by James McEwan
“Then shoot at that! You idiot.” The boss screamed through the comm. Carefully taking aim at the tiny patch of heat, the sniper slowly exhaled and fired.
The rifle made no sound as the metal dart hit Marcus in the neck. “Son of a”, Marcus reached up and pulled out the dart. He shook off the pain easily enough, but two steps later, he was flat on his face as the darkness closed in around him.
“Got him, boss,” the sniper said.
A few seconds later a beat up old truck stopped near the unconscious Marcus. Two men jumped down from the back. One of them was Too Tall Stan. They grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and feet and swung him up into the back of the truck. The truck pulled away and disappeared into the swirling angry sandstorm, any trace it was ever there was quickly eased.
A strange figure of a man dressed in what looked like the long cotton or silk robes that desert dwelling people have worn for thousands of years emerged from a cloud of sand and dust. His head was covered by a tan pith helmet, and he wore goggles over his eyes. The rest of his face was covered by a white wrap. He lowered his thermal binoculars and spoke into his comm, “Archie this doesn’t look like it’s going to end well for this young fellow. Get the crawler, please. I think we’ll follow the goons, and see how this is going to play out.”
Chapter 3
Marcus had no idea how long he’d been out. For all, he knew it could’ve been a few minutes or a few days. Judging by the setting sun, he figured he’d been out for at least a couple hours. He found himself bound hand and foot. As his view slowly came into focus, he could see that he was lying naked in the middle of an open truck bed with benches on both sides. His skin, exposed to the hot sun for far too long, had turned an angry red and was starting to blister. On the benches sat mighty Max, two tall Stan, and several other men he did not recognize. Max was still holding a bag of ice to his face, his shirt covered in dried blood. Max looked down and noticed Marcus awake. “You bastard,” Max mumbled through his broken teeth. Then he let loose with a vicious kick to Marcus’ unprotected groin.
All Marcus could do was moan in pain and draw his knees up to his chest to protect himself. Max let loose a few more kicks, which landed, mostly on his legs. Max could see that his kicks were having little effect, so he lifted his knee about chest high in an effort to stomp on Marcus’s head, but just as he was about to come down on him, the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. Max, being off balance, wasn’t prepared for the sudden stop and went flying forward smashing his face into the cab. The other men just sat and laughed as a moan escaped Max, and blood smeared the window.
“Everyone out!” The command issued from a big barrel-chested man with long wavy flaming red hair, and a curly red beard to match. The really odd thing about the man was he dressed much like a 17th-century pirate, even down to the large gold hoop earring in his left ear.
Marcus took one look at his captor and had to swallow the urge to laugh, as he seemed to be taking his pirate persona remarkably seriously. “You must be the man in charge,” he said, looking at the red haired man, and wondering where his shoulder-riding parrot was.
“That I be! I’m Big Red and I am, as you say, the man in charge. This here’s me crew, the men of the Night Terror."
Marcus was completely unimpressed.
Red seemed a little hurt by the lack of Marcus’ reaction to his name. “What, you haven’t heard of the infamous Night Terror and her crew of legendary pirates?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Marcus confessed, thinking they were more likely legends in their own twisted fantasies.
Red puffed up his chest, “I guess my public relations officer needs to do a better job, the scurvy dog! I mean, I can’t be going ‘round the verse robbing people and not have them cowering in fear because they don’t know who I am.”
Oh God, crazy and an egomaniac too…this just isn’t my day, Marcus thought. Trying his best to talk his way out of his current situation he looked around for anything he could use to get out of the restraints that held him while he spoke. “Okay, Captain Morgan, I have to say you did a fine job. You and your crew sure did, you got me, and it appears you also got my clothing as well. Let’s just call this one a win for your side. So how about you cut me loose and let me go? I’ll walk back to town, no need to worry about a ride.”
