Chapter 22 - The Divine Wind

 “It was pretty dramatic, actually,” Jim said, dripping in sweat, as they hustled through the workshop to the debriefing room. “I'm just glad you found us when you did. I'm at like 35% metabolic. Speaking of which, do you have an energy bar? I could eat a boot.”

“Yes,” Carol replied as she pulled a grey-white bar wrapped in clear cellophane from her fatigue's cargo pocket. She slammed her hands on the push bars and the doors swung wide on their hinges. Jim and Marion flopped into the front row of the theater. “Now, tell me what happened.”

“Well,” Jim mumbled around a huge bite of energy bar, “It's like this...”
“Don't eat with your mouth full,” Marion held a flat hand in front of his face. “Standish knew we were coming. He jumped us on the cliffside in Siddhartha. We didn't have time to react. I barely got out our distress signal.”

“Marched us to the transport ship,” Jim interjected after a hard swallow.

“And he tortured you, right?” Carol nodded her head, pleading the answer.

“Right,” Marion said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Good. I'll let you get back to the base, just tell me the truth,” she pulled a chair up and sat across from them, folding her hands in her lap and sitting ram-rod straight. “What did he make you tell him?”

“He didn't make us say...” Jim started.

“Everything,” Marion cut him off.

“You can tell me. It'll all be over once you tell me. He made you divulge our plans, right?” Her tone was stern and unyielding, her face set in stone.

“Yes,” Jim nodded nervously. “Can we go?” he shifted uncomfortably, himself.

“He made you tell him about our plans to storm the Windforce and dismantle his Lunar Base, right?” Her gaze was unrelenting. Burning.

“Yes,” Marion replied almost drone-like, unease setting across her entire posture.

“As I suspected,” she stood up and leaned over them slightly, arms crossed over her chest. “Thank you for telling me the truth.” She leaned over them a bit more, blocking the light from behind her, casting harsh shadows against her forehead and nose.

“I'm sorry,” Jim squeaked, squirming under her looming visage.

“It's alright. I knew this would happen,” She shifted again, turning her back on them and folding her hands behind her. “Which is why I gave you all false information. We don't need to ambush the Windforce. They will be fighting on our side. We needed to lure him there and I knew he'd be expecting us to make a move against him after the Siddhartha stunt. I'm sorry,” she turned, her eyebrows arched at the bridge of her nose, pulled down at the corner, a look of genuine sympathy creasing her hardened features. “I'm so sorry, my children,” she ran up and wrapped an arm around each of their necks, squeezing tight. “I didn't mean to put you in harm's way, but it was necessary. I feel so mean. Can you forgive me for betraying your trust?” She pulled back, a hand on each of their shoulders, her face wrought with what appeared to be genuine moral anguish.

“It's alright,” Marion met her gaze with open sympathy, “we understand. We know how tough that must have been for you, Commander. We're sorry you had to go through that.”

“Thank you,” she nodded her head at them, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She sniffled and wiped it away. “You guys are so important to me. It would ruin me if I lost you.”

“It's alright, Commander Cecilia, you don't have to worry,” Marion pulled the corner of her mouth to the side and nodded warmly.

“Thank you,” she stood up and folded her hands in front of her. “Thank you,” she pulled a strained smile. “You're dismissed, now. You can return to Base.”

Jim and Marion quietly got up and made a bow before exiting the room. They made their way to one of the jeeps silently. It was dark out.

“Does she do that to you, too?” Jim asked “That...thing.”

“Yeah,” Marion shifted uncomfortably. “I dunno how she does it. You just...I don't know. Do you really believe them? Any of this?”
“No. Yes? I don't know,” Jim shook his head. The head lights and the roof lamps lining the roll bar lit up the dirt path in front of them.

“Why do you keep going, then?” Marion was holding onto the roll cage, one knee up, the other extended to the bottom of the footwell. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“Molly,” Jim shrugged. Life doesn't feel right without you.

“Yeah, but, you don't know if you'll last,” Marion squinted and pulled the corners of her mouth back.

“Eh,” Jim shrugged again. “What else have I got? Standish and Carol keep explaining all of this geopolitical stuff, but I honestly have no idea what's going on, I just take orders. Gaming is a reflex-sport that operates on the margin. I've already aged out. I have my dad, but he and I never really got on and still don't, really. Molly's all I have right now. I don't care if it doesn't last.”

“So, it's not that you believe them or not, it just doesn't matter?” Marion furrowed her brow.

“I mean, yeah?” Jim shrugged again. “At this point I don't know what I believe anymore. I thought I had everything understood, but then you get promoted and Tomah takes your place over me. I thought I knew who the enemy was, but then we get some former DPRC goon on our team and she's just a normal person. Pleasant. Wonderful, even.” Jim locked into the middle distance, steering almost by reflex. “I thought the program was going great, and then it gets nixed by NRI and sold off to the IA military. I thought I could trust Standish,” Jim paused a second, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I thought I could trust him, and then he bailed. I thought I could trust Carol, and then this. Molly is all I have left, even if we did get in a fight.”

“But can't you find something else?” Marion replied.

“Probably,” yet another shrug. “But she's a known quantity. I could lose Molly, side with Carol, and meet the greatest woman of my life. Become a hero and lauded through history. Fame, glory, celebrity,” Jim scrunched his nose and tilted his head. “But we could also be blasted to bits. Whole planet goes up in smoking craters again. They kicked us out of the underground bunker. If shit goes tits-up, we're not getting saved.”

“So what do you think is going on, Mr. Conspiracy Theory?” She mirrored my gaze, fixing into the middle distance.

“Like I said, for once, I have no idea,” Jim continued to shrug, a welcome autonomic smirk creasing his cheek. “But if I had to guess? I think they're both barmy. I think the Augs have finally got to Standish and that Terry and Dyman are trying to reset the planet for their richie-rich friends in NRI. You heard them with all that Utopia shit. I bet the entire planet is in on the gig. IA, DPRC, you name it. Everyone's got their important people in their bunkers. They say the Great Collapse was thousands of years ago, but I bet they do this every couple of centuries. Weed out the weaklings.”

“I like it,” Marion released a sharp exhale through her nose that shook her whole body. “Corporate megalomaniacs and eugenic despots trying to genocide the planet.”

“Yep,” Jim clucked his tongue. “And all you have to do is sell our soul to the devil, literally, and you get a cushy seat in the doomsday bunker to ride it out.”

“Exposed, all because some rich aristocrat's daughter fell in love with a soldier from the wrong side of the tracks,” Marion finished. “That's some serious tragic romance, star-crossed lovers shit.”

“I know, you're telling me. All that 'wherefore art thou' bullshit” Jim pulled the jeep into the base. “We're here.”

“Drop me off at the garrison,” Marion pointed to a low-slung Quonset hut at the back of the base. “I bet that's where the boys are. You wanna come in?”

“Nah,” Jim replied as he pulled the jeep parallel to the front of the hut. “I've got some thinking to do.”

“Don't think too much, man” She said as she vaulted out of the vehicle. “Life's too short.”

“I'll remember that,” Jim pulled a smirk. “Also, thank Tomah. Tell him I finally figured it out,” he winked.

“Get some rest, man. It's been a hell of a day,” Marion tapped the hood of the jeep before Jim drove off.

***********************************************************************************

“What's the plan, boss?” Blaize kicked back and rested his feet on the card table, throwing down a Queen of Hearts.

“You asshole,” Tomah threw down his Jack of Hearts.

“And that should be the last Trump,” Blaize smirked as he claimed the trick.

“The plan,” Marion said with a grin as she lead a Two of Spades, “is to play along with the Commander until we get onto the Windforce.”

“Yeah?” Tomah threw down an Eight of Spades. “Then what?”

“Oh this is juicy,” Blaize pulled his feet off the table the legs of his folding chair banging down on the floor of the Containerized Housing Unit. He flicked a card. It glided across the table in 3 elegant twists before landing dead on the pile of, the Ace of Spades. “Thank you, sacrificial lamb. The plan is to beat back the bastards and secure our freedom.” He said as he kicked his feet back up again, locking his hands behind his head with a self-satisfied grin.

“You fucker,” Tomah slammed down his hand on the table. “Take it. Take it, alright?”

“Heh heh,” Marion and Jim pushed their cards into the center as Blaize laughed and swept the cards together, straightening them out and flipping the cards into a shuffle with a fwerp.

“Nice,” Jim high-fived Blaize, who started dealing out a new hand. “Standish is going to send in the drone army he secured from the DPRC,” Jim chuckled, “you know, before the whole theft thing. Once they've thinned out the IA fleet, we pull a turn-coat, and pincer them from the inside-out.” Jim pulled in his hand and started organizing it as Blaize fed them all cards, “Then, once we've either cleared the area or pushed them back, jump up to the Luna base and ride out the transfer.”

“Or, get merc'ed as Standish and the DPRC ambush us,” Tomah looked up and scanned the others quickly. “One-Clubs, by the way,” he pulled in his last card and announced.

“Always an option,” Marion shuffled some cards around in her hand. “Two-Clubs,” she said, making firm eye contact with Blaize.

“And then nuke the whole planet to kingdom-come,” Jim rifled through his hand. Long in Diamonds, no clubs. A smattering of face cards. “Three-Diamonds, also,” Jim quickly batted his eyes at Tomah, but then looked back at his hand just as quick, trying not to let the others read his table talk.

“Woah,” Blaize pulled his chin into his neck. “How about,” he held for a second as he reshuffled his cards through his hand, “Five-Spades.”

“Uh,” Tomah and Jim met eyes. “Yeah. Pass.” he folded his cards into his hand and grabbed his beer from the table, taking a long drought. “Also, thanks for smuggling these on base,” he held a toast up.

“Pass, too” Marion smirked. “And, not a problem. Gotta keep my troops' morale high,” she winked as she picked up her own and clinked her can into his.

“Here-here,” Jim crowned his can as well. Blaize begrudgingly joined as they all took a long slug. “Ah,” he intoned. “I'll pass, too.”

“Perfect,” Blaize said as he spun a card out on the table. “Let's hope lightning strikes twice!” he said excitedly as the Ace of Spades landed dead center.

Tomah wordlessly threw in what Jim was sure to be his only spade, the Jack.

“I think you may have killed us,” Marion threw in the King of Spades.

“Ouch,” Jim scrunched his nose with a smirk and glanced side-eyed at Blaize as he sloughed off one of his low spades, a Four.

“Shit,” Blaize sat staring dumbfounded at the trick.

***********************************************************************************

“CentCom says combatants are about 3 clicks out,” Marion came over the official comm. “Do you read, Tiger-three?”

“We have a visual, Gold-one,” Tomah replied to Marion. “Are we also ready?” he said over the private comm.

“Roger,” the other 4 replied in round.

“You're all briefed?” Jim asked over the comm, as well.

“Bull-five and Bull-three are briefed, Bull-one,” Adrian replied.

“Roger that,” Toni came through as well.”

“Good. Remember,” Jim replied, “Keep it cool while Gold-one, Tiger-three, and Tiger-five are engaging Alpha-one, roger?”

“Bull-five, Roger,” Adrian replied

“Bull-three, Roger,” Toni came over as well.

“Perfect. Tiger-five, what is your position?” Jim addressed to the official channel.

“I am tracking Alpha-one as we speak,” Blaize came through, his voice a bit strained.

“Acknowledged,” the Commander's voice interrupted all of theirs. “Keep an eye on Alpha-one. Do not, I repeat, do not let him escape your vision, no matter what the cost, do you read?”

“Copy that,” Blaize replied, “do not let Alpha-one go untracked, full-force authorized.”

“Roger that,” the Commander replied, “but do be careful. I would hate to lose any of you.”

Jim wheeled Vishnu to the bow of the Windforce. The massive carrier had half a dozen giant Mobile-10's on the deck, all aimed starboard at Standish's northern vector, where he would emerge from the river network he had been “secretly” navigating and out into the gulf. The Windforce ran vanguard for about twenty drone warships, or rather, twenty drones were hiding behind the gargantuan floating island.

“We have a visual on Beta-one,” Blaize updated. “I count seven carriers hybrids, and about 300 airborne.”

“Three hundred!” the Commander exclaimed. “That's twice as much as we anticipated. Keep an eye on them, Tiger-three, we're updating our battle plans.”

“Roger that,” Blaize replied. “Also, the reconnaissance drone is saying there is a massive fleet approaching from the southern flank, behind the flotilla.”

“What? I want a full status,” the Commander demanded. Her voice was audibly surprised.

“I tried hailing on all frequencies, no reply,” Tomah replied, himself taken by surprise. “They are scrambling our visual and radar detectors. Judging by the wake pattern, however, I am tentatively estimating approximately fifty large vessels, or some combination of smaller and larger vessels adding up to as much.”

“There aren't any mercenary groups with that many vessels. They couldn't even join up with several groups and get close to that, at least not without evading intel,” the Commander sounded frantic. “That's a nation-sized fleet.”

“Alpha-one has cleared the woods,” Blaize came over. Standish's limping warship emerged from the delta. “Drones are aweigh,” he followed up. No sooner had the words left his mouth than did a blot of black appear in the sky above him. The fleet of sleek, triangle-shaped planes hummed silently across the sky, blotting out the sun behind them. They broke out into a scatter fleet and immediately started skiffing around the outside of the warships' killzones, completely encircling the fleet.

“You didn't think I'd fall for that, now did you really, sweetheart?” Standish's voice cracked over the CentCom channel.

“I mean, maybe a little?” Carol snarked back. “You've never been the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“I'm hurt, darling. Deep wounds,” Standish's voice was dripping in sarcasm, evident even through the difficult static. “You can call off your little shadow squad, too.”

“My 'shadow squad?' I thought they were your 'shadow squad,'” the Commander scoffed back.

“They are still too far away for me to be sure,” Toni replied in her usual crisp, over-corrected tone. “But they appear to me to be the combination of several fleets from the Homeland.”

“Shit,” Standish cursed into the comm. “I think they want Siddhartha back.”

“You absolute asshole,” the Commander replied.

Standish pulled his warship out deeper into the gulf, just skirting the killzone of the Windforce. Behind him, his several carriers began to emerge from the delta as well. “You were wrong, by the way,” his tone cocky, “there are way more than fifty big ships,” his black fleet scrambled and headed full-speed at the DPRC fleet. “I'm seeing like, just, so many ships, you guys.”

“Well, what do we do now,” Marion inquired on the CentComm channel.

Their conversation was interrupted as an explosion run out near the incoming fleet. “Oops!” Standish came over. “I might have just dropped a bomb on one of their corvettes.”

Without any hesitation, more explosions began to ring out as Standish's black drone fleet began to deftly dart in, drop a charge, and then dart away. The DPRC fleet, unhappy to be attacked, scrambled their own drone fleet, their battle cruisers training their mass drivers and laser turrets on the fleet. But, with skillful mastery, Standish danced the planes in for an offensive, and then returned them to their scramble pattern on the perimeter of the ships' effective ranges, ducking in and out of drone dogfights.

“This is not good,” Blaize came over. “I finally have an accurate visual,” he said with dread, “I'm counting two dozen small vessels, at least twenty warships, half a dozen battleships, and fifteen carriers.”

“I hope you've been drilling in frogman fighting,” Standish emerged from his warship in Siddhartha. Built much like Vishnu, the contouring on his sensor stalk gave his “face,” in as much that humans find a “face” on anything, a very placid look. The garb he wore, however, more resembled Cúchulainn's toga than Vishnu's vest and dhoti, the exception being the long piece of cloth slung over its shoulder. With a prodigious leap, Standish vaulted Siddhartha into the sky, and with a thunderous crash, slammed down on the deck of the Windforce. Before anyone could react, he'd vaulted yet again into the sky, slamming down this time on the deck of a fast-approaching frigate. The ship swayed and rocked with the massive impact, Siddhartha being nearly a third its size. He removed a massive energy hammer from his back, and, with a flick, the handle telescoping to almost the entire length of Siddhartha. With a mighty downward swing, knees bending into a squat for added force, Siddhartha slammed the hammerhead clear through the deck, nearly cleaving the ship in half lengthwise. “Mmm,” Standish cooed into the comm, “nothing like the smell of destruction to perk you up.” He slammed the hammer down again, this pivoting to hit the other side, the littoral frigate completely shattered.

“Change of plans,” the Commander came in, “Simo, Annie, you're on anti-air duty. Defend the Windforce at all costs!”

“Roger that,” Adrian and Toni replied in unison. Both of quickly strided from the port side, facing Standish, to the Starboard side, facing the DPRC fleet, and flopped down prone, adjusting their laser rifles. With quick burst, they began picking off DPRC, the large black drones spiraling down into the gulf.

“Cúchulainn, Musashi, you keep the shore fleet at bey,” the Commander orders were crisp calm.

“Roger that,” Marion and Tomah both replied in unison as well. They jumped off the battleships they were resting on, at the far flank of the flotilla behind the Windforce, and began leapfrogging to oncoming ships that were now engaging the droneship fleet.

“Ehecatl, now is your time to shine,” the Commander's voice was skeptical.

“I got this,” Blaize came through confidently. “I've been training for, like, ever. I'm ready,” his voice switched from confidence to determination.

“Alright,” she still sounded skeptical, “Ehecatl, I want you to airdrop into the rear fleet and start working your way toward Cúchulainn and Musashi. Vishnu, I want you to swim underwater to Ehecatl's position and assist the rear pincer. Keep an eye out for for submarines, I'm positive they're there.”

“Roger,” Blaize replied. Jim looked up and watched a tiny black dot of a drone helicopter drop below the cloud-line at the rear of the DPRC fleet. Another tiny black dot started falling away from the little black dot before landing on one of the smaller dreadnoughts slowly making its way up the flank, rocking visibly at the impact. “Man,” Blaize said with an exasperated sigh, “I'm not used to actually being in combat,” Jim watched an explosion burst out of the top of the ship as Blaize lit up one of the dreadnought's turret nests. “I almost feel like I'm betraying Enlil.” The dreadnought began to swerve back and forth as Blaize made quick work of the turrets and began peppering the command helm.

“Deploying now,” Jim responded to the commander after shaking his head, freeing his mind of the distraction. With a swan-dive, Jim leapt Vishnu off of the Windforce's deck and into the turbulent, battle-chopped sea beneath it. “Chart me?” Jim said outloud.

“I have shown you the way,” Vishnu replied, a blue mission line appearing, floating in the inky blackness. Though close in the context of naval warfare, the ships were actually quite distant from each other, everyone trying to keep clear of eachother's effective killzones. The mission line said Jim had several minutes of underwater travel before reaching the rear flank. Jim looked up at the erratic, battletorn surface, watching the prows of ships dart back and forth, the droneship flotilla in full scramble. Occasionally, in the far distance, Jim could see ravaged drone planes and broken warships plunge through the waterline and slowly descend into the seemingly-infinite depth below. “I hear something,” Vishnu eventually broke the silence of travel.

Jim looked at his mini-map, the sonar detector spotting a loud acoustic disruption. “What is it?” Jim inquired.

“Missile!” Adrian bellowed into the comm. A shower of fragments rained into the depths ahead.

“Good hit,” Marion replied.

“Vishnu, upload the coordinates,” Jim said into the comm channel.

“They have been informed, ” Vishnu replied cryptically.

“I am seeing several submarines,” the Commander replied almost instantly. “Droneship flotilla is at 80%,” she followed up. “They are using X4 torpedoes, not X3's. Updating our battle plan.”

“Hey!” Standish yelled into the mic, more debris and flotsam falling into the sea above Jim as he near-silently skiffed beneath the turmoil above. “Watch it, some of those are my drones!”

“Sorry,” Toni responded. “They are scrambling our signature detection. My targeting computer could not tell the difference.”

“The Valiant is en route,” the Commander piped through. “ETA twenty and counting. Windforce primary cannon is online.”

“Alpha-twelve is the best target,” Marion said, her comm channel unable to filter out the destruction around her. “My scanners show it has twice as much ordinance as the other cruisers.”

“It's also the most fortified,” Blaize replied, his voice strained and stressed. “I can't get close.”

“Roger,” the Commander confirmed. A huge ripple broke the surface above him, creating a massive line of wake.

“Alpha-nine down,” Blaize replied. Just up ahead a massive cruiser had been rent in half and began descending into the abyss, enveloped in a curtain of bubbles and fire.

“Approaching the flank,” Jim updated as his mission line finally terminated and brought him to the surface. He kicked on his afterburners and turned Vishnu vertical, rocketing him out of the water and onto the deck at the very rear of a gigantic carrier. Even considering Vishnu was the size of a small skyscraper, Jim felt dwarfed by the humongous control deck at the bow of the ship. He began slowly walking his way up the airstrip that ran down the center of the deck, pivoting at the him and unloading a flurry of laser blasts at the turret nests lining the sides, each blowing up in rapid succession as they unloaded a torrent of mass rounds, keeping the drones at bey outside it's killzone. The ship was not prepared for a landing party, allowing Jim to make quick work of the turret nests and march up the air deck. Jim collapsed his laser rifle and withdrew his mass driver, withdrawing a Javelin round from his hip compartment and loading it into the breach. With a quick sighting, his aiming computer locked onto the deck. The round sped out of the muzzle and slammed into the control deck, a violent shockwave propagating visibly as the gigantic control deck collapsed in on itself. Jim withdrew a magazine from his hip compartment, clipped it into the mass driver, and lept into the air as hard and high as his jump jets would allow. The smoking wreckage of the ship beneath him slowly receded as he gained elevation. “”Target the munitions,” Jim said aloud.

“I can see their evil,” Vishnu replied. “Unleash your retribution and I shall guide your hand.”

With a few quick trigger pulls, the mass driver rounds slammed into the deck and burrowed into the ordinance stores. With a massive shockwave, the protections breached and the carrier split at the center with a gigantic rocket of smoke. The force was so strong it knocked Vishnu out of its ballistic trajectory, causing him to slam into the water, missing the guard frigate he was attempting to vault onto. Upon breaking the surface of the water, a flurry of alarms began sounding and an immense pressure began to shoot through Jim's hips and knees.

“We have collided with a submarine,” Vishnu came replied calmly. “I am severely damaged.” The screens flashed red in Jim's face, sirens blaring in his rig, the plug constricting Jim's legs into immobility. Jim flexed his legs against the mildly painful pressure. Vishnu's legs began to respond slowly as he rolled off of the submarine's hull. He had breached it, thankfully, and the sub was rapidly descending into the lightless expanse below, followed quickly by Jim, unable to get his legs below him and activate his jets. “Mobility is at 65%. My left leg is damaged up to the Core joint.”

Slowly, the pressure in the right leg began to subside and Jim was able to get a foot beneath him, firing the impulse jet, allowing him to begin ascending instead of descending. The pressure, however, did not relieve from his left leg, which very slowly moved into place. Jim could feel the actuator and joint grind as he forced the leg beneath himself. The jump jet was still functional, and relieved some of the burden from his right leg, but motion was all but paralyzed.

“Vishnu, please respond,” the Commander's strained voice Jim was finally able to notice over the incessant sirens, near tears. “Please respond, Jim.”

“I'm alright,” Jim replied with a sigh. “My left leg is shot. I need to retreat.”

“Affirmative,” the Commander responded with a breath of relief. “You had me worried. Please return to the Windforce.”

“We need you,” Toni replied.

“Roger,” Jim replied. He surveyed the battlefield quickly before submerging back underwater. The DPRC fleet was considerably smaller than previous, but so was theirs. Standish's drone fleet looked to be less than half the size he'd started with. The droneship flotilla was all but wiped out. Standish was missing at least two carriers, and the frigate fleet had advanced inside the Windforce killzone and were trading a continuous volley of munitions with it. Marion, Tomah, and Blaize were in still in the back ranks with Standish wiping out their heavy fleet, but were now coalesced into a single party, Ehecatl in the center, and were slowly making their way back to the Windforce.

“We're on our way back, too” Blaize updated as Jim rapidly traversed the underwater path back to the ship. “I took a hit, my sensor stalk is gone, I'm flying by smell,” a term that meant he was leeching the other core's sensor data to navigate.

“No,” the Commander replied, “do not retreat. I repeat, do not fall back. I need you to disable all of the carriers before you can return. There are only two left. If we can take out the carriers, they will have no choice but to retreat once the Valiant arrives.”

“Commander,” Blaize replied indignantly, “with all due respect, I am flying blind. I have no sensors.”

“Do not fall back!” the Commander yelled. “That is a direct order. Take out those carriers at all costs, Soldier. If you must, activate the Vortex Drive.”

“Commander,” Blaize replied fearfully, “You know that isn't fully operational. You also know I've never successfully controlled it in the simulators.”

“Do it!” The commander yelled again. “It's our only chance. We need to play our Ace, we need to play our Trump card. Tomah, stay close, and keep eyes on. Feed your sensor data to Blaize's Augs.”

“Um, I hate to up the tension,” Standish interjected, “but we have a bigger problem. My team on Luna is saying that there are DPRC and PIR cores storming the nuclear base. Defenses are holding, but probably not for long.”

“What!” the Commander gasped. “When? How?”

“The DPRC and the PIR have been collaborating together for a while now,” Standish replied. He and the party had finished destroying another dreadnought and were almost to the first of the two remaining carriers. “If you had been paying attention, you'd know that they don't like the IA controlling all the nukes.”

“We're protecting them! We can't let them fall into the murderous hands of the DPRC!” the Commander screamed into the comm, livid.

“And most of the international theater,” Standish replied calmly, “sees the IA as the murderous thugs. They played you Carol,” Standish said a they began to decimate the carrier they had landed on. “They played me, too, the witty bastards. This was a diversion to ensure the cores were grounded so they could intervene on Luna. They sacrificed their queen so they could checkmate the King.”

“Everyone except Ehecatl and Cúchulainn,” the Commander said through what sounded like gritted teeth, “pull back to the Windforce. We'll launch you from the impulsor cannon. This is check, not mate. We're just trading Queens.”

Jim emerged onto the deck of the Windforce just as the away team was jumping onto the last carrier. He limped over to the deck elevator, lowering Vishnu into the hold. “I'm staying,” Marion replied. “We need Cúchulainn on Luna, I can handle sensor duty for Ehecatl. Everyone, Standish, fall back, now. That's an order.”
“But,” Tomah replied, paused and then replied “yes, sir,” deflatedly. Everyone dove into the ocean and begin their return. Marion and Blaize began unloading on the carrier.

“Engage the Vortex Drive,” the Commander said in her sternest voice. “Now,” her tone was finite.

“But,” Blaize replied, his voice surrounded by heavy gunfire. The dreadnoughts and battleships had finally entered into range and they were unloading on the carrier as well, now a sacrificial lamb. “Marion,” he said over the private comm softly. “I have a drone feed right now. Fall back.”

“I won't,” Marion replied her voice breaking. “I can't leave you.”
“Blaize,” Tomah replied as well, a wetness in his voice, “you know what that means.”

“I do,” he replied softly again. “My mind is made up.”

“I can't save you,” Standish replied, his usual braggadocio vacant from his tone. “If you burn out now, I can't save you. I only get one shot at the transfer before Tessa figures out what's going on. I can't tip my hand now.”

“It's fine,” Blaize replied, resigned. The carrier was taking a beating, Blaize at the center of it in Ehecatl.

“Flight Lieutenant,” the tech said to Jim once he'd lowered into the bay, “The leg itself is not that badly damaged. The fall just knocked the actuators out of alignment. There's a little damage from you moving it, but Vishnu will be ready in time to launch to Luna with about 85% mobility once we get everything back in place.”

“Vishnu,” Jim said to himself, ignoring the tech. “Give me eyes on Blaize.” Jim's heart was pumping. His ears were ringing, he tried to shake his head, but the plug resisted.

“I will give you vision from on high,” Vishnu replied.

Jim saw Ehecatl standing on the carrier, now completely surrounded by the all that remained of the DPRC fleet. From the rear of his vision, Jim watched a brilliant flash of light burst off of the Windforce.

“I am away,” Toni said into the comm. “I will be at Nav point Tau on the Luna surface shortly,” her tone was flat, her usual sing-songy lilt completely absent.

“Valiant has arrived and is in position,” the Commander said over the Comm, “Activate Vortex Drive at will,” her tone still was flat and stern, but lacking her former enthusiasm.

“Activating Vortex Drive,” Blaize said, his voice sullen, but laden with determination. Ehecatl wore a tubular skirt sort of like Cúchulainn's, but without the pleats, aside from that he was a very plain-looking core, save for his dragon-like sensor stalk. However, upon activation of the Vortex Drive, a wreath of feathers rendered in a pure blue plume of energy spiked out of his crown, a blue-energy beard of arrowheads appearing around his neck. He began to levitate just then, a wreath of wind spinning around him as he floated into the air, sucking in ocean spray and flotsam from the ships, creating a lashing tornado of smoke-white wind around him. Uncontrollably, the vortex grew and grew in size. “Vortex Drive at 40% capacity. Energy reserves at 38%. Twelve seconds of vortex remaining.”

“Valiant is scattering drones now,” the Commander replied. “We're on our way to retrieve you Blaize. Just stay strong.”

Another flash of light blinked across Jim's periphery. “I am away,” Adrian announced.

“We're aboard,” Marion came across the comm.

“You're up next, Cúchulainn,” the Commander responded. The vortex had grown to twice its size, and was now sucking up the smaller corvette ships, tumbling them up the length of the tornado before spitting them out the top, where they fell down, only to be consumed by the upforce winds yet again. The frigates were resisting the draw, riding the prodigious vertical wave surrounding the base of the behemoth spout. Soon, however, the vortex grew yet bigger, swallowing them up in violent turmoil.

“Vortex, 80%. Reserves, 12%, 4 seconds remaining,” Blaize reported, a bit of optimism creeping into his voice, “I'm holding it!”

“Good job,” Standish said, “You've got this Blaize. You have this,” he sounded like a dad his child's sports game. The vortex expanded farther out, swallowing up the battleships and dreadnoughts, flinging them into the air. The sound in Jim's headset had automatically adjusted to attenuate the noise, but was still at a near-deafening howl.

“Shit,” Blaize quickly interjected into the Comm. “Vortex 100% and falling, Reserves 4%. Vortex is in decline. 24 seconds to settle. Energy reserves are failing. They won't make it.”

“We have drones,” the Commander was frantic. “Just hold it. You're doing so well, Blaize, you're doing so great. Just hold, we'll be there shortly.”

“I am away,” Tomah said calmly into the comm as a flash streaked across Jim's lower field of vision. “I will see you in the heavens.”

“Don't say that!” Marion shrieked. “You've got this Blaize. Be strong!”

“I...” Blaize trailed off. “I'm just so tired.”

“His metabolic rates are tanking,” Adrian replied. “He's exhausting. Focus, Blaize!”

“Vortex, 50%. Reserves, 2%. Switching to emergency life support,” Blaize sounded hollow. “Thank's guys.”

“His comm is dark,” the Commander muttered. The Vortex was slowly burning out, the rapid white giving way to the crisp blueness of the sky behind it. The water slowly unchurning as huge breakers gave way into tall swells, which themselves gave way to wide undulating ripples. Once the vortex had subsided, the damage could be assessed. All DPRC ships were totaled, some floating upside down as they sunk into the choppy waters, the carrier itself was turned up on an end, the deck bent at an angle, barely keeping it afloat as it took on water.

“No!” Marion yelled into the comm as another streak flew past.

“No sign of Ehecatl yet” the Commander said after a long pause. “Drones are searching. Vishnu, report to the impulsor once repairs are complete.”

Chapter 21 - Descent Into Madness

Dear Jim,

I miss you. Life is so lonely without you. I wake up in my bed, and when you're not next to me, I cry. My dad misses you. He talks about you a lot. It's hard living in this big, dark house without you. I don't leave my room much. I wish you would come home to me. I've missed you for a long time, and you coming home means we could start fresh. I still want you in my life. I miss your touch. I miss feeling you spoon me before bed. I need you, Jim. Life doesn't feel right without you. Please, come back.

Love, always,

Molly.

**********************************************************************************

Jim woke to the trumpeting of a bugle. He made his bed as quickly as he could, corners on the mattress laser-straight, no wrinkles in the sheets. Every wrinkle was 5 push-ups. He straightened his uniform, pulled on his familiar combat boots, and tucked his pristine, scratchy white tee-shirt into his thick khaki fatigues. Base-life was hard, rigid, and boring, but there was something to the austerity and regiment that was deeply comforting. He pulled out his primitive handheld communicator device from the cargo pocket on his leg and leafed through his messages. Molly's name jumped out at him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Sir!” two privates almost ran headlong into him but stopped and snapped to attention with a salute.

“At ease,” he could barely mumble as he skip-stepped and briskly made his way to the garage.

“Jim,” he shook his head and looked up from his communicator to see Tomah about to climb into a jeep. “I'll drive, you seem distracted.”

“Oh,” he shook his head again, his brain still just as foggy as it had been for weeks. “Yeah, thanks, I need to reply to this,” he shook his phone.

“Oh, that's fine,” he climbed into the driver's seat. Jim hopped the door and vaulted into shotgun.

“You'll never understand why I have to do what I have to do,” Jim typed out. “You're the only thing on this planet that I care about, and why I wake up every morning and endure this nightmare. I have to save us from this insanity. Put an end to this so we can be together forever. Afterward, we can be together. I will never leave your side, again. But until then, I have to put a stop to this madness.”

“You've been very absorbed in something deeply troubling to you,” Tomah said after he noticed Jim drop his phone slightly.

“It's just...” he trailed off and shook his head again, brain still hazy, rereading the email.

“You're out of balance,” he said again. His voice was much softer and distant than he remembered.

“Balance?” Jim looked up from his phone and met his penetrating green-white eyes.

“I am not a man of spirit,” he looked at him square, the jeep eating up field and forest with alacrity. “But everyone, within them, has battles. The forces of your soul are out of balance. One side has too much power.”

Jim furrowed his brow, “Battles?”

“Battles. Self-perpetuation versus morality. Pride versus hubris. Passion versus logic,” he gripped his ponytail and flipped it to a side, the thick black locks spilling down over his immense shoulder. “We all face battles. If you are not conflicted, then you are not pondering a topic deeply enough, or you lack enough empathy to understand that with which you battle.”

“So, you're conflicted?” Jim gazed upon his placid face, neutral, but warm.

“I am constantly in conflict,” a peaceful smile pulled deep furrows into the smooth skin around his eyes. “I will often spend days in meditation trying to become enlightened on a subject only to find myself farther away from understanding than I was when I started.”

“So, how do you carry on? If you're so conflicted, how do you get anything done?” Jim was transfixed on the tranquility of his face, his eyes seeming to ignore him completely, fixated on the road ahead.

“What is productivity? It is nothing but an illusion,” he furrowed his brow slightly, head unturned. “Life, all of this is an illusion.”

“Wait, like a computer program?” Jim furrowed his brow and gazed skeptically.

“Maybe, that's a fair analogy. 'Brain in a vat' Theory, as it's called, but not exactly what I meant,” he turned his head and smiled briefly. “No, I mean that the future has not yet happened and the past has already happened. We toil under this delusion of productivity because we make the false prediction that our future will be better if we are productive because we were productive at some point in the distant past and it paid off in the near past. The truth, however, is that we bumble from one random experience to the next, and our previous experience has little bearing on our ability to predict the future.”

“I don't think I agree,” Jim furrowed his brow again, and pulled his mouth to the side, both hands still on his communicator, dropped in his lap. He locked his eyes in the middle distance and gently let the images of the trees flow by him. “When I was a kid, I grabbed the stem of a rose my dad had brought home for my mom. One of the thorns stabbed me in the hand. I think I can make a fairly safe prediction that if I grab another rose by the stem, it will stab my hand.”

“Ah, perfectly logical,” Tomah took a hand off the wheel and pointed at Jim with a nod, “and also completely wrong. Did you know that there are, in fact, many species of rose that do not have thorns? Let me simplify it farther. I have just flipped a coin and received 10 ups in a row. If you were a gambling man, what would you say the odds of me flipping a downs is?”

“I'd say,” Jim touched a finger to his chin contemplatively, “that a ten-run of ups is extremely rare, and an 11 would be pretty preposterous. I'd day that without doubt, the next flip would be a downs.”

“And, yet again, you would be wrong,” Tomah smiled and pointed again. “You see, each flip is a discrete flip. So, there is equal chance that I will flip an up or a down. As with the rose, each attempt you make at grabbing the stem of a rose will net you an equivalent chance that it will or will not be thorned.”

“So, I should just go ahead and grab the stem, and accept that a certain portion of the time I'll get stabbed?” Jim pulled his chin into his neck and scrunched his nose indignantly.

“No, you miss the point,” Tomah frowned a bit. “It is not about using the past as a means to predict the future, but instead to use the past experience to inform our ability to more accurately predict the outcomes of choices we make in the present.”

“So, instead of just grabbing the rose, I should check the stem to make sure there aren't any thorns, first,” Jim pinched his mouth tight and raised his eyebrows.

“Exactly!” Tomah drove a finger into the air in front of him and then elbow-checked Jim in the shoulder. “Now you get it! Each moment of our existence is a discrete flip of the coin. We cannot predict the outcome, and sometimes, despite our best information gathering, we may grab the stem and still get stabbed.”

“I think I get it,” Jim shook his head, a little bit of fog clearing away. “But, let's say I were presented with a very tough decision. One is highly predictable, but the potential fallout of such a choice would devastate me. The other path is highly questionable, but cogent enough, and the potential payout of following it up could be immense.”

“That's not an answer I can give you, Jim,” Tomah maintained his sagely gaze. “You must use your past and assess the outcomes. My only recommendation is that you make the choice for who's fallout you could most easily deal with should things not go as planned.”

“So, it's less about which has the better outcome, and more about which one wouldn't ruin me?” Jim pulled his eyebrows down and cocked his head quizzically.

Tomah just patted a single finger to the tip of his nose. “You and I are just machines, Jim. All humans are. We take information in, process it through the complex computational machine of our brain, and then spit out a result,” his yellow-white eyes shimmered. “You, as you exist, as a self-aware entity, are only a part of that complex computational engine. Many things are fighting within you to control this piece of meat you call a body. Your self-awareness is just one of those things. It's why we drill relentlessly. It's why our Augs work the way they do” he tapped his finger to his temple. “One of those 'things,' arguably the most important of them all, is self-preservation. Do not attempt to control your body. Influence it. Do not fight your mind. Accept it. Do not fear choice. Decide.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Jim curled his lips against his teeth in and furrowed his brow.

“It is not,” Tomah shrugged effortlessly. “It is indeed the most difficult thing to do. To overcome the obsession with the self, to ignore the screams of society, to deny the impulses of instinct. To transcend the chains of this corporeal, imperfect existence and achieve a state of enlightened awareness, a state beyond our mortal suffering. It is what everyone seeks, and so few ever attain.”

“How do you know so much?” Jim sat in awe, eyes wide.

“We're here, Jim” Tomah leaned his head forward. His eye twitched, in what might have been a wink, cheek creased with a wry smile. “I need to continue my research on the DPRC's Diety-core, Siddhartha, with Toni. If you get a chance, you're doing live drills today, yes? You should ask Vishnu about him. It would be most instructive.”

***********************************************************************************

“This rudimentary form of communication is stifling,” Vishnu came through. Jim jumped over a large rock oucropping into a barrel roll and then began climbing a steep mountain face. “When shall we again be able to commune minds?”

“Soon,” Jim said aloud, “Magister Rinolado said I can't re-Aug until he can be certain there will be no negative effects from it.”

“It severely hinders my teaching,” Vishnu replied, his voice now coming to Jim's ears and not his head.

“About Siddhartha,” Jim carried on. He reached the peak of the cliff and pulled himself into the lush jungle. Over his shoulder he could hear Annie Oakley in tow.

“He is I,” Vishnu replied.

“No, I mean, the Core. The one in DPRC's posession,” Jim reached out and helped Annie Oakley over the ledge.

“He is I,” Vishnu repeated. “He is an incarnation of me.”

“So you were built from the same platform?” Jim questioned. He pulled out his rifle. He was feeling exhausted from the exertion. His sync ratios had yet to recover from the de-Augging.

“If that is the easiest way for your mortal mind to comprehend,” Vishnu sounded dismissive. “I manifested myself into Siddhartha, instilling him with my Divinity.”

“What is he capable of, should I have to fight him?” Jim trained his automatic laser rifle forward and signaled to Annie Oakley to follow.”

“He is not much for doing harm,” Vishnu scoffed. “His power lies in his pacifism.”

“So, he doesn't fight much?” Jim and Annie Oakley wended their massive bodies uphill through the tall trees of the Wild. He felt the fatigue start to set in, each footfall slowly sapping his strength.

“Quite the contrary,” Vishnu scoffed again. “he is, as I am, a Preserver. Sometimes, great harm must be done in the short-term to ensure no harm is done in the long term. His mind is disciplined, his body trained, and his technique martialed. The warrior-monks inspired by him were legend, feared far and wide, assuming the aspects of animal savageness. One would be quite unlucky to find themselves on his bad side.”

“Good to know,” Jim pointed his rifle at a patch of tree outlined in blue on his HUD. “I'll pass that along to Tomah. Now, what am I looking for, again? The Commander said to 'attain the objective when you reach the waypoint,' but never gave us an Objective.”

“I can see no reason why the indicated position is special,” Vishnu replied.

“That's because this is my show,” Marion said as she wheeled Annie Oakley into position, cutting back the growth to reveal a clear view across the strait.

“This isn't a drill, is it?” Jim tried to make a face.

“That would be correct,” She laid supine and extended the feet of her mass driver, facing over the cliff, toward the Central Straits, extending as far as the eye can see.

“And who, then, are we jumping?” Jim took a knee and pointed his assault weapon at the ocean in the same direction as Marion.

“Who do you think?” She stated matter-of-factly. “Standish jumped a DPRC transport ship. It had some pretty precious cargo.”

“What's a DPRC transport doing in IA waters?” Jim tried to make a face again.

“Training exercises in the Northern Frontier,” she replied. “In other words, they got Siddhartha up and running and were stretching its legs.”

“And now Standish has Siddhartha?” Jim sounded a bit afraid. “But I thought Standish was working with the DPRC? Isn't that where you recovered me from the torture.”

“We never recovered you,” Marion's voice was hard. “Sixth Legion did. It was a whole campaign, apparently. None of us were even aware. Apparently Kumal tortured you or something, but I don't know the whole story. If I'm honest the whole thing is kind of a blur at this point. Carol kept us in the dark, mostly. Put us in a huge campaign in the Wilds while it was all going on.”

“Wait, who tortured me?” Jim paused a second.

“Standish. Did I stutter?” Marion replied with rushed hostility.

“Where's our backup? Why is she having us do this alone? Do you work for Tessa? What's going on!” Jim pointed his rifle at Marion.

“Woah, woah, woah,” she shot up and put her hands in the air. “Jim, wait, I can explain,” she waved her hands and backed away.

“Vishnu,” Jim said both into his com and aloud, “I want you to engage the hyperspeed field on my mark.”

“Just hold on!” Marion shouted into the comm. “I'm not on anyone's 'side'” She pulled her elbows down to her hips and kept her hands up, shaking them frantically. “I don't have any idea what's going on with them. They filled me in about everything when they promoted me. I'm a digital like you.”

“Keep talking,” Jim didn't lower his guard.

“I don't know much,” she held her hands still. “They told me about the whole computer simulation thing when Carol or Tessa or whoever got pulled away and I took over for her. I just know that they think this is some big defense project and that we're not real. Sounded like some cult shit at the time and I just nodded my head. I still don't know if I believe them, but I think I might be starting to with all that's going on.”

“So, what are we doing out here, then?” Jim kept his rifle trained right on center mass.

“Jumping Kumal. Standish. Fuck, I don't know!” She was desperate. “I'm supposed to drive two rounds through the transport ship as it crosses the strait. A javelin to disable it and a tracker so Carol-slash-Tessa can send the Third in and recover Siddhartha.”

“I mean, that's the plan,” Standish came over, putting sarcastic emphasis on “plan.” The bow of his boat just crossing into view along the strait.

“Standish!” Marion gasped and dropped down, training her rifle on the boat.

Jim did not flinch. He kicked the rifle to the side and pressed the weapon to the joint where the Plug screwed into the Core. “What did I just fucking say, Marion? Don't fucking move!”

“Attaboy Jim!” Standish came over, enthusiasm in his voice.

“You shut the fuck up, too,” Jim pulled the carbine mass driver off his back, loaded a round, and lobbed it at the boat. It clipped a part of the hull just above the deck, a twisted metal hole left in its wake.

“Hey man!” Standish freaked out. “Who's side are you on!”

“I'm fucking thinking!” Jim yelled into his comm. An alert klaxon was blaring in his HUD, red flashing on the cartoonified version of the core.

“That was not a wise move,” Vishnu spake clearly. “You did not engage the kinetic sync. That shoulder joint is in poor condition. You have ruptured the air cushion in the hydraulic actuator. Functionality is severely diminished. I have engaged the kinetic sync, should you choose to take another foolish shot.”

“Alright,” Jim said after shaking his head. “Here's what's going to happen. Standish, what are you doing here?”

“Baiting you out, duh,” he sounded nonplussed. “I sent Vishnu with you, and honestly, I kinda grew to like the self-righteous bastard. And, well, you hung up on me last time and we still need to talk.”

“Marion, up,” Jump signaled with his weapon. “We're clipping in and abseiling down. Standish, pick us up.”

“Wait, what the hell are you doing,” Marion stood Annie Oakley slowly, hands open by her chest again.

“Send over the main frequency that Standish anticipated us and he's taking us hostage,” Jim took the weapons off of Annie Oakley and lobbed them over the cliff. They made a dull, thudding crash into the rocky surf below.

“Hey, wait,” Standish replied, “only one of those things is true.”

“Right, because I'm taking her hostage and we're both going with you,” the compartment at Jim's thigh opened with a mechanical hiss. He withdrew his abseil line and pressed the long spike against the ground and slammed his fist onto the top. It tapped deep into the ground. He threw the rope tail over the cliff. It didn't go all the way to the surf but cut out about a hundred yards from the waterline. “Marion, clip in.”

“Alright, but I don't like this,” she said through the comm. “Base, this is Gold-one. Mission is a fail. Bogey had intel, we are in his charge. Repeat. Mission is a fail, we are apprehended by the Bogey.”

“Perfect,” Jim grabbed the line and let it slip through his hands and ran it under his butt, and then grabbed the rope again, sitting into the coil like a makeshift harness. He felt the simulated feel of rope in his palms. “Alright, let's go. I'll explain everything when we get to the ship, Marion, you just have to trust me.”

“You just had your gun at my neck,” she said deadpan.

“Because I thought you betrayed me. But I decided to trust you instead. I need you to do the same,” He flung himself over the edge, the coil sliding fast through his fingers. As he reached the crest of his arc and started swinging back toward the cliff face, he carefully tightened his grip, gently, so as to not let the immense friction burn his palm, but also firmly enough to slow his decent as his feet planted on the wall. After a short pause, Marion met him parallel, feet planted perpendicular to the sheer face.

“You better know what you're doing,” Marion came through. “You trashed my weapons.”

“Call it a 'leap of faith,'” Jim chuckled.

“If this doesn't get us killed, I'm going to kill you,” she retorted as they began the slow, arduous descent.

Once they reached the bottom, Standish had wheeled the transport as closely to them as he could. “You'll have to leap, if you can,” he came over.

“Vishnu?” Jim pulled up the trajectory computer.

