Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  “It’s lights out for you,” Conthan said. “Man, you need to work on your dialogue.”

  Skits threw off the netting. Getting to their feet, they both ran toward Skits, whose entire upper body glowed a faint blue, baring a naked torso. If he had been straight, he might have made a comment, but both Ayer siblings had problems keeping their clothes on in the heat of the moment.

  “Well, that goes in my ‘not fun’ column,” she said.

  “Upstairs,” Dwayne said as Gretchen screamed.

  Being a superhero had its perks. For example, for a nice evening out, he prepped himself at the last moment and stepped through a portal to wherever he needed to be. But the running, running was the ultimate archnemesis of a teleporter. He swore he’d start jogging if they survived.

  As he crested the top of the escalator, he caught Alyssa and Gretchen sitting on a bench. Six Barren lay on the ground, their bodies contorted beyond the limits of the living. Gretchen rested while Alyssa panted quietly.

  “Good job, Alyssa,” Dwayne said.

  “Hey, I helped,” Gretchen spat back.

  “And I ran up a flight of stairs, we all get awards,” Conthan huffed.

  The platform held a bank of elevators, a dozen lifts waiting to take businesspeople upstairs to fuel the Genesis Division war machine. Dwayne started toward the closest one and grappled with the door, trying to pull it open. Conthan couldn’t imagine Jacob being so normal as to take an elevator to his loft to look down on the city. The idea of the man entering the lobby was difficult enough to digest, but to think he’d wait here for the elevator to bring him to his—

  The bank of elevators was identical. A set of buttons sat in the center with six doors to the left and seven to the right. It took a moment before he realized the furthest right-hand door was separated by at least an extra half-foot from the rest of the doors.

  “That one,” Conthan said.

  Alyssa agreed, pointing to the ceiling. A series of black half globes had clear view of the elevators, but toward the end, a set of three pointed toward the odd door. “The labs won’t be on the top. It’s too easy to reach from the outside.”

  “Down, you say?” Heat burst off Skits as both arms ignited. Conthan admired the younger Ayer sibling. She might be reckless, but the girl had no problem owning her powers, a wild embrace of life. The plasma igniting around her body almost paled compared to her fiery personality. At some point, if there was time after all this, he’d make sure to go out of his way to connect with her more. If.

  The circle of metal she cut from the door fell so far that the crash of it on the bottom floor was barely audible. The hole's edges glowed a molten red, hot enough to sear flesh if they weren’t careful crawling through.

  “Alyssa,” Conthan said.

  “We’ll need to wai—”

  Alyssa took a few steps and catapulted herself in a straight line through the hole. On the other side, she latched on to a metal beam. Even moving like a dancer, she remained a fierce fighting machine. Inside the elevator shaft, she held herself by one arm while she spun around looking for something else to climb.

  “Ladder by the door. It’s a mag lift elevator, no wires going down. Wait here, going to scout ahead.”

  “Careful,” Dwayne said.

  “Aren’t I always?”

  Just like that, she slid down out of sight. Dwayne held his hand near the metal and pulled back quickly. “We have a few minutes before this is safe. Then we climb down.”

  “Stairs. Ladders. I’m never eating again.”

  “Don’t waste away, I enjoy the view,” Dwayne said with a wink.

  “See,” Conthan said, “where is that witty banter when destroying a mech?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  2033

  Twenty-Seven dashed up to the fire escape as screams filled the streets below. Inside the comfort of their sparsely furnished living room, a man held a woman as she cried. Another window showed a couple of young adults pressed against the glass, snapping photos with their cameras as she bounded up the stairs two at a time.

  Synthetics followed.

  The groan of the metal indicated they were in pursuit. Maybe one floor behind her, perhaps two if she were lucky. If she paused for a moment, even attempted to catch her breath, they’d be on her. A single mechanical mitt would squeeze the life from her hands.

  Like their predecessors, synthetics were great at looking back and forth, but their servos had a limitation looking up. Up she went.

