by S Mays
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked. She was curious as to what personality traits would manifest upon his awakening. The way his demeanor had changed almost overnight was astonishing.
“Yeah, I’m dandy, so you can rest easy,” he grumped while filling his plate.
“Sverre, this is John Davies and Sam King. John is our liaison with Washington, and Sam is our Chief of Security for this compound,” Bilford said.
“Nice to meet you,” Sverre said, partially rising as each leaned over to shake his hand.
John wiped his hand on a handkerchief. “Mr. Luvkrafft was going over your case with us briefly before you entered. We have no previous data on any entity that is similar to your case. I know our boys in the lab can’t wait to begin testing.”
Sverre almost choked on his food. “‘Testing’? I haven’t agreed to anything. And I sure as hell didn’t agree to be a guinea pig.”
Annoyance crossed John’s face. He responded, “Some things do not need to be agreed upon. Especially concerning our organization and its security. In fact, you have little —”
“Mr. Davies,” Bilford interjected, “I believe I said I was handling this case personally. I am glad for your support and interest, and I trust we will have everything we need.”
Mr. Davies was not used to being admonished, especially in front of others. He started to protest but held his tongue. “Yes, you will have all you need. My superiors will be extremely interested in this development. Please have the proper documentation and research forwarded to my office immediately.” With that, he nodded and left.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Sam muttered, biscuit crumbs rolling off of his mustache.
“Mr. Davies likes things to go according to plan. New phenomena and unpredicted security breaches are never on his itinerary,” Bilford stated, taking a small sip of coffee.
After breakfast, they gathered on the front porch. Sam’s rocking chair groaned in protest under his weight. Bilford noticed Sverre staring at a few straggling cows lounging under a tree. “This is an actual working farm just outside of Farmville, Virginia. Every hand you see has duties to perform. Hay to bail, chickens to feed, pigs to slop. Each one is also an armed security agent on Sam’s team.”
“So, that’s it? Just a few mall cops protecting the whole place?” Sverre asked.
Bilford smiled, then answered, “No, no. There are myriads of other security measures in place, varying from security drones to automated turrets to mystical wards.”
“Mystical? As in magical?” Sverre asked, arching an eyebrow.
“You seem surprised. After the things you’ve seen, you have doubts about mysticism?” Bilford asked, leaning back in his chair and lighting a pipe.
“I... don’t know. I don’t really know anything. This is your party,” Sverre murmured.
“Jessica, why don’t you show the boy around the compound?” Bilford suggested.
“Of course, Grandfather,” Jessica replied. Sverre noticed that her defiance from yesterday had faded overnight.
They rode the elevator down to the bottom level.
“We will start at the bottom level and work our way up,” Jessica said.
The door opened at the holding cells. Jessica motioned for Sverre to exit, but he remained in the elevator.
“I don’t think I need to see any more of this level, thank you very much,” Sverre complained.
The next floor up was the barracks, with showers, living quarters, and recreational rooms with large TVs, table games, and computers. There were even some older arcade games in the corner. A few guards meandered about and greeted Jessica.
“Yo, Jess, when are we going to have that rematch?” one of the guards shouted from across the room as they passed. He wore only jockey shorts and was extremely well-muscled with glistening dark skin.
“Antonio, you need to work on your fundamentals before we have another sparring match,” Jessica shouted back, continuing toward the door.
“That’s cold, babe,” he said with a smile.
Sverre found himself jealous of Antonio’s familiarity with Jessica. “So, you’re like a big deal around here?” he asked when they had exited the room.
“You could say that. I’m the head Stalker for this compound. Every compound usually has two Stalkers in addition to the regular guards and soldiers. Although some have a Slayer in place of the duo of Stalkers. We are currently down to one.”
“What’s a Stalker?” Sverre asked.
She hesitated a moment before answering. If her grandfather wanted to give up all of their secrets, he was going to have to suffer the consequences. “Stalkers are elite fighters in our organization,” she stated with pride. “Just as others have trained for years to hone their abilities in future-scrying, telepathy, and other areas, Stalkers are trained in combat and tracking. We excel at focusing our body’s energies into combat abilities, enhancing our strength, speed, and dexterity.”
The elevator brought them up to the next floor, the gymnasium. They did not enter. Sverre kept his mouth closed, unwilling to bring up their fight.
A few seconds later, the doors opened to a floor made up of rooms that comprised a well-stocked armory.
Sverre recognized some weapons from various military video games he had played, but others were almost alien in design. He picked up a small orb, holding it up to the light. Jessica turned and immediately snatched it from his grasp.
“Do not touch anything,” she commanded, putting the object back on the shelf. “Some of these devices could bring this entire building down on our heads.”
“I don’t see anything like that sword you had last night,” Sverre observed.
“No... you would not find that. There are only a few weapons like that. Only Stalkers, Slayers and a few select others can wield those.”
“What was it? I don’t understand the principle behind it.”
“It’s rather complex, and that’s one reason we only have a few. Her name is Casca. Millions of small mobile robotic particles work in unison to form the blade on my command. We call them God Particles — GP for short.”
