by Ric Dawson
# # #
Kane
The air had a chill, but the skies were clear. Kane Randall parked his Jeep Cherokee across the street from a two-story office building in Woodland Park and looked out dark-tinted windows. An hour later, Kane watched as an old brown Caddy pulled into the parking lot. A medium-height, broad-shouldered guy got out and headed for the office entrance. He wore a leather biker jacket and carried a black satchel over his shoulder. Kane looked at the picture on the dash, then back at the guy.
“Gotcha,” he said.
Kane chewed on a leathery piece of homemade jerky and scanned the street. Something flashed on the periphery of his vision. The binoculars showed a small model airplane high above one of the buildings. Wait. No. It was a drone.
A sensor package poked from under the nose.
He popped his knuckles against the steering wheel.
“Never easy,” he muttered.
He recalled the conversation with John.
“Kane?”
“Hey, John-o, what’s up?”
“I need you to drop everything and come up to Woodland Park tomorrow morning, early!”
“What’s the emergency?”
“It’s about that special project we discussed six months ago. We’ve had a development. I need your bodyguard skills. I-Con will cover your fee.”
“This isn’t like Bahrain, is it?” Kane asked.
“Devil’s blood. Would you let that go? You passed out in the hallway. Besides, we didn’t hit that damn camel.”
“Right. I can be there 0500 tomorrow morning.”
With that, John had sent him an encoded file with pictures and details of the “pinop” – “person in need of protection.” The “pin” was some computer geek that had stumbled onto something valuable.
Hoorah.
John wanted him protected. A cherry op, easy, with good pay and unlimited duration. Or so it seemed.
Kane snorted. Like “easy” ever happens.
But Kane was down for pinops any day of the week, especially after that last desert operation. Light security, the CIA officer had said.
Dehydrated, with three bullet wounds, Kane, alone, made it back to base.
Ops were never a cake-walk. And yeah, he knew they’d hit his camel.
Kane cracked his neck and settled in to wait. High-topped clouds had begun to roll in from the west. Kane sighed. Cold weather was a pain in the ass, and it looked like snow. Leaning back in the seat, he glanced at the silenced M4A1 resting against his weather-stained combat duffel. Instincts were already telling him it was going to be a long day.
WRAITH
Lane
The sky had darkened, and a low-frequency moan sang among the rattle and buffet of windows.
I shut the workstation down for lunch and grabbed my jacket to head over to the Dusty Diamond to meet John.
Wind bustled into the entryway. I pulled the leather hood tight, grateful for its heated cushion from the wintry blasts. The main street looked ghostly as drifting snow mingled with swirling gusts.
The wind sprang from the west, at my back, and still my nose frosted. The shop wasn’t far. I hurried to the store and slipped inside. A small bell above the door frame jingled, and John looked up at me.
“Lane. Come in. Welcome,” John said. He moved to the door and shook my hand, then reached behind me and flipped the store sign to closed.
“I’m glad you made it in this weather. Let’s go into the back, and I’ll introduce you.”
Polished rocks of crimson and green adorned shelves covered in animal pelts. Nestled among antique barrels and hooded lanterns, gemstone-filled display cases sat against each wall. A weathered wagon wheel leaned against an iron-banded barrel in the display window, where a large piece of amethyst cast purple light into the pine-scented air.
I followed John past the register and through a short corridor lined in deer hide and rabbit fur. It led into a back room with a large oak table where three people stood.
“Lane this is Robert McGlarin, CEO of I-Con, a global research organization in quantum consciousness, Kane Randall, a military contractor and friend, and Julie Jamieson, DARPA – U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects officer,” John said.
Robert’s brittle-cut blond hair and plastic smile blared executive. I’d bet he slept in business casual. Inauthentic, flesh pressing execs made my skin crawl, but we exchanged the obligatory handshake.
