by Nick Thacker
“I hope you are excited about the next demonstration,” Garza continued. “I, for one, cannot wait. This technology has taken me countless hours of experimentation, and a lot of money. But I have to tell you — without you all, this never would have been possible. Juliette, your help in Philadelphia directly led to this demonstration. This final demonstration.”
Julie wanted to scream, to cry, to run, to do anything at all. Instead, she stood riveted to the floor, forced to do nothing but listen to Garza’s words and the oddly soothing sound of the high-pitched whining noise.
“Now, let’s begin. CSO team, please turn and face the center of the room.”
Julie felt her legs moving, her feet shifting. In a few seconds, she was facing the middle of the room, the rows of Exos staring blankly and lifelessly back at her.
“Very good. Now, CSO team, please walk toward the first row of Exos.”
Julie did as she was told.
“Please step around to the back of the nearest Exo you find and pull the large blue handle. The battery hatch will swing open, revealing a small ladder.”
Julie’s arms began working, her hands immediately finding the hatch lever and pulling it up. The interior of the Exo was larger than she’d expected, and she saw a few buttons and display screens at chest-level on the front-end of the suit.
“Finally, CSO team, will you please climb the ladder and enter the suit. The hatch will close behind you automatically.
“Oh, and get comfortable — this will be the last place you’ll ever see.”
IV
Act 4
55
Edmund
I do hope this all ends soon, Edmund thought. He was in the backseat of a car heading out of town. An “Uber,” the concierge had called it. A strange name for a taxicab service, but Father Canisius was not about to complain when the concierge had offered to set it all up. She’d even offered to pay for it and put the amount on his hotel tab.
He had gotten into the Uber and given the location to the driver, and then settled into the backseat, a weight lifted off his shoulders. I am here because God wills it, he told himself. Have a little faith, Edmund. You are the right man for this job.
It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what that job was — it didn’t matter that he was confused, frustrated, tired. It didn’t matter that this newcomer, Archibald Quinones, seemed to know more about the whole thing than he. None of that mattered. What little trial to go through compared to that of Job.
This was nothing. He could handle it.
Best of all, he had a feeling he was about to get answers. St. Clair had sounded a bit surprised as well when he’d spoken with her on the phone. He assumed that receiving the email from the broker, whoever they were, had been as unexpected to her as it had been to him. She, being the utmost professional, had barely shown whatever surprise she had experienced.
Archie’s call had been more troubling. Here was a third group — or fourth, or fifth, he wasn’t even able to keep track — interested in the deal he was currently in the middle of. Archie had known it was Orland Group, and he had known that the assets being transferred were some sort of defense technology.
It was strange, the Catholic Church involved in the brokering of a deal for arms and munitions, if that’s what it was. But Canisius didn’t know — for all he knew of technology, it could be a simple computer system.
That’s it, he thought. It must be. Archie and his CSO team had been involved in the break-in at the Vatican, which had led to a complete overhaul of personnel and systems training for the security staff. Orland Group must be selling us a new computer system, one that will help with this sort of thing in the future.
It was a harmless purchase, but having the key players’ identities public knowledge would be off-putting at best, and harmful to his organization at worst. The Pope would be under massive scrutiny — purchasing defense systems from a defense conglomerate? The questions would be never-ending, and the cost to hold the press at bay would be mountainous.
Still, there would be talk. Rumors would abound, and they would be especially difficult to deny considering they would be based in truth.
That must be it. They needed Canisius because he was about as removed from anything related to organizational computer systems and defense security as anyone, yet he was high enough in the organization that his seal of approval would be taken at value.
He had figured it out. Satisfied, he allowed his thoughts to drift a bit, even allowed himself to relax in the car.
He leaned back in the seat, feeling exhaustion and surprise and excitement all at once, hoping again that this would be over soon. He dreamt of his own bed in the Vatican, in his home. He closed his eyes. How far he’d come, touring the countries of South America as a young priest, working his way up the ladder of the Catholic Church, until God had called him to Rome.
This place, once much closer to his home, no longer felt familiar. He had grown accustomed to the crowds of Rome, the streets and avenues of Italy, the bustling life of Rome. He had grown apart from this place, and he was surprised he didn’t miss it much.
He had fallen asleep apparently, as a bit later the driver slowed to a stop and turned around in the seat, speaking to him in soothing tones in rapid-fire Spanish.
“Sir,” he said. “We are here. We have arrived.”
Edmund looked around. Where are we? He hadn’t bothered to check the location on a map program when he was at the computer, and he didn’t have a phone to double-check now.
Turning around fully, he saw through the windows that they were in a thick forest, dark shades of greens and browns all around. It looked like the Amazon — a far cry from where they had been in the city. Stones and boulders had been scattered to the sides to clear the unpaved road, and up in front of the driver that road had widened into a parking lot-sized open area.
Just beyond that, behind a massive concrete wall that had to be nearly fifty feet tall, stretched an even more massive structure, this one not manmade.
