by E. R. Torre
Very, very cautiously, Sergeant Delmont approached General Spradlin. He looked over his superior’s shoulder. The bomb was less than three feet away from them.
“General?” Delmont whispered.
“Yes?”
“You didn’t really expect me to use force against the bomb squad, did you?”
“Only if they tried to stop me,” General Spradlin said.
“What would you have wanted me to do?”
“Subdue them. Politely, of course.”
“Of course,” Sergeant Delmont repeated.
General Spradlin’s focus returned to the bomb.
“Do you know…I mean…you can defuse it, right?”
“This bomb is inactive,” General Spradlin said. “It was never meant to be used.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Sergeant Delmont’s leaned in close. From his vantage point, the devise looked ready to go.
“How exactly do you know it is inactive?”
General Spradlin pointed the robot’s cameras toward the device. He spoke into the microphone next to it.
“The device has no electrical source,” General Spradlin said. “This bomb is missing its trigger.”
General Spradlin pushed the camera away.
“I take it you’ve seen this type of bomb before?” Sergeant Delmont asked.
“Joshua Landon specialized in creating these types of devices during the Arabian War. Back then, they were known as Malakovs.”
General Spradlin picked the device up. It was a little larger than a shoe box. He approached Delmont and offered it to him. The Sergeant wearily eyed the device. He was not at all sure whether he wanted to touch –much less hold– it.
“Would you like a closer look?”
“If it’s all the same…”
General Spradlin nodded. He casually tossed the device onto the back of the robotic unit. Sergeant Delmont did all he could to not jump.
General Spradlin emerged from the alley with Sergeant Delmont. The bomb techs ran past them and into the alley. They were incredulous.
“You are fucking crazy!” the female bomb squad tech yelled.
Spradlin ignored the comment and, along with Sergeant Delmont, began the journey back to their truck.
“Why would Landon bomb this place?” Sergeant Delmont asked.
“Good question,” General Spradlin said. “I need to know who the owners of this bar were. I also need to know who was in the back alley when the bar exploded.”
Sgt. Delmont reached for the computer pad strapped to his belt. He clicked inquiries into the Global Computer Network and, once done, offered General Spradlin the information. On the pad’s screen was a photograph of Catherine Holland.
“Her name is Catherine Holland,” Delmont said. “She’s the sole owner of Yoshiwara. Get this: She’s a veteran of the Arabian war, just like Landon. She was in Intel Ops. She’s the one they found in the alley.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Looks like it,” Sgt. Delmont said. “Could Landon be targeting fellow war vets?”
“It’s possible,” General Spradlin said, though the tone of his voice suggested he didn’t believe so. He grabbed the computer pad and read Catherine Holland’s resume. When he gave the pad back to Sgt. Delmont and shook his head. “I’m familiar with her unit. Other than the fact that they both fought in the war, there’s no connection between her and Joshua Landon.”
“Perhaps there might be some secret—”
“No,” General Spradlin said. “Her unit’s primary function was collecting intel, sorting satellite imagery, and hacking computer files. She did this from hundreds of miles away from the front lines, where Joshua Landon was stationed. They never saw each other or interacted in any way.”
“Then maybe she had some knowledge about illicit activities Landon performed in the war and had to be silenced.”
General Spradlin again shook his head.
“Joshua Landon was not involved in any illicit activities, Sergeant. Anyway, it’s been years since the war ended and whatever work or intelligence Catherine Holland gathered back then is obsolete and irrelevant.” General Spradlin thought some more. “Even if she somehow had information worth going after, why do so now? And why, after twenty years, free someone as dangerous as Joshua Landon to take her out? It doesn’t appear Catherine Holland was in hiding. If someone wanted to take her out, they could have hired themselves a cheap Independent years ago and avoided all this fuss.”
General Spradlin considered more options. Finally, he said:
“What exactly is Catherine Holland’s status?”
Delmont pressed a button on his computer pad and made a call to the Emergency Response Center. He identified himself and asked for the Information Bureau at the TransCo Oil Hospital.
“Records department,” came his response.
“This is an I.C.E. 1983 priority call,” Sergeant Delmont said. “I need an update on a patient you have by the name of Catherine Holland. She arrived a couple of hours ago.”
Delmont was silent while the information was transferred to his computer pad.
“Thank you,” he said. He read the information. “She’s in critical but stable condition. She’s lucky. The only reason she’s alive is because the device in the alley was a dud.”
“Yeah. Real lucky.”
Sgt. Delmont caught the skepticism in the General’s voice.
“Go on,” General Spradlin said.
“She was caught in the blast wave and slammed against the back alley wall. She suffered multiple fractures and considerable internal bleeding. Her left leg is shredded. The Doctors think she’ll lose it.”
“What is her prognosis?”
“They’ll have a better idea in another hour or two.”
General Spradlin thought about this.
“Landon wants me there.”
“Sir?”
