The Last Hercules

by Ron Bender

  I see her squeeze his hand and lean quickly down to his face.

  To give them a moment I look down the hallway and head to the vestibule doors of his suite. When I look up she’s seen me through the glass. The outer doors barely close when she appears in front of me, politely blocking my path. She looks more annoyed than angry. “You called down to wake him up without asking me?”

  “Doctor. Good to see you so concerned about Alexander. I need him. It’s not an option. Time is pressing and I know you well enough to know you’d want to…debate…my course of action. I didn’t have time earlier and have even less now. However, I apologize for side-stepping your patient authority.”

  “He is still not able to move.” She keeps her voice low and her hands clenched in her lab coat pockets. “What use is he to you like this?”

  Looking at Alex I almost turn and leave. From this vantage point I can see a half-dozen ribbon cables disappearing here and there under the medical nanites’ power and control blankets that cover him.

  Thin clear hoses are transferring a refill for his med-monitors reservoirs. Their marker colors swirling along draws my eye.

  The pale blue-green of the high grade stim washing through the line brings a metallic tang to my mouth. Just looking at it, thinking about the amount of it, gives me a quick boost. “Is he awake?”

  “Yes.”

  He turns his head slightly. I know he sees us.

  I dread the next few questions but ultimately, to me, their answers are even more important that his survival. “Is he cognizant?”

  “More or less. Yes.” She fidgets. “He is drowsy but his faculties are already improving.”

  “And his postmortem revival score? Is his personality intact?” I feel like I’m holding my breath as she hesitates.

  She replies. “His PRPS is within normal range. Between the fast reaction of his suit and his own internal medical monitor there was greater risk of revival shock than of shock at time of death. He will recover as himself.” She turns to look at him. He nods at her a faint smile on his lips.

  His fingers move. I take it as an invitation to join him. I say. “Initial reports said his com-link and his eyes weren’t damaged. Those, and his brain, are all he needs right now.”

  I step past her into the suite. The air is thick with the sanitized smell of a hospital.

  “You mean to have him work from here?” she asks quietly as she follows.

  She’s usually a hard, practical woman. But her heart is tangled up in this. I relax, knowing that that her push back isn’t coming. “Believe me, Karina. I wish I didn’t need him right now. I wish he could convalesce at a private medical resort for a month, but it’s not an option.”

  Her hand grips my arm. “Basillio?”

  I stop and look at her. “Yeah?”

  “I am good at my job.” Her eyes study my face. “If you mean to have this happen I will work with him to see him through it.”

  “Good.” I start to turn.

  “But this other thing…”

  I freeze and look back at her. “What other thing?”

  Her voice drops to a whisper among the beeps and chirps of the medical devices around us. “The negative effects of combat stimulant over use are easy for me to see. You cannot continue as though there will be no consequences.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” I turn back to Alexander and walk to his bedside. I smile at him. “Alex. You look like shit.”

  He manages a weak grin. “It has been a while since my feelings matched that appearance.”

  His breathing is slow, labored.

  “I’m glad you’ll pull through.” I say.

  He nods, a slow and painful looking process.

  I ask, “Do you remember how you got here?”

  “Da.” He looks away.” I made a foolish beginners mistake. That I am in medical, I know the result must have been fatalities.” Now he meets my gaze. “I accept the responsibility for them.”

  “No,” I say curtly, “I can’t let you. Won’t let you, and I’ll tell you why.”

  He tries to adjust himself on the medical couch, struggles briefly and fails, dropping with a frustrated sound.

  Vlasta hovers nearby, watching our interaction. She knows her role in his recovery is really just beginning.

  I keep going. “It was a trap, Alex. It was put on board the Speedwell by Bransen. You didn’t do it.”

  He gasps in his urgency to speak. “No, But I set it off.”

