Chapter 25
Basic routine remained, but details
changed for the Defenders. No longer did
they learn hand-to-hand combat from Shaun; now, there were weapons. Rifles, blades, clubs, artillery, cavalry,
armor. One day Shaun came in wearing a
heavy grey suit, a scaled-up descendant of what he had worn when he was
tormenting them in the small rooms. He
presented the Enhanced Human Ultimate Defense System to them, showed them how
to put it on, how to operate it. Over
the coming weeks they all got the chance to use it, to become one with it.
Allen's training also changed. No longer did he teach them how to
communicate or manipulate the body, but how to change and effect the mind. They learned to misdirect, to become
invisible, to get information from people with their targets left none the
wiser. Over the coming months they
learned the subtleties of being spies.
They could go anyplace unnoticed, interact with anyone unremembered, do
anything untraced.
And at night... at night was were
things changed the most. As they lay
resting, their bodies relaxed but their minds alert, Allen would come to them,
tell them things.
Our goal is simple... We will bring war and strife to a complete
stand still... We will be a threat that
unites mankind... Not a common enemy for
them to fight, but a potential doom so great they dare not bring it upon themselves... We will be a force to be reckoned with... If
all goes well, we never will be reckoned with...
One night, while Allen was in their
minds, John called out to him, Why?
Why does this take so long, why are you keeping us here, making us
suffer while you fill our heads with dreams and futures we dare not hope for?
Nervous energy welled up around the
half-sleeping bodies, resentment aimed at him for interrupting their
prophet. But as the time stretched, as
the tension mounted, some minds reached out to John, minds that saw the world
as he did.
Ashleigh, young and frightened,
wishing she had been the one to die in the little room with two chairs,
terrified of the life she lived, terrified of what she would have to do in the
future. Maria, fierce and angry, in love
with what Allen said, yearning for the day when she could break from this place
and enforce his will. Merv, the soldier,
the army man who was plucked from his unit, horrified by what his brethren had
done, horrified nearly as much by the sedition Allen preached.
Finally, Allen spoke. You have heard me use the Q-bomb metaphor
before, use the film as an example for what I hope we can become... So if our goal is so pressing, why do I
linger? You've seen the movie, haven't
you? The Mouse That Roared? In the
end it turns out the Q-Bomb is a dud, could never have kept the world in check
if it were tested... I delay to ensure
that our Q-Bomb goes off without a hitch...
The reasoning made sense; the
nervousness dissipated and the minds relaxed.
But the answer did nothing to sway the uneasy.
Where does that leave us? John
asked. What do we do while we wait?
John expected another delay, but
this time Allen replied instantly, a hint of giddy excitement suffusing the
words. You are an architect,
yes? You have a structure you love,
something that inspires you?
An image of Sky Crest, cold and
glistening, rose in John's mind, and he was surprised to see it mirrored in
Allen's.
Take this structure, break it
apart, rebuild it... Make it something
greater, something beyond what you could ever hope to build, and build
it... As you study helicopters with
Shaun, work through every bolt and girder of the foundation... As you learn to speak around language
barriers with me, work through every tile of every walkway, every pipe and
every inch of wiring... When your
building is complete, when you could build it if only you had the men and
supplies, then we will be ready, then we will rise up to be the Q-bomb, to be
the benign threat that unites the world...
And as Allen's voice faded from his
mind, and as their prophet continued to enlighten his disciples, John began to
disassemble Sky Crest, to look over every part in his mind, to try to find
something he could make of it... And for the first time since he had killed
Suzanne, he felt a spark of hope...
The commonly held view was that four years
had passed. A count of days and nights
had taken some time to start, and even when it had, a fine consensus could
never be reached. Biological clues were
useless. Every ten to fifteen days a
swarm of soldiers would enter the room, line them up, shave them. Finger and toenails would break off under
heavy use. There were no periods: the
bean-paste contained some kind of birth control.
Still, the semi-random haircuts,
the rough day count, the pure guessing gave them a count of four years learning
to be Defenders when Shaun and Allen both came to the front of the room and
announced that there would be a day of rest.
“You've learned all we could teach
you,” Allen said.
“Some, more so than others.” Shaun glared at John.
“So, starting tomorrow, the General
will come and you will all be evaluated.
Should your skills meet his expectations, you will be released to
perform missions on behalf of the United States government.” Unsaid in any form, should Shaun overhear,
were the words, “You will begin to perform the great works I have made for
you.”
