The Last Hercules

by Ron Bender

  A handful of kids and someone who could be an older sibling stop in the rain as they see me.

  The youngest one starts going on about the scary man.

  I’d laugh but the boss isn’t paying me to traumatize future generations of tribal types. I mute my eyes and stand up to go.

  We have to pass close on the path and the kids look wet, cold, and shocky. “Aw fuck,” I mumble. I slide my jacket off and toss it at the oldest one. “Here. Wrap’em in that. It has a heater in it that’ll run until morning. You’ll figure it out.”

  I keep my coffee close to my lips as I make my way to next dry patch that doesn’t have someone sheltered in it.

  I drop onto an old fuel drum that tribal has fashioned into a kind of club chair and wait. I know it won’t be long.

  My dv goes off and I yank it out. “Picasso here. Come get me.”

  The boss. He sounds distant and little disconnected. “I’m fine. I don’t need you here right now and given the high degree of suck that’s playing out everywhere, you’ll stay put until morning.”

  “You get headshot? You need me there. People to kill, trash to take out, streets to sweep. The doc’s fine, a little banged up but we’re good. Stick her in a quiet room someplace and I’ll get to work.”

  “No. We pushed things out there, used up the goodwill of Baylen’s family connection. I’m sending a full team, that’s medical, engineering, recovery gear, and supplies. That should at least get them moving. If they ask tell them I’m eating the bill on it.”

  “You’re gonna buy’em a new camp?” I almost laugh. “Because there’s fucking nothing left out here worth saving except maybe some of the people.”

  “I’m sending them and you’re their contact.” For all that he may be doped to the frontal lobes he makes himself understood. “Softpower, Picasso, keep practicing it. Your pick up will be there in the morning.”

  “This is bullshit.” I know I’m not going anywhere. I stare out into the rain at the ruined camp. Bransen’s guys did a number on the place. I still have to do a body count on both sides for my debriefing. “You okay, B? What happened?”

  “Phillip Townsend happened.” He sighs. “He activated as many people in the plaza with guns as he could reach. I should have seen this possibility….”

  “Activated?” I ask. “Like what, activated? Watcha mean?”

  “Maybe Ripperkin style tech or maybe something new.” He sounds tired. “We’ve got three of our own getting autopsies.”

  That fucking Phillip guy; he’s running late for his appointment with a body bag. “We should turn the world loose on him.”

  “It’s coming. There’s more but I have to go.”

  “Yeah.” I can hear how beat down he is. I’ve seen him suck up a lot of damage and walk around happy. He’s like this because he’s beating himself up. He missed some detail in his master plan and to him that’s a bigger deal. “Just don’t forget about me out here.”

  “No,” he says. “Trust me I won’t. There’s more work coming your way and soon.”

  I can hear thunder over thunder and a fleet of twelve-ton VTOL APC’s with lit up badging hove into view.

  ˜˜˜

  My borrowed boots are full of muddy water. I no longer feel grateful for them. I easily muster up a large amount of disgust as the insides slop, squish, cling and release with ever step.

  I spot Picasso ranting on his dv and trying to get the cooperation of some of the tribal leaders as a troop of burly looking men in uniform wait patiently in the rain for orders.

  I ask Shandra as we make our way to where she claimed there was a hot meal. “What’s going on now?”

  The young woman has changed since the battle. Her demeanor is hardened, gone are any of the soft edges that clung hidden around her before. She glances at Picasso and her people and then keep marching. “If I had to say I’d guess it’s a guilt payment. Kind of a blood debt AlphaTek feels they should pay for letting us get our asses wiped.”

  “Oh.” I remind myself that these things matter out here. And they should matter to me because Baylen promised he’d get Maggie back safely. He wasn’t the promise breaker in our relationship.

  The food we find is not very flavorful and is made from a shredded-up animal. I don’t probe further. It’s hot and filling and I can feel energy coming back into my body as I finish.

  Shandra comes back to my side. Her eyes are reddened from tears.