“My omnipotence shall guide us. Jump at your discretion and I shall ensure our safe landing,” he replied. With a strong bound, Jim jumped backward arms out in a cross, body postured arched against the force. After what felt like seconds suspended like this, he pulled his knees to his chest, and flipped several times. At the last moment, he gainer'd into a front-flip, landed on the deck on his upper shoulders, summer-saulted, vaulting to his feet and carrying that momentum into a front-flip before landing square, arms in a Y-shape to the sky.

“That was some fancy force-vectoring, but I give it an 8.5, max,” Marion came through. Jim turned to look up at her on the cliff. She pushed away with a mighty thrusty, keeping her body flat through several twisting whip-backs, arms tucked against her chest. She planted hard, pushing against the landing into an incredibly high whip-back, pulling her knees in at the apex for several tight, rapid flips, before planting square and extending her arms up into the Y-shape.

“Very impressive,” Jim had Vishnu golf-clap. “Definitely a 9. I don't know how you planted without a roll on the landing and didn't blow out your kinetic syncs.”

“99.1% on landing,” she made a bow. “The computer actually predicted 101%, but it overestimates a few percentage points because of my sync ratio.”

“Vishnu underestimates a few points because of my sync ratios,” he half-replied to Marion. “I always end up blowing out my syncs.”

“If you were more controlled, you would not cause so much damage,” Vishnu replied.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jim snarked.

“If you're done, there are several other slips in the cargo hold,” Standish replied. “I can tech you out.”

***********************************************************************************

“I want all of us to switch,” Jim folded his hands on the table in black and white slate map room. “Not just me.”

“Define 'all of us,'” Terry O'Callaghan sneered, his gold teeth looking like void-spots in the dim light.

“Me and the team,” Jim hitched a thumb at Marion, who was sitting next to him.

“And do what with them, exactly?” he scrunched his nose and raised his hands to the sides. “They're all career soldiers. They're not like you, they were bred on the War server. All they know is conflict. They don't know how to operate in the regular world,” he scoffed.

“No man left behind,” Jim folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “I want to go, to be with your daughter, Molly, the girl I love. I want to be with her forever. But I can't leave my family behind.”

“Ugh,” he threw his hands into the air, shot out of his seat, and turned his back to them, folding his hands behind his back and pacing.

“This is what you get,” Dyman picked up, pulling back the corner of his mouth back. “Spoken like a true soldier,” he chuckled wryly.

“I mean,” Standish cocked an eyebrow and pulled the corner of his mouth down, “it's not like it's any more difficult than extracting Jim. I'll just pull them onto the blade, too, and inject them into the simulation, too.

“That's not the point!” he leaned down on the table, the harsh overhead light drawing deep shadows in the furrows of his face. “They don't fit any of the templates on the Utopia server. They'll throw off the whole simulation!” He threw his hands up again and continued to pace.

“I won't let my friends get nuked,” Jim sat resolute.

“What would you have me do, hmm?” Terry shot around the table faster than Jim could track, his scowl inches from Jim's face. His breath was smelt of spearmint.

“Give them a chance at a normal life.” Jim furrowed his brow and met his gaze.

“What, you think that her,” he shot up bolt straight and held a hand to Marion, “this intelligence that was hardened in a world of conflict and knows only killing and following orders, you think she can ever carry on as a banker? A Lyceum teacher? You think she can just give this life up so easily?”

“Yes,” Marion said deadpan. “Yes, I can, sir.”

“What?” Terry recoiled.

“I would like that, yes, sir.” Marion calmly folded her hands in her lap. “My dad was a lecturer. I joined up to piss him off. I stayed in to piss off my hippy Ex. Now, I fight because I don't know what else to do. If I had a way out? I'd take that in a second, sir.” She stared Terry dead in the eye, her dark skin glowing slightly with sweat, her hair pulled back, her deeply furrowed scowl on full display.

“What would all be?” Dyman inserted calmly, drawing everyone's attention to him.

“Tomah wants a farm out in the countryside, growing real crops. Adrian wants to be a gaming journalist. Blaize thinks he has the stock market cornered, like some Bridge game,” she chuckled softly to herself, “wants to run a hedge fund. Toni wants to get into custom printing. Thinks she has a killer idea for a new communicator design.”

“But what do you want?” Dyman emphasized the “you” and drilled a finger at her.

“I just want to retire, sir,” she shrugged. “Kick back on some SU beach and meet a pretty half-Wild wife who barely speaks Common. Raise kids. Do some surfing. Read a lot. Think. Maybe write a book.”

“I'm touched,” Standish put his hands over his heart and cocked his head to the side.

“Shut up,” Dyman scowled. “That's beautiful, Marion. We'll do whatever we can to make that a reality for you.”

“What are you saying, Blake?” Terry's jaw went slack and his eyes wide.

“You heard me,” Dyman's face was jagged, not even the comically gaudy jewelry softening its intensity. “I think it will be good for the simulation.”

“No!” He threw his hands up. “You've seen these guys in our world. They lose their minds! They drink all day, flashback to combat, and pick kids off from a water tower! Or, failing that, blow their brains out for their children to find. They're time bombs just waiting to go off!”

“I don't know about all that,” Standish pulled one arm across his body and rested his elbow on it, flopping his hand back and forth and resting it next to his chin, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth pulled down hard.

“Listen to yourself, Terry!” Blake slammed a hand on the table.

“Look,” Terry took his seat and leaned across the table, arm extended past the halfway point pleading, “I respect everything that you do. Truly. You're the lifeblood that protects the freedom of decent people, or at least that's what everyone tells you. And that's great! It's truly respectable. But you don't 'just' integrate back into peaceful society. It's a different world and your kind doesn't handle it well.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Marion replied, “stank” heavy on the “sir.” “We don't 'integrate back into peaceful society' well because people like you keep treating us like this. Yeah, I've known a couple of guys who got out of service after doing a tour through the Wilds and were never quite right afterward. But that's because your, quite frankly, fucked medical system threw them to the wolves without any support. It's because your 'decent people' treat us like pariahs. Like we're not 'of them.' You ignore every single successfully-reintegrated soldier and focus only on the random one-offs who you let slip through the cracks. Sir.”

“Ohhh shit,” Standish leaned his chair back hard, putting a balled up hand in front of his mouth and pulling a knee to his chest.”Check and mate, bro. I think she wins.”

“So do we have a deal?” Jim, arms still folded, leaning back in his chair, cocked his head forward, a slight smirk creasing his cheeks.

Terry pulled back, dropping his arms to his sides, deflated. “Yeah,” he twirled a finger in the air and let it drop back lifelessly to his side, “they can come, too.”

Greyhat: Issue 5 -Jay-Z is a Lizardman

 “Pass the spliff would you?” Rosa said it with an extended “ee” sound, and not a short “ih” sound. Cretin.

I took another long drag off the finger-sized joint and passed it to my left, always to the left, who passed it to Rosa. “Another round?” I grabbed my phone off the night stand and checked my messages. Nothing.

“Can't,” Raul took a long hit off the joint before handing it back to me. I put down my phone and took a massive, lung-filling hit. “I only have Giancarlo's babysitter for another...” he held up his wrist, parallel to the bed,” ...oh! Thirty minutes. I have to jet,” he jumped up from the bed and started putting his pants on. “How's my hair look?” He turned to us.

“Great!” I said winked and held up two thumbs.

“Don't listen to him,” Rosa swatted me and took the joint, “he's an idiot. There's a comb in the bathroom. Use it. And the scope, I can smell the cum on your breath from all the way over here,” she took a massive hit, filling the space in front of her with hazy smoke. “And I can't either. I have to show in a few hours,” she shooed me out of bed.

I reached to grab the joint, but Rosa pulled it away. I recoiled in faux-shock and held my hand to my chest. She held the blunt in front of my mouth. I took another fat rip and then started to get my own pants on. “You could probably use the Scope, too” I said to Rosa, “I'm not saying your breath smells like asshole and alcohol, but I'd hazard that even a five-year-old would say that you like to eat tossed salad with your mimosa, if you catch my drift.” I pulled on my shirt, buttoned it up leaving the top two undone, wrapped my coat on, and stuffed my tie into my front pocket.

“Well, it tastes like I just ran drank from a used toilet bowl full of vodka,” she turned the corners of her lips down and scraped her tongue against her top teeth as she pushed out between her ruby-red lips, the lipstick a bit smeared on the left side.

“Ditto,” Raul said from the bathroom after a gargle and a spit. “Probably because you snowballed me his load after you fulched it out of my ass,” he emerged from the en-suite with his hair perfectly coiffed, adjusting his double-Windsor.

“Or after I snowballed you his load after fulching it out of your ass,” I adjusted my french cuffs. I managed to get the shirt off without undoing the cufflinks, but getting it back on without messing with them was far trickier.

“Alright, alright,” she took another long drag off the doobie before passing the roach to Raul, who killed it with a final diaphram-buster. “Now both of you get out of here, I have to get ready for my show.” Raul and I had congregated by the foyer. She held a finger-phone to the side of her head and mouthed “call me.”

I held my hand to my chest and mouthed “moi” as theatrically as possible. She revolted, shook her head “no,” pointed at Raul, angled her head down, gave him the eyebrow, mouthed “you,” and air-kissed him. I scrunched my face at her and left the room. Raul lowered his left eyebrow, gave her a kissy face, and left with me.

“So, how long have you and Rosa been working together?” I shoved my hands into my pocket as we waited for the elevator.

“Oh, you know...” he shoved his hands into his own pockets and angled his head down, eyes fixated at something invisible on the ground which he fake-kicked.

“Look, I don't really care,” I shrugged as the elevator dinged open.

“I know, It's just...” he palmed the bellhop a bill inside a strong, two-handed handshake.

“Right, don't worry about it,” I brushed some fake dust off my shoulder. “Think nothing of it.”

The bellhop turned the corners of his mouth down and visibly resisted a wretch. “Sir, would you like a breath mind?” He held up a box of Altoids.

“Oh shit,” I cupped my hand in front of my face, breathed out, and then sniffed in. It was rancid. “Please. Christ, I'm sorry you had to smell that,” I took several mints and lined the inside of my mouth.

“I've smelt worse,” he looked off to the corner of the elevator as a shudder wracked his young body.

The elevator dinged on the bottom floor, “You sir,” I said as I palmed him a bill myself as we got off, “are a trooper. Keep fighting the good fight,” I doffed my fake cap before the brass doors slid shut. “Anyway,” I addressed to Raul as we crossed the lobby and arrived at the glass double-doors, “it was a good time,” I held out a hand.

Raul took it and shook it firmly. I felt a piece of paper in my hand, I palmed it back and put my hand in my pocket casually, “It was a joy, my friend,” he smiled warmly and exited. I held back and pulled out the note. It read Raul.for.hire@hitbox.com xoxo and had a weird logo underneath it: a hammer crossed with a piece of wheat inside a triangle that itself was nested inside a shield. Underneath that was Lorenzo's pizza 7/21. It made just about no sense to me, so I stuffed it into my wallet, shoved it into my back pocket, and walked out the door.

“Perfect,” I said as I looked over the car and then palmed the valet a bill in exchange for the keys. He held the back door open for me and I climbed in, doffing my faux-cap as he shut it behind me. “Home, please” I told the car. It silently whisked me away. My phone started buzzing. She was calling me. I pulled it out and answered, “How did you know I was done?”

“I have a bug on your phone,” she waved at her phone's front-facing camera before sitting down and adjusting it such that her face and cleavage filled the entire frame. “I saw your GPS trace starting to leave the du Cleffe.”

“I thought I turned GPS off on my phone,” I adjusted my phone until my own face fit the full frame from a higher angle. The lower one was making my nose look huge.

“You did,” she smirked. “Are you on your way home?”

“I am,” I lowered both my brows and pulled my mouth to a side.

“Good,” she started walking, but kept her face in frame. “We need to talk about something very important when you get back,” she had the tone that made my heart sink several levels. That “we're breaking up” tone.

“Uhh,” I furrowed my forehead and raised an eyebrow, “I don't like how you said that,” I pulled my mouth to the side dramatically for emotive effect.

“It's not like that,” she stopped in the kitchen.

“Alright,” I raised my brows high. “Hey, quick question, you know what this is?” I pulled out Raul's card and showed her the logo.

“Oh yeah,” she squinted at the screen. “The Parksdale Group. They're like the pretend Free Masons or the Elks or whatever. They have 'secret' meetings around town. I say 'secret' but they're pretty well known. I'm guessing you got it on a business card or something?”

“Yeah,” I turned the card over. It was blank on the other side, just the text on the front. “My buddy Raul gave it to me.”

“Yep, that's how they get ya,” she smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You get an invite and a location, then they send you on a treasure hunt. The whole thing is all smoke-and-mirrors cult shit. Robes and chanting and ceremonies and the like. A couple of the hackers on the message boards are always trying to recruit people. It's actually pretty neat if all that cloak and dagger shit gives you a boner.”

“Yeah, I'm not really looking to join the Illuminati and discuss how the president is actually a Lizard-Person,” I scrunched my nose. “What about business connections? Any big names in the organization?”

“Well,” she pulled her cheeks up but didn't smile, “yes and no. There are a TON of big-name banking CEOs and tech firm giants that are a part of the Parksdale squad, but the whole thing is super anonymous. You'd never even see their faces.”

“Yeah,” I made the same face at her, “but there are like, after-parties and secret handshakes and all that shit. I could totally go to some CEO with a hack and give him the cocka-doodle-doo, yeah?” I put the back of my hand under my chin and wiggled my fingers.

“I mean,” She picked up a joint and took a fat drag. Her cleavage heaved. It kinda got me chubby. Jesus she was a looker. “I guess? I dunno. They kinda Scientology your ass, too.”

“Fuck, you mean...” I trailed off.

“'Tiered membership,'” she croaked, holding the smoke in as she made airquotes.

“Yeah, fuck that noise,” I scrunched my nose, hard, and shook my head. “Money pit, bro. Didn't you see what happened to Will Smith?”

“Yeah, steer clear, my man,” she exhaled a massive cloud. “When will you be home?”

“Dunno, soon? I'm at the turnpike,” I pulled out of frame and craned my head to look out the deeply-tinted window. “Why are you so ansy?”

“Oh, you know,” she bit her lower lip and turned her head to the side. Her lids were heavy and she had on a ton of smoky-eye. Bedroom eyes, I believe they're called.

“Slow down there, Cornea Pila Regina,” I pulled the corner of my lips down and my chin into my neck, “what happened to your anti-dick stance? And, aren't you trying to revive Vibranatia?”

“I sold Vibranatia like, months ago,” she took another massive hit, this time off a vape pen. “And I don't want your dick,” she exhaled, the phone turning into a white cloud, her face slowly emerging as the vapor dissipated. “I have a Japanese robotics firm making me a new one. Fully mobile with a rudimentary AI and over twenty-five servos in the face alone. I'm pumped.”

“And how much is this costing?” I scrunched my nose and cocked my head to the side.

“Too much,” she vaped again. “But, it's an investment. I already have a ton of guys on the forum who want one if mine turns out good and the robotics firm said they'd profit-share. So, potentially, negative dollars?”

The 'Cedes pulled into the garage. Before I could open the door just a wall of loud techno music assaulted my ears. I made my way through the hallway and into her room, where the music was at near-deafening levels.

“HEY!” I shouted standing right next to her. She didn't flinch. I punched her shoulder.

“Ow!” she explained as the music cut off instantly. She pulled the earplugs she had in out and started rubbing her shoulder. “That was rude,” she frowned and looked up at me, batting her eyes quickly.

“Was that some of my shit?” I sat down on my customary chair and looked at the screen.

“Yeah, your Vegas set from last year,” she spun around and puffed on her vape. She was sitting in her chair with her feet against her chest. “I still can't believe they let you spin at EDC.”

“I was on one of the smallest side stages,” I sneered, “the only person who really listened to my whole set was some methed-out tweaker having one of the worst rolls of his life.”

“That's not true,” she clucked her teeth and patted my back, “there was also like fifteen drunk frat kids and half a dozen mormons.”

“Ok, you know what I mean,” I shrugged the pat away. She was wearing a barely-there set of daisy dukes, and I just noticed, no panties. “What did you want to 'talk' about?”

“Oh, Bern called,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross-applesauce, her revealing pants still particularly revealing. “Eyes up here, buckwheat,” she did the little V-finger eye thing.

“Sorry, it's just, you know...” I didn't break eye contact with her exposed “area.”

She slapped me. “Deal with it,” she lifted my chin and forced eye contact.

“Sorry,” I rubbed my cheek. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“I know,” She turned back to the computer. “I'll give you one guess who put out the hit.”

“Swiss Black?” I turned to the computer.

“You got it,” she pulled up a couple websites. “Now, here's where it gets interesting. Guess who commissioned your little harlot's latest art show?” She clicked around and pulled up a couple social media profiles.

“Swiss Black?” I repeated.

“No, A guy named Anders Blegojego,” she brought up a picture of a square-jawed, portly man.

“And he works for Swiss Black?” I furrowed my brow.

“No, he works for a firm called Blankeship Holdings,” she brought up a company profile.

“And they own Swiss Black?” I squinted, trying to make out the text on the massive screen.

“No, Blankeship Holdings is an investment firm that 'pre-bought' that little slut's work for about a Million-large per painting, as an 'investment in future valuation,'” she brought up a news article explaining it all.

“So, how does all of this relate to Swiss Black?” I shook my head and threw my hands up.

“Oh, it doesn't,” she turned to face me, casually dropping her left hand to subtly hide her snatch from my line of sight. “I just hate the bitch.”

“Uggggggh,” I spun in my chair and threw my hands up. “Is this what you desperately needed to talk about?” I stood up out of the chair and put my hands on my hips.

“No,” she widened her eyes and batted her eyelashes at me again, gently frowning and sniffling. “No, that was the Swiss Black thing. Also that Agent Milonoski wants to talk to us in private.” She sniffled again.

“That fake innocent shit doesn't work on me,” I pulled my brow down farther.

“Your heart is made of ice,” She snapped out of character instantly.

“I know,” I straightened up and folded my arms. “I was married to the 'harlot' for a very long time. I'm immune.”

“Well,” she planted her feet on the ground and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands behind her head. “I'm not planning on putting panties on any time soon, want to head to the gay bar and try to score?”

“I just had hot, sticky sex with Rosa and the hitman she was working with. They planned on killing me for the bounty, but we ended up just fucking it out,” I cocked my hip out.

“So, is that a yes?” She cocked a single eyebrow.

“I mean, yeah,” I shrugged.

“Perfect,” she snapped up. She was also not wearing a bra. The sweatshirt she was wearing was cropped to reveal her shapely, toned mid-section. She wasn't skinny, by any stretch, but she was tight. Not an ounce of cellulite on her. The previously-mentioned rap guys would refer to her as “thick.” It was pretty irresistable. The sweater also had most of the neckline cropped so that it would sit off-shoulder, Clarissa Explains It All-status, just, you know, without literally anything else on underneath it.

“Where do you want to go?” I looked at my watch.

“I mean, what time is it?” she looked at her phone.

“Like 2:30?” I felt a buzz on my leg. E-mail from Raul. 12:30, xoxo.

“None of the clubs are open until like 6, and it's not like there's anyone there until like midnight, anway,” she crossed her arms and flopped back down into the chair.

“So what do you want to do, instead?” I flopped back down into my chair, as well.

“Well, now I'm all super horny,” she started rubbing her nethers with both hands.

“I mean, we sort of have a pact,” I raised an eyebrow, flared my nostrils, and cocked my head.

“I know, I know, no fucking each other without a third party,” she shoved her arms into her armpits crosswise and hunched her head down.

“And again,” held my hands up next to my head, “what ever happened to not liking dick?”

“I don't,” she stayed hunched over. “But I'm horrnneeeyyy.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe,” I held a finger to my chin, “we should show a little restraint and just, you know, not have sex when we feel like we want to have sex, and wait for a contextually-appropriate moment?”

She looked me dead in the eye, stone-faced, and furrowed her brow. “Bwahahahahahahah,” she and I broke out into simultaneous laughter. “Are you fucking joking? We're fucking rich man! The world is our oyster. An oyster I want to have licked whenever I feel so inclined.”

“True that,” we high-fived. “I mean, what's the point of holding thousands of people's lives ransom if we can't enjoy selling our souls, amirite?”

“Exactly,” she turned to her computer. “So, hookers and Chinese takeout?”

“Sounds good to me,” I reached into my jacket and checked my phone. No messages. “Do you know a place where we can get both?”
“I know Chinese food and cocaine, and cocaine and hookers, but no Chinese food and hookers,” she pulled up some code stuff and started clacking away.

“Well, just order some Chinese food and cocaine and I'll find some hookers, Ok?” I pulled up my address book and leafed through my contacts.

Greyhat: Issue 4 - The Hard Hit

 "MY BENNY," She shouted after emerging from the bathroom first. I had eaten all of my food and all of hers before she had finished. Her hair was a mess.

"You snooze, you lose, bitch," I smirked. Cheryl emerged from the stall. She was a wreck. Disheveled, sweaty, her hair worse than hers. "Damn," I raised both my eyebrows at her.

"Wha?" Cheryl said through a fog. Her mind was obviously not all there.

"That bitch has no idea what's going on," she flopped a hand at Cheryl and stormed over to the booth and slammed her hands down on the table, hard, "YOU ATE MY BENNIES." There was literal fire in her eyes. Figuratively literal fire.

"It was bennies or Cheryl and you know what you chose to eat," I leaned back and crossed my arms.

"You...ate...my...bennies..." she flopped into the booth stall and stared at her empty plate.

"Cheryl, would you be so kind?" I pointed a hand to the plate.

"More...?" She was still not all together. She grabbed the empty plate. It sagged in her hand. Pathetic.

"YES MORE," she stood up on the booth and screamed in Cheryl's face. Chery dropped the plate. Thankfully, it didn't shatter. She picked it up and wended dumbfoundedly to the terminal, the plate lolling into a bus tub near the station.

"Soooo, how was it?" I cupped my chin in my my hands and smirked.

"I don't know how she did it," she pulled out her phone and began adjusting her hair and clothes, "but she legitimately fisted me. Full-on fist-in-pussy action. It's insane," she held her phone to her teeth and began trying to pick something out of it with a fork tine.

"Wait, full-on fist-in-pussy, no lube?" I turned my head and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Not even that lame crumpled chop thing, either," she held her hand out. The fingers were in a sort of cone shape. I got the idea. "Full on Cinderella Man in my hooch," she changed her fingers from the loose cone shape to a tight balled fist.

"Damn son," I quirked my eyebrow again and nodded my head, "that's some tight shit."

"Well, technically," she turned her head to the side and raised her eyebrows

"Ayyyy," I finger-gunned her.

"Ayyyy," she finger-gunned me back.

"But seriously, though," I leaned in and pulled my lips flat, "you guys sounded like a bunch of gorillas in there. People looked. It was weird," I made eye contact with one of the patrons on the other side of the diner. He gave me quite a cross look. I just pointed at her and shrugged with my hands to the sky.

"Here," Cheryl, a bit more composed but still dazed, dropped the plate of eggs in front of her. "Made special," she waggled her hips and winked.

"Thank you," she smiled up at her innocently and dove in.

"Do they...?" I trailed off.

"Is that...?" She picked up.

"They smell like..." we both shot a glance at Cheryl. She patted two fingers to her crotch area and then held them to her mouth, split them in a V, and flicked her tongue between it.

"Ewwwww," she pushed the plate away from her.

I pulled out a thick knot of bills I kept in a money clip in my front pocket, peeled off a few hundreds and dropped them on the table. "Car, please," I said out loud. We both waved at Cheryl as we left. "Goodbye Grace," I doffed my non-existant cap at her. There is no way a hat would grace this haircut. I got it from a bespoke Italian barber. The fade too fresh to hide under a lid.

Grace didn't reply. Instead, she pulled her chin into her neck and flared her nostrils. It was not a pretty expression on an already-not-pretty face.

"What was her deal," she said to me as we exited the diner. Our car, as expected, was waiting for us on the curb.

"Um," I opened the door for her, "need I reiterate the gutteral, primal noises that emerged from the bathroom?"

"Dude, I told you, she's totally into butt stuff," she lowered her head and eyebrows.

"Wait, did she..." I turned my head and inhaled sharply, "...Hadoken?"

"Ka-me-ha-me-ha!" we both yelled in unison while making a double-fisted punch.

"Home, please," she said innocently as she settled into her seat and pulled her phone out.

I pulled out my own. You're safe. Stay inside until the notice spreads. "Looks like we're in the clear," I shook the phone at her. Who bought the hit? I replied back before I put it back into my lapel pocket.

"Good," she replied as she continued to peck at her phone. "Hey, any word on our other hacks?"

"Nah," I leaned back and picked my e-cig back up. "They're all pretty small-bananas and no one is really willing to pony what we're asking."

"There's a new off-shore firm that just posted in Luxemborg that is offering bounties. I might give them a shot," she tossed me her phone.

It was open to a bank site for some place called Rulegard and Hoffmeister that was advertising no-questions-asked numbered accounts, a favorite of haven-seekers and illicit financiers. I chucked the phone back to her, "Anything worth the effort?"

"They'll give a hundred large if you can link accounts," she caught it and shrugged, spinning the phone around and began pecking away at it again. "That's not nothing."

"Nah, that's not bad. Any vector restraints?" I pulled my buzzing phone out again. This could be yours right now was followed by a low-perspective shot of a vagina. I put the phone away, again.

"Usual. They'll only pay out if I can prove a connection to their service," she jumped across the cabin and sat next to me, cuddling against my arm. She showed me her phone screen, "What do you think of this?" It was a chair called the "Scorpian ZXR" a full-integrated reclining workstation with 3 monitors mounted on a gantry arm that could adjust so you could work laying at a 135-degree angle, all yours for the low-low price of $16,000.

"I think that's three less monitors than what you have right now," I flicked the pictures to the side and leafed through the other images. It was, in all fairness, an extremely impressive chair.

"Well, I want a new gadget," she crossed her arms and stuffed her phone into her armpit with a harumph. "What do we need?"

"Well, let's see," I took a massive drag off my cig and then squashed it out, "we have the full home theater, you've got the Wall-o'-Screens, there's the anechoic listening room with horn speakers in the basement, I have my DJ Studio, the full chef's kitchen we never use, the full woodshop in the second garage, the autoshop in the first garage, the forge in the third garage, the gym we never use, complete with sauna, jacuzzi, and steam room, the game room, the arcade, aaaand the library. Did I miss anything?"

"The budoir!" she exclaimed excitedly as she pulled her phone out again. "What about this?" She pulled up a picture of a riding Sybian toy. "I've always wanted one of these. That dude on the talk-show makes celebrities sit on it while he interviews them. That always makes me wanna touch myself."

"Didn't you also want to get a barn?" I squinted an eye at her and pulled a smirk.

"No," she let the phone screen drop away, "you suggested I get a barn because I said I used to ride horses when I was a little girl and that's how I broke my hymen."

"Didn't you also want to, you know..." I made a pulling motion, "...with the...?"

"No!" she swatted my arm with her free hand and pulled away from me. "Again, I said that the first time I ever got off was riding a horse, too, and you said that we should get a bunch of barn animals for me to fuck because you saw a donkey show in Tijuana and she, quote, 'looked like she was really enjoying herself,' end quote."

"I was really wasted, wasn't I?" I shrugged my shoulders up and squinted an eye.

"Xanax, Vicoden, aaaand a pint of Bacardi, if memory serves," she tapped a finger to her chin.

"Ahh yes, I was balls-deep in an Egyptian whore, too, right?" I leaned back and reveled in the moment. Good times, my friend, good times.

"First," she held up her pinky, "she wasn't a whore, she was a tripped out raver you picked up at the club you were spinning at." She held up her ring, "Second, it was Dubai, not Egypt, though now that you mention it, she might actually have been Egyptian, I don't remember." She held up her middle finger. I loved the way she counted on her hand, it was just so quaint, "And third, she turned out to be the teenage neice of some sheikh and is the reason we're on a no-entry list in Saudi Arabia, so I take that back, definitely not Egyptian, you're just racist."

"That would explain why she kept hitting me every time I called her Cleopatra," I folded my hands behind my neck and reclined until I was almost plank-straight. "Good times, my friend, good times," I repeated, this time out loud.

"Bern had to sneak us onto a private jet and smuggle us out from a secret Russian air strip," she pulled her lips into a straight line.

"I know, right?" I corrected upright and shook my hands at her, "how fucking James Bond is that shit?"

"Ok," she relented, "it was pretty badass, now that I think about it."

The car pulled into the driveway and I got up to open the door for her. A gentleman always holds the door for a lady. "Hey, I'm going to go follow up on this Lutrox lead, I'll catch you later tonight?"

"Ugghh," her voice went from breathy to shrill at the end. "Fine, go philander with the Ex, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Right right," I shoed her out the door, and walked her to the back of the garage, "be safe, stay inside. We just bought out a contract. Turn up the security system, I'll text you when I'm heading home. If I'm heading back."

"You be safe, too," she leaned against the doorjamb. "Love you, bro."

"Love you, too," I shut the door to the garage and jumped into the back of the Phantom. Special times call for a special car. "The place, please." The car pulled out of the garage and silently sped away.

The Phantom was a uniquely different experience than the 'Cedes. It was like everything was turned to 11. Pure magic. OMW, I texted her

Hurry, she replied, followed by another low-angle shot of her three-fingers-deep in silk-clad muff. She sent me another picture of her with those same goey fingers in her mouth, followed by Show it to me.

You know I don't do dick pics. I snapped a pic of a bottle of Viagra and pulled a joint of fine Colorado green gold out from the cigarette case in the center console.

No V and wait for me. She sent me a close-up of her breasts. They looked larger than I remember, but then again, they were still pretty tiny. Perfectly tiny, extremely perfectly tiny, but tiny still. Maybe I'd just been spoiled by heavy chests since our last time.

I sat in silence and contemplated the day as it had transpired thus far, with it's odd twists and lucrative turns, while the Phantom silently, effortlessly wended through the city streets and delivered me to the front of the Hotel du Cleffe, one of the swankiest joints in the metropolis. "Don't scuff it, that thing's worth more than your life to me," I tossed the valet the key. He caught it sauvely and nodded a 'yes sir,' before gingerly pulling it off into the private lot.

"Rosa San Marco's room, please..." I leaned on the front desk to read the attractive woman's nametag as she clacked away at the keyboard, "err, Grace."

"And you are?" She didn't look up at me from her keyboard.

"There should be a key for me," I pointed at the boxes in the back, "under Pablo Escobar."

"Ah," she finally looked up and met eyes with me. They were striking blue and she chouldn't have been older than twenty-five. "Mr. Escobar, Rosa is expecting you in room 215."

"Great, could you send up a bottle of champagne, too?" I stopped dead as I walked away from the desk, "Don Perignon. Do you have a 2002?"

"We have a 1990 and a 1971," she returned to clacking away at her keyboard.

"Send up the '90," I finger-gunned her. "She's not worth the '71," I held the gun and gave her an extended-duration wink.

"Right, sir," she glanced up at me from her keyboard, but only for a split-second.

I made my way past the grandoise marble lobby and into the elevator alcove. The doors were polished yellow brass and the whole white stone room was plastered in modern art. I never liked colorscapes and all that Polluck stuff, but it seems that all of the city hotels had prints in their lobbies. The elevators, as one would expect, were themselves lined with velour and had a bellhop.

"Second floor, please," I palmed him a bill.

"Yes, sir," the hop took it like a pro and pressed the button.

I never did see the point of tipping him to press a button I could just as easily press. I was told it was 'Nobless Oblige' and a benificence to uplift the common folk, but that always seemed to me like rich-people-speak for guiltless bragging. We dinged on the floor, I disembarked, and knocked on her door.

She answered by cracking the door slightly. I pushed in. She was on the bed by the time I got through the foyer, lounging nude, her body draped in a thin mostly-transparent sheet. "What took you so long big guy?"
"Had to drop off the old ball-and-chain, you know how it goes," I loosened my tie and threw my suit jacket onto a nearby arm chair and sat side-saddle on the bed in front of her.

"Good," she languidly dragged a finger up my thigh, "wouldn't want her getting in the way of our fun, now would we?" She wandered her finger up my body. When she got to my neck, she pulled me in and held a long, passionate kiss.

"Definitely not," I suavely lingered before responding. "Not that she cares, but this time is just for us, my love."

"I'm not 'your love' anymore," she pushed me down onto the bed, stradled me, and passionately kissed me. "And I don't care if she cares or not," She began to ravenously unbutton my shirt. I was thankful I went tanning last week. She pressed her very naked body against mine as she pinned my arms down and began kissing her way down my now-bare chest. She started to undo my belt with her teeth.

"It's not like she and I are dating or anything," I propped myself up on an elbow as she undid the button and fly, still with her teeth. "And, if memory serves you're the one who left me for someone else."

She grabbed my pants and pulled them down to my ankles, kissing my legs as she went. "I didn't leave you for someone else. I slept with an art dealer so he would sell my paintings and you kicked me out."

"For five years, Rosa," I propped myself up on my other arm. "You slept with him regularly for 5 years. Uggh," I moaned as she took me into her mouth. She did this, thing, with her tongue? I moaned again.

"'At 'as 'ike 'ewen 'ears a'o," she said around me.

"Eight, actually," I leaned back and let her continue to work me. It was quite good. So good, in fact, that if I weren't a man of such resolute character and sterling morality, I might consider a second run just to get this on the regular. "And don't talk with your mouth full."

She gripped it firmly by the base and pulled her mouth off, "Can we not talk about this right now? I'm trying to suck your dick," she slammed her mouth down so deep I could feel her throat trying to digest its head.

"Ugghh..." I moaned loudly for a protracted period of time. Seriously, I suck cock like a goddamned champion. Dudes have stalked me for my skills, and I have no fucking idea what she was doing to be so good. I moaned again. Legitimately, I've tried to pay attention so I can steal her tricks and it doesn't feel like she's doing anything unique. She's just better. It would almost be annoying if it weren't so fucking good. I looked down to watch her perform her art. My abs were a bit obscured at the bottom and the way the skin was bunching hid the last two groups. Not enough crunched. I'll need to skip a few meals, too. I flopped back as my hips bucked up to drive it deeper into her mouth. "I mean, 8 years is long enough, right?" I put my forearm over my eyes and involuntarily bucked again. "That's why God created reconciliation and second chances, right?"

She pulled her mouth off again, "You don't believe in God and I don't want a second chance," she kissed her way back to my lips and then shimmied the lower part of herself onto me.

"Uggh," I pulled out of the kiss and moaned in her ear as I wrapped my hand behind her head and gripped a fistful of thick black hair. My hips bucked to try and get deeper.

"Careful!" she leaned onto my chest and pulled her hips up skillfully. "You forget you're like a foot and a half taller than me."

"Sorry," I grabbed each cheek of her supple buttocks firmly with each hand as I gingerly guided her along me. I leaned forward to try and flip her onto her back so I could, er, have my way, as it were.

She grabbed me by both wrists and flopped them over my head, leaning her whole weight on them. "Nuh, uh uh," she said as she pulled a hand off my wrist and put a finger to my lips. She slid off me, reached into the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed, and pulled out two pair of handcuffs.

"Oh ho ho, I'm sorry officer, did I do something wrong?" I slid myself up to the headboard of the bed and leaned back against it, dropping both arms to my sides.

"You've been a very naughty boy," she said as she climbed back on me, taking me into her again. "Mmmmh," she softly wimpered into my ear as I throbbed inside her. She was right, viagra was absolutely unnecessary. She locked my hands into the slats of the headboard as she slowy worked her hips up and down. I believe those rap guys call it "twerking." She pulled off again and stood next to the bed, giving me a passionate kiss before she started waggling her hips away.

"Hey, where are you going?" I watched her supple ass, with just the absolute perfect amount of jiggle, undulate away from me.

"You've been particularly naughty," she turned at the waist and propped her hand on her hip. "I have something special for you."

"Ooo, be nice officer," I shook my lower half, causing myself, who was very at attention, to waggle back and forth a bit. "Be gentle. I am weak and fleshy."

"Ugh," she sighed, her hand dropping from her hip as she sauntered away, disappearing into the back en-suite. She reappeared shortly, wrapped in a scandelously silky robe, followed by a posh, swarthy young man carrying a gun.

"Raul?" My boner was still embarassingly raging. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Hit, bro," he started screwing on a silencer. "Baby here needs a new Lamborghini," he held an open palm to Rosa.

"First off, before you get any farther than this, check your contract. I just bought it out," I furrowed my brow and cocked my head to the side. "So, killing me will yield no payday. Second, you two are working together?"

"Fuck, really?" Rosa bounded to the night stand and checked her phone. "Shit, he's right. Hit was retracted from the bounty board. Fuck!" she dropped her hands to her side and locked eyes with Raul.

"Um, hi?" I jingled the cuffs against the headboard.

She completely ignored me, "so, what do we do now?"

Raul made a head motion to me without breaking eye contact with Rosa. She made a look at him I couldn't see and then he turned his head toward me, and double-taked. "Wait, are you still hard?" Raul finally acknowledged me. "Jesus, man."

"What?" I looked down at my pulsing member innocently.

Rosa made another face at Raul that I couldn't see. "Wait, really?" he looked at me again briefly before furrowing his forehead and dropping his mouth open at her.

"Well," Rosa ran her hands down the front of her body and shook herself against the silky robe, "I mean, just look at it."

Raul locked eyes onto me, or rather it, and raised his eyebrows, pushed his lips together and turned his head to the side, "it is pretty glorious, the way it's glistening in the light just so from your juices." he pulled his lower lip up and bit the top of his soul patch, flaring his nostrils.

"Wait, is what's about to happen what I think's about to happen?" I batted my head back and forth between Rosa and Raul.

"You fuck me, he fucks you?" Rosa said to Raul, still not acknolwedging me.

"Done," he said as he shrugged, bounded to the nightstand, put his pistol down, and started taking off his sport coat.

Rosa undid her robe and put her phone down on the nightstand next to Raul's gun. "If you get off before me or Raul, I swear to God, I will shoot your dick off myself. Got it?"

"Fuck yeah," I throbbed with excitement. She open-hand slapped me. Hard. "Sorry mistress. Yes, mistress."

"Much better," she kissed me aggressively on the lips. "If you're lucky, I might even let you have sloppy seconds."

Chapter 20 - All Is Revealed

 “...what?” with monumental effort, he hoisted his chin off of his chest. “Where...?” he lolled his head side-to-side as the world slowly returned to him. The room was hard to make out through the haze, but the grey concrete walls were yellowed by the single overhead light. With a few heavy blinks the room started to crystallize in front of him.

“Welcome back to the land of the...well...sort-of-living,” Standish waved his hand in front of him. He, Dyman, and Terry were sitting around a white Formica table at which Jim was also sitting.

“Sort of?” Jim tried to bring his hands up to his face when he realized they were taped behind him, to the back of the chair. His feet were taped to the legs of the chair, as well. “What the hell?” Jim looked at Standish, confused.

“Just a precaution,” Terry nodded sternly. “We can't have you running off and making a mess of all our hard work, now could we?”

“Where am I?” Jim's tone was clipped and serious.

“Somewhere secret,” Dyman laid both of his heavily jeweled hands on the table, “ somewhere safe. Be calm.”

“Has Tessa found us yet?” Terry asked Dyman, “or Tim? Are we sure this zone is safe?”

“We're safe,” Dyman put one of his big hands on Terry's shoulder, “don't fret. We are hidden and clear, I'd bet.”

“We're safe,” Standish hadn't broken eye contact with Jim but did to shoot them both a glance. “I coded this one myself. None of them know about this space. We were gonna use it for an interrogation scene after the moon base escape.”

Jim closed his eyes and tried to invoke his Augs, see if he could get any contact with the outside world. “Hey!” Jim shouted. “What the hell did you do to my Augs?”

“We took them out,” Standish shrugged. “They were using the Aug API to monitor you so I had to remove them.”

“What!” Jim struggled as hard as he could against the tape. The chair slid around and almost fell over before Standish reached out and slapped him. The blow knocked him out of his furor and the adrenaline and rage focused him. “What the fuck do you mean 'monitor me.'” He said through gritted teeth, more statement than inquiry.

“Look, will you shut up?” Standish sneered slightly and furrowed his brow, lifting his fingers off the table and rolling them onto his palms. “How am I supposed to explain my evil plan to you if you're talking?”

“So you are the villain, now?” Jim turned his head, licked the blood from where his cheek had dug into his teeth, and spat some to the side of the table.

“No, figure of speech,” Standish leaned back in his chair and let his hands fall into his lap limply. “It may be hard to believe, but we're actually the good guys.”

“Wow,” Jim threw his head back laughing. “Since when did stealing a military weapon, hacking a government database, flying to the moon, and holding the planet ransom with recommissioned nuclear weapons become 'the good guys.'” Jim laughed again.

“Well...” Dyman started without finishing.

“If that were the truth, that would be quite difficult to explain,” Terry continued, clasping his hands in front of him

“...but that isn't what's going on here.” Standish finished. “Now, Jim. I seriously need you to listen. If you let me finish, I promise you'll believe me, but you won't believe me until I finish. Alright?”

“No,” Jim spat again, this time not as much red. “but I'll let you say what you want.”

“Good!” Standish let the chair fall forward, and shot up dart-straight, the chair sliding back with an audible screech behind him. “Jim, you're not real,” he folded his clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing around the table. “This world isn't real. None of this is,” he waived his hands around. “This is all a computer simulation. I made you.” He rested his hands on Jim's shoulders. He tried to shrug them off, but his hands were taped. “NRI doesn't stand for 'New Roman Industries,” It stands for “Nordhem Rondolph, Inc.”

Terry waved, “Hi, I'm Nordhem,” he smiled, his gemmed gold teeth sparkling under the ruddy yellow light. “Standish, or rather Kumal Shrinivasa, is our CTO, lead Dev, and the creative brains behind this whole research project.”

“I'm Blake Sheil,” Dyman waved, “I'm the CEO. Or, rather, I was.”

Jim sat unmoved.

“Well,” Standish leaned down. Jim turned his head to the side and made eye contact. He was very excited, “aren't you going to say 'that's impossible,' or 'Really? My life is a lie!' or 'I knew it!' or something?” Standish's smile was hanging open, his eyes were equally as wide, and Jim noticed they were no longer the bluish-white anymore.

Jim continued to sit, unmoved.

“See you guys,” he stood up straight and held a hand to Jim, “this is what I'm talking about. His behavior is completely unpredictable. He's completely transcended any of the predefined personality profiles,” he held a hand to his mouth and whispered loudly into Jim's ear: “say that three times fast. 'Predefined personality profile, predefined personality profile predifiled personidefined...gah!”

“Kumal,” Dyman squinted angrily.

“Right, anyway,” he began pacing the table again. “Our esteemed founder and financial backer, here,” he pointed at Terry, “started NRI as a software development firm shooting for DARPA money,” he paused, turned his lips up and scrunched his nose. “Ok, so, DARPA is a government program where they ask you to invent off-the-wall military technology, and in return, they'll give you heaping sums of money as bounty and an exclusive defense contract if you're successful.”

“Instead,” Dyman interjected, “that prick Kuiristan 'acquired' NRI and is 'repurposing' the project.” He didn't do air-quotes, but you could tell by the inflection of his voice that he was trying to be smugly diplomatic.

“Kuiristan's corporation tricked me into selling them the company,” Terry slammed his fist on the cheap table, “with the promise that he wouldn't do anything to alter both our directive and our business.”

“Instead,” Standish leaned on the back of his seat, his shoulders popping up as he supported his weight, “the first thing the bastard did was pull all of us off the project and put his little lacky assholes on it. He's ruining the game, completely ruining it.”

“And what was this alleged bounty you were trying to win?” Jim was snide and indignant and his tone concealed none of it.

“There he is! Team player Jim,” Standish did an air-punch with his arm at 90 degrees. “Artificial Intelligence. Battlefield simulation software, specifically.” Standish resumed his pace. “Damn good shit at that, too.”

“We were making a game,” Dyman sneered and rocked his head to the side. “The specific government contract was for an 'immersive, virtual reality, game-like experience to train drone pilots that simulated real-world battlefield conditions and outcomes.'”

“And,” Terry picked up, “that's what Kumal here said he was making, initially.” His voice was dripping with contempt. “Instead,” he leaned his neck forward and rocked his head, “he built this,” he waived his hands around.

“I rebuilt the world in a computer, essentially,” Standish followed up. “I assigned an AI to each individual actor in the world, invented a way for them to recombinate their AI personalities just like we do, and then let them run free.”

“And, rather unexpectedly,” Dyman picked up, “it ended up playing out just as he expected. The AI got really good,” he emphasized the “really” by dragging it out, “and the character politics ended up playing out mostly how ours did in the real world, given some minor...er 'coaching.'”

“We were all very surprised,” Terry continued. “The next step was building a UI on top of the logic. Each AI got assigned a randomly generated 3D model inside a procedurally generated world. Everything was then organized mostly how our world is.”

“The added layer was challenging,” Standish took control, “but everything was going to plan. I now had a robust world with powerful AI that was handling random stimuli the same way it had played out in our world, historically. I added in the ability to travel across water, and exploration began. New worlds happened, naval combat, all of it. When new tribes met, they interacted in the same ways they interacted in our world. History was repeating itself,” Standish held his hands out, face to the ceiling, as if he were basking in the yellow light's glory. “And then,” he brought his arms in quickly, curled his head down, and balled his hand into a fist, “I let them come in,” he dramatically emphasized “them.”

“Carol, as you know her” Terry began. “After we invented the interface technology to interact with Kumal's, frankly brilliant, world, we showed the project to DARPA. They were so impressed they snapped us up instantly and started leveraging us just as soon. Once we went public with everything, Tessa von Block, a researcher, convinced the DoD that their simulation was perfect for behavioral research experiments.”

“That blackhearted bitch,” Standish was still in his pose. “She broke my heart, the whore.”

“Tessa seduced Kumal into giving her direct access to the system,” Dyman filled in. “We gave her an avatar, Carol, and she instantly set out manipulating and controlling the world.”

“She went through thousands of years,” Standish slammed both of his hands on the table in front of him and stared at Jim with wide-eyed fury. “She pushed, and pushed, and pushed,” he laughed a soft maniacal laugh to himself, “so hard, in fact, that she triggered World War 3.”

“The simulation went off the rails,” Dyman sneered himself. “None of us knew, except Kumal, who she made promise not to tell us.”

“Once the DoD caught wind, we thought we were screwed,” Terry shot Standish a contemptuous glance. “But thankfully, they loved it. They let the war play out. The AIs were inventing some seriously dangerous weapons technology and the DoD was eating it up.”

“We struck them a deal,” Dyman waved a massive hand through the air whimsically. “They would fork the simulation. We gave them three environments: pre-war, WW3, and post-war simulators, and in exchange, they let us nuke the planet fresh and start over. Tessa and Kumal built this elaborate mythology on why the planet was the way it was. Kumal built what he and Tessa considered a Utopia, the opposite of the warring worlds, and he and Tessa used it as a way to test her theories by using 'ancient technology' as a way to test how a peaceful world would use it.”
“It was genius,” Standish had returned to sitting. He leaned back and stopped the chair from falling by kicking his toes into the table. “They got their stupid military shit, and I got my simulation.”