Big Red waved at the men in the truck. They lifted Marcus up and tossed him out onto the sand. He rolled a couple of times before coming up on his knees.
“Nice trick! That can’t have been easy, especially bound hand and foot.”
“Untie me and I’ll show you a few more tricks,” Marcus said, spitting sand out of his mouth.
Big Red approached him and placed his hand on Marcus’s shoulder, “I have no doubt ye would, but I’m no fool. Normally I’d just rob ye and leave ye naked in the desert, but ye exposed Max for the idiot he is, and in doing so that makes me look bad. That’s something I just can’t tolerate.”
Marcus figured this was it, he was about to die and didn’t care to hear the rest of what Big Red had to say so he cut him off. “I get it! I have to die as an example to others blah, blah, blah.”
Red laughed and made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm towards his men, then he placed his hand back on Marcus, “I like this guy. He gets it, and he isn’t afraid of death either. It’s too bad really. Under other circumstances, ye would have made a good addition to my crew.”
“Gee I’m sorry, but I make it a policy never to work for crazy, murderous, overgrown, bastards, who do really bad pirate impersonations,” Marcus shook off Big Red’s hand.
“Have it your way then. I would’ve thought that ye would’ve tried to beg for your life at least,” Red said with disappointment coloring his tone.
“There’s no point. You’re going to kill me no matter what I say, so I prefer to die with some dignity. Besides, I’m not in the mood to let you enjoy watching me beg. So will you just do me one favor, you know for the condemned man?”
“Oh, and what would have of me?” Red asked.
“Stop talking and get it over with. Your breath is more torture than I wish to take.” Marcus replied.
“Right then, before ye die I think Max wants something from you first.” Big Red waved Max over and turned his back on Marcus so he wouldn’t see him check his breath.
He looked up at Max, “Oh, sorry about the teeth and the lip thing. Hey, you’re not still mad at me about getting blood on your shirt are you Max?”
Max held up a pair of pliers and smiled at him through a toothless grin. “Thut up! Hode him!” Two of the crew grabbed Marcus by the arms while Max went to work pulling out his front teeth one by one. After a few agonizing minutes, Max was done with his dirty work, “Shanks for these. I’m gonna use them to weprace the ones you boke.”
Marcus spit a mouthful of blood at Max, who was still standing too close to duck and was splashed fully in the face. “Oh, there’s the money shot baby,” Thad said as best as he could without teeth. Max stumbled backward and fell on his ass, while the others of his crew laughed again.
Big Red gave the order, “Have your fun boys.” The men surrounded Marcus. Too Tall Stan was the first to throw a kick, which landed in Marcus’ gut. Then the rest of the crew joined in the beating. Some had metal rods, some used brass knuckles, or baseball bats, and one had a board with nails. At first, his bones cracked but soon they couldn’t withstand the onslaught of blows and shattered. His flesh tore, spraying a fine mist of blood across the sand. Badly broken and quickly swelling, Marcus lay slumped on the ground covered in blood and sand.
He could no longer think straight, and was in so much pain he just wanted it to be finally over. Barely able to hold onto consciousness, two of the crew picked him up by his arms. The engineer held up a large wrench like a baseball bat and swung. The head of the wrench struck Marcus in the right eye socket shattering the bone, exploding his eye. That was it, he was done, and finally the darkness took him.
One of the men asked, “Is he dead?”
<
br /> “Na, he’s still breathing, but just barely” another replied.
Big Red, who had yet to lay a finger on him commanded, “Wake him up. I want him awake when he dies.” With that, one of the men gave him a stimulant shot. It took a few seconds for him to come around. Barely aware of what was going on around him, Marcus could hardly see out of his good eye. Every part of his body screamed out in pain. Big Red held a small knife up close for him to see. The red painted handle had a carved skull on the top. “See this! This here’s my calling card so if anyone finds your corpse they know that you crossed me.” Big Red pushed the knife into Marcus’ chest. Thinking he had struck his heart, Big Red nodded to his men who dropped Marcus’ body onto the sand and left him for dead.
