The Hunted

by Steve Scheunemann

  He did know that they had suffered losses at several key locations six years ago, and that not all had been captured or killed. The deaths had numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands.

  What he did know was that there existed in the shadows an organization that was devoted to freeing the planet from genetic tyranny. He knew that the Government’s control was but a house of cards, and that, despite what he’d told Matt, it was possible to make a citizen see the injustice of the system, and he could find the motivation and indeed even passion to change the system.

  He knew this because he was such a one. All that he’d ever injected into his own veins in front of Matt was a harmless nutrient mixture.

  Angus had been bred and raised to be a soldier, trained from the cradle to take orders and to sacrifice his own life to accomplish the mission. Somewhere, something had gone wrong. Angus had questioned in his own mind why a military was even necessary. After all, there was but one government wasn’t there? He began to study history. At first it was only military history, as would be expected of a soldier, but when he thought no one would notice he read other histories, then philosophies, and soon a natural curiosity he was not supposed to have caused him to read everything he could, from poetry to auto mechanics. His original question had not been answered. Why a military at all?

  What Angus had not known was that his interest had been noted. It had been noted by more than one, in fact.

  Malone, one of Angus’ squad mates, was in fact, a BGP plant. At 6’1” 190 pounds, Malone was typical of a Hunter. He had brown hair, just starting to recede, and an open look about his face. He looked like someone you just knew you’d like, someone you could talk to. Not that his slightly-larger-than-average size meant anything, Hunters came in all sizes. It was his above average, even for a soldier, musculature, and his pleasant looks. No Hunter was hard to look at, neither were they so good looking that you’d look twice. They hid the muscles well and seemed to blend into a crowd of three.

  One of the BGP’s most closely guarded secrets was that the Hunters spied on the military. The very nature of the genes the two classes shared called for more free will than most.

  The problem seemed to be the teamwork required of a military unit. It was thought to cause them to care too much for one another; something the Hunters did not have a problem with.

  At any rate, the military had a higher desertion rate than any cared to admit. About one in every fifteen thousand eventually attempted to go UA. Of these all were listed as being in an ‘Unauthorized Absence’ status, in a top secret document. In fact, fewer than one in every two thousand who tried were actually absent. The rest were dead. Caught by the Hunters who considered it great sport to kill a soldier while the soldier was armed with a knife and the Hunter unarmed. Such was the disdain they held for the military’s combat training. Not one Hunter had ever been lost in the taking of a soldier. Malone was looking forward to some sport as soon as Angus made a move to desert.

  Malone grinned as he remembered the first time he had the pleasure of taking down a deserting soldier only three months after Danielle had died at his hands, marking Malone’s graduation and the beginning of his career as a Hunter.

  His first real world assignment was to the military barracks at Kuala Lumpur. At 16 he was a bit shy of his full growth, but already deadly, and full of a fierce pride in that fact. He was eager, and anxious to be about purging the world of genetic trash and those who would become traitors to the state and their own genetic superiority.

  Being assigned to the military as his first real world assignment was a source of pride and an indication of how highly the BGP regarded him. He was on a fast track to command and he knew it. This, as much as his own belief in the purposes of the BGP, fueled his need to excel. He craved that command, that validation of his own view of his superiority. Not only was he superior to all the trash, but also to the cattle that made up the citizens at large. Indeed, Malone was superior to the rest of the Hunters too. Oh, he would never voice that opinion, but as good as the Hunters were he knew he was a step further along the evolutionary road than the rest.

  He was, of course, a private. At 16 he could hardly be anything else, but privates were as anonymous as it was possible to be. If he was in his assigned place of duty, no one noticed or cared what he did with his spare time.

  He was not the only Hunter assigned to the Kuala Lumpur barracks, but he was the junior most of three.

  Jackson was a corporal ostensibly, but in reality he was a Hunter with 12 years experience. At his age, were he actually a soldier he would have been a captain at least. The Military had swept away the old rank systems of the world’s various armies, navies, and Marine Corps.

  In its place was simply the Military, which consisted largely of infantry. The most prestigious assignment one could hope for was to the Storm Troops. They specialized in urban warfare. They were shock troops. To be a Storm Trooper meant promotions much faster than in the other divisions. It did mean that Captain was as senior as one could get without transferring out of the “Troops.”

  If you were assigned to the Storm Troops, you could expect to spend time at private, corporal, sergeant, lieutenant, and captain. Promotion to colonel meant leaving the “Troops,” for either the Staff Planning or Support Division. From colonel there was promotion to general, and if you reached the pinnacle of the modern military you would be the Planetary Marshall himself. The old rank structure of the American military, for example, had 24 different ranks from private to general, and it was very rare for someone to cross from an enlisted rank to an officer’s commission. The Military had just 8 ranks total, and every serving member started his career as a private.

  Jackson needed to remain where he was in order to be effective in his real job. He was something of a genius at not getting promoted. It was difficult to stay at the rank of corporal or below for 12 years without being deleted, or at least washed out of the ‘Troops” into Support. Of course Jackson did not have to worry about the BGP deletion squad, but remaining in his current duties was nothing short of amazing. In order to accomplish it he had to be very good at soldiering, while proving unsuitable for command. Malone was not sure how he accomplished it, except that he really was unsuitable for command.