Sverre scoffed at the explanation. “I know what nanites are, but those are just in theoretical stage, from what I’ve read. There is no way to power them to do what you are saying.”
Jessica sighed. It was tiresome explaining everything to an outsider. “They are powered by my body’s energy. Just like my contact lens you found. A Stalker can use chi to power our weapons in addition to enhancing our natural abilities. We crafted this weaponry specifically to run off the spirit energy generated by our bodies. It is one reason the devices only work for us. After being removed from our person, the power will fade. The more energy it takes to power a device, the faster it will power down.”
“That explains the contact lens losing power,” he said.
“Yes.”
“So, how does your blade even cut anything? It seems impossible to be that sharp.”
“There are few substances Casca can’t cut,” Jessica said, bending down and removing the handle from its holster on her leg. “Extend,” she commanded.
The blade formed almost instantly. She pulled out Sverre’s arm and started to lower the blade to it. He jerked away, startled.
“Relax,” she said. She lowered the blade against her own arm, where it rested without harm. Sverre leaned in close and looked at where the blade contacted her flesh.
“See? Now, watch. Casca: Dissect,” Jessica commanded. The edge of the blade became a glowing blur. Pulling a military baton from a stand, she handed it to Sverre. “Hold this.”
Before he could react, she sliced her blade across the baton. The only evidence of contact between the two objects was a small puff of smoke. The severed top half of the club clanged loudly against the floor. The contact generated no resistance as her sword hit the baton.
“When I command it, the particles on the edge of the blade reach a hyper-agitated state, moving very quickly. This creates a vibration that
disrupts the bonds of the molecules of anything it moves against. The process is powered by my energy. The more energy I focus, the faster they move.”
“It works a bit like a chainsaw,” Sverre theorized.
“I supposed that is a good analogy, if a bit crude,” she admitted. “Some particles are also laced with various materials like silver to better combat the supernatural, as some creatures cannot be harmed with conventional materials. The chi energy flowing through the blade is also able to disrupt ethereal beings.”
Sverre picked up the cut baton piece. There was no trace that it had been sheared by anything. The cut surface was so perfect. He was reminded of Rilus’ head the previous night. “Just like with that werewolf.”
“Yes, the silver particle components and the precise nature of the blade sealed those cuts in the beast’s flesh. It makes for less evidence to clean up afterward, which is a nice side effect.”
“Why wasn’t he injured when I stabbed him with that bone?”
“He was injured and furious. His kind heals quickly from any wound not caused by silver or silver alloys. Even then, you have to strike a mortal wound to kill them. Shooting him multiple times with silver bullets would not kill him if none impaired his vital functions. The metal disables their function to heal, to a degree. The overwhelming difficulty with werewolves is that their strength and healing abilities are directly related to their anger. The madder they get, the harder they are to kill. So, it’s best if you can take them by surprise and not drag out the fight, which was apparently the opposite of your strategy last night.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” Sverre objected. “Why are they called God Particles, anyhow?”
“That was the name my father gave them when he developed them. He said they were like a miracle. Technology to assist humans in their war against the supernatural, powered by our own spirit. He said they were a gift from God.”
Sverre noticed she beamed with pride when speaking about her father. He chose not to ask any more questions.
After a moment, she turned from her pleasant thoughts to address him. “About the other night... I’m sorry. It is my duty to eliminate supernatural beings. I knew you weren’t my target after inspecting your aura, but I mistook you for something nonhuman. In this business, it’s best to ask questions after the threat has been eliminated.”
“Hey, happens to me all the time,” Sverre joked.
“I doubt that.”
“I’m kidding,” Sverre stated. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been expertly trained in infiltration. My areas of study have been subterfuge, sociology, psychology, multiple languages, dialects, speech patterns, military strategy, and history. You are correct, however, that I don’t go out and socialize or participate in any other useless activities beyond my training.”
“What? That’s just sad! You’ve never had any friends?” Sverre asked.
“I was the only child here as our guards have no families, and visitors are not permitted,” she admitted.
“Well, what did you do for fun? Video games, comic books? Toys?”
“I certainly had many books to read, although they were usually based on philosophy or history or science, not rubbish like science fiction and fantasy. Why anyone would waste their time reading that is beyond me,” she stated defensively.
“I’m beginning to think you are a bit like Rapunzel, locked in an ivory tower. Your life story sounds tragic. No other kids your age? I’m guessing you’ve never had a boyfriend? What about the other night? You seemed friendly enough — as if you really were interested in me,” he asked.
“The fact you were misled is a credit to my training and observational skills. You were easily duped into believing my feigned interest in you until I had enough time to analyze you properly. Our mission here supersedes any trivial matters such as interpersonal relationships. We sacrifice everything so that humanity survives.”
Sverre shook his head. “How can you fight for others when you don’t even know what you are fighting for? Love and happiness are what drive mankind to greatness. I don’t see how your ‘training’ can provide you with the proper motivation to succeed. The entire situation is stupid. Sounds like brainwashing to me.”
