An electrobeam streaks past, raising the sparse hair clinging to my scalp. A wall explodes and plaster sprays the floor. I duck and spin around, only to discover intruders closing the distance. Dave was right about more on level five, and we just found them. The stealthy warriors match those downstairs, the same black bodysuits and ski masks that hide their faces.
Vastly outnumbered, retreat is our only option. Joined by our unwelcome tagalong Bob, Dave and I flee the opposite direction. We are met by a second batch of intruders, weapons raised to a deadly aim. I slide to a halt.
“Drop your weapons,” an intruder calls out.
No fair. I finally get a weapon, now I have to give it up. Not fair at all. Confronted by a dozen blast rifles held at a steady aim, there is no other choice. Over my shoulder, another dozen confirms our lack of options. Dave nods, and together we let our weapons slip to the floor.
Bob has other ideas. Like some stupid ambition to be a hero. He unholsters a blast pistol, as if he’s some hotshot bad-ass.
“
No!
” I dive for his pistol. I don’t care to be caught in the crossfire when the intruders dissect this idiot with shards of light. I strike his arm and deflect his aim, but he pulls the trigger anyway, weapon point-blank, and blasts a crater where we stand.
Thrown airborne, I crash to the floor along with chunks of it, then rocket across the smooth tile and collide headfirst with a wall. Not what I had in mind for today, not at all. Maybe if I close my eyes and make a wish, and really try, I’ll wake up for the fourth time—for real this time—and none of this will be happening.
* * *
The lump crowning my skull is real, the two dozen intruders are real, and the dumb-ass, Bob, who so effectively struck his target, only confirms reality. I doubt my imagination is capable of manufacturing anyone that stupid. To wish all this was just a bad dream isn’t going to work, because it’s not.
Wishful thinking is useless, and that’s all my plan has turned out to be—an exercise in wishful thinking. To imagine I would simply walk in here and find Christina. Yeah, I’m dreaming all right.
The intruders close rank and surround us. One searches my pockets while six others hold rifles at a close aim.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“Shut up!” The butt of his rifle smacks my jaw, knocking me into a wall and crashing to the floor. He yanks me up to resume the search, and he’s not gentle about it, jerking me all directions while tearing through my pockets. He finds the computer printout with coordinates, figures it’s trash and stuffs it back in my pocket, then dives into another and pulls out my identification badge.
He spins around. “Try this one,” he calls to a band of approaching intruders, one burdened by a large backpack.
“It’s not any good,” I say. “It’s a fake.”
He whirls around, glaring viciously through his mask, and pounds his rifle into my belly. Doubled over and gasping for breath, I struggle to understand why he has to be so mean. Is everyone in the universe out to beat me senseless? I thought the Bobs were bad. My allies aren’t any better.
The badge-stealing intruder tosses my identification to the fellow with the backpack, who slips it off and pulls out a portable computer. He runs my badge through a card reader, studies the screen, then looks up. “Perfect, unrestricted. This will work.”
Back on my feet, I say, “You know, guys, it may not look like it, but actually, I’m on your side. If you tell me what you’re after, maybe I can help.”
Again my jaw is clobbered, and another rifle pounds my stomach. On my knees, I silently scream for air to replace the wind knocked out of me. I catch some breath, massage my battered jaw, and decide that will be quite enough.
I stand tall. “Now look here! I’m not the enemy.”
Here comes the butt of his rifle.
I do not agree.
“Stop!”
My open palm meets the blunt end of his weapon, bringing it to a sharp halt, while my intent stare locks on the eyes hiding behind the mask.
“You will
not
hit me again, is that clear?”
The intruder releases the rifle like it’s on fire, and with a snap of my wrist, I flick it away. It hits the floor and slides across, just as I saw it doing only moments before it did.
He steps back and others follow, some retreating two steps as they huddle closer together. A silence passes as the group stares at me, it seems in awe. Then one pushes through the crowd, uniformed as the rest, the same black bodysuit and ski mask.
“Adam?”