“Joshua Landon escapes to the Big City and the first thing he does is find himself explosive material from the Gods-know where and comes directly to this place. He plants several highly recognizable Arabian War incendiary devices with his own personal markings on these premises and each and every one of them goes off. All but the one that would certainly have killed the bar’s owner, a woman who also happened to be in the Arabian War.”
Sgt. Delmont let out a whistle.
“It wasn’t luck that she survived?”
“You've seen what Joshua Landon did to the prison transport staff. He killed ten well-trained and heavily armed officers without leaving so much as a single drop of his own blood behind. Yet he couldn’t kill a single, defenseless woman who I’m guessing didn’t even know he was coming? Does that make any kind of sense to you?”
“Not when you put it that way.”
“He’s leaving bread crumbs. Telling us where to go.”
“A trap?”
“Or course.”
“Why force you to go to the Hospital? If they want you, why didn’t they attack a few minutes ago, before we got to the bomb?”
“Because they didn’t see me.”
“What?”
“I blend into the darkness very well.”
Sgt. Delmont didn’t know what to say to that.
After a few steps, he looked up at the eastern sky. The first rays of the early dawn’s light were coming through the smoggy haze covering the city.
“You won’t have that advantage much longer,” Sgt. Delmont said. “By the time we reach the Hospital, the sun will be up. There won’t be any darkness to hide in. None at all.”
18
The pain in Nox’s temples was excruciating.
Fresh waves of nausea assaulted her and she remained standing, though barely. She watched the Hospital’s emergency doors and, beyond them, the room Catherine Holland was in. She did this for as long as she could.
Now, she no longer could.
Nox found an empty seat in the corner of the hospital’s busy lobby and tried her best to shut
out the commotion of worried relatives and friends of patients around her.
The last time she stood by the emergency doors, the security around Catherine Holland’s room increased. The doctors and nurses kept coming and going, though their pace slowed even more with time. Nox was certain Catherine’s condition was relatively stable, though given the continued presence of hospital staff, her friend was clearly not out of danger yet.
Nox closed her eyes. Her forehead glistened with sweat and the pounding in her head was draining her of energy. Now and again she heard cellphones ring, and their rings felt like explosions. She tried to shut them out but couldn’t. After a few minutes, she abruptly stood up and returned to the water fountain at the rear of the lobby. Her legs wobbled under her as she moved. The electronic squeal had steadily increased and every cellphone within arm’s length rang whenever she passed. It was as if someone –something– was trying to communicate with her. Soon, the people around the lobby suspected the Mechanic’s presence was causing the phones to act up. Some began keeping their distance from her.
What the hell is happening? Nox thought when she reached the water fountain. She splashed cold water on her face and the shock allowed her to focus her thoughts, if only for a few seconds.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling this ill. There were times in her career where she was beaten, tortured, and even shot. She almost lost her eye to a sadistic corporate stooge…yet all those were physical assaults and injuries with a definite cause. Whatever pain and recovery she experienced, therefore, was understandable. With this headache, there was no cause for the pain and it stubbornly refused to go away.
And that damned electronic squeal…it too refused to go away.
Why doesn’t anyone else notice it? Why doesn’t the hospital staff stop it?
Why—
Just like that, it was gone.
All noise was gone.
Nox released the water fountain’s handle. She straightened up and looked around the lobby. Everyone remained roughly where they were, in conversation or silent, working or waiting, patient or visitor or staff. They went about their business but Nox could not hear any sound or words coming from any of them. Neither could she hear cell phones or the noisy air conditioning. Even that damned electronic squeal. It was as if she was watching television and someone muted the sound.
Am I losing my mind?
And then she felt something else. She felt someone’s eyes upon her, starting hard at her, watching her every move.
Who?
Nox examined the faces of those before her. They were all strangers.
No, not all.
He stood by the entrance to the Hospital and on the other side of the lobby. He was roughly her age, young and muscular. He had black shoulder length hair. He wore a dark green trench coat and his hands were buried in its pockets. His brilliant blue eyes stared directly at Nox.
The hospital lobby shifted. Reality crumbled around her…
The girl soldier lowered her smoking weapon. The pregnant Arabian woman lay dead at the feet of the horrified tank officers. Her blood splattered their bodies and face. They stared back at the girl soldier, their revulsion evident in their expressions.
The girl soldier didn’t care.
Her attention was back on her rifle. She had only one spent shell to replace and she replaced it.
The tank commanders moved away from the pregnant woman’s corpse and wiped the blood from their faces. They exchanged angry whispers. The girl soldier caught their harsh words but felt neither remorse nor regret and certainly, most certainly, no shame over her actions. If anything, the tank commanders’ gazes and whispers confused her.
Their reactions were…wrong.
Was the pregnant woman not an enemy? And were the soldiers in her division, indeed all the soldiers stationed in the Arabian deserts, not tasked with eliminating the enemy?
After a while, the tank officers moved on.