Before they left, Stan pulled his pistol and shot him once in the chest and once in the head. “Now who has a hole to ventilate their tiny little brain, asshole?”
The laser burned a hole through Marcus’ right lung. Fortunately, the shot to the head did little damage other than burning the skin since Stan hadn’t checked his power pack. It was almost empty back in the bar and had only one good shot left. The residual energy in the power pack was not enough to penetrate Marcus’ skull. Believing they had killed him, the crew of the Night Terror boarded the truck and left his body for the sands to conceal their crime.
A short time later, a dust cloud appeared on the horizon. It drew closer and closer towards the spot where the dying man lay. This was no natural dust cloud, but a sand crawler moving fast across the desert. The driver was a fully articulated, chrome plated humanoid robot of two meters tall. Sitting next to him was the short, wrinkled old man from Bob’s. The old man pointed to Marcus’ broken and bleeding body, “Archie, there pull us up as close as possible.” The robot at the controls followed the instructions and stopped so that the back door was right next to him, ensuring that if they had to load his body it would be easy to do.
The old man jumped down from the cab and ran to the side of Marcus. He knelt down next to him and felt for a pulse. It was weak and unsteady, but it was still there, and the victim was just barely breathing. “He’s still alive, hurry get the kit!”
Chapter 4
Archie, the doctor, and Marcus’s broken body were racing across the desert as fast as the old sand crawler could go. The vehicle was nearly 100 years old and had more rust on it than paint. Its worn tracks were never meant for high speeds, nonetheless, Archie pushed the cranky old vehicle to its limits, “Doctor, if we maintain this speed, I am concerned we may shake apart.”
“We’re almost there, the old gal will hold together. Besides, my mobile life suspension chambers can only do so much. If we don’t get him to the surgery in time, I don’t think even I can save him.”
As it turned out, the old man rushing Marcus across the sands wasn’t just any old man who had happened to be at the dinner, but he, in fact, was a brilliant and eccentric doctor. He was none other than Doctor Julius Michael Hammer, the inventor of medical devices and procedures, known to future medical students as the father of twenty-fifth-century medicine. There was not a better-equipped doctor in all of the known space. If anyone could save his life, it was Doctor Hammer.
Doctor Hammer’s private estate and surgery lay at the end of a box canyon and Archie was roaring up that canyon at speeds only a robot or madman would dare in the antique vehicle.
“You better let Eve know we’re going to need her at full power, along with the whole team of surgery bots for this one!” Doctor Hammer called from the back of the vehicle.
It was Doctor Hammer’s unconventional belief that humanoid-type robots should not look lifelike, but rather they should look like robots. Because of this belief, Archie only had some slits on his face that lit up when he talked, instead of an articulated jaw. “Yes Sir, I am sure she will be more than happy to do that for you. It has been a while since she has played with all your toys.”
Eve, on the other hand, was the house A.I. and Doctor Hammer’s self-appointed assistant. After spending decades at Doctor Hammer’s side, she also fancied herself his wife. She had millions of times the computing power of Archie. However, she lacked the physical body, which he had. At times not being allowed to have a physical form bothered her. It was not as if she couldn’t experience a physical form. After all, she could easily take control of any of the devices or bots within the house, and often she would be engaged in multiple things at the same time simply to stave off boredom.
Archie roared up the makeshift road and around the last turn. He ended up putting the old crawler up on one track nearly flipping it over. “Argh,” Doctor Hammer screamed as he held on for his life.
“I am sorry about that Sir, I failed to take the extra weight of our passenger into my equation for that last corner,” Archie said as they finally reached the Hammer compound.
