Nemesis (The MechaVerse Trilogy Book 2)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  Finding him suitably chastened, the nurses were true to their word, taking him to his quarters where everything was already setup in such a way as to accommodate his use of the wheelchair. They left him after removing the outermost ceramic tiled layer of armor and helped him into bed. He was embarrassed and too exhausted to argue with them.

  The blackness of sleep quickly overtook him.

  CHAPTER THREE – THE PROMISE OF HOPE IN DESPAIR

  “This isn’t me saving you; this is me showing you the path forward to tomorrow.” – Dr. Hesken

  Early in his third week after regaining consciousness, and a week after receiving the powered armor suit, Dr. Hesken approached Mikkhael while he lay splayed across the uncomfortable medical equivalent of a love seat, recovering from an intense day of physical therapy. She stopped near his feet, crossing her arms while staring at him. Her gaze was emotionless, the clinical detachment of a medical professional scanning a patient. Time dragged as she relentlessly evaluated him.

  He coughed awkwardly, wilting underneath the piercing stare. For her part, the doctor remained mute, but for the life of him he was unable to imagine a segway that resulted in her leaving him alone. Unable to take it anymore, he opened his mouth to speak but she interrupted him instead.

  “You need to spend time walking distances. Other patients require my care now. We have done the best we can for you, it is time you began finding your own motivation again. Explore the base. Get curious, get angry, fall and get hurt. Then get back up and keep going. Struggle. The point is that you need to live, and the sooner you come up with your own reason to, the better off you’ll be. So, go find one. We will not help you anymore.”

  She turned and walked away without waiting for a reply. He did not have one anyway. The sudden complete withdrawal of support left him speechless. His anger at the betrayal fed him. Already not requiring the use of crutches thanks the new powered suit, he retreated to his rooms, determined to mope in them and never leave. Time passed, he was not sure how long, but it did not take long for him to become hungry. He keyed the intercom to have a meal delivered, but all he heard was static. Hungry and angry at his body’s betrayal, he was perfectly aware that Dr. Hesken had obviously enlisted accomplices in her plan of making him as miserable as possible, one she was succeeding at remarkably well. Instinctively he glanced at his wrist to have Aurora call the doctor and bring her to heel, but the communicator was not there. His empty wrist was a profound and constant reminder that he had lost a larger part of himself, in the battle three months ago than many realized or understood.

  Realizing the futility of waiting around, and Dr. Hesken’s thoroughness in planning her traps, his stomach convinced him of the need to walk to the cafeteria and get the food himself. Leaving the comfort and relative safety of his quarters, with the help of the powered suit propelling him, he began ambling down corridors at random with absolutely no idea where he was. Wandering lost for a time without finding anyone to ask directions, Mikkhael found himself shuffling down hallways absent-mindedly as he continued to quietly curse the doctor until he eventually came to a dead-end, entirely unaware as to how he got there, and more importantly how to get back.

  The burning sensation of overworked muscles in his legs forced him to stop near a winding staircase chiseled into the very bedrock of Mount Olympus that comprised one of the outer layers of the walls the StormCrows called home. Something about the staircase intrigued him. He could not explain it, but he felt himself being drawn to whatever was at the top. He was unaware of any other staircases like this one in Mt. Olympus. Its position was completely isolated from anything of any importance. The fact that it was set off on its own only lent to its appeal. Without Aurora to tell him where the staircase led, he would be forced to fulfill his own curiosity, his hunger temporarily forgotten. The minutes passed as he waited for someone to pass by so he could ask them where the staircase led without having to make the climb himself, but he remained alone and neglected without even a data slate from which to query answers.

  He found himself climbing the stairs, slowly. Each step his feet landed gingerly, feeling their way for purchase and ensuring their stability before proceeding to the next. Tediously, he climbed his way to the top. There were three landings between the floor he had been on and the top. He needed to pause and rest at the landing of each floor, breathing heavily like an out of shape runner in reduced gravity, lungs fighting to get access to enough oxygen. He regretted not bringing the helmet to the powered armor suit, which he could use to flood the suit with enriched oxygen and relieve some of the pressure on his lungs. Each landing he made it to, he told himself what a fool he was being and that it did not matter what was at the top. Internally, he made solid arguments to himself about what he was doing, then countered them, and then made up new ones.

  An eternity passed, but Mikkhael eventually made it to the top of the staircase. The top landing exiting onto what appeared to be a glass shielded viewing platform nestled snugly between a pair of colossal, long since hardened, lava outflows from the highest volcano in the solar system. The view was breathtaking. Mount Olympus was a shield volcano, so called for the fact that there was no cone sticking up like many volcanos, but instead surrounded by the vast amount of lava outflows that built up after an untold amount of time, in this instance creating a continent sized Mesa. From the outside, there was no horizon in sight to give away the continent sized geographical feature named the Tharsis Bulge.

