by JC Ryan
“Jack? What has your team come up with?”
“We believe that we should send in a small team to make a firsthand assessment and report back. The team that goes in should have diverse enough skills to be able to do the work needed to bring the complex back to life and install secure cells for the prisoners.”
“I’ve shown them a recommended access route,” Nigel added. “It’s a hotel near the White House that has access to the underground rail system from where they should be able to get to the site unnoticed.”
“The team will consist of four members,” Jack continued, “Doug, Max, Aaron, and I.”
“That is an interesting combination.” Daniel said. “Care to explain?”
“I’ll lead the team. Max is the medic and computer specialist, Aaron the construction specialist, armed with Roy’s laser cutting tools, and Doug is the pilot in case we need to fly somewhere.
“Max will setup our communications equipment and we’ll be able to give you regular updates.”
“And I’ll stand guard and shoot anyone that interferes with my team,” Jack said in a serious tone which sent everyone into laughter.
Daniel drummed his thumb on the edge of the table for a moment, deep in thought. “I’m happy with that, except you’re missing one member though.”
“Who?” Jack asked a little surprised.
“Moi, yours truly.” Daniel pointed to himself.
“You?” Jack blinked.
“Yes. I’ll be going with you. I need to be in Washington with my Cabinet members.”
Silence reigned for a few moments while they all considered ways to dissuade Daniel from going. Sam and Nigel gave Rebecca a quick glance as if to ask, you ready for another round of sleep treatment?
“Daniel…”
“Don’t, Jack. Don’t even try. I’m going. And as for you sis,” he looked at Rebecca, “I’ll have you and Cyndi locked up until I’m out of here.”
“An executive order, I guess.” Jack grinned.
A few eyebrows raised, but no one said anything. What Daniel said did make sense, although they were all worried about his condition and his safety.
Rebecca just grinned. She’d give Max instructions and enough sedatives and show him how to use it if the need arises.
Before anyone could start, Daniel said. “I want to be ready to leave, including Roy’s flies and spyders, in two days’ time. Has anyone figured out how we’re going to get there?”
“Yes,” Peter replied. “We’ll use the Metroliner… it’s being repainted and reconfigured to carry cargo and a limited number of passengers as we speak. The team will be traveling along as ‘medical and equipment technicians.’”
“How do we get a shipment for her?”
“She’s already scheduled to pick up a shipment of medical supplies bound for L.A. from Baltimore at the Washington National Airport in three days,” Peter replied. “We’ll use the help of some of the Tectus members to move our team and equipment from the airport to the hotel.”
“Alright!” Daniel smiled. “Sounds like we have a plan! Let’s get moving and make the final preparations.”
Chapter 48- We shall continue
The next morning when he returned from his scheduled bathroom trip, Brideaux felt a hard lump under the pillow on his bed. Reaching under it, he pulled out a book titled ‘Kiowa Trail’ by Louis L ’Amour. “Wouldn’t you know, the kid is a fan of westerns,” he muttered.
By now Brideaux had the young guard thoroughly under his control. When he took Brideaux for dinner that night, Brideaux filled his plate as normal, but feigned tripping and dumped it on the floor. While the guard jumped aside to avoid being splattered with food, Brideaux slipped a knife up his sleeve.
“Oh dear, look at the mess I made!” he exclaimed.
“Brideaux!” the other guard shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m so sorry,” he faked his contrition. “I tripped and lost my balance. Clumsy me; I’m really sorry; here let me clean it up.”
“Sit down and shut up, Brideaux” the guard commanded. “Littleton, get a mop and clean up the mess,” he ordered the younger guard. “Mickelson, bring the prisoner another plate.”
“Oh, you don’t have to wait on me; I can get it,” he said as he started to get up.
“Just stay put. We’ll bring it to you. One disaster tonight is more than enough.”
Brideaux shrugged helplessly and sat back down, suppressing a grin as he felt the knife against his skin inside the sleeve.