The men left, and the Defenders
stared at one another. They had heard
Shaun speak of the General, extol him as the soldier's soldier, the best
military leader America had. Whether it
was true or not, General Robert Mistlethwakey had a mythology surrounding him
in the minds of the Defenders. They had
no particular desire to see the man in person; they had all seen the General in
Allen's memories. There he had been a
cruel man, ready to use them, to hurt them, to take them from the living world
and into this dark place.
This is our best chance... John
said. This is when we should strike,
kill the General, kill Shaun, run from this place...
Some minds echoed his, others
resisted. One—Maria—answered. I want to leave this place as much as you
do... But Allen has not yet told us that
the time is right...
Naomi joined in. How is your tower, John? Can you build it?
An image of a skeletal structure
clawing its way into the sky, with arms branching off and curving to meet the
ground, passed through their minds.
When you have it whole, when you
can show me it in its entirety, I will follow you...
I will follow you now... Another
voice, rarely heard, rumbled through the Defenders' shared mind. I was once one of the General's men, once
served under him when he was a colonel...
He has betrayed me, and for that I will never forgive him, never let him
live as long as he is in my sight... Merv
stood and walked to take up an new place at John's side.
Anyone else?
A nervous ripple passed through the
shared mind, but no one moved.
Vince? Ashleigh?
I will not move until Allen
tells me to...
And I will not move at
all... I killed once, never again...
John sent out a burst of intense
frustration, then lay back and tried to fall asleep...
He never did.
When the lights brightened to
signify the morning, when the other Defenders began to sit up and stretch, John
was already up, still struggling with killing the General. Do it now?
Wait for Allen?
His thoughts were interrupted by
the click of boots on concrete: three sets.
Allen first, Shaun last. Between
them, the thin form of a man in his late sixties, wearing an unadorned green
uniform. He stopped in the middle of the
room, waved off his companions, and stared out over the sea of hate filled
faces that glared at him.
A toothy grin split his face. “My, but what a glum looking group of
motherfuckers. Haven't they been feeding
you well? Believe me, if this was a Chinese
operation, or a goddamned Russian one, you all wouldn't be looking so fat and
happy.” His face drooped and his smile
disappeared. “But that fucking do-gooder
Latterndale made sure you all won't be either of those.”
Confusion emanated from the Defenders,
and the General's face went momentarily slack before snapping into angry
focus. “Fendleton! Are they reading my goddamn mind right now?”
Allen stepped forward, his body
language that of a knowledgeable counselor rather than the cowed subordinate
Mistlethwakey was obviously expecting.
“No, sir, they're merely expressing a need for clarification of your
comment. If they were reading your mind,
you wouldn't feel it.”
The General glared back at the
Defenders. His face looked frightened,
but his mind conveyed nothing but disgust.
“Turn on the scramblers; I don't want any of these EHUDs rooting around
in my head.”
“Sir, I can assure you that they
will practice the upmost discretion—”
A look of shocked embarrassment
fell over the General's face. “Oh, I'm
so sorry; I didn't mean to imply that your men were ill-mannered.” He sneered.
“Turn on the fucking scramblers!
These are prisoners, not guests.
Or was I mistaken in believing that you're one of my men? Maybe Captain Wendleferce can handle flipping
a switch!”
Shaun stepped forward. “Yessir.”
Allen looked down at the General
for a long moment, his eyes blank and his mind filled with pity. History will remember you fondly... The greatest irony... He reached into a pocket and pulled out
two foam plugs and wedged them into his ears.
Shaun left the room.
The Defenders had a moment to feel
uneasy, to share apprehension before a high-pitched whine flooded through the
space, buzzed through their bodies, sent their minds reeling into
disorientation. Some lurched forward,
vomited. Most sat and twitched. One or two screamed.
John sat alone, naked and
defenseless, scared--truly frightened--for the first time in years. Suddenly he was the man awakening alone in
the hospital bed; Suzanne, his constant companion, gone, the whole world alien
and empty.
He jerked his head around, caught
the eye of Cyd. She shook, gasped,
reached out to him. Their fingers
brushed, but instead of bringing them closer, the human contact only served to
underscore the yawning gulf that now separated their minds.
At the front of the room, Allen ground
his teeth and stared intently at his boots.
Shaun returned to the room.
The General smirked at him before
facing down his prisoners. “Major
Fendleton's given you a lot of leeway since you started here. Maybe that was good while you were built up,
while you became the Enhanced Human Ultimate Defenders. But now it is time to tear you down, to take
your trumped up supernatural powers and put them to the test. You may have been Allen's men, but now you'll
be mine, and you'll do as I say.
Starting today, I am testing you.
