It had however, been a very long time since he had suffered such physical injuries. The benefits of being an agent had allowed him access to better weaponry and tech. Not to mention the chance to plan out his own assignments, instead of being told what to do by some UDC analyst who had never even seen a gun.
His counter-attack had not gone to plan; as he’d reached for the Mohawk’s knee he’d fallen short from the pain in his ribs. He remembered his training and pushed the pain away. He was a machine, not a person with feelings or nerve endings and a fragile biology. He could take the beating and still complete his mission because that’s what needed to be done. In a way that was what he liked about his job, it made things simple. Life in the UDC was black and white with orders given and orders received.
The Mohawk pressed the attack when Roland’s counter fell short. He felt the strong grip around his neck lift him from the floor with one hand and thrust him into the wall. His opponent flashed him a deadly smile while trying to suffocate him. Roland knew he could hold his breath for just under three minutes but had no intention of remaining pinned to the wall for that long. He forced his hand into the crook of the pinning arm while simultaneously wrapping his other hand around the head. The inevitable reaction was Roland’s brow meeting the Mohawk’s nose. He loved the sound of hearing the nose break.
The Mohawk stumbled backwards with blood smeared across his beard and cheeks. Roland didn’t stop the attack there, kicking a man while he was down was something the UDC encouraged. He push kicked the Mohawk, hitting him in the sternum with as much strength as he could muster. The Mohawk flew into the opposite wall and fell to one knee with a hand on his chest. Roland chuckled at seeing the stupid shit on his knees.
“Bet you wish you’d stayed in your pretty suit now, huh?” He didn’t care that his words weren’t understood, he just felt good. That was until the Mohawk launched from his crouched position and swept Roland off his feet. He braced expecting to hit the wall that never came. Instead the wall had parted, creating a new room on the other side.
Roland pulled his weight down forcing the two into a backwards roll. As they tumbled to the floor he then pushed his weight up creating the momentum for another roll. Now he was sat on top of the Mohawk with his right hand over his throat and his left ready to make the blow. The Mohawk was fast however, he yanked Roland’s thumb taking his hand away from his throat. As if from nowhere, his attacker’s legs wrapped around his chest and threw Roland to the side. In a move too fast and exotic for Roland to comprehend the Mohawk was back on his feet. From this angle he could see a metallic device running up the Mohawk’s back and onto his neck. The black undersuit was fitted around it as if both were fused together.
He had no idea what the augmentation was, but from the way it was attached to the neck and spine it had to be vital. Now he had found the weakness all he had to do was exploit it.
The Mohawk turned ready to attack again. With Roland on the floor he obviously thought he had the high ground and therefore the advantage.
His mistake.
Roland had been trained to kill from every stance with his hands tied behind his back. He feigned more pain than he was in to draw the opponent in closer. He almost smiled at the Mohawk’s arrogance. When the distance was right, he lashed out with his left leg. He pushed it straight into the Mohawk’s right knee, feeling the subsequent snap as he did. The surprise and agony on his face was more than satisfying. With his attacker on one knee Roland kicked out with his right leg aiming for the chest. Again the Mohawk showed incredible speed and reflexes as he intercepted the foot with his left hand. His strength under such pain was impressive, but not uncalculated. Roland flipped his body, kicking the Mohawk in the jaw with his free leg.
He continued this momentum until the Mohawk was doubled over, exposing his metallic back. Now on his own knees, Roland removed the combat knife from its sheath in the small of his back. There was no hesitation as he pushed the knife into the metallic flat-worm and dragged it down the spine. The Mohawk’s reaction was proof of the augment’s significance. He jumped up, thrashing as he did. Roland was knocked to the floor while he watched his opponent writhe around in what looked like agony. He clawed at his head like a mad man trying to dig something out.
