“. . . 4% . . .”
Touching the handles of the ECBs to the fairings on his
wrists, they flowed away out of his hands and back into the reservoirs like
liquid. Before he could decide what to do next, his HUD warned of new incoming
rounds. Three oval-shaped shells penetrated the sides of the truck, and he
barely had time to identify them as grenades before they exploded inside his
shelter and everything went dark.
**** ****
Joann Tashus jumped at the sound of
a slamming door in a nearby apartment.
Why am I so nervous?
She wondered
to herself as she finished getting ready for work, annoyed that her thoughts
were so scattered this morning.
The atmosphere at the lab was very strange now that Damon
was operational. She couldn’t picture him as a trained killer and a weapon of
the Consensus.
He’s just a kid; or seems like it, although he's not that
much younger than me, really. Maybe ten years?
Trying to guess his age reminded
her that she didn't really know anything about him. She had traveled to his home
world to pick him up, but that whole trip was conducted in secrecy and she
never knew where she was. A few days earlier, she had done a cursory search for
a Captain Remmen, who she met on the planet during the pick-up, but found
nothing and didn’t feel safe digging any deeper.
On the way down to her car, she shoved her hands deep in her
pockets to still their shaking. Once inside, she set the destination, closed
her eyes and tried to relax. After a few futile minutes, she gave up and
decided the discomfort was here to stay until it had run its course.
As the car approached the lab, a small non-descript building
on the surface, Joann was suddenly alarmed. The parking lot was empty except
for two vehicles she did not recognize. She quickly hit the override button on
the car’s screen and punched in the code to take her back to her room.
Unsure why she was feeling so paranoid, she decided to trust
the instinct anyway. She did not grow up on the streets, and never claimed to
have real street savvy, but her former fiancé fancied himself a rebel and she learned
some practical survival skills from him. She never really took the whole idea seriously,
but she met a handful of great people who
were
serious, and she spent a
lot of time with them. They all grew very close, and she still thought of them
as family. Healthy paranoia was one of the many skills they taught her.
She decided not to fight the feeling and chose to act,
or
overreact
she thought, on the side of caution. Back in her room, she gathered
the old remnants of her Flight Bag.
Her rebel friends always carried a single bag—a
Flight
Bag—
with all of their “run and hide” essentials. Simple things like money,
clothes, ID, a public unassigned screen, stealthing software, and a short list
of one-time links for emergency secure communication were all included. She
still kept most of her Flight Bag with her, but it had been a while since she
checked it and updated its contents. She hoped that her very old screen, codes,
and software were still good enough because she didn't have time to procure new
ones.
Before leaving the room, she used the courtesy screen to pull
up Damon's request for a date. She loaded a copy of her very illegal Decrypto
software into the screen and hoped that it wasn't so outdated that it would set
off alarms.
I have got to get a new copy sometime soon
, she thought,
although she hadn't been in contact with the right people for many years.
Once the Decrypto was up and running and did not report that
it had been compromised, she used it to dismantle Damon's message. She expertly
pulled essential codes out so she could craft a note where only he could read
the true contents. Anyone else who intercepted it would see a fake, though
believable, reply. When Damon opened it, he would see a completely different
message; one she fervently hoped he would take seriously. Once she was
satisfied with the message, she killed the Decrypto, leaving no trace.
She left her vehicle in its assigned parking spot and walked
ten blocks to a small mom and pop rental agency. Using only cash, and including
a ridiculous tip for the “right” to pay directly rather than through her
personal account, she rented a nondescript car.
Once she finished the rental process, she climbed in the
vehicle and programmed it to take her to a restaurant halfway across the city.
Twenty minutes later, Joann manually stopped the car, got
out, and sent it on its way. She pulled out her public screen and checked for
the nearest shopping center within walking distance. There was nothing nearby,
so she resigned herself to a long walk.
Lucky I wore comfortable shoes!
**** ****
Renard and Jeffrey sat in the office
back at the Spire discussing mundane details of everyday activities. They were
both anxious to hear about the outcome of the Demon's first mission, although
unsure whether success or failure would serve them better. Through an unspoken
agreement, they decided that work would be the best way to pass the time.
Without warning, the elevator door opened and a red-faced Dr.
Baksa stomped into the room.
“You've got a lot of nerve,” she said loudly as she walked
up to Renard and nearly poked him in the chest with her finger.
Jeffrey jumped up and signaled for guards with his screen.
“How could you do that? You promised me their safety.” She
started to cry as she collapsed into a nearby chair.
Both men looked down on the sobbing woman, unsure of how to
react. Four guards piled into the room with autorifles drawn, and Renard directed
a disapproving glare at Jeffrey, who shrugged and signaled the guards to leave.
Renard knelt in front of Dr. Baksa and said, “Avelina, I'm
not sure what you're talking about. Please tell me so I can help.”
“Don't patronize me! They're gone, every one of them—GONE!
You promised me they'd be safe!” She sniffed and wiped her eyes, but continued
to glare at Renard.
“Really, my dear, if you are talking about your lab team, if
they are missing, I had nothing to do with it, but I will try to find out what
happened.”
Avelina looked directly into his eyes for few long moments,
then sighed and put her head in her hands. “I don't know,” she said quietly. “I
don't know what to believe anymore.” Then she added after a long pause, “Forgive
me Reverend.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Renard said, taking her hands
in his. “You are worried about your friends and colleagues, which is honorable
and proper. You thought that I had something to do with their disappearance,
which troubles me. But I assure you, we did not kill your coworkers.”
Avelina continued to cry while Renard led her in a quiet
prayer to Kyndra for forgiveness and for the safety of her co-workers. Jeffrey
looked on with a scowl for moment and then went back to his screen.