“And then, Tessa got an idea,” Terry sneered, “she wanted to see how a peaceful person would fair in the military worlds. She wanted to simulate a draft.”

“So, she hand-picked some avatars from a variety of AIs from my world and moved them over to the war servers,” Standish slammed the feet of the chair back down. “Moved. Not copied. Moved. Why did I let her move you? God, I was such a fool,” he gently slammed his head onto the table top.
“Ah, love,” Terry held a Shakespearean hand up. “Anyway, that's when it all went sour. Kuiriston's company is the biggest tech firm in the world. They acquire little guys like us and eat us for breakfast. The DoD wasn't getting the results they wanted from Tessa's simulation and were about to cut the program. Kuiristan approached me about buying my firm, and Tessa convinced me that he wouldn't harm our work.”

“That, as you know, is where all this comes in,” Dyman spread his arms out. “Kuiristan kicked me out, Nordhem lost all controlling power, and Kumal got moved to a completely different project.”

“We had all just assumed that was how it was,” Terry shrugged. “But Kumal, here, had an idea,” he held a hand out to him.

“I've been secretly hacking into the zone files and modifying everything, this room,” he waved his arms around, “was supposed to be used for one of Tessa's scenarios. She was going to have you get captured by the DPRC and interrogated here as a POW. It was a pretty brutal scene. They were gonna starve you in a cell, one of the captors was going to pee on you. It was pretty crazy.”

“Where are we,” Jim, again, stated instead of questioning.

“Oh, we're back on the planet, specifically in the DPRC,” Standish replied. “We're gonna break you out of here. I want to reinsert you back into the Utopic server.”

“Molly,” Jim squinted and winced. “How does Molly fit into your sick game?”

“She's my daughter,” Terry said. “In the real world, she has a degenerative muscular disorder. She's bed-ridden and can't move. She accesses this world the same way we do.”

“Is Molly her 'avatar'?” Jim spat again.

“Yes, but her name is also Molly, as well,” Terry folded his hands and rested them on the table. “She fell in love with you long before the experiment. It was an unfortunate coincidence that you were selected for the project. We migrated her avatar to follow you into the simulator. I tried to convince her otherwise, but her mother insisted. Seeing her so happy, I relented. You, Jim, are a very charming boy.”
“The letters,” Jim squinted.

“Yes. We were migrating her avatar,” Standish raised his nose to the sky in self-satisfaction. “I was able to code up some temporary levels to let you two interact during the migration. There were a ton of firewalls that we needed to move through and the process took a while. Couple days on our end, which is what, a few months on your end?”

“A year,” Jim spat again. It was no longer red.

“Oh,” Standish shrugged, “I lose track of the timestamps. AIs copy much faster. I just have to plug your stats into the generator and poof!”

“Anyway,” Dyman picked up, “We're breaking you out of here.”

“Why,” Jim kept his eyes squinted.

“The DoD and Kuiristan have given up on this server,” Terry shrugged. “It's become Tessa's own little plaything now. I don't want my little girl living in this world anymore if I don't have to.”

“Tessa's research institute is paying to keep it alive now,” Standish shrugged himself, “but Kuiristan has given me permission to migrate Molly back to the Utopia server. Says it's 'great for press.' Prick.”

“But Molly won't leave without you,” Terry's voice was dire, “and Tessa is holding you hostage. She claims you're instrumental to the experiment and has refused to let us move you back.”

“Why does it matter, just copy me over,” Jim flipped his nose up.

“It's not that simple,” Standish scrunched his nose and half-smirked. “We can't 'copy' you anymore. Your AI is too complicated. You don't match any of the profiles on the Utopia server. I have to consolidate your persona onto a single server blade and then physically move the entire thing, by hand, to the Utopia cluster and then run an integration script. It's not easy.”

“And why are you telling me any of this,” Jim spat again, this time for effect. “Why not just do it? Why go through all the trouble to bullshit me when you could just drop me into the server block and I'd be none the wiser.”

“Ethics,” Dyman shrugged. “Love. We're asking you to throw away all of the life you have right now and jump into a completely different world.”

“I want to know you'll give all this up,” Terry waved his arms around again, “the fighting, the Cores, the geopolitics, the Augs. Are you willing to give that up for Molly?”

“That assumes I believe anything you're saying,” Jim was less contemptuous. “You could be using her as a pawn. And the nukes?”

“Oh, those are totally going off,” Standish shrugged. “Tessa's orders. We've held them off for now, but they're resetting the world again. New experiment, so they're zeroing everything out.”

“See? You're just trying to con me. You're going to set the nukes off, and you need my help,” Jim sneered again. “This is vengeance against Carol for jilting you, vengeance against Kuiristan for firing you, and you're gonna scorch the earth. This is just some scheme for all of you to get revenge,” Jim spit again for effect.

“Look,” Terry started, “Molly is getting moved. You can either move with her, or play along with Carol. It's your choice.”

“Yep,” Standish bolted upright, “and with that, so ends our little meeting. I'm going to snap my fingers, and the next thing you know, you'll be sitting in the briefing room with the gang. Tessa will probably bust Carol in and start grilling you for debrief. Enjoy!”

***********************************************************************************

“...and will be secured until further notice,” Carol pointed to the mission line with an extended baton. “Any questions? Jim, you look lost,” she collapsed the baton and folded her arms behind her back. Her boots made the familiar squinching sound as she brought her rear foot into her T-stance.

“Uh, no, yeah,” Jim shook his head, trying to knock his thoughts together. “the, uh, target will be secured until further notice.”

“No, Jim,” she began to pace across the stage in front of the debriefing room, “let me explain it again,” she snapped her fingers and the digital chalkboard reset.

“Uhhh,” Blaize sighed from behind him, “do we really have to listen to this all again?”

“Yeah,” Marion nodded, “we use Vishnu to storm the Windforce, use the impulsor cannon to get to Luna, and then drop the payload in the nuclear base using the tunnel system Jim discovered. We ride the impulsor cannon back, blast the nuclear devices with the payload, and then ride it out in the bunkers.”

“Yeah,” Tomah nodded solemnly, “pretty straight forward.”

“So,” Tony looked at Jim earnestly, “which part did you not get?”

“Nothing,” Jim squinted a concerned grimace. “Hey, Commander,” he adjusted his posture, “can we have a conversation, in private?”

“Sure, Jim,” she looked around the room, “I believe we're all done here so the rest of you are dismissed.”

Jim waited as everyone filed away. He bowed his head nervously and didn't look up from his hands as he fidgeted with his uniform's front buttons. When everyone had left, he looked up, the Commander standing unmoved.

“Well?” Her face was set in stone.

“I'm just,” Jim shook his head again, “I dunno, I'm still really out of it, I guess. Huge chunks of my memory are missing.”

“Torture will do that to you,” The commander frowned and sat down next to him. “Look, it was cruel what Standish did to you. And with him removing your Augs so abruptly with no decompression? It's a miracle you have a memory at all.” She rested a hand on Jim's shoulder. “What do you remember? Maybe I can help fill in.”

“I remember going through the tunnels,” Jim started, fixing his eyes in the middle distance. “I remember docking Cúchulainn in some slip, and then it just got...weird,” Jim quirked his head.

“Weird?” Carol inserted her head in front of Jim's blank stare to catch his attention.

“What?” Jim snapped back and turned his head slightly to make eye contact. “Oh, yeah. Well, he had me walk through a mirror, and then there was this trippy forest, and I had to crawl through some duct work, and then I was taped to a chair,” Jim began to sob gently, “and I just don't know, Tessa, it was so much,” he began to cry in earnest. “and Standish started saying, I don't know. Things.” He put his head into his hands, his bangs lapping over his index fingers, his breath recycling into his snotty nose.

“There, there, Jim,” she rubbed his back. “It's all right. Standish had flooded the base with a nerve gas and hacked your Augs. He was manipulating your hallucinations.”

Jim looked up, his face was red, eyes wet with tears, and snuffled back his dripping nose, “then what happened, really?”

“Well,” She folded her hands in her lap, “I'm not entirely sure what happened up there, but from what I can surmise, he somehow got you off of Luna and into a secure holding in the DPRC. We recovered you after you made a heroic escape from a prison cell.”

“Prison cell?” Jim furrowed his brow and tilted his head in confusion.

“We received a distress signal from a DPRC jeep rapidly making its way across the Qari desert and into a Union-controlled front line,” she widened her eyes in earnestness. “A patrol rescued you from a group of Outsiders in hot pursuit. You were emaciated and barely coherent. You'd been missing from us for over a month, and were in a coma for two weeks before you regained consciousness. Molly was by your bedside the whole time,” she patted Jim on the back.

“Standish said stuff,” Jim sniffled again, fixing his gaze off into the middle distance. “Weird stuff,” his breathing stuttered and he felt himself beginning to cry again, “I just don't know what to do,” he began crying again, “What did Kumal do to me?” He broke down and buried his head in his hands again, muffling his weeping.

“It's ok,” the Commander rubbed his back again, “There, there. Jim,” look at me,” she gently placed her hands on his cheeks and wrested his gaze into her eyes. “Everything is safe. Be calm,” She held her contact and slowed her voice to a calm, soothing tone. “Just relax. Be calm, feel yourself calming down,” she gently rocked his head back and forth, maintaining strong, unflinching eye contact. “It's Ok, listen to your body and feel yourself calming down. Listen to your voice and feel your body calm itself down.”

“You are calming me down,” Jim spoke in a monotone drone.

“There you go Jim,” She continued to slowly rock his head back and forth, “close your eyes and feel your body calming down to the sound of my voice. Close your eyes and tell me what you see.”

Jim closed his eyes, “I remember being in a concrete interrogation room,” Jim responded in flat affect.

“Good,” she continued stopped rocking his head back and forth and let it go limp, his chin buried in his chest. “Focus on your breathing, Jim. Imagine you're in your dorm, Jim, can you see it?” Jim slackly nodded his head. “Good, I want you to focus on a specific object. Imagine you're sitting in front of it and focus on the object. What do you see?”
“I'm sitting in my dining room and I'm staring at my place mats,” Jim's voice was throaty and choked by his head position.

“Good Jim, that's really good. Every word I say is bringing you making you calmer and more relaxed. Now, imagine yourself at in a hallway with a light at the end. Every step you take brings you closer to the light of pure relaxation, can you feel the warmth, Jim?”
“Yes,” Jim was flatly affective, his response causing his head to bob and sway back and forth as it slacked.

“Good, now I want you to walk out into the light. Can you feel the state of pure relaxation, Jim?” The Commander maintained the slow, soothing, calming tone.

“Yes,” he carefully sat up ramrod straight, “I am perfectly calm, now,” his voice still hollow and labored.

“Good, Jim,” her voice was silky and smooth, “you're now in a state where you can truly understand everything that happened. Tell me about how they tortured you, Jim.”

“I remember being hit. I spat blood. I was taped to a chair,” Jim's town was unaccented. Flat. Completely monotone.

“Good Jim, they tortured you trying to convert you to their religion,” The commander maintained her soft voice. “You escaped after the torturer urinated on you, do you remember?”

“I remember,” Jim's voice was flat.

“Good,” she said enthusiastically, but still in her calm voice. “Do you remember your escape?”

“Yes, I escaped in a jeep,” Jim responded.

“Good, good,” the Commander continued, “You stole a jeep and were saved by the Alliance. You were saved by me, Jim. I saved you, do you remember?”

“You saved me,” Jim droned.

“Good, yes,” she replied. “After you were saved, we rescued the cores from the base you were kept at, do you remember this?”
“We recovered the cores,” Jim responded.

“Good,” the Commander continued, “we rescued the cores and you woke up in the hospital bed to Molly's smiling face. Do you remember Molly?”
“Molly was so happy to see me wake up,” Jim drew a weak, thin smile.

“Great, Jim, very good,” she maintained her voice, “now, when I snap my fingers, you will return to your normal state, alert, energized, and ready for the mission, right Jim?”

“I will be alert and ready for our mission,” he affected. The commander snapped. “Commander!” Jim responded enthusiastically.

“Yes, Jim?” she very up-beat and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I feel much better,” he replied with a big grin, “I think I'm ready to pay back Standish for what he did to me.”

“Good, Jim, but don't go down the path to revenge,” she lowered her head and gazed up at him. “Vengence will not solve your problems.”

“I know,” Jim tilted his head empathetically, “I am doing this for the people. I want to channel my suffering so I can save everyone from Standish's evil plan.”

“Great, Jim, I'm excited, too,” the Commander smiled softly and stood. “Now, let's get ready for the mission, alright?” She handed him a data pad.

***********************************************************************************

“Sweetie?” Molly gently set her fork, tines-down, on her now-empty plate, daintily dabbing some invisible crumbs away from the corner of her mouth. “Can we talk?”

Jim shook his head and swallowed what he was chewing. “Yeah, sure,” he said, still staring off into the middle-distance over her left shoulder. “Go for it.”

“Jim,” She started gently, putting her hands in her lap, “will you look at me?”
He shook his head again, and put his fork down, “yeah, sure, sorry. Yeah,” he met her green gaze, “what's up?”

“I want to talk about this” she made a motion with her hand, “how you've been the last few weeks.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he furrowed his brow and jutted his neck forward. How 'have I been?'”

“Like this,” she gestured with both hands at him, “distant, unengaging. Like you're sleepwalking, and whenever I try to talk about it, you snap at me.” She dropped her palms to the table.

“I'm not snapping!” Jim stood up, knocking the chair back behind him. “I'm under a lot of pressure, ok? Things are crazy on base and this Standish thing is still looming and we've got a huge mission coming up,” Jim gesticulated wildly, throwing a hand up into the air, “I'm just trying to deal with all of this, I'm not trying to get it from you, now, too,” he leaned across the table and planted both hands on it. “If I don't do this right, we're fucked, don't you get it? Don't you see?” He leaned in closer to her, her face filling his field of vision. “If I fuck up, we're screwed. The planet is screwed. You're screwed. If I don't get this right, you're dead. What do you want from me? Huh?”

Molly said nothing in reply. She was pinned against the back of her chair. Her pupils were the size of pinholes and her eyes were so wide the green was almost lost against the sea of white.

“Fine,” Jim threw both of his hands up and stood up straight, “disengage like you always do.” He threw his napkin on the table and fixed the chair. “I'm going to be in the other room.” He stormed off to the bedroom and flopped onto the turned-down comforter, attempting to find patterns in the texture and distract himself.

“I'm going to my dad's,” Molly, after some time, addressed him, after how long Jim hadn't noticed. She had a pack slung over her shoulder.

“Alright,” Jim pushed himself up and leaned back against the headboard of their bed.

“I was going to tell you that my father wants us to move out of the country,” she crossed her arms from the doorway and held tight eye contact. “He talked with the general and said he could get you out of the program. He said he has a small house set up on the family plantation for us in the Southern Union. The Institute accepted me and I want to pick my degree back up. He said he could get you a job with the company heading the SU headquarters. My brother was really excited to hear he might have you in the company.” She turned around and started walking away.

“Molly...” Jim leaned forward and held a hand out. She didn't turn around. He slammed back against the headboard and dropped his hand after he heard the door unceremoniously thud shut.

After some time of just staring forward, mind racing, a jingle from the central communication system indicated that someone was trying to get a hold of him. He snapped out of his reverie and answered the conference request.

“Jim,” Standish's hologram appeared in the room in front of him.

Jim revolted. “You,” his anger seething. “Molly just left me because of all of this,” he batted his head around and waved his hands. “She walked out because you defected to the DPRC and tortured me. Because you're going to nuke this whole planet and I have to stop you or everyone, including the only fucking thing on this planet I care about, dies.” He drilled his finger into the hologram, causing it to scintillate around his finger.

“Jim,” Standish took on a rare serious face, “you can't let them win.” He leaned on his walking stick. “You know the truth. Don't let Tessa convince you otherwise.”

“Tessa? Her name is Carol,” he snapped and the hologram dismissed.

Greyhat: Issue 3 - Shaisty-Kovich

 "Oh! Go right in, Mister..." The secretary shot up when i walked in to Bern's office.

"On it, Grace," I said as I strode past her and pushed the big wooden double-doors open with a calamitous boom. "Bern!" I held my arms out wide as the doors revealed his inner office, only to also reveal a tall, square-built man in a grey power suit. He was unironically rocking a 'stache that would put Burt Reynolds to shame. "And who's the square?" I met Bern's eyes, who was sitting behind his desk with a stack of papers on his folders on his desk, hands folded on top of them.

"The 'square,'” Bern made air quotes and scowled at me. I love air quotes. Really. “Is Special Agent Dick Milonoski with the CIA.”

I flung myself into one of Bern's ultra-comfy leather armchairs and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. “'Sup Dick.” I pulled my hands behind my head and crossed my ankles. I looked over at the arm chair next to me.

“Hello, Bern. Mr. Milonoski,” she nodded at both of them. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Cute and mousy as ever.

“I'm here,” the square paused as he came around from the side of the desk to stand in front of it, just to the side of Bern's line of site, “because of this exploit for the Swiss Black website you recently filed a patent request for.”

“I haven't filed a patent request for anything, yet,” I replied, planting my feet square and leaning on my knees, “have I Bern?” I cocked an eye at him.

“I have no idea what he's talking about,” he swiped his fingertips across his neck, “I don't know anything about a Swiss Black exploit.”

“Well,” the man's furry lip caterpillar formed as he pulled a tablet from his breast pocket, “I have a Mister...'Dershewitz' contacting your client here on the hacker site 'Bugfind' last night informing her that he had 'found a hack most foul,' and that 'he was too hot to take it.' Is this correct?”

“I don't know,” she said from behind the giant wings of the wing back. I was already leaning forward and I could barely see her chin under the oblong lobes, “you tell me?”

“Have we done anything illegal, officer?” I spoke up and drew his attention toward me. “Is this an interrogation? Am I being detained?”

“Oh cut the libertarian bullshit,” he put the tablet back in his pocket. “You know I know about the Swiss Black hack.” He put his fists on his hips. Power pose. I like this Dick. “The CIA is willing to pay you handsomely if you don't file a patent for it and give us the exploit.”

“You fucking idiots,” she said over top me.

“Hey now,” Bern put both his hands up.

“Yeah,” the CIA guy said with a knowing nod.

“10 million, and you exculpate us of any liability,” she folded her arms across her body. Or at least I think she did. Hard to tell.

“Done,” Dick shifted uneasily.

“And you get off Dershewitz's back,” she pointed a stern finger at him.

“Alright fine, but we're still busting his agent,” he pointed back at her.

“Fine,” she crossed her arms again. “Guy was a scumbag and was pretty much holding him hostage, anyway.”

“What did I just miss?” I leaned back and looked at Bern. He shook his head and held his hands to the ceiling flat-palmed.

“The less you know, the better,” he walked past us and toward the doors, which had automatically swung closed. “My office will send over the necessary paperwork to process the payment. Those two will both have to sign non-disclosure agreements, of course.”

“Of course,” Bern nodded.

“Pleasure doing business with you, then,” he pushed a door open and slunk out. “Ah, there, but for the Grace of God I Go...” I saw him lean on the desk before the door closed.

“Dick?” I looked at Bern and pulled my chin into my neck. “Who goes by 'Dick' anymore, anyway? We don't call penises 'Richards,' now, do we?”

“I know Dick,” Bern stonefaced me.

“I'm sure you do, am I right?” I made popped my mouth open and leaned around my chair.

“Just, no,” she held her hand up. I deflated.

“Why is everyone so gloomy?” I held my hands up, shook my head, and furrowed my brow.

“Just...” she struggled to find the right words, “not right now.”

“I'm so lost, you guys,” I held my pose, “what am I missing?”

“Just...” Bern stumbled himself, “not this time.”

“Alright,” I swung myself forward and stood up. “You two can have your own secret little 'in' thing on me. Are we square?”

“Hans has the money in the off-shores,” He folded his hands on his desk. “It'll take a few weeks for it to make it's way through the shell corporations. The Secu-Tex exploit will take a few days to get through arbitration, but Grace sent Grace the promissory contract and everything is square on the legal end.”

“Wait,” I waved my hands in front of my face, “'Grace sent Grace?' Which Grace sent what to who?”

“Yeah, I was lost on that one, too,” she waved from the high-back. I could finally see her in it. She had practically disappeared into the leather folds.

“Their Grace sent my Grace,” Bern shook his head.

“Perfect,” I snapped and winked, “I don't want them squelching on me. We have the security footage in a safe place?”

“Uploaded the files to Iron Mountain just before Dick showed up,” Bern flipped his hands to the ceiling. “They have orders to release them, and a statement I prepared, to the press if they get word of yours or her death.”

“You're a master, Bern,” I signaled to leave. “We're gonna get outta here and let you get back to whatever it is you do. Order lackeys around and drink scotch with politicians, I assume?”

“Much more accurate than you think,” he said with a smirk and a finger-gun. “Take it easy, guys.”

“We will, Bern,” she said as I held the door open and she and I filed out. “Bye, now, Grace. Mister Milonoski.” She gave him a curt head-nod.

Dick and Grace looked up from their flirtation long enough to give us a little finger wave as we filed into the elevator and headed down. “Talk about a lucrative few days,” I said with an elbow-check to her rib.

“Yeah,” she affected and looked off into the middle-distance.

“Hey, buddy, why the long face?” I stepped behind her in the car and gave her a ginger shoulder rub.

“It's just,” she shrugged my hands off and started walking away when the elevator doors dinged open, “blood money.”

I stood a second and then jolted forward and fell instep next to her as we crossed the lobby. “I don't get it? What was all of that about up there?”

“I didn't explain it up there and I won't explain it here,” she pulled the door open to the 'Cedes. We got curbside parking, which was rare but, considering how early it was, not unexpected. “Suffice it to say, if a government square wants to pay ten mil' to keep you quiet about exploiting an international bank's database, it's not because they think it's going to damage the social fabric.”

“You're not growing a sense of morality on me now, are you?” She piled in after me and slammed the door. “Home, please,” I instructed the navigation.

“Actually, Harold's cafe, please,” She spoke up. “I have a hankering for their salmon and caper Benedict,” she rubbed her tummy. “So, with the ten large, what's our portfolio sitting at?”

“Uhh, I have no idea,” I shrugged and pulled out my phone. I had a text: You know who it is. Call me. “Hans handles that. If I had to guess, somewhere between famous television actor and investment banker? Hans says we make more than we spend, so I don't think it matters.” I replied to the text: Client meeting, can't call. What do you want.

“How do rich people even spend that much money, huh?” She pulled her own phone out. “There aren't enough hookers and blow to spend that much on, are there?”

“Trickling down the economy, I imagine,” I took a cigarette out of a case in the center bureau and tapped it down on the back of my thumb. “Five thousand dollar sandals made by child labor in third-world countries, beach houses on remote tropical beeches staffed by tribal wage slaves, and Jewish doctors to treat high blood pressure from all the Columbian blow harvested by press-ganged cartel farmers, would be my guess.”

“You're wearing a twenty-five thousand dollar suit designed by an Italian that is made in Bangladesh, we own villas staffed by locals in Curacao and the Phillipines, and didn't you just have a surgery a few months ago to repair lung damage from smoking too much?” She leaned across the cabin and swatted the cigarette out of my hand with a scowl.

“Yeah,” I said as I picked up the cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag, “and we're also rich as hell,” I exhaled a massive odorless cloud of water vapor into the cabin that quickly dissolved into the climate control system. Vaping is where thar be dragons. I still miss the real thing, except they only really sell these fake pseudo-cigarette pieces of shit anymore. But hey, it supposedly tastes like “chocolate blueberry,” so who am I to complain about the changing of the times? “You aren't really growing a conscious on me, are you?” I propped my elbow on my knee and held the cigarette clear of my face. “What did that g-man square do that has you so morose?”

“I dunno,” she said turning the screen of her phone off and holding it against her chest. “Just...what is it all for? Why do I still do this? What's the point?”

“Do you wanna save the world?” I took another drag.

“Oh God, no” she said with a scoff.

“Help your fellow man?” the fantastic cloud that came out at the same time made my voice do that muffled, talking-through-smoke thing.

“I'm pretty sure they could argue that you and I are actively working against 'our fellow man,'” She lifted her phone back in front of her face.

“Further the cause of mankind?” I I tapped the cigarette and left some imitation ash in a tray behind my elbow. It served no purpose other than to placate former smoke-smokers like me and I'd do nothing to trade it away.

“As if,” the phone illuminated her face as she tapped away at it.

“Fine, then what about building sex dungeons, getting driven around by robot luxury cars, and ingesting, just, an inordinate amount of alcohol and controlled substances?” I tapped out a drink order on my arm rest and a glass of whiskey appeared on the lift.

“Now you're talking my language,” her eyes widened greedily as the microscopic image of a cute girl's face, reflected from the screen of her phone, appeared in her pupil.

“Well,” I took a sip and a drag, “then we're living the good life. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I guess you're right,” she sighed and swiped the pretty girl's face away as it was replaced by another.

“You have arrived at your destination,” the automated voice of the car announced as the door popped open automatically.

“I know I'm right,” I pounded down the whiskey and extinguished the cigarette in the ash tray. “Now let's go eat some breakfast.

“Oooh, Bennies,” she locked eyes with me and her face went from sardonic to sadistic.

“I hope Cheryl isn't working,” I winked at her as we piled out of the car onto the sidewalk. It took off into a holding pattern around the block until it could find a parking spot.

“I hope she is,” she rubbed her hands together. “She was into freaky butt stuff and now I'm all hot and bothered.”

“She was into freaky butt stuff,” I cringed as she rushed past me to hold the diner's metal door open.

“Hey, this one's mine. My pussy is on fire,” she grabbed at her crotch and buckled her knees as I walked by her.

“Fine, fine,” I held my hands up and shook them side to side innocently. “Grace!” I greeted the hostess, “The usual booth if possible. Is Cheryl working this morning?”

“She'll be in for lunch,” she croaked out. Years of cigarettes, the traditional kind, visible on her face, not just in her voice.

“Perfect,” I pulled out my phone. New text: I am showing in town. Grace seated us at a small booth in the back corner. “Hey, how come this booth is always open? I feel like we're always able to sit here every time.”

“Because you come here like ten times a week and you've never tipped less than a hundred,” she threw the menus down nonchalantly. “The girls call this the 'chef's table' and refuse to let me sit anyone there, no matter how busy we are.” She grumbled at the last part and walked away.

“Oh,” I picked up the menu, ignoring her, “well, keep up the good work, and send my regards to Eduardo!”

“His name is Earl,” she looked over her shoulder, “He's not even Hispanic, His mom was born in Topeka.”

“His dad could be Hispanic, though,” she said to me and made a face behind the hostess's back.

“You know,” I turned and addressed her, “there are Hispanics in Topeka. They're called Chicanos, and were there back when it was a known as 'Territorio de Nuevo Mexico' and was under Spanish rule. So, for all we know, Earl is actually, secretly, Earl-duardo.” I made a finger gun at her and leaned back in my seat. A Man-splain deserves a Man-spread.

“You're so smart, did you know that?” She put her elbows on the table and cradled her chin. “You wanna go bang in the bathroom?” She leaned back against the booth and made a thumb gesture behind them.

“Wait, really?” I leaned forward. Who'd turn down an offer from a minx like that?

“No, you idiot,” she sneered at me. “I want my Jewish Benedict. Seriously? Gross. Ugggggh, dick,” she said with a shudder.

I leaned back. I always fall for it. Who knows, maybe one day she's serious? “It uses a bagel instead of an English muffin, it uses cream cheese instead of regular cheese, and it uses salmon instead of ham. That's not a 'Jewish Benedict,' that is a bagel and lox with an egg on it.”

“I know, but it's so good,” she licked her lips and rubbed her hands together.

“Also, how is a lesbian fucking you in the ass with a strap-on any different than a dick?” I took out my phone and texted back: Where?

“It never goes off early, when it's done, there's no clean-up, and your dick doesn't vibrate.” she pushed her hands into her crotch and squirmed in her chair “Mm. And, I don't have to feel that gross pulsing when its inside me. Uggh,” she shook her hands like she was drying them and shuddered again.

“Ok, fine, but how does that explain the ladyboys?” I put my phone down on the table and leaned.

“They have tits,” she shrugged and pulled out her phone, the inverted images of pretty girls passing by in her pupils again.

“That's racist,” I sneered.

“So?” she didn't look up.

“Touche,” I finger-gunned again. Who doesn't love a finger gun? Seriously, they have chops.

“Am I interrupting?” The waitress wagged her pen as she cocked her hip out.

“No. I want a Bloody Mary and a stack of pancakes,” I finger-gunned her. She didn't look up from her notepad. Seriously, how can people so cavalierly ignore a finger-gun?

“We don't have Bloody Maries. You know that,” she looked up, noticed my finger-gun and rolled her eyes. Some people. “Do you want the Huevos or the Jewish?” She said obviously not to me.

“Am I that predictable?” She looked up from her phone innocently.

“Yes,” she deadpanned.

“You know, now that you mention the Huevos,” she got conflicted, put her phone down, and nervously pored over the menu.

“She wants the Jews,” I made an elbow-check gesture to her, “it's all she's been talking about. Can't keep her mouth shut about the Jews, let me tell ya,” I winked. I'm quite witty and sometimes I need to remind people how funny I am.

“Ha ha,” the waitress rolled her eyes again. “So flapjacks and a Jewish?”

“And a Bloody Mary,” I finger-gunned.

“Ugh,” the waitress walked away.

“You know for the amount of money we leave, you think they'd be less disdainful,” I leaned across the table and whispered to my conspirator.

“You leave them so much money because they are so disdainful,” she leaned in, too, before picking up her phone and resuming her swiping.

“Hey, what can I say? I like a woman who holds my feet to the fire,” I leaned back and picked up my phone. Text: Our old place. Don't bring her.

“You're using your phone more than usual,” she looked up briefly as I tapped a reply, What makes you think I want to see you?

“Business deal. An Independent is really interested in the Lutrox hack,” I stared at the phone waiting for a response.

“Motherfucker,” she put her phone down and looked up, “is it her?” She swiped my phone out of my hand before I could react.

“You bitch, give that back!” I reached across the table. She swatted my hand away as she read the text chain.

“You stupid motherfucker,” she chucked the phone across the table back at me. I swiped it up greedily. “Why did she leave you?”

“Because love is a lie, the world is a miserable, evil place, and I am an insufferable jerk,” I read her reply: Because I'm horny and you still love me.

“And because she gave you and ultimatum and you told her that you didn't want to get married and have kids, and that she needed to put out more than once a week,” she curled her lips up and squinted at me.

“Ok, so, maybe the whole relationship thing isn't my bag,” I tapped out a reply: One of those things is motivating. Same time?

“So why do you keep this shit up? Delete her number,” she picked her phone back up disdainfully, but didn't go back to swiping.

“I did,” I flipped my phone around in my hand, waiting for the vibration.

“Block her,” She looked up, no smile creasing her cheeks.

“But,” the phone buzzed, “but.”

“Do it,” she held my gaze.

“Fine,” her reply: Now.

“Now,” she continued to stare me down. My reply: No. I can't keep doing this. Lose my number.

“Done.” I threw my phone to her.

“Good,” she put it in her pocket. “You're still gonna fuck her, aren't you.” She said declaratively, no question mark.

“Of course. Are you fucking kidding me?” I laughed out loud. “You've never hit that pussy. It's like crack, man.”

“You're pitiable,” she threw my phone back at me. The reply: Fine, same time. Bring champagne.

“Probably,” I stuffed my phone in my pocket. “Just because I don't want that life anymore doesn't mean I don't love her, still.”

She dropped her phone down and scoffed, “Are you gonna get all philosophical on me now?”

“It's been a long night, we're at the diner,” I held my hands up and looked around comically, “isn't that what we do?”

“You ramble on about some completely misguided theory and I fuck around on my phone and make us money?” she wiggled her latest hack at me.

“Kinda, yeah,” I shrugged.

“So this is tonight's lecture? How romantic desire and carnal lust are different emotions?” she gave me a duck face. “Oh please, do tell me once again how a man can be in love but also want to fuck other people,” She cradled her face in her hands again.

“Well, you see, there are two sides of a man, his brain and his peni...wait a minute,” I closed one eye and pointed at her melodramatically, “I see what you're doing,” I smirked in a duckface.

“Flapjacks...” the waitress put the stack of pancakes and bottle of maple syrup down in front of me. I have no idea how long she was there or how much she heard. I like to think she heard it all.

“Oooo, pancakes. Mmmmmm,” I stuffed the napkin into my shirt collar and held my fork and knife in my hands and slammed the butts of them down on the table.

“And, the Jewish Benedict,” she put the lox and bagels with egg on them in front of her.

“Bennies,” her eyes grew wide and she licked her lips.

“Uggh,” the waitress audibly rolled her eyes, leaving with her tray and not saying a word.

“Just,” she sighed around a mouthful of salmon and cream cheese, “be smart, alright?”

“You sound like you actually care about me,” I tried to say. I have no idea what she heard. My mouth was literally full of pancakes. Or metaphorically, but I think literally, I don't know if there was physical room for more pancake.

“I need an agent and you land me a serious amount of pussy,” she shrugged and took another bite of her bagel, using it to sop up the delicious yolk-juice.

“I'm glad my talents are not wasted on such an esteemed colleague,” I pretended to doff my cap and shoved another bite of pancake in. Seriously you guys, this shit is too good to be real. Don't judge. My phone buzzed, but I was too busy stuffing my face.

“I swear to you they are putting heroin in the cream cheese,” She took another huge bite, eyes fixated on her plate as she methodically devoured its contents.

“I know right,” I think I said. I took a moment to catch my breath. This is Milonoski. Dershewitz is dead. Watch your back. “Son of a motherfucking bitch,” I sighed.

“What?” she took a sip of water. I guess water got put on the table?

“Where is my goddamned Bloody Mary!” I exclaimed loudly as I looked for the waitress.

“Dude, chill,” she held her hands up.

“Derschewitz,” I waggled my phone and threw it across the table. “Bad news.”

“Is he...” he bagel dropped from her hand and toppled onto the plate. She read the text message.

“Son of a motherfucking bitch!” She was much louder than I was. People were looking, it was embarrassing. Ok, neither of us were actually embarrassed.

“I know, if he got whacked and the FBI is giving us a heads up, it means that we've got a contract out on us,” I reached across the table and took my phone back.

“No you prick, I was gonna fuck him. I was really looking forward to it, too,” she pouted into her plate.

“Wait, what happened to 'eww dick?' What makes his dick so special?” I took another bite of pancake. I don't think you realize how distractingly delicious these things are.

“He's cute,” she shrugged and started eating again. “He's...err...was...like really nerdy and romantic. He said 'm'lady' to me once. Plus he was like six foot and couldn't have weighed more than a buck-twenty-five soaking wet. He was like androgynous super-model hot.”

I texted: Bern, Dershewitz is dead. What's our status? “I will seriously never understand you. You're like the worst lesbian.”

“I never said I was a lesbian,” she didn't look up from her plate.

“Fine, anyway, how about this whole 'FBI telling us that the contact we bought the thing they paid us ten million dollars for from is now dead and the FBI is warning us' thing. Pretty crazy right?” I checked my messages, Don Perignon. Decent vintage. I'm wearing lace.

“Talk to Earlduardo, maybe he knows some illegals who can do the security upgrade on the cheap,” she shrugged again.

“Do you not care that a hitman might be trying to kill us this very second,” I don't like hitmen. Scuzzy bunch. I mean, look at Grace! Hardeck's Grace. Not Bern's. Or the diner's.

“Nature of the game, bruh,” she shrugged and looked up at me, then went back to her plate. “I signed up for easy money and hard partying, I expect to die young and pretty, not old and in some retirement home in Florida.

“Who hurt you?” I took another bite of pancake.

“Daddy didn't love me, momma was a druggie, and all I ever loved was my sweet sweet internet,” she clutched her phone dramatically to her chest and smirked.

We both laughed out loud together. Yeah, there's a contract for two hundred fifty thou. Buy it out? “Lame. We're only worth two hundred fifty thousand.”

“Oh come on, the last contract on us was at least four hundo,” she scoffed.

“Cheapskates.” Yeah. Who placed? “I mean, seriously. I'm worth at least a million by myself at this point.”

“Heeeey,” we both turned to see who it was. “Fancy seeing you two here during my shift.” Cheryl wagged her buxom hips at them as she walked by.

“Oh hey,” she stood on the booth bench and grabbed Cheryl by her uniform lapels. “You. Me. Bathroom. Now.” She jumped off the bench, grabbed Cheryl by the hand, and dragged her to the bathroom behind them.

Greyhat: Issue 2 - The Scurillous Affair

“Asshole,” her voice whispered in my ear. I loved it when she called me that. “Wake the fuck up you dense motherfucker.”

            “Huh?” I stirred from my slumber. I’m a pretty heavy sleeper. My mouth tasted like weed, scotch, and stale pussy. My head felt like I had an icepick lodged in my forehead and my eyes were crusted over with sweat and bodily fluids that were definitely not my own. So, all and all, the remnants of what must have been a pretty amazing night.

            “Open your eyes you idiot,” she spoke louder this time, but not toward me.

            I did as I was told and was greeted by the black snub of a Glock pistol. It was being pointed at me by a very naked Grace. “If we’re going to be doing BDSM, aren’t I supposed to be chained to the bed?” I find the best thing to do in life or death situations is to crack jokes. It makes them wonder why you’re not shitting yourself in fear and gives you a few seconds to figure out a plan of action.

            “Hardeck sends his regards,” she smirked and wiggled her hips. Probably because of how hard it is to balance on the waterbed. I know. I’ve had to stand on it many a time. Except I usually have a riding crop, not a .45 caliber pistol.

            “Is this business or revenge?” I pulled the covers down and propped myself up on my elbows.

            “Business,” she jumped off the bed and put the gun to my temple. “Wait,” she looked me up and down and then recoiled and cringed. “Are you hard right now?”

            I looked down at my Johnson and saw the mighty bastard twitching like an ADHD eight year old off his Adderall. “It’s a fear boner, I promise. Now, I already registered the exploit and you guys have the rights. If this isn’t revenge, then to what do I owe the pleasure?” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and pushed myself up off the edge of the bed. We were in my room, mercifully, so I walked over to my dresser and pulled open my underwear drawer, and was promptly greeted with a pistol nose to the back of my skull.

            “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” She pushed the gun harder against the back of my neck.

            “Slow down there, Annie Oakley,” I raised my arms to the sides of my ears. “I’m just trying to sheath the battle axe,” I gingerly reached down, and with two fingers, plucked out a pair of underwear. She pushed the gun harder again, forcing my head forward and down. I used the same hand to carefully push the drawer closed and then pulled on the underwear, raising my hands back up. She took a few steps back and I turned to face her. “See? My virility is now contained, your ovaries are safe again.” I looked over to the bed. “You ok?”

            “Wonderful, asshole,” she scrunched her nose. She had the covers wrapped around her, mousy and helpless as ever. “Hell of a buzz in the room, wouldn’t you say?” She winked at me.

            “I know my head is buzzing. Not sure if it was the orgy or this bitch’s stinger, please.” I made a thumb gesture at Grace and winked.

            “Will you two shut the fuck up with the banter? Now, Hardeck wants his money transf…augghh” she collapsed to the floor before she could finish the sentence, revealing a near-silent quad-copter drone painted like a bumblebee hovering in the doorway.

            “Amateur,” I said as I kicked the gun away from her hand. I pulled open the bottom drawer and grabbed a pair of handcuffs and duct tape. “Good thing I had planned on using these on you anyway. Just, you know, under different circumstances.” I cuffed her and taped her up. I looked to the bed and gave a smirk and a shrug.

            “Dumb cunt,” she replied as she got up, revealing her pristine nakedness, and glided over to her panties on the floor.

            “Hey, no c-word,” I scowled at her as she pulled her pink cottons up. “Also, have you been working out? I think I blacked out halfway through the movie.”

            “That’s the fifth time you’ve asked tonight,” she pulled on my button-down, did it up a few, and then came over to squat next to me as I pulled the dart out of Grace’s back. “Yes, I have been.”

            “Oh, well, you’re looking mighty trim,” I stood up and started looking for my phone. “Was the sex good?”

            “Meh,” she shrugged as she walked over to the dresser and picked up a half-smoked joint from the ashtray. “Grace eats lousy pussy.” She picked up a lighter and took a long hit. “You’re getting better, though.” She offered me the joint.

            “Oh? I took a go at you?” I guided her hand to my lips, took a beastly drag, and went back to rummaging through the pile of clothes for my phone.

            “You were missionary on Grace and I was playing with myself,” She shrugged and took another drag. “You kept insisting and I was close. Heat of the moment.”

            “Bummer,” I said through a cloud of exhaled smoke. I can’t dragon with a joint but it was still respectable.  “Now I’m pissed I blacked out, it sounded like a hot night.” I finally felt my phone in my waistcoat pocket. I pulled it out and stood up. “I’ll have to watch a replay on the security cams.”

            “Still can’t believe that twat didn’t think we had a security system,” she sauntered over next Grace and scowled down at her. She offered me the joint before squatting next to her, rolling her on her back, and running her fingers along her curves. “At least she was pretty.”

            “Hey, hands off,” I shot her a glance. “No touchy the unconscious chick. That’ll land you in the clink lickity-split.” I shot her another glance and smirked exaggeratedly.

            “Ugh,” she sighed and stood, though I’m not sure if from my absolutely amazing pun or the fact that she really wanted to indulge her creepy side. “So, we gonna do this, or what?”

            “Yeah, sure, gimme a sec,” I unlocked my phone and pecked out a message: Bern, have an incident, please advise.

***

            I turned the chair around when I heard the door handle jiggle. “Mr. Hosmick” I said, ankle over my knee, fingers steepled in front of my chest. “So happy to see you.”

            “It’s Hardeck,” he said, closing the door behind him, a look of bewilderment as he froze in spot. “What are you doing in my office?”

            “Mfmmfmfm,” Grace mumbled something, but I couldn’t make out what she said through the duck tape.

            Hardeck snapped his head to the side, made eye contact with her, and then snapped back to me, “Shit.”

            “Quite the pickle you seem to be in,” I tapped my index fingers to my lower lip. Everything was going perfectly to plan.

            “You didn’t answer my question,” his face was unmoving. “How did you get into my office?”

            “Oh that,” I spun the chair in a full circle and stopped myself by slamming my hands flat on his desk. “You have a Secu-Tex system. My client has an exploit currently awaiting arbitration for their new BCZ-01 system, which, Oh! You coincidentally seem to use,” I re-steepled my hands and pointed my fingers at him. “Oh wait, don’t you own Secu-Tex? Anyway, we’ll talk about that a little later. Moving along,” I slammed my hands on my knees and shot up, startling Hardeck. This was working brilliantly. “Now, shall we discuss the assassin you sent to steal the money you paid my client?” I folded my arms and tapped my index finger to my lip.

            “You have no evidence of that,” Hardeck made a stiff, hurried march to his desk, where he sat and folded his hands in front of him, chest pushed up against the front edge tightly. “

            I held up my phone, tapped a button, and then displayed the screen to him. “Hardeck sends his regards,” Grace’s voice said from the security footage repeated. “Mfffhmfhm,” the real Grace mumbled as she struggled against the duct tape holding her in the chair.

            “Circumstantial,” Hardeck laid his hands on his desk and shook his head. “You’ve got nothing pinning me…”
            “Now, Hardeck wants his money…” the security footage continued. Grace stopped struggling and exhaled feebly. “Mffff.”

            “I see, ‘Conspiracy to Commit Murder,’ ‘Conspiracy to Commit Felony Larceny,’ and ‘False Imprisonment of a Hostage,’ to name a few,” I turned to face Hardeck and then to Grace, who I was now standing next to. “Or, rather, I don’t see that, Bern Wallace, my counsel, sees that.”

            “You held me and my company hostage!” He exclaimed

            “I want,” I uncrossed my arms and shoved my hands in my pockets. “A million dollars,” with a pause for dramatic effect, “for the Secu-Tex exploit. In exchange, I walk out of here, and I don’t press charges.”

            “A million dollars for a bug that size is unheard of!” Hardeck gasped. “This is extortion!”

            “Actually, according to Bern, and his friend down at the DA’s office, if,” I slowly kicked my way over to standing in front of the door, “something like this were to happen, hypothetically, of course, we have a pretty strong case that ‘this,’” I made swirls with my fingers and returned them to my pockets, “could be construed as me accepting hush money, which carries a misdemeanor charge and could easily have the one year jail term commuted, all things considered.” I stood with my feet shoulder-width apart and leaned in slightly. Power poses. They work. “Oh, and I’ll be keeping the security footage in escrow with Bern in case you try to send a less amateurish mook,” I made a thumb gesture to Grace, “to try and pick up where she left off.”

            Hardeck stared at me unflinchingly for a while, and then shook his head, “Well? Can I say no? How do you want to do this, Mister…”

            I reached into my blazer’s breast pocket and pulled out a small tablet. I held it up in front of my face, walked a few paces forward, and then leaned over, gently set it down, and pushed it toward him. So predictable, I amaze myself sometimes. “Just enter your bank information, give it the ole’ John Hancock, and we’re square.”

            “This will be all over the news, you know,” Hardeck took the tablet and started tapping away at it.

            “Great!” I smiled widely, visualizing a giant bowl of shit to eat just waiting for me on the desk. “Talk about publicity for my client. And your firm! You’ll be the talk of the security community.”

            “My share prices will tank. The board will have my head,” he said as he slid the tablet back to me.

            “Well,” I leaned over, grabbed the tablet, and stuffed it back in my interior breast pocket, “next time, don’t provoke me. I’ll have Bern’s office send over all the appropriate paperwork to transfer the exploit rights.” I took a few steps back, pressed my palms together and took a small bow. “Since we’re done here, it was a pleasure doing business with you. And you,” I turned to Grace, “thank you for a fantastic evening. It was, enlightening,” I winked and pulled the tape off her mouth.

            “You make me sick,” she glared daggers at me. I held my fingers up to my head in the shape of a phone and mouthed call me. She spat on my shoe. My very expensive shoe. I open-hand slapped her, made a text gesture, then pointed from my eye to hers and winked. She smiled wickedly and licked the blood from the corner of her mouth.

            “Well, it’s been fun,” I reached behind me and pushed the door open. I rolled my hand in front of me and bowed deeply, “but now I must bid you adieu. Good luck!” I side-stepped back and out of the door, closing it quickly in front of me, and bolted as fast as I could down the stairs and across the lobby to the front door.  My car was already waiting for me.

            “How’d it go?” she said after kicking away from the car and pulling open the door.

            I dove straight into the car without answering her. She piled in after me and once I had got situated and adjusted my suit, I pulled my phone out and shot off a quick text message: Bern, they bought the Secu-Tex exploit. Hit Hans for payment, as is customary. “Million, minus Bern’s cut.” I stuffed the phone back into my breast pocket, pulled out the tablet from the other pocket, and passed it to her.

            “You devious bastard,” the tablet illuminated her face as she stared hungrily at the transfer confirmation. “Everything go according to plan?” she passed the tablet back.

            “Hook, line, and sinker, mija,” I took the tablet and stuffed it in the door pocket of the ‘Cedes. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out. Great. Swing by. Need to talk about SB exploit. “Bern needs us to swing by,” I pushed my phone in my pocket. “Bern’s office, please.” A beep acknowledged the change in course, and the screen at the front of the cabin showed the reroute and updated the estimated arrival time.