  If she wants to talk about it she’ll say so. I was learning. Don’t pry. A Tribal will share when they feel they have to. Only elders have a right to pry.

  Out here I’m still a nobody.

  She draws a deep breath and lets it out with a shudder. “I was ordered to keep an eye on you.”

  “I know. If there’s someplace you need to be….”

  “I’m not going against my grandmother’s instructions.” She meets my eyes for what could be the first time. “But I can’t leave unless you do. And this place is too full of hurt for me to do right now.”

  I stand up. “Then let’s go.”

  She follows me out of the pop-up shelter back into the night. The rain has let up a little and the lightening has passed us by. Wind drives gusts of wet roaring through the tree tops.

  We stand still for a moment, together outside, and hear a muffled wail of grief. Shandra’s shoulders hunch like someone hit her.

  “Come on.” I start to walk aimlessly until I realize I’m dragging her through the wreckage of her world. “I want to see Baylen’s place. Is it nearby?”

  In the dim light of the encampment her eyes widen with new purpose. “Yeah. Normally I’d take an ATV but they’re all being used. It’ll be a bit of a walk…”

  Her reaction had sealed it. Her concern was for me, and mine was for her. Crappy boots, soaked jacket, or not I say. “Let’s go. I want to see how Maggie lives out here.”

  We pass out of the northern end of the camp and after a minute of two follow a wide maintained track. The trees have been cut back to allow someone Baylen’s height to walk comfortably. The path is marked with painted stones.

  I remember Maggie talking about painting them. I’d only been angry about the stained clothes she’d come home with.

  The trailer is a camouflaged double width hard-shell. Its roofline is a cluster of solar collectors, wind turbines, old style antennae, and a large rain trough, silhouetted against the few stars trying to break through.

  “Baylen’s been gone a few days now. He usually keeps everything really clean so at least we won’t have a real mess to clean.”

  We take the overbuilt steps to the front door. A porch light comes on automatically.

  There’s a side platform with rain battered potted herbs. Lightweight folding chairs are stacked against one side of the trailer. A single heavy looking chrome chair sits at one end of a wooden table. It looks like a massive metal throne.

  “The door’s locked.” Shandra looks at me with a frown. “It’s a palm lock. You should try it.”

  “Me? Why would Baylen have the lock set for my palm scan?” I reluctantly slap my hand onto the panel.

  “Bet you it’ll work,” she quips.

  The edge of the lock sensor glows a bright green. Open.

  I’m not sure how I feel about my Ex having me authorized on the lock to his home. Baylen isn’t even allowed within five blocks of the access points to TopSide White Sands let alone anywhere near my residence. Not for the first time in the last few days I regret not checking the box that would have given him citizen status.

  Shandra opens the door.

  The air inside the trailer is stale and thick. A sensor somewhere detects movement and shutters roll open letting in the night air. Night lighting glows from under the counters and spots down the short hallway.

  The wall behind the heavily built up couch is covered in Maggie’s drawings. Scattered here and there are still frames of the two of them, camping, fishing, and digging in the sand of some unknown beach.

  I see a f
ew still frames of me. I look so stern in all of them. There’s only one of all of us together. It’s separated by a little frame of cleared space amid the clutter. It’s the only one where I’m smiling. Maggie is so small in the picture against Baylen’s huge metallic bulk.

  “Not much to do out here,” Shandra says. “He keeps a good house. It looks like some food items may have gone off in the cold storage. I’ll deal with this. Go check the rest of the place.”

  I go down the short wide hallway to the first bedroom. It’s small. A welded frame bunk with military folds on all of the bed covers takes up most of the room. The open closet holds three each of shirts, pants, belts, boots, a bin hangs from the rod filled with everything else.

  At the far end of the closet rod is a lone dark green garment bag. I peek into it. It holds his full-dress uniform.

  I remember him wearing it when we were married. He looked so impressive, so happy. I also remember him wearing it when I had selfishly forced him to come into the city. To TopSide, under guard, to sign the final papers of our divorce.

  I don’t look at my feelings too closely.

