by Jacob Gowans
Jane’s eyes flashed at the compliment. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And how are you such a well-placed person at such a young age?”
It intrigued Sammy how quickly she’d taken control over the conversation, or at least thought she had. “I studied hard. Did well on tests.”
“And you?” he asked. “Did you join Ultra Dark voluntarily or otherwise?”
For a sliver of a moment, Jane’s demeanor slipped. The muscles around her mouth and eyes relaxed, the sultry shine in her eyes dulled, and Sammy saw her plainly: scared and small. But it was gone so quickly, he wondered if she even knew it had happened. It was as though some tiny bit of her had broken through the brainwashing, the hardened exterior, only to be immediately extinguished.
“Voluntarily.”
“Why is that? You wanted a life of adventure, not a life of boredom?”
Jane took a sip of her water. “Exactly. And what foolhardy girl wouldn’t choose the first?”
“That’s what I would choose, too.”
“I love my powers.”
Sammy chuckled at her comment. “And what exactly are they? I mean, I’ve read the reports. Watched you practice. But what’s it like?”
Jane picked up a knife and held it vertically. Then she balanced it on her finger. Unlike Sammy, who would’ve had to keep moving his hand to stay under the swaying knife, she held very still and the knife never wavered. “Give me a target.”
“What’s that?” Sammy asked.
“A target. Something you want to see me hit.”
Sammy looked around the room and chose the ugly canvas painting on his wall of two dogs sniffing at a patch of grass. “The Chihuahua. Between its eyes.”
Jane bounced her hand, flipping the knife into the air. She caught it, flicked it, and struck the dog exactly where Sammy had told her.
“A well-executed assassination,” Sammy declared. “That poor dog.”
“You asked me what it’s like … ” Jane said. “And that’s the best I can describe it. As an Ultra you feel powerful. And deadly.”
“What does your family think of your abilities? Are they frightened by them?”
Jane glanced at her salad and sniffed. It was a tiny thing, a sound that lasted less than a second. But it was enough. Her eyes. Her voice. Her age. Sammy knew her now. How many times had he heard her name spoken on the way to Wichita while his friend moaned in his sleep? How many times had he heard that sniff?
Jane was Vitoria. Vitoria Prado.
Toad’s little sister.
12. Taken
Monday, July 28, 2087
SAMMY WANTED TO say Jane’s real name, but couldn’t. Not yet. They planned to capture her, but not until after they knew what secrets might be concealed on or in her body. The scanner in the chandelier would reveal them all. And once they were certain she was safe, they would give her the anti-solution and take her.
Despite the mission, the plan, the set up, all Sammy could think of was Toad. For several weeks Toad had been his best friend and companion. Toad had saved Sammy’s life when Katie Carpenter had beaten him in battle. All it had cost Toad was everything. With his perfect memory, Sammy saw Toad’s shrapnel-riddled body and the pools of blood that flowed across the floor of the air hangar in Omaha.
“So … your parents?” Sammy repeated.
“Thrilled about my powers,” Vitoria answered. “My biggest supporters. I can’t imagine them being frightened.”
“And—and brothers?” Sammy’s voice caught just before he added the s on brothers. “Sis—sisters?”
“I am an only child.”
Tongue-tied at the memory of his friend, Sammy could only nod.
“Did I say something wrong?” Vitoria asked.
Sammy shook his head and forced a pleasant expression back on his face. “Nothing. In fact, I have to tell you that I find you not only beautiful, but charming.”
And I will get you out of this mess if it kills me. I owe Toad at least that much.
He served the pasta to allow another lull in conversation. His thoughts were so occupied with things besides food that he might as well have been chewing rubber. What had been an important mission was now a personal vendetta. He glanced at the chandelier above where a scanner was hiding, taped in such a manner that only Sammy could see it from his angle. Layer by layer, it would scan Vitoria’s body for any hidden device—other than the solution—that would allow the CAG to track her back to resistance headquarters in Glasgow.