  The landing was set in a direction that showed a cleft in between three different mountains, barely visible in the hazy distance of what he could only assume were a great many miles. Mikkhael arrived at the platform when the sun was setting, illuminating the surrounding mountains with the mesmerizing blues of the last few dying rays of sunlight, the unique viewpoint in perfect position to fully appreciate the wondrous effect. Phobos, the larger of the two Martian moons, but also significantly closer than Deimos, raced across the rapidly darkening sky in a bright streak that reflected onto the plain spread out in front of him.

  The landing edge was encased from floor to ceiling in thin glass, dangerously exposed to the thin atmosphere that would surely kill him if breached. He was too exhausted to move further, crumpling into a ball, fully enamored by the glorious view. He had not realized quite how cold it was out there on the landing or just how thin the air that high up was until it was too late. He passed out before he could adjust his suits temperature.

  The pain in his spine woke him up. Its stiffness told him that he had been asleep for hours. A brief self-evaluation revealed that he was wrapped in a heavy cloak with a fully body heating system built inside, a common item on the frozen planet of Mars. Someone had also strapped a rebreather across his face. A hose ran from it to a backpack containing a pair of small, highly pressurized oxygen tanks. He looked around, stopping when he saw a plate holding meat, cheese, and crackers next to several canteens of water. They were placed just out of reach, where he would not knock them over in his sleep. His stomach growled fiercely in recognition of the kilocalories.

  He helped himself to the food. They were going to watch him and make sure he did not die, but judging from their actions, they were going to force him to find his own path just as Dr. Hesken said. If they were going to continue taking care of him, they would have carried him back to the med bay; instead, they had brought him what he needed to survive in the environment he placed himself in, nothing more. As he again scanned his surroundings, he saw a pair of military grade binoculars lying neatly on the floor adjacent to a portable toilet and spare oxygen cylinders.

  He realized it was childish, but he vowed to remain on the landing area until someone came to get him. The view was magnificent, calling to him on a primordial level. After sating his hunger, he looked out using the binoculars, seeing the pervasive red dust coating everything it touched. The valley floor below him stretched out to the horizon, unmarred by the touch of humans. The various peaks in the distance that thrust up from the groun
d revealed rock formations splayed with a force that laughed at the miniscule ability of humanity to cause destruction when compared to the forces of nature. The winds howled manically through the various mountain passes of Mount Olympus, the ever-present dust creating beautiful and yet entirely lethal images as it danced for him.

  Time passed quickly, unnoticed and unwelcome. He napped periodically until the sun rose. Its reflection off the distant mountains left him breathless. He stood slowly, stiff throughout his entire body, and headed to his room, if he could find it.

  For the first time in a very long time, both his body and soul felt refreshed.

  His bladder woke him up later in the day, not Aurora, and not a doctor or nurse checking in on him. The feeling left him giddy. As soon as he took care of his needs, he dressed in warm civilian clothes that were laid out for him during his shower, slipped into the powered suit, and then slowly shuffled back to his hiding spot, nothing aside from waiting for the sunset on his agenda. He felt a pang as he thought about leaving the wristband containing the remaining fragment of Aurora’s presence behind, even if it was just a shell, a copy of her base programming. Nothing about the current situation had been her fault. He missed her, feeling alone and vulnerable without her constant nagging presence. But she was lost to him and he was unable to accept the shell that remained.

  He made it back into position on the landing about two hours before the sunset. The climb wore him out even more than it had the previous day. He ended up napping in the corner while recovering from the climb. A strange noise startled him, waking him. Once awake, he then slowly proceeded through a series of stretches; time was not an important factor. It was only after several minutes passed that he noticed her. The sight of the sun reflecting off the red of her hair flashed brilliantly in his eyes. He turned to ask her how long she had been there, what she wanted, anything. The words would not form, stumbling over each other on their way out of his mouth. He gave up, looking back to the sunset.

  A few minutes passed before he heard Eve laugh. “I did not see you as the type for giving up that easily. When Aurora’s shell did not even know where you were except for the general location I was worried. After seeing this though,” she pointed to the scene in front of her, words failing to describe it, “I see as usual my worries were pointless.”

  A few more minutes passed, stretching from comfortable into awkward. She broke the silence again, her tone and approach changing, less confident. “I forgot about this spot to be honest. My father made it when he built Olympus as a way to remind him that humans are foreign to this world. He used to say; “There is a simple honesty in the brutality of this planet that is refreshing. It constantly reminds us of our humanity; no matter what new way the governments of this world come up with to take it away from us.” She stopped, turning to him for the first time since she arrived. “I see a lot of him in you. The strength to challenge any odds, and yet be able to take the time and see this for what it is, that’s a rare combination.”

  She stopped talking for a moment, turning to head towards the stairs. “I’m sorry by the way. That was all I wanted to say. That you would sacrifice everything the way you did for us will never be forgotten.”

  He did not ask her to stay. His thoughts were jumbled; dancing around in his mind, leaving him conflicted. He ignored them, staring back at the sunset. The matter would have to settle itself out on its own accord. It was his turn to finally be the passenger on the train of life.