  I glance down the hall, double checking that Shandra is still busy in the kitchen. Returning to the closet I slip my hand into the top left pocket of his uniform jacket. I had watched him take off his wedding band and drop it into that narrow fabric slash. My fingers find my ring. And tucked trough it is a slip of paper.

  Curiosity forces me to pull it out. A note?

  In his tight, impossibly precise printing; Everything I own is to be held in trust for Maggie should I die. I empower the Eldest of the council as executor of my will. My funds are to be used to provide opportunities for Maggie to come from the city and live among the families should she wish. Any remaining funds after the age of twenty shall be released to fund schooling at the institution of her choice and pending graduation to be given to her in full. At the bottom was his signature.

  I turn it over. Tell Vanessa I had loved some before her, but no one after.

  It all goes back into the pocket. Stumbling slightly the whole way, I end up in the next bedroom having to wipe my eyes. This space would have been the master bedroom. If I had lived here this would be my room.

  A mix of new and old toys are carefully cleared away into bins and on shelves. The lower portion of the walls are covered in stiff white plastic board. It’s covered in doodles, letters of the alphabet, numbers and a few sketches that were obviously Baylen’s.

  Neat stacks of tattered children’s books are sitting on the floor around the nightstand by the low bed. I pick up the top one and lay on the bed.

  Knocking drags me awake. “Doctor?” Shandra wakes me.

  My body feels so still. I look at the time; five in the morning. “What happened?”

  “You were asleep. It’s warm and dry so I took your boots off and left you alone. But the camp is ready to move.”

  “Move?” I rub my eyes trying to imagine what I look like.

  “Yeah. Move. After the attack the old site is contaminated, depleted uranium rounds, ruptured power cells and random carnage.”

  “Huh, that makes sense. What do we do?”

  “Well, we eat, and we go find out what job we get to do to help out.” She says as she walks away, “Everyone else is already awake.”

  I get out of the bed and feel the old carpet under my feet. Last night I hadn’t noticed how much the trailer squeaks and groans as I move around looking for my boots.

  Through the kitchen window I can see the moon; a sliver of light through the trees just cresting the horizon. The air is cool and fresh after last night’s storm. I know the air at TopSides Ecco-park will be close to this.

  The smell of fresh bacon and brewing coffee come to me through the still open windows.

  I step out onto the dimly lit patio, Shandra looks up and hands me a cup. “Careful it’s hot.”

  “Thanks.” I take it from her. Why aren’t you cooking inside?”

  “I didn’t want to make a mess in the kitchen if we have to pack it up anyways.”

  I can see glowing flashes of headlights and hear rumbling of hybrid motors and whining of winches.

  “When do we leave?” I ask as the hot liquid hits my stomach.

  “Another two hours, I’d guess. This unit is one of the last to fold-down and get hooked up for towing.” She nods at the growing activity. “With AlphaTek’s help most folks have eaten, packed up, stowed everything for travel. The elders will have a place picked out and advance groups would have been sent there already.”

  It’s easy to imagine Maggie among these people, helping with her stoic look on her face, lugging something too large for her. My shoulders start to tremble.

  “Doctor?” Shandra pulls me back to reality.

  “Please Shandra,” I say quietly. “I’ve asked you before to call me Vanessa.”

  “You went to school for your title.” I watch her struggle to not offend me with her tone. “Baylen said that you help people all the time as your job. That makes your title important.”

  I sigh. “What was your question?”

  “Baylen isn’t here.” Her voice is matter-of-fact. “The Eldest had a message sent over. My grandmother hoped you’d be alright with helping pack it up for travel.”

  I’m outside of my comfort zone but I was even prepared to offer my services for free for those who might need help with their grief.

  The Eldest was the one person who I couldn’t seem to get on my side. She was like fresh paper cuts repeatedly dipped in lemon juice. “I think that’ll be fine.”

  “Good. The towing rig will be here in an hour and there’s quite a bit to secure.”

  “Do we get to eat that food first?” I grin a little at her.

  Shandra looks at the table. “I forgot to get plates.”