  That was the reason for Wahid. Wahid was, according to the Military’s records, a sergeant. He was only 20 years old. Even in the “Troops,” that was a fast promotion rate. Of course, that was his purpose here. He was slated to oversee the Military at its highest levels. That being the case he avoided all hands-on contact with BGP business.

  His only BGP duty was to supervise Jackson and Malone. Aside from that his sole focus was attaining rank. He needed to make colonel at least, in order for his true mission to begin.What made it more difficult was that the Military had no idea it was monitored by the BGP, so no help was available from the command structure.

  Wahid was brilliant and had a personal magnetism all out of proportion with his genetic engineering. The process that created Hunters and soldiers sometimes did that. Proof that the doctors at the BGP were not as all powerful as they sometimes thought they were. They could predict the outcome of a fetus’ development based on probability, but there were always little surprises. That was part of the reason the BGP maintained the deletion squads.

  Wahid was more of a pleasant surprise. Devoid of any personal ambition, he nonetheless had a drive to accomplish his mission that was second to none. In fact, he was something of a legend at the Hunter Academy. Malone had used him as a benchmark on more than one occasion. A benchmark that Malone had surpassed more often than not.

  Wahid was two inches over six feet tall, weighed 245 pounds, and carried most of it in his chest and shoulders. He was a mountain of muscle that looked out of place with his boyish face. He was primarily of Indian extraction, and, as such, had inherited a dark complexion and a brilliant white smile.

  Coupled with his charm he was hard to resist. He was also a brilliant military strategist. Som
e at BGP headquarters even held the hopes that he would one day become the Planetary Marshall, placing the Military secretly under BGP control. If any Hunter could pull off such a coup, Wahid was the man.

  All of these thoughts went through Malone’s mind as he answered the summons from Sergeant Wahid. He knocked on the door to the sergeant’s office and stood stiffly at attention outside.

  “Enter”

  Marching with parade ground precision Malone stopped two paces from the desk, came to attention, saluted and barked “Storm Trooper Private Malone, reporting as ordered Sergeant.”

  “At ease private. Close the door and have a seat.”

  Seated across from the man who was his supervisor in two separate chains of command, Malone could feel the pull of his personality. Driven by his own ambition, he nonetheless felt a need to please his boss. Not because he was his boss, but because if Malone could earn the respect of the only Hunter he felt was in his class, then his own opinion of himself would be that much more valid. Not that even open contempt from Wahid would adversely affect Malone’s self image. His ego was too strong for that, but praise from Wahid would stroke that ego.

  “Ok Malone, this office is secure from any listening devices, so we can dispense with the military courtesies, and talk Hunter to Hunter. I know you’re fresh from training and I’ve read your record, so I’m familiar with your abilities. I even know that you’ve broken a few of my records in training.”

  Smiling, Malone replied “A few, Sir.”

  “Let’s not be overly modest with each other. I know you broke most, if not all the records I set at the academy. I know that several of them were more than broken, they were shattered. I also know why I’m in command and you are not. Experience. It’s my job to make sure you get that experience. You will rise high within the BGP, and no matter how high I rise within the military, I will always be a BGP field agent, no more. It is highly likely that one day you will be my boss, but for now I am in charge, do we understand each other?”

  Impressed with how well he had been put in his place, and been complimented at the same time, Malone simply nodded.

  “Good. Now, on to business. As far as the rest of the “Troops” are concerned I brought you in here to counsel you on your lack of enthusiasm for the combat training classes you so obviously hate. I know they are a bit, shall we say, remedial, for you. However, you really need to appear to learn from them. That’s not a criticism, at least not at this point, but you’re holding back too much. Don’t break your instructor’s arm, but try to act like you’re getting something out of it.

  “In a way, combat training relates to what I really need to discuss with you. You know Lieutenant Schroeder, the OIC of the combat arms school? Well, it seems the good sir has somehow managed to father a child. The mother is a pianist in the local symphony, and the child a little girl. When they realized that, despite the contraceptives in the water, she had somehow gotten pregnant, instead of reporting for the required abortion of an unauthorized pregnancy, they chose to hide it.

  “Mother and child have been dealt with, and the lieutenant must disappear before he completes his plan to desert later today. Jackson is in the field with his unit, so that leaves me no choice but to make this your first real assignment.

  “I know all about the tradition of giving a soldier a knife, and taking him out bare handed, and I’d advise against it in this case. We Hunters pride ourselves on being deadlier than any living thing, but take it from me, this guy is a real threat. He is not the OIC of the school for nothing. He is about the best the Military has to offer at unarmed or armed combat. He just might take you if you give him an edge.

  “I won’t tell you how or when to accomplish it, just see that he doesn’t leave the compound alive. That’s all.”

  Malone found Schroeder in the dojo after his last class of the day. The instructors at the school were all very good at dealing death hand to hand, and Schroeder was far better than any of his underlings.