Conversation continued throughout the meal. Sammy peppered her with questions about the S.H.I.E.L.D. program, and Vitoria answered them as though she was having the time of her life each day. Near the end of dinner a knock came at the door. Sammy feigned surprise at the intrusion, but made a joke out of it. “Not expecting more guests, are we?”
Jeffie was at the door. “Hi … Sorry to trouble you, but I’ve lost my room key and the thumb plate isn’t working. Can you call down to the front desk and have them send someone up to Room 274?”
“Sure. 274.”
Sammy shut the door as Jeffie apologized and thanked him again. Giving Vitoria an apologetic smirk of his own because of the interruption, Sammy told his com to call the front desk, which he had programmed as Anna’s number. After explaining about Jeffie’s predicament, Anna responded in a low, rushed voice, “She’s clean except for the earring on her left ear. Proceed to the next phase. We’ll get the earring off her before we haul outta here.”
“Okay,” Sammy said. “Thank you very much.” He took the com from his ear and returned to the table with Vitoria. As he did so, he activated the gas canister under the table to release the sleeping gas. “Who forgets their room key? Anyway … what were we talking about?”
Vitoria grabbed Sammy’s jacket in two hands and pulled him toward her. “We don’t need to talk anymore.”
Before Sammy could protest, Vitoria kissed him. She was the second person he had ever kissed, and he immediately noted the differences between Vitoria’s lips and Jeffie’s. As his heart thundered inside his chest, Sammy pushed Vitoria backward so that she faced him while laying on the bed. The soft hiss of the gas permeating the air was not perceptible above the sound of music pulsing from the stereo next to the hotel room’s holo-screen.
Any second now she’ll be out and this will be over.
They continued to kiss as Sammy waited for the gas to take effect. After several seconds her lips traveled to his cheek, neck, and ear. The longer they went at it, the more nervous Sammy became that something had gone wrong. A fire lit in her eyes as she reached for the strap of her glittering gold gown.
Screw this. I can’t wait any longer.
Sammy’s left hand went under a pillow and found the first of two syringes that, when combined, created the anti-solution. As Vitoria’s head turned to face him, he grabbed her left hand with his own right and prepared to grab her left earring as soon as he injected her. They kissed again. Vitoria moaned into the kiss as her free hand snaked up Sammy’s shirt. At that moment Sammy jammed the needle into her left thigh and emptied its contents into her leg.
Vitoria shrieked and jerked while Sammy snatched at her earring, but missed. She bucked him up into a sitting position and immediately her right foot connected with his temple. Sammy slammed into the headboard, his vision fuzzy. One hand went up as a shield blast, the other slowly crept and searched for the second syringe. According to the instructions from Trapper’s data cube, Sammy had thirty minutes to inject Vitoria with the second liquid to render the solution inert.
“What did you stick in me?” Vitoria asked as she touched her earring.
“Don’t—” he cried, but too late. “Listen, I’m here to help you!”
Vitoria ripped the bed sheets out from under him with a strength he hadn’t anticipated. Then she whipped them up and let them billow in the pulsings of Sammy’s blasts.
“Put the sheet down and let me explain,” Sammy said, turning up
the strength of his blast to ward her away and give himself more space to work. “I won’t hurt you.”
The sheet fluttered to the carpet, but Vitoria had already moved. She stepped on the bed, bounced toward the wall, and then kicked off the wall at Sammy.
“Vit—” He tried to catch her or shoot her out of the air, but she was fast—faster than a Thirteen. Her knee collided with his skull. As he rolled backward Sammy shot a powerful blast, stronger than he’d intended, and sent Vitoria flying toward the window.
Rather than crashing through the glass, she grabbed the curtain rod and swung herself sideways, then hit the floor. Sammy protected himself with two blast shields, but he had a feeling that Vitoria could get around them with ease. Rather than attacking again, he reached for the second syringe, but it was not under the pillow.
“What did you stick in me?” Vitoria yelled.
Sammy’s hands darted around the bed, but the syringe was gone. It must have dropped under the bed. “You have to trust me! I know you’re really Vitoria Prado. I was a friend of your brother. I’m going to get you out of here!”