            “We should take a vacation,” she said as she leaned back in her seat, crossed her arms, and put her ankle on her knee. “I was thinking Thailand or Brazil, if you catch my drift.” She made a duck face and gave me an exaggerated wink.

            I pulled a pill bottle out of the cubby next to my seat and popped a modafinil. This was going to be a long day. “As much as the prospect of a harem of ladyboy hookers in a tropical country with questionable age-of-consent laws and lax police enforcement makes my pecker burst out of my pants, I was thinking maybe we could use this windfall for a bit more practical purposes.”

            “I was talking about the luxury casinos, but now that you mention hookers…” she trailed off and quirked an eyebrow up.

            I furrowed my brow and tilted my head at her.

            “Ok, maybe I was talking about the hookers,” she re-crossed her arms and harrumphed.

            “Thank you,” I smiled and leaned back in my seat. “Now, I was thinking we could finally pull the trigger on some of those remodels we were talking about.”

            “Which ones? The BDSM dungeon?” She leaned forward excitedly.

            “No,” I sighed. “Well, yes actually, but not just the BDSM dungeon.” I pulled my phone out and opened up my notes list. “Number one, ’Upgrade security system to Secu-Tex BCZ-01 system,’ Ok maybe not that one.”
            “Actually, if they patch that bug I found the ST system will be pretty much impenetrable, so I still think we should upgrade,” she pulled her phone out and started tapping at it.

            “Alright, well, all things considered,” I’ve been saying that a lot to day, “I think updating the security system should stay first on our list. Number two, ‘Convert spare room to boudoir.’”

            “See? That’s pretty high-priority, I’d say,” she looked up and made eye contact with me.

            “Alright, fine, we’ll do up the guest room. Again, all things considered,” there it is again! “I think having a sex room that isn’t my bedroom would be good. “

            “Yesssss,” she wiggled her body, then went back to her phone, then looked back up at me. “Do you think we talk about sex too much? I feel like that’s all we ever talk about.”

            “Is that a bad thing?” I pulled an eyebrow down and cocked my head to the side.

            “Absolutely not,” she sighed in relief. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t care. Because, if you wanted to talk about other things, we can talk about other things.”

            “Don’t be silly,” I flopped my wrist at her. “Now, I think a sex-swing is too much, but what about ceiling mirrors?” I held up my phone to show her a picture.

            “You read my mind,” she said as she jumped across the cabin to sit next to me and cuddle against my arm as I scrolled through the search images. “Oooh, look at that. Who doesn’t love a King Edward’s chair?”

***

Greyhat: Issue 1 - Hacker and the Agent

“The best we can offer you is 45k,” the stiff in the center of the U-shaped boardroom desk announced after huddling with the other suits. “And that’s our final offer.”

            “What a pity,” I replied. “I have an ‘independent buyer’ willing to offer 50k.” I shrugged and turned my back to leave.

            “Wait!” the lead suit mewled. “You would jeopardize this company by selling to an independent? You know what they do with that information, right? Have you no scruples? No humanity?”

            “Why sir!” I hammed it up. “You would dare impugn the honor of my buyer?” I looked back at him over my shoulder and feigned hurt as best I could before continuing my exit.

            “Wait!” he whimpered again. Or maybe yelled. I can’t tell the difference any more, honestly. “Tens of thousands of people’s livelihoods could potentially be put at risk if this exploit were to fall in the wrong hands. We need to patch this exploit before it goes public.”

            I turned and put my fists on my hips and stood feet apart just like those self-help things always say: Assume a “power pose” if you want to be taken seriously. “Well, if you can out-bid my private seller, then the exploit is yours.”

            The suits huddled together again. I could clearly hear hushed whispers, but they seemed practiced enough that I couldn’t actually make out anything they were saying. When they pulled away, Mr. Stiff put his palms flat on the table, straightened his back, and announced, “We can match the independent’s offer and extend preferential treatment should you find any future issues,” through an up-turned nose, avoiding eye contact.

            “Alright,” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Talk to the lady out front?” I pointed at the door. “I take cash, check, credit, wire transfer, gold bullion, bitcoin, stock options, first born children…”

            “Yes,” one of the lackeys held a hand up, “Grace can take care of you out front.”

            “Grace? Really? Why are front desk ladies always named ‘Grace?’” I couldn’t hide a smirk. “Do you actually, like, put that in the job posting? ‘Seeking secretary, must be named ‘Grace,’ ‘Beth,’ or ‘Carol.’’” I chuckled. They didn’t.

            “Please,” the lackey shook his head. “We have other business to attend to.” He implored me to the door. I obviously wasn’t going to get any laughs out of these suits so I bowed and “took my leave.”

Grace was pretty cute. She was in the center of a circular blue desk that itself was in the center of the massive white-tile lobby of the office building. It was punishingly bright in the lobby as well, the giant “glass roof” letting in the blinding summer sun. I leaned on the desk and turned the charm to 11. “’There, but for the grace of God, go I.’” I winked.

            “How would you like your money, Mister…” she trailed off, cold-shouldering me. Bitch.

            I stood up and smoothed my suit. Oh, I didn’t mention I was wearing a suit? Yeah. Bespoke tailor. Trendy cut. Imported silk tie. Hand-made shoes. The whole deal, no biggie. I know a guy down on Garment Alley. He hooks me up.  “Here’s the bank number,” I pulled out a business card and wrote it on the back. “’But by the grace of God I am what I am.’” I winked again, walked away, and didn’t look back. Never look back. It’s a sign of weakness. “Car, please” I said aloud as I walked out the door. My black Mercedes pulled up and I got in back.  “Home, please,” I instructed. The automation pulled into the next slot in the Flow and spirited me away.

            “So, what was the haul?” The voice came from across me.

            “Ugh,” I jumped. The shadows hit the corner just right and I hadn’t noticed her there. “50k and ‘preferential treatment,’ whatever that means,” I pushed a button on the touchscreen under my arm and a glass of scotch rose up on a little elevator in front of it. “Also, don’t do that. It makes you seem…shady.”

            “Ugh,” she sighed. I thought it was a good pun, at least. “Also, that’s 10k more than we thought, nice job.” She made a head gesture without moving any other part of her body at my breast pocket. “And she won’t message you.”

            “Money on that?” I asked as I pulled my phone out.

She tsk’ed. “5 grand.”

“’’His grace toward me came not in vain, but more abundantly than they all did I labor, yet not I, but the grace of God that is with me.’ My mom named me after that passage,’” I held my phone up and shook it, the text message on screen.

“Ugh,” she sighed again. “I’ll never understand women.”

“All those front desk girls are jumping for Jesus,” I clicked off my phone’s screen and put it back in my breast pocket. “It’s the look back. If you look back, they never message you.”

“Or, it’s the fancy suit, Mercedes, and the fact that she just transferred 50 grand to your bank account,” she snuffed back.

“See, you do get women,” I held up my wrist and tapped the gold watch on it. “Oh, and the watch, don’t forget the watch. They always notice it on the lean. Women love it when you’re so rich you can waste money on something as useless as a real, analog watch. Also, I pulled the ‘independent buyer’ line to get the extra ten thou.”

“You know I hate the independent buyer thing,” she scowled at me, arms and legs remaining crossed, shoulders firmly planted against the back corner, “we’re better than that.”

“You’re better than that,” I smirked. “Which is why I do the wheeling and dealing and you just feed me the goods.”

“You gonna fuck her?” She nodded down to my breast pocket again.

“No,” I sneered indignantly, “I’m not going to ‘fuck her.’ I’m going to invite her out to drinks tonight and if I happen to offer to make her dinner, and she happens to want to come back to my place for some videos and ‘chill,’ then so be it. Does it matter?”

“No,” she finally uncrossed her arms and legs and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You just get so much pussy already, I wish you’d throw some my way.”

“Oh? Looking to get back in the game?” I took a long pull off of my scotch. The ice had melted to dilute it just enough to really let the flavors come out.

“I’ve been mourning her too long and my crotch is on fire,” she shifted uncomfortably and leaned back, crossing her legs and arms again. “I just need something to take the edge off.”

“I hear ya,” I raised my glass and took another belt.

“No one could give face like she could,” she sighed and stared off into the middle distance plaintively.

“’She’ was a robot,” I furrowed my brow.

“SHE WAS THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERED TO ME” She put her hands on her knees and yelled at me. I jolted back. It was actually really scary.

“Alright, alright, I know, I know,” I held my hands up defensively. Last time I forgot to humor her she started throwing things at me. “Look, I don’t think Grace swings your way, but we’ll go out and get you laid, alright?”

“She totally swings my way,” she said as she leaned back and pulled her phone out of her purse. “Her Personal History page shows she had two girlfriends in college, was in a male-female poly last year, and her dating profile says she’s looking for men and women.” She held her phone up and shook it a few inches from my face.

“Alright, jeez,” I pushed her phone back, downed the rest of my scotch, and put it back on the elevator. It sucked it back into the arm rest. “Three-way?”

“Maybe. You’re a total pussy-hog, though,” she leaned back again and started tapping away at her phone. “And if she lets you, don’t splash her until she sits on my face, alright? Last time I got a salty surprise and I was not happy about it.”

“I remember. Sorry about that, it just sort of happened.” I pulled out my phone again and tapped out a quick reply to Grace: My pastor just gave a sermon on it last Sunday. It moved me. Maybe we can chat over drinks tonight? “What can I say,” I stuffed the phone back into my breast pocket, “if I’m doing all the work to pick them up, I feel like I deserve the lion’s share of pussy-time. And, maybe if you pulled in some dick for me, I’d be more willing to share.”

“I hate dick,” she said deadpan, eyes not lifting from her screen.

“And this is why I get to hog the pussy,” I crossed my ankle over my knee and leaned back in the tan leather seat.  “Give and take, love.”

The Mercedes exited the Flow, and I looked up to see it was already pulling into our garage. It alighted in the front row next to the BMW and Porsche, the sliding door shifting out on both sides. I waited for her to get up first, but she stared blankly at her phone. “Mmm?” I indicated with a head tilt.

“Oh, right,” she piled out without lifting from her phone. “So, I have something else you should look at.” She walked briskly toward the door following a memorized path.

I sighed. “Car, turn off.” With my command, the Mercedes went dark and the doors closed with a near-silent thud. “And what is that?” I said loudly across the massive garage as I jogged to catch up with her. She stood motionless in front of the closed door, still pecking away at her phone. She held it up to my face once I was in front of her. I pushed her arm back until the screen was in focus. “What am I looking at?”

“New exploit,” she looked up to make eye contact with me from behind her phone. God, she was a mousy little thing, wasn’t she? Still not sure how she wasn’t just swimming in pussy.

“And?” I was looking at half-a-dozen lines of code underneath a banking website.

“Dershewitz PMed me on Bugfind this morning but hasn’t claimed it with the Bounty Office yet,” she pulled her phone back and started pecking away at it again. “Said he’d sell me the rights for 8 grand, but he has an independent who’ll give him 10k if I don’t take it.”

“Then how do you have it already?” I opened the door and guided her in by the small of her back, flipping the light switch and shutting the door behind us.

“I reverse engineered it right after he PMed me.” She hadn’t moved since I shut the door. I took her by the small of the back again and lead her down the hallway into her room. She dropped her phone from in front of her face and directly into her purse, which she threw on her bed, and strode over to her computer workstation.

“So, you’re saying we can sell it to the indie for 10k?” I walked up to the station and sat at the, ok my, stool next to her.

“No, I’m saying we can give him 8k for the rights,” she picked up where she left off on her 6-monitor behemoth rig. “I’m not going to steal his exploit, he’s been working on it for 3 months. We can pay him and I don’t care what you do with it after.”

“Well, what kind of exploit are we talking here? Arbitrary code?” I tracked her cursor over to the upper-left screen of the rig.

“Not for 8k.” she chuckled as the bluish-white glow of the screen highlighted her face in the dark room. “

“This is just an identity skimmer. Looks like it’s been in the code for about 6 months.”

“Pshhh,” I shook my head. “6 month old identity skimmer? That’s not worth 8 hundred, let alone 8 thousand. Identity exploits aren’t popular at all anymore after last year’s massive social network leak.”

“Wait a second, you didn’t see the best part,” she popped open a page in the top-middle of the screen.

“Wait, is that Swiss Black?” I stood up to try and get a better view.

“Yeah, it is,” she went back to the other screen and made a few clicks. “Now, watch this.” She did a quick compile on the lines of code and a little box popped up. She dumped a vault number from a text file into the text box and clicked a little ‘decode’ button. After some thinking, a window popped up with a sleek-cut businessman’s social network profile. “Gotcha.”

“Wait, is that the guy who owns the vault?” I stood slack-jawed.

“Yep. Pretty cool, huh?” she leaned back and smiled to herself. “Think it’s worth the 8k?”

“8k? This is worth 80k or more!” I sat down and flopped my arms to my side. “Why the hell is Dershewitz selling it to a private buyer for only 10k? Why is he selling to you for only 8k?”

“Because he doesn’t have an agent anymore and he said he’s never filed a patent on an exploit since they went legal,” she shrugged and turned to face me.

“Really? What happened to Milton?” A cracker without an agent always scares me.

“He got nicked in Liberia last month,” she turned back to the rig and pulled up a news article: International hacking regulators arrested Davis Milton of Milton Consulting in Liberia this month on accusations that he was trafficking black market security exploits to rebel groups which linked directly to cr1.7 million in stolen funds used to support terrorist activity. “No one will touch Dershewitz because they think he’s hot and don’t want to lose their accreditation.”

“Yeah, I kind of don’t want to touch anything Dershewitz is moving, myself.” A shiver went up my spine. “A paper trail connecting to us would be bad news bears.”

“That’s why he reached out to me. He told me he knew I could reverse it if he gave me the trick, and that he’d take bitcoin,” she closed out the article. “Can you work with that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, pulling out my phone. I sent a text to my lawyer: Bern, you know about Dershewitz? He’s auctioning an exploit. Will take bitcoin. What’s our liability? Grace also sent me a message: “Sure, your place? Have you seen ‘My Heart But Not My Soul’ yet? It’s streaming, maybe we could watch it?” “This is too easy, mija,” I handed her my phone with Grace’s text message open.

“It’s the jawline bro,” she handed the phone back to me. “Also, Bern says we’re clean.” Indeed, a notification from Bern said: You’re good, I got you. I texted Grace back: Sure, I’m in Holly Hill. That too far for you or should I send a car?

“Well, If Bern says we’re clean, we’re clean,” I put my phone back in my pocket. “So, I say go for it. Tell him we’ll get his 8k by tonight. Can you package that up for me? I’ll start shopping it tomorrow. And it’s not the jawline. My face is a train wreck.”

“Chicks dig scars and jacked up noses, bro,” she turned back to her workstation and began pecking at her keyboard. “And bro, if I like dudes at all, it would absolutely be the jawline that would do it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I stood up to leave. “You know, there are women out there who are the ‘best of both worlds,’ if you know what I mean.”

“First, I hate dick,” she turned to face me as I walked out, “and second, you know how I feel about fetishizing someone’s sexual identity.”

“Alright, alright, I know,” I said. Writing this is making me realize I say that a lot, it seems. “Just sayin’.” It is also occurring to me that I “just say” a lot of things, as well. But I’m digressing. “I’m sending a car for Grace in a bit if she agrees, so you might want to get, um, cleaned up in case I can convince her to let you join us.”

“Alright,” she replied without looking away from her screens.

***

            “So, what’s it like being a ‘hacker’” Grace made a big wave with her free hand.

            “Well, I’m not actually the ‘hacker,’ my housemate is,” I replied as I finished making my drink and flopped down on the plump leather couch next to her in the living room. “I’m her agent.”

            “Agent?” She took a long pull off her gin and tonic. “What, is she like a movie star or something?” she was sitting side-saddle, her powder-blue pencil skirt hiked just above her knees.

            “Oh, no,” I took a long draw of a Manhattan and set it down so I could gesticulate. Chicks love watching your hands wave around when you talk. “Ever since hacking went above-board, there’s a whole system of checks and balances around who gets rights to what for bounty credit and such, so the really big hackers get agents to manage all the red tape for them.”

            “Wait, so you don’t actually sell them the exploit?” She cupped her glass with both hands, took another long drink, and fluttered her big green doe-eyes innocently. I could tell she couldn’t care less, but she was very good at playing the game.

            “No,” I took another drink myself. “I sell them the patent rights. Once we publish an exploit to the Bounty Office, the method gets sent to the code owner right away. We auction off the publication rights. Technically, if no one buys them, they have to pay us royalties for the duration of the patent.”

            “Huh,” she took another drink. It was getting empty so I stood up and started preparing her a refill. “So, why was Mr. Hardeck willing to pay so much for that exploit today?”

            “Well, there are a lot of people out there who collect exploit patents for the royalties,” I grabbed an expensive bottle I had refilled with cheap gin, a stainless steel tonic dispenser and a couple of chopped limes and set them on the coffee table before flopping back down. “Hell, ‘Mr. Hardeck’ has a whole stable of them himself that he chops up into securities and sells to investors.”

            “Mmm, this is really good gin, by the way,” she took another long draught, finishing the glass. “I’m used to drinking the cheap stuff. Could I get another?”

            “Of course,” I replied with a wink. “Nothing but the best, you know. Let me refill you.” I sighed internally as I mixed her up another.

            “Are those the ‘independents’ I heard him mention?” She took another long drink. “Mh, so good. You make such a good drink.”

            “It’s all in the tonic,” I winked again. I wink a lot. It puts people at ease. They know that they don’t have to take me too seriously. “But yes, those are some of the independents. Not all, though,” I paused to sip my Manhattan. I try to use only high quality ingredients for my drinks. “Sip to savor” and all that. “Some of the independents are actually black-market reps. It takes a while to implement fixes for some of the exploits, so the criminal underworld will try to snatch up really complicated ones via shell companies and will actually use them for nefarious means before reselling it after it’s fixed.”

            “Oh wow, that’s scary, kmhff,” she snorted into her drink as she took a sip. She held her hand under her mouth to keep it from getting on her shirt, but some was dribbling down her chin and neck. She put the drink down and unbuttoned the top of her blouse. It was a billowy, reasonably modest white-silk number. “Sorry! Could you hand me a napkin so I can clean up?”

            I pulled the folded linen pocket square out of waistcoat, made eye contact, and then gently dabbed up the streaming liquid from her chest before it made it to her cleavage. I then handed her the square. “It can be,” I continued, not breaking eye contact and smirking coyly before turning away to take a sip of my Manhattan, eyes straight ahead until she handed me back my pocket square between two fingers, blouse left unbuttoned. Oh, she was good. “My housemate actually just showed me an article of a friend who got picked up in Liberia. Allegedly, one of his independents turned out to be linked to terrorists.” I took a longer sip and savored it for a second before glancing back at her.

            Her blouse was unbuttoned far enough to reveal the lace top of a fancy ivory bra, and the bountiful expanse of pale décolletage above it, a small gold cross on a thin gold chain nestled just between her bosom. Instead of holding the drink to her face as previous, she now had it held just in front of her chest. At my glance, her pinky began toying with the lip of the glass before bringing it to her ruby-red lips to lick a bit of moisture from the tip. “My,” her tone was sultry, not surprised, “such a dangerous life you lead.” She kicked her legs off the edge of the sofa and scooted close to me, her face inches in front of mine as she ran the index finger of her free hand along the length of the raised white scar that went across my eye, nose, and cheek. “Is that how you got this scar?”

            “No,” the voice said from the hallway, behind the couch. “He got that from a bar fight defending me.”

            Right on cue. We both popped our heads over the back of the couch. “Oh, Grace, this is my housemate, ‘the Hacker.’” I stood up and sashayed around the couch, pulling the bewildered Grace by the hand behind me.

            “Oh?” Grace commented, a bit too dumbstruck to say anything else.

            “Yeah,” she crossed her arms under her chest, almost pushing he cleavage out of her low-cut gown. “Some guy at a bar was hitting on me, and when I told him I didn’t swing his way, he tried to have a go at me anyway.” She was laying her accent on really thick.

            “Oh my,” Grace held her hand to her chest, face in either authentic, or extremely-well-rehearsed, polite shock.

            “When I saw what was going on, I decked the guy clean in the jaw,” I picked up. I made a shy face and looked at my shoes for a second. Humble always scores points.         

            “He pulled me by the small of my back and as he was guiding me away, the guy yelled something,” she looked up at me with those big doe eyes again, then focused the high beams at Grace.

            “Awww,” she made a cute sympathetic face at me and then at her, hand still over her heart.

            “I turned to see what he said he slashed my face with his boot knife,” I smirked and half-shrugged again. “I was really broke back then so I couldn’t afford the expensive surgery prevent my hideousness. I know it makes my face ugly, but I know I did the right thing so it was worth it.”

            “We’ve been best buddies ever since,” we locked eyes with each other and then both gave Grace the look.

            Grace reached out and caressed my cheek. “You absolute gentleman,” she said. “And you poor darling,” she said as she reached out to caress her cheek as well. “Do you want to join us? We were just about to watch ‘My Heart But Not My Soul.’ It’s about a guy and a girl, so you might, uh, not be in to that, but…”

            “Oh, no,” she cut her off, “if it means watching it with you, I’d love to.”

            “Oh you,” She flopped a wrist at her. “Look at you,” she said playfully as she rested her elbow on the forearm of her drink-hand, turning her hand back toward her chest, just under her chin.  Then, she gave her an obvious up-and-down. “Actually, look at you,” her eyes widened hungrily at her perked-up chest.  She clicked her tongue, “This is going to be a fun night. Come on, let’s watch the movie.” She turned and slowly sauntered to the couch, hips waggling despite the lack of heels.

            I reached out a low-five, and got one, followed by a hip bump before we both hurried to the couch and turned on the projector screen.

***

Chapter 19 - One Way Ticket

 “We need clearance,” the Commander yelled at the three-dimensional rendering of the military official in front of her, “we need the rail launcher and we need clearance to get up there.”

“You have no evidence to support your claim, Carol,” the military official replied calmly. “This little rumor about Standish co-opting Gotoma to get that prick into space is just that: a rumor. “There are no video feeds to confirm, just some hearsay reports from amateur media outlets. The Great Union has a peacekeeping detachment up there already, so even if you're right, we can handle it.”

“You've seen what Vishnu can do. You've seen the feeds, how can you be so arrogant?” she pleaded with the dignitary.

“Commander,” Jim knocked on the door casing of her office, “you sent for me?”

“Yes, Jim, come in,” the Commander waived him over. “This is General Montreal. He's Head of Operations for the the International Alliance's military involvement with the Great Union. He was just saying that the IA won't let us use the rail launcher to get you guys on Luna to defend the nuclear installment.”

Jim snapped to attention, the rubber of his heels squinching on the poured concrete floors. He'd missed the scratchy comfort of his uniform. “Sir,” he replied as the image wordlessly motioned him to stand at ease. “It is absolutely necessary that we get at least one of our units on the Lunar surface. We have it on good authority that Standish is attempting to utilize the newly-restored Gotoma impulsor cannon to secure passage and overtake the-”

“I'll stop you there,” the General him cut off. “First, you're not supposed to know about the Gotoma impulsor cannon. Second, I don't care how strong you think Vishnu is, I'll nuke that fucker myself if he takes one step off Terran soil. Third, you are both toiling under the delusion that I have any control over the rail launcher. Even if I wanted to authorize your launch, which I don't, the rail launcher is owned and operated by NRI, and last I checked that bridge was a charred wreck.”

“Sir, you know I wasn't talking about that rail launcher,” Jim responded. “I'm an Aug. I have A0 State Secret and Classified:Black clearances. Last I checked, there are only a dozen or so other people on Terra with both classifications, and I believe you are not on that list,” Jim replied with a notable swagger.

“How on Terra do you...who gave you...where do you get the nerve to talk to me like that?” the General fumed.

“We need access to the IASS Windforce,” Jim stood square, his fists planted into his hips.

“You know for a fact that is impossible,” the General replied slack-jawed. “We have gone to extreme lengths to hide its restoration from the Great Union and we are not about to go tipping our hand any further than we already have on some cockamamie conspiracy theory that that lunatic Standish is going to try and ransom the planet.”

“Then what do you think his MO is?” the Commander interjected.

“Money, same as you,” he shrugged. “I think he wants to sell Vishnu to one of the nomad colonies and disappear. The People's Island Republic has extremely low cost of living compared to the IA, terrible extradition habits, and loves to fence shady goods. Assuming you're right and he was seen near Gotoma, that's just a hypertube away.”

“It fits,” Jim began, “but you don't know Standish. That's not his style.”

“Then what is his style? Cartoonish super-villian antics?” The General condescended.

“Yes,” the Commander interceded. “That is exactly his style. Standish doesn't 'do' disappearing. Standish does statements. Theatrics. Flamboyance. He's not trying to disappear, he's trying to put on a show.”

“Look,” the General sighed exasperatedly, “I am not going to let you use the Windforce. Period. I am not going to put my name on any document that authorizes you to use IA airspace. I will not ask the Great Union to let you garrison on Luna. That's final. Thank you for your concern, Carol. If you turn out to be right, we'll be in touch, otherwise, don't hold your breath.” With that, his telepresence vanished.

“That arrogant fuck,” Carol stamped her foot and stormed over to her desk, flopping down into the chair in front of her digipad, cradling her forehead in a hand, elbow propped on the desk.

“Maybe he's right,” Jim put a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe we're over-reading this. Maybe he is just trying to get out of the game”
“Maybe,” Carol said without looking up. “But we can't take that risk. This is my responsibility. He is my responsibility.” She remained unflinching, her stone face completely unreadable. “You're dismissed, Jim,” she covered his hand and looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Jim put his other hand over hers and patted a few times, then pulled them both away, saluted, and left her to her thoughts. He descended the stairs and wended his way through the now-set-up Mission Control and into the debriefing room in the back. “No go,” he said to the others who had collected there.

They all slumped deflatedly. “Did you give them the clearance line?” Marion inquired.

“I tried to give him the whole thing but he cut me off,” Jim collapsed into a chair across from them all. “He said they'd just shoot him down if Standish tried anything, and that he wouldn't have anything to do with our mission.”

“Shit,” Adrian replied.

“He said he thinks Standish is just trying to get out of the game,” Jim continued. “That he's just gonna sell off Vishnu to the PIR and kick it on some glittering beech.”

“That doesn't sound much like Standish,” Blaize spoke up. “At least not the Standish I know.”

“Me either,” Jim confirmed.

“So what do we do?” Tony questioned to everyone. She had become much more involved and talkative since passing her competencies.

“Well, we'll get you some more experience in the plugs,” Tomah added in. “And I say we set up a deployment strategy to cover our bases.”

“I say we hijack the Windforce,” Blaize raised his hand.

“Seriously?” Marion pulled her chin into her neck and furrowed her brow, “where do you come up with this stuff?”

“Yeah,” Jim confirmed, “That's a no-go. Even if we were successful, which is questionable at best, you don't just get away with something like that. We'd be court-marshaled and discharged, or worse, excommunicated and left to the Outsiders.”

“Yes,” Tomah picked up, “jumping the Windforce is out. I think Gotoma and the other unaffiliated Frontier colonies need to be watched. I think we need a presence in the PIR and near the DPRC, and I think we need to keep some of us back in case Commander Cecilia can secure us passage to Luna.”

“Agreed,” Blaize conceded. “I say we put the offensive line in the field and keep the heavies and special teams in reserve.”

“I'll take Gotoma,” Marion volunteered. “In Musashi. I think I'm the only one with plug experience on him.”

“Right, I'll take the PIR,” Adrian raised his hand. “I've piloted Simo before, so I have the best chance of handling him in hybrid.”

“I'll take Enlil over to the DPRC,” Blaize kicked back and put his feet on the seat back in front of him. “If he shows up there, engagement is pretty much off the table, so stealth is better than force.”

“The rest of us will hang back and work with Tony,” Tomah acknowledged.

“Alright, guys,” the Commander said as she stormed through the door past everyone to the front of the room. “New plan. We're gonna jump the-”
“We're not jumping the Windforce,” Blaize cut her off.

“No, you're right,” she pulled her head back in mild shock. “We're gonna stake-”

“Enlil at the DPRC,” Blaize replied.

“Musashi at Gotoma,” Marion updated.

“Simo at the PIR,” Adrian raised his hand.

“Great,” the Commander nodded as if she had come up with the plan. “And the rest of you-”
“Helping Tony,” Tomah interjected.

“Yes, right,” the commander nodded, shook her head, and nodded again. “Right. Alright, good.” She walked out without saying another word.

“That was weird,” Jim raised his eyebrows and shook his head in place. “But, we know what we're doing, let's get this show on the road.”

***********************************************************************************

“We're in,” the Commander came into Jim's head. He wheeled Cúchulainn around and into a bush to his right, a mass driver round whizzing past his left hip as he dove into the underbrush. “Jim, we're in.”

“What!?” He yelled frantically in his own mind to her. Tony was right on top of him, Heimdall's massive fist pounding into the ground, cratering the earth where Cúchulainn's face once was. All of a sudden his world went black and the clamshell of the simulator swung open. He twitched and spasmed for a bit, his body and mind unprepared for the sudden shutdown.

“Gotoma," the Commander said standing over the writhing pillow of the nanobed while Jim recovered. “They've agreed to launch us.”

“We haven't heard a thing about Standish in months,” Jim stood up, body still tingling as his perception slowly returned to him. “Why are we launching up there? Plus, we have a shakedown in Outsider territory in a few days, and Tony still needs a ton of work in the sims.”

“She looked like she was about to beat the ever-loving snot out you before I pulled the plug,” she crossed her arms, feet in a T stance, her uniform, as her face, crisp and unmoving.

“I had caltrops placed,” Jim started.

“Ooo, that is dirty,” Tony sniped from behind him. “I will remember this for next time.”
“See what you made me do?” Jim held his arm across his body at a ninety degree angle, palm flat and facing the ceiling. “You made me give away my secret weapon.”

“Tomah still falls for it every time, and he knows about it,” the Commander rebuffed. “But that's not why I'm here. We're in, Jim. Gotoma has agreed to let us use their impulsor. We can get you to Luna.”

“You said that,” Jim pulled off his helmet and cradled it underneath his armpit. “But you didn't answer my question about 'Why.' Standish has been silent for months. Montreal was right, he's probably in some skeezey club in the PIR asking hookers if he can call them 'Commander.'”

“He's not right,” she said, face still unmoving. “He's out there, waiting for us to let our guard down. Like a crocodile.” The commander broke pose and put her hands on her hips. “Hookers? Really?”

“Good point,” Jim said as he waved his index finger in the air, “he doesn't need hookers, he's got all that fancy Auging. He probably has some mental recording of you two bumping uglies he can pull up whenever he needs it.” He used his free hand to push past the Commander and over to the staircase leading up to the analyst box.

“Jim,” the Commander fell in step behind him. “You are getting sent up to Luna next week. I need you to get Tim prepping Cúchulainn for space. I need you in the sims working strategy. I need you coordinating with the others to get things planned. I need...”

“I'm not going to Luna to chase ghosts, Commander,” Jim interrupted her. “That's above my pay grade. Get Tomah, he's Gold-one. Or Marion, she's the mission coordinator. You gave me Tony to train, so I've got that to do. I have shakedowns in the Wilds I need to coordinate. I have Molly. Standish is gone, Commander. He bowed out.” He put his helmet on a desk next to a bank of terminals and sat down next to an analyst. “Now if you'll excuse me, this kind woman and I need to go over Tony's sync numbers.”

“Lieutenant Ross,” the Commander stood behind the analyst, who was stone-still in fear, her arms crossed, feet in T-stance, scowl penetrating deep into his eyes. “This isn't me asking. This is me telling. As your commander, you are going to Luna. I'm pulling back Marion and Adrian to handle the shakedowns and Tony. Blaize is pulling back to defend the Windforce on Montreal's request.

Jim stood up, brow furrowed deep, his own scowl unflinching. “What happened,” he stated without inquisition.

“Standish made a move,” she said.

“What do you mean 'made a move?'” Jim stood resolute, feet shoulder-width apart, hands on his hips.

“He's sent demands. He's on Luna already. Right now,” the Commander did not giving an inch in the War of the Scowls.

“How in all that is holy did he do that!?” Jim conceded defeat as his jaw dropped and his face went slack.

“The info dump,” the Commander began. “From the latest SU dig. Apparently he hacked in and has been leafing through the documents. There was a bunker in the Arctic Wastes.”
“Oh, how convenient,” Jim made pulled an aggressive smirk and mocking eyes, “the plot of your little story needs Standish on Luna and a mysterious 'bunker' appears in some ice-blasted hellscape mentioned in an obscure 'info dump' that he vaguely 'hacked' into. That's some coincidence.”

“Coincidence,” the Commander's face remained completely unmoved, “has nothing to do with this. You're the conspiracy guy. You know for a fact that Standish has the will and influence to orchestrate all of this. Why do you think we even dig these info dumps up? Military secrets. New Core locations, military base ruins, history. Those info dumps are exactly where he would find something like that. The 'ice-blasted hellscape,' as you call it, is one of the last unexplored realms. We have next to no information on it from antiquity and we have no will or need to prospect up there. And 'hack' here is a loose term. IT hadn't suspended his user credentials yet, so he used a remote login to access the info dump. Why are you always so skeptical of everything we say?” The commander's face was pleading.

“Because it's just too convenient,” Jim furrowed his brow and shrugged. “Whenever you guys have some mission, it's always the result of this convoluted chain of coincidences. I only question you guys when what you're saying seems unbelievable.”

“Well, we're a paramilitary special forces group, Jim,” The commander's face returned to its stone set. “It's our job to deal in unbelievables.”

“I guess,” Jim shrugged again, face softening. “So Standish really is on Luna?”

“For the millionth time, yes.” The commander started walking away and signaled him to follow with a head shift. “Tony, we'll have you assist Jim with coordination once I finish briefing him.”

“Alright,” Tony said with a salute.

“Now this is critically important,” the commander said suddenly as they entered the stairwell, pulling him by his arm to the side of the landing, “Standish hasn't tried to contact you in any way, has he?”

“What?” Jim pulled his arm away. “No, I would have said something if he had. Why?”

“Nothing, Jim,” the commander sighed deeply. “It's nothing. Anyway,” she said as she led Jim back into the analyst's nest and then over to the briefing room. “Now,” she resumed, “I need to warn you about Standish. He's gone a little more than rogue. Do you know anything about Computology?”

“Are you telling me Standish is in a cult?” Jim pulled his chin back into his neck.

“I am,” the Commander deadpanned.

“Computology? Like, Tachyon meters and alien spirits in gravity capsules and Xenochron?” Jim turned the corners of his lips down and furrowed his brow so hard it physically hurt his cheeks and forehead.

“He got involved with it shortly after we broke up,” she began, her eyes fixing on a point in the middle distance, almost theatrically. “He started spiraling. Dyman got him in for a 'reading' and it helped. We all sort of ignored it because it worked. He stopped moping. He started to actually try on his missions, and he wasn't too deep in, back then. It was like therapy. It worked.”

“I mean, I get religion. But Computology?” Jim shook his head. “We learn from day-one that Computology is a cult and a scam. How did he get roped in?”

“They're subtle,” the Commander shrugged. “Standish new the danger, with his Augs, more than anyone else, arguably. He thought he could beat them. But the more they helped, the more willing he was to believe.”

“So what does this have to do with him on Luna?” Jim tried to bring it back.

“He requested you,” the Commander pointed at him. “Directly. I know what he's planning to do and I wanted to warn you not to trust anything he says. He's delusional.”

“What is he planning, then?” Jim furrowed his brow and shook his thoughts into place.

“He's going to try and turn you to his side,” the Commander began to pace, “get you to join his cause. He's holding the whole planet ransom. He and his 'squad,'” air-quotes, “have not only refurbished but actually enhanced all of the atomic weapons up there. There are only a couple dozen, but they're all extreme-yield and salted to hell. If even a few of them were to impact, most of the planet would be inhospitable for a century or more before the nuclear winter would disperse and the Adam bug population could rebuild enough to make the planet livable again. We'd be wiped out all over again, save for those who could make it back into the caves and bunkers in time.” The Commander stopped, hands clasped behind her back, head hung. “It'd be my fault if he...” she trailed off. “We have to get you up there, Jim.”

“Alright,” Jim shook his head again and sat up straight. “What do I need to do?”

The Commander turned to face Jim, a calm smirk across her face. “You are too good for us all, Jim,” she started, her face breaking into a warm smile. She turned to face him and set her features. “We're rigging up Cúchulainn for transport to the Valiant, who will be carrying us over to Gotoma for launch. We're going to land right next to the base. We don't really know what Standish plans from there. He just said to get you to a set of coordinates in the next ninety-six hours and he'll take it from there.”

“Then,” Jim stood up, “there's no time to lose. I'll get back home and get ready ASAP.”

“Thank you, Jim,” the Commander stared him dead in the eye, “you're our last hope.”

***********************************************************************************

“You know how these work, right?” the voice came into Jim's head, echoing like he were in a large tiled bathroom. “Turn your kinetic sinks to full. You'll need to enable your disruptor fields, too.”

“Roger that,” Jim spoke imagined himself speaking into a microphone. “You heard the guy,” he said, this time to Cúchulainn.

“Aye,” the AI responded, “And so it shall be,” his booming ancient brogue sounding almost alien to Jim after Vishnu's clean non-regional tenor. “My legs are strong and the heavens part for me.”

“Alright, stand still and prepare for the impulse,” the voice returned. “Once the compensators detach, you'll want to start gradually disengaging your disruptor field so you can steer on your way out. We're putting you on a fairly aggressive path off the surface for time's sake, so you'll need to do a little bit of driving to get there.”

“Affirmative,” Jim acknowledged again. “I'm ready for impulse.”

“Roger that,” the voice replied. “Even with the compensators and your kinetic sinks maxed out, the g-force is still strong enough to give you a really solid kick in the pants.”

“Acknowledged. We took one of these off of Luna for a previous mission,” Jim winced internally.

“Alright, get ready,” the voice was mellow and lilting, his Gotoman accent making his vowels sound very round. “Three...two...one...”

On the last syllable, a surge went into Cúchulainn's legs, the compensators and kinetic sinks redlining as they absorbed the massive burst of acceleration that brought Jim from stationary to several dozen kilometers per second. Jim felt the massive burst of g pull the blood from his head. He panted through clenched teeth and flexed his throat tight as he tried to keep the blood pumping into his brain. Black stars started forming in front of his eyes. After what felt like a few aeons, the compensators disengaged. On cue, Cúchulainn began tapering the disruptor field, reducing the acceleration and steering them on course. Mercifully, the g force started to alleviate before Jim passed out.

“We're on course,” Cúchulainn informed Jim. “It'll be a few hours before we're in range of Luna. I'd advise you get some rest.”

“Can't, too wired, my man,” Jim responded. “I've got some files stored on my transmitter that I'm going to go over. I'll be in one of my Aug offices. Let me know when we're close.”

“That I can do,” the AI responded.

***********************************************************************************

“I'm at the dead drop,” Jim reported back to the commander. “What do I do now?”

“Wait, I guess,” the Commander replied with an audible shrug. “Standish is being really calculated about all of this. I have no idea what he's planning or is capable of. The only reason we even sent you up there is that he threatened to nuke the whole planet if we didn't. I have no idea what he has in store for you, Jim, I'm sorry.”

“Alright,” Jim replied with a pensive sigh, “I'll be in touch as much as I can.”

“Roger...we'll...he's...saf-...-im?” the Commander's reply was garbled and inaudible.

“Commander, repeat? I missed all of that,” Jim replied inside his head, a but shaken.

“You missed all of that because I prevented her from coming through,” the voice appeared in Jim's head, words transcribed next to Standish's portrait, front and center in his HUD. “All will be explained. Follow me.”

“Where are you?” Jim squinted at his mini map and surveyed the landscape of Luna's surface.

“Follow the little white rabbit,” he chuckled in reply as a small “bunny” icon appeared on Jim's minimap.

“Cliché,” Jim replied back. “You're too deep, man. That's what every villain says when they're trying to be ominous. This isn't a movie.”

“That's the point, asshole,” Standish replied flippantly, his voice dripping with disdain. “You always were a bit pretentious, weren't you? It's called a trope. Predictable character, statement, or scenario used for narrative consistency? I'm sure you knew that, though.”

“I know what a trope is,” Jim snuffed back scornfully as he set a course for the rabbit, utilizing the bound-dive technique Standish taught him the last time he was on Luna. “I'm just saying, don't you think that one is a little cliché?”

“Maybe on the surface,” Standish replied, his shrug, too, obvious in his voice. “But if you consider what I'm about to tell you, and all of the various contexts it's been used in to make it 'cliché,' you'd understand why it's actually particularly inspired allegorical foreshadowing, if I do say so myself.”

“And what are you going to be telling me?” Jim replied as he converged on the bunny, which marked a nondescript, opened hatch in the lunar surface.

“In due course, good sir,” He replied, his jovial smile and snarky facial expression contorting his animated portrait's rendition.

“Wait, let me guess, you want to inform me about Xenochron and his fleet of gravity capsules full of Tachyon particles from the souls of genocided alien races?” Jim smirked smugly in his head.

“Oh god,” Standish's laugh was deafening. “Is that what she told you to try and discredit me? Computology? Oh man, remind me to never let Carol forget that one,” he scoffed over the intercom again. “Computology. Really? How uncreative.”

“No. You're blowing my awesome literary reference, man,” Standish sounded almost pleading. “White rabbit, going down a rabbit hole. When is that trope used?”

There was a ladder leading down the shaft the hatch was connected to. Jim shrugged Cúchulainn's shoulders and started his way down. The hatch swung closed with a huge thud, leaving Jim in a completely dark tunnel. “Cúchulainn, adjust light sensors or enable night vision if possible,” he said inside his head to himself.

“I shall be your light in the dark,” his thick accent replied.

“It's usually used,” Jim addressed to Standish, “to signify the character is in a dreamlike state and is about to enter into a fantastical world.” The tube angled ninety degrees into a giant underground tunnel. With only one direction to go, Jim involuntarily shrugged his core's shoulders again, and began walking.

“Oh, you are smart,” Standish replied. “And why, good sir, do you think I'm using it now?”

“Because you saw it in a movie and are about to tell me something that is going to, 'blow my mind.' And yes, I used air quotes,” Jim replied, without actually making air quotes.

“Tsk, since when did you get so sassy?” Standish lisped playfully. “But, you're right. I'm going to show you the truth of this world.”

“You're not helping your 'not Computology' case here,” Jim bantered back.

“Just up ahead,” Standish said, ignoring him.

“There are almost no photons down here for the light sensors to salvage,” Jim replied as he followed the faintest outline of a path.

“Oh,” Standish replied. “Right. Close your eyes.”

“Ahhh!” Jim shrieked. He had turned on the lights in the tunnel, illuminating the path, before mentioning to close his eyes, his light sensors, now set to ultra sensitive, filling his vision with a hot white flash before leveling off.

“Sorry. The door is just ahead.”

“I don't see a door. Wait,” Jim squinted into the shadows, the recessed overhead lights forming circles of light and triangles of darkness. “Is that...is that a mirror?”

“Walk through it,” the eyes of Standish's portrait were as wide as they could humanly get, his grin creepy and wide. “Walk through it, Jim. Walk through the looking glass.”

“What? Seriously?” Jim furrowed his brow, no small feat in the plug. “Alright,” Jim strode forward. The minute his toe hit the reflective surface in front of him, the reflective sheet shattered into a million crystalline pieces as they cascaded to the floor of the tunnel.

“Did it shatter, Jim? The looking glass? Did the looking glass shatter?” Standish's tone was manic.

“Uh. Yes? I mean. It was a mirror, Eli. What did you expect?” Jim couldn't suppress the flippant tone, even though he was desperately trying to.

“Looking glass, Jim!,” Standish proclaimed emphatically. “It's not a mirror, it's a looking glass. You must acknowledge it's a looking glass. It is crucially important that you say 'looking glass' and not 'mirror,' Jim.” His voice was intense to the point of off-putting.

“Ok, fine, Eli, it's a 'looking glass.' It was bound to break when I walked through it,” Jim replied cautiously.

“You're the first person, other than Carol, to call me Eli in a very long time,” he paused, “James. Since we're using first names now. It's been a very long time, James, since someone called me Eli.”

“Well, it's your name,” Jim became very serious. “You're not a character named 'Standish' in some story. You're a real person. Your name is Eli, so I'll call you by your name.”

“Ah,” Standish replied. “A bit farther forward and you may be questioning that.”

Just behind the now-shattered mirror, a large red door, big enough for his giant core to pass through, awaited him. “I still think these red doors need to be painted black,” he addressed to Standish as he talked to himself in his head.

“You see a red door and you want it painted black? No colors anymore, you want them to turn black?” Standish responded.

“Yeah,” Jim furrowed his brow forcefully, again. “That seems familiar. I...I don't know why. Why do I want red doors painted black”

“Because Terry really likes old music, Jim. That's why,” Standish deadpanned.

“Terry? Terry O'Callaghan? Like Molly's father, Terry?” Jim's forehead hurt from how hard he furrowed his brow.
“One and the same, my good man,” Standish was impassive. “Through the doors.” The heavy red blast door pulled open as the broken glass crunched under Jim's feet. There was a much smaller red door within, human-sized, not core-sized. “There is a dock on the left. I sealed the door, you have atmosphere and all that good stuff.”

“What? How?” Jim saw a row of slips along the left wall. Vishnu was docked in the farthest one. Jim sighed in relief.

“Just get out. Step into a slip, I'll tech you,” Standish brushed him off.

Jim maneuvered Cúchulainn into a slip. The arm swung into place and began unscrewing the headpiece, removing him from the core. After pulling the plug out of the slip, the clamshell swung open and Jim stepped out onto the catwalk. His muscles still recovering from the disconnect, he slowly made his way down several flights of stairs to the smaller red door.

“You can still hear me, right?” Standish came into Jim's head.

Jim closed his eyes and spoke aloud to himself. “I can. I don't like it, but I can.”

“Well, hurry up,” Standish prodded. “You're late.”

“Late for what?”

“The tea party, of course,” Standish replied flippantly. “There's a sleepy man with a striking monocle and a rather dapper march hare just dying to meet you.”

“Okay,” Jim dragged out the first syllable patronizingly, “and did the queen order you off with your head, too?”

“No, silly,” Standish scoffed. “She ordered your head off,” he made a point of emphasizing the “your” very dramatically. “Now hurry up, the tea pot is growing cold.”

Jim very gingerly swung the door open. The hall it opened to was long, the concrete walls water-stained from the condensation dripping off the cooling pipes through ripped insulation. A door stood ajar at the end, casting a thin white knife of light cutting through the bitter shadows formed by the sole dim, yellow, recessed, overhead light. Jim pushed this door open. An audible creaking on the hinges announcing his entrance.

The door, much to Jim's surprise, opened to a massive grow room, the beam of light emitted by the gigantic solar-simulation arrays streaming through the broad-leafed foliage of the canopy above. “Beautiful isn't it?” The ghostly image of Standish's disembodied head attached to a giant caterpillar appeared in Jim's periphery. “This base has been humming along quietly ever since it was abandoned, and this grow operation has been 'left to its own devices' as they say,” he took a puff on what Jim surmised to be an ancient smoking apparatus he didn't recognize after he exhaled a massive white cloud.

