The Legend of Things Past (Beyond Pluto SciFi Futuristic Aventures Book 1) (5 page)

“As I was saying,” Petridge said lazily, “I lured you here
to kill you…”

Donovan wasn’t listening anymore. This man had confessed to
being a member x5. That was all the permission he needed to shoot him. Donovan
discreetly shifted the gear on his e-gun to fatal.

The man shook his finger. “Ah, ah, ah. You wouldn’t want to
do that.” He walked over to Mae and put his arm around her shoulder. In a
movement so fast Donovan barely saw it happen, the man snatched Mae into his
grasp and put his thick arm around her neck.

With his free arm, he pulled out a silver shaving knife.
Donovan had never seen one in person before—only in old movies. The man held it
firmly to Mae’s neck. The little girl’s eyes opened wide in terror. She let out
of a quiet, crying moan.

“Let her go,” Donovan said.

“Why should I do that?” The man pushed the knife just so,
and beads of blood dripped down Mae’s neck. Anger flashed through Donovan’s
body.

He was completely unaware of what happened next until it was
already over. He took a step forward and pulled the trigger of his e-gun. The
small ball of blue light struck Petridge directly in the forehead, avoiding Mae
by mere inches.

The man collapsed to the ground, twitching as if he were
having a seizure. His body would not still for several minutes, but he was
already dead. Donovan turned to the other man who put up his hands and backed
away.

“Please don’t kill me.”

Too exhausted mentally to deal with him, Donovan turned to
Mae, who stood stiffly against the wall. She was breathing hard and her arms
were shaking.

“Mae,” Donovan said. “Let’s get away from here.” He wanted
to leave Bakersfield as quickly as possible. His skycycle was only another
half-mile away.

“Mae!” The tackler had not left the scene as Donovan had
assumed. “Come with me. You belong to us. Don’t go nowhere with that
pris
.”

Mae looked at him as if in a daze. Donovan moved slowly toward
her.

“Mae!” the man shouted. “He killed your father right in
front of you. Remember your
oath
!”

The tackler’s final word seemed to trigger a dormant rage in
Mae. Her eyes burned with anger and hatred.

“It’s okay, Mae,” Donovan said gently. “I didn’t kill your
father. I won’t hurt you. No one will ever hurt you if you just come with me.”

“Come with
me,
Mae. We’re your real family out here.”
The man came closer.

Mae looked at him with narrowed eyes, as if suspicious of
him.

“That man is not your family,” Donovan retorted. “His boss
almost killed you.”

The fire in her eyes seemed to dim and her breathing calmed.
Donovan reached out his hand. Mae grabbed it as if transfixed.

In half a second, the little girl’s face transformed into a
twisted mask of emotion. Donovan hadn’t expected it, hadn’t prepared for
something like this. She was only seven years old—how could she possibly…?

In the instant that her face had changed, Mae slipped her
hand into the pocket of her dress and drew a short, sharp blade. It was rusty
from long disuse. Donovan wanted to tell her to put to it away, that she didn’t
know what it was like to kill a man, that it would be a stain on her soul
forever. He couldn’t get the words out of his mouth quickly enough—the girl
leap forward and struck with all her strength.

Never had it occurred to Donovan that she would use the
knife on him.

The metal penetrated perfectly between his ribs, digging
into his lung. He stared at the small child as the pain ripped through him.
That couldn’t have been just luck. She had been trained—trained to go for the
vitals. She knew exactly what she was doing.

But why him? Why did she stab him?

Donovan would never forget that face, the twisted scar
cutting across the gleeful smile that played on her lips. He sagged to his
knees then dropped to the ground like a sack. He had been stabbed once before,
but it had felt nothing like this.

There was something wrong. His heart was shuddering.

It was going to explode. His panic only made the spasms come
faster.

As Donovan lay helpless, Mae (was that even her real name?)
searched his pockets. She found the roll of paper money and the plastic credit
cards that the General had issued him for this mission—no one here used
electronic funds.

Mae kicked him in the side and spit on the ground next to
him.

She bent over his face. “There was a paralysis potion on
that knife. I’m going to do what my father planned for you.”