  One more turn and she ascended the final staircase before reaching the roof. She counted six synthetics stamping the metal grates in pursuit. With the fighting below, she'd expected one synthetic, perhaps two, but this many chasing her meant she had a bounty on her head. She appreciated that Dav5d believed she deserved a welcoming party this large.

  From the bandolier wrapped about her body in a giant “X,” she pulled two small round objects. After placing the cylinders near the anchors holding the stairs to the building, she turned and ducked. Even looking away, she had to squint against the blinding white light. A hiss grew until the sound drowned out the fighting on the streets below.

  Metal groaned, peeling away from the wall. The light died down and Twenty-Seven looked over the edge. The synthetics refused to give up pursuit, even though their weight caused the stairway to rock. As the two closest machines reached the top, the fire escape pulled free from the anchors and sailed backward. Only the closest synthetic managed to jump, grasping the edge of the roof.

  Metallic fingers dug into the stone as it attempted to climb up. Sparks jumped as she slammed her cybernetic fist down on the robot’s hand. The rock smashed, loosening its handhold, sending it plummeting.

  “Dav5d, what are you doing?”

  High on the roof, she had a clear view of the park. The flares had gone off, signaling the military had reached their destination. Each flare marked a group of Marines within a three-block radius, setting up kill traps for the machines. On the open battlefield, they had no chance of winning against the larger mechs. But dodging between buildings and through alleys, the humans had an advantage. From up here, she watched the machines advance, leaving the open spaces of the park and charging into the city.

  Twenty-Seven readied her rifle, dropping a small stand on the edge. An electromagnetic plate held the end of her gun steady as she peered through the scope. She’d gotten to close to enemy’s army, where she could have been easy prey for the machines, but the vast majority of the robots gathered, forming a line.

  “This can’t be good.” She caught sight of a trio of synthetics holding up what looked like an ancient rocket launcher. The tube ran along the back of one machine while the other two prepared to launch. For a moment she feared they saw her, but the weapon was angled to fire nearly straight up.

  Shit.

  Twenty-Seven reached into her pockets and fumbled for the cartridges to her flare gun. Orange, she needed orange. The fingers of her enhancement crushed one of the cartridges. Holding up her hand, she watched as blue powder showered down. Deep breath. She noticed the end of the next one, a rounded tip. Round like an orange.

  After loading the flare gun, she raised it and pulled the trigger. High above the city, the projectile exploded. The mist of orange rained down. Warning. Danger. Tiny secondary bursts exploded, lighting up the sky.

  Each squad of Marines operated on contingency plans. Some might retreat, some might relocate. She found it their plan desperate at best; mustering a force this size without radio communication would be troublesome.

  A rocket launched into the air, cutting through of the orange light. As it fell, it broke apart into several pieces. A dozen more filled the air as other groups of synthetics launched similar projectiles.

  As the final flare burst orange, she caught sight of a single orb hovering in the air. Following the line of missiles, she started to piece it together. Grabbing her rifle, she spun about, bringing the sight up to her eye
. A steadying breath in, a calming breath out; she eased back on the trigger. The object looked down on the city, a rectangular plate with orbs suspended from each corner. Her bullet landed solidly in the center, sending the device plummeting toward the ground.

  “Dammit,” she growled.

  The satellites had been locked out by a virus that could have been created by Genesis Division. Without orbital surveillance, they were reduced to spotters signaling with flashlights and flare guns. They’d been thankful the Warden had to rely on line-of-sight communications as well. However, she feared the devices hanging in the air were sending information back to the synthetics. She had no idea what that might be, but nothing aiding the robot army could be good, especially not with Dav5d at the helm.

  Securing her rifle back into the magnelock, she scanned the robots. The ranks had broken, scurrying one way or the next. Bands a dozen strong were going wide, farther than she anticipated. From up here, she could see them moving to flank the military and force the human troops forward into the field where mechs waited.