Who is this? My next inflictor of pain? But she called my name. This person knows who I am. She steps closer, and I search for a recognizable identity, but the black cloth clinging to her face hides all clues except for soft lips and—tender blue eyes.
* * *
The entire universe melts from view, my darling the only sight I care for. The walls ripple and fade, the floor a spread of misty clouds, the ceiling as tall as the sky. Like falling from the heavens to land in her arms, for one tiny moment, reality does not exist. Only my precious love.
She rolls the mask up and off, and her rusty hair spills out. One flick of her pretty head, she puts the mane in place, then focuses on me. She looks disappointed.
“What happened to your hair?” she asks.
“Long story.”
“And your beard?”
“Same story.”
She gazes at me like I’m a stranger, or a bad copy. Considering the costume, I am a copy, and bad.
“Is it really you?” she asks, a tilt of her head as she studies me.
Come on, I don’t look that different. I didn’t realize a visit to the salon could kill it for us.
“Christina, trust me. I am me.”
Her eyes narrow. “Tell me the three magic words, the special way.”
Great. My memory’s whacked, leaving me to guess and risk losing the woman of my dreams, all because I fail a quiz. But as they say, better to fail trying than to fail by not.
I gaze into her tender blue eyes and convey with the utmost sincerity, “I love you.”
Her stare holds steady—no reaction. Come on, that was special, and has to be the right three words.
Her lips curl toward a sweet grin. She removes her gloves and reaches out to my cheek, her soft fingers sliding across, then caressing my neck. That’s a nice touch. Please, more.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she says, her gaze imparting the playful, though clever tease. “I want to
know
it.”
Fingers clinging to my neck, she tugs gently, and her loving gaze becomes dreamy. Oh my, I’m trembling. I can’t control myself. Nearing a kiss, my eyes fall closed.
“Our objective is reached, Commander. We must depart immediately.”
Lips puckered and ready to go, I crack one eye open. An intruder has yanked her away. Hey, can’t you see we’re having a moment here? Distracted from the kiss, Christina changes instantly—tender lover turned deadly warrior.
“Of course,” she says, suddenly all business. “Gather the troops and proceed to the rendezvous. Contact the admiral and let him know we have Adam. That will set his mind at ease.”
She takes my hand and tugs, urging me to follow, to which I respond with an equally fierce tug holding her back.
“Adam!” she scolds, then a lover’s grin sneaking out. “We’ll get to that later. We have to go now.”
“Right, but what about him?” I indicate our self-appointed buddy, Bob, who wrestles in the arms of intruders restraining him.
Christina pulls a small device from her belt, advances on Bob, and applies the gadget to his neck. A buzzing sound results and his worthless body slumps to the floor. I’m a bit surprised at how easy that was.
“You didn’t kill him, did you?”
What’s wrong with me? I wanted them all dead a minute ago.
“No, you goof. I just made him sleepy for a while. What about that one?”
“That’s Dave.”
“David?” She rushes closer and gives him a hug, just as the intruders release him, realizing that he’s one of us.
Dave unleashes that big white grin. “Hi, Chris. Nice to see you again.”
She steps back and studies him. “David, you look like . . .”
He scowls. “Like what?” He glares at me, then back to her.
One hand over her mouth, she giggles. “Like a penis.”
Dave glares hard—at me.
* * *
We climb a stairwell leading to the rooftop, the rendezvous. Rebel intruders laden with weaponry storm upward, a concert of hurried boot-steps. Christina leads the way, climbing ahead of me as I indulge in each precise movement of her magnificent body, my thoughts chasing after her, catching up to a reality in which I am so near my greatest treasure. It’s too good to be true. Continuing toward our goal, she repeatedly looks over her shoulder to see that I am following, and she smiles. Each time she glances, I’m awarded the glorious vision of the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. More than physical—what she is, how she moves, the things she says, even what she thinks. All perfect, if there could ever be such a thing. Perhaps not for everyone, but for this man, there is no question—Christina is my perfect.
She asks, “Why are you dressed like them?”
“To sneak in and rescue you.”
“I already escaped,” she says, like it’s no big deal.
I vault up extra steps and continue climbing at her side. “Then why the hell are you back?”