  I’ll fetch them.” I try the door handle “It locked itself. We’ll have to be careful about that when we pack up.” I put my hand on the lock scanner. It clicks oddly as the green glow flickers.

  3.26

  Oversight

  “Basillio.” Jen interrupts the flowing data that I’m reviewing. I shift in the medical recliner and pause the cam footage of the council plaza attack. “I have an inbound call on your private dv from Eldest Tessa.”

  “Route it through please.” The tribe should be underway and heading inland to a new location. Picasso and Doctor Hildebrandt will be ready for a pick up as the last members leave. I reach for my dv, lifting my free arm over a couple of IV’s and diagnostic cabling. I ignore the annoyed expression on the technician’s face as I shift the nanite control mash further down my thigh.

  “Hello Eldest.”

  “Wolf?” The elderly woman’s voice waivers.

  “Yes Eldest.” I gesture at the bedside screen and bring up a replay of Alex and Baylen as they were brought into AlphaPlaza on their way to medical and technical. Morochevsky arrived in a medical coma and will stay that way for at least the next two hours before Vlasta finishes with him. On the footage Baylen strides along looking exactly as he had when he’d left. It’s hard to see because so much of him is replacement parts, but Jen’s combed his various profiles and has flagged all of his cues. He’s carrying a lot of anger. I return to the call. “What can I do for you, Eldest?”

  “There was an explosion at Baylen’s trailer. My granddaughter was seriously injured—” Her voice breaks. “And Vanessa is dead— Your medical team is coming to do what they can.”

  The news, so unexpected, has my chest tighten and my insides feel chill. The profile we developed on Bransen showed nothing like this. It may be a fault in data set interpretation or something else happened that we missed to cause the shift in his MO.

  The medical monitor next to me responds with a series of erratic beeps. The technician looks at me sharply. I lean over and turn the monitors off.

  “I’m on my way.” I wave the screen off and lift the power and programing mesh aside.

  The technician working on my arm frowns.
“This isn’t calibrated it’s not re-skinned.”

  I try to flex it. Everything from the shoulder down jumps and twitches. “How long?”

  “If I hurry another hour, hour and a half…” He says.

  My frustration comes out. “No. This will do.”

  “Wait. One second.” The technician plugs in a calibration tool and my arm spasms, my fingers dancing in the air.

  Jen cuts in via com-link. “Picasso is online.”

  I hesitate. Other things here need attention but the mental stability of someone as dangerous as him took priority. “Operative, fill me in.”

  “This fucking sucks. I left the doc with the kid at Baylen’s trailer. I figured, how much trouble could they get into? I’ve combed the bomb site. It’s a pro job, like Morochevsky good. You’re gonna wanna send Greysen, his team of magicians, and a forensic demolition unit down here.”

  “Greysen is coming out with me.”

  “You’re coming out?” Picasso sounds relieved.

  Having his charge die on his watch… I say, “Yes. I’ll be there inside of fifteen minutes.”

  “Done.”

  I cut the line and start yanking off sensor pads, and pulling out wires.

  The technician looks flustered as I say curtly, “Unplug me.”

  He’s used to compliant patients. His lips stay pursed in a thin line. “At least you can move your arm around. You don’t have fine motor control or sensation so careful when you piss.” Only after the words are out does he remember who he’s talking to. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Understood.” I climb out of medical recliner. “Thanks.”

  He ducks his head and opaque’s the windows as he leaves.

  Building services had a valet bag brought but with my hand clenching fists on max power I can’t pull slimline armor or a new suit. I opt for what I wore during the attack and leave off the dress shirt and jacket. Rashid’s blood has dried enough that I can ignore it while I move. It’s been a while since I dressed one handed….

  “Jen. Bransen’s profile may have a problem or something else might be going on.” I say while hurrying to the maglift lobby. A lift opens. Its door and frame glows gold and red. Priority for me. Some staff glance around and clear me a wide path. I wave my thanks and step in. “Pass this to everyone involved across all department touch points.”