  “Accidently. You didn’t fire the triggering mechanism because you were clumsy or distracted.” I lean over him a little to make my point clear. “Baylen’s report indicated that your suit arced into the switch. It was outside of your control. Anyone who handled that case would have had the same result. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He sighs. I know he’ll need time to find any kind of acceptance in my words. But he’s also one of the most mentally resilient people I know. It’ll happen.

  I straighten and pace beside his bed. “Things have changed around here as well. AlphaTek is operating under Delta Protocol.”

  His eyes grow distant as he absorbs the implications. “You need me….”

  “Yes.”

  Vlasta sighs and leaves.

  He and I watch her go. I ask him, “You saw the look your girlfriend just gave me, right?”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Come on Alex.” I grin a little at his careful expression. He was at least alert enough to try and brush me off. “I run this corporation and you know what we do here. I was hoping you’d come to me with it first but the situation is what it is.”

  “Da. It is.” He stares at the ceiling before coming back on point. “Delta… that is very bad.”

  I pull a rolling chair over with my foot and drop into it. “Yeah. You’ve heard the expression it’s the tip of the iceberg?”

  “Less than ten percent is visible.” He struggles again to catch his breath. “What is happening?”

  I explain what happened at the council; how we got to where we are now.

  “An injection of corruptor code… and it started with the Ekranoplan Incident.” He says, “Picasso was involved in periphery and Lexi was deployed as a resource….”

  “Yeah.” I recall more of the incident. “When Lexi went offline for the split second and couldn’t reconnect back into the mission…that’s the initial injection point.”

  “And the code?”

  I say, “Greysen found it across most of Lexi’s systems. The correlations we have link Phillip Townsend into it all. She’s offline now pending the outcome of the discovery process. Kiara is off line as well since the two of them had the most exposure to one another. But I’m having AI Development finish with Jen first.”

  He says, “Ah, why you need me… Operations.”

  “Not need, Alex, require.” I make myself clear. “We tracked Bransen to Bangui in Central Africa. We’re prepped to locked down all of his finances. We have recon on all the places he might go. Baylen is arriving in the sphere of operations right now. He’s linking up Picasso. I have strike, recovery, medical, and emergency extraction teams all standing by just across the border. But I have no Control or Oversight. I’d do it except I’ve got reviews to deal with about Lexi.”

  “And the little girl?” he asks.

  “She was alive at last report. There’s something else….”

  He arches an eyebrow.

  I play back the recording of Townsend’s call to me…

  “…as of now, you’ve got nothing to kick at. And me? I can kick all I want; anytime I want. Because from today until you die for real, anyone you meet, ever, may be a killer made by me, waiting to drop you.”

  “A lot of mission items to juggle.” His expression becomes brooding.

  “Can you do it?” I ask. I need to hear a yes.

  “My optics work, my ears work, and my brain works.” His hand slides over the p & c healing blanket. He knows how lucky he is, the hull plating nearly bisected
him, missing his spine by inches. “The rest. Not so much.”

  At my look he continues, “Bring operations to me. A portable field set-up with minor additions will do the job. Da?”

  “Done.” I say as I stand up. “That’s why I pay you like I do.”

  His breath huffs out. As close to a chuckle as he can manage.

  “But do me a favor.” I smile at him. “Try to keep Vlasta from killing me, okay?”

  His chuckle becomes wheezing laughter. I leave before Vlasta can come back.

  3.29

  Concerns

  The smells of the midday air are hot and damp in my nose. The rain in Africa always carry the promise of a hunt. I love Africa.

  The Bangui M’Poko International Lift and Landing terminal is a repurposed airport. The Corporates, the local warlords, and the corrupt government officials like the idea of having a quick escape right in the middle of the old core of the city.

  As I wait inside the crowded narrow arrival terminal I think about the last job I did here. A warlord we’d contracted with had failed to uphold his obligations. Basillio guessed it would happen and had a plan in place.

  It had been a fun three day’s work; one of my favorite drops.