“How are you...?” Jim trailed off. “What are you, A Standish...pillar? Wait, are you hacking my Augs? How can you hack my Augs? I'm not attached to the rig and my box is encrypted. You're the one who showed me how to...”

The Standish-pillar patted the tubular mouthpiece of the smoking device to his nose. “Always leave a back door. Or, in this case, have literally written the book on how to avoid such attacks. And yes, a Standishpillar. I like that. Anyway,” he took another long draw and enveloped Jim in a semi-transparent fog, “we're at the end of the path. There's another little door farther ahead. I would direct you to the Duchess house on the hill, and between the cook and the baby, the whole tableaux is quite a gas, but frankly I'm in a bit of a hurry.”

“You're really committed to this reference, aren't you?” Jim half-smirked at the Standishpillar. “Alright, what path?”
“Follow the yellow-brick road...” The Standishpillar's voice faded out as the psuedo-holographic projection disappeared.

“Now you're getting your references mixed up,” Jim scoffed.

When Standish's voice echoed its last, a yellow mission line appeared at Jim's feet, weaving through the trunks of the massive trees. The terrain itself wasn't exceptionally perilous, but over the years, the grass had grown thatched, the ferns broad and dense, and the vines twisted and tangled. The mission line took Jim around the thickest thickets, but, still needing to traverse the unyielding landscape, progress remained quite slow.

“It's just ahead,” Standish's voice rang out. “Just behind those bushes.” As Jim got closer, he could see Standish's disembodied head again. This time, it was attached to a fat, purple and white-striped cat's body. His face was grinning unnaturally large, revealing his pearly white teeth and making his comically-oversized eyes squint tight.

“Cheshire Standish?” Jim pulled a face and furrowed his brow again. Just ahead were two giant fronds in a crosswise pattern that the yellow mission line terminated into. He pulled them apart to reveal a short black door with a skull and crossbones on it. The door was nearly a quarter the size of a normal door, with a cute little silver knob to match. “And how, pray tell, am I supposed to go through that?”

“Crawl, I imagine,” the unsettling Standish Cat grinned again. “Unless you have some mushrooms and cordial hiding somewhere in your flight suit.”

“Thanks,” Jim sneered. He opened the door to reveal an angled sheet metal chute. “What is this, a joke?”

“Legs first, is my recommendation,” the Cheshire Standish's face appeared as a ghostly apparition hovering over the tunnel.

With a shrug, Jim squatted down, kicked his feet forward, and pushed himself down the slide. He shot down at a steady speed, but eventually the chute terminated into a vertical shaft. He slammed against a pad that had been taped to the wall in anticipation, and then dropped several dozen feet, landing in a pile of dusty mattresses and pillows. The impact was abrupt and slightly painful. It took Jim a second of rolling around and pressing his hand against the pain in his back before he was able to open he eyes.

“So good of you to join us!” Standish's voice carried from afar. His real voice, it sounded like, not the absurd Aug projections he'd been sending him.

With a grunt, Jim lunged his body forward and rubbed the back of his head and neck, cracking one eye open to survey his surroundings. The pile of discarded bedding was in the corner of a dankly-lit, dingy room. The plume of dust sent up by Jim's rough landing seeming to have integrated into the particulate cloud hanging motionless in the room. With a little squinting, Jim could see a long white table about half a dozen feet away from him, covered in pewter cups and pots. There were little packets of sugar and tea strewn across it rather unceremoniously. There were occasionally large white plates covered in rather sad looking crumpets and scones, piled high into disorganized, mountainous heaps. At the nearest end, Standish was seated with his back to Jim. He could only see an odd-shaped tophat with a little card labeled “10/6,” but that was all Jim needed see to know who's head rested beneath it. To his direct left sat a hulking dark-skinned gentleman with long furry ears sticking out of the back of a jewel-studded crown. Sitting what seemed like several dozen empty seats away, Jim could see a man, his chin pulled into his neck, little triangular rodent ears perking out of his wispy hair, the faint glimmer of a jewel shining gleaming in the shadows from his slightly-parted lips.

“Look who's here, I'm glad to see,” the gargantuan man bellowed in a deep jovial boom, “Come share some tea with him and me.”

“Huh?” The man at the end of the table arose temporarily. “Is he here?”

“Yes, he's here,” Standish replied to him.

“Who's here?” The man replied, licking his lips and sleepily running his tongue along his jewel-encrusted teeth.

“Why Jim of course!” Standish exclaimed. “You should know, you asked.”
“Oh yes,” the man nodded, his rodent-ears twitching side to side lazily before drooping back down again as he slumped forward and returned to his nap.

“Yes, now were where we?” Standish turned in his chair to Jim, “come, sit. Have some tea! Crumpets and Jam? The dormouse over there made them himself, and my friend the March Hair insists you try his tea. Special blend! It's slightly different every time, and,” he paused to wheel a cup and plate from the table. He supported the plate with one hand and lifted the cup off, pinkie up, and gingerly took a sip, making special point to sip as loudly as possible, “this time, let me tell you. It's a cracker!”

Jim slowly approached the table and took a chair next to Standish, across from the “March Hare.” “Hey,” Jim started, “I recognize you...” he trailed of as the revelation hit him. “And is that Mr. O'Callaghan? What the hell is going on? What are you all doing up here?”
“In due time, Jim,” Dyman smiled. “In due time. First, try the tea, I insist! It's one of my best and will bring flavors of great bliss.”

Jim, very confused, carefully picked up the cup of tea in front of him. Standish and Dyman were both widely grinning as they silently urged him to take a sip. Very cautiously, he took a small, quiet drink of the tea. “It's quite goo...” but he couldn't finish the sentence before he blacked out.

Chapter 18 - Beginning Of The End

 The thrumming on Jim's back was the most intense he'd felt. It was enough to snap him out of a deep sleep. He could feel Molly's head on his chest, her steady breathing implying the sharp intake of breath that he sucked in didn't wake her. He closed his eyes and groggily summoned up his Palace of the Mind, the office space incarnation. The massive 270-degree desk was covered in dozens of computer monitors, datapads and keyboards strewn across the surfaces, individual feeds piping into each screen. All of them had the same story and references to Jim and Vishnu, drowning the news media planet-wide.

“...impossible to tell what will happen next. It does not appear anyone was hurt after the incident but that, too, is impossible to tell until we can get someone on the scene.” Fancy news casters were all reporting the same story, the same loop of camera footage on repeat. Vishnu punching the edge of their Dome, his hand penetrating the blue film of energy, a shower of sparks raining down around him as he slipped through the window of space it created below him, and disappearing into the Wilds. “It raises many questions, as well. Are the Domes as safe as we think they are? Are the Cores? Were our assumptions about this Jim character correct?”

“No!” Molly screamed as she jolted awake. The knock at the door came again, this time more loud, almost pounding.

“Jim,” the muffled voice carried through, “open up now!”

Molly clung to Jim's chest for a second, her knee writhing along his leg as she stretched and woke up. She sat up, hugging the top sheet to her chest. Jim kicked off the side of the bed and pulled himself vertical, gripping the sturdy post of their king-sized bed. He hurriedly grabbed a pair of pants, quickly stuffing his foot through each leg as he hopped closer to the door, the self-adjusting fabric sliding along his skin and then settling tightly against his thick thighs and calves, leaving a modest amount of room in the crotch. No time to grab a shirt, once his second foot cleared the pant leg and the waist was comfortably at his hips, he jogged through his dark apartment, Auging to turn the lights on as he went.

He swung the door open as Blaize's fist pushed through the now-open door, mid-pound. “Jim!” he trailed off.

“I'm here, I'm here,” he replied exasperated. He kept his apartment colder at night to help him sleep and the chill just now hit his bare chest, sending a shiver up his spine.

“Thank god,” Tomah said from behind Blaize, his massive frame previously lost to Jim, now unmissable. “We thought you'd lost your mind.”

“I just got the flicker, I'm guessing you did, too?” Jim opened the door wide and extended a hand inviting them in.

“What's going on?” Molly emerged from the hall in her thick, grey, polka-dot robe, her slight-but-shapely figure indistinguishable in its fluffy folds. She threw Jim the thick white sweater she was carrying and met them around the kitchen island. “Can I get you guys anything?”

“Coffee for me,” Tomah implored, waving two fingers in the air next to his face. He leaned his huge shape against the kitchen island, both elbows resting on it's surface, his unkempt hair wild and poofy, the stiff black waves sticking straight out, forming a massive halo around him.

“Do you have Morning Drink? I'll take a mug of that, cold, if you can,” Blaize conferred, he, too, leaning on the island, his weight pushing his shoulders up to his ears.

“What's going on?” Jim questioned as he joined them, now braced against the balmy cold, the air exchanges kicking on as his white eyes flashed.

“Gonna ask you the same question,” Blaize replied first.

“I'm getting a feed now,” Tomah closed his flashing eyes.

“My, how convenient,” Jim stood back from the kitchen island and crossed his arms.

“Standish!” Tomah exclaimed loudly.

A knocking came at the door, again. This time, it swung open without waiting to be answered, Marion piling in, followed closely with Adrian in tow. “You better be fucking in here, Jim,” she said under her breath as she stopped abruptly, noticing them all around the kitchen island, Molly stopping mid-step, holding two mugs and a glass in the kitchen, face locked in surprise. “Good,” Marion recovered. “You're not working with him. If you weren't here...” she trailed off.

“What the fuck is going on,” Jim scowled indignantly.

“Standish hijacked Vishnu,” Tomah began. “He used his security clearance, conned the night crew techs into believing he had to go on a secret deployment and that they needed to get him jacked into Vishnu for it, and made a bee-line for the Dome once he got out.”

“Then he did the stupid little punch thing that's all over the news,” the anger in Marion's voice was palpable. “Fucker.”

“What? Why?” Molly said as she put the cups down in front of them.

“Is that Morning Drink? Can I get in on that?” Adrian waved at Molly from behind Marion as they approached the island.

“No idea, I got a call from mission command just now asking me if I knew what Standish's mission was.” Marion eyed Jim's mug. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Molly walked back to the beverage dispenser on the counter and entered in the sequences for her desired drinks, taking the cue to let them talk.

“What is he up to?” Jim inquired. “What's the point?”

“Dude, you're the conspiracy theorist. Isn't it obvious?” Adrian settled into his position around the kitchen island next to Blaize and Tomah. “The dude flipped.”

“Seriously, even I can see this one,” Molly put the cups of coffee and Morning Drink in front of Marion and Adrian. “Nuke base on the moon, Dyman taking the fall, you all getting kicked out of the service and turned into international mercenaries-for-hire, moving all the snooty NRI execs into the nuke-proof bomb shelter...”

“Didn't your dad receive a workstay in the Base?” Jim held up a finger to cut her off, curled his lips into a straight line, pulled his cheeks back, and pushed his eyebrows down.

“Yeah, and he's snooty,” she pushed her own eyebrows down, jutting her neck forward and pursing her lips, holding up her hand, open palm to the ceiling. “AND in our old dorm. Awkward. And on the NRI Board of Execs. So, it fits.”

“So, Standish in cahoots with Dyman and Tim to do what, hold the planet hostage with the Lunar missile base?” Marion gave a skeptical smirk.

“Exactly that,” Adrian tagged. “The dude has recently become obsessed with ancient spy dramas. Seriously.”

“I don't buy it,” Marion shook her head as she crossed her arms. “I think he's siding up with the Outsiders.”

“Wait, really?” Tomah, pulled back and put both hands up flat-palmed in front of him. “That makes absolutely no sense. We've been wiping them out for years.”

“Yeah, and now he's wracked with guilt,” she began. “You all just did that huge drop on the stronghold. We'd been hunting that village forever. Sixth has been hunkered down there for the last few weeks since our mission. We've all been prepping for the DPRC job Tony insisted we take. This is the perfect time to grab Vishnu and crack some retributive skulls.”

“Definitely not,” Tomah began, “This is him, Carol, and the DPRC. No questions asked.”

“No. Just no,” Jim's face pulled a skeptical look so dramatic he actually felt his cheeks and eyebrows flex.

“Hey, you all get your theories, hear mine out,” Tomah raised both of his own hands open-palmed toward the ceiling to his side. “I think that's how Tony got in here. She's a mole. Carol and Standish have become completely disenfranchised with the IA and are siding up with the DPRC.”

“That's a bit bigoted, isn't it?” Molly interjected, a bit disgusted.

“Look, we're all the same people,” Tomah shook his hands in front of him back and forth, “we all came out of the bunkers or the caves. Aside from the Nexuses, we're all so deeply interbred, 'race' is a hilarious concept of the past. We've hashed out all the gender shit our ancestors were obsessed with and the last time we had any tension over economic issues there were things like 'physical currency' and 'financial collapses,' and, honestly, 'money' that actually meant something other than voting power. But you can't deny that nationalism is still a thing. We all like a certain way of living and we have free travel treaties. Everyone's trying to attract their 'kind' and the DPRC attracts ambitious people. Their fight-for-life philosophy fits perfectly with Standish and Carol. They obviously brought in Tony to get all of our data on the Cores and now they're smuggling it out of here, taking our biggest gun with them. Now they have TWO Deity-classes.”

“He's not wrong,” Adrian confirmed. “It fits, too.”

“I know, I know,” Jim shook his head into place. “This is just coming out of nowhere. I've been on this team for a few years now,” Jim paused and pulled a confused face. “Shit, has it seriously been a few years?”

“Jim,” Marion raised her eyebrows, “It's been almost three, man.”

“Seriously? I feel like I recruited, like, last month,” Jim shook his head again. “But that's just it. I feel like I've settled in. Even the missions have become de rigeur.”

“I mean,” Marion began, her voice taking on a more philosophical cadence, “that's kinda how life works, right? You don't remember all of the crazy shit that goes down day-to-day, you remember the stuff that's important to you. That makes you, 'you.' That's why you feel every hour of every day, but you don't remember every hour of your life, just the stuff that is important to your personal narrative.”

“Yeah,” Blaize picked up. “You forget the stuff that didn't really mean much, no matter how interesting it was at the time. Only the relevant stuff sticks. That's why we get blindsided like this. That's why none of us can agree on why Standish would do something like this.”

“Well, I don't have anything from Mission Command or NRI, yet,” Marion picked up. “I don't think we'll have much until Intel can get us a case file. If you're safe here, Jim, then I think there's not much we can do. Let's reconvene in the briefing room in the morning, 0700, and go over whatever dossier they can piece together for us. The IA isn't going to sit on this, so we'll have more by then.”

“Sounds good to me,” Molly smirked. “I'm still tired.”

“Well,” Adrian began, “I'm full of stimulants and calories.” He held up his cup of Morning Drink. “Anyone wanna do something?”

“I found a nice breakfast joint on the corner of 8th a few blocks away,” Blaize began.

Jim looked down at his mostly-untouched cup of coffee. “I think I'll stay here with the missus,” he grabbed Molly by the waist and pulled her against his hip.

“I'm down for breakfast,” Marion began, “I don't think I'll be getting any sleep for now.”

“Meet anyone interested there, then,” Tomah conferred.

***********************************************************************************

The first thing Jim noticed when he walked into the briefing room was the Commander's presence. The second thing he noticed was the slender, bespectacled man in a black button-down sitting in the far corner, switching his focus between two data pads, occasionally tapping his left ear and muttering something indistinguishably quiet to himself.

“What are you doing here,” Jim asked the Commander as he took his seat next to the others.

“I'll get to that,” she replied. “ Let's get started. You'll notice an extra guest here today. Mr. Kuiriston has decided to sit in on today's briefing.” She made an open-palmed gesture presenting him to everyone. He replied with a nod and a finger wave, never looking up from his data pads. “Due to the nature of the, uh, 'circumstance,'” she made brief eye contact with Tim as he looked up at her impassively. “I've been enlisted to consult on this particular mission. Marion will still have final authority over you all, but I will be providing, uh, 'character advisement,'” again, another flash of eye contact, “to help ensure that everything, uh, 'goes smoothly.'” Carol darted her eyes between the team and Tim nervously.

“So, this is the fifth time we've met up about Standish,” Tomah began indignantly. “Do we know anything this time or is this another, 'sit and wait' update?” He crossed his arms in front of his body and shifted his eyes toward Tim without moving his head.

“Well, obviously not, the head hancho is...” Blaize was cut off by an elbow jab to the ribs from Marion.

“What Blaize is trying to say,” Marion gesticulated as Blaize rubbed his rib and gave her a disdainful face, “is that, with the Commander...I mean, with Carol and Mr. Kuiriston here, there must be some new development.”

“That,” Tim began from the corner of the room as he set his data pads down on the empty chair next to him, “would be an understatement. I've got a lot to explain, so, buckle up.” He gestured to the Commander to have a seat as he took to the center of the room, dominating its space like the keynote speaker at a business convention. “You guys aren't particularly familiar with me, and as far as NRI is concerned, you guys might as well not even be a part of us. Your group is run nothing like any of our other divisions. Until recently, your base had been given special leeway by Dyman to sort of operate on your own wavelength. But, now that the IA has stepped out of our 'public-private partnership,'” he used airquotes, as everyone seemed to, “with you guys, I've been attempting to bring you back into the fold. Taller organization charts, more defined job titles, increased reporting, more comprehensive mission debriefs, clearer strategic plans, everything you all have been struggling to catch up with over the last few months.” He paused a rehearsed pause, closed his eyes and turned his head away from them all, a whimsical smile briefly creasing his calm face, his body wracking in a quick chuckle as he folded his hands in front of his belly before opening his eyes and turning to face them again, his eyebrows knitting into a concerned scowl.

“You all,” he resumed, “operate like a group of damned cowboys.” He stopped at what once again felt like a predefined place. “I'm going to level with you guys,” his face softened and he parted his hands and pointed them forward, “I voted against the CORE Project when Dyman first introduced it. I was against reinstating you guys. It doesn't fit with our 'brand.' NRI is not in the business of selling weapons. New Roman Industries is a lifestyle brand. We commission excavation teams and manufacture consumer products. The International Alliance, in turn, buys our products and stocks their commissaries and outposts. Dyman was a known abuser of that power, often using his influence to hold the IA over the barrel, so to speak. When we dug the first Cores up, instead of turning them over to the IA like we usually do with any military find we unearth, Dyman used the promise of the Augmentation technology discovered with it to keep them in our possession. He squirreled you away into our top secret bunker and started the CORE project under the guise of further developing the Augs into something we could bring to the public at large.” He stopped his practiced pacing and turned full to face them, again, feeling almost like he was reading off of cue cards. “He convinced the IA to turn over highly promising military individuals,” he gestured to Marion and Tomah, “and promising prospects from the athletic world,” he gestured to Jim, “by ensuring access to the Cores for national defense. When the Cores first debuted, participating only in extremely covert diplomatic operations, other nations took notice and began their mad hunt for their own. And, frankly, that's where you should have stayed.”

“But,” he paused a second to plant his feet square with his shoulders, angling his elbows out and punching his fists onto his hips. “The IA decided to tip their hand after the increase in terrorist activity.” He resumed his pacing and scanning. “This upset the delicate balance of power, the NRI at the center of it. The IA scapegoated NRI and washed their hands of any culpability, so we were forced to take the hit. We've been receiving international sanction after international sanction because of you guys. I have tried to convince the other world powers that our organizational reformations would be adequate enough in an effort to get those sanctions lifted. But,” He paused again, pushing his eyebrows down, “with this Standish thing, the Great Union has completely locked my company down. The transport vehicles that carry in goods from our industrial printing partners in the Southern Union, the People's Island Republic, and the various constituents we use in the Conglomerated Colonies, are blocked. My employees are not able to use the hyperline tubes to commute to our international offices. Our company assets have been completely frozen in the international banking system. We are, for lack of a better analogy, dead in the water. And that,” he paused again, landing exactly center-stage, “is why we are cutting the Core project loose. Effective immediately.” He snapped his fingers and several goons, private security company-looking types, entered into the debrief room, flanking the door.

“Wait, what?” Carol stood, a shocked expression riveting her normally-emotionless face.

“I am terribly sorry to surprise you all,” he carried on, “but this is the only way I could get the Great Union to allow my business to resume. These gentlemen will show you all off of the premises and to your apartments. A severance representative will meet you there to discuss what happens going forward.” With that, he exited the stage, picked up his data pads, and rushed out of the door without saying a word or acknowledging anyone as he left.

“Alright,” one of the lead security guys, a burly, clean-shaven man in a false military outfit and black floppy beret said as he stepped forward, “you heard the guy. We'll take you to your flats.”

Everyone rose from their seats in stunned silence, exchanging sidelong glances and worried faces amongst each other. Jim noticed Carol lean in and whisper something to Marion. She, in turn whispered it to Adrian, who whispered it to Blaize. He watched Blaize's eyes flash and a moment later received a message in his Augs. “After you talk to the corporate shill, meet at the diner.”

***********************************************************************************

“And this,” Carol pushed the heavy double-doors open to reveal the inside of the dilapidated warehouse, “is our new home.”

“I thought we were fired,” Blaize began as he followed Carol into the huge expanse, “not in military exile.” The warehouse was a gigantic empty space. The Cores lined the walls, easily fitting beneath the large curved ceilings, spare Core parts and other random junk laying in unsorted piles around each.

“Once I got in contact with the IA, they set up this for us,” She turned to face them, arms spread wide, face in an uncharacteristically upbeat smirk. “They acquired everything, including Ehecatl and the other scrapped Core that we hadn't even begun repairing,” she turned around and pointed to the Cores. “We also got the entire machine warehouse as well, so we can complete the refurbs. Back there,” she pointed far into the distance, the floor big enough that whatever she was point at was barely discernible, “is where the sims are. We got the entire bank of eight. We were also able to get all of the accessories and weaponry.”

“A home away from home,” Marion pushed her lower lip into her upper, forming an approving frown. “So what didn't we get?”

“The Valiant, obviously,” Carol stopped and turned to face them again, arms across her body, feet in a T-stance in front of Ehecatl, the blue sparks of the repair worker's plasma weld-alls raining down behind her. “Deployment authority is another thing.”

“So, what's the point of all of this, then?” Jim furrowed his brow and put his own arms across his torso.

“Standish is still out there,” She began, pulling a hand away from her elbow and holding it palm-up in front of her. “And Tony says that the DPRC could have their 'Mechs' operational at any time, not to mention that there are several other Cores in known circulation, and potentially several dozen we're unaware of, in God-knows what state. And,” she turned around and began walking again, “the IA wants to preserve their advantage. We have operational Cores with highly trained pilots, mechanics, and support staff. They can't afford to lose that.”

“So what do we do now?” Tomah stepped forward through the group.

“We keep training. Standish is likey to rear his head soon, you can't hide a thing like that forever. You know that the Cores actually quite delicate. They need regular maintenance. He'll make a move on someone and the IA intelligence apparatus will get wind of it. Then we mobilize.” Carol continued down the aisle toward a wall jutting out ahead. “Until then, we just need to cool our heels and keep training.”

“What about housing?” Adrian added his contribution. “We've only got a few weeks left on our grace periods before NRI throws us out.”

“Already thought of that,” Carol responded without breaking stride. “Just up here,” she lead them to a single door off the side of the hangar, that connected to a staircase.

At the top of the staircase was the relocated control center, a dozen technicians diligently repositioning and connecting the banks of computer terminals. “Hey!” a recognizable voice came from behind a wall of computer screens. “Over here, guys!” the voice of Molly's father spoke as he appeared around the side, his gem-studded smile and trademark stylish one-piece unmistakable.

“Mr. O'Callaghan?” Jim started, staring in disbelief.

“My boy!” He sauntered forward and embraced Jim. “When Molly told me about what that fink Kuiriston did to you guys, I couldn't believe it, myself! That's not the NRI I know. I never liked that little weasel Tim, anyway. Too ambitious,” he sweeped his fist in front of his body, elbow at a ninety-degree angle, and pulled an angry face.

“Terry has decided to let us stay in one of his private housing complexes back in the city,” Carol turned to address the others. “He's also the main financial backer for the whole revival of the project here. So, we should be thankful. It's a bit of a commute, but the hyperline will dump you off at the base and they said you all can drive the transports to get here.”

“Drive?” Marion pulled a face.

“Drive. There's no automation network out here, so yes, you will have to physically drive the vehicles,” Carol rolled her eyes slightly. “You're all pilots, you'll pick it up quickly. Didn't you notice the driver in the personnel carrier that brought you out here?”

“I just thought he was sitting there, I didn't realize he was actually controlling it,” Tomah scratched his head and smiled nervously.

“Well, this hanger is out in the jungle, if you hadn't noticed,” Carol replied with a dramatic sigh. “This is actually where NRI first discovered Heimdall. Sorry, Terry,” she turned to address Molly's father as she extended a hand, “I'll let you get out of here. Thanks again for your generosity.”

Mr. O'Callaghan took it, shaking vigorously. “Wonderful, thanks. I need to go talk to Mr. Rothgur down in the slips anyway, I'll leave you to your briefings. Oh, and Jim! Tell my dearest that she doesn't have to worry about moving anything over, I'll have my team come by and move you two out by the week's end.”

“Sure thing, Mr. O'Callaghan,” Jim saluted him casually as he descended the stairs.

“So, Jim,” Marion checked him in the ribs with an elbow, causing him to snap out of his salute and double over, “how's it feel to be sleeping with the boss's daughter, now?” Everyone broke into laughter as Jim's face went red.

“It was his idea that we first move in together back at the bunker,” Jim recovered, raising his eyebrows and smirked deviously.

“That's, like, creepy,” Adrian pulled his chin into his neck.

“It'd be creepier if he knew half the shit we did together,” Jim jiggled his eyebrows up and down, the corner of his mouth still pulled up cockily.

“Alright!” Carol waved her hands in front of everyone to get their attention. “That's enough, Jim. I don't need the mental image,” she paused and shuddered, her ponytail a blur behind her head. “Too late.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, opening them with considerable effort. “Seriously, though. We need you all to keep sharp. Standish is out there, and something big is going to go down.”

“Speak of the devil,” Blaize said, his eyes flashing brightly. Jim felt a corresponding buzz in his back. “Loverboy was just spotted in the Desert Wilds, near Gotoma.”

“Wait, more Gotoma stuff?” Adrian interjected.

“I thought Gotoma was a DPRC vassal,” Jim and all turned to Tony.

“No,” she began cautiously, breaking her silence, brow knitted deeply. “The DPRC is much like the IA. They deal primarily in weapons. We often sell to the states that the IA will not. Gotoma has been on the IA blacklist for a while, so they often bought from us...I mean them.” She gripped the front of her shirt and rocked back and forth nervously.

“How long until we're set up here, Commander,” Marion snapped her head to Carol.

“At least a week before we're fully operational” she said after a long pause. “I might be able to get something basic set up in a few days.”

“Then we'd better help,” Tony replied.

“Hey!” the Commander turned and grabbed the nearest technician she could. “Go get Tim, the head tech. Tell him to meet us in the briefing room.”

“Aye, ma'am,” the cadet saluted before bolting down the stairs.

Carol led them all past the banks of terminals and into a small office in the back. There was a large digital chalkboard taking up the entire rear wall and rows of folding chairs set up in front of it and an old-looking lectern. Everyone took a chair as she strode past them to the podium. “What more do you all have? I don't see nearly enough eyes flashing.” She pulled some data pads out from the shelf under the angled part of the lectern and passed them to the un-Auged. “We don't have the luxury of a team right now, so you're all on intel duty.”

Jim closed his eyes and pulled up his work desk Palace. He accessed as many data streams as he could relating to Gotoma. Recent news, their encyclopedic entry, history. “I think I might have something,” he said aloud as feeds of data streamed across his monitors. He used some of the “code” Standish had taught him to write to piece some algorithms together in his head and instruct one of the server clusters he had access to. “One of my servers just fed me something pretty interesting. It looks like IA and NRI had been in negotiations with Gotoma for a while,” he opened his eyes, the flashing phenomenon fading away as reality slowly supplanted his imagination. “After the cave incident, it looks like Gotoma has been working on a Lunar ferry and offered extremely cheap usage of their impulsor in exchange...”

“Wait,” Tomah interrupted, opening his eyes, the flash fading as he made eye contact, “you have 'servers,' as in not only having a server but multiple servers?”

“Yeah, I used some of my salary to buy a couple low-grade clusters. I pieced together a little data center in my office,” Jim acknowledged. “I have a database, some number-crunchers, an imaging and rendering outfit, and some infrastructure boxes. NRI insisted I have Grade-one containment and a Classified:Black-qualifying secure channel between the boxes and my Augs. Standish taught me how to invent a brain-code language that I've taught one of my infra boxes.”
“So you're essentially a one-man research team,” the Commander replied with a nod. “I'm impressed Jim.”

“Well, it's pretty stone-age compared to the stuff those guys have access to,” Jim threw a thumb over his shoulder, “but it does what I need when I'm choreographing missions.”

“You needed me,” Tim announced as the metal door swung open following the distinctive heavy thud of the push-bar engaging. “What's going on? I was talking to Terry about my team, so it better be important.” He stood at the back of the room, just in front of the door, arms crossed across his body, his tight, manicured beard and long curly pony tail, like Tomah's, held tightly to the back of his head.

“Vishnu was seen around Gotoma,” the Commander replied. “We need to deploy as soon as possible. What's a time-line looking like?”

“It will be at least three days before we can get to a place where we can launch,” Tim replied as he squared his stance and put his hands on his hips. “And that's the old way, laying them flat and fork-lifting the plug in. It'll take at least a month before the boom is up.”

“You have thirty-six hours,” the Commander replied as she shifted into a T-stance and folded her arms across her body.

“Then you won't deploy.” Tim kept his feet square and folded his own arms across his body, leaning forward slightly. “I'm not low-balling you. That is the soonest I can get anything set up. You can't just say 'you have a day and a half' and magically I'll have it finished. 'Three days' is my boys running 'round-the-clock overtime shifts and me pushing the hell out of them to find creative solutions. We're not just sitting on our asses down there. Three days.” Tim turned, depressed the thumb-trigger for the lock mechanism on the handle, pulled the door open, and left without saying another word.

“Well,” Jim continued. “I think I know exactly where we're going in three days, so I can start working on strategy now.”

“Oh, and where do you think he'll be, Mr. I-have-servers-plural?” Blaize rocked his chair on two legs and kicked his feet onto the seat back in front of him.

“Because, as I was saying,” Jim stood up to address everyone, “Gotoma has a working Lunar ferry, and Standish is in Vishnu.”

“Oh god...” Marion began as she dropped the data pad into her lap.

“You don't mean...” Adrian trailed off as he caught on right after.

“The base,” the Commander declared.

“Molly was right,” Jim confirmed. “I said 'had been,' past tense, for a reason. Negotiations fell through after the alleged 'terrorist' incident. Their economy was really banking on its success, so I'd hazard a guess they'd throw anyone upward for the right price, regardless of what the news is saying.”

“We have to alert the IA,” Marion stood up and locked eyes with Jim.

“And what will they do?” Jim gesticulated as he engaged Marion directly. “Send up the Third Legion? Lock the base down? He's in Vishnu, not some bullshit mobile platform. He could use the speed trick and decimate the entire legion after hacking his way into the base without a single shot being fired. No go. We've gotta wait and see what he's doing. He's got all the cards right now.”

“So what do we do?” Adrian interceded.

“Wait it out,” the Commander snapped their attention back to her. “Wait for him to tip his hand a bit. See what he's playing at. I'm willing to bet ransom is involved. A hostage situation would be his style. Typical good-turned-bad villain trope from his movies. Rogue, borderline-psychopathic, ace agent experiences something that 'tips him over the edge' and decides to use what he perceives as his immense personal power to try and affect some sweeping social change. Now who does that remind you of?”

“Blaize, honestly,” Tomah made a thumb gesture and smiled wide.

“He's got a point,” Adrian raised an eyebrow and nodded sidelong in agreeance.

“Oh, you guys, I'm touched,” Blaize put his hands over his heart without breaking his recline. “You think I'm an ace agent. How sweet.”

“Seriously though,” Jim continued, “That really does sound like Standish. However, don't those guys always get thwarted by the 'good guys' at the last second when they stop the missile from launching with 10 seconds to spare by blowing up the base with him inside it?”

“Well yeah, in stories and movies,” Blaize cut in. “This is real life. Nine times out of ten, that dude either gets what he wants or blows the planet up.”

“Then,” Tony again broke her silence, “we must prepare. Am I going to be deployed on this mission even though I am still mostly untrained?”

“You're still a couple hundred hours shy of passing your competencies, aren't you?” Marion turned, as did everyone, to face her.

“I have sync ratios in the 80's on the sims,” She replied sheepishly, hanging her head slightly, “and I have not taken my competency test, but I am willing to bet I could move around and fire a weapon.”

“Jim,” the Commander pivoted at the hip, as did Jim, to make eye contact with him. “Let's get you started on some of that fancy-pants choreographing. I want so many strategies that we have a hard time choosing exactly how we want to take Standish out, not just if we can. Tony,” she pivoted her torso slightly to address her directly, “I want you in the sims ASAP. We'll put you in Annie Oakley if you can not fail your competencies. Not even pass, just not fail. Get in contact with your loved ones, guys. We're gonna be here for a while.”

Chapter 17 - New In Town

 “Alright,” the Commander started. “As you can see, We've brought on a new recruit, who I believe you've all met.” She was standing at the front of the briefing room with Standish, Tony sheepishly between them, arms in front of her body, clawing at where the front of her shirt would be if it weren't tucked in.

“I haven't met her, yet,” Adrian said from the rear left corner. He was leaning in near-full recline, balancing the chair on it's rear legs, feet kicked onto the chair back in front of him. “I'm Adrian.” He saluted with a wink, chin pressed into his muscular chest.

“Tony Un,” she responded with a bow.

“Oh, DRPC's TriMil wunderkind,” Adrian pulled his feet off the chair in front of him and planted both the front legs of the chair and his feet back on the ground, legs splayed, arms around the backs of the adjacent chairs. “Haven't seen you since you dominated a few Olympics ago. You've...grown,” he stopped for an uncomfortable chuckle. “You had so much potential. Kinda fell off the face of the Earth if I remember correctly.”

“Yes,” she nodded with an eye-squitingly large smile. “I was recruited into the Homeland's engineering corps directly afterward as reward to my talent. It is there that I became involved with their Mech program, and what has lead me to you.”

“The 'Mech' program is the DPRC's version of the CORE project,” the Commander interjected. “She spent significant time researching and repairing their 'Mechs' and has critical knowledge of their operating systems.”

“That sounds like a pretty sweet gig, what pulled you away?” Adrian inquired.

“It is not a very good life in the Homeland unless you are part of the Nobility,” Tony rocked back and forth nervously, reminding Jim of Molly again. “Our nation is not so friendly to those of poor means. Unlike the Allied Axis, we do not provide basic amenity to our citizens, and allow for a deeply stratified society based on personal wealth and influence. I come from a small commune in the farming country of our Dome. Our life was very hard. My father worked with a woman from the Axis and she offered to smuggle us out of the country if we would betray the Homeland and inform.” Tony looked at her shoes and pulled a face Jim couldn't read. “It was shameful, but he did what he needed to do to provide for his family, and I honor his choice. I met Carol here while I was serving my compulsory service.”

“Tony,” the Commander put a hand on her shoulder, a wistful softness smoothing her otherwise hard face. “Thank you. Mr. Rothgur has run into issues while refurbishing Ehecatl, and we're hoping she can help out and eventually pilot him.”

“I built a hierarchical map of the MechOS and decoded the EFI layer,” Tony replied with a beaming grin. “The chat I just had with Mr. Rothgur would imply that the issue he is having is a driver-related problem. Ehecatl appears to be an older-generation Mech and the parts he is attempting to repair the machine with are not properly accounted for. I believe that if I modify some middle-ware files, the Mech will begin operating correctly.”

“See what I mean?” Standish said audibly to Carol, though he obviously meant it for only her ears. “This is why I think she should have been recruited in as an engineer, not a pilot. She could accelerate our understanding of the Cores by years!” He gesticulated passionately in the Commander's direction.

“I am standing right here Eli,” Tony turned at the waist to scowl at him.

“Was I talking to you?” Standish snarled and stuck out his tongue at her.

The commander turned full to face Standish and took a step back, putting both hands on Tony's shoulders, “You know that part of her conditions for joining the CORE program was that she be allowed to pilot, and I support her. Having a tech-savvy engineer in one of the plugs can only be a positive thing.” She gestured to the seats with one of her free arms, “Tony, please sit down.” She took a seat several chairs away from Jim and the others. “Now, for the reason I called you in. As you all know, the IA will have us resume operations in the next few weeks. Mr. Kuiriston, however, wants me to spend less time working with you guys and more time recruiting. In spite of our new higher profile, Mr. Kuiriston has talked our allies into doubling down on the CORE project. He wants Ehecatl running and Tony in the driver's seat by the end of this year and all three of our remaining properties operational by the end of next year.”

“That's quick,” Marion said, a stern expression riveting her well-defined features.

“Which is why,” the Commander crossed her arm and shifted into her T-stance, “You will be taking over for me.”

“What?!” Marion shot up, again knocking her chair over.

“You're being upgraded,” Standish said, flanking the commander and resting a hand on her shoulder. The commander stared disdainfully as the hand and then scowled at Standish, who nervously removed it and then used it to cut in front of the commander, sashaying around her and almost lunging into view. “We're promoting you from team captain to coach. Welcome aboard!” He began clapping and scanning the empty chairs with a large, toothy grin.

“Would you cut that out?” The commander smacked him across the back, sending him jolting forward as he caught himself unceremoniously, straightening the rumples in his suit as he composed himself. “I am putting you in charge of mission command. One of our lead techs will be stepping up to take over the back end work, so you will still be required to keep up with your training and piloting duties, but now you will have a direct interface with Mr. Kuiriston and will be required to operate with the larger picture in mind when you are in the field.”

“And when do I start?” Marion pulled her chair back underneath her and flopped down in semi-shock.

“Effective immediately,” The commander stepped forward to stand abreast of Standish. “Tomah, you'll be shifting into the Gold-one position. You two should meet up in the Ops room after this with whomever base command has nominated.”

“As for our next campaign,” Standish spoke up, leaning a shoulder-bump into the commander, who took a step back and conceded the floor with a sweep of the arm, “we're getting some reports of Outsider activity in one of the southern farming districts. We don't need all of you, so we'll be sending Tomah and Jim out in the heavies to shake them down. Meet at the docks tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred for a quick brief on the specifics.”

“And, more change is coming down,” the commander stepped up. “Good news and bad. The good news is that all non-support staff with A+ clearance and above are now allowed to travel off base without shore leave.”

“Woah, no way!” Blaize leaned forward in his chair, “we can go topside whenever we want? Wicked!”

“The bad news, though,” Standish interrupted, “is that this base, and the CORE project as a whole, is no longer affiliated with the IA's military, and is now officially a New Roman Industries office campus. Meaning all of our military titles and accommodations are stripped away.”

“What about our salary and benefits?” Jim asked gravely as he too sat up in his seat, the rest following suit in stunned awe.

“Well,” the commander began, “That's where it gets complicated. NRI will be taking over your salary compensation, and most all of the associated benefit.”
“That's good, then,” Adrian piped up after a long sigh.

“Most,” Commander Cecilia, began, “not all. In an effort to allay the new costs, NRI is converting this bunker to its new Central Command headquarters, and will be reallocating space to 'maximize the real estate,'” air quotes, “meaning that the Styx and Ritz are getting cleared out and turned into executive dorms. And the Mall is getting cleared out, as well, and filled with more traditional commercial outlets.”

“You mean...” Tomah trailed off.

“We tried everything we could,” Standish picked up. “Carol and I used all of our weight to try and keep you in the Ritz. But...” Standish himself trailed off.

“But,” the commander tagged in, “Kuiriston's order was final.”

“What about Molly,” Jim piped up, the realization dawning on him mid-thought.

“You and Molly, as with all of you, are being given a series of flats in the office building you all use to access the city,” the the commander replied.

“Wait, they're kicking us off base, too, Commander?” Adrian piped in angrily.

“The entire base is being converted into an office space. All non-essential support staff are being moved into the building. The underground train stop is going to get connected into the subway system and the lift is getting converted into a service entrance,” the commander responded. “Technically, it's against the law for you guys to call me 'commander' anymore, either.”

“So what do we call you?” Marion replied, her voice sounding shattered.

“Well,” she began, “probably just Carol, now. We'll be giving you more information on all of this as it develops. You'll have ample notice before they kick you out of the dorms and there'll be a lag-time between when everything comes online and now, but this is really happening, guys. It's the only way we can keep operating. You're all dismissed.” Everyone except Jim and Tony stood up and made their way out of the room. Carol turned, “Tony, can you stay behind? Jim, what're you still doing here?”
“Oh,” Jim said, shaking his head and standing, “you usually ask me to stay behind.”

“Well,” she replied, “I don't have anything. So, you can go.”

“Oh,” Jim stood and dug his hands into his flight suit's pockets. “I actually was wondering something.”

“What's that?”

“I had kinda thought you were prepping me to take over for Marion,” Jim looked at his shoes and rocked his body back and forth.

“Everyone on the team is much older and has spent much more time in the field than you. Tomah has a good rapport with everyone and was next in line behind Marion,” The commander replied indignantly, almost condescendingly.

“Oh. I see. I had just thought that with all this talk of me being the 'Big Gun' and all the hushed tones surrounding me, that I was...I don't know, that you'd make some kind of exception for me,” Jim made nervous eye contact with the commander's stone face, trying hard to hold her gaze.

“Jim,” she started softly, her face relaxing. “You're a prodigy, not a virtuoso. One day you'll make a great leader, but you've still got a lot to learn and need a lot more practice. Technical perfection can only get you so far, you need just as much time in the field to really learn how a campaign is run. Plus, no battle-tested soldier is going to listen to some hot-shot Poindexter fresh out of Lyceum who hasn't even served his compulsory time. You need to earn your stripes, Jim.” The commander turned to Tony and signaled her to come over. “Come on, Tony, I want to talk to you about a few things.”

Tony stood as Jim shuffled away and grabbed his bicep with a lung, “I think you would have made a very good commander, Jim.” She smiled warmly, forcing her eyes to squint, as she let go and made her way over to Carol with a skip.

As he exited the room, Blaize and Adrian were standing off to the side, as though they had been listening in. Blaize slapped Jim on the back, his thumb and finger grasping the back of his neck at the nape. “Welcome to the group, man. Let's go to the cafeteria. I'll get you a sandwich.” He pushed Jim down the hall as Adrian flanked his other side and wrapped an arm around his back.

***********************************************************************************

“It's cozy, Jim.” Molly rested a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. The space was actually quite huge. The opposite of cozy. Overly modern, would be how Jim would describe it. Stark. The walls were a neutral grey, the floor a brown concrete. The ceiling was a flat white, pock-marked with little recessed light sources. “Carol said that NRI would cover all of our furniture and domestic supply costs, and they're going to keep providing a maid service.”

Jim shook his head into place. The kitchen was along the rear wall, separated from the main room by a giant island. It was truly impressive: a gourmet-quality food printer, full open-flame range, and an industrial-sized refrigerator, all matte silvery metal to match the walls. There was an elaborate bank of cupboards and cabinets, as well as a large pantry creating a symmetry with the fridge. “At least we have a nice kitchen,” Jim replied as he wandered through the space, inspecting the empty shelves and cabinets.

“You should see this bedroom, too,” Molly's muffled voice echoed through the flat. Jim made his way over to the hallway next to the kitchen. It led into a white carpeted room that smelled of fresh paint and chemical cleaner. The space was massive, a walk-in closet filled the left part of the back wall, a huge bathroom taking up the right. It was tiled in gray slate, a glass-encased waterfall shower occupying its back corner. “We could get a four-post bed. I've always wanted a four-post bed.”

“We could,” Jim agreed, still daunted by the space. “We'll make it ours, I promise.”

“Did you hear that?” Molly held up a finger, pausing Jim. The knock on the door was louder this time.

“I'll go get it. Think of some ideas to do with the bedroom, ok?” Molly ran off.

“Hey!” Jim heard what sounded like Blaize's voice from the other room. He went out to see what was going on and caught Marion and Blaize huddled outside the doorway, chatting with Molly.

“Jim!” Marion said as he approached them to see what was going on. She held up a half finished case of beer. Blaize had a card table under one arm and a bunch of chairs under the other. “We're crashing your place. You don't get a say in this,” she said as she muscled past Molly and plopped the case of beer down on the kitchen island. “Blaize and I were playing cards in my room and realized that you were just down the hall from us.”

“Jim, I...” Molly started, a bit bewildered.

“It's OK,” Jim held up his hand.

“Also, I'm pretty sure you've never introduced us formally,” Blaize said to Molly after he leaned the card table and chairs against the island next to the beer.

“We met at the holiday party, actually,” Molly said with a wave and a smile. “But you were already a few cocktails deep, so I don't blame you for not remembering.”

“You've got a beautiful wife, Jim,” Marion continued as she pulled a beer out of the case and pulled the tab to make a satisfying “kutsch” sound. Another ancient hold-over that never seemed to be dethroned by any of the modern inventions of the past.

“Fiance,” Molly said, flashing the back of her hand to her and Blaize, showing off the sparkling gem on her finger.

“You got her a ring? Really?” Blaize let out a deep laugh. “Man, you really are obsessed with that old-school shit. Next thing you know, I'll see you waltzing around the office in those hideous suits Standish wears,” he let out a deep guffaw. He, as did they all, wore a sleek, seamless set of slacks and a fitted white button-down, the buttons made of small magnets holding the shirt tight, courtesy of the IA Quartermaster's store.

“You might have last year,” Jim replied with a friendly chuckle. “I idolized him when I first came on board.”

“He was wearing that stupid fedora that that guy always wears on our first date,” Molly giggled as she and Marion grabbed the card table and set up the folding chairs.

“Did you seriously wear a stupid fedora to a date?” Marion pulled her chin into her chest.

“Standish gave it to me when I first met him,” Jim replied, his cheeks turning red.

“Let me guess, on the train?” Blaize sat down at the table.

“Yeah!” Jim took a seat at the table, too.

“No shit,” Marion added in. “I met him on the train, too. Said something that I thought was really profound at the time...”

“'The truth is on the trains!'” They all said at the same time and broke out laughing.

“It's really all just a highly coordinated act, isn't it?” Jim stared down at his hands on the table. “Did Standish and Carol actually ever even have a thing?” Jim shook his head into place.

“Yeah, back when I knew them, at least,” Marion took a long draw off of her beer. “CORE was still pretty new back then. They had a place in this building, actually. Standish was head-over-heels for her. Still is, I think. I think a lot of his act is just bluster trying to piss her off.”

“What broke them up?” Molly asked as she took her seat next to Jim, cracking her own beer open and handing one to Jim. “Oh, and you don't mind, do you?” She angled the can at Blaize.

“Oh no,” he made a dismissive gesture with the back of his hand. “Something about a cat, if memory serves, though. Carol had this incredibly annoying cat, if I remember correctly,” he rotated his head at the neck to look inquisitively at Marion.