“To sneak in and rescue
you.
”
Dave hurries up the steps behind us. “You two should talk more. I would’ve preferred staying home, you know, instead of risking my neck for no good reason.”
Christina keeps climbing, silent and gazing at me as I return the same. There is no need for words, our thoughts speak volumes. Yes, she agrees, there is much to talk about now that we’re together again. But first we must escape this evil place, and more so, return home to where it is safe, and where we can endlessly meld in each other’s loving arms. She reaches out and we continue up the steps, hand in hand. The simple embrace is amazing, her soft skin to mine a marvelous sensation capable of setting the entire universe at rest. Well, my universe. My every thought is calm, I am confident and free from all worry. With her hand in mine, I can do anything, and succeed.
Now I will.
* * *
The stairwell ends at a single door that opens to the rooftop. The sky is blackened by a swarm of craft, Association and rebel, swooping, diving, and blasting. A chilly wind cuts to the bone, slapping so violent I must struggle for balance.
I shout above the powerful gusts, “What’s going on? All-out war?”
Christina clears scattered hair from her view. “Just a diversion until we could find you.”
One hell of a diversion. Good thing I was here.
A sonorous humming overtakes the howling wind—a large craft drops from the sky. It hovers just above the rooftop, engines whining, then an enormous hatch slides open. Beyond the hatchway is a cavernous compartment roomy enough for the rebel intruders and all their gear.
Troops stream from the stairwell, out the door, and hurry toward the waiting transport. The minor structure they flow from is no larger than the stairwell it covers, and it’s the only projection rising from the rooftop, an entirely flat area lacking even a parapet. In the absence of safeties near the edge, apprehension brews—avoid the perimeter.
Christina stands at the door, guiding troops through. A respected commander leaves no soldier behind. When the last emerge, she brings up the rear. The flow of rebel intruders begins leaping into the transport. Dave scrambles aboard and hollers for me to join him, but I hold back.
“Hurry!” I call to her, the stretch between us feeling like a mile. I want her by my side.
She is not the last. Behind her, someone else steps out the open door.
* * *
He looks different since our last encounter, though I doubt he’s become any less evil. Still the devilish gleam in his eye, and rough start of a beard, but now he’s fashioned his hair in a spiky style. This time his attire is somewhat stylish—a long dark coat, over a pressed dress shirt black as night, finished with a soft gold tie.
“Leaving so soon?” Jared says, cocky as always, and holding a weapon in each hand.
Christina spins to face him, a fair distance between them, but closer to him than me. I start for her. She whirls around and sprints toward me.
Jared raises one of his weapons and takes aim. A thin strand streams from the barrel and slaps around her neck. A wire-gun. The restraint holds tight, snapping her back and crashing down. She springs up to regain footing, both hands at her neck, struggling to pry the cable free.
Jared taunts with little jerks of the tether. “She makes a nice pet,” he says, grin growing. “When she’s on a leash.” He flips a lever and pulls the trigger. The wire retracts fast, reeling her in, and she goes stumbling backward, into his clutches. His other weapon is far more deadly—a blast pistol. He presses the barrel tight against her skull.
“Careful now,” he says, watching me advance. “Someone might get hurt.”
I stop dead in my tracks.
He pushes his grotesque face through her hair. “We should spend some time together.”
She swings a fist. “Go to Hell!”
He yanks the wire-gun, whirling her off-balance and out of striking range.
“Been there,” he says. “Actually, I’m the principal architect.”
“Let her go,” I demand.
He swings around to study me, standing here frozen. He eases into a sly grin. “Let her
go?
”
From above, a blast strikes the rooftop, another smacks the hovering transport. Our comrades take evasive action. Engines screaming, the craft launches to the sky, then the fading whine as they leave us behind.
Jared snaps the wire-gun like a whip and flings Christina careening toward the edge.
No!
At the precipice and teetering unsteady, she says, “Adam, don’t come after me.”
Jared flicks the wire-gun. Like a wave, the energy flows along the slackened line, riding high, and once arriving, knocks Christina off-balance and over the edge, screaming.