Suddenly the Mohawk was floating in mid air, clenching his fists in violent spasms. Roland felt the knife fling from his hand and stick to the wall like a powerful magnet had been switched on. Thick purple liquid was dripping from the slash down the Mohawk’s spine. The viscous drops never hit the floor but instead remained suspended, mid-drop. In an agonising scream his hands flexed and Roland was shoved into the wall by an unseen force. He doubled over himself from the pain in his ribs and spat blood onto the floor. Once on the floor, the blood began to slither across the surface until it rose into the air and joined the swirling vortex of purple liquid.
His attention was split between the extraordinary display in front of him and the sound of what must be massive changes on the other side of the wall. He could hear the walls moving as if giant gimbals were rotating all around them. Were they moving or was something else moving? He turned back and saw the door was still open so he knew they weren’t moving. Just then the sound stopped with a great thud and the opposite wall began to form a door.
The door spiralled open, giving way to another armoured guard. This one was different again with long dark hair that ran over his plated shell. The dark strands hung over his face, partially concealing a complex green tattoo across his cheek and mouth. His skin looked paler than the Mohawk’s with a slight yellow tinge to it. He stepped into the room like a parent looking for a distressed child.
“Elandar...” The Mohawk tried to reach out but recoiled as his hand lit up the room with a miniature sun in his palm. Roland covered his face from the stark light but felt the heat on his skin. The light ended as suddenly as it sparked, leaving colourful spots on his retinas. He looked up to see the face of the one called Elandar, agonising over the sight of the Mohawk. He reached out, hesitating to touch the floating mess of a man.
“Hol, elondaseal...” The alien words meant nothing to him as the new man gave a steely expression. Roland saw a grave intent in that expression.
Elandar whipped his hand out rolling his hand as he did. The Mohawk’s head twisted beyond its normal limitation, a fraction of a second before his body followed suit, flinging him into the wall. The mixture of liquids dropped to the floor and the Mohawk crumpled with them. His bloodied head lay at an unnatural angle to his body.
Double shit...
It dawned on him how powerful these beings were. He had got lucky with the Mohawk having some ridiculous notion of honour. Elandar then turned on Roland with an expression of disgust.
“You have no idea what you just did.” Roland gave him a double take as he realised he understood the words. “You destroyed his Harness, took away his control. It is a crippling and agonising death for a Gomar. What you just saw was a mercy killing, Terran. I will not grant you the same.” Roland struggled to stand, feeling every broken bone and tendon. He had given the Mohawk his all and was failing to find his reserves. Not to mention this one wasn’t taking off his armour. He looked to his knife in despair at seeing it on the other side of the room.
Elandar casually lifted his arm showing Roland the back of his hand. He felt his lungs expel the last of its air as his ribs were pulled up inside his chest. He soon found his feet leaving the ground unable to move any of his limbs. He tried to let off a last insult but failed to find the air to speak.
His relief was found in Elandar’s cry of pain. Roland dropped to the floor gasping for breath as Elandar collapsed to his knees, holding his head in both hands. His eyes had rolled into the back of his head and his contorted mouth was eerily silent as he remained on his knees. The encompassing armour began to crumple and implode into his body.
The next thing Roland saw convinced him he was suffering a head injury.
From behind the agonising Elandar, a nak
ed woman appeared draped in dark tubes that dragged on the floor. There was blood dripping down her skin from where the tubes met her body. They ran up her legs and arms gradually becoming thicker along her stomach and chest. Her long dark hair fell unkempt over her shoulders and down her back. She turned to come into the room and Roland saw the tubes were in her back as well, though none of them were attached to anything but her. She looked exhausted to Roland, like every step was a mountain to conquer. She staggered into the room behind Elandar with a glazed expression.
“And who the hell are you?” Roland just about got the words out. Like something out of a nightmare, Elandar replied in a voice that wasn’t quite his own.
“I am... Esabelle.” With that his armour completely caved in like a scrunched up piece of paper. Blood flowed out of the jagged holes pooling on the floor at his knees. His head tilted as the armour around his neck cut through the oesophagus and trachea almost separating the head entirely. Like a bored child the naked woman flicked her hand away, throwing the massacred body onto the Mohawk’s.