They were at the base of a mountain, one that seemed to rise straight up on all sides, a spire guarding the surrounding area. A watchtower, overlooking the entire country.
Canisius frowned and asked in Spanish where they were.
“The mountain,” the driver said, shrugging. He lifted a piece of paper — the same one Edmund had given him upon entering the vehicle. “You have given me this location, and the concierge at the hotel has as well.”
Edmund saw two men jogging toward the car, both carrying rifles in their hands.
Edmund looked back at the driver. “No,” he said, swallowing, “it seems that this is the correct location. Thank you.”
He reached into a pocket for his wallet, but saw that the driver was clicking and swiping at something on his phone’s screen, and then he saw the total amount, and a “paid” sticker digitally superimposed.
Technology, he thought. How far we’ve come. He smiled inwardly. How far everyone else has come. He knew he hadn’t advanced beyond being able to check email, as long as it was on a computer that had a large, obvious icon on the desktop he couldn’t double-click.
The two men, wearing black body armor over black pants and boots, reached the car. One on each side, immediately stepping to the back doors. Both were opened simultaneously, and Edmund pulled himself out.
The man on his side of the vehicle reached a hand out and held onto Edmund’s arm. His grip was tight, unmoving, and Edmund saw that the man was very young — possibly in his early twenties.
“My name is Quinones,” the kid said. “Welcome to Ravenshadow. Please, this way. Our director is waiting.”
56
Ben
Ben couldn’t believe what had happened. How they had been led into the demonstration room, given a minute to allow the chemical to enter their systems and completely envelope them, then activated.
Coming here, they had planned for a fight — a traditional exchange of gunfire — and had prepared for a tough slog, an uphill bat
tle. They hadn’t expected an army of Ravenshadow men and an army of mech suit walking tanks.
But they really hadn’t expected to go down without a fight altogether. To be simply “activated” and told what to do by a distant operator. To be funneled into the very suits they had been so mystified by upon seeing them.
Unfortunately it had all become clear to Ben after he’d been locked into place on the demonstration room floor. It had all come crashing down on him as Garza spoke. The missing villagers. The empty row of Exos. The battle in the hallway, where the Exos and the Ravenshadow men had been purposefully missing them, instead forcing them into this room.
And the chemical. Sturdivant hadn’t wanted the suits. It was very likely he didn’t even know about them. The military leader had wanted to check in on Garza’s progress with the chemical. The scopolamine-like compound that Garza had first used in Philadelphia. The compound that was based on a plant native to Peru.
He’d fled the United States to flee men like Sturdivant, men who wanted to profit from Garza’s tech. In the United States Garza would have had a tough legal battle wresting control of his invention from the hands of the government suits, but not here. In Peru he had nearly unlimited access to both the resources — unassuming villagers, the borrachero plant, cheap unused land — and a government that could be easily bought.
Sturdivant had known enough about the chemical and Garza’s goals that he had gotten jealous, had wanted to keep Garza under his thumb. Ben knew men like him, and he also knew that men like Sturdivant were likely the reason men like Garza weren’t allowed to roam free.
It was a battle between the greater of two evils, and so far Garza had won.
Ben half-stood, half-sat in the center of his Exo suit, analyzing and thinking and trying in vain to get his limbs to move. The sound of the high-pitched note seemed less harsh now, likely an effect of the chemical’s dulling of Ben’s senses. But he felt sharp, as if he thought he could react as quickly as normal, but couldn’t when actually trying.
It was similar to having had too much alcohol. He felt as though his thoughts and expressions weren’t inhibited, yet his voice and movements simply didn’t work. It was like being drunk without the headache and without any of the outward signals.
In a word, it was incredible. Ben wasn’t pleased to be on this side of the testing wall, but he had to admit that Garza was sitting on a goldmine. Selling this tech would ensure Garza an unlimited supply of Ravenshadow troops, likely a lifetime cashflow as well. There wasn’t a government on the planet that wouldn’t give their entire GDP forever to get their hands on it.
Why convince citizens to keep in line when you can simply drug them into obedience?
So that was the endgame, but who, realistically, would be the buyer? Ben wanted to know everything, but first he needed to figure out how to live through whatever was about to happen.
And, of course, he needed to figure it out in less than forty-five minutes.
Garza’s voice tore through the air. “CSO team, please activate your Exo by pressing the red button near your right hand.”
Ben did, and the Exo hummed to life. The legs of the machine stiffened, Ben’s own legs pressed a bit tighter by the kevlar padding in the interior of the suit. The arms, where they connected to the torso of the suit, rotated and came to a ready position slightly bent at the elbows, the “hands” resting just a bit in front of the shoulder.
Ben also noticed that the high-pitched sound wasn’t the sound of the Exo after all. The machine had been completely lifeless, dead to the world save for the locking mechanism that had automatically activated after he’d entered.
That meant the sound was coming from somewhere else.