The next few minutes were the longest and most gruesome of
Donovan’s life. The little girl, like a demon of hell, calmly drew her blade across
his face, slicing through the flesh like butter, pushing it down until it
touched bone.

It was then that Donovan realized that Mae believed the man
he shot to be her father. How had he gotten her to believe that? Even after he
cut her neck?

Donovan’s nerve endings screamed, blotting out all thought.
They screeched so loudly in his ears that the sound became like a big wave that
enveloped him, drowned him. His mind was on fire—he wanted to shout, to shriek
out the throbbing, piercing hurts, but the paralysis allowed him only to lie
there, staring. When the initiation rite was complete, Mae stood up and looked
down on him. It was the oddest image—the moon shone behind her head, giving her
a halo, but her face, permanently scarred and plastered with a smile that
stemmed from causing pain, was anything but angelic.

“Don’t come back here,
pris
,” he heard her say. His
vision had started to fade. “You will never be one of us and I will never be
one you.”

She stuffed the crumpled bills into her pocket and ran off,
leaving Donovan to choke on his own blood.

“Life on earth is at the ever-increasing risk of being wiped
out by disaster, such as sudden global nuclear war, a genetically engineered
virus or other dangers we have not yet thought of.”

—Stephen
Hawking

May 4, 2258

En Route to Fort
Belvoir, VA

Donovan Knight

The sudden turbulence jerked Donovan out of his memories—memories
that he still couldn’t quite believe. The world was full of evil things and he
had finally switched out his worn and battered naiveté in favor of objectivity.
Objectivity was what kept him alive, brought him back to his wife and kids.

Some holy soul in Bakersfield had called the police that
night. They did it anonymously, so Donovan never got to thank them.

He heard the sirens as soon as Mae’s feet disappeared around
a corner. They would probably never find her. The immediate hospital attention
had saved Donovan’s face. It took weeks to heal, but when it did, there wasn’t
even a scar left behind.

The damage was on the inside. Something about being betrayed
by such a young soul, a person who should have been innocent and pure,
disturbed him far beyond any scar she may have left behind. Sometimes he
dreamed about it. He would feel her blade all over again, cutting into his
flesh as if he were nothing more than a slice of fish. He would wake up soaked
in sweat, his heart thundering. Donovan had learned that day that, for the sake
of his own life, he could never show mercy again.

The world was screwed—he just had to do his best to unscrew
it without getting killed first.

When the pilot landed the plane just outside Fort Belvoir,
Donovan glanced at the time to see that only two and a half hours had passed.

To the naked eye there appeared to be nothing there but an
empty field and a stone archway. The security there was far stricter than at
the airport. They couldn’t get in without first confirming their identities.

The pilot turned off the jet’s engines.

“Shall we?” she said, gesturing to the door.

“Yes. I’m Donovan Knight by the way. Sorry I didn’t
introduce myself, I was a little… preoccupied.”

The woman gave a small smile. “No problem. I hear this is
supposed to be really important. Top secret and all that.” She reached out a
hand to him. “Christina Austin.”

Donovan shook the proffered hand.

They walked up to the stone archway together, boots stirring
up little clouds of dust.

“Brigadier General Donovan Knight reporting.”

“Corporal Christina Austin reporting.”

The image in front of them blurred, and an electronic voice
came from seemingly nowhere.

“Please step forward.” It was the voice of the military
identification system—Idem.

They got closer to the archway.

“Please look straight ahead without blinking and hold up
your hands, palms facing outwards.”

They followed the instructions. A bright light shone into
their eyes and something warm passed over their hands. Despite the warning,
Donovan always blinked. It took only two minutes for Idem to match their fingerprints,
irises, and blood samples to the ones on record.

“Your identity has been confirmed.” Idem released the Mirage
Builder and the fort came into view. It was like watching a TV turn on—one
moment there was nothing, the next, a complete image. They walked through the
temporary portal. As soon as they stepped through the stone archway the fort
became invisible to outsiders again.

Fort Belvoir was the oldest military base in the United
States. While many of the others fell into decline over the years as war became
scarce, the government kept Fort Belvoir in working order. The nations of the
world were at peace, but there were still plenty of criminals to deal with—drug
dealers, thieves, murderers. But those kinds of people were below Donovan’s
paygrade. It was his job to catch the people who threatened national or world
peace.