“Yeah. I don't know the details, me and Tomah were pretty new,” Marion confirmed after taking a long draw off her beer, shaking it, hearing a lack of slosh, and pushing away to grab the case and what remained within. “We went over there one time for Winter Holiday dinner. General says 'Come over,' you go, you know what I mean? So I don't know for sure,” she pulled a beer out of the case after lazily flopping into her chair. “Well, they had this cat. Just the most annoying thing in the world.” She set her beer down on the table and was gesticulating very animatedly, scanning side to side to engage everyone as she spoke. “Fat gray thing. The rumor goes, Standish had just got out of the shower and saw the cat sitting on the suit he had just laid out for the day. He yelled at the thing to scram, but when he went over to inspect, the cat had left a brown and yellow surprise all over it, if you know what I'm saying,” she elbow-checked Jim and Adrian, who were sitting on either side of her. “Next thing you know, Standish is standing in a fine red mist. Apparently he couldn't take the cat ruining his suit, so he grabbed his pistol from the nightstand and turned the thing into thin air.” She paused to grab her beer and pop it open. “And that is why they broke up and secretly hate each other.” She angled here beer can at Molly and Jim as she pulled the tab and lowered her head, giving Jim and Molly a comically devious look.

“Anyway,” Blaize carried on as Marion quickly chugged half a beer. “You guys play bridge?” He pulled a pack of cards out of his breast pocket.

“I learned from my grandma when I was really young,” Molly nodded as she set her beer down and put her hands flat on the table.

“I'm pretty sure I remember. It's the one with trumps and points and tricks, right?” Jim took a long swig of his own beer and accepted the cards that Blaize began dealing to him.

“Yeah,” Blaize nodded solemnly as he deftly dealt the cards. He threw each one with just the right amount of spin so that they wheeled into the piles that were forming in front of each of them and stuck underneath without overshooting. “It's the one where you count the points in your hand and bid based on what you have to try and 'win' a round of hands, each set of four called a 'trick.' I used to play it on a competitive circuit before I joined the force.”

“Jim,” Marion prodded, “It's your bid.”

“Oh,” he shook his head into place as he reassessed his cards and counted his points.

“How do you live with that?” Marion prodded Molly with a sideways point.
“It's worse when he gets in his Aug-world,” Molly leaned across and bypassed Blaize and Jim. “He gets into this little 'realm,'” she air-quoted with a chuckle, “and I swear I can lose him for the day if I don't remind him that there's a physical existence he needs to be paying attention to.”

“Oh god, yeah!” Marion nodded enthusiastically in response, “When Blaize or Tomah get lost, I swear, they're just in their own little zone.”

“It's just too easy” Blaize started as he organized his cards, “I have a feed that gives me a slight buzzing at the top of my head whenever something happens that I think will mean we have go out on mission.” He shuffled a card from the front of his hand into the rear. “I have my body trigger a sort of, I don't know how to describe it,” he cocked his head to the side as his deep green-white eyes stared into the middle distance. “I get this sort of dull thrumming sensation whenever something that requires our attention is about to happen. One-Clubs, by the way,” he bid as he made a nodding gesture to Jim. “Like, I knew we were going to get pulled off the SU retribution mission way before the briefing. My sensors thrummed and I just knew.”

“How does that work?” Molly continued shuffling her cards in her hand to organize them. “Two-Hearts, for me.”

“Well, your brain is a very plastic...wait Two-Hearts, really?” Jim interrupted himself as he finished organizing his hand. He had the Ace and King of hearts, several low diamonds, no spades and a bunch of low clubs. “Anyway, the brain is a really plastic thing. Think about reading. You don't really need to decipher every letter and the more you do it, the less it becomes a sort of conscious act and instead becomes, well, a sort of 'sense.' We can use the data streams we get fed from our implants to trigger feelings based on input. I personally have a sense in place when someone is talking about me in the news. I get a sort of pressure on my back and can just 'feel' someone mentioned my name in a public forum. Also, Three-Clubs.”

“Yeah, and it's too easy to get overwhelmed, if you ask me,” Marion finished unshuffling her cards, “Three-Diamonds.”

“Well, if I were a techer, maybe,” Blaize moved a card in his hand to a different position. “But, in case you can't tell by the fact that I play fucking bridge, with physical cards, at a physical table, I've always been an analog guy. Four-Clubs.”

“Heh, Four-Diamonds I say to that,” Molly beamed from behind her cards across to Marion. “Jim's never been a techer, either, thank heavens. I was paranoid when we first started dating, what with the pro-gaming background and all.”

“Not like Standish,” Jim picked up. “That guy has always been a serious techer from what I can tell. Carol,” Jim stuck his tongue out and made a face. “God I am so not used to saying her name. It doesn't taste right,” he paused to wash his mouth out with beer. “Anyway, she said that even before they started dating he lived in front of his computer. Social networking, media streams, computer gaming, code hacking, you name it. Apparently he was a screen-addict to the core. Also, Pass.”

“Understatement of the century if ever there was one,” Marion said through a guffaw. “Swear to god, when I first met the guy, Carol was always at his throat about how much time he spent at the terminal, and when he first got those implants, he lost touch with reality. That's how he got so hard-nosed. Pass, also.”

“Too much access to information,” Blaize said as he tapped his free hand to his temple and took a long pull from his beer. “It's hard to remember how badass humanity is when you see how the sausage is made. Standish knows too much about the world to see it optimistically anymore. Also, you're a wimp, Jim. Six-Clubs.”

“Oh man, I'll double that,” Molly made a “this guy” face to Marion and pointed her free hand at Blaize. “And I don't believe that. I think you can know a lot about the world and still be optimistic. I'm an ancient literature scholar. When I read some of the shit our ancestors did, it makes me weep for humanity. But then I realize where we are and that we're just animals who evolved all of these crazy abilities and we're just another generation in a long line of animals trying to understand the universe.”

“Redouble that,” Blaize snarked with a wink. “Don't look so tense Jim, we got this. Unless you're terrible at bidding.”

“I am not terrible at bidding,” Jim said with a stern smirk.

“Alright, pass on that, then. Boys, let's see you do this,” Molly said as she pulled her cards in front of her face. “Oh!” She pulled her cards to her chest, “No cheating! If I see either of your eyes start glowing, you forfeit the hand,”she squinted at them as she re-erected her picket fence of cards.

***********************************************************************************

There was a boom from the other side of the trench Jim, Tomah, and Adrian were hiding in. “Third Legion confirms the artillery blast was a hit, The turret is down,” Tomah's portrait said from the Upper-right-hand corner of his HUD, his words translated into text. Adrian was on the left side, but because he was un-Auged and couldn't share a mental rendering to Jim, it was a static animation. Jim had spent a considerable amount of his down-time from the CORE program suspension developing a really cool graphical user interface and trained Tomah and Blaize how to use it so they could all “pool” their perceptions together. “Move up, on my mark. Go!”

Heimdall stood up and chopped his arm forward. Vishnu and Cúchulainn stormed over the ledge and sprinted past a burnt-out crater where the makeshift turret had been set up. They stormed from the dried river bed that served as their impromptu-trench into a thick of wood the turret was defending. The tree cover was dense but the trees were reasonably short, unable to hide the massive cores just standing. They rushed forward and hit the deck, full-grown trees collapsing like grass in explosions of splinters beneath them, just as a wave of mass-driver rounds came ripping through the air. Two giant mobile platforms were flanking the either side of a low-slung blue Dome.

“I'm in place with the Sixth,” Standish came over. He was in full camouflage garb, but no longer wore his medals of decoration or any signifier of rank. They were mercenaries, now. “We just need you to level those platforms and get the dome open so we can capture this enclave. This is the last mission on the campaign, guys. You can do it!” Standish's portrait, which took up the center-top portion of the screen, made a wide mouthed, toothy smile and gave two thumbs-up, his assault weapon hanging across his chest, angled down on the body harness it was attached to. Soldiers in the Sixth Robotic, decked out in sleek exoskeletons, were marching past him in the background, giant gattling artillery and energy weapons mounted on their shoulders, heavy-packs full of ammunition clipped on underneath.

“Alright. We need to engage directly. What did we decide was the best strategy in the sims, Jim?” Tomah's portrait inquired.

“I believe we settled on rocket launchers and a cross-lattice charging path,” Jim replied as he peeked his head up over the treetops.

“I can invoke my power,” Vishnu responded in Jim's head.

“Vishnu says he can activate the hyperspeed field engines,” Jim parroted over the intercom.

“Vishnu says,” Adrian repeated. “That still freaks me out. I'm glad you finally came clean about the AI after the new kid mentioned it, but it's still weird as hell to think these things have personalities programmed into them. I'm excited for her to unlock them in our Cores, but it's still weird.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Jim came across, “I didn't want you guys thinking I was hearing voices in my head, and honestly, it just never really came up.”

“But you do hear voices in your head,” Vishnu replied.

“You know what I mean,” Jim replied to himself. “So, go-no go on the badass sonic boom shit?” He addressed to the others.

“I think we should hold off, for now,” Tomah responded in a very calculated tone. “I don't want to freak out the Sixth Legion, and the last time we used it, the press had a field day. I have no idea how many eyes are on us. If things get dicey, we'll reconsider but this should be pretty surgical. Let's use the assault pattern we've rehearsed.”

“Roger that, Gold-one. Ready to charge on your mark,” Jim unclipped the large mass driver strapped across his back. It expanded into a rifle with a satisfying clunk as he swept into a prone shooting position.

“I have a mark on objective Alpha-one,” Tomah replied. “Bull-three, charge at will.”

“Roger that,” Adrian acknowledged as Cúchulainn pushed himself upward flat, as a plank, and held level, levitating parallel to the ground for what seemed like several seconds. He folded slightly at the waist and bounded forward in a roll as his feet connected with the ground, his torso thrown forward into a full roll, narrowly avoiding mass driver bullets as they hissed through his former location in the air like an after-image. As he rolled out of his position, trees exploding in wooden shards as the avalanche of advanced metals and sinewy cables plowed through the forest, he engaged in a mad-dash sprint, kilt flapping off his knees as he pulled his own mass driver off of his back.

No sooner had Cúchulainn begun his run then did the lightning-streak vortex of a Longinus charge, the rocket-launcher-sized version of the Javelin round, whiz by Jim's position and slam into the mobile platform Adrian was charging. Jim took his cue and snapped into action, and, in a single push-up, swung full-vertical like a hinge centered on his feet. Two mass-driver rounds whizzed past his front and rear, Jim between the cone of their convergence. After holding a split second in his ramrod-straight posture, like Standish's walking sticks whenever he dropped it from under his arm, he too began a sprint, this time charging to the flank of the other platform's position, at a ninety-degree angle from Cúchulainn.

Just as Jim took his first stride, a rumbling shook through the ground. “First round has positive connection,” Tomah conveyed from his portrait overhead. “Target Alpha-one hit front left, lower quartile. Momentum absorbers anticipated and mitigated most of the force. No internal damage sustained. Hardening is polling at 75%. We need to get a round into the soft side or the rocket tubes. Chambering second round.”

Jim was now in full sprint. “The path winds ahead warrior, My omniscience tells me that our foes will soon understand us and we must confound them yet again,” Vishnu informed Jim of the upcoming “zag.” With a thunderous plant of his forward foot, Jim bounded parallel to the ground through a hail of mass rounds, carried his momentum into a twisted roll, pushing vertical as his feet swung over his head and connected with the earth. He then did a one and a quarter gainer landing at a vector 90 degrees from his current path, still carrying enough sufficiently-redirected momentum to resume his hell-sprint with only marginal lateral tracking. As Vishnu cleared the cross-point between he and Cúchulainn's interwoven lattice path, a second Longinus round ripped through the air in a near-deafening vortex of blue light, followed by another earth-rumbling shock. Jim was close enough now that the wave caused him to falter. He caught himself in a roll, but his rebound absorbers couldn't absorb all of the unexpected force, leaving a deep divot in the earth where his shoulder bit in, scrubbing a sufficient amount of speed from his line.

“You ok, Bull-five?” Adrian came over.

“I'm fine, shock caught me off-guard,” Jim replied as he pushed hard to regain the lost ground. “Trying to get some speed back so I can make the next cross in time.”

“I worry for you, Warrior,” Vishnu came over.

“I'm showing that you're several seconds behind, Bull-five,” Tomah stated flatly. “Hurry up. Second volley was successful. Alpha-one hit on medial-right, central point. Soft-plate was breached and functionality is polling at 40%. Anterior artillery is crippled. Chambering round three.”

Jim thrust hard on the ground with every step, his rebound-absorption engine redlining with every plant, leaving thundering footprints with each step.

“Careful, Bull-five,” Adrian came through, “You're generating an acoustic wave. The tracking will catch up too qui-”

The word hung in Adrian's mouth as a searing pain burned in Jim's left shoulder. Red buzzers whined through his world and his vision was temporarily tinted a deep red. “I am wounded, Warrior!” Vishnu thundered into Jim's head, the omnipotent voice crashing into his perception from the heavens on high.

“Bull-five, I'm showing damage, status report, now!” Tomah's frantic portrait screamed to Jim.

“Mass driver planted,” Jim said, the soreness in his shoulder soothing as compensators took over. “Oh point six meters into my left shoulder. I am back on track for the cross. Shoulder functionality is still at 66%. I am within gunning range. Engaging Alpha-one after cross.”

“Roger that,” Adrian confirmed, “I am within gunning range. Will plant after the cross and assault Alpha-two's flank.”

With another leap, hover, dive, and one-and-a-quarter twist, Jim had begun his cross, unleashing a torrent of retribution on the now-crippled Mobile platform. Adrian, too, completed his cross and peppered the opposite Mobile platform with unholy fury. “I shall not let your foolishness hinder me, Warrior,” Vishnu spoke more calmly. “I aim true that they may feel the sweet breath of Shiva.”

After several bounds, Cúchulainn and Vishnu crossed paths again and the third Longinus rocketed past in its characteristic torrent of force. Jim timed the impact perfectly and bound forward just as the rocket planted, rolling into a crouch and sliding along the ground, surfing a tsunami of dirt and earth to a halt on his plant point before the next volley of mass driver bullets came flying past his position. “Third round connection. Alpha-two's front-right, upper quartile. Hardening polling at 0%, no internal damage,” Tomah updated. “Get'em on the soft side guys!”

“Affirmative, Gold-one,” Adrian came over. From their squatted position, Jim and he propelled Cúchulainn and Vishnu into a football tackle against the side of the giant metal mountains. With a deafening whine, the behemoth mobile platforms began to shift in position, upending the earth as they slid closer to the center. Cúchulainn and Vishnu, all the while continuing to push like monstrous sumo wrestlers, punched furiously at the less-hardened plates along the outside flank of the triangular Mobile-10's, each fistfall pock-marking the heavy metal sheathing them.

“Alpha-two is breached, charge is loaded,” Adrian's unanimated portrait spoke into the log.

After a few more punches from Vishnu, the plate finally yielded and a smallish hole appeared in one of the pockmarks. Jim planted his shoulder against the platform as he continued to push, hidden in the structure's targeting shadow. He dug his hands in and pulled the rift open. With a conscious cue, a compartment resting on Vishnu's writhing, flexing, quadriceps-like left thigh actuator flung open. He took a large explosive charge out and threw it in the jagged hole. “Alpha-one breached,” Jim updated as he pushed away from the platorm, did a front flip, planting his feet on the side of the platform, and pushing as hard as he could, like a swimmer on his return lap, rocketing himself away from the tank and rolling into a tuck and continuing forward in yet another mad sprint in a wake of mass driver rounds as he left the targeting shadow.

“Clear of the blast zone,” Adrian came over after a few bounding strides.

“Roger that, clear as well,” Jim confirmed as he began to sweep back around to the empty river bed. After a brief pause, the rounds detonated. Jim again synced the blast wave with a forward bound and tuck, riding the shockwave into a more relaxed jog and wheeled around to see the damage. The steel hills were now smoldering craters, the shockwave knocking out the protective blue dome behind them.

“That,” Standish came over breathlessly, “Was the Coolest. Fucking. Thing. I have ever seen.” Jim felt his heart skip a beat with every dramatic pause. “Sixth Legion is now clear for ingress. Thanks for the assist! Fall back to the Valiant, we'll take it from here!”

“Roger that,” they all said in unison as they reconnoitered at the river bed.

“He's right,” Tomah confirmed, “that was probably the most flamboyant mission I've ever seen. Well choreographed Jim. Down to the second. Great job, guys, near-flawless execution.”

“Near-flawless,” Vishnu chided to Jim. “You are lucky I have allowed you such access. Do not squander my gifts.”

“I'm sorry, geez,” Jim replied indignantly, “it was an unforeseen anomaly.” The fatigue washed over him as he and the rest set out on the slow march back to the dropship. The adrenaline had finally faded from his system, and his metabolic levels were reading in the low thirties, his Core's energy reserves not faring much better.

“If you had spent more time practicing,” Vishnu again chided, “Maybe you could have 'foreseen' it.”

“Ugh,” Jim sighed in defeat. “I'm sorry about the shoulder. Tim will fix you up.”

“This time,” Vishnu's stern voice rumbling in Jim's perception. “Next stumble may not be so lucky.”

Chapter 16 - Lost Reality

 “Jim,” the voice came into his memory palace. He could tell it was real, and not from his Augs, the sensation of Molly resting her hand on his shoulder was different than her avatar, weightier. He opened his eyes and was instantly back in the real world, sitting cross-legged on the foot stool in the living room. “You need to start living in our world more. The house is unmoved. Have you been sitting there since I left?”

“No,” Jim started, shaking his head into place. “I worked out for a few hours first. I also took a really long shower, prepared dinner, and picked out a game for us to play tonight, if you're interested. If you're not, I also picked out four different movies. Or we could listen to music, I made a playlist of music I dug up from an obscure Southern Union archive of ancient compositions played on actual analog instruments. I watched a documentary on the guy, he makes them all by hand using ancient techniques and materials. The Solomon governor even gave him a special exemption and sent out a special military detachment to cut down a tree. Real wood! I also dug through your research stack and found an interesting book about wizards that I could read to you. It starts out a bit cruel, but I bet, by the end, we grow to love the little black-haired ragamuffin. That was so typical for books of that era. Or...”

Molly put her hand over his mouth, plopped down behind him, and pulled him back onto the couch, his back between her legs. “James. When will training resume? Or missions? You're killing me, love!” she breathed a deep, grumbling sigh from the bottom of her lungs. “You've been holed up in this barracks for months. What are the others up to? What about Dekah and the guys from the team? Is there any way you can get shore leave and go topside for bit to visit your dad?” Molly dug her chin into her chest to try and read Jim's face.

Jim rolled onto his stomach, his elbows on her upper thighs, hands on the couch, chin on top of his hands, fixated on Molly's green doe eyes. “The guys are all stuck down here, too. Digital Olympics are in a few months so the team has been practicing non-stop, so they haven't had time to play with me, and, quite frankly, after I cleaned up shop against them because of the Augs, they really haven't been in the mood to play with me anymore, either. Dad is still super busy with work. He's been picking up countless extra shifts, and he has been spending most of his time with his new girlfriend.”

“Oh right,” Molly swung her leg over Jim's head and mimicked his pose, chin on her hands, hand on Jim's back. She kissed him on the neck and rested her cheek against his, wrapping her arms and hands underneath him, between the foot stool and the couch. “How is that going? How are you doing with it?”

“I'm thrilled, honestly. Dad loved mom with all his heart, I like to think. How else could he have stayed with her through all that?” He rolled over onto his back, bicep straining to prevent his hand from sitting comfortably behind his head, Molly's bright red curls now exploding across his chest. “But it was hard the last few years. Her condition meant she slept most of the day, so there was very little intimacy or playfulness to their relationship, anymore. My dad was more caretaker than partner. So, seeing him with what's-her-name so happy and doting, I think it's good for him.”

“And how are you taking your mom's loss?” She asked from his chest, cheek resting on his pectoral, eyes transfixed.

“You know, it was hard for a while. I came to the realization that I never really knew my mother, but now I'll never know her, either. My dad never talks about her and never really did talk about her to begin with. I have a few memories of us all when we were really young. Dad took us all to a nature preserve on the outskirts of Roma. 'A Slice of the Wilds' it was called. I remember her holding my hand as we walked up a sort of steep path that had loose rocks on the rough trail stairs. I remember slipping and her pulling me up the stair by my arm. That's the only memory I have of her not in bed. I still,” Jim paused to sniffle and wipe a couple tears away from his eye. “I still don't know how they couldn't fix her. The Old World could cure anything. I just don't get what made her so unfixable.” He used his elbows to pull his back against the couch, one arm still threaded underneath Molly's torso, and then used the now-free hand that had been propping up his head to stroke her beautiful, soft hair.

“Well,” Molly began, adjusting to Jim's new position, swapping cheeks and curling into a vague fetal position, “as an archeologist; there's catastrophic record loss, language drift, loss of academic minds that never re-accumulated, status-based depopulation control policies, lack of researchers and archeologists, lack of funding, deprioritization of research based on prevalence...”

Jim cut her off, “That middle one, that's the one that gets me, the 'status-based survival' or whatever.”

“Status-based depopulation control policies,” Molly corrected.

“Yeah, that one. Every other nation in the Great Union covers medical care, but we still make our people pay for some bullshit 'only the richest survive' policy,” Jim huffed indignantly.

“I've never much liked it either. But, the evidence is pretty clear, however. Market-based healthcare makes for much more advanced technologies. Cost is the mother of invention, not necessity,” Molly rolled up from Jim's chest to sit next to him side-saddle on the couch, resting her hand on his leg.

Jim planted his hands onto the couch and pushed himself up into a fully-seated position. “I know, I get it, but at what cost? I never got to know my mom because of it. But someone with money might have been completely cured, for all I know.” Jim furrowed his brow and paced his words, treading carefully on such a delicate subject.

“I know, but it's more than just that. We have a massive wealth-redistribution mechanism in place. Money is mostly arbitrary, anyway, and just buys luxury. Everyone has a reasonable and well-maintained life provided for them. The health care system is a money-sink, Jim. Without it, there'd be far too much money in the system. Most of the jobs in our society are cosmetic, anyway, you know that. Everyone does. We could robotize or technologize just about every job. The DPRC does. The IA just prioritizes productivity. We think that you'll make better choices with your money if you earned it. We believe that a bit of a class divide is positive, because it drives people to want a better life.”

“I know, I know, and I accept all of that. That's where we live, and I grew up, and I do truly believe in those principals. But it's hard to be faithful when you're at the bottom like me and my dad are, Molly. My dad works day and night trying to pay off the debt. They're crushing him.”

“But why?” Molly pleaded. “Why? It's a small payment a month. It never has to be paid off. He can pay the small monthly fee to service the debt, and when he dies, the debt is absolved, it doesn't transfer to you, it doesn't have any bearing on yours or his status. It's just there. It's not like the government will take away your house, or let you go hungry or unclothed. All of those basic necessities are just provided, it's not even portioned! If you wanted to you could go get a pallet of salt, for no other reason to have it, and no one would bat an eye. So why? He could be using the extra money he throws at that debt to live comfortably like everyone else. His life has no bearing on your success. Everyone has the same opportunity, and is granted a clean slate.”

“Because he wants to leave me with something. He wants to leave something to the world, my love. He wants my life to be better than his. He wants his life to have mattered. He wants contribute to the world,” Jim had kicked the foot stool back and had his feet planted on the ground, butt on the edge of the couch. “He works so hard because he thinks he can pay off his hospital debt and accumulate some money to leave to me when I die. He wants to set up a research grant fund, too. Something to remember my mother by. It's more than just living, Molly. It's about why being alive matters at all. It's like you said. His work is cosmetic. He could easily just quit and live off the dole. Millions of people do. So why work at all? To try and move up. To get to where you and your dad are. To matter to the world.”

“Is that why you became a pilot?” Jim could barely read Molly's blank face.

“No. I became a pilot because I don't know what I'd do otherwise. I had no direction before this. Before you,” Jim put his hands on top of Molly's, now sandwiched between them and his knee. “I was just a dumb kid with no idea what I was going to do with my life. I still am. We both are. Your research gives you purpose. This life down here has changed us, it's changed you, too. No, no no! That's not bad!” Jim patted her hands emphatically to ease her as she pulled a shocked face of horror. “It's made us better. More responsible. Smarter. More aware. More mindful. When I first met you, you and your friends were more concerned with sex and image and your place in the social hierarchy. Now, you're focused on bettering the world. You're invested in society. You've grown up. You're a real woman now.”

“But you just said we're dumb kids,” Molly said weakly through her frown.

“We are. Molly, we're barely out of school. You're still in school, love. We've lived less than an fifth of our lives. There is so much left to see and experience and learn and understand. We have no idea what our future holds. I can barely predict what'll happen a month in advance, let alone a year or a decade or half a century. We don't know what our lives will mean or where we're even going. We're just along for the ride.”

“But is that so bad?” Molly looked a bit more relaxed, a bit of sadness cracking her stone expression. “Aren't we allowed to just go with it? Do we have to try and steer our lives? Can't we just accept the choices we make and the life we were born to and not feel guilty for it? Can't we just accept that privilege exists?”

“We can, and we do, Molly. I do. And our society provides for the unprivileged as best it can without compromising our collective morality,” he took her face into his hands, his palms resting on the diamond-point of her chin. “I'm just explaining why my dad is the way it is. Why I feel the way I do. I can feel resent for being less privileged but still accept its necessity. I can feel disgust with the cold and calculating nature of 'the system,'” he made air quotes and rested his hands on her shoulders, “and still believe it's functioning for the greater good. I'm just mad. I want a better life for my father. He's worked so hard to try and provide one for me, can't it be my turn to help him?” He pulled Molly close and hugged her deeply, nuzzling the hair between their cheeks out of the way and kissing her on the side of her forehead.

“I know, Jim, I do,” she said, emotion welling in her voice as she fiercely returned his embrace, herself nuzzling deeper into his shoulder. “I just want to fix things for you. I want to provide for you and comfort you and make your life easy and better. I was born into so many gifts. I want to use them to make sure you can flourish, just like they have enabled me to. I just want you to be happy. I solve problems, Jim. I always have.”

“I know, My love,” he threaded his arm from underneath her pit and grabbed the back of her neck, scooping his other hand under her legs, and swept her up into his arms as he lurched forward. “But sometimes I just want to vent. I know there's not much we can do, and that I'm just being moody. But you're all I really have anymore. You, my job, and my peers.” He kissed her on the forehead and let her drop to the floor.

Molly wrapped her arms around his waste and pulled herself tight to Jim's chest, leaving Jim's arms akimbo and elevated, as though he were walking into a cold, deep swimming pool “If you ever need anything, you're not afraid to ask, are you?”

“Never,” he said as he dropped his arms around her neck and squeezed her yet-tighter to his body. “Never.”

***********************************************************************************

With a rush, Jim's perception was planted into the core.

“Sweep rear and hold the ingress.” Jim had developed an autonomic habit to respond instantly to Marion's commands when she used her authoritative voice. He snapped instantly into action and began crawling through the tunnel toward the rear entryway, squeezing around the rusting corpse of a long-dead train. He butted the sniper rifle he was toting to his shoulder as the tripod-feet at the end automatically extended and leveled. “I am going to advance on the objective, keep an eye out for the enemy stealther.”

“Roger Gold one,” Jim pulled the pin of his mass driver back and pushed a special round into the breech. “Prepping track drone.” With a careful trigger pull, Jim fired the drone at a forty-five degree angle into the sky with a soundless rush. The drone flashed briefly as it exited the muzzle, lost instantly to the rich blue sky above. At length, Jim closed his eyes and used his will to project himself to the sky. His visual perception and acoustic position changed to a 3rd-person perspective, like one of his battle arena games. The mountain range his tunnel was in became transparent, using the Core's visual processors to augment the drone's perspective. “Drone away, patching map data through.”

“Roger, Echo one,” Marion's voice confirmed, a bit more casually. “Keep sharp for Tomah and Blaize, they like to play it tricky on this map. They're not the type to sit around and let us just steal the objective, Blaize has a very 'the best defense is a strong offense' mentality.”

“Roger that. I have the drone tracking heat signatures and I'm feeding to our analysis servers which are doing the change differentials on the terrain to alert me of any motion.” Jim pulled the pin back on his mass driver and allowed the casing of the drone's launcher to shell out of the breach. He collected the metal tube and put it in an empty compartment at his hip. The mass drivers were based on extremely archaic technology, but there was little need to change something that was still incredibly effective. And, as effective as they were, they were equally as hard to master. Unlike an energy rifle -who's rounds were less “rounds” and more concentrated laser bursts that instantly appeared at their target, moving at the speed of light- a mass driver had a physical projectile with a travel time. It required you to compensate for things like wind, ballistic trajectory, droop, and the like. The tracking computers did a great job at “spotting,” as it's known to snipers, but without a full-fledged AI, all of the target acquisition and shot calls were still reliant on the meat-computer inside Jim's head.

Jim pulled his “normal” view into a mini-map frame in the lower corner of his perception and pulled up the cartoonified map the analysis servers had created to his main field of view. It was a rudimentary black and blue wire-frame of the space, with Marion and Jim represented by green polygonal units. Jim was currently at the mouth of a stout tunnel, the only land-based entrance through the ring of mountains inside which the campaign objective, a downed space vessel, lay smoldering inside. They needed to hold the objective until backup came to recover it. Marion had already piloted Heimdall half-way along her blue mission line to the objective when a red wire-frame popped up on the map in the lower quadrant of the spherical map. The change differentials had noticed something out of the ordinary and was flagging it as one of the enemy interlopers. The figure began to move, and a red projection line appeared on the map, displaying its estimated destination. It was heading to the beach coast flanking the top of the rocky ring.

“I have enemy activity at the edge of the map. It looks like they're heading for the beach again,” Jim relayed to Marion. “Judging by the speed, it looks like it's Enlil making the run. What should I do?”

“You're the tactical genius,” Marion replied snarkily. “I say we collapse the tunnel and you go defend the valley that he's running for.”

“Yeah,” Jim began as he began crawling out of the entrance, “but the last time we collapsed the tunnel and defended the valley, Tomah came in from the south and used his rocket booster to get over a low mountain on the south face and picked you off before you could hit the objective.”

“But we have the beacon set up to cover that side now, right? Sniper-Scout is too strong on this map against Sniper-Heavy,” Marion replied. “That's why we're running you through this sim. We need your 'strategic brilliance' to figure out a positive scenario. And it doesn't hurt that you need sniper training.” She was rapidly closing in on the mission objective. The enemy unit, which Jim could now clearly see from the overhead drone was indeed Enlil, was about half-way up the river basin he was tracking to get to the coast. There was still no sign of Tomah.

Jim dropped a charge inside the tunnel and began sprinting Annie Oakley around the ring, toward the coast. After a short while, a thud and rumble tremored into Jim's feet as the dotted line representing the tunnel disappeared from his map. “I know. This is the fifth time you've said that exact same phrase, 'it doesn't hurt that you need sniper training.' I can hear you wink when you say that, you know? I think the scenario we have worked out is going to work this time. This is the third time Blaize has ran that channel, thinking that he can skirt outside range but still maintain speed through the wilderness. The plasma rifle wasn't strong enough to disable him the last time we defended the valley, but I think I can drop him this time.” Jim deviated away from the mountain face he had been tracking and made a B-line for the blinking navpoint he pinged onto the map. “If I can get to nav point beta before Enlil hits the river switchback, I can clip him with a mass driver while he's crossing the terrain to avoid double-backing.”

“How do you know he won't take the double-back again? He did it the first two times,” Marion inquired. She was within striking distance of the objective.

“Exactly because he's taken the switchback both times. He'll do it to throw us off. Watch,” Jim had made good time and was just hitting the nav-point, the farthest reach of his rifle's possible range. He instantly hit the deck and set up his rifle. The tracking computer set up a targeting reticule on him and gave Jim a shot probability based on the bullet path through the undergrowth. 50%. “Looks like landing this shot will be a coin toss. Wish me luck! Javelin round is breached,” Jim said as he pulled the pin back on his rifle and pushed a long, snub-nosed round into chamber.” His perception still in the clouds, he focused on the red outline of Enlil and gently squeezed the trigger. As expected, Blaize took the switchback, and the success percent on Jim's shot jumped to 85%. As the bullet exited the muzzle with a flash, the air in front of the massive round compressed and then collapsed behind it in a thunderous bang due to its prodigious exit velocity. The crack triggered the computerized round's transformation as it spun into action. The miniturized momentum sinks absorbed the shockwave, channeling it into a the rear thrusters, the spin from the barrel's rifling forming the jets from the three tiny nozzle into a twisted stream of hot plasma that extended a few feet behind the round. The snub nose of the round became an ethereal barb, blue with converted energy, forming a dissipator cone in front of the round, reducing drag and allowing the round to rocket forward. The internal guidance computer made tiny microseconds-long corrections to the round by modulating the various thusters' outputs.

Quicker than Jim could blink, the round had closed the several miles between he and Enlil. Just before impact, the blue barb disappeared, forcing the air between Enlil and the round to compress. The rapid compression released a shock of energy forward, into Enlil's center masss. This also fueled rapid ablation at the front of the bullet, revealing an explosive payload. The explosive bullet struck right into Blaize's Core, the blue lance exploding Enlil's shoulder, sending his arm, head, and several other indistinguishable body parts asunder. “We have a hit!” Jim roared through the comm. He returned his perception to his Core and quickly shucked the casing of the round.

But, before he could collect the spent shell, Jim was distracted by an imminent beeping from his core. “Impact imminent,” the calm female voice came into Jim's head before his world went black and he felt the jarring rush of his perception being withdraw from the sim. With a loud “kutcsh,” the hatch door of his simulated plug swung open, Blaize's shaded face haloed by the harsh overhead lighting, his Aug's irridescent yellow inner glow burning against his black face.

He was at Jim's feet as he lay supine in the plug. “That was a fucking amazing shot, man,” he said as he extended a hand to Jim.

Jim swung his arm across his body and locked thumbs with Blaize they both pulled him up from recline. “Where was he?” Jim inquired as he shook his head back into place, the disorientating context switch unable to be knocked loose.

Upon reaching his feet and stabilizing his balance, he followed Adrain's finger, who was now pointing at the massive array of monitors and 3D projections the swarm of analysts in the room were watching. He saw Tomah, piloting Simo, in an active camouflage gillie suit on top of one of the higher mountains. He was training his attention on Marion now, who was taking up evasive maneuvers behind the rough cul-de-sac the space vessel's impact crater had dug.

“How the hell did he get up there without us noticing? He couldn't have climbed it that fast and our beacon would have detected his jump jets?” Jim inquired to Blaize blank-face, almost accusatory.

“Ah,” Blaize leaned back and crossed his arms, rolling onto his heels, a smug smile creasing his cheeks, “there is a well-hidden dried river bed that runs along the mountain ridges that we noticed last attempt. It was a bit of a tight run, but if you deploy on the beachfront, you can get across it without disturbing the canopy and triggering the motion sensors. The gillie does the rest.”

“Hell of a gambit. You wouldn't have much energy left to power the gillie once you got into position,” Jim observed as he too hugged his arms to his chest, rocked back on his heels and quickly glanced at Blaize, eyes fixated on Simo.

“And yet, here you stand,” Blaize replied with a grin.

“And yet, here you stand, as well,” Jim repartee'd with a sharp wink.

“Like I said,” Blaize re-folded his arms, leaving a half-smirk on his face, “that was a fucking amazing shot. Javelin round was inspired. How the hell did you get in position so fast?”

“We deployed in the train tunnel and I opened with a beacon covering the western forest,” Jim explained, eyes still fixated on Tomah. Neither had moved from their embankment. It appeared that Marion was wearing out the gillie, and Tomah was wearing out the beacon. “You'd ran that river a few times, I took a guess you'd notice I noticed and would run the switchback instead of crossing the forest. Bottom of the switchback...”

“...was JUST inside the Javelin's 100% range with a quick lateral strafe,” Blaize cut him off.

“Bingo,” Jim said as he made a finger gun and clicked the side of his mouth.

“Inspired, man,” Blaize acknowledged with a nod as they both returned their attention to the monitors. Marion had lost the bide, and the beacon ran out of energy just before Tomah's gillie.

“What the hell is she doing?” Blaize said as Marion took the mortar tube off her back.

“Does Tomah have LoS on her?” Jim inquired in reply, arms dropping to his side as he leaned toward the screen.

“Doesn't look like it. We didn't deploy with a beacon, didn't have time,” Blaize returned as Marion loaded a gigantic rocket-propelled grenade into the tube and hoisted it onto her shoulder.

“Tomah is too low on energy to move, isn't he?” Jim's jaw went slack in excitement, “He has to wait for Marion to stir before he can site her. I think she's going to bust him blind,” Jim clapped his hands together and rubbed them together palms-flat.

“You brought a bazooka?” Blaize responded as he eyed Jim like a crazy person.

“Bazookas are cool, man,” Jim said casually, still smiling, mouth wide open as he eyed the monitors, “I was supposed to find and eliminate you and then bait out Tomah so Marion could hit him with a bunker buster.”

Marion was in a kneel and had dialed in her site line, still hidden behind the wall of uplifted dirt the crash-landed spaceship had rent. One of the analysts had laid over her targeting computer's overlay onto her observer's video feed. Her guess was a little off, but Tomah was still within the primary blast zone of the massive charge.

However, before the characteristic, stealthy “thwunk” of the launched grenade could go off, her feed cut out, and the stereotypical “kutsch” of an opening hatch could be heard behind them.

“What the hell?” Marion grumbled as Jim and Blaize swung around to see her sitting up and aggressively ripping off the sensors attached to her flight rig.

Another “kutsch” rang out as Tomah's plug swung open at the other end of the bank, his devious cackling drowning out the deafening silence in the training room.“Oh my god,” he said as he pushed himself up and ran over to Marion who had just finished unclipping the chords connected to her suit and had ripped off her helmet, her short-cropped black hair matted to her cheeks, framing her face. “I can't believe I got you! OSOK, too! That's crazy!”

“What the fuck did you do,” Marion looked deflated and defeated and angry.

“I had run out of energy on the gillie and I wasn't sure if you were still behind that embankment or if you were making a move on me,” Tomah huffed around pants and wheezes as he frantically gesticulated. “So, I fired a digger into the bank at the only angle that gave me 100% penetration. Looks like it just barely skimmed through the top of the bank and got into your flight plug. I seriously just fired a blind round.”

“That's one hell of a lucky shot,” she responded, shaking her head and pulling her face into a disappointed smirk. Jim wasn't sure if she was ready to offer a good-natured laugh or was about to punch his head off. “I had a 'nade in the tube and was about to bomb you. If you had missed, you'dve zero'd my shot computer on your locale and it would have been curtains, man.”

“Actually,” Jim said, “If you had fired, he was on just on the lip of your redzone. If you had fired an instant earlier, you'dve got him anyway.”

“Fuck!” Marion screamed as she let out a loud, good-natured laugh. “Well, that's what I get for hesitating.”

“Man, that was the best run yet. You almost had us!” The four had formed into a little square, and Blaize slapped Marion and Jim on the back as they had a good laugh together.

“Good job, guys,” the Commander's unmistakable voice carried over the laughter. At once, Jim, and everyone, really, turned where they stood and locked eyes on her and Standish as they ushered a tall, incredibly fit girl with tight black hair in casuals into the room. After Marion's bomb, he daren't guess her age, but she looked reasonably young, her round face beaming with innocent wonderment.

“She just showed her the Cores,” Marion slapped Blaize on the chest with the back of her hand as she knowingly pointed at the new recruit and addressed the Commander, “didn't you.”

“Thought I'd try something new with this one,” she said as she crossed her arms underneath her bust and took up her typical toe-pointed T-stance.

“Well, I think you should go back to holding saving it for after you introduce us,” Blaize said as her nodded his head toward her charge. The girl was wide-eyed and couldn't land her focus on anything for longer than an instant before she darted around to the next thing, her mouth hanging slack in wonderment.

“That's what I said,” Standish poked his head around the two, his caramel brown pate a refreshing site for Jim's weary eyes. He had on his shiny grey suit, a purple shirt beneath, unbuttoned down a few from the top in place of his varied neck adornment, his smooth, rippling chest bursting out.

“I like the suit,” Jim said, resisting the urge to run up and hug him. “Like what you're doing with the shirt. No fedora, though? Not even a Trilby?” Jim beamed ear to ear.

“Why thanks for noticing,” Standish said as he raised an arm between the two and cut in front between them. He stood, almost triangular from foot to shoulders, heels together, and adjusted the cufflinks. “I decided the hats were passe and that, when you look this good, you shouldn't hide it underneath a tie.”

“A new series of Bond movies were discovered in a vault a few weeks ago and now he fancies himself a secret agent,” the Commander said from behind him with an audible eye roll, head lolling back in disdain. “This is Tony. She's our new recruit. Just pulled her out of deployment from the Eastern Line that separates the DPRC from the western colonies.”

“Ah, so battle-tested,” Tomah said as he reached out a hand. “I'm Tomah.”

“Just nervy training exercises,” she verbally shrugged as she took his large hand into both of hers and shook emphatically. “Never any skirmishes like you all.”

“Not much of a difference these days, really,” Blaize said as he took the hand she had presented. “Blaize.”

“Ooo!” She replied as she got very close to Blaize and put her hands on his shoulders. “You have the eyes! Can you do the light trick like Standish did on the train?”

Blaize shrugged and took a nervous step back, his face turning slightly red, “Not in here,” he said with an awkward expression on his face, “don't have access to the system.”

“Oh you all have them!” she said as she took a too-far-back step into the Commander, who caught her with open, flat palms, gently nudging her into the correct standing posture.

“Not me,” Marion said as she reached a hand out, “But I can still keep up with these jokers,” she said with what now looked like a well-practiced hip-waggle and thumb motion. “I'm Marion.”

Tony took it briefly and then used it to pull herself, closing the distance between her and Marion, siddling up slightly off to her side and gingerly touching her hair with her rear hand, her front palm still pressed into Marion's now-akimbo hand. “Culture kid, I've never met one of you before,” she said, eyes wide.

“Shit, girl,” Marion said as she dropped her hand and took a large step back, a horrified expression creasing her forehead, hands up above your shoulders. “Do you always get this fucking close to everyone?”

“Oh, sorry, I forget sometimes,” She said as she took a large step back, this almost bumping into Standish, who deftly juked out of the way and straightened his completely uncrumpled suit.

“Tony is a defector,” the Commander started. “She worked for the DPRC's core program before joining the IA as a mobile platform operator.”

“How long have you been grooming this one?” Tomah quipped with a chuckle and a knowing glance at Blaize and Marion.

“Groomed?” Tony said, as she furrowed her brow and pulled her lips down into a confused frown. “I met the Commander three months ago. She claimed to be a platform mechanic. We would talk when I brought my unit in after patrol. She was nice. Usually people are mean to me because they think I am a spy,” she looked back at the Commander with a warm grin.

“And you're sure she isn't a spy?” Blaize said coldly.

“Well, she's on lockdown just like all of you are, and if she is, we'll kill her,” Standish said with a cold shrug, arms still folded, feet still married at the heels at a ninety-degree.

“Don't be so dramatic,” the Commander said as she punched Standish's arm, hard, when Tony looked back in horror at him. “She's not and you know it. Don't worry,” she said as she switched attention to Tony, gently wresting her hands on the obviously-shake girl's shoulders.

“And you are Jim,” She said as she stepped out from under the Commander's grip and folded her hands to a point, bowing at the waist to him before offering her hand.

“I am,” he said as he shook her hand. “Did they talk about me?” Jim smiled as he shook her hand.

“Oh no,” she said, a bashfully. “You have owned me at one point,” she said as she rocked side to side, summoning the image of Molly's sheepish face at their graduation, but the angle engendered a very different thought. She was very close to Jim's height, and in all honestly, probably only a few pounds shy of his build as well.

“Excuse me,” Jim said as he shook his head into place. “Owned you?”

“Is that not the word you use here? Maybe it is powned,” she said with a giddy smile. Her uncharacteristic cutesieness was equal parts endearing and disorientating.

“Are you secretly running a dungeon or something, Jim?” Marion prodded from the right side of the line they had unconsciously formed.

“No, I mean,” Jim shook his head from the back foot, “powned would imply that you game?”

“Yes,” she said with an awkward attempt at a skip. “You played against me in the Digital Olympics when you were very young. You eliminated in me in the first round. I have been a fan of yours ever since. You are amazing, Jim! I could not believe you were a pilot when I saw you on the news. You are the reason I took the Carol's offer!”

Jim's eyes grew wide. His heart sank and his head became so cloudy he couldn't see out of his own eyes, the room becoming blurry, a sharp white heat brewing at his ears and temples, his heart dropping a thousand miles into his chest.

“On to the Magister?” Tomah interjected for the save, sensing his unease.

“Magister?” Tony turned her body fully, and batted her glance between the Commander and Standish.

“We, uh,” Standish said, a chink in his coolness armor flashing across his cheek, “aren't going to be encouraging her down that path,” he recovered, his left hand shoving into his pocket.

“I actually would like a status meeting, if that's possible,” the Commander interrupted, mercifully drawing their attention away from Standish. “Meet me in the debriefing room post-haste.” She turned on her heel and pulled an arm behind Tony, ushering her out of the room. Standish fell in line, turning at the waist at the last minute, angling his body forward and to the side, throwing up a double-thumbs-up and a frozen wink as the door closed behind them.

Chapter 15 - Calamity

 “Hey Jim, come in here,” Molly furrowed her brow down and pulling her mouth to a side, “you're on the news.”

“Oh?” Jim called from the bathroom, he had just got on base and gone through debriefing and had just got out of the shower, white towel still wrapped around his waist, sapphire-white eyes shining in the mirror back at him.

“Yeah, like, every station,” Molly was making gestures in the air as the projector screen cycled through the various state-sourced and independent news sources. “Some observatory satellite from the SU got a feed of your...whatever you were doing up there on Luna today. It's everywhere.”

“Really? Let me see.” Jim closed his eyes and touched his fingers to his temple, a trick he learned in training. He focused on the darkness behind his eyes and started building his Palace of the Imagination, as they called it. He imagined himself in an Old World-style war station, various different cathode-tube television boxes stacked on top of each other like in his movies, a huge panel of switches and buttons and toggles and keyboards wrapping the half-octagon-shaped desk. He filled in each various monitor with a rendering of his social network and news feeds, and then used his transmitter to access the network and fill it in with up-to-date data. His social networks were blowing up, all of his friends from Lyceum and the team posting the footage of the Cores online.

“Look, even John-Stephen al Bassam has a monologue about it,” Molly landed on their favorite comedian-turned-news caster.

“...can we trust the IA? How can we?” Jim heard as shook his head into focus and came through the bedroom, into the living room. “Really? That's the newly-discovered Kolchenko Nuclear base,” He paused as an extremely old archive picture appeared on the screen next to his face. “Let me rephrase that, the apparently-operation Kolchenko Nuclear base!” The picture changed to a satellite picture of the surface of Luna, a picture of the base Jim had just come from. “The one, let me remind you, from which the first nuclear weapons were launched that started the Great Collapse. That's like finding a huge block of cheese, and then just leaving it on the floor and praying your dog doesn't eat it!” John-Stephen paused and made an imploring face, arms akimbo, as the audience regaled him with laughs and applause. “This is the same IA that collapsed an entire mountain on a few dozen enemy insurgents that could just as easily have been captured by the Third Legion. But instead of bringing these, frankly, disadvantaged Gotoman conscripts to justice and having them stand trial for their crimes, we become judge, jury, and executioner and put them to death without due process of the law. It's outrageous!” Another moment's pause for a roar of applause from the crowd as John-Stephen leaned back in his office chair from his desk, a confident half-cocked smile wrinkling his aging but still youthful face.