His words hurt her. She lost her calm composure, slapping him across the face. He didn’t budge or attempt to block it. “How dare you mock me?” she hissed in fury. “Do you know the sacrifices I’ve made? You know nothing of me or this organization!” She stormed out of the room.
“You’re right. I don’t,” he said, walking back out to the hallway, rubbing his face.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After dinner that night, they gathered in the study. Bilford puffed on his pipe, deeply engrossed in a moldy tome. Jessica reviewed something on a tablet, periodically casting glances at Sverre. Sverre once more peered out into the night from the window.
“I’ve made up my mind,” he said abruptly, interrupting the silence.
“Oh, yes? What have you decided, my boy?” Bilford asked, looking up from his book.
“I want to go home,” Sverre stated.
Jessica looked at her grandfather with alarm, but he did not look her way.
“That’s fine, my boy. I’m sure you’d like to get back and see your friends and maybe get some more suitable items and clothing, or maybe check in with your professors,” Bilford said.
“No. I want to go to my real home. I want to see my mom,” Sverre said. “There are some things I need to know before I make any decision. I want to ask her about my biological father, and why she never told me the truth.”
“Yes, as you wish. I’ll have Jessica drive you out in the morning. The trip will only take a few hours, and it will give you a chance to get to know each other a bit better. Maybe find out a bit more about what we do here.”
Sverre looked at Jessica, who shot him an icy stare. He had a feeling the ‘few’ hours might seem a lot longer.
His room in the upper part of the house was much nicer than his original cell. The antique furniture had a musty smell that reminded him of old books and furniture store basements. The sheer white curtains undulated slowly due to a light breeze. He leaned on the edge of the windowsill and looked out over the Farm. Would he call this place home one day? He wasn’t sure. He liked his freedom, and the story of Jessica’s upbringing smacked of indoctrination.
Would he be able to have friends, see the world, or find love? He was far too young to give all of that up just for some paramilitary organization. Maybe he could arrange some amicable terms with Bilford where he was a part-time guy or something.
The following morning, after another humongous breakfast and a quick shower, Sverre and Jessica climbed into a nondescript black van and set out. Jessica drove while Sverre pestered her incessantly.
“Do you government guys just get these generic menacing vans from a mega warehouse and have FBI or CIA or whatever stenciled on the sides?” he asked, attempting to make amends with Jessica. He knew it was going to be an uphill battle after his previous comments.
“No,” she replied coldly.
He thought for a few minutes and decided to go with a direct, no-tact approach. “This is going to be a really long trip if you are going to play it that way. Look, I apologize about what I said. I really don’t know much about you. I was just angry at what I perceived to be your horrible childhood, that’s all.”
She glanced his way, then back to the road, and replied, “Apology accepted, although that apology was utterly terrible. I understand you are probably having a hard time with all of this, but lashing out at me will not make things easier for you.”
“Fair enough. So, can you explain a few things about the Order? Like, how do the living arrangements work? What kind of money are we talking about, here? I assume we are talking about some big bucks, considering the unlimited budget and all that.”
Jessica glanced his way, unsure if he was joking, before responding. “Our
mission goes beyond such petty concerns as money and compensation. You should consider it an honor Grandfather is as accepting of you as he is. Most people have to be handpicked and go through months or years of observation and scrutiny before even being approached to join. Never has someone just shown up and been offered a place overnight. Personally, I believe it to be a grievous mistake.”
“Well, see — I’m in school. Although I have no idea what I want to do with my life, I do know I want to live comfortably and retire early. Now, this organization sounds a bit like the military to me. I feel like I’m being drafted, and I’m not getting a warm and cuddly feeling from the higher-ups, if you know what I mean. I think we are going to need to come to an agreement on some terms before I even consider whatever is being proposed.”
“You’ll have to talk to Grandfather and Mr. Davies concerning those matters. I may be able to help answer any questions concerning what you will be doing,” she said.
“Okay, so what do you do, exactly?” Sverre asked.
“As a Stalker, my job is to analyze threats in the field and neutralize them using the utmost discretion. We aggregate data on a worldwide scale, and if an area is flagged, we have local agents determine if a relevant threat is developing. If it meets certain criteria, a Stalker or another agent is sent to investigate. Most threats can be handled by a single agent, although sometimes a duo or even a squad is required.”
“What kind of threats? I’ve seen the werewolves for myself. You deal with vampires, too? What about ghosts?”
“Obviously, the werewolves are always a concern of ours. They can breed and spread at an alarming rate compared to other creatures. Ghosts are rarely a concern. Most are lost spirits that can be guided to the afterlife by a proper medium. Some are powerful and dangerous, and must be dealt with by a team. Full-fledged vampires are also rarely a problem, which is a good thing,” she replied. “We may see some of the lower-ranked vampires such as familiars, minor vampires, or V1s or V2s. The V5s and vampyr are when they really start to get dangerous — about on par with that werewolf we fought.”