She dropped to her knees meeting Roland at his level; she looked like she had just thrown a boulder. He tried not to turn away from her ancient breath as she attempted to speak. Every word came from a dry throat.
“They...are...coming.”
Kalian opened his eyes to see Li’ara fighting with Namek on the sparring mat. He was sitting in the corner applying his latest lesson. He had to get used to this form of sleeping if he was going to keep up with ALF’s regime. Retreating into his head, having created a virtual world, he could allow the rest of his mind and body to disperse his energy consumption to replicate the effects of sleep.
In his mind he had created the Terran Capital, Albadar. The subconducer had uploaded all recorded data from the Criterion of Terran history, as well as the required training. He had been able to walk around the streets as if he were actually there seeing his ancestors, or engineers, going about their daily lives. Everything was beautiful there. The architecture, the design and even the people were that of perfection. He knew it was the combination of nature and science that humanity had never achieved on any of their planets. Some people walked to their destination, others flew by in sleek ships while a few actually flew without ships. Everywhere he had looked the Terran people were using their abilities for art and science and the simple joy of it. He also noticed the occasional Gomar walk by, looking like any human without paranormal abilities.
While exploring this virtual world, his brain absorbed the skills and adapted the artificial memories from the training. He could now acquire the equivalent of twelve hours sleep in just half an hour of this meditation. The training took place on many levels however, so he could filter the learnt skills while he ‘slept’ allowing him to experience more from one session. On one of these levels he had been through a training program to further develop his telekinesis alongside his new form of sleep.
“Perhaps we should go outside for this application? I still haven’t finished reconstruction of that corridor.” ALF appeared by his side, the way he always did. It had surprised him this time since he hadn’t been filling the room with his awareness. Kalian thought of the destructive technicalities of telekinesis and silently agreed.
Li’ara was practising with her new weapon from ALF. Though hesitant at first, she had clearly come to love the blade. The AI had explained that the hilt of the blade housed a CPU for specifically designed nanocelium. They could be tailored with the right programming to form any blade imaginable, within reason. The hilt contained a finite amount nanocelium and therefore could only produce so much in length and shape. Her own blade was dark grey and just longer than her arm with a diagonal cut made across the point. Namek’s blade was bigger, to fit his taller stance, but was curved like a giant question mark. They danced around each other, creating sparks with every blow. He was impressed with her agility and stamina in keeping up with the Novaarian, but he knew Namek was capable of much more.
They stopped their sparring and accompanied Kalian and ALF along with Telarrek, who had been very quiet since the news of the Valoran. Once outside, ALF became an extension of his armour and projected a couple of metres away. They walked away from the Fathom and entered a patch with a small cluster of rocks.
“Lift that rock.” ALF pointed at a small rock in the middle of the gathering. Kalian pushed his hand out towards the rock, even though his hand had nothing to do with his power to move it. He felt his awareness expand to engulf the intended rock. His feedback was instantaneous information relaying the different layers of minerals that made up the rock. Confident of his grip, he excited the sensation in his central nervous system and flipped his hand. He raised it as if he was holding the rock in his palm. He opened his eyes to see a larger rock to his left floating six feet in the air. He sighed at his failure but felt a unique joy at being able to manipulate reality in such a way. He felt like a different person from the one who had been escorted from his lecture theatre over a week ago. He was becoming powerful. As if reading his thoughts, ALF cut in.
“Be mindful of your new found power. Many Terran fell from the cause after centuries of war with the Gomar. They grew to like their new destructive capabilities and left the empire altogether. It will be harder for you, being so young. You don’t have the experience and wisdom that living for centuries can grant you. This will be exciting for you,” the AI looked to the floating rock that was slowly rotating on its axis. “But you must always have a reason for using it, don’t abuse your gifts. You have the power to be a force for good.” Kalian let the rock fall back to earth.