  Twenty-Seven reached for her flashlight and signaled to the adjoining rooftops, hoping other snipers were watching this unfold. Instead of lights flashing back, she caught the glint of steel three buildings over. The machines were eliminating their communications network. Twenty-Seven tried to think where she might do the most good. She felt useless in this fight, a feeling that hadn’t happened in almost two years.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s time to save the day.”

  How? She’d figure that out when the time came.

  * * * * *

  “You realize this war is our creation?”

  Ariel said the words more for herself than for Jonah. The skywalk overlooking Chicago was eerily quiet. In the center, analysts moved pieces on a digital board, barking orders to runners who sprinted away, hoping to reach their destination before their orders turned obsolete. But even this seemed distant, another world where she was only a temporary visitor.

  “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  “You weren’t there,” she said. “He murdered Elizabeth. He held Mark like a puppet. When she died, all I could think about was saving her baby. Even Arturo put up a fight. I saved Raymond, but I ran.”

  “You were a teenager—”

  “I was a soldier. You made sure of that. But the first time you weren’t there commanding me, I ghosted.” Jonah didn’t break his gaze away from the field. He remained an unmoving statue, his mind digesting the information.

  “I admit, I’m surprised you didn’t kill him on the spot.”

  The words stung. His nonchalant tone reminded her of the disagreements they had during her tenure at the research center. His morality had no ability to be swayed, locked in place and dictated by commanding officers. Even as she fled, he believed her to be the terrorist they reported, never questioning his superiors.

  “You never disobeyed an order, Jonah. You always knew what was right. Just like when you murdered Cecilia Joyce.”

  Now his eyes widened. “How—”

  “Cecilia had always been a horrible human being. You remember the briefings when she demanded we fall in line or risk termination. But you declared war on the woman, the President of the United States, and at what point did you consider the civilians? Victims in your moral crusade.”

  “I—”

  “Did what was right.” She turned to stare him in the face. He attempted to ignore her, but she caught him watching her in the window. He’d grown old since they last met, white hair peeking out from beneath his cap and frosted stubble scattered across his unshaven cheeks. Once upon a time, she fell in love with this man, the only person who had shown her kindness. Since then she’d known carnal pleasures, but in her mind she always returned to Jonah, asking what might have been.

  “How did you know about the assassination?”

  “Even now—” She wanted to smile because they were reunited, but decades of fighting robbed her of simple pleasures. “You’re more concerned with your war games than you are for humanity. What happened to you, Jonah? Where’s the man who defied orders and stood at my door, even scared of the consequences?”

  Eyes forward, he deflected her penetrating gaze. Shifting so his hands rested behind his back, he spoke in an even tone and carefully planned words. “He died the day you deserted him.”

  Ariel bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. The pain warded off the tears in her eyes. She returned to staring out the window, watching the orange flare explode. The skywalk behind them found new energy, people commanding the runners to reach the lookouts and bring back updated intel. Ariel attempted to regain her composure, a matching statue to the man at her side.

  “Do you have nightmares?”

  “No.” His voice held a tinge of regret.

  “That makes one of us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  2033

  Jasmine raised a fist in the air, dropping to one knee. The three men behind her followed suit without a word. Silence. A factory creating machines of destruction produced almost no noise. She had no doubts that somewhere inside, hi-tech defenses awaited them, but from here, the building looked vacant.

  Two fingers pointed to her eyes had Murdock at her side. He scanned the area slowly. As his head pivoted, he held up one finger, two, three, and finely four. He gestured his hands together, then pulled them apart and held up four fingers again.

  Four large mechs.

  He pointed to areas of the building, signaling where the machines hid from sight. For a moment, she envied Murdock's bionic eyes and their ability to cut through the darkest night. For years she feared losing her humanity as a Marine; voluntarily removing bits of flesh for computers turned her stomach. Wisdom and long-term exposure to Twenty-Seven and her prosthetic limb had her reconsidering.