  Jen had locked the finances of everyone involved and AlphaTek regulars had secured the area, kept the population calm. The White Mice watched my back as I crept around killing anyone connected to the old regime.

  We had a thorough list. I took out everyone on it.

  When we finally got around to dealing with the warlord he was so pathetic I couldn’t bring myself to gut him with my blades. Too good for him.

  So, I shot him instead. Twice. In the belly. Then I’d waited around, watching him as he crawled around his big empty house….

  The corporate shuttle settles onto the pad. I step out into the spit of rain to watch the hatch open. The landing pad coolant has a heavy sweet smell to it when it cooks off. As it steams it adds an extra tint of pale green into the vapor swirling around the stubby fins of the shuttle.

  The hatch undogs and swings open. It’s like a scene from a really bad old movie. I grin at the image of Lee silhouetted inside the hatch, a huge Borg stepping out into a green fog. It’s a very-take-me-to-your-leader moment.

  Then the sun breaks through the rain clouds and paints Lee as he steps out of the hatch. The tension around his eyes, his movements, the set of his shoulders; he looks like a killer who’s here to work. One who’s brought his ‘A’ game to the field.

  I’d been the one on watch who let Vanessa, who he still carried a torch for, get blown to shit along with his home.

  Maybe he doesn’t know I was there. He may flip on me if he knows.

  I hate that I have to watch what I say. I’m pretty sure I could take him but the boss would be pissed.

  We were both here for different reasons but the commonality between us was that we both want Bransen. For his kid’s sake I hope it’s enough to keep him from taking a shot at me.

  He hardly slows as I fall in beside him. I hand him a wallet with local currency and good enough ID to get around relatively unhindered by the law. He glances at it and stows it all in his jacket. I catch a glimpse of a battered old kid’s book. It’s the one that was in his field truck out in the dust. We lock eyes as we walk along in our silence.

  He’s waiting for me to ask him about the book so he’ll have a reason to fuck with me. I don’t say shit to him about the damned book.

  We pass through the terminal. No one stops us. Out front on the sidewalk I point out our truck. “HQ had it freighted over special to deal with your weight.”

  “Nice.” He says. “Walking any distance around here would only get other people killed.”

  We cross the street crammed with barely moving taxis and ancient looking cube vans.

  I head to the driver’s side as he stows his gear in the back. I say. “Someone who cares installed a charge point for you under the seat.”

  He climbs in. “When you check in next, pass on my thanks. A good power supply is hard to find.”

  I slide into the driver’s seat and watch him hook up. “How do you even function? Having to power up like that every day would drive me nuts.” As I talk I skim his profile for the third time. The report doesn’t have anything about tells or triggers.

  “Sometimes I charge more than once a day.” He looks out the window. “Depends on how much killing is going on.”

  He meets my eyes.

  I know that he knows I was with his ex.

  But I sense there’s other, more immediate stuff going on in his head.

  His smile is cold. “You do it because you have to. Just feed the machine.”

  We pull away from the curb and wheel out onto the Avenue des Martyrs and through the squalor of the oldest part of the city.

  I subvocalize to an uplink back to HQ. “Control, this is Picasso.”

  Morochevsky comes online. “Go ahead, Operative.”

  “Aw fuck. You survived…. Good for you. Things must be going to hell if the boss has you working.”

  “It is bad enough. Delta protocols are still in place.”

  “Too bad.” I pause. Maybe that’ll mean more autonomy on this drop, less control, less oversight. “Is the he available?”

  “He is in a critical AI Development meeting. What do you need?”

  Sun flashes through the tattered rain clouds. The towers in the core blaze with light that dies. Around us, old tech signage sends cool toned reflections across the rain soaked skyline. People, vendors, shoppers, thieves, users, abusers…they fill the streets and pack around the vehicles like sand in a jar full of rocks.

  Lee shuts up, staring out the window.