He knew it sounded absurd, even creepy, to ask a girl to trust him after he’d arranged to have her come to his hotel room and then stuck her with a needle, but he didn’t know what else to say. A fork flew at his head. Sammy blasted it away, gripped the bed with his free hand, and jerked up the mattress. There, on the bed frame, was the syringe.
As Sammy ducked behind the mattress and grabbed the second syringe, the mattress collapsed under Vitoria’s weight. The blade of a knife ripped through the material as Vitoria tried to stab him through the bed. Sammy put the syringe in his teeth and blasted the mattress away with both hands. Vitoria and the mattress flew across the room. He heard her hit the wall with a loud THUMP and slide to the floor.
She went limp, her right arm and shoulder twitching once, twice, and then she became deathly still. Sammy’s breath caught in his lungs. No. I didn’t mean…
He spat the syringe from his mouth and stuffed it into his pocket. “Vitoria?” he asked, rushing to help her.
When he knelt beside her she swung at his throat with a second knife, one he hadn’t even known she had. Vitoria missed by millimeters, but made up for it by kicking him in the back of the head and throwing herself into him. Sammy caught her, wrapped her up with his arms, and blasted backward, flipping them over in the air, and landing on the table with her underneath, wood, glass and metal shattering and screeching.
Someone in the room above stomped on the floor, telling them to keep down the racket. Vitoria stuck her fingers in Sammy’s face, trying to gouge his eyes. “What did you inject me with?”
“Nothing …” Sammy grunted as he released her and tried to pull her hands away from his face, “that … will harm you!”
Vitoria punched him viciously seven or eight times in the chest and neck, then kneed him in the face. The amount of time in between each jab was so short that Sammy lost count. Finally he blasted himself off of her, but she was on her feet and tackled him on the bed.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Someone who wants to help you! I knew Toad! Sapo! Your brother!”
Vitoria threw another fork at him. Where does she keep getting the utensils? Raising one arm to shield his eyes, and using his other hand to blast at her, the fork stuck him on the underside of his forearm while Vitoria slammed into the headboard of the bed. Before she could get off him, Sammy uncapped the second syringe and jammed it into her buttock. It sank deep, and he emptied its contents.
Vitoria screamed what he guessed were Portuguese swear words because Toad had shouted similar things when he’d been angry. Rage filled her eyes as she ran at him. Sammy fired blast after blast at her, but she twisted and bent her body to avoid the energy bursts. Sammy backed away the closer she came, but she was too fast. Her foot connected with his face in a burst of pain.
“Stop kicking me in the head!” he shouted, but she countered with an elbow that sent him to the ground, stunned.
In his groggy state he saw three Vitorias, each walking toward him. She grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him toward the painting of the dogs that still bore the knife she’d thrown.
“Vitoria, please,” he mumbled as the three Vitorias finally melted back into one. “I was Toad’s friend. Your brother. Toad. Rulé Prado.”
Vitoria ripped the knife out of the painting and brought it down at Sammy’s neck. But before she could connect, she doubled over, clutching her stomach. A deep moan came from her gut as she crumpled to the floor, rolling over onto her back. “What did you do to me?”
“I saved your life—” Sammy started to say when his com beeped. It took him a moment to locate it in all the wreckage of the room. But when he found it, he hurried and stuffed it back in his ear. “I delivered the anti-solu—”
“Dark agents are coming up the stairs and elevators,” Anna reported. “We’re calling in the stealth cruiser for an air extraction. Keep them busy, and we’ll come up behind them.”
“Got it.”
“Try not to die.”
Vitoria rolled on the floor, groaning, face twisted in agony. Sammy stepped over her and scooted the bed frame closer to the window so he could use the headboard as cover. Then he dragged Vitoria between the window and bed, and taped her hands and feet together. About five seconds later, the door crashed to the floor.
“Uh … ” Sammy said into his com, “I don’t have a gun.”
“Why do you think Commander Byron taught you to fight without a gun in Beta headquarters?” was Anna’s response.