Kane had dusted snow from his shoulders as I entered. His floppy boonie hat completed the full set of faded mountain fatigues. He eased a large duffel to the floor and gave me a small head nod. He appeared middle-aged and still in great physical shape. Red puffy beard with mustache completed the wild veteran look. His gaze got my attention. Penetrating. No nonsense. I liked the guy right away.
Julie’s professional tan matched her cream business suit. Petite blond. Bobbed hair. She had one of those faces that could go feral on you. Female executives were more ruthless predators than male. I suppose they had to be.
“We’re lucky Julie was in Colorado Springs,” John went on after the exchange of handshakes.
“The sudden appearance of an ancient artifact such as the Ruby Dragon got folks’ attention fast.” He smiled. “First, perhaps Robert can tell you why the medallion is so important.” He nodded to Robert.
Robert cleared his throat and looked at me for a moment.
“About ten years ago researchers began studying the interaction of thought with matter. As the research progressed, results suggested a modification to human evolution theory. What if Darwinism was only part of the answer? What if massive mutation and survival fitness only got us so far down the evolutionary trail?”
He paused for a moment. I could tell by the modulated tones and gestures, he had made this presentation before.
“Research suggests, once survival needs are met, human populations at advanced technological levels require a cultural evolution or they destroy each other. We suspect this cultural revolution takes the form of evolution in thought. They change awareness of who-they-know-themselves-as and build an awareness of who they are being.
“Researchers discovered people have the ability to rewire their brains. This neural rewiring facilitates the development of an understanding of emotional intelligence. Without that, the future advances to destruction and human extinction. The endgame is always war. Most researchers in the field believe this has already happened several times before.”
He paused again.
“For years, we thought this cycle was inevitable, until recently, something came to light. We found an ancient text written on silk called The Eye of the Dragon-Horse. Trigrams from the Yi King revealed new mysteries. The Eye spoke of parasitic beings who fed on the emotions of desire. These psionic creatures move in and out of our world, feeding at their leisure. The Eye claims they perpetuate a cycle of human annihilation by creating and amplifying our destructive emotions on a global scale. In short, they manipulate our thoughts. The Eye claims these creatures create a massive feeding harvest, eon after eon. An Armageddon. They are called thought feeders. The Eye speaks of discoveries, ancient artifacts that have the power to affect these parasitic entities. The civilizations that made these artifacts have disappeared from the face of the earth. Destroyed in an endless cycle of war as our species annihilates itself over and over.”
Robert paused.
“It’s a lot to take in. The vast majority of our peers think we have lost our minds, or dabble in illusions of pseudo-science beyond even the craziest of the crazy. As much as we all would love to agree and go to our beds content, anomalies keep cropping up, unexplained. Artifacts relight the fires of heretical theories of long-forgotten texts. Right up to the point where they land in your lap, real, and just as mysterious as described. So you see, we are all anxious to see the Ruby Dragon and to discover what other crazy theories aren’t so crazy after all.”
Everyone looked at me. I started to say something funny but broke out in a sweat instead.
I’d been experiencing this nightmare every day. Reaching into my shirt, I pulled the medallion out and placed it on the conference table.
They goggled at the medallion. Julie even wiped away a tear. I couldn’t help but wonder just how much I should tell them. Delirium or future shock clouded every thought, with a new world vision that included an active psionic realm, strange metaphysical aliens, bionic-enhanced cyber-psi terrorists, deadly shadow creatures, and now parasitic thought feeders.
I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all.
My flat palm slowly circled a small patch of the table. The solid wood reassured me. Firm. Real. I hadn’t dipped over the edge into madness just yet. This past week had driven me close to the precipice of gibbering insanity, but the events had happened. I didn’t imagine them.
I traced the grain pattern with my hand; smoothed ridged hills and valleys undulated under my fingers. My shoulders relaxed and a slow breath slipped by my lips.
While the group murmured back and forth, my mind wandered.
