with the returns, but he identified three people approaching.
“Stand down those rail guns,” one of them barked into a radio, and Damon took that as his cue to rise from the dead.
Moving as quickly as he could in the loose debris he tried to stand. He slipped and wobbled in the poor footing, making his entrance not quite as dramatic as he hoped, but it was still effective.
“Looking for someone?” he asked as the three men practically fell backward in shock. One of them tried to bring his gun to bear on Damon, but he was far too slow. Raising his left hand, Damon eliminated all three with a short burst from the slug guns.
Now what’s going to stop them from firing again? He thought as he jumped to the side in a desperate attempt to avoid another hit from the rail gun. He didn’t go far due to the loose ground underneath him, but it was enough as the whole area exploded into a cloud of dust with the impact of another fast-moving projectile. This time, Damon was able to get a bearing on the shooter, and called it up in his targeting HUD. A red square appeared in his vision, on top of one of the buildings near where he had started his attack. Stupid! I could have found them easily if I had only looked, He scolded himself. He spun around and dropped to one knee as he brought the Trip-PC up to meet the targeting reticle, which turned from a rectangle to a cross as his aim hit the mark. Firing the cannon caused a substantial kick, and the top of the building was completely obliterated in a cloud of flame and debris. The red targeting icon disappeared.
“One down,” he said out loud, feeling sure of himself again. However, he took too long in aiming and firing the Trip-PC at the first target, and the other rail gun crew was quick to react. The projectile hit him in the shoulder and smashed him into the pavement under his feet. The impact and the way it bent his body around hurt even through the armor.
“Kyndra’s soaking tears, I hate these guys!” He said to himself as he tried to move out of the wreckage as quickly as possible. Another round came in, missed him, but the impact sent him sprawling forward on his face. Now he was exposed, but he was also on firm ground. He bounced up and sprinted to the cover of the corner of the building. Things were quiet for the moment and Damon brought up his active sensor array to get a better feel for his surroundings. Active sensors gave him a much better picture, but also revealed his location to anyone looking. In this case, he was sure they already knew where to find him so there was no risk in using the powerful active sensors. Almost immediately his HUD identified the location of the target, and he powered up the Trip-PC to prepare his attack.
Moving quickly, he spun around the corner of the building, brought his weapon to bear, but registered an incoming round almost immediately. With no time to lock in, he fired the cannon in the rough direction of the rail gun, and dove out of the line of fire.
The round gouged a path of destruction through the ground, but missed Damon entirely. The explosion from the Trip-PC shot lit up the sky, but his sensors could not determine if he’d hit anything important. He started to power up the cannon again, and noticed a red icon in the corner of his vision. Pausing to check it, he found that his energy reserves were down to 18%. He checked the charge on the cannon and found it was not able to fire again.
“Two shots?” he said to himself incredulously, “I get only two shots? Weeping saint!”
Before he had a chance to move, another shell from the rail gun smashed through the building and into his back, slamming him into the ground yet again, and dropping a good sized piece of the building on top of him.
Through the surprise and the pain, Damon watched the red icon flash in his vision.
“. . . 14% . . .”
Apparently, taking hits will deplete my energy, too, he thought. It might have helped if they mentioned that in training!
He turned up the amplification of his strength, rose out of the rubble, and moved quickly out the line of fire.
“. . . 10% . . .”
Really, now what? He started to feel helpless. Energy weapons were now out of the question, and he was forced to turn down his strength amplification in order to conserve energy. This time, he kept moving so the rail gun couldn’t hit him again. He weighed the idea of retreat, but couldn’t bring himself to admit defeat. Then he heard Andrea’s voice from what now seemed like a long time ago.
Pride. Pride is very important, does anyone know why? Because pride will get you killed! Never pursue an untenable situation simply due to pride. Retreat if necessary and live to fight another day.
“Fine, I’ll retreat for now, but I will come back!” He gathered the sensor information into an overhead map in order to find his best way out of the area when small arms fire erupted on either side of him.
He instinctively covered his head with his arms, but realized after a second that it was not necessary. Although they could not hurt him, the autorifles they used were powerful and he could feel the bullet impacts. Rounds were coming in so quickly and from so many different directions it was confusing and disorienting.
“. . . 9% . . .”
Damon gathered his senses and charged the source of the gunfire to his left. As he ran, Extruded Combat Blades slid from the fairings on both wrists and detached into his hands. Distantly, he was impressed by the soldiers’ resolve as they kept firing through his approach and did not run away.
“Stupidity and bravery are nearly the same thing,” he said to them as he sliced them to ribbons with the plastic blades.
“. . . 8% . . .”
Doesn’t this power plant produce anything? He thought angrily as he charged another group of shooters. This group, too, refused to give ground and paid the price with their lives.
Damon felt the impact of something larger than small arms fire and turned to see a small armored truck rolling toward him, firing a heavy round two to three times per second.
“. . . 6% . . .”
Got to move fast, he thought as he charged the truck. Now he felt more autorifle impacts and saw more shooters lining the rooftops around him. His armor handled the impacts easily, but they were annoying and just strong enough to throw him off balance. He caught up with the truck since it could not maneuver well in the urban setting, jumped on top of it and took out the heavy gun with his blades. He then punched down through the top of the truck and dropped inside to gain some cover from the autorifle assault.
“. . . 4% . . .”
Touching the handles of the ECBs to the fairings on his wrists, they flowed away out of his hands and back into the reservoirs like liquid. Before he could decide what to do next, his HUD warned of new incoming rounds. Three oval-shaped shells penetrated the sides of the truck, and he barely had time to identify them as grenades before they exploded inside his shelter and everything went dark.
**** ****
Joann Tashus jumped at the sound of a slamming door in a nearby apartment. Why am I so nervous? She wondered to herself as she finished getting ready for work, annoyed that her thoughts were so scattered
this morning.
The atmosphere at the lab was very strange now that Damon was operational. She couldn’t picture him as a trained killer and a weapon of the Consensus. He’s just a kid; or seems like it, although he's not that much younger than me, really. Maybe ten years? Trying to guess his age reminded her that she didn't really know anything about him. She had traveled to his home world to pick him up, but that whole trip was conducted in secrecy and she never knew where she was. A few days earlier, she had done a cursory search for a Captain Remmen, who she met on the planet during the pick-up, but found nothing and didn’t feel safe digging any deeper.
On the way down to her car, she shoved her hands deep in her pockets to still their shaking. Once inside, she set the destination, closed her eyes and tried to relax. After a few futile minutes, she gave up and decided the discomfort was here to stay until it had run its course.
As the car approached the lab, a small non-descript building on the surface, Joann was suddenly alarmed. The parking lot was empty except for two vehicles she did not recognize. She quickly hit the override button on the car’s screen and punched in the code to take her back to her room.
Unsure why she was feeling so paranoid, she decided to trust the instinct anyway. She did not grow up on the streets, and never claimed to have real street savvy, but her former fiancé fancied himself a rebel and she learned some practical survival skills from him. She never really took the whole idea seriously, but she met a handful of great people who were serious, and she spent a lot of time with them. They all grew very close, and she still thought of them as family. Healthy paranoia was one of the many skills they taught her.