He ate his dinner calmly and went back to his room without protest. Once inside he pulled the knife out and began to work it against the metal of the bunk, sharpening the piece of simple flatware into a sharp and lethal weapon. As he worked, he reviewed the information he’d been able to wrangle out of the kid over the past few days.
The Captain had moved eighteen of his crew to the torpedo room two decks down where additional bunks were set up. This enabled the Captain to keep him and his comrades in the three compartments vacated by the men; six each in two compartments and him in solitary confinement in the third.
They were only allowed access to the galley once per day and were served cold cereal for breakfast and sandwiches for lunch in confinement. Dinner was the only hot meal they were allowed, but he was not allowed in the mess hall at the same time as his fellow prisoners.
The next day after lunch, he spent the time in his quarters quietly performing the most taxing exercises he could think of that wouldn’t alert his guards to what he was doing. By the time he knew his fellow prisoners were sitting down to the dinner meal in the mess hall, he was dripping with sweat. He lay down on the bunk tucking the sharpened knife ready to hand but out of site, curled into a ball on his side and pounded weakly on the wall of his quarters. “Help! Help me!” he cried, “I’m ill!”
“Stand back,” the guard commanded.
“Help me!”
As the door opened, he feigned semi-consciousness and delirium. The guard took one look at him and called for help. “Look at him! I think he’s really sick,” he said.
Too bad it’s the kid … I actually kinda liked him.
Brideaux curled tighter and groaned, “Please, help me.” The young guard moved closer and leaned over him.
Quick as a snake, Brideaux flung the unsuspecting Ensign over his body, slamming him into the wall with stunning force. At nearly the same instant he grabbed the knife, slashing it across the softness of the other guard’s belly, instantly disemboweling him. Mercifully his next thrust went through the man’s heart putting him out of his misery.
Brideaux grabbed both of the guns the guards had dropped and pulled the Ensign to his feet planting the muzzle of the gun on the young man’s temple. “Make one wrong move, and your brain will be dripping down the bulkhead. Understand?”
Afraid to move, the Ensign blinked and swallowed hard. “Tell me how to get to the bridge.”
“Bridge, sir?” the Ensign asked confused, wondering why he would want to go up in the sail.
Brideaux shook him roughly, “the bridge, the control center of the ship you idiot!”
“Uh … the … the bridge is … is in the s …. sail of the boat, b … bu … but the c … control center is in … in the control room one … one deck down, un… under the sail.”
“Where are the Captain and officers now?”
“In … in … in the … in the wardroom.”
“And, where is it?”
“B … be … below us.”
“Alright, let’s move.”
Keeping the Ensign in front of him for protection, they moved out of his compartment and down the steep stairs to the next deck and the entrance to the mess hall.
Another guard stood just inside the door of the mess hall. He didn’t see Brideaux and his prisoner before it was too late. Brideaux put the gun to the back of the guard’s head and ordered him to step back quietly. The guard did so, and before he could do anything else, Brideaux had cold-cocked him
and grabbed his gun.
Stepping into the mess hall, Brideaux shot the guard across the room in the right eye, and before the second guard could move for his holstered gun, his chest exploded with another shot from Brideaux’s gun.
By now Brideaux’s fellow prisoners had all dropped to the floor out of the line of fire. Shoving the Ensign ahead of him, he made his way through the mess hall, shouting at his comrades to get the guns of the dead guards. As he passed two of his most trusted founders, he gave them each one of the guns he’d recovered and ordered them to follow him.
Keeping his hold on the Ensign, Brideaux made his way to the wardroom, shot the man coming through the door, and pushed the Ensign through ahead of him. The Executive Officer started to get up, and Brideaux shot him in the shoulder then swung the gun on the Captain.
“Don’t, even think of it,” was all he said. He stepped out of the doorway so that there was a wall behind him and instructed the man that followed him to guard the door.