Visions of an old mantra, “Be Here Now,” danced on the periphery of my mind. I remembered that reoccurring theme from those many classroom sessions on self from Denver.
Instructors were fond of repeating, “The mind is a dangerous place to hang out.” Ha. If they only knew.
I would be careful what I told my new friends of this brave new world. What would happen to my new colleagues if faced with the Soulstealers without the shield I possessed? What would happen if they knew I had such a thing?
For the umpteenth time, I wondered, yet again, who the hell was Diedra Milani? Had to be Suul’jin. Right? Gah. I hated uncertainty, and in a world where everything was uncertain, it was the ultimate playful joke on myself. Keeps it real. Right?
My mind relaxed. An urgency lingered just outside cognition, banging to get in. What was that?
I spread my awareness like a blanket of calm.
Don’t forget the Gray People. They were on the street that day you met Diedra. She gave you a warning about them.
I glanced out a nearby window in the back of the store. Outside the shop, thick snowflakes showered down in an unending torrent. Miles-high turbulent cloud castles stacked over the mountains that blotted out the sun. Suddenly, the sky darkened and visibility dropped to a few feet.
Blizzard!
I sat straight up in the chair. The premonition roared like a burning meteor through my brain.
Dammit. Fool. They are here!
Kane got it too, like an unspoken telepathic broadcast. He looked up at me and saw the startled look in my eyes. He moved fast, upending his chair as he grabbed for the large duffel behind him. In swift succession, he unzipped it, withdrew a wicked-looking carbine, and flipped a switch near the trigger. A silencer protruded a foot in front of the rifle. He threw on a vest, then stuffed grenades and spare clips in slip pockets.
“Guys, we need to secure this place now. Something’s coming,” I said.
They glanced around. I grabbed the medallion and slung it around my neck. I still wore my wool-lined, leather biker jacket. The jackass rig fit snugly under it with the .357 nestled under my left armpit. I’d remembered to bring the rig and gun this time. I could sense them now. A palpable, alien rage suffused my mind like an approaching fog.
The focus burned against my thigh. Hot. Shadows coming, and they were close. These people had no defense against the shadow.
Extend the shield to enclose everyone.
–Interactive mode ... command acknowledged ... shield extended–
The lights went out, and the room plunged into darkness at the same time the blue glow of the shield enveloped us.
“Did someone cut the power?” Julie asked
“Yesss,” Kane hissed.
It was going to get cold fast. I knew running the shield would drain the power in the real world. If only I could power it some other way. I needed both hands for the handgun. How could I hold the shield?
Kane had moved up to the curtain between the back office and the front shop. He pulled the curtain to the side.
“Someone’s out front.”
I followed on the opposite side and peered out. Two blurry figures with assault rifles moved in the snow near the door. Crap. Being right sucked.
The wind-whipped snow swirls and frosted storefront windows obscured their numbers. As I watched, dark red runes glowed around the door frame.
Damn.
Someone whispered in my mind, “They are breaching the protection of the door against shadow entities.”
They? They who?
The runes got brighter and turned molten. Streams of red-brown sparks fell like hot glowing rivers under a welder’s torch.
How long will the shield be powered?
–Query acknowledged ... shield life two hours at current power drain–
Can you interface with the dragon medallion to augment your power?
–Query acknowledged ... yes, requires implanting in host–
“Aw, Damn,” I muttered.
Can the shield be maintained while implanting?
–Query acknowledged ... yes, implanting will not affect shield efficiency–
That query acknowledged started to get annoying.
Can you just respond without the note that you’re responding?
–Yes, settings updated and activated–
Pulling the shield from my pocket with my left hand, I reached under my shirt and held it over my right bicep.
Implant now.
The device turned molten and flowed over my arm. My right bicep stung as if from a severe sunburn. The sensation spread to my shoulder and elbow as I grabbed the .357 grip in my right hand and pulled it from the holster. A soft snap echoed in the corridor as the fastener over the hammer released.