  A gesture to Murdock and Vazquez had them scurrying up the hill. She missed being able to communicate effectively with teammates. Twenty-Seven and Ariel were formidable in a fight, but they lacked discipline. At least Ariel had military training, though, so it was light years beyond dealing with Conthan’s need for wise-ass comments.

  They approached another twenty yards toward the compound before a metal fence stopped their advance. Belletone reached into his rucksack and produced a device no bigger than a cell phone. A tiny light sprang to life and he cut away sections of the fence until it pealed back. A plasma knife—not nearly as flashy as a woman capable of producing plasma from her fingertips, but far more precise.

  The building was a nearly perfect square, with no windows and almost no doors. At the loading bay, several trucks waited to transport precious cargo, but even the docks they backed into had flush, flat walls. Their intel claimed the interior of the building was entirely run by computers. The only humans in or out were technicians when machines needed servicing. Synthetics built synthetics. A robotic race emerging from the building was close to being a reality.

  “Motion sensors,” Belletone said as he pointed to black boxes on the corner of the buildings. “Soon as we cross the fence, they’ll be on us.”

  They had the firepower to take down the large mechs, but if more arrived, it’d be a question of numbers, not power. Before Dav5d, the synthetics' operating procedure was to swarm their victims. With him in charge, they’d be boxed off before they reached the building. Jasmine eyed Sims, giving him a slight smirk.

  “No,” he said. “Can we go one mission without you doing something reckless?”

  “If you have a better way of getting through mechs and inside before they sound the alarms, tell me.”

  “They’ll come after you.”

  “Not if they’re chasing you.”

  “Reckless and using us as bait,” Brass said. “That’s quite the combo.”

  The bracer clasped around her forearm housed a dozen types of metal. Durability meant slow. Speed meant a pliable exterior. The skin on her wrist took on a life of its own as she studied the metals until she found something
suiting her needs. The ripple along her flesh stung, a burning that raced up her arm and swallowed her body. The denser the epidermis, the more it hurt.

  “Did you just…”

  Being new to the team, Brass had only watched her powers once before. Jasmine didn’t respond, waiting for her muscles to transform in response to her skin. She wouldn’t be lifting tanks, but bullets would ricochet off her chest. When she flexed her arms, the muscles responded, stronger, more durable.

  “Murdock and Vazquez, have you covered. Go right to the trucks. I’ll go left. Once I’m in, you fall back.”

  “But you’ll—”

  “Draw them out. I’m going to need a light show.”

  Jasmine pointed two fingers at the motion sensor and before she could move, the box exploded. The silence broke as a thump shook the ground. Panels slid apart and a pair of mechs stepped out into the yard between the building and the fence. They’d run through a routine sequence, searching for anomalies.

  “Stay frosty,” she said.

  Before her Marines could question the order, Brass ducked through the hole in the fence and started sprinting toward the trucks. Jasmine understood why they said the kid had brass balls. The machines shifted, following him. Turrets under their egg-shaped bodies spun to life, spitting bullets.

  A small explosion under one mech twisted the weapon, bending steel. A second explosion hit the other. Explosions warped the steel, rendering the guns useless. From somewhere on the hill, Murdock and Vazquez earned their paychecks one bullet at time.

  Sims and Belletone charged after Brass, leaving her alone near the fence. The mechs gave pursuit, tons of metal taking steps like wobbling toddlers. Seconds passed. Jasmine dug the toe of her foot into the dirt, preparing to run. The snipers needed to make a decision, her or the flesh and blood of humans; she didn’t wasn’t sure of their loyalties.

  Run.

  Jasmine bolted through the fence and charged across the yard, ignoring the massive machines. Two human-sized synthetics stepped out of the mech bay. Assessing the grounds, Jasmine could tell by the machine’s long pause that Dav5d hadn’t taken control of these units. A good thing, since the machines stood between her and her destination.