Then Ben heard it. There were small speakers inside the suit to his right and left, and when he’d activated it they had turned on as well, and the sound — the whine that he’d been hearing — emanated even more loudly through those speakers.
So it was coming from the suit. He couldn’t frown, as that was a physical exertion he had no control over, but in his mind he tried piecing it together. The team had heard the Exos coming before they could see them, which implied that the piercing high-pitch was indeed emanating from the suits, but these suits had been deactivated before Ben and the others had entered, and the noise had clearly still been audible.
Did that mean there were a lot more of the Exos, still activated, nearby?
No. Ben knew the shrill pitch had been coming from some larger source, similar to the source Garza’s own voice had come from.
He’s piping it in, Ben realized. The sound they had all been hearing — the one they’d associated with the Exos — had also been amplified and played through the main speakers of the demonstration room.
Before we got into the suits, Ben thought. That means the sound actually helped activate the suits.
It didn’t make sense. The Exos were powered by sound? Why would Garza go through the trouble of building speakers into each of the suits that, when powered on, re-amplified and broadcast the same high-pitched signal if it didn’t have something to do with the Exos?
“Thank you, CSO team. Now, please turn and walk toward opposite corners of the room.”
Ben found himself complying before he even realized he was. He turned in the Exo suit, finding it rather simple to control — two joystick-like handles controlled the direction and speed, while tensing the muscles in his thighs pressed against the kevlar-covered legs of the suit, which helped with nuance and maneuverability. It was intuitive — like playing a modern first-person-shooter video game. No matter what the game was, the controls were generally the same: the triggers would fire or launch certain weapons, the joystick knobs would move and turn the player.
The combination of the drug, the intuitiveness of the controls, the suit’s own capability and maneuverability — it all clicked into place when Ben moved. He understood what was happening.
Garza’s project wasn’t the suits — the Exos. It wasn’t the incredible drug that somehow took away all the voluntary functions and disallowed physical movement in its hosts.
It was both.
It was the combination of the two. The ultimate in military weaponry; the most advanced weapon ever created: not a human, not a machine, but a bit of both.
And best of all, it was completely and utterly controllable. A commander at the helm of an army of Exos and their occupants would be the commander of a real-life version of a top-down tactical real-time strategy game. They could literally speak their orders into a microphone and their will would be drawn out on the battlefield. The soldiers themselves — the human factor — would be diminished to the role of driver.
Any fear, trepidation, or hesitation would be nonexistent. No disobedience. No undermining or questioning of authority.
A perfect workforce. A perfect army.
Ben knew there were downsides, of course — humans were still an integral part of any modern-day army because armies needed to adapt on the fly, to be able to maintain some sort of individuality. But the upsides were huge — a force of walking tanks, maneuverable and responsive, would be a deciding factor in just about any battle.
And he had a feeling he was going to be testing that very premise.
“Thank you, team. Now that the four of you are in one of each of the four corners of the room, I would like to call your attention to the other Exos on the demonstration floor.”
Ben’s eyes flicked up and he did, indeed, see the twenty-odd Exos standing erect, silent, in front of him.
“There are twenty-six more units. Each of them has an operator, and each of them will be activated soon. They are the previous model of Exosuits, which will be replaced by your own. However, the demonstration videos our buyers have requested for these proofs-of-concept unfortunately require us to prove the capability of any and all possible battle scenarios. They have informed us that computer-generated models or enhancements will not suffice, and are willing to pay twice for a new, rebuilt force.
“As such, it is your job, CSO team, to eliminate as many of these enemy operants as possible until you yourselves have been eliminated.”
Ben wanted to swallow. To gulp in terror. He could do neither. He could do absolutely nothing but listen to Garza’s words. And react to them.
“You may engage.”
57
Julie
Julie listened on in abject terror. The whining sound had been replayed through tiny speakers in the interior of the Exosuit, but she could still hear Garza’s voice perfectly through the larger speakers situated up near the ceiling.
“You may engage.”
She was looking diagonally across the room, standing inside her Exo in what she believed was the southeast corner of the room. Ben was in the southwest, Mrs. E across from her in the northwest, and Reggie and his Exo were to her right in the northeast corner. Directly in front of her stood the remainder of the thirty Exos — the twenty-six suited villagers that had been abducted from their homes and turned into Garza’s personal science experiment.
And they were beginning to move.
The Exos in the center of the room turned in a precisely coordinated motion, those closest to Julie rotating around and facing her, the other three quadrants of Exos turning to face Ben, Mrs. E, and Reggie, respectively.
Shit.
Garza had said that his buyer wanted proof that these machines worked — but also video proof that they could fight with each other. It was probably a wise move; if Garza was able to create these monstrosities, surely other governments or private defense contractors were working through the same problems.
A mech-on-mech battle would not only soon be possible, it was almost guaranteed. The buyer was simply covering their bases, doing their due diligence.
And Garza had told them that the twenty-six Exos they were facing were the older model — the ones Julie and the others were in were the newer edition.