A few minutes later, after Avelina composed herself, Renard
escorted her to the elevator making reassuring statements that he would get to
the bottom of the issue.
After she had left, he turned back to Jeffrey and said “That
was not entirely unexpected, although her emotional reaction was greater than I
imagined.”
When Jeffrey didn't answer, Renard continued, “We do have
them all in custody, correct? I really don't want any casualties.”
Jeffrey consulted his screen and looked slightly
ill-at-ease, something unusual for him. “Well, we have all but one.”
It took only a second for the importance of his statement to
sink in. “All but one?” Renard echoed. “Who's the one?”
Jeffrey was hesitant to answer, “The new one, Dr. Joann
Tashus.”
“Did you complete a background check on her before you let
her on the program?”
“Of course!” he snapped.
Renard knew Jeffrey would be offended by the question, but
he had to ask. He immediately regretted the implication that he doubted
Jeffrey’s efficiency, or worse, his loyalty.
“Jeffrey, I'm not questioning your abilities or your
diligence, but why would this one person disappear when all the others were
easily picked up? What’s her story, and who’s she working for? Sounds
suspiciously like a Pryke plant to me.
“We need to find her, of course, but please,” Renard paused,
“please keep it quiet.”
**** ****
After Joann made it to the mall, she
immediately found a place to get her hair cut and colored. Not impressed with
the results, she looked at herself in the mirror with dismay. The color was
obviously fake, and she looked like a teenage rebel punk, except she was
obviously too old to play that part. She decided to buy clothes from a discount
store and turn her look into a wannabe without the means to buy designer
clothes. Slightly excessive costume jewelry rounded out the makeshift disguise.
She knew that it wouldn't fool a professional, but it could deflect the casual
observer, and possibly any Recog software they might run on security cameras.
She made her way to the public transportation hub and caught
a ride to the spaceport.
“Where to?” The ticket clerk didn’t look up as she spoke.
“Mamre.” The planet name alone stirred feelings in Joann she
didn't care to think about. She finished the transaction and busied herself
with the boarding process. Only when she was in the ship and they had broken
atmosphere did she allow herself to really examine what it meant to her to be
going back to Mamre.
It was a name from her younger years which she spent with
Kevin Woodall, her former fiancé, and his rebel friends. They thought of
themselves as true Kyndrists, though they were not worshipers, making grandiose
plans to overthrow oppression and turn the Consensus into a better place. They
believed in the principles Kyndra taught and wanted to return to her ideal. Joann
now wished that she had paid more attention to the guys who preached ‘stay off
the grid’ and showed them how to remain hidden.
There were also painful memories of a broken engagement and
broken friendships when she went ‘mainstream’ to get her advanced Biolectrical
Engineering degree. Things got even worse when she took a job with SecForce.
She went to work for the very people she had originally pledged to destroy. In
reality, she realized that she couldn't live the poor, desolate life of a rebel.
She wanted something more ‘normal,’ accepting the high quality of life that the
Consensus, even though flawed, still offered a vast majority of its citizens.
She wondered how well they would receive her, although it
might help that she was ready to admit they were right, and she was prepared
for their ‘I told you so’ attitudes. It would be worth it to get their help,
and, she finally admitted to herself, it would be good to go home.
**** ****
Damon awoke to complete darkness. His
last memory was of grenades exploding. Only one icon showed in his vision:
“. . . 0% . . .”
He couldn't move and he couldn't see, but now sounds were
coming through and he could make out hushed conversations and movement around
him. He felt bruised and battered, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He
wondered if his armor was still intact.
Concentrating on the sounds around him, he couldn't make out
anything coherent. Either they were too far away, or he didn't have enough
power to detect them properly. He couldn't access any of his control functions,
and couldn't even run a diagnostic.
Suddenly, some of Damon's systems popped up in his vision. He
was charging! His power plant was back online and producing a trickle of power.
He ran a quick systems check and everything was fine, except for power levels,
of course.
“. . . 1% . . .”
He knew that he would be able to see now, but decided to
keep his eyes closed anyway. Using passive sensors he determined that he was
inside a small room, in a building with other rooms on all sides, and floors above
and below.
When he did open his eyes, he realized he was sitting on the
floor, wrapped in steel banding straps, in roughly the same position he was
when the grenades hit. He realized that the armor must have frozen in that
position at the time of impact.
His armor was slowly coming online, although he was careful
not to give that fact away by his movements. Someone in the room noticed his
open eyes and ran into the hall, returning in less than a minute with another
person.
Shrigauri Krych, my target,
Damon thought.
How convenient!
Shrigauri peered closely into his face and said “I see
you're awake, now who in
Kyndra's Harem
are you?”
“Call me Demon.”
“Huh,” Shrigauri grunted, unimpressed, “working for the
Council I presume. You did a lot of damage, you're quite the weapon. Supposed
to kill me, I'd bet, and that's where you failed. Once we figure out how to get
through that skin of yours we're going to take you apart and find out how you
work.”
“Good luck with that,” Damon said, but the man's confidence
was disconcerting.
“So,” Shrigauri continued, “sent here to take me out, or to
talk me back into the fold?” When Damon did not answer, he continued anyway, “Doesn't
matter, you failed. Do you have any idea why you were sent to stop me?”
Again Damon did not reply. He didn't know and he didn't
care. However, he did care about his power levels.
“. . . 5% . . .”
He hatched a plan to finish the job and escape at the same
time. He worried about the steel banding. He couldn’t determine its strength, and
it was applied in multiple layers. He was afraid it might actually be able to
hold him.