  I hate having to ask anything about people I work with but I don’t know this guy for shit and he’s making me edgy. “I need clarity here. Lee’s acting all fucked up and for all I know he’ll flip on me. I wanna know if he’s got any tells I can watch for. His profiles got nothin.”

  Moro grunts. “A legitimate concern. I will look at sidebar notes.”

  The silence in-between his words is a giveaway. He’s using his com-link. Probably because he can’t breathe and talk. Poor fucker.

  “The notes offer little. When pressured, Lee reverts to his training. I will review analyst’s notes.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

  “He shares a number of traits with you, operative.” Morochevsky’s tone becomes serious. “Instead, perhaps you can use this opportunity to gain insight into how others view you.”

  “Fuck you and that psychobabble-bullshit.” I know who I am and I’m still alive in my skin. I don’t need that you should think about eating a bullet because your evil crap. Me. Unapologetic.

  “It is merely a suggestion.” He ignores my foul mouth. “Also, avoid talking about Vanessa. He will see through your casual disregard and know it for what it is.”

  HQ monitors everyone inside the building as part of two-oh-one development but I hate that anyone with clearance can read the fucking things. “You mean he’ll know that I wanted to jam in her panty’s. Yeah I can keep my mouth shut about that too.”

  “However.” I think the Russian bastard is smiling when he says, “If he does come at you I recommend you flee. Fighting him solves nothing. Winning endangers mission objective. Losing could mean your death. There is a strong possibility he has come to the same conclusions.”

  “Thanks for nothing.” I say to Moro and cut the line.

  Lee doesn’t look at me as he asks. “Morochevsky okay?”

  Sunlight scatters from random stacks of buildings and puts a glow onto the oily looking puddles that are as big as ponds. The moment stretches impossibly thin.

  He knows I was on the line. His tech might be older but it still works. There’s no point in jerking him around. “He’ll recover. He’s in Ops right now.”

  “Good.” his voice is flat. “Guys like us need to work.”

  Guys like us… I resent the fact that I fit into his gene
ralization… maybe a twist, try to crack him a little. It’s gotta be a truth or his bullshit meter will go off. “I hate him hanging off me all the time when I’m in the field. But he’s good at his job.”

  My effort nets me a non-committal grunt.

  ˜˜˜

  I have my optics dialed to wide angle. I don’t need to turn my head far to keep this Picasso character in sight. The fact he was on the line with AlphaTek is no big deal. The corporations ‘Delta Protocol’ would mean a huge slowdown in business and internal communications. They’d need their top people in play to keep things running.

  The Russian would probably still be in medical but I can imagine someone as driven as Basillio convincing him to ride along for this mission.

  If Picasso thinks I eavesdropped on his com-link, I’m won’t dissuade him. I want him to be a little nervous. It might help him tighten his game, maybe even help me out.

  He’ll start talking soon. He has to, we’re passing through the old city toward the north district and the decreasing distance is as much psychological pressure as my silent treatment of him is.

  He takes the truck around a corner and we stop in another traffic jam. Finally, he speaks. “I got some concerns….”

  I’m ready for this. “Mine are more like reservations.”

  He grunts and looks over at me. I make a show of checking the manual charge meter on my hip.

  “So, who goes first?” He’s trying for flippant but the tone is cheeky.

  “I will,” I say. “I know that AlphaTek has information it doesn’t want to share with me about Bransen. That’s a problem, because I only want two things; Maggie back and Bransen dead. I’m sure you guys are running another agenda along with saying you’re helping me.”

  There’s a moment where he just stares at me. He sits up and looks around the sides of the truck and then back at me. “Okay. Good disclosure, Baylen. My turn.” Now he’s just a smart ass. He says. “We have fuck-tons of intel on Bransen. But what we narrowed it too is the mission relevant stuff. On top of that we have teams on the ground keeping eyes and ears open trying to find him. Now, at least, we have a list of places and people we can lean on, or take out, or whatever.”