He knew what ALF was saying- don’t be a dick. He tried to bury that excitement and focus on the reality of his abilities. He would have to use them to end the life of another being, possibly several beings. His control could mean the difference between life and death for his friends, for Li’ara. The responsibility he felt reminded him of Earths ancient myths, he couldn’t help but feel like Atlas holding up the world. That feeling of responsibility frightened him for a moment. He responded the only way that felt instinctive now. He raised both of his hands, reaching out for all of the rocks. If he could see his power, he could convince himself everything would be ok. His chaotic thoughts prevented his ability to focus on any one thing. He felt everything and everyone around him but commanded the rocks to lift. He opened his eyes to more failure. Not even one of the rocks had left the floor.
“I need more time!” He dropped his head to avoid looking at Li’ara. He knew he was making excuses; the subconducer could give him years of training. It was his young mind that needed the training. The history it had uploaded into his brain showed him the years a Terran would take just to learn how to focus on a single rain drop. His own fears dispersed his awareness, preventing him from concentrating on one thing.
“Kalian...” He looked at Telarrek as a large shadow encompassed them all. He looked up in disbelief as the Fathom floated above them like a broken ship in vacuum. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He felt the steady output from his central nervous system and knew it was him. But how could he lift something so big?
“You’re not focusing.” ALF walked into view with a disappointed look. “I asked you to lift a rock, not a ship.” How could he be disappointed at the spectacle? It might not be the rock but it was a whole ship. “Put it down Kalian, carefully.” He thought about that last word and panicked. He didn’t even know how he had lifted it never mind bringing it back down with care. Kalian took a breath and narrowed his focus and awareness to only the ship. He felt every curve of its hull and every bolt in its hole. He ignored the complexities of its insides, especially the engine. Grasping only the outside of the vessel he instinctively held out both hands as if he was actually carrying it. Again he had closed his eyes since they only distracted him with all he saw. With a thud and a small quake he knew the ship was once again on the ground, just not where they had parked it.
“Better.” ALF still didn’t look particularly pleased. They
remained outside for another hour until Kalian had successfully lifted every rock in sequence. They were all pleased to see that he hadn’t suffered any nose bleeds or blackouts from the exertion.
It wasn’t long after this that he found himself sitting in the subconducer again. Reality slipped into the infinite while he was learning in the machine. He wasn’t really aware of anything until it stopped, at which point his mind began the filtering process. ALF advised meditation after every session so he could study Terran culture as well as absorb the details from the lessons. It was this studying that led him to ask about the Avatar.
“He was the first of your kind to become immortal.”ALF explained. “He lived for centuries before any other Terran knew of that power. Though many had learned to heal wounds and even overcome certain diseases, he was the first to shed death. He could perpetually regenerate his cells keeping him young forever. For his generation that kind of mind-body control was unheard of. Outliving everyone he knew and loved was hard, so he looked to me. He is the only being I have ever permitted to walk inside the Criterion. We spent years conversing, the only two immortals. Even after the population caught up with him, I only ever allowed the Avatar to enter. So he became known as the Avatar, a living extension of me, if you will. The Terran had no need of a leader, but they looked to him, especially during the war.” ALF appeared tormented at the thought of his oldest friend.
“What happened on the Gommarian?” Li’ara asked.
“He wouldn’t allow anyone to be put at such risk, so he volunteered. His mission was to acquire information on the ship’s capabilities. He transmitted all the data he could collect before he was found. After that there was nothing.” Kalian had images of the man with long dark hair that flowed down his back. The recordings were always of him talking to the masses with some inspirational speech. Of course they always ended with, ‘we are forever.’ ALF had explained that the phrase was introduced after the population had reached immortality; it was a celebration of their great achievement over death. He knew why Savrick had repeated it to him now. It was his way of spitting on the Terran by proving them wrong. Kalian felt the phrase was only adding fuel to the fire for the not so immortal Gomar.
Intrinsic: Book One of the Terran Cycle Page 41