“And worst of all,” the screen cut away from John-Stephen and a full-screen satellite feed of the base came up on screen. Jim and the gang were clearly within view as the went bounding into position. As the Tomah and Adrian were in position and destroying the the landmines, the jetsam from the explosions obscured the feed in a cloud of dust. “If it isn't our favorite IA Gestapo, the Kinghts of Steel. I mean, seriously, what kind of name is 'Knights of Steel' anyway. It's like they were named by some Pre-collapse warlord,” another laugh pause. “Seriously? 'Fraternal Order of the Knights of Steel?' What are they, some cut-rate crusaders seeking to impose their own personal brand of morality on the world 'or else?' Like 'Eh, if you don't keep that population growth in check, it'd be a real shame if my finger were to slip on this button and all of a sudden a -boop- nuke were to come flying your way,'”he said the last part in an accent mimicking the gangsters from the old classical movies to a chorus of laughs.

At this point Jim was sitting next to Molly slack-jawed, unable to respond, both he and Molly dead-eye focused on the stream.“But seriously, these are some scary people with scary toys. And just when you didn't think they could get any scarier, check this out.” The screen cut away again, and a satellite feed from behind the base on Luna, the characteristic bluish hue of an interpolated video extracted from a high-range electromagnetic telescope, showed Jim popping up over the ledge, the mass drivers firing and trained on him, and then stand up, suddenly appearing on the dome, the mass drivers retracting back into the towers. “When the observatory in Dalgranda mountains in the SU caught wind of this, they trained one of their Sky-Eye satellites on the base. These are imaging behemoths that record video streams in huge frequency bands at several thousand frames per second in extremely high resolution to analyze space debris as an early-warning for any space disasters heading our way. These satellites could see the pimple on your ass from the farthest reaches of our solar system, and capture you popping it in slow-mo.” More laughing. “Seriously. Watch, this.” A slow-mo replay of Jim standing up from the ledge and appearing on the dome behind it ticked forward frame by frame. In one frame, Jim was standing behind the crater ledge, and the next he was on the dome, no transitional frames between.

The feed cut back to John-Stephen who sat mouth agape, eyes wide, the corners of his mouth turned up in confused smile. “Our guys did the numbers, those satellites record at almost three thousand frames per second. He had to move from one side of the field to the other in, get this, a third of a millisecond,” He dropped his jaw again. “It's less like reality and more like something you'd see out of a video game. And,” he paused and held up a finger as he pulled something out from under his desk, “according to our public records researcher, which, by the way, can I give a shout out to? I know that just because our laws say we have to have clear and transparent public records, it was crazily difficult to get our hands on this. Our researcher has been working since those things touched down after the Square Bombings. But according to our public records research, the 'big game' analogy isn't too far off. The guy in that Core is a one Flight Lieutenant James Ross, a recent Lyceum grad and former professional gamer.”

“Oh god,” Molly broke she and Jim's silence. She had unconsciously started hugging her arm to her chest, her hand curled in a claw in front of her mouth as she breathlessly swung her head to meet Jim's scared eyes, her red ponytail swishing at the sudden movement, a lock of hair breaking away and tumbling between her eyes.

“It'll be alright,” Jim said nervously as he brushed the curl out of her face and behind her ear, not sure who believed it less.

The laughing on the TV broke their moment and they both quickly swiveled their heads to watch the feed. “I'm not kidding, they seriously code-named the thing Vishnu. Who is the IA to give a teenager just out of school literal Godlike power? And here's the kicker, guys, our research shows that the Cores aren't even IA property. They are actually a paramilitary group commissioned by our favorite Old World Movie villain, New Roman Industries.” A glamour-shot of Dyman appeared in the portrait box next to John-Stephen's head, one in which he looked particularly villainous. He was in a blood-red suit, a white button-down shirt and no tie beneath, reclined in a giant board room chair, one arm bent up, the back of his fingertips brushing his cheek, his ankle resting on his knee cross-legged, a log unlit cigar clenched inside the corner of his pearly-white smile, fingers dripping in jeweled rings, the ruby stuck between his eyes sparkling under the studio lighting. “I mean, look at this guy. All he needs is a fluffy white cat in his lap and you could see him living in a volcanic lair or something.”

The audience laughter was cut short as a feed of the Commander interrupted the broadcast. She was in the briefing room, Standish and everyone behind her already. “I've been calling you. We have an incident. Return to the briefing room, now.” Her voice was grave and clipped as she cut the feed abruptly.

Jim looked at Molly again, who still hadn't moved, kissed her on the lips, and ran into bedroom to get dressed.

***********************************************************************************

“Did you guys see it?” The commander started. She, and everyone else, it would seem, had changed into a fresh uniform themselves.

“Of course, we all saw it, it's on every channel,” Marion replied for the group.

“Don't worry about it,” Standish appeared mid-room behind the commander, he was in a fli harness suit, looking very un-Standish-ly. “Dyman has it under control. This'll all blow over in the next few days,” his hologram flickered for a second, drawing attention to the fact that the lighting on Standish was not consistent with the way the room was lit.

“Easy for you to say,” the Commander turned to standish and scowled, arms crossed, feet in her usual T stance. “You don't have to spend it down here on the surface.”

“You'll be fine. There'll be some news hullabaloo, they'll say some nasty stuff on the morning shows about you guys, and then Dyman will smooth everything over and we'll be praised.” Just like when we dropped down after the Central Square bombing. It's always the same. The public gets outraged at something new and hard to understand, a bunch of talking heads explain the subtlety that they're not seeing, and then the majority come around and see the truth behind what's going on. Let the rabble grumble, as the rabble is wont. Let the masses hoot and holler while we look after the greater good for them.” The odd light of Standish's dropshop drew long shadows underneath his eyes, contouring his high cheekbones and sunken, masculine cheeks. He hadn't shaved in a few days, the stubble peppering his jawline making him look a bit bleary-eyed and ragged the, pale white of his eyes cutting through the darkness.

“Ok man,” Blaize said, a palm held up, head sideways as he skeptically leered from the corner of his eye, “you sound like a movie villain.”

“Yeah,” Tomah tagged in, “the suits I get, those are hot, but that shit is creepy, man. You aren't in one of your movies.”

“Yeah,” Adrian cued off, “I'm having a hard time telling if we're on the good side or the bad side, too.”

“Will you all calm down?” The Commander didn't yell, she never yelled, but her voice cut through all the chatter, sending shocks of awareness through everyone as they all snapped their heads in her direction, faces in stunned silence. Even Standish had pulled his shadowed visage back into the spotlight he was underneath, plainly lighting a look of shocked dread. “Let's all keep our heads. And Standish, this is probably not the best time for your melodrama.” The Commander confidently strode in front of him, legs a bit farther open than shoulder width, her elbows akimbo as she stood dominantly, her hands on her hips, the backlighting casting a scintillating aura around her, her head uncraning as she turned it away from Standish to face them all. “We're the good guys, Adrian, don't ever doubt that. Life isn't broke up to good and evil. We're on the good side because we're trying to help everyone, not just trying to be self-serving. Everyone thinks they're doing the right thing. The difference between good and evil is who they're doing the right thing for. The IA isn't doing this for personal gain. We're the IA. We're the best nation on this planet. Even if, in actually, we're number one in exactly nothing. The IA hasn't held a number-one spot anywhere in centuries. And yet, everyone considers us trustworthy and calls us 'the best.' They trust the planet to our judgment. That's because we're deficient exactly nowhere, either. We're top 3 in literally every demographic. Because we're not trying to be 'the best in,' we're just trying to be 'the best.'”

The Commander begun pacing. Standish had moved off to the side and was looking at his fingernails, occasionally using his teeth to fix an inconsistency. “Look guys,” She continued after taking a few steps. “Our cause is noble. Our motivations are pure. There is no conspiracy. Dyman isn't magic and Standish's is neither a zealot nor a prophet. When Dyman explains why we're here, the people will trust us. That's what he's trying to say.”

“What she said,” Standish looked up from his nails wide-eyed, as though he'd forgotten he was still visible and struck a faux-authoritative stance to mirror the Commander's. “That thing about nobility and 'being the best' and all that. Good stuff, Carol, really.” He had ambled in front of the Commander, his holograph shimmering again. “Just sit tight guys, really,” Standish held position and hugged his arms to his large chest, “this will all sort out, you'll see.”

***********************************************************************************

“In today's news,” the caster began. Jim had built a Palace of the Imagination to look like a large wooded forest resembling the one in the Wilds where he deployed on his first mission. He was sitting cross-legged, the back of his hands palms-up resting on his knees in a yogic position. He had become accustomed to meditating during the day whenever he wasn't in the simulators.

“All IA military activity continues to be suspended,” the news desk sat in Jim's field of vision like a diorama between two giant trees on either side of Jim's periphery. He had spent a considerable amount of time coding up and training himself to integrate various feeds into his transmitter and building Worlds of Imagination for his brain to operate in. In the past couple of weeks he and Standish had spent a lot of time together training his Augs. Standish was a genius with the them, lecturing him for hours on his theories of cognitive neurofunctions and how he can use the his Augs to reprogram his subconscious.

“The Great Union's Council of Tribes met today and issued a formal chastisement on New Roman Industries, unseating former General-at-Arms Tyler Dyman as the CEO of NRI, and the de facto dictator of the International Alliance, after appearing on legendary interviewer John-Stephen al Bassem's comedy news program, considered to be the most-watched program, in the world,” the newscaster, Jerome Clarkschild, paused and delivered the “in the world” part in the extremely dramatic fashion for which he was famous. “Former Vice President of Operations Tim Kuiriston has stepped up to take over in his absence,” The newscasters and set appeared as though Jim were on stage with them. Unlike holographic projection, the way the Augs interacted with Jim's visual cortex meant that his brain would actually fill in the gaps in a 2D image, like a picture or a video feed, and the power of his imagination would add the the missing visual data on the fly, like a dream.

“The international court in the Southern Union's capital city of Solomon is expected to issue a formal indictment to Mr. Dyman, citing violations of international protection treaties and perjury for his claims surrounding the nature of the company's secretive CORE program,” the co-anchor of the broadcast, an overly-manicured woman in an extremely trendy one-piece outfit, followed up.

“Jim,” Molly's soft voice cooed into his ear as he felt a light touch on his shoulder. The contact, however, was synthetic. Jim had constructed an avatar for all of the important people in his life and associated them with their digital information, allowing him to interact with their various communications in his Palace. “How goes the furlough?”

“No training today,” Jim said through his own avatar. “CORE operations are still completely shut down. And with Standish still missing, I don't have anyone to help me with the Augs, either. Standish says I've already surpassed Tomah and Blaize, and that I just need to explore their usage, and I quote, 'get creative.' When will you be home?” the Augs picked up on the end of his thought and sent the message as text to Molly in reply.

In an instant, Jim made his avatar blink, and when his eyes opened, he was no longer in his forest. He had transported himself to a little workshop he'd built. There was a large wooden work bench, an assortment of hand tools behind it, and racks upon racks of scrap wood, metal, and such lining the walls around it. He was sitting on a little stool in front of the L-shaped bench, legs still folded and hands still resting on his knees. He broke position and snapped his fingers. A pre-Collapse computer terminal appeared instantly on the work bench. Using an operating system he had constructed himself as a sort of “front-end of consciousness,” as they call it in training, he opened up a compiler program. He started writing various lines of code in a language he had invented. Everyone learned the basic principals of coding in Lyceum. Standish taught him how to use those principals to create “thought-words” and train the transmitter's AEN to recognize them as “thought units,” allowing him to piece them together as macros and scripts.

According to Standish, he had spent years building an elaborate system of Palaces of Thought and thought-words that he claimed he could actually visualize and interact with his brain in the same way a mechanical engineer would interact with the processing units of a computer chip, down to the individual bit and neuron, reprogramming it to operate more efficiently and effectively. Magister Rinolado had told Jim during one of his follow-up checkups that he was skeptical of the claim, but from his brain scans and Natural Encephelograph maps, Standish's brain definitely operated differently than any he'd ever seen. “Standish isn't wrong in comparing the brain to a computer processor, Jim,” he had told him. “Even with the extensive research on brain function we've unearthed from this base, and the tireless research of my team, we still have so much to understand about it. But your neurons aren't like the bits in a computer chip. Those use a complex system of binary and multi-state nodes working in conjunction to build logic gates and state-machines for memory with layers and layers of obfuscation. Our brain works very differently. It's, instead, a sort of regularly-cycling cloud of electricity. Imagine a mouse running in a circle. Now, imagine that circle gets a dent into it, so it has a sort of right-angle fold that the mouse has to traverse through, now. Now imagine that folded circle is now a constantly changing maze. That's your brain. Every thought cycle is a sort of race around that every-changing circuit and every stimulus you receive from your external sensors - your eyes, ears, touch, taste, and so forth, and all of your internal processing mechanisms, like your sense of time, position in the world, and universal self-awareness, your consciousness, as we call it - changes the chemical environment your neurons exist in, and this subtlety, or dramatically, shifts the maze's path. The Augs work by reading the sort of 'state' of your maze, and we can use their electric discharge to alter the maze based on the state of it. We can't, however, alter the neurons or the way your grain naturally uses them. Once our nanomachines stop discharging, the maze returns to its natural position. Now, you could argue that you can't measure or alter something and then stop and have it be unaltered, and that's where Standish's theories come into play. He believes that he can use his transmitters to train his maze, and consolidate it into a much more efficient and easier-to-traverse path, like flattening the folds out into an ever-bigger circle and wiring in shortcuts.”

“But you said his brain doesn't look like ours,” Jim had interrogated further

“It doesn't,” Magister took a long time to think about what to say next. “Here, look at this.” The Magister brought up a picture on the digital chalkboard, and then put another similar picture next to it. “The video on the left is Standish's brain. The one on the right is yours. Now watch,” the Magister made a few gestures in the air and both brains started playing. “Watch this region right here,” Rinolado pointed to a small area on the interior of the scan. “This is a recording of us asking you to recall one of your memories during our initial mapping. When you recall this memory, you can see this area here lighting up like a twinkling holiday display. This part here,” he pointed to an area adjacent to it that was occasionally strobing like a party light, “this is your brain talking to your visual system as it builds the memory in your mind's eye, making it so you literally see the items. This is it accessing your emotional memory and reminding you of what that visual picture felt like,” he was wildly drawing a circle around a different part of the brain, his jacket flapping, white messy hair shaking loose. “Now look at Standish,” he said as he straightened his lab coat and pushed his hair out of his face. “Notice how much smaller this part of his brain is?” he circled the part that he had pointed to earlier. The activity looked like it had been consolidated into a block almost a quarter the size as Jim's. “And look here, this is the region of our brain we use to read. On your scan it's not even lighting up, but on his, it's going haywire, and look how big it is!” He was making circles around a gigantic portion of the brain that was constantly lit. “My researchers and I have been studying this scan for months. As best we can tell, it's almost like he's re-purposed a huge portion of his brain to be a sort of linguistic database. We've known about a phenomenon called 'tagging' for a while. That's when your brain creates Platonic ideals of everything, like when I say the word 'tree' you have an idea of what that looks like. But when I add the tag 'small,' that image changes. Your 'memory' is just a database of those Platonic ideas and tags and you build your remembrance of it based on the various tags you have associated with that instance in time. With Standish, it's almost like he's offloaded that onto his transmitter, the imaging stuff, and he's just remembering a series of words, and when we ask him to remember something, he uses his Augs to recall the image from his transmitter based on a complex web of tags. He's externalized his long-term memory. It's crazy.”

“And look at this,” the Magister followed up. He pulled up another image scan. “You won't be able to read this, but this is a scan of Standish's brain when he has access to his transmitters. Look at all this Aug activity! Now look at yours,” he pulled up an image side-by-side. A cloud of little red dots were nested in the 3-D rendering of their brains. On Jim's, there was an occasional-but-constant strobe of dull activity, On Standish's, the red dots were constantly firing. “Look, he's using his using his Augs to keep his brain in a constant state of plasticity. His activity patterns completely change once he can use his transmitter. Look at this, he's intelligently cycling his nanomachines so that they don't run out of charge,” the Magister used his finger to help Jim follow a set of red dots that were alternating discharge in cadence. “It's like nothing we've ever seen.”

Jim shook his head. The memory disappeared, and his avatar was back in it's imaginary workshop. The training had a way of making memories overtake his perception as he recalled things, enhancing the experience to completely flood his senses when he was in his trance-state “Aug World,” as he liked to call it. He began pecking away at the keyboard, cataloging the experience he just had, trying to “code” the memory with various tags, using his transmitter to capture the visual data and storing it as a file in its memory, almost like a video recording. He snapped his fingers, and the text from the screen pulled off and floated in between him and the monitor, and then zipped away into a little cardboard box in the corner of the workshop. He closed his avatar's eyes and recalled his first date with Molly as he clacked away at the keyboard, coding it up into thought-words and visual streams.

Chapter 14 - The Eyes of God

 “I missed the silence of space” Vishnu whispered in Jim's ear. He could quite literally feel his hot warm breath on the inside of his ear. “I have missed communing minds. I have missed you as most of all, warrior.”

“Haven't been able to deploy. Too busy training up on the head things,” Jim spoke aloud. He was still getting used to not having to actually talk for commands to register.

“They're just so weird,” Jim remembered Molly saying when she first looked into his new eyes. The color didn't deposit right away, but had fully developed when Jim woke up from his pain-killer-addled stupor the next morning.

“Then describe them to me,” Jim had prodded. He had yet to see them in the mirror.

“They're not like Standish's. They're like, silver. I can still see all the furrows and intricacy in the iris, it's just...silver,” he remembered her hand touching his face, “They're ringed in ice-blue sapphire. They almost twinkle, it's just, well, weird. I still love you, though.”

“Touching,” Vishnu said, the memory wafting away on a gust of hot air.

“Hey! That's mine, you're not allowed to see that,” Jim huffed angrily at him. “Why are you even looking there. Shouldn't you be doing Core stuff?”

“I am all-powerful, Jim. I can manage this dismal contraption without a second's effort,” Jim could feel his presence behind him as his voice rolled around inside his head, as though he were standing just in front of him.

“Guys,” Marion spoke inside Jim's head. She sounded off in front and to his left, where her Core was currently gliding through empty space away from the planet next to his. “ETA is another 10 minutes. We'll be meeting Standish a few dozen clicks south of the base. Luna has dramatically less gravity than back home. Your potential reserves will deplete a lot more quickly up here, so remember, economy of motion.”

“Yeah, but no atmosphere and reduced gravity means we need less energy at the same time,” Tomah's voice came through from beneath Jim and to his right. “Just don't have too much fun and remember the training.”

“Hell of short notice to be sent up here,” Adrian responded from Jim's lower left. “We didn't even have a week in the Sims before they pushed us through the mag launcher.”

“Why is it no longer quiet in here, Jim,” Vishnu thundered. “Space is supposed to be quiet.”

“Because we're not alone up here, duh,” Jim thought.

“I heard that. You should show respect,” Vishnu thundered, more annoyed this time than angry.

“Sorry,” he spoke to himself sheepishly. “I'm honestly just excited to be in space,” Jim said, this time addressing the group instead. “Have you guys been to Luna before?”

“Once,” Adrian replied. “Back in the Nexus, our class took a field trip up here. Turns out my ancient ancestors were in a race to be the first into space and, eventually, to Luna. We won space, but lost Luna. Turns out we're the whole cause of the Great Collapse. After fighting each other and stockpiling a ton of nukes, we joined forces and put them all up here for safe keeping during the Holy Aggression. 'Safe keeping' my ass. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“Wait, you're a culture kid, too?” Jim replied in surprise.

“Affirmative, sir,” Adrian's formal speech was beset by casual tone. “Western Colonies. I'm actually the last of my kind.” Adrian sounded almost wistful.

“I didn't know that,” Marion came over, her own tone casual. “I thought the Northern Nexus still had a few generations left. Something happen?

“Yeah,” Adrian began, still wistful, “there are a couple primaries left in the Nexus, but after the scandal, every last one of my kinfolk left. The primaries have already used up their mating treaties, and none of us are willing to use ours on the Nexus. They're currently lobbying the Western Alliance for more mating rights, but there's very little chance they'll be granted, and even if they were, the primaries are getting really old. I doubt they could raise the children themselves. So, that means me and my kinfolk are the last pure generation.”

“Scandal?” Blaize questioned. Jim could feel his brilliant bass from point position ahead of them all, the positional affect flawless through his new augmentation.

“Oh right, you guys probably aren't aware of it,” Adrian's clarion baritone again panged in Jim's head.

“Well, I am,” Marion replied, a bit matter-of-factly.

“Well, of course you know,” Tomah's uncharacteristically high voice flippantly shrilled. “So, do enlighten us, if you're so inclined.”

“Right,” Adrian began. “Well, a little explanation for the rest of you who aren't all up-to-date and shit with Cultural Preservation protocol. We're not sterilized like you guys, and we don't submit DNA to the banks unless we leave the Nexus.”

“Shit,” Tomah chimed. “So you gotta do babies the old-fashioned way, then?”

“Right,” Adrian continued in stride. “We reproduce through traditional intercourse and are required to give birth biologically. No choice in the matter like you folks. So, that means male-female pairing, no question, either.”

“The Old World was honestly pretty terrible about all that,” Marion cut in herself.

“They really were,” Adrian traded back. “I mean, most everyone these days is pretty annoyed with the forced-sterilization and relentless population control, anyway, even if we do all agree on its necessity based on the lessons learned from our past, but the cultural enforcement of Old World stereotypes is taken to the next level in the Nexuses. Editing of genetic material is strictly prohibited as well, which is where this whole scandal begins.”

“I see where this is going,” Marion traded back, sounding extremely grave.

“Yeah,” Adrian started, himself sounding very despondent. “A reporter decided to do a profile of Nexus life as a generic fluff-piece for their news outlet, and noticed the absolutely abysmal infant mortality rate and incredibly young birth age in my Nexus. They did some investigating and found similarly terrible rates in the Desert Nexus and the Southern Nexus as well. The primaries, it turns out, had been sexually abusing the younglings. I mean, the REALLY young younglings.”

“Oh no,” Blaize cut him off with a boom, “If this is going where I think it is, I honestly think I'm going to be sick.”

“It's going exactly where you think it is,” Marion confirmed.

“Yeah, it gets darker, though,” Adrian continued, the sadness blackening his voice. “There were only a few hundred people left in the Nexus any more, as people tend to leave nowadays, so the genetic pool had been folding in on itself for hundreds of years.”

“You don't mean,” Tomah began himself, catching the drift.

“I do. Because of the population control and crazily deep in-breeding,” Adrian continued, “genetic defects at birth were crazy high. Trisomy, hereditary illnesses, general formation failures, the whole lot. We're talking less than one in ten births were completely healthy.”

“Culling,” Jim cut him off as he felt the blood drain from his face and a knot form in the pit of his stomach making him want to vomit.

“Culling,” Adrian confirmed deadpan. “'Failure to thrive,' is the technical term. They found a legal loophole for Cultural Nexuses where people who gave live birth didn't use up their birthing credits until the child was issued a birth identity. So, the doctors who were delivering the babies would 'prevent the child from thriving' if it was 'genetically unfit.' They'd also fake birth identity certificates to hide any in-breeding, as well.”

“How did you guys not know? Were you ever...?” Marion allowed herself to trail off.

“We all knew,” Adrian responded. His comm picked up a wet sniffle and his voice sounded teary. “But my Nexus, like the others caught in similar scandals, was extremely isolated. We had limited access to the global networks and have almost complete autonomy from the Great Union or the Western Colonies. We all just thought it was normal. That that's just how it was. A primary's word was law. They were just doing what had been done to them by their primaries. The Nexuses are all about 'tradition.' We had no idea that life was different. We all just accepted it as 'just how it is.'”

“That's evil,” Marion deadpanned herself. “It was pretty bad at my Nexus but that is just evil.”

“After all of this came out into the open, the authorities descended on our Nexus with a wrathful fury. Military was called in; I was really young, but I remember the troops storming through and rounding up most of the primaries and a ton of secondaries, too. Most of them were executed on the spot, the rest were excommunicated into the Outside. There were a lot of secondaries who had objected to the practices and never participated, and they became the new primaries. Me and all of my kinfolk were relocated to foster families or put into institutions and had to go through extensive “re-education.” I lived in a home until I ended up at Lyceum in the IA. My birth parents were some of the ones who made it past execution but both were excommunicated for their compliance in the scandal.”
“I'm so sorry,” Jim said, “we didn't know.”

“No one does, really,” Adrian's voice sounded calmer and more collected. “The trials were all held in secret and the news story was suppressed almost instantly after it was reported. I've looked on the global networks and I've only been able to find a couple text references and the original article buried deep in my query results. That's why I don't mind talking about it. People need to know, but most of us don't remember much of it or are under a gag-order to not talk about it. I only learned after digging deep, myself. It's actually the reason I stayed on through enlistment and joined the program. So I could confront my parents. I knew the only way I'd get access to the Outsiders was through here.”

“And?” Jim questioned, his head was pulsing. He tried to shake it into place, but it just wasn't un-jumbling.

“Standish did me a favor and tracked them down. They died in a raid a couple years before I joined up,” his voice sounded angry and regretful and happy all at once. “I never wanted revenge or retribution, I just wanted to meet them. To know why. How they lived with themselves. But I guess they couldn't,” Adrian chuckled darkly.

“Well, we're your family now,” Marion replied consolingly. “We'll be ready to land soon. Everyone prep your systems and get ready.

“I am sorry for this man,” Vishnu's somber voice startled Jim. “He was not granted his sacred right of vengeance. His birthers died cowards and demons with no chance at salvation or atonement. This story distresses me, warrior.” Vishnu sounded grave and angry. His voice was so thunderous and decisive it legitimately scared Jim. “You should be honored to fight along side this man,” he continued. “He is a true soldier.”

“I already was,” Jim confirmed, his voice misty and prideful, his skin prickling with gooseflesh. “more so now than ever.”

************************************************************************************************************************

Standish, in Musashi, met them at the shallow impact craters the team had landed in. The gears were all clad in tight, form-fitting fabric to keep out Luna's gear-destroying regolith, even the typically-bare-chested Heimdall and Cúchulainn Tomah and Adrian piloted were clad in tight, specially designed space suits. Even Vishnu's dhoti and stole had been replaced with a body hugging fabric jumper.

“Good to see you all here,” Standish greeted them as he approached. The cores were programmed with ad-hoc rangefinders such that “within earshot” was built into the comms unless you were using a secure, private channel. “Glad you could join us, Mister Ross. Missed you on the Western Colonies mission. Heard you're wet now. How's it feel?”

“Still getting used to it, sir,” Jim took pains to use an official tone. This was the first time he'd ever worked with Standish in an official capacity and it was hard to not use his friendly lilt. “Still a little weirded out by it all, if I'm honest. The fact that they're streaming the video feeds directly into my brain instead of filtering it through my eyes, and then extracting my movements directly from my brain instead of getting it from my muscles first is all a bit scary.”

“They set your filters up, right?” Tomah inquired. “I felt the same until they showed me about the signal filters. I have like a zillion. I'm so paranoid about eavesdropping and mind control, but once I learned how the filters worked and Standish showed me how to set them up, I spent a couple days just filling my transmitter with them.”

“Yeah, Standish gave me a break down a short bit ago and I put in a ton of filters. The firewall they give you has weaknesses if you know what you're doing,” Blaize interjected nervously.

“I'll set you up, kid,” Standish replied with his typical borderline-condescending-but-not-quite tone. “Anyway, we're on the edge of the light side, we've gotta get over to the dark side where the base is, Let's get moving.”

“I'm not getting anything on my tracking system,” Adrian questioned confusingly. “Where's our waypoints? Our mission line?”

“Well,” Standish's voice went high and squeeky as he drew the syllables out. “This mission isn't, strictly speaking, 'on the books,' as it were.”

“Excuse me?” Marion's concerned voice trumpeted from the rear of the crush.

“Well, the IA technically isn't aware that New Roman is operating up here,” Standish took special care to emphasize the “technically.” “We're running a bit of an unsanctioned mission, if you will. Call it a favor to Dyman.”

“So,” Tomah said warily, “you essentially just made us complicit in a conspiracy?”

“Only if someone finds out,” Standish confirmed with an audible wink. “Now, keep an eye out for land mines. There's an active missile turret a few hundred meters forward. We cannot,” Standish was very emphatic with his “cannot,” “destroy that. We need it for defense once we're done here. So, Blaize, I'm going to need you to Chameleon cloth into there,”

“No can do, sir,” Blaize cut him off. “and with all due respect, sir, could you please use my mission alias? I'd prefer to minimize any record of my presence here, sir.”

“Sure thing, Blaize,” Standish quipped back, very pointedly. “But, do tell, why can't you Chameleon cloth?” He sounded extremely restrained, as though he were holding back a torrent of anger.

“There was no way to get a gear bag into orbit and the cloth would have been damaged in the 0-oxygen atmosphere up here, so the Commander said that there wouldn't be any need for it up here anyway, so we won't be encountering combat...” Blaize trailed off, “...you know, now that I think about it, she actually said 'shouldn't,' not 'wouldn't...” he trailed off again.

“But, she..”Standish paused mid-sentence to take a shallow, punctuated breath, “I told her...” he did this again, the anger more evident in his voice this time. “She knew...” He said the “knew” very loudly before he paused for his breath with a snort. “Ok. Ok, ok, ok,” he said through a heavy exhale, the effort to sound at ease rife with undertone. “Alright, new plan, then. I'm going to need Jim, Tomah, and Adrian to cut forward and engage the turrets. And you guys,” Standish was said the last two words very loudly, and continued in a very clipped and emphatic tone, “You cannot destroy the turrets. Just can't do it. Can't even damage them,” he got progressively louder and more aggressive as he went through the order. “Just pepper their shields when they start disengaging, and get behind cover. There's a crater lip just inside their engagement range. Marion:” the audible shift in attention was subtle, but unlike with his rig, the “feeling of presence,” Jim felt in the conversation because of the Augs, made it detectable, “you, Blaize and I are going to sneak around the rear flanks and and disable the turrets from their rear console. We're like a zillion times bigger, and disembarking is a terrible idea,” he said very snarkily, “use the EMP charges I gave all of you. Once they're placed, recconoiter here, those things are strong enough to wipe out our sensors if we don't get outside range beforehand. We all clear?”

“Roger that,” everyone responded in chorus.

With a visible break in huddle, they all began scrambling up the steep curved edge of the crater. The low gravity made and loose regolith made it hard for them to get purchase, but with a couple forceful leaps, the group had made it out of the deep impact crater. Over the horizon, just inside the dark surface of Luna, they could see a large geodesic dome underneath a powered-down life support umbrella-generator.

“A base?” Blaize questioned from the front.

“A base, Mr. Obvious,” Standish retorted. “This is why we're here. We have a small unit in there and the systems have gone hay-wire. These computer systems are arcane, even by Old World standards. They predate the Technological Renaissance. That's why I said to be careful of the landmines. They probably won't do a much damage,” Standish emphasized “much” very dramatically, “ but enough of them could probably hurt pretty bad. Anyway, we need to disable the turrets. Once those are taken out, I can get back to my drop ship so I can disembark and restore the computer systems.”

“There are people in that base?” Marion was flabberghasted.

“Yep. IA's Nuclear Defense team,” Standish quipped back. “They're currently trying to restore functionality to the base so we can hold a sustained detachment up here. They have a couple dropships outside the base's perimeter they've been living out of and we were just about to get the life support umbrella powered on. They're currently running low on supplies and this is really our only shot at getting this base operational before we restock and have to actually report our activity to the IA. We wanted to have everything ticking away before we told them what's going on. Help us make a solid case for keeping a unit up here.”

“So not a conspiracy,” Jim added.

“No, Mr. Ross, not a conspiracy,” Standish condescended to them all. “We've only been up here for a few days and the IA is aware we're exploring the surface for this base. The commander talked me in to letting you all help me with this minor cock-up in the name of 'training in space deployment and operating in a low-gravity theater,' or some bullshit.”

“Why didn't you mention any of this before?” Adrian skeptically inquired.

“Because you're all my subordinates and you're supposed to just do what I say?” Standish responded, rife with indignance and contempt. “Because Dyman asked me to keep this 'need to know?' Because the IA probably doesn't want a bunch of punk kids knowing we're scouring the surface of Luna for nuclear silos for fear that they'd get all political activist on us and 'put a stop to this?' Shall I continue?”

“Nuclear silos?” Blaize responded horrified.

“Nuclear silos,” Standish replied mockingly, making his voice sound audibly idiotic. “The SU info dump that you guys secured last month uncovered some information revealing that the majority of the Old World's nuclear devices that triggered the Great Collapse were stashed away up here. NRI has been hurting bad for a new nuclear source that wasn't asteroidal. The results from that terrorist base you trashed turned up negative, so we're preparing to convince the IA to let us decomission the remaining warheads' fissile instead.”

“So, the opposite of a conspiracy,” Marion snarked.

“So, the opposite of a conspiracy. A lucrative deal in both NRI's and the IA's interest,” Standish calmly assured. “Now can we finish debating this and get started?” Standish pointed Musashi's hand to the large crater ahead of them. There was a vast open expanse ahead of it, scattered with anti-vehicle barriers that looked like pick-up-jacks and ensconced by twenty-foot-high anti-personnel fences. “Be careful with those fences, guys,” Standish halted as they reached the first waist-high barrier, gingerly stepping over it, making sure not to touch the area where his legs met to the top by standing on tip-toes. “Like I said, this gear is arcane, so the life support dome actually uses it to generate the gravitational and magnetic fields used to hold in the micro-atmosphere. We found that out the hard way and had to waste a ton of time repairing it.”

“What would happen if it got broken?” Marion inquired curiously as they all gingerly stepped over it, following Standish's lead.

“Well, the fence is used to attract the force lines of the barrier, pulling the current back down and generating a bubble. So, like we saw earlier, there'd be a hole in the gas shell and the atmosphere would slowly escape through the leak. The perimeter fence has sensors to detect those breaches. The base's AI saw the hole, scanned the area, and labeled us as unrecognized intruders. Hence why the defense system kicked on, the base went into lockdown, and my team is stuck in there now.”

Just inside the fence, they were all standing on the edge of a giant, deep crater. Well beyond the farthest lip Jim could make out the small shapes of the turrets. “Mapping data is showing that there's a series of tunnels running underneath the planet's surface,” Blaize began reciting his analysis. “Records show that in addition to housing the nuclear warheads, this base also operated as an early mining facility for Helium-3, used in early fusion reactors. There is an access shaft at the nadir of the crater, a defensive compromise made for the miners that we can exploit to neutralize the turrets. Adrian and Tomah, you will push forward and use your energy weapons to clear out any mines present. Jim,” a mission line appeared on Jim's HUD. Unlike in the flight-rig, however, where it looked like an overlay, it looked as though it were actually a part of the terrain. Like someone had painted an orange line onto the ground. “You'll spearhead the push at point. Watch the explosion patterns and follow the path the other two out for clear for you. I've finished my scans and will push up the locations of the landmines I can detect.”

Jim saw the far wall of the crater turn into a red-speckled nightmare, bombs peppering the assent like sprinkles on a doughnut. “Now,” Blaize continued, “I have fed mission lines into the your mission dossiers, Standish and Marion. They show the optimal route to take to get behind the turrets. As you can see, there are mine fields behind each, so use caution. I have factored in that Simo is currently outfitted in hybrid gear and not sniper gear, and it looks like you'll both be light on energy reserves by the time you get to your lateral positions, so please take that into account as well. Once we rendezvous back here, we will need to rebuild our energy reserves before we can fall back to Terra.”

“Affirmative,” everyone, except Standish, confirmed, because he had already begun his progress toward his turret, completely ignoring his mission line.

“Come on babies, let's get this show on the road,” he whistled back. He was making swim-dives into the reduced gravity, catching himself on his fingertips and collapsing into a forward somersault, bounding into another dive forward as his momentum rolled him onto his feet.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Marion hollered over as she took slow, bounding strides forward, careful not to get lost in the direction of her momentum and center of balance. Enlil, conversely, was making huge ballistic leaps past her, using his impulse adjusters to maintain trajectory.

“Fastest way to move up here, chaps,” he said as he tumbled his way across the landscape. The mini-map hovering in Jim's lower periphery like a hologram showed he was leaps and bounds, no pun intended, ahead of them all.

Tomah and Adrian both shrugged visibly and bounded forward off the ledge of the crater and somersaulted the down the parabolic ledge, rolling the whole length like Jim used to do down the hill in the park when he was a young boy. Once they reached the nadir, they locked into a kneeling position and began training their shot computers on the little red dots. After a second or two of painting the locations with their energy weapons, a small explosion would burst a plume of regolith into the air as the low gravity slowly sucked the particles down. The targeting computers and path-predicting algorithms were quickly cutting a path up the far wall of the crater, just as quickly as they were creating a cloud of vaporized earth and gritty ejectas.

Jim squatted down and felt the power build up in his Core's quads like they were his own. With a monumental push, Jim sailed high and gracefully through the air, legs split open, and floated along his own ballistic trajectory, reaching a crest just behind the center of the crater as the gravity pulled him down from the peak of his arc, summoning him at intense speed to the far wall of the crater, into a hazy cloud of dust.

“Ah, battle summons us!” Vishnu bellowed triumphantly from above Jim, a voice from the heavens, as it were. “Poor human, your vision is obscured. I shall show you what my eyes see.”

With a disorientating flash, the dust cloud turned into a ghostly blue dimming of the now-completely-visible terrain. All the details that were once obscured by the dust were now clear as if the dust weren't present, the only indication that it still there being a layer over his perception at a few-percent opacity. It felt like he was wearing glasses and just needed to wipe away the hazy accumulation of fingerprints. It made him almost sick to his stomach it was such a disorientating jar. “What the hell just happened?” he said to himself, careful not to activate his comm.

“I have shared with you my eyes. I know what the world looks like without this dust. I am showing you what I see,” Vinshu consoled. “These eyes can see more than you could ever imagine. Hear more than you've ever heard. I can see the light of the world in a depth your human mind cannot comprehend. Heard sound, felt pressure, in a way your ears could never handle.”

With his new-found vision, Jim clamored up the side of the crater until he was securely crouched just under the edge. He popped up quickly, and, just as he had been trained, thought about the turrets he was facing having a targeting reticule superimposed around them. Just as the thought crystallized in his mind, a holographic crosshair landed on each of his targets. No sooner had he popped up from behind the ledge than did the turrets swivel quickly into place and began lobbing deathly-precise mass driver units at him. The bullets sailed over the ledge and into the earth behind him, occasionally peppering the regolith in front of him, sending geyserous plumes upward, disappearing into the greasy haze that the Core's visual processors were editing out.

“What are you doing?” Vishnu asked, his voice incredulous from above. “Why not approach these obstacles and end them?”

“What are you talking about? I can't move fast enough to 'approach' them,” Jim addressed to himself, and Vishnu, with equal incredulity. “And even if I was, I am not to destroy them. They're needed for defense once we're gone.”

“Neither of this is troubling, warrior,” Vishnu responded with bemusement. “Trivial tasks. Rise, and approach.” His tone had taken on an almost messianic quality. At once, Jim's world went black, and just as quickly as it blotted out, it returned, though it appeared as though time had stopped. The stiller Jim stood, the slower time passed, until Jim was motionless, as was everything around him. Jim imagined himself standing in front of the tower, and in a blink, the world streamed past him in an imperceptible streak of lines and light, and instantly he was in front of the tower. “Touch it,” Vishnu instructed Jim, who took his order. In another blink, he was again standing in front of the adjacent turret, and reached his hand out, touching the outer steel hull, the dome and barrel on top fixed directly at Vishnu's head, a red-hot bullet hanging motionless in mid-air a meter or so away from his face. In a final blink, Jim was on top of the geodesic dome, behind the slit the final turret was sticking out of. He reached out and touched this again, and just as quickly as his world had gone black, had he experienced the effect again. When his world returned, from his perch atop the dome, he watched as the turrets slowly swiveled back into a neutral position, pulling the barrels of their mass drivers into their arrowslits as the protective cover slid to close it up.

“What the hell?” Marion was the first to break the split-second of silence. “What just happened?” They all had stopped motion and were staring at their mini-maps, trying to reconcile the fact that Jim was now on top of the base, as opposed to behind the crater, and that the towers were no longer active.

“I think,” Jim began sheepishly, “I just did the thing again.”

“'The thing?'” Blaize almost-shouted, excitedly. “What 'the thing' are you talking about?”

“Everything just went black and then I was moving so fast everything was sort of standing still, and now I'm up here,” Jim replied.

“'Just,' he says” Standish replied with his typical comedic indignance. “Whatever you 'just' did broke past the encryption protocols, which were incredibly challenging, I might add, and injected a shutdown command into subroutines. So, no need to even pulse them. How fancy.” Standish made Musashi shrug. “My guys just got back to me, looks like the whole security system is offline. Whatever Jim did, we're all clear up here.”

“Well, that seems extremely convenient,” Marion, as were everyone else, had begun her return to the rendezvous point, somewhat disappointingly.

“I honestly feel a bit wanting,” Adrian replied as he stood up, taking the hand off his rifle support and putting it on his hip, the barrel of his energy weapon dropping downward flaccidly.

“Yeah, I thought we were going to have this big battle and there was going to be a tense climax. This almost feels like cheating,” Tomah vaulted out of his defensive kneel and began bound-rolling back to position.

“I feel like a 'Deus Ex Machina” joke here would be a really cheap shot,” a chorus of laughs regaling Blaize's quip.

“Yes, quite juvenile, really,” Standish sounded like he was feigning agreement, his voice deflated. “Sophomoric irony,” he blustered.

“You were about to, weren't you?” Marion squeaked out through a deep laugh. “You were totally thinking,” she made a few grumbling “harumphs” and lowered her voice to a mock-grandfatherly tone, “'Yes, his core is named Visnhu, and is a machine named after a god, and the dramatic slight is similar to the story-telling faux pas. This is a perfect pun. They will think I'm so crafty,'” she made a few more grumbling sounds as her voice fell from her throat and into her roaring belly laughs.

“I totally was not,” Standish sounded flustered, the strain from the rare chink in his otherwise cool and snarky armor being exploited preventing him from finding a witty retort.

“I hate to interrupt,” Jim interjected after they had all reconnoitered. “How are we supposed to get off here? I don't see any rail launchers or rockets anywhere.”
“Ah,” Standish sounded like he had gotten his composure back, his usual Puckish, haughty tone had returned. “Something much more impressive. I've always wanted to try one of these. Hit it, boys,” Standish's last command seemed to not be directed at them all. After a second, the dull, regolith-covered doors of the access shaft slid open and a short barrel began to extend vertically from the new apeture. “An impulsor cannon. The breech is underground so they could load it with the capsules and shoot them at Terra. Use your aiming computer, and jump into the barrel, and I'll have my crew give you a shot. Then it's just using your ion drives just like you used to get here.”

Chapter 13 - The Technology To Build

 “Nine at alpha,” Marion came over, “I'm at three.” Jim was on his third patrol with Marion. As they approached a 4-way intersection, Jim, in front, deviated left, Marion taking the right path. The roads were made from a metal-stone composite that made a subtle pinging sound with each footfall. The first few days of patrols, people stopped whatever they were doing to gawk at the building-sized behemoths lumbering through the cordoned-off streets. The whole city was a marvel of modern ingenuity and ancient technique. Unlike the cities of classical antiquity, Roma, the aptly-titled IA capital city, was not a city of the future built on the bones of the past, but instead a city of the past built with the technology of the future. The city was designed for foot travel as much as for automobiles and mass transit. The streets were wide and accommodating, the sidewalks broad and bustling. Roma was the most populace city on the planet, rivaling the density of the once great ancient empires. Now, as Jim and Marion split directions, only a few, mostly children, stopped and pointed at the Goliath machines.

The city was a masterstroke of engineering genius, Jim was constantly reminded. The crown jewel of the Alliance, Roma was an architectural and city planning masterpiece. The entire plot of land was scoured to bedrock, and a foundation was built consisting of various 20-foot cubic blocks. Some were built to contain vacuum tunnels for the trains, some with transmission wires, some with anti-field generators. Each block was pieced together to form the “slab” the city was built on. Then, manufactured buildings were printed and similarly pieced together, and slowly but surely, the city took shape. As Jim wandered the street, following the orange mission line transposed on the street in front of him, Roma looked very different than when he was born. Due to the modular and building-block nature of the city, buildings were constantly being constructed and deconstructed. Roads were regularly being lifted and the foundation blocks being replaced to accommodate new trends in design and technological advancement. Jim wandered the streets, marching from way-point to way-point as the orange mission line brought him ever deeper into the bowels of the city.

“How's it looking over there, Jim,” Marion questioned into his headset. “All clear over here as usual. No suspicious activity?”

“Nothing over here. You'd think after our dramatic entrance, we'd have an equally dramatic time patrolling,” Jim responded with a breathy chuckle. Their drop-in was a spectacular show. The Valiant, still loomed overhead after positioning itself over the square for the deploy. The domes pulled back, exposing a small aperture; a blue, spark-ringed portal into the city. They bullet-dropped in, all at once, impact thrusters disconnecting in a dramatic kutcsh as they flew back into the Valiant on blue rockets. The bustling throng of on-lookers silent in stunned awe. Now, the awe was gone, and if anything, a mood of fear had settled in. A militarized feel. As though martial law had been imposed. “Hey,” Jim patched through to Marion on a private channel. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she responded dropping her authoritative tone and taking on a much more casual lilt. “What's up?”

“Well,” Jim began, “Auging. What's your opinion?”

“Well,” Marion began herself, taking on a philosophical and contemplative air. “I'm a Culture Kid. I was raised in a Cultural Nexus. We were taught to revere cultural heritage and that our mission, our purpose, was to preserve the Old Ways. To be a pure representation of the people of the past. I couldn't Aug if I wanted to. It goes against everything I stand for. We're a dying breed. Most of us, like me, leave the Nexuses and join the regular society. My dad says that at the current rate, we've only got a few generations left before all of the Nexuses will be empty.”
“How does that make you feel?” Jim inquired, utilizing the rare opportunity to talk so candidly.

“I left, didn't I?” She snarked. “I say to hell with the Old Ways. Life for my people was shit back before the Collapse. Everyone is so obsessed with those days. We're stagnant, artistically. We barely make any new music, we definitely aren't producing any new books, when was the last time you went to a movie theater and the majority of films on the marquee weren't at least a thousand year old remake of a five thousand year old screenplay? Hell, why do we even HAVE a movie theater? I have a holoprojector in my bedroom that can render someone in near-perfect detail. Why aren't we taking that technology and building a new type of theater were you're literally a part of the movie? Like, it's happening around you?”

“I never thought of it like that,” Jim said, “My parents always watched all that old stuff, and I just kind of watched it with them.”

“Exactly,” she replied passionately, her delivery was rapid-fire. Jim had never heard her so fiery. “There's so much undiscovered from our past and everything is readily available. All you need to do these days to get rich or famous is just sift through an endless stream of content and find something that matches the zeitgeist. Who needs to invent anything when you can just go dig around in an old ditch and find a machine that does something we haven't seen yet, and you'll be rich beyond measure. There's no incentive to be original. We're not just stuck in the past, we've completely lost site of the future.”

“So what are you saying? Should I Aug?” Jim tried to pull her back.