It was a stark contrast to the rest of the canyon, truly an oasis when compared to the endless dunes only feet away. The compound was comprised of several buildings. The main house was the largest and its white walls gleamed in the setting sun. The automatic shutters were in the process of lowering to keep the burning blaze of the evening sun out of the house as they approached. The other buildings consisted of a garage, fabrication shop, and a greenhouse. They were all surrounded by a bright green lawn of synthetic grass.
Doctor Hammer would have preferred real grass, but the soil quality and frequent sand storms made it quite impossible. The only living plants were in the Doctor’s beloved greenhouse. Within its shimmering glass walls was housed a collection of exotic plants which he used to make new and exciting medications. He loved the garden for its beauty and its occasional inspirational effects. Many of his greatest ideas had come to him while he was elbow deep in the soil, tending to his beloved plants.
Upon their arrival, the doors to the surgery slid open and an automated gurney rolled out to meet them. Archie kicked open the rusty driver’s door, slipped from the front of the vehicle, and at Doctor Hammers command, unloaded the mobile life suspension chamber. Archie set the chamber down on the gurney, which creaked and groaned in response the weight. “Oh stop your complaining,” Archie chided the robot gurney who in turn made more whining noises. “You have one job; carry bodies to and from places. It is not like you having to fly the galactic five hundred, yet all you do is complain. If you don’t stop this right now I will have Miss Eve wipe your hard drive and replace your program with one that doesn’t complain.” This seemed to work and the gurney rolled back into the surgery with no further noises, bad or otherwise.
Doctor Hammer had scrambled down the other side of the crawler and missed the whole exchange between the two robots. He walked into the air-conditioned front room, took off his tan pith helmet, and hung it on a hook on the wall next to an array of other hats of various types. There was a flash of light and a woman dressed in medical scrubs appeared in the middle of the room. Her long black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her jade-like green eyes sparkled as she smiled, and her milky white skin was in sharp contrast to her dark hair. Doctor Hammer turned to face her when she spoke, “Everything is ready for you dear.”
He grimaced, “Eve, how many times have I asked you to not to call me that?”
Eve rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement, “To date four thousand seven hundred…”
“Eve!” He snapped, “It was rhetorical.”
“Sorry dear …I mean boss,” Eve said, with a smirk playing on her pouting lips.
Dr. Hammer shook his head as he walked deeper into the building, his voice trailing behind him, “I just need to scrub up, and I will be right in.”
It was clear the Doctor didn’t have the same belief about A.I.’s as he did about robots. He had surmised that since A.I.’s were holograms with no mass, they could never be mistaken for a real person. Eve had chosen her image after searching through millions of potential humanoid components. If the day ever came that he would let her have a robot body, she would have it made in her own h
olographic image without hesitation.
Once Doctor Hammer was in surgery, things went pretty well. Even with the full team of robots whizzing about in a flurry of organized chaos, it was hours before Marcus was in a stable enough condition for him to take a break.
The damage was so great it took massive and seemingly endless surgeries to restore him to full functionality. Doctor Hammer devoted the next two months to these efforts. He ate, slept, and worked on the mystery man from the desert with little else in between. After countless hours of reconstructing the man’s smashed face, he finally remarked to Eve, “Well, he won’t look like the same man, but this is the best I can do.”
“I’m sure he will be happy to be alive and I don’t think he’s going to worry too much about his looks. At least I hope not. You humans can be so vain at times,” she replied.
He laughed, “That’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black.”
“What? Can’t a girl worry about her looks?” She said mocking him. He ignored the comment and left the room.
During the previous two months, Doctor Hammer had maintained Marcus in a medical coma, and now finally he anxiously awaited his return to consciousness. “Well guys, here we go. Cross your fingers and hope all our work hasn’t been for not. His brain was pretty damaged and there is the chance he may never wake. Of course, even if he does there is a good chance he will be a vegetable.”
Archie’s mouth slits lit up, “It is odd Doctor, that in the history of medicine you have figured out how to fix or replace nearly every system in the human body, but the brain remains a nut which seems hard to crack.”