The girl soldier’s mind drifted. She felt there was someone watching her.
She looked to her right and noticed one of her fellow soldiers, a boy roughly her age, staring at her. Unlike the tank commanders, his expression was completely neutral. He had removed his desert goggles, revealing eyes that were a brilliant blue. She noticed him before, and he certainly noticed her.
While the boy watched, the girl soldier’s confusion was replaced with a longing. She wanted to talk to the boy, to see who he was. She wanted to interact. She longed…she longed to be near him.
Abruptly, she looked away. Her programming was strong, and it willed her to focus on her mission and avoid distractions.
She stared at the pile of bodies. Something about them seemed…wrong.
The girl soldier removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
She looked again.
The bodies no longer lay in a row on the ground. Instead, the villagers were alive and huddled together on the very same desert floor. The child soldiers surrounded them. They escorted them into several large military transport trucks.
The girl soldier stood before the pregnant woman, and reached down, down for her canteen. She handed it to the pregnant woman, but the woman was no longer there…
The villagers’ corpses were spread out before her in rows, just as they were before. The pregnant woman stirred.
The girl soldier reached for her weapon.
When she looked up, the villagers were alive. Instead of holding her rifle, she carried her canteen.
She gave it to the pregnant woman. The woman was among the last to climb aboard her transport truck. The girl soldier looked down at her weapon, to see if it had been fired. She looked at the cartridges on her belt. They were there. All of them.
When she looked back up, the transport truck was gone and the villagers’ corpses were yet again in a line before her. The pregnant woman lay dead and the tank commanders looked back at the girl soldier with disgust.
She examined her weapon. It had been fired. Smoke still rose from its barrel. She looked at her ammo belt. There were few cartridges left. She fired most of them as her platoon decimated the village…
The child soldier’s mind couldn’t make sense of these contradictions.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
Sweat poured down Nox’s face.
The man standing on the other end of the lobby remained still. His expression was stubbornly neutral.
Nox recognized the man, or rather his brilliant blue eyes. She could sense he too knew her, though always from afar. Deep within her soul, Nox felt an old fear return. A fear she thought forgotten after growing up. The old programming stirred. It moved slowly inside her body, like an ancient, foul smelling beast waking from a long hibernation. At first it was groggy, confused. In time it was fully awake. It whispered a thousand hushed words into Nox’s ears.
No, not a thousand words.
Two words. Two words repeated over and over again, each time growing in volume until they became a roar.
Join us.
Nox felt a choking fear. The program was all around her, enveloping her, touching her, trying to force itself on her.
She fought back. She couldn’t let that happen. Never, ever again.
But the program was powerful. It would not release her.
Join us, it repeated.
Nox clenched her teeth. She felt the program caress her thoughts and try to force itself in to her again and again.
Nox fell to the ground, a mask of agony plastered on her face. Only now she realized the electronic squeal surrounding her all this time was the program. It stalked and found her. It wanted her. It wanted her bad.
Why do you fight us? It demanded.
Join us, it insisted.
“NO!”
Nox’s yell cut through the static and sent the voices scurrying back into darkness.
She opened her eyes. The Hospital lobby and the people within it were in their same places. A few stared at her as she sat on the ground
. They offered her no help. Most minded their own business.
Nox looked up.
The man with the brilliant blue eyes was gone.
She was on her feet, moving forward and walking past the people in the lobby. They made room for her and didn’t want to get involved in her problems, whatever they were. Nox reached the glass and metal door, the place where the man with those blue eyes stood staring at her.
Did he walk out? she wondered. Is he in the parking lot?
Nox looked through the glass door. The early morning sun illuminated the area and the parking lot’s floodlights had already switched off.
A large black truck entered the hospital’s parking lot. It came to a stop.
It was a military truck.
General Spradlin’s truck stopped some fifty feet from the Hospital’s main entrance. The General opened his door and exited the vehicle. He scanned the parking lot, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Finally, his eyes settled on the Hospital’s entrance.
He saw a woman standing just inside the metal and glass door. She was looking out, at the parking lot.
He stared directly at Nox.
Within the Hospital, Nox stared back at General Spradlin. She didn’t know who the man with the black eye patch was or what he was doing there. She could not recall ever having seen him before.
Yet the sight of him produced an instant, violent reaction within her. The moment he stepped out of his truck and she first saw him, Nox felt a blinding rage she could neither understand nor explain. Nox didn’t just hate this stranger.
She wanted him dead.
Without thinking, she reached for the handgun concealed at her waist. She fully intended to empty her ammo clip into the man.
It’s the only way to be sure the bastard is dead.
She hesitated.
What am I doing?
Her hand was on the gun’s grip.
Kill him!
Nox drew a breath. She tried to calm her racing pulse, to step back.
Think!
Her heart was ready to burst.
Kill him!
She let the air out of her lungs.
Leave the gun where it is.
The ground felt like it was shaking.