“Hands flat on the table where I can see them, all of you,” Brideaux ordered.
At that moment, an alarm sounded and a voice came over the speaker in the Wardroom.
“Gunfire aboard, secure all compartments.”
“Your crew reacts quickly, Captain.” Brideaux snarled with an evil grin.
Captain Locklin remained silent, glaring at Brideaux in contempt.
“You will contact whoever is in the control room and tell them to stand down.”
“Never.”
Brideaux pulled the trigger shooting the executive officer in the other shoulder. The man screamed in shock and pain.
“Brideaux kept his gun pointed at the executive officer and snarled. “Your call Captain Locklin ...”
Locklin moved slowly to the wall for the communication mic, flipped it on, and shouted “Brideaux is loose…”
Brideaux fired another shot through the Exec’s head and watched him slide down the wall.
The rest of the warning died on Locklin’s tongue as he watched the gun level at another officer’s head.
“Captain!” A voice came over the speaker.
“Your call again, Captain,” Brideaux hissed, holding the gun to the Ensign’s head.
“Stand down! Stand down!” Locklin yelled into the mic.
“Captain?”
Brideaux grabbed the mic from the Captain’s hand, “Your Captain told you to stand down idiot. I suggest you listen to him before I put a bullet through his head,” he shouted.
Silence followed.
Brideaux lowered his gun a little and stepped back. “You see Captain you just have to know how to command people. I’m surprised they gave you command of this tin can considering your lack of skill. Now, where are we?”
No one stirred.
Brideaux nodded, chewing on his lower lip. “I see… that’s how you want to play it.” His knife flashed, and an ear landed on the white table cloth, droplets of blood trailing from the side of the head of the former owner followed by a groan of pain.
“Where are we?”
“Under the polar ice cap.”
Brideaux sighed heavily, “and where are we headed?”
“The Northwest Joint Regional Correctional Facility at Fort Lewis, Washington.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Brideaux bowed mockingly at Locklin. “You see, that wasn’t so hard.”
The men remained frozen at the table, glaring at Brideaux. He just smiled at all of them. “I know what you’re thinking, all of you. You’d like to kill me. I suggest that you don’t try. I’m more than a match for anyone of you. But of course, you’re welcome to test my claim if you want to. I just thought you might want to heed good advice.”
Turning back to Captain Locklin he said, “You’re going to change course to …”
“Not a chance, Brideaux,” Locklin cut it. “This boat stays on course.”
Brideaux leaned toward the Captain slightly; “Really?” he drew the word out.
Brideaux grinned as he looked over the men at the table, picked the one next to Locklin, and pointed his gun at his head. “You will change course or …”
“You can threaten all you want, and kill us one by one,” Captain Locklin said, staring directly into Brideaux’s eyes, “but I will sooner scuttle this boat than let you have control of it.”
“Hmmm. We’ll see about that.” Brideaux moved toward the door, dragging the Ensign with him.
“Get a couple of our people in here now, he ordered the man who had followed him.”
In less than a minute, two of his Council members stood outside the door.
“Take all these officers, except the Captain and this Ensign, and lock them in cold storage. Have the doctor brought up here… one of the officers needs medical attention,” he said pointing to the man holding the side of his head where his ear used to be, blood dripping between his fingers. “Make sure you secure the storage area so they can’t get out. Shoot anyone that resists or tries anything.”
By the time the officers had been put in cold storage, the Corpsman had arrived.
“Move them both to the cold storage area,” he said indicating the man with the missing ear and the medic, “he can treat him in there.”
“You can’t keep us in cold storage, we’ll die!” The medic protested.
“You would prefer that I just kill you all outright? What kind of a man are you? What kind of a man do you think I am? I don’t kill people for no reason!” Brideaux shouted, his eyes wild.
The Corpsman looked at him, astonished. “Excuse me?”