My left hand dug out the hot focus.
Hold fire.
Implant in my left hand.
The focus melted. Metal flowed over the bottom of my left hand and began to merge with the flesh in my palm. Stars swam in my vision and a wave of dizziness accompanied a feeling of expansion in my head. The hot metal seeped into my skin like water into a sponge. Parts of the metal spilled out the top of my hand from beneath the skin. The disassociation lasted a few seconds. The metal formed horizontal bars visible on the top of the hand. The heat was tolerable. Why aren’t my nerves complaining?
I looked at Kane, who, with raised eyebrows, stared at the glowing blue sphere surrounding us, and at my hand.
“It’s a shield.” I sighed. “I’ll explain later.”
“Will it stop this M4A1?” he asked.
“No, but it will stop their bullets. I think.”
He nodded.
So much for keeping a lid on the alien tech.
The chime over the front door of the shop merrily jingled, and something rolled into the store. Hissing followed a loud pop and the front room filled with gas. I prayed the shield would protect us from the gas, or we were all dead. The front of the store dimmed in the growing fog. A lethal sputter came from the smoking hole of the silenced M4A1. Kane’s fire caught the figures near the door frame, and they staggered back into the blizzard, out of sight. The large front window and glass door exploded outward from the barrage of bullets.
“Smart,” I said, and looked for a target.
Kane had ventilated the room.
BOOM. The .357 recoiled in my hands. A white parka spun from the gunshot and dropped from sight. My ears rang from the loud gunshot in the enclosed space. I steadied for another shot. The ringing in my ears blanked the gunfire and sounds of shattering display glass. Sweat ran down my brow.
The raging storm outside sucked the gas out while icy curtains of swirling snow swooshed in. Between the gas and snow, it was difficult to see anything. The cold froze the nervous sweat on my face as the fierce blizzard-driven winds shrieked and howled.
A large shadow fell across the doorway. Elongated blobs of undulating rubbery flesh moved on the sidewalk outside.
&nb
sp; Aw, Damn.
It was huge. Not a Soulstealer. Way, way bigger.
Giant black tentacles, diameters of a baseball up to dinner plates, swarmed into the shop.
A woman’s voice screamed in terror. Julie.
Furniture and displays shattered into rubble and a hideous stench fouled the air. Oily. Pungent. I froze and watched in horror as grasping tentacles lurched towards us. The surging, writhing mass slammed against the sparkling blue shield and sizzled. Corpulent drops of smoking black ichor fell like rain. The drops vanished in bubbling pools on the floor. I glanced at my bicep. The shield output levels spiked as blue turned to black around the shield surface.
Damn. It knocked the shield down in one attack.
More tentacles formed and thrust into the building.
More power. Now!
The dragon medallion raged bright red through my shirt. The energy flowed like a physical wave into my right bicep. The power brought the shield back to blue. Golden light erupted from my left hand and pierced the writhing black mass with a hole the size of a basketball. Like some futuristic pulse gun, the focus rapid-fired a cluster of bolts at the creature. The large smoking holes closed as soon as they formed.
Damn.
More attacks recoiled from the shield, as continuous bursts of sunbeam radiance from the focus blasted hole after hole in the monster. The shield changed from blue to violet and energy tendrils rippled over its surface like a lightning coil, but not to black. Stalemate.
Sounds of splintering wood came from behind me. Cold frigid air rushed up the corridor from a gaping hole in the back wall.
Massive tentacles shot into the opening and punched through the shield. John screamed a blood-choked cry as two tentacles grabbed his chest and hips. With a bone-snapping slurp his body ripped in half. Entrails exploded from his severed trunk, and blood splashed in a crimson curtain along the back wall.
Turning, I emptied my gun into the tentacles with little effect. The focus sent a stream of golden bolts into the monstrosity. The creature pulled back, leaving an open hole into the raging blizzard.