Fort Belvoir was on a huge plot of land, most of it used to
grow food and raise animals. There were two massive buildings, sleek with glass
tinted black. A thin, elegant bridge connected them. One was about nine stories
taller than the other. Donovan knew from previous visits that those extra nine
stories were off limits to everyone except those chosen by the General to have
access. A white access card would be linked to their Idem profile. When they no
longer needed access, the card deactivated.

As far as Donovan knew, no one had used those extra floors
in years. Didn’t have an emergency big enough, he guessed.

Christina led him to the taller building. The glass doors
slid apart to allow them entrance then closed behind them with a soft
whoosh
.
There was a sense of finality about it. Donovan was surprised to see that the
place was busy with soldiers. They rushed across the room in both directions,
in small groups or individually, their shiny shoes clacking against the tiles.
They whispered to each other urgently and glanced in his direction as they
passed. Many of them recognized him, expected him even, judging by the
unsurprised looks on their faces.

Five people manned the information desk in the center of the
floor. All but one of them was busy with phone calls. The free man’s eyebrows shot
up at the sight of Donovan.

“Brigadier General Knight, sir,” he said, emerging from
behind the counter and almost tripping as he stubbed his toe on the corner. “Ouch—we’ve
been expecting you. I’m Private Cole. I am to escort you to the General. Please,
follow me.”

“I’m afraid this is where I leave you,” Christina said.

Donovan said goodbye and followed Private Cole to the
elevators. The Private raised his palm to a sensor on the right, and a red
light, in the shape of credit card, shone from his hand. It was a minimal
security pass—it allowed him to get into things like store rooms, file cabinets,
and, of course, elevators.

Donovan watched the numbers light up as they ascended. It
was a quiet ride. They stopped at floor fifty-one. The door opened to reveal
another elevator directly across the hall.

Private Cole turned to face him.

“I have your access card here, if you’d like to sync Inserts.”

“Don’t have one,” Donovan said. “But I think my watch will
suffice.”

Donovan held his wrist next to the Private’s palm.

“Transfer Brigadier General Knight’s access card,” Private
Cole said.

Instantly, Donovan’s watch beeped and a white card hovered
above its surface. Then it disappeared. Donovan’s inventory now held a white
access card. He was astounded. His stomach clenched with both worry and excited
anticipation. They must have found the national leader of x5 cells. That had to
be it. Right? No, maybe they had discovered that x5 was worldwide.

It had to be the world, not just the country, to warrant a
white access card. The way the staff scurried to and fro down below almost
nervously, as if hysteria were just about to break open, affirmed his
suspicion.

“Thank you, Private.” Donovan dismissed the clumsy solider.

“General McGregor is expecting you on floor fifty-five, sir.”

Donovan nodded and the Private vanished behind the elevator
doors. After holding his watch to the sensor on the left of the elevator,
Donovan stepped inside and pressed number fifty-five. Silence engulfed him.
Again, he felt that sensation of nervousness. He wanted to know what was going
on so he could jump into the action. He needed to
do
something.

The doors opened to pandemonium. For the first three
seconds, Donovan was only aware of papers and manila folders soaring in the air
like birds. Rows upon rows of desks lined the huge room which spanned the
entire fifty-fifth floor. There were soldiers everywhere, of every rank, all of
them tripping over each other in their haste to reach their destinations. The
ones who were sitting were no less calm—they typed frantically at their
computers, eyes never leaving the screens. Many of them rubbed their temples or
pulled at their hair. Voices rose and fell in loud clamors.

He grabbed the nearest person by the arm—a little roughly in
an effort to snap her out of the frenzy that had taken over the room. The
woman’s blonde ponytail whipped around as Donovan pulled her to him. She stared
at him, eyes unfocused, mouth gaping like a fish.

“Where’s General McGregor?”

She looked toward the back of the room. Donovan followed her
gaze and spotted the General standing behind a desk on a raised platform,
barking out orders at everyone around him. Donovan headed over, dodging
soldiers as he went.

The General spotted him as he approached.

“Brigadier General Knight!” he called in a booming voice.

Donovan shook the General’s hand.