“I said I don’t kill people for no reason,” he rose to his feet, “however, if I have a reason, I’m quite effective at it. Now get on with it!” he shouted, “Before I have a reason to kill you!”
Brideaux turned away as the men were lead from the room and leveled his gun on the Captain. Taking the mic from its cradle, he keyed it and said, “This is John Brideaux. You will turn this ship around now, or I will shoot the officer before me.”
“No way, Brideaux; give it up, you have nowhere to run,” came the reply.
Brideaux adjusted his aim, keyed the mic, and pulled the trigger. The Captain fell to the floor screaming.
“That was the sound of a bullet removing your Captain’s right knee cap. I’ll give you thirty seconds to think about that, and then I’ll remove the other kneecap.”
“Are you ready to give me control of this ship yet Captain?”
“Go to hell, Brideaux,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Wrong answer.” Brideaux left the room, and they heard him rummaging around in the galley.
When he returned, two of his colleagues grabbed the Ensign, sat him in a chair, and pulled the shoe and sock from one foot. “You are responsible for the lives of those under your command, are you not, Captain?”
Locklin just stared at him with hate filled eyes.
“This is your responsibility Captain. Key the mic,” he ordered. Then he pinned the boy’s leg tightly and began removing the toenail from the big toe with his knife.
Ensign Littleton screamed at a blood-curdling pitch. By the time Brideaux had the nail off, everyone was covered in sweat.
Brideaux held the mic in his bloody hands. “Turn the ship around.”
“No way, Brideaux,” the voice replied over the speaker.
“Captain?” he inquired.
Breathing heavily with pain Captain Locklin shook his head, “No.”
“Key the mic,” Brideaux ordered as he turned back toward the Ensign.
“No!” he yelled. “Oh God! Someone stop him! Please!” His pleading became screams as Brideaux amputated his big toe.
Again, he returned to the mic and keyed it with his bloody hand. “Turn the ship around.”
“No.”
“Captain?”
“No.”
“Very well, we shall continue.”
Chapter 49- Merge us
“We are going to need help,” Siasha said in a soft but very conce
rned voice as she looked at Tawndo, Korda and Linkola in turn.
“Yes,” Tawndo nodded. “The question is how are we going to get it? None of our other satellite sites have responded, and it would be difficult to bring any of them here anyway without alarming the Eleventh Cycle population. We can’t just walk out of here and announce to the people out there we are from the Eighth Cycle; we’re about sixty-two-thousand-years old and need your help. Can we?”
“What about Robert?” Korda asked.
Tawndo looked at Korda. “Who?”
“Robert. As you are aware, it is his body you inhabit. He was a member of the Rossler Foundation, the people who brought Brideaux down recently. I’ve studied every bit of the history of the group.”
“Yes, I know this body was Robert Cartwright’s before, but you never told me about my history. Actually, I never asked—it never bothered me; I never had a desire to know. But now it seems to be important that I know.”
Korda nodded. “The man that is now President, Daniel Rossler, and his team gained access to the history and technology of the Tenth Cycle people and have been protecting the knowledge ever since. They’ve only shared the parts of it that could be used to make life better for the people of this cycle.
“They also found a Ninth Cycle site at the South Pole of the planet—they call it Antarctica. Unfortunately, that discovery released a dreadful disease on the population of the world. Fortunately, they also found a cure for the disease otherwise it would have been the end of their cycle.
“Because the disease attacked only people of a certain genetic makeup, the Rossler Foundation was blamed, and enemies arose which drove them to the brink of an all-out nuclear war. A fanatical group who called themselves The Sword of Cyrus infiltrated the Rossler Foundation and almost succeeded in gaining control of the world, but the Rossler group found out about them just in time and was able to defeat them.
“Not long after averting that disaster, the Rossler Foundation discovered our site here at the canyon. This man, John Brideaux, took the Beast from them and in the process, killed Robert Cartwright,” Korda pointed at Tawndo, “and got control of the world, just like the Council of the Selected of our cycle did.