You'll be showing off your chops to myself and a panel of interested
individuals. Then, if you prove not to
be a waste of five years and unknown trillions of dollars in funding, you'll be
sent out, you'll work. You'll earn your
keep.”
He paused, stared at the ceiling,
then nodded. “That's all for now. I would wish you bon appetite, but
food's going to start being a lot more scarce from now on. I'm not entirely sure you're worth it. If you prove you are, you eat. If not... saves me the trouble of killing
you.”
The General strode from the
room. A moment later, Allen ran after
him, a moment later the buzzing ceased, a moment later the precious connections
shared between the Defenders returned.
Relief, terror, wrenching heart-break, all leapt from mind to mind. Lost in the flood of emotion was a single
thought, emanating from a single mind: I should have killed him... I should have killed him... I should have killed him...
One by one they were led out of the
room that had been their eternal home, out into the familiar dark grey halls,
past the endless doors. One by one they
were led into a thin room with a small gate located across from the door. All was dark save for a pulsing red light
above the gate.
The flickering crimson sun
enraptured John, caught him in a world of color he had long thought lost. As the color held his body, tugged at his
mind, he remained aware enough to cast about, to feel the minds all around
him. Shaun and Allen of course, the dark
and the light. The General, a black
hole, brilliant in his darkness; other minds interested or disgusted or bored. And behind them all, primitive with no
thoughts save survival, were three points of intense hunger and animal
fear. In these alien, thoughtless minds
John found his kindred.
The red pulses flared into a
brilliant green continuum and the three dogs burst from the gate. Instinct took over, and he did the only thing
he could to ease their minds, gave them the same gift he had given to Suzanne
all those years ago.
Their momentum carried them as far
as his feet before they collapsed into warm sacks of fur. It was all John could do to keep from crying
as he imagined Suzanne, the dogs, and himself cuddled together in a small room,
enjoying each other's warmth, each other's companionship.
Several minds were quietly amazemed. One was even grudgingly impressed. In one, there was sorrow... I didn't want you to become this... I want you to know I never wanted this from
you...
As you once said... 'It's better this way'...
One by one they were returned to
their home room, either hurt or well, grieved or elated, terrified or
stoic. It had been the first killing
they had done since they had decided the fates of their partners. It had been the first killing where they had
been fully aware of their actions. None
returned from the thin room the same as when they had arrived in it.
One by one they were taken to
another room, a cube like their first home, duller and more lifeless,
illuminated by a flickering florescent bulb.
This time, John was not alone when
he entered the room. This time Shaun was
there, kitted out in EHUD armor. He
waved nonchalantly as John entered.
“Hey, buddy; didn't imagine seeing you here.”
John didn't answer.
“Right. This time you get what you always
wanted. This time, I want you to kill
me.”
As the words began to echo from the
bare walls, John struck out, aiming at a vein deep inside Shaun's brain,
intending to burst it and leave.
Something stopped him, an unseen
force that kept the thin vessel wall intact.
Shaun's waving hand collapsed into a fist, then the index finger
extended and wagged. “Bad boy... That'd be too easy. This here is a contact sport. Come at me, bro.”
John did. He leapt, his torso twisted, his left elbow
angled down to strike Shaun's collarbone.
Shaun slipped, lunged under John to grab at his legs. Instead John reversed in mid-air, his mind
pushing against the ground, twisting his body so that momentum drove his heel
into Shaun's faceplate.
The outermost layer of armor bowed
inwards, but the faceplate held, the padding absorbing the blow and the gel
redirecting its force away from Shaun's head.
John rebounded, twisting again,
landing splayed on the ground, catlike, his gaze locked onto Shaun.
Shaun jerked forward, flipping over
John's back, his legs impacting on the far wall and sending him caroming at
John, an elephantine bullet screaming at the pale flesh before him. John was just able to leap over his
adversary, to twist and swing down with his right fist, to strike the concrete
as Shaun passed under him.
John gritted his teeth as his arm
buckled under the force of the blow, even as cracks raced through the concrete
under the force of his will.
Across the room Shaun stood,
pirouetted, faced John who was now racing at him, his arms extended to strike
at the base of the reinforced collar—a desperation move. Shaun raised a fist to connect with John's
oncoming head. John dropped back, his
feet skidding and shredding on the rough ground, his right arm also catching on
the floor, his left arm swinging up to dig into the joint between Shaun's arm
and body. The fingers of the left hand,
held in a tight blade, impacted the unarmored padding, pushed deeper into the
gel, spurred on by psychic force. A
bulge of gel formed around the impact site, rippled up and around the arm, came
together in another bulge that sent the massive shoulder plate jerking upwards.