Sammy blasted the bed at the Dark agents as they came through the door, sending it soaring across the room. A moment later, the bed shot back at him. Sammy dove to his left. The bed crashed through the window and sailed down to the street below.
Glass rained on Sammy. Four Psion Dark agents entered the room: two males, two females, all armed with assault rifles. When he saw them, Sammy swore in Portuguese because he thought it sounded better. They wore armored cloth, similar to what Alphas wore during missions, perhaps a bit heavier.
They opened fire on Sammy who could do nothing but shield and keep moving to present a more difficult target. He also needed to make sure Vitoria stayed out of the line of fire. Bullets ripped the air, peppering the walls and ceiling, spraying debris and glass like confetti. Screams came from the rooms above, followed by heavy footsteps. As Sammy defended himself, he searched the room, the space, and his brain for some way to win—to live. He waited to see the answer.
It intrigued him that the Psion Dark agents did not fight like Thirteens. They stayed together as a unit, cohesive and fluid, attacking from positions of safety to prevent any opening for Sammy to retaliate.
Before he came up with a plan, five more people arrived: Jeffie, Li, Kawai, Commander Byron, and Anna. Commander Byron opened fire first. The Dark agents turned quickly. One took a bullet to the back, but her armor absorbed the worst of the shot. She fell down, but quickly recovered. Sammy’s team fanned out and took cover around the room. This allowed Sammy to move in and use hand to hand combat. He picked the smallest of the four: a short girl with hair dyed half green and half pink.
The girl shot a dozen rounds at Sammy, but he punched back with a strong blast aimed straight at the gun. The bullets flew away harmlessly, and Sammy’s blast pushed the gun slightly to the side, allowing him room to get under her guard. Their blasts met, pushing each other apart. Sammy gently blasted forward with his feet, again shielding her bullets. She tried to blast him away, but he spun to the side, crossed the distance, and hit her under the jaw.
The girl with the colored hair dropped. Sammy grabbed her gun as it clattered to the floor, and the sound of bullets rent the air. A vicious punch hit Sammy high in the back, pushing him to the floor face first. After several missions and injuries, he recognized right away that he’d been shot. The bullet had entered above his shoulder blade and below his collarbone, and exited between his rib and collarbon
e in the front. Lucky, perhaps, but moving his right arm sent a searing burn through his whole side. As he hit the ground, the darkness inside him roared to life at the pain.
You know what to do … a voice told him.
No.
Yes. You will die if you don’t do it.
I made a promise.
Look around the room. Look at your friends. They will all die unless you use your full potential. Do it!
A flash of light reflected off the glass of the fireplace and caught Sammy’s eye. Hovering outside the broken window was a cruiser with several Ultra Dark agents standing on the top of the craft tethered to the hull to prevent them from falling.
“More trouble outside,” he told his team. “Six Ultras on top of a cruiser. I’m hit. Clean shot through the back. I don’t have any orange goo.”
“I’ve got some,” Kawai said, “just hang tight.”
Gunshots exploded around Sammy. Blood poured from his wound onto the carpet. He didn’t dare move. The Ultras on the cruiser would shoot him down before he could even get a shield up. Screams came from the halls, followed by Byron barking at civilians. “Get back in your rooms!”
Your chances of surviving are slim. DO IT! The pull was strong. It reminded Sammy of his dreams with the shadow, the way it tugged at him and pulsed with power.
Sammy ignored the voice as he pretended to be dead. Resisting the urge to tap into the Anomaly Thirteen wasn’t easy. His whole body tingled with the need to unleash it. Playing dead, however, wasn’t hard. The pain from the gunshot wound radiated through his whole body, so he didn’t want to move. Anna gave orders to the rest of the team, coordinating their efforts to take out the Psion Dark agents. Vitoria, hogtied on the floor, now stared at Sammy murderously.
“The stealth cruiser says it can’t move into position unless the other cruiser leaves,” Li reported.
“Tell them to shoot down the enemy!” Sammy said.
“They can’t risk taking a hit,” Anna said. “Structural damage to the hull will allow our stealth cruiser to be tracked.”