  Another beautiful sunset passed across the plain. He napped sporadically. During one particularly long nap someone must have come again to refresh the air tanks and bring him a plate of food. He ate slowly, chewing thoroughly, unconcerned by time, watching the dust reflect the faint rays as Phobos once again completed its race across the sky. Deimos, the smaller of the two was un-viewable from the surface of Mars without a telescope, even with the military grade binoculars it barely appeared as a distant twinkling dot. Time passed as the stars danced, all was well with the world.

  * * * * *

  Eve maintained a constant but distant vigil over Mikkhael since their return to Mount Olympus. She visited frequently throughout each day he spent in the medical ward, remaining out of the way of the hospital staff but keeping a watchful eye on his broken, depleted form until she unknowingly served as the catalyst that revived him. She watched over his progress during the physical therapy sessions, agonizing with Dr. Hesken about his complete loss of identity and their inability to help him cope. Now she came to sit with him daily, contributing the only way she knew how, spending the time with him in silence as they watched the sunsets and the passing of the moons, marveling together at the strange and deadly beauty of the planet they now called home. This was her penance, she would bear it gladly, constantly aware that she could never replace what was taken from him.

  To rescue her, he had spent nearly a day and a half in constant battle against continuously overwhelming odds, mowing through the PDF ranks like a combine cutting stalks during harvest season. Her father had knowingly asked him to sacrifice himself so that he could rescue her and the two squadrons of Mech armor pilots she foolishly led to their deaths, in the process of which they were caught in the snare of the most intricate trap the enemy commandant General Akari ever set. Not only did Mikkhael not hesitate to sacrifice himself for her and her few surviving team members with absolutely no confirmation that they were even still alive, but in that process he sacrificed the one hope the rebellion had in winning their freedom, Starkindler.

  On top of all that, as if that was not enough, he battled division-sized elements while fighting off crippling, near lethal withdrawal symptoms. During that time, he transcended, not just for her but for all the rebellion, from a hero to some being of near mythic proportion during that fight-of-fights. To the Rebels, Mikkhael Dreyfus now had more in common with mythical deities such as Odin and Zeus than he did any of them. To be in his presence for many was a near religious experience; which became part of the reason why Commander Ultor and Dr. Hesken worked together to keep him secluded from the rest of the base as much as possible. If word got out about just how bad his current physical state of being was or the fact that he was a soulless husk shuffling around distractedly, Rebel morale would suffer intensely.

  Everything that had happened to him was her fault, the burden that she was determined to shoulder. During one of the darkest moments of her life, he defied all the odds to break through the PDF ranks using her as bait in the trap they set for him, all in order to rescue her and the three other surviving members of her expedition. Knowing it was futile, Eve and the other three pilots all attempted to make their escape with him, but Starkindler had sustained damage beyond even its legendary limits before reaching them. With her own Mech armor crippled, she sought refuge with Mikkhael for the breakout. It was the only reason she was alive right now.

  As soon as they cleared the canyon and were ground level, the assembled PDF opened up with everything they had and Starkindler was ripped apart by volley after volley of incoming fire. They were certain they were going to die, but in the nick of time her father, Commander Ultor of the StormCrows, united the disjointed rebel factions under one flag in order to save not just her, but the hope for all of them that Mikkhael and Starkindler had become. Working together, united with one objective for the first time in the rebellions history, they pushed back the PDF, rescuing them. But it had almost been too late. During Mikkhael’s suicidal rampage, the reactor of Starkindler lost some of its radiation containment, giving him what should have been a lethal dose of radiation poisoning.

  Only due to his own modified gene sequences and the uniting of the best minds and resources the rebellion had were they barely able to keep Mikkhael’s body alive. Without Starkindler however; without his ability to fight back against the corrupt government that destroyed his life back on Earth, killing his family and nearly everyone close to him, he had lost his way, his reason to live. She knew deep in her core that the only way she could
possibly repay her debt to him was to help him find that reason again.

  Everyone on both sides of the battle knew that if he had tried to link up with them any earlier, the outcome would have been much different, and it really would have been a much more resounding suicidal run. As it was, she keenly felt the loss of the seven pilots in all that left Mount Olympus under her command, never to return; they had gone on the expedition out of loyalty to her and paid the ultimate price for her folly. Only Ulric had lived. His Mech had been completely destroyed, but he safely ejected during the battle. The Lazarus faction rescued him when they caught the PDF off guard as they were all entirely focused on eliminating Starkindler.

  Eve glanced over at Mikkhael, both staring at him and past him at the same time as she lost herself in thought. It was the fourth day she had come to sit with him. The hours stretched incredibly slowly for her as he ignored her, focusing only on the stars. She was not even sure he knew she was there at times. She could not bring herself to understand his new obsession with the stars, which triggered more jealousy in her than she would have ever guessed.

  She shifted uncomfortably, stiff from sitting on the hard rock floor, turning to look at Mikkhael. She coughed and drank a bit of water from a canteen before speaking, loosening up her vocal chords. “Did anyone ever tell you what happened?”

  It was a few moments before he reacted, she, not for the first time, wondered if his mind had been partially lost after the fight, maybe he really was a soulless husk shuffling around in the body of their hero. But he did finally turn to her, meeting her eyes and holding the gaze, sending shivers down her spine as she realized all too well why he avoided eye contact until now.