There was a pop as the arm inside
the armor dislocated from its socket, and Shaun cursed as he pivoted, grabbed
John's extended arm with his left hand, twisted it, felt the wrist break.
John screamed as Shaun let him fall
to the floor, then moved to stand over him.
“You did... you did good, Donalson.”
Shaun reached around to grab his
own wrist, jerked it upwards, inhaled sharply as the arm popped back into
place.
“You did good...”
One by one they were returned to
their home room, either hurt or well, grieved or elated, terrified or
stoic. They had all tested themselves
against the greatest fighter they knew, all had managed to survive, to hurt him
a little. For all, that had been
cathartic. To most, the catharsis only
made them hate themselves more.
One by one they were sent back out
into the dark halls, past the endless doors to the one empty chamber, the one
bright cube with the two chairs.
The cool leathery material of the
chair felt strange to John, reminding him of a life he no longer thought of as
his own, reminding him more of a decision he had made that still tickled the
back of his mind. At this moment, death
seemed like such a pleasant opportunity.
Across from him, sitting in
Suzanne's chair, was Allen. He was
leaned forward, chin resting on hands, arms resting on knees, staring intensely
at John.
“Why did you bring me back to this
place?”
“I wanted to see how far along you
were on that building of yours.”
“Does that really matter?”
“More than you could possibly
know.”
John sneered at him. “So nice to see you're hinging everything on
my imagination. And what about
them?” he gestured to the walls. “What are they going to think about my little
building? Or better yet, the reason I'm
building it?”
“Anything said here is in
confidence. Yes, I'm relying on your
imagination; but also relying on theirs.
Right now the General and his cronies see what they want to see.”
John leaned forward, grimaced as
his skin pulled against the dark fabric.
“Why am I here?”
Allen raised an eyebrow. “Generally?
You're here because of a stupid coincidence. That was one of the criteria for the program,
actually. You were in a car accident
with a military officer who looked nearly identical to you. One of you died, the other was in a
coma. The EMTs' report was enough to get
you on the lists. But specifically? You're here to understand my plan.”
He dropped his hands and sat
upright. Taken aback at the sudden
revelation, John mirrored his movements.
“The General wanted to make you up
like foreign terrorists, use you as an impetus to go to war. That's been scrapped. Right now, the plan is the Vice
President's. It was a contingency to the
original, to have all memories of this place and your powers wiped from your
mind, then have you reintroduced to the world.
From there, you'll discover your powers naturally and then volunteer
them for national service. That's still
a ways in the future, though. Until
then, it looks like you'll be used for the General's purposes.”
Allen balanced one leg on the
opposite knee, then folded his hand in his lap and returned his gaze to
John. “Right now, I'm planning on us
breaking out of here just before the memory scrubs. We get out quietly if we can, kill if we
must. Shaun'll have to die, one way or
another. From there, we get out, we
expose everything, then we step up and become the Q-bomb; peace on earth.”
“What do you want me to do?” John sat straighter now, his body tight with
excitement. For the first time things
seemed to be moving forward, to be nearing an end.
“When I get the order to begin the
scrubbing, I'll signal a group of messengers: Naomi, Ashleigh, Cyd, and
Vince. I've already spoken with them;
they'll organize everyone else to begin securing the halls. I'll be going after Shaun.” He leaned forward again. “When you get the signal, I want you to come
and find me. Chances are Shaun will
still be a threat. I need someone beside
me, someone who believes in me but doesn't trust my judgment. The others are yes men; you'll be my no man.”
John nodded. It felt good knowing Allen trusted his lack
of trust.
“But.”
John stopped nodding.
“That's assuming all goes
right. I've had plans in the past, and
they haven't all worked out as intended.
If this doesn't work out and you get scrubbed, I've taken measures to ensure
that certain memories remain, and you'll be able to break your
programming. If that happens, and if I'm
not there to guide you all, I'm putting you in charge. I feel you best know our goals, best know
what I would've wanted. You're the EHUD
arbiter.”
“Why me?”
Allen's eyes flicked away, and he
shrugged. “Dunno; fate?”
“That's not very reassuring.”
“I didn't mean it to be. Now,” he glanced at a thin chronometer on his
wrist, “I believe our time is over.
Congratulations; as far as the General is concerned, you just proved yourself
a competent operative.”
He stood, John did the same, and
Allen ushered John out the door.
One by one they were returned to
their home room, each hopeful or comforted or merely shocked as John was to see
an end in sight...
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