  Schroeder watched the young private walk across the dojo floor and knew why he was there. He knew what Private Malone was. Schroeder knew his own body well and had studied for many years in the use of that body. He could recognize the danger inherent in Malone. Gone was the awkward kid who had struggled in unarmed combat courses. Gone to was any hint of the adolescent who was still coming to know his own body. In its place was a calm, focused, and decidedly deadly killer. Schroeder knew he faced a Hunter and knew that his child and the woman he loved were already dead.

  All of this came to him in an instant, and behind it rose panic. Schroeder was a professional and he bit down on his panic and re-centered himself, preparing to sell his life dearly. He had no illusions that he could actually defeat a Hunter, no matter how young. What he hoped to accomplish was to take Malone with him. For the past five years Schroeder had been the undisputed champion of unarmed and edged weapon combat in the entire military. He had defeated every one of the hundreds of opponents who had come against him. The Hunter would be accompanying him beyond the bounds of this life.

  He watched as Malone stopped 12 feet from him and pulled a combat knife from behind his belt. Obviously he wasn’t even going to try to pretend he was here for anything other than to kill Schroeder.

  Tossing the knife to Schroeder he said simply, “You’ll want this. Who knows, you might even win.”

  Snatching it cleanly from the air, Schroeder dropped into a ready stance.

  “Let’s just do it.”

  Schroeder didn’t for a second consider abandoning the advantage of the knife. This was to be a battle to death and he would use any advantage that came his way. He was very good with a knife, far better, in fact, than Malone could possibly know.

  “Anything you say, Lieutenant.”

  Moving with a speed that Schroeder found impossible to comprehend, Malone closed the space between them. Schroeder brought the knife slicing up from below in a cut that would disembowel Malone, opening him from groin to breastbone.

  It never landed. Malone blocked his wrist with a forearm like iron. He bent Schroeder’s own arm at the elbow, and as they disengaged Schroeder was shocked to find the knife, still clutched in his hand, was now stuck to the hilt in his left thigh.

  Pulling the knife free he launched himself back at Malone, slashing for his eyes. His knife never connected as Malone suddenly wasn’t there anymore. Stars exploded in his brain as a fist smashed his nose. Schroeder could feel the bone give way and splinter. He had, once again, failed to score on Malone.

  Malone allowed him to gather himself, and did not press his advantage. Very well, he’d feint with the knife and crush Malone’s larynx with his left fist.

  Somehow his feint was intercepted and the knife twisted from Schroeder’s grasp. He felt a blow to the left side of his head as he saw the knife flash past, and blood began to flow from another wound.

  As they separated again, Schroeder’s eyes fell on a bloody object on the floor between them. Gorge rose in his throat as he realized it was his own ear. In shock he felt the left side of his head, willing his shaking fingers to find the ear where it belonged. They found only a bloody hole.

  “Here,” Malone tossed the knife back to Schroeder.

  He dodged it rather than attempt to catch it, as his desperate hold on his panic began to slip.

  “Pick it up. You are hurt and bleeding but still combat effective. You’re supposed to be good with a blade, so show me.”

  Getting a grip on his fear, he picked up the knife and felt a calm come over him. He was already dead no matter what Malone said, so he had nothing to lose. He would take Malone with him as he had planned. He had decided that going in, but it had been years since he’d lost a fight, and he really hadn’t believed he would today. Now he knew better.

  He charged with the knife raised high over his head to stab downward into Malone’s throat. Once again his wrist met that iron like forearm and stopped. He felt Malone’s hand slap at the bleeding wound where his ear had once be
en. Fingers gripping the back of his head Malone’s thumb plunged into Schroeder’s left eye and scooped it cleanly out of the socket.

  Screaming in pain Schroeder limped away wildly waving the knife between himself and Malone. He knew he would never survive and got angry. Continuing to scream, in rage instead of terror, Schroeder drove forward attempting to close with him and stab the life out of him.

  Calmly batting aside the knife, Malone drove stiffened fingers into Schroeder’s throat and crushed his larynx.

  Walking away, Malone left the lieutenant missing an eye and an ear, with a hole in his leg, dying slowly as he asphyxiated from a crushed throat. He would take 10 long minutes to die, all the while knowing he had failed to inflict a single wound on his killer. Malone smiled as he contemplated a longer, more creative end for Angus.

  There was another who had observed the growing unrest in the young soldier. His name was Ralph, and he was a librarian. As such he’d been bred to have a mind for details and be a great researcher. What was supposed to have been bred out of him was any vestige of courage, or independent spirit. They had almost succeeded.

  Ralph had actually stumbled across the organization by accident. He’d been compiling a list of those who’d downloaded certain inflammatory materials as part of his monthly duties when he noticed several blank retrievals. A blank retrieval was a supposedly untraceable means of retrieving data used by outcasts, often the source of the inflammatory stuff.

  Ralph, however, possessed an affinity for the net’ like no other, and could fly along its fiber optic passages like a swift silent falcon. In fact, that was how he thought of himself when immersed in the computer network. He was a fearless bird of prey, one not plagued by the fear that made up Ralph’s existence outside cyber-space. This, as much as anything, caused Ralph to continue his search long after most would have given it up as useless. He cherished his time in communion with the electronic world, in which he was master of all.