“Just the man we need.” General McGregor didn’t smile. He
almost never did. But his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally and the creases on
his forehead lessened—the closest to relieved anyone would ever see him.

The General held up his hand to silence the crowd around
him.

“Everyone take fifteen. Reassemble here at 1705 hours.” The
soldiers dispersed. A few of them looked disappointed.

“Follow me, Knight.” The General turned away without waiting
for a response. Donovan followed him to a silver door tucked away in a corner
of the room. The General swiped his palm across the access pad. A black card
appeared and disappeared—the right of admittance to any and everything at any
time. He was the second most powerful man in the nation—right after the
president. The other military branches were practically extinct. The leaders of
them were really only in honorary positions.

The General gestured for Donovan to enter first. Once the
door was secured, he sat behind a large desk with a glass surface. The computer
installed inside it projected an image of the General’s family on vacation
somewhere tropical, all smiling like they were having the time of their lives. Then
it switched to a picture of the General shaking hands with the President. The
images continued to shift as the leather seat creaked under the General’s
weight. Donovan sat across from him and waited. It was never a good thing to
pester General McGregor with a lot of questions. Best to let him do all the
talking first.

“As you could see out there, we’re in a bit of a panic.”

Donovan thought that “a bit” was an understatement but kept
the thought to himself. The General looked Donovan directly in the eyes. He had
a stern stare—not unkind but clearly unwilling to tolerate any defiance.

“I have a mission for you.”

Well, that was obvious.

“It involves exposing you to top secret information. And I
mean information you cannot share with anyone—not your wife, not anyone.”

“I understand, sir.”

The General held up a hand.

“This mission, if you accept it, will possibly cost you your
life.”

Donovan couldn’t resist. “I always risk my life, sir.”

“That’s not what I meant. The nature of this assignment involves—things—that
may change your life as you know it. What you choose to do may change the world
as we know it.”

Donovan shifted in his seat. “Sir, can you just tell me
what’s going on?”

The General sighed. This, more than anything he had seen so
far, increased Donovan’s trepidation. A tingle of fear began to leech into the
pit of his belly.

“Donovan.”

Donovan frowned. The General
never
used his first
name, even at informal events.

“This mission demands that you sacrifice everything.”

Donovan stared at him. There was something wrong here.

“Sir…”

“Are you willing to accept that?”

“…Yes.”

The General nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “If you
accept, I will give you the access card you need so I can release classified
information.”

In answer, Donovan held up his wrist. The General
transferred an access card to Donovan’s watch. It was black.

“Sir, what’s going on? Why do I need a black card?”

The General stood up and began to pace. Once again,
Donovan’s mind was blown. The General was such a steady, calm man. Donovan had
always admired him for it—he was always in perfect control of his emotions.

The General’s nervous energy transferred over. Donovan began
to tap his foot rapidly on the floor.

“Understand, even with a black card, I can’t tell you
everything. You can’t know the full details of the mission until you reach your
destination.”

Before Donovan could ask where he would be going, the
General rushed on.

“But here’s what you can know: there has been a massive
biological attack on the world. It started here in the U.S. and has since
spread to every country on the planet. Millions of people have been infected
with a deadly virus—it attaches to the genes, becomes indistinguishable from
them, and appears benign for several years, then it suddenly starts to attack
the host. We’re not sure what triggers it, but people are slowly dying
everywhere. Most of them don’t even know it yet. It’s slow-acting.”

A suspicion began to form in Donovan’s mind. “This virus…”

The General nodded as if knowing what Donovan was thinking.
“Yes. It’s the same benign virus that was found in your blood all those years
ago. You were the first known case. And now it’s everywhere. Everyone at this
base has it. You have it. I have it. I have confirmed that your wife and
children have it, as well. You’re wife’s condition is the most advanced of your
family.”

Donovan’s heart seemed to stop. His brain froze. That’s why
the General was acting so strange. He was dying. They all were. Maybe even the
General’s own family.

This was the reason his wife had looked so ill recently. It
wasn’t that she was being overworked; it was this virus—a virus that likely
started with him. Flames of hot anger licked through his insides. His sight was
smeared with the force of it. Whoever had done this would suffer for it.