“I think you need to take a good hard look at what it means to be Augmented. Tomah and Blaize are young. We all are. Hell, even Standish isn't an old man either. He's a young guy in his prime, too. What will it mean to be Auged in twenty years? Fifty? A hundred fifty? What's the failure rate on those little bugs, how long will they keep ticking away? They say it's 'completely reversible,' but what does that even mean? Your brain is adaptable. If you just take that away, is it like losing your eyes? Just what does it even mean, Jim, that's what you have to ask yourself.”

“I never thought of any of that. I'd essentially be a guinea pig. A test dummy,” Jim sounded scared.

“Or a pioneer,” she retorted. Her tone brought the image of her shrugging to Jim's mind. “Maybe that shit is the key to the future. Maybe that technology is what breaks us away from the teat of Mother Antiquity. Maybe Augmentation is the way forward.” Her voice signaled another mental shrug. “I'll never know. I'm not brave enough. Or daring enough. I'm just a pilot. I perform my job more than adequately. I don't need much more than that.”

“That's true, too.” Jim conceded sheepisly, more confused now than ever. “Thanks for the advice, it really means a lot. I know you guys aren't too fond of me, so I really take it seriously when you're so candid.”

“We don't hate you,” She responded consolingly. “It's just that you say shit like that. 'You're not too fond of me' or some other socially awkward, passive-aggressive bullshit. We're all assholes, and that shit is easy pickings. You're nice, Jim, and sweet. We didn't get where we are now because we're some genius child prodigy. I'm sure you worked hard, but myself and the others all started out as enlisted.”

Jim's mission line snaked endlessly through side-streets and alleyways, popping him back out on major thoroughfares. Dead silent. It was mid-afternoon so there were a lot of people out, but the facial recognition software had not flagged a single suspicious entity, and Jim could see no traces of sketchy activity. “Enlisted? How long have you been in the service?” Jim was puzzled.

“Well, I did my stint and I'm on the end of my third re-enlistment,” Marion replied deadpan. “Tomah is a confirmed lifer. Adrian and Blaize were recruited like you, but they had already served their enlistment before they were pulled out of Gymnasium.”

“Wait,” Jim halted. An older man in a modern one-piece walking along the sidewalk, startled by Jim's abrupt stop, faltered, stumbled, recovered, and continued forward at double-time pace. “Lifer? Third enlistment? When did you leave Lyceum?”

“15 years ago? Something like that,” again with the mental shrug. “I got a deferment because of the Culture Kid thing, so me and my ex-wife took some time to travel the lecture circuit with my dad. When my deferment ended, the last thing I wanted to do was go into academics, so she and I enlisted to piss off our parents. She got into the airborne division and I was a drop ship pilot.”

“Wife? What happened to her?” Jim had a hard time imagining Marion with a significant other, let alone wife.

“She and I split up at the end of the enlistment. I said I was going to re-up, and she said that the service was hardening me and that she wanted to go into theater. I told her I wanted to make it work and she wanted someone who wouldn't be on deployment for months or years at a time. We were stupid teens for getting married in the first place,” Marion chuckled, but a noticeable sadness was hiding underneath. “I haven't talked about her in almost ten years, Jim,” she continued after a long pause. None of the other guys know about her. I don't know why I told you that.”

The orange line snaked through more side roads and alleyways. The external cameras put squares around all of the faces it detected and populated little blurbs next to each with vital information. Government ID number, registration information, an analysis of their threat level. Still so far, no one had been flagged. “Don't worry. I won't tell. When did you join the program?”

“Middle of my second enlistment,” She started flatly. “I did some time with the Commander and Standish before they got pulled out for 'Administrative duty.' Apparently me and Tomah impressed them. They pulled us in for the initial project and the rest, as they say, is history. Blaize and Adrian got pulled in for the second wave and we were going to wait for you go through enlistment before we pulled you in, too, but things have been getting thick politically and we needed a fifth, so here you are.”

“You're all so much older than I thought you were,” Jim replied, not really knowing how to respond.

“Clean living and lots of exercise, I guess,” Marion snarked with a chuckle. “So if we seem a bit cold with you, that's why. You're a nice kid, Jim. But we're all a bit jaded. Standish and the Commander are holding your hand through all of this, but the only thing we care about is if you can perform. We're soldiers. We're a unit. We're here to do a job. We don't have time to make nice and be and make friends.”

“I see,” Jim tried to grasp what that meant. “Well,” Jim began, shaking his, and his core's head into place. A family walking on the sidewalk stopped to observe him as he walked by, “I guess I'll just have to put in my time and prove I'm worthy.”

“Just don't get us killed and we'll be square,” Marion replied as a group of school kids on the sidewalk in private school uniforms stopped and pointed at Jim's core as he followed the orange patrol line to side alley. None of their faces were identified by the software as dangerous.

**************************************************************************************************************************

The smell of simmering onions and garlic permeated Molly and Jim's apartment. Jim could hear the vegetables sauteing in the kitchen. Jim, in the study, had a map of the city, targets of interest, and any number of critical mission details peppered over the chalkboards. He, sitting reclined at a 45 degree angle on the chair in the center of it all, was swiping and flicking and moving files around the Z-axis with his gestures, occasionally using the keyboard and trackball and digital pen on the tray in his lap.

Molly popped her head through the door, “Jim, dinner's almost ready.” They had fallen back into their daily routine now that he had returned to his normal schedule on base.

“I'll be right in my love,” Jim responded, pushing away the tray on a swiveling hinge, unlocking him from the chair as he pushed the various screens and eye pieces back from the headrest he had been using to generate overlays. He snapped, and all of the data adorning the screens and the models being rendered by the holoprojectors drained toward the far corner like the meltings of a Surrealist painting before vanishing into a small, labeled, digital rendering of a box. He made his way out of the study, across the main living area and into the adjoining kitchen. Molly had served out, the plates and flatware already set up in the adjacent dining area inside the giant faux-bay window.

“Dig in lover,” she said as they lowered themselves onto the elegant black leather parsons chairs flanking the beautiful stained-oak table. Even considering the obsession with the past, modern styling sensibilities marched ever forward, and by current standard of the times, they might as well have been living in a medieval castle. The rich dark-stained cabinets against the brown and white-green quartz of the marble floors in the kitchen felt more like an ancient country estate than a dorm on a military base.

“Thank you, dear, this looks great. It smells delicious,” Jim was practically drooling. Molly had found a really classy cookbook amongst the tomes she was studying and they had been trying their hand at the recipes. It was a bit more difficult, as none of the ingredients available to them even remotely resembled what was available back then. The base had turned all of the growing rooms into training facilities, as well. Natural ingredients needed to be shipped in, making them quite scarce. Thankfully, some food-hackers in the People's Island Republic had decoded the DNA structures from a newly-discovered ancient seed bank near the Western Colonies. The colonists who actually used the seeds to grow crops say that it's near-impossible to tell the difference between the natural specimens and the food synthesizers. “What's this sauce called again?”

“Bearnaise. It goes amazingly with the fish and mushrooms, right?” Molly was very animated as she watched Jim take the first bite before diving in herself. “It's really hard to do. I found some video archive footage of master chefs making it, so I hope it turned out well.”

“It's amazing, my love,” Jim said around a mouthful of pink fish and succulent fungus. “This is the best yet.”

“I think so, too,” Molly had commenced stuffing her own face with her meal. “So, you guys head out tomorrow?”

“I'm not happy about it,” Jim said. Patrols had been taken over by the robotic Third Legion after they completed their campaign against the mercenaries some time ago. He and the others had been training intensely for their upcoming mission.

“What even is it? I know it's more excavation stuff, right?” Molly said before shoveling another fork-full of meat and sauce between her pink-red lips.

“Security detail. It's not even a campaign,” Jim scoffed as he put his fork down and began gesticulating. “SU is excavating another info cache and even though they've reconciled with Gotoma, and no one from the Outsiders have claimed responsibility for the Central Square attack, The SU thinks that there'll be another jab at their dig.”

“You know,” Molly began. She put her fork down on her half-finished plate and began gesticulating herself. “I still can't believe they haven't found the guys responsible and don't have any group to pin it on.”
“Reeks of suspicion to me,” Jim quirked an eyebrow and picked his fork back up and toyed with the food on his plate idly. “I think it might be home-grown. I think maybe someone internally is trying to foment hatred and suspicion to gin us up so we can get behind a preemptive strike on someone.”

“That's a hell of an accusation,” Molly leaned back in her chair, her face pulling a flabbergasted expression. “But who would want to do such a thing? We're in an unprecedented time of peace and economic prosperity.”

“Someone with a 'grander agenda,' I'll put it,” Jim used his own air quotes this time. It felt good. “Someone who would profit immensely from a conflict with, say, the DPRC or the Outsiders. Someone who, I don't know, controls a massive international producer of goods and services that allies would most definitely leverage for supplies during a period of armed conflict.”

“NRI.” Molly replied flatly. “You think Dyman is behind all of this, playing some chessboard scheme?”

“I won't say one way or the other,” Jim began after pondering his response, “but I think that something below-board is going on, and I think Dyman is involved somehow. I don't think a guy with that level of power and influence can get away without at least some culpability. I mean, he's the guy who can manipulate everyone around me to get me into this program so suddenly. And, once I'm a little battle-tested and that crazy thing happened in the cave, all of a sudden, here we are, imposing martial law after a supposed” very emphatic air quotes this time, “'terrorist attack.' I don't know. It just seems curious.”

“Jim, you're sounding like a conspiracy theorist,” Molly replied, highly skeptical, and almost a bit alarmed. “Martial law? Manipulation? Listen to yourself! There's always been tension. And the terrorist attack happened before you'd reported about the craziness with Vishnu. There's no way Dyman knew that was going to happen and could have staged a missing warhead. And Manipulated? Really? Sure they'd been scoping you out, but they'd needed someone LIKE you for a while, and not for a grand scheme. You fit a role and were suited for their needs.” She picked her fork back up and began sticking food onto the tines before holding it up to her mouth. “I get the impulse to try and connect the dots and form some kind of pattern, but I think this is just a series of coincidences, Jim.” She took the bite and spoke around a mouthful. “Unfortunate coincidences, though they may be. I've known Tyler since I was a baby. He would have to be a particular brand of sociopath to live with all of that blood on his hands if that were true.”

“You're right,” He recanted. “It's just suspicious, is all. I can't help but think something sinister is going on.” Jim pushed some food onto his fork and took a last big bite before pushing his mostly-empty plate away from him. “That was so good, my love. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. It was my pleasure,” Molly replied as she finished her plate and pushed it away from herself as well. She stood up and walked around the table to Jim, where she wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind and kissed his cheek. “You're under a lot of pressure, my darling. I know you're just trying to make sense of it all.” She squatted down and gently touched her lips to his ear. “Just don't think too much about it.”

Electricity shot down from Jim's ear, through his neck, and into his heart. That pressure behind his eyes, like from their first date, sent shocks through his spine and beyond. “And what should I think about?” Jim reached up and softly caressed her cheek as he rested it palm flat and pushed her face into his lips, kissing her deeply and passionately.

“I can think of a few things,” she replied when they broke lips, the sides of their noses nuzzling lightly. She grabbed his hand and stood up, pulling him out of the chair and leading them away from the table.

**************************************************************************************************************************

Jim brushed his hair back away from his eyes and pulled his head away from the pillow, stuffing his hand into the gap. His bicep had become quite large, as had most of his muscles via his rigorous training, and it bulged against his forearm, requiring effort, minimal but still required, to keep his arm bent. His pec was much larger than it was on their first date, as well, but Molly seemed to think it still made a comfortable pillow. Her loose red rivulets exploded across his chest as her cheek smooshed against it, her free arm resting lightly on his sternum, Jim's arm wrapped underneath her, pulling her in tight. The dawn sun was bursting through the curtains from their digital window, a light melody of chirping crickets, and the chirping birds hunting them, sang through the room's ambient noise generators. Jim preferred the sound effects of the growing bustle of the city, but Molly missed her summering home in the rural part of the Dome. His alarm wouldn't go off for another half hour, but he always woke too early on mission days. He'd slept rough all night, but knew, now that his brain was engaged, that returning sleep was a distant fantasy. He let his thoughts come and go as he laid still and tried to rest his body. Molly shifted a bit at the motion of his arm and flexing of his pec, but didn't wake from the jarring.

After a a short time of dozing into and out of semi-consciousness, the alarm blared from the nightstand. A shrill, tinny klaxon connected to a simple quartz-motion digital clock, honked with such obnoxious discordance that Molly groaned a loud disapproval and crawled across Jim's torso to hit the small, stiff button at the clock's base to shut it up. “Snooze? I want to snooze. Ten minutes.”

Jim kissed her on the forehead, which was now under his chin, and patted her on the butt gingerly. “I'm getting up. I'll wake you when I get out of the shower.”

Molly writhed and smiled and pushed Jim down when he attempted to get up and push her off. “You'll do no such thing. You keep the bad dreams away. You're gonna stay right here.” She slid back down and rested her head back on his pec again.

Jim, gracefully, rolled her onto her back, and then her side, and wrapped himself around her. She wiggled her lower half into him, and smiled serenely as Jim kissed her cheek. “I love you,” he said as he rested his head on the pillow between his shoulder and the mattress.

“And I love you, too,” she replied in a hollow but sincere tone, drifting into and out of light slumber. “Don't die, OK? I don't think I could handle it.” she purred, her eyes closed in a half-dazed almost-sleep.

“And leave you? Heaven forbid,” Jim snarked into the torrent of fiery ringlets tickling his nose. He brushed them out of the way and adjusted his head so he wasn't inhaling coppery tangles anymore. “I might not be deploying today, thought.” He continued.

“Oh?” Molly replied, eyes partially open now, as she rolled onto her back to look at Jim sidelong.

“I think I'm going to Aug.” Jim said flatly but with a bit of leading edge.

“Oh?” Molly said more pointedly as she rolled to face Jim, nose-to-nose, gigantic green eyes fully open now.

“You don't think I should?” Jim inquired, lost in her emerald gaze.

“I don't know what you should do,” she replied. “Do what you want.”

“You don't sound enthusiastic about the idea,” Jim responded to her coy tone.

“I like your pretty eyes,” She said with a smirk, the warm smile pushing her wide eyes slightly squinted as a sullen expression flashed briefly across her face.

“I've been thinking on it for quite a while. You're the only one who can veto me, so you need to tell me now if you don't want me to,” he stared at the copper-paneled ceiling, tracing the intricate pattern on each recessed cell in the grid. “I think it's the best thing to do. Will you still love me if I do?”

Molly rolled on top of him, and rested her hands chin on his sternum. She wiggled her lower body against his, rocking back and forth. “Of course. I'll always love you. You'll just have those weird white eyes, is all. They are kind of cool, though. Just don't let it change you, OK? Don't try to be like Standish.”

“Why not?” Jim craned his head down to meet her eyes over his newly-formed double chins. “He's a pretty cool guy.”

“Maybe. But he's not my kind of cool guy,” she replied with a devious smile and another wiggle of her butt. “I fell in love with you, Jim, not Standish. He's creepy.”

“Well, I like him,” Jim said, a bit defensively.

“Don't get me wrong,” Molly said, equally as defensive, “He seems nice and he's really taken you under his wings, and you've learned some pretty hot things from him,” she chuckled and wiggled again, “He's just got a, I don't know. A mood. An air about him. I don't want to say he feels slimey, but there's just this very insincere, sort of, well, creepy vibe.”

“I get it,” Jim said as he returned his gaze to the ceiling, “I get it, too. I never feel like I can trust him. It's like he's always hiding something. Like, I don't know, like everything he does is a part of some grand plan.”

“Maybe HE'S the one orchestrating your massive conspriacy,” Molly smiled as she rolled off of Jim's chest in a torrent of orange pale pink-white.

Jim propped himself up on an elbow, eyes locked on Molly's supple figure as she sauntered into the bathroom adjacent to their sleeping quarters. “I wouldn't put it past him. If anyone fits that 'special kind of sociopath' description, it's Standish. I told you the story he told me about the Outsiders, right?”

“The one from your graduation ceremony?” Molly popped her head around the door frame, tooth brush stuck in her cheek as she tied her hair back.

“Yeah. Pretty messed up, right?” Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his toes, “I mean, he seemed remorseful, and maybe he'd sunk into the bottle about it. But I don't know. Marion said he's the best Core pilot they've ever had. Better than me, even. Maybe he knows about Vishnu and this is all a set up.” Jim pushed himself up, wobbling and swaying a bit at his newly vertical position.

“But why?” Molly said after spitting into the sink. “What's his motive? What would he be playing at?”

“No idea,” Jim shrugged as he wrapped his arm around her waist, kissing the top of her fiery head before he walked over to the shower stall and turned on the shower tap. “Maybe he just wants to watch the world burn.” Jim, in the universe's infinite karmic justice, said as he yelped from the too-hot shower water.

*************************************************************************************************************************

“Keep very still,” Magister Rinaldo said through his surgical mask, “You'll feel a sharp pinch. If it hurts too much after, let me know.”

“Alrigh- Ahhh,” Jim was cut off as the Magister shoved the giant IV needle into his forearm. “Ouch,” he completed, deadpan. The exam room was brightly lit, the black and white-grid slate tiling disorientating from his vantage point, semi-reclined on the stiff mattress of the medical gurney.

“Good. It'll take about an hour for the IV to drain and another for the nanomachines to finish their journey to the brain. Once they're in position we'll start the mapping.” The Magister's warm, affable smile and calm soothing tone eased the tension in the sterile, clinical exam room.

Jim looked over and met eyes with the Commander, who was watching from the research lab, through the observation glass. “And then what?”

“And then We'll have your Artifical Encephalographic Network, your AEN. Once we have your AEN, we'll start running you through the training program to build up your Natural Encephalograph. Should have it completed by the end of the day if we work quickly,” the Magister replied as pull his white lab coat's sleeve back to checked his uniform's wrist watch. “Then, once we've built the NE, we can upload it to your personal transmitter. From there, we'll hand you off to the training team tomorrow, and get you started learning how to use your new toy. Sound good?” His eyebrows jumped behind his surgical goggles, eyes widening, imploringly.

“I guess. How long will the training take?” Jim sat nervously as the machines flowed into his veins, painlessly and quietly.

“Depends on how good you are. I suspect you'll only need a few weeks of practice before you get everything down,” the Magister stood straight and pulled his surgical mask back, his crisp, well-groomed white mustache turned up in a smile. “I'll be back in a few hours. Try and get some rest. There's a mild sedative on the nightstand,” he tipped his head the small table next to the medical bed. There was a small platic cup with a single pill in it, next to a tall glass of water.

“Alright,” Jim replied, knocking back the pill like a strong shot of liquor, and chasing it with some of the water. He turned his head back to the black ceiling and closed his eyes. After a short while, the dull numbness of the soporific grabbed hold of his brain stem and dragged him into unconsciousness.

************************************************************************************************************************

Jim woke up on a spartan metal gurney inside a giant white halo, surrounded by giant metal monoliths. Startled, he attempted to sit up, but failed, his head strapped down by a tight brown belt just noticed as grogginess began to slip away. Similar cuffs were attached to his legs and hands. There was a throbbing in his skull, heavy pressure against his nose and eyes, and it felt like he needed to pop his ears, but no yawning was making it forthcoming.

“Be still, Jim,” Standish's voice soothed over the intercom from the research lab. “They're almost finished imaging and they need you to sit very still, otherwise we'll have to knock you out again and bolt your head to the table.” His usual irreverence had not vacated him since the last time they spoke, it would seem. “Your head's probably hurts like hell. It'll take a few days for the pressure to go away. Your head is also gonna feel a lot heavier. The nanomachines are light, but you'll definitely notice the extra weight for a while.”

“It'll even out once your fluid levels return to normal. The medbots we use to monitor your overall health quotient should make quick work of the equalization over the next few days,” the Magister confirmed. “Until then, Standish is right, you'll feel a lot of discomfort and pressure until then. We can give you some medication to cope if it gets too much.”

Jim laid very still, the threat of cranial bolts giving him the power to lie inhumanly motionless. Carefully, and making a special point to minimize the motion of his jaw, “that would be pretty helpful right now if I could,” he spat out belabouredly.

“Can't,” the Magister continued, “we need you unsullied for our next set of tests. That's why we woke you up.

“They're going to have you think of a few things so they can start keying into your electrical patterns,” the Commander gently interceded.

“Commander,” Jim sighed. Her voice was music to his ears.
“Yes. Jim, they want you to hold a picture in your head. It's going to appear from a holoprojector in front of you. Take a few minutes to memorize it, then hold the image as clearly in your head as possible,” her voice instructed in its pleasant, emotionless, comfortingly clinical way. A picture of a bowl of fruit against a white background hovered in front of Jim's face. He studied it as closely as he could, noting the arrangement of the fruits, their particular colors, what the bowl they were held in looked like, and any blemishes and deformities they had on them, how they deviated from the Platonic ideal he held in his memory for each of them. “Alright, now recall the picture in your mind as accurately as you can.” Jim closed his eyes and visualized a blank white space. He put a bowl in the center of it, a big blue one, and began filling it with fruit in the places they were. He then filled in their colors and how they deviated from what Jim thought of as a perfect ideal of “fruit.” longer stems, fatter shapes, big black spots indicating over-ripeness. “Perfect Jim, let's move along.”

“Now,” the Magister took over for her. “We're going to flash some images up very quickly, and we want you to say what you see out loud.” They began flashing up a series of basic images. Trains, balls, plates, food. Jim used the best word he could think of to name it as quickly as he could. The images only sustained for a split second, so sometimes he wasn't really sure what he was seeing, so he'd just give it his best guess. “That's great, Jim,” the Magister halted after about 20 images. “We're gonna do the same thing, but with people's faces now, Jim. Tell us what emotion you think they're feeling.” This time, it was cartoonish faces redered with highly dramatized versions of emotions straining on their faces. Beaming smiles, large fat teardrops, deep frowns, angrily squinted eyes. But, as the test went on, the faces got more subtle. A smirk and a glance away. A sneer and a furrowed brow. A wan smile and hooded eyes.

“Perfect,” the commander interceded again. “We're going to need you to solve some puzzles now. We'll flash up some math questions and some “spot the difference” pictures. Just shout out the answers when you solve them.” This time, the projector flashed up some math problems in standard notation. “5 x 5,” “20=5x-5” and so forth. After a very complicated math solution, the next image was two pictures side-by-side, of a little girl on a staircase playing with a blue rubber ball. He studied the picture on the left and named out the differences. The fact that the ball was red on the other side, the girl had green eyes instead of brown, and that there were 4 stairs in one picture and 3 in the other.”

“Perfect,” the commander eventually cut off. “Last test. We're going to need you to remember some emotions.” She left a long dramatic pause, causing Jim to feel vary anxious in expectations. “We'll start with happy. Not too Remember a time when you were really happy.” Jim closed his eyes and recalled his first date with Molly and what it was like to ride the train home. He felt the joy and happiness wash through his body. The joy in even visualizing her face made Jim's face smile involuntarily. “Great, now sad,” the commander led on. Jim remembered what it was like being in the hospital the first time his mom was diagnosed with her condition. An untreatable genetic defect. The medbots could hold it back for a while, but over time they will not be able to correct the differences and the defects will win out. The news crushed him when he was a toddler. “Really good ,Jim. Anger now, Jim.” He recalled the time the first time he and Molly fought. He remembers her screaming at him and him screaming at her. The look on her face and the spit coming out of her mouth as she angrily defended herself from his own vitriol. “Captured. Now, let's move to fear.” Jim remembered being in the tunnels when the rubble fell on Vishnu. He'd never been so afraid to die, ever. “Got it. Last one, disgust.” Jim remembered his anatomy class in Lyceum. There was this moment when they were going over ancient disease and showed images of badly infected wounds. He remembered wanting to throw up in revulsion from how gross and disgusting they looked. Black, swollen, infested. He felt his skin crawl and get goosebumps just thinking about it. “Wonderful, exactly what we needed.”

A nurse came up to him and pulled the gurney out of the white plastic halo, and undid the restraints. “The computers need to churn on this for a few hours now, so you can go back to your dorm and get some rest,” the magister instructed. The nurse handed him a vial of pills. “You can take your pain killers now, too. Jim knocked one back dry, and made his way out of the lab. The commander intercepted him and led him out of the research wing.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” He said to her as they walked down the maze of halls.

“I don't think this is a matter of right or wrong, Jim. I think you made the more interesting choice, though, for whatever that's worth. How are you feeling?

“My head feels like it's made of lead and like there is a bug trying to bore its way out of my eyeballs,” Jim responded as he dug his palms sharply into his eyes trying to rub away some of the pressure.

“Get back to your dorm and get some rest,” The Commander put a hand on Jim's shoulder as they halted in front of the exit. “The guys are handling the mission just fine. Rinaldo says you'll be combat ready in a few days, so we'll get you back in training soon. Just relax and enjoy the vacation.”

Chapter 12 - Lost Salvation

 “No time to dally, Jim,” The Commander said as the plug swung open and the technicians began unplugging his flight rig. “Meeting. Now.” She sounded grave.

“What she said,” Standish, a comical look on his face, beamed with obvious excitement.

Jim had mostly forgot about the little display he'd put on. He was still trying to wrap his head around the voice. “I have allowed you to be my weapon,” it had said. Where did it come from? How could he hear it? The tech finished unhooking his flight cable. He was drenched in sweat, starving, exhausted, and a bit light-headed. The commander grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him groggily to the debriefing room in silence. Her stride was long and quick, Jim almost had to run trying to keep up.

“Sit. All of you,” She said as Jim realized the others had caught up with them and were following in silence, themselves. “We'll get to Jim's theatrics in a second. Standish?” She gave a side-ways hand to him, conceding the floor.

“First off, good going, guys. Talk about a ton of fun to watch! Our techs are going bananas. Thanks!” Standish applauded, his walking stick cupped in the crux of his elbow. He slowly tapered off as the commander shot him a deeply disapproving gaze. “Second, Central Command is pulling us off the mission so we can re-deploy. Third Legion is going to continue the shakedown here. We've been alerted of some terrorist activity back home. We're being called in to put down the uprising. Show of force, maintain law and order. All that good stuff. It looks like the DPRC has been funneling money to the Outsiders and they've begun rallying people under a separatist movement. While you guys were out collapsing mountains, a couple separatists snuck into Central Plaza and detonated a large explosive device. Current reports suggest it was “hijacked” from the DPRC when they inexplicably decided to transport it across Wilds territory.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Marion inquired, her tone dreadfully excited.

“Does it matter?” Standish responded flippantly.

“Of course it matters!” Marion stood and glared angrily.

“Numbers have only just begun to come in,” the Commander began as she stepped in front of Standish annoyedly. “They packed the bomb in concrete and surrounded it with scrap metal. The explosion was small but the projectile scatter was a nightmare. Detonated in the middle of the financial district during lunch-hour. Mayhem, from what the video feeds show.”

“Ballpark?” Tomah asked worriedly.

“Hundred or so dead, and rising. Several hundred maimed. Thousand or so injured,” the Commander hung her head slightly in reverence, “The attack was highly coordinated. Caught us totally off-guard.”

“ETA?” Adrian asked.

“We're two days out from Central City. First Legion has them on the run,” Standish started.
“First Legion? Why are they calling us in if they brought in First Legion?” Blaize scoffed.

“Didn't I just say? 'Show of force, maintain order. All that good stuff,' I believe is the direct quote,” Standish snarked. “First Legion is all well and good, but they attacked home. If this is the DPRC, they're threatening hundreds of years of peace.”

“They must have a source,” the Commander chimed in. “They must've know we were away. They'dve never made that move if they knew the Cores were still around.”

“Diversionary maneuver,” Jim interrupted. “If you're saying this is DPRC, then that's why we're out here. The Outsiders are pawns. Pay off some mercenaries to screw with the Southern Union, knowing that they'll pull in the IA and send us out. We'll eliminate the mercs and any trace that they paid them off, and Gotoma will get indicted for the crime. Then, leak some information to the Outsiders knowing that they'll definitely jump at the chance to hijack a warhead and make a terrorist show. Guard it lightly and drag it through the Wilds. There's no way that isn't getting into rebel hands.”

“Assume you're right,” Marion said, brow furrowed in dismay, she had returned to her seat. “What's the next step?”

Jim turned to address her directly and saw her face for the first time since they'd arrived at the Valiant. She was still glistening in sweat, her beautiful black hair matted and stuck to the side of her face. Her eyes were sunken and her face slightly ashen. Her normally emotive face was soulless and exhausted. “Well,” he began after shaking his thoughts back into place, “if this were one of my strategy games, I'd wait for my opponent to pull his main force back to base to deal with the insurgents and then sweep my primary force onto one of their expansion colonies, shut down supply chains, maybe squash a smaller allied map threat. That sort of trickery is pretty common in five-man free-for-alls.”

“It gets pretty ruthless,” Adrian said. “I've seen some pretty nasty backstabs.”

“I”ve DONE some pretty nasty backstabs,” Jim said with a casual grin.

“Like that one time during Nationals,” Adrian responded. He leaned his elbows onto his knees, his rippling chest cresting out of his flight suit, his golden necklace dangling down.

“Guys!” Tomah thundered. “We're in the middle of a tragedy. Do you really think this is the time and place to reminisce about bloody video games?” Some of Tomah's curly bangs had pulled out of his black, viking-like braids and framed his exhausted face, his green-white eyes sparkling intensely in dismay.

“He's right, though,” the Commander interjected. “But we have direct orders. We're to withdraw and Third Legion's drone fleet is going to carpet-bomb the final mercenary stronghold. The Valiant is already on course. There's nothing we can do.”

“So, now that that's settled,” Blaize chirped out, “Are we going to talk about freak-show over here and his death-defying acts of daring-do?” He shot a thumb over to Jim. He was reclined back, his feet kicked over the chair in front of him.

“I'm not a freak-show,” Jim defended aggressively.

“Freak show or not,” Blaize began, not even glancing at Jim, his yellow-white eyes intent on chewing off a hang nail. “your Core went apeshit, and I don't trust it. And since you were at the helm and won't tell us what happened, I don't trust you, either.”

“Well,” Jim began, “I don't really know what happened either. “I heard,” Jim began and cut himself off. “I was trapped under the rock, and the core shut down and started humming, so I stood up.” Jim cocked his head to the side and focused on a point in middle-distance. “Next thing I know, I'm standing at the center of a fountain of rock. Everything was frozen around me. I started moving and the air in front of me started glowing red-hot. I realized I must have been moving so fast that I was creating a compression wave, so I positioned myself in front of the beetle thing and threw my arms up, well, like I see them do in my fighting games. Then things turned back to normal speed, the rocks rained down, and the beetle had blown up and evaporated. That's all I know.”

Everyone had turned to stare at Jim while he recounted what happened. At length, Standish broke the silence, “Anything else?” His face was lit up like a Christmas tree and he seemed incredibly excited.

“Well, there was a ton of code running across the screen when it was rebooting, but it was all in some ancient script I couldn't read,” Jim replied, shrugging.

Standish clapped his hands together, balled one into a fist, and held it to his face as he bit his lower lip, his walking stick still cradled in his elbow. “Oh Jim, you are just a treasure, aren't you?” He said as he moved his fist away and began rubbing his hands together, a wild look in his eyes as he stared unblinkingly at Jim.

“Standish,” the Commander said, her head pulled back, chin tucked into her neck. “You look like a cartoon villain.”

“Excellent,” he said as he began folding his hands over each other maniacally. “Excellent,” he repeated, taking special care to drag out each “e.”

“Really, though,” the Commander said, head still pulled back in skeptical revulsion. “You're freaking us out a bit.” Everyone's brow had knitted forward in concern, Jim's face taking on a panicked expression.

“Oh,” Standish said, shaking his head and dropping his walking stick point-first onto the ground where it held vertically for a second before he rested his hand and full weight onto it, kicking his foot across his shin and onto its toe. “All in good fun,” he smiled widely, his brilliant white teeth sparkling as bright as his eyes. “But seriously though, this is good stuff. We'll see if we can get any logs and have our analysts go over it. Good stuff, guys, good stuff.” In an instant he flung his feet square, his cane levitating into his armpit, and clapped his hands together like a motivational speaker. His hand scooped upward and grabbed the ball of the walking stick from underneath. He thrust his free hand into his pocket, clicked his heals together, turned so that he was facing profile to the team, and began pacing, making a point to kick his feet out until his knee locked, his head held high, nose up in the air. “Now,” he said after reaching center-stage, where he pivoted on his toes, facing them full, heels still together, feet forming an off-set 90 degree angle, and dropped the cane from his armpit back to the floor with a loud clack. “Same place, oh-nine hundred, tomorrow. We'll give you the mission brief, then we want Jim to do some synchronization drills with Vishnu before we get to Central City. Rest of you will be doing some simulator cross-training. This is going to be a different theater of combat than you are all used to, so we'll need you to be familiar with the cores and equipment packages we're putting you in.” Standish extended his free arm out and shooed them away.

The group, slightly baffled-looking, turned their gaze to the Commander. She gave them a slightly bewildered nod, and they all dispersed and left. “Jim,” Carol halted him before he reached the door, “Report to tactical before you head to your dorm. They'll no doubt have a few questions for you.”

“Where's tac-....” he started in before the Commander cut him off with a look, leaning her head forward and arching up her left eyebrow. “Oh, right,” Jim said, withdrawing the small crescent-shaped device she had given him previously from a cargo pocket on his flight suit.

“0900. Don't be late, even fashionably. Eat heavy. Not sure how much drilling we'll do on Vishnu. Don't wanting you getting hungry,” the Commander winked at Jim.

“Molly!” Jim waved at the three-dimensional rendering of her inside the tall, rectangular, glass prism of the holographic projector. “Are you OK? Is everything alright? Is your dad safe?” Jim was seated at the small desk along the right wall. The nearly 3-foot-tall holo-projector took up most of the space on the desk. Molly's image, occasionally flickering with interleave lines -no doubt a fragment of compression as the bandwidth available fluctuated from atmospheric interference- was a perfect rendering of her from the waist up. A blue-lighted camera on top of the terminal interface scanned Jim in the same way Molly's scanned her, generating a similar image for her projector, though if Jim remembered correctly, her father recently provided her with a full sized, eight-foot, prismless, corporate-grade telepresence projector.

“He's fine. You know Dad, he's rarely ever in the office anyway. If anything, this just confirmed why he should be more reclusive than Mom lets him be. It's pretty scary over here. Third Legion's set up shop in the Styx along with some Gotoma goons,” Molly looked simply radiant to Jim. Her serene face and matter-of-fact tone comforted him. Because her hair was starting to get so long, she had it pulled and pinned to the side, a loose french braid holding the rest of her hair and coming down across her left shoulder. She had on a blue camisole underneath a tan long sleeve shirt, one of Jim's favorite outfits on her.

“Gotoma?” Jim felt his face pull into a surprised and confused look.

“Oh, right. You've been on the Valiant for the last few days. The press caught wind of your little counter-insurgence hullabaloo and has done a full profile indicting Gotoma as a primary aggressor to the Great Union. I listened to a whole dealy on it on it from the Independent.”

“Love the Independent. They still have that one guy, John-Stephen al Bassem?” Jim smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“Oh yeah,” Jim wasn't sure if her chuckle was legitimately placid and warm and perfect, or if his feelings were just overwhelming his objective perception. “He's my favorite. He's funny and poignant, and has such a skillful way of of talking about what's going on in a way that's not so dry and boring.”

“Exactly. Anyway, what'd ol' Jay-Sab say about what we're doing?” Jim smiled warmly.

“Well, first he made a joke about how the IA is like the popular kid at school that everyone loves but secretly hates. Then he talked about how the SU is like our younger brother and someone kicked their sand-castle over and we decided to kick their butts for it. Then he quipped about the DPRC's weird habits, making them out to be the creepy kid at school that kills ants with a magnifying glass. Then he got serious and talked about how their isolationist mentality and demagogy has led them to be really small-minded and counter-populist and how they ignore objective personal rights. He used that to talk about how they were probably manipulating Gotoma and then mentioned that these 'Outsiders,'” she used air quotes like the Professor, “were probably radicalized by their propaganda and manipulated behind the scenes.”

“I said the same thing in debrief today,” Jim started. “I don't know if you heard, but we just finished collapsing a mountain.”

“Yeah, just saw that on the Breaking feed,” Molly positioned the holo-projector's camera onto the screen in their living room that had the news on.

“I never knew you watched the news so much,” Jim said, mildly surprised.

“I didn't until I had a soldier for a boyfriend,” Molly replied a bit accusatorily, pulling the camera back to her.

“Touche,” Jim responded, a bit hurt. “Well, we snuck in through some caves and hit an ammo dump in a small geocache. There was an elaborate cave structure underneath and when we blasted the chamber, it caused a cascading collapse. We didn't get to see it, but Standish said it was pretty impressive.”

“It was pretty impressive,” Molly agreed. “One of the weather satellites caught it. The mountain dropped down like a stool had been kicked out from underneath it, then the top fell off and ca used a massive landslid. The dust cloud is almost as big as a volcano's. Nice job.”

“I almost died. There was a cave-in because some reckless bastard detonated a rocket in an unstable geofront,” Jim started nonchalantly. Molly's face became grave. “I got buried under a massive load of debris in the middle of the combat. I was piloting Vishnu.”

“What the hell were you doing in Vishnu? How dare you act so casually about almost dying, Jim. Weren't you saying that that core was crazy experimental and untested?” Molly sounded very angry.

“Yeah. But something happened. The core, like, slowed down time? I guess is the best way to describe it, I think?” Jim scrunched his face and craned his head to the side. “It felt like time stopped and I had moved so fast that the air started compressing in front of me. I struck a pose straight out of one of my video games and it totally works. I was pretty pumped. HUGE explosion. Totally vaporized this gigantic shadow beetle. Seriously. I couldn't make this stuff up.”

Molly's eyes grew wide. “That's crazy, Jim. How did it happen?”

“I don't know. Promise you won't think I'm crazy?” Jim arched his eyebrows pleadingly.

“Of course not, Jim, you know that.”

“Well, this voice started talking to me in my headset. I think there's some mega-advanced AI in the core that has gone rogue and thinks it's ACTUALLY Vishnu. It was talking all crazy-like and said things like 'I have chosen you as my weapon' and how it had been imbued from the heavens to fight demons or something. I kinda just played along until we got back to base. Wouldn't want to anger a god or anything,” Jim chuckled slightly.

Molly was not amused. “Jim,” she stated flatly. “You talked to the Commander about it?”

“No,” Jim started, “but I mentioned some comm issues to the tactical analysis squad, and told them to analyze the in-flight transcripts. Also asked them to review the coding to see if they can find any trace of a sub-AI or an adaptive-response interface.”

“Good. Don't worry me like that Jim. I can't lose you.” Molly's eyes went big and doughy. “Hurry back to base, you're not allowed to die without holding me one more time.”

“I should be back in a few days. I have Sim and Synch training all tomorrow, and then we're deploying into Central Square for a “show of force” whatever that means. Probably won't be in communication for a few days.”

“Alright, my love. I'll see you then. Get some sleep. Good night, darling.” Molly blew a kiss to him.

“Good night to you too, my dove. I love you.” Jim caught the kiss and blew one back to her before he shut off the conference monitor.

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“Let's get started,” Standish began. His suit had returned. Dark grey, tailored in his favorite Italian cut, high-collared, salmon-pink shirt, white tie, and black ornately-styled wingtips, a matching grey fedora with a white band adorning his caramel-brown pate. “We're still a day out on the Valiant.”

“Yeah, why is that?” Adrian began. His flight suit was rolled down, his muscular frame rippling under the tank-top shirt.

“Upper atmospheric and Low-earth Orbit travel is scrambled right now, thanks to the terrorist attack. The energy/speed ratios are really bad on the Valiant when we're this close to the ground thanks to increased air resistance and a lack of solar and dynamic power synching. So, we're stuck checkpoint-hopping for power to run our anti-field generators,” The Commander explained in a flat tone. Full uniform, as usual. Jim couldn't recall a time since Lyceum where he'd seen her OUT of uniform.

“Still don't see why it'd take over a day to get to home base. One of our scramblers can literally travel around the planet on a single charge just above mountain-line,” Blaize interjected.

“The Valiant is big, guys,” Standish said pointedly. “Filling the fuel cells takes a while. Not to mention all of that other stuff that she said,” he sounded almost defensive. “As for the mission,” he began as he paced the stage, taking the “use the space” idea as law, “The Valiant will be positioned over the city, just over Central Square, where the attacks were carried out. The containment dome will open temporarily and you guys will be dropping in hot. You'll be doing patrols and generally making your presence known for the next few days, coordinating with ground troops to stave off any potential follow-up while intelligence collects data on future attacks.” Standish brought up a slide of the city from a distance, the brilliant blue dome sparkling against the full afternoon light, it's neon-electric shell fading into the sky's blue tinge, accented against the luscious green forest it was nestled within.

“After the initial drop, you'll be roaming in sets of two. 4 hour shifts and you'll all have to pull an 8-hour shift every other turn. Marion and Jim will have first blush, Marion will handle the first 8. You'll be fed a grid layout of the city and a curated path will be automatically selected for you by our tactical servers,” the Commander had positioned herself next to Standish in the center of the stage, and switched to a slide of the city, cartoonified and rendered with an orange mission line snaking across the major thoroughfares, indicating a theoretical patrol route. “When you're not on shift, you'll be expected to either be sleeping or in the sims. Any questions?”

“How long will we be on patrol,” Adrian asked, after no one spoke up for a few beats.

“Good question,” Standish began, “the answer to which is 'until we say so.'” Standish smirked arrogantly and hurriedly added, “Next question.”

Marion sheepishly raised her hand, confused about if that's what she was supposed to do.

“Ah! Marion, yes, you have the floor,” he pointed at her with the base of his cane.

“Uhh, what are our Core assignments going to be?”

“Excellent question!” Standish exclaimed as his cane levitated into his armpit and he clapped his hands together. “Marion, you will be in Simo as per usual, in his gunner's kit. No need to snipe this run. Our heavies will be in their usual assignment of Cúchulainn and Heimdall. Blaize will be running Musashi. No need for a scout on this pass, you need to look scary, grrrr,” Standish put his hands in front of face like claws and bore his pearly white teeth like fangs. “Jim will be in Vishnu. Because, I mean, obviously. We have this cool new toy, why not run it!”

“Anything else?” the Commander cut Standish off, unimpressed with his little press conference. Everyone else remained silent. “Alright, then. Off to the simulators. We have several scenario set up. You'll need to be intimately familiar with the terrain and prepared for a bunch of non-standard battle maneuvers. Dismissed.”

Jim began to stand up as they all did, but Blaize shoved him back into his seat by leaning heavily on his shoulder. “No need, teacher's pet. You're going to need a special talking to by your favorite lady.”

“Oh, Jim,” the Commander began as she broke away from quiet conversation with Standish. “Can you stay behind? We need a word with you.”

Blaize chuckled as he swaggered away to catch up with the group, who laughed at his prescience.

Dejected, Jim rose after the rest had filed out, and made his way over to the Commander, head hung low. “What's up,” he said, a hollow attempt at enthusiasm obviously failing to convince the Commander.

She ignored the feigned excitement, however. “Jim, tactical wasn't able to get much from the flight data from your last run. We're going to put you in the plug again and do some tuning. We want to try and get your sync ratios to at least 75%. It's gonna be a slog. We'll try and get you some simulator time but we really need you comfortable in Vishnu.”

“Alright, I'll head down to the hanger now,” Jim was visibly sullen.

“Jim,” the commander begun, a flash of hope lighting his face up as he turned to acknowledge her. “You're doing really well. I'm proud of you. Keep it up and just remember that you don't need to impress anyone. Just do your best and everyone will see you for who you are.” The commander gave a calculated, affable smile, as she resumed conversation with Standish.

**************************************************************************************************************************

“Alright,” the tech began as he finished initializing the core's boot pattern, “You're running at 63% right now. We need 12 points by the end of the day. Let's start by running our calibration suite. You know the drill. Try to be as still as possible, and don't be afraid when the sensors twitch.”

Jim, immobilized in the core, was also without his sensor suite. The core was so well-sealed from the outside that the plug was actually anechoic. So quiet it was without simulated audio feeds and radio chatter, that if you sat perfectly still, you could actually hear the dull burbling rush of blood as your heart pumped it in and out of your head. It's said that after a short time in the stifling silence you could actually experience severe cognitive degradation and too long could lead to profound insanity.

“It won't be too much longer, Jim, you're doing great, we're getting some really good numbers,” the tech came over, distracting Jim from the thoughts that seemed to be screaming all the more loudly in his head. “Just a few more subroutines.”

The nano-pillow writhed and squirmed beneath him. It was mildly disconcerting and if Jim was afraid of such things, it could easily feel like you were buried alive in a pit of snakes. His muscles spasmed violently as the program initiated each individual muscle group. He wished he could chat with the tech, or even respond, but he knew that any non-necessary muscle movement, including the of his throat to make words, would make the calibration less accurate, and thus would net them lower affinity numbers.

Without warning, the external sensor suite was initiated, and the familiar out of body experience was initiated, the ghostly sensation slightly less pronounced than his last time in the plug. “68%, Jim. Not a bad bump! We're running you at no sensory bias, a full 0 Rands. We're gonna release the docking clamps and have you walk a few rounds around the hanger, might have you do some various exercises to isolate muscle groups and map them individually. If it's too exhausting, let us know and we'll try and up the Rand bias, but it'll color the numbers.”

“Roger that,” Jim confirmed as he heard the hissing and buzzing sound of the docking clamp releasing the tension off his chest. Jim felt his quads engage and his calves and feet strain to maintain balance. Without sensory bias, the computer was doing nothing to predict or compensate the feedback to Jim, so every minute stimulus sent into the core's sensors were translated into human anatomical signals and fed directly back to Jim. This was particularly stressful because it meant Jim could feel the disproportionally heavy weight of the core's arms and legs in comparison to the weight of his own body.

“You've returned, it would seem, my warrior,” the voice came through into Jim's headset, less soft and subtle this time. It had a very confident and sing-songy nature to it. “And what are we doing today?”

Jim disengaged his intercom and spoke aloud to himself, “we're trying to increase my sync ratios. Last time I piloted you, I was at just a shade over 61%. My commander wants me to hit 75% before we enter into the next combat theater.”

“An ambitious goal, warrior. I may only communicate with you through this rudimentary contraption. If you and I could commune in our minds as one, we could dance in harmony,” the deep, round notes, still light and airy, breezed over his ears.

“I'm sure, but for now, this is all I have,” Jim sounded indignant.

“Then we shall make due, warrior,” the voice danced in Jim's ear as it wafted out of his headset.

“Jim, you doing ok? Balance looks good. You've shot up to a 71% right now, think you've got it in you to run your drills?” The tech interrogated.

Jim shook his, and the core's head, knocking his thoughts around and letting them fall into place. With a massive concerted effort, Jim took a few steps forward and pivoted to his right. He began the hard, harsh slog along the side of the retracted catapult track. With no bias, the core felt impossibly heavy. Each motion felt slow and laborious as the wind resistance fought against the rapid motion of his long, swinging limbs. Each step Jim took felt like he was carrying a backpack full of boulders across a tight-rope.

“Alright, Jim. We're gonna need you to bend over and touch your toes,” the tech instructed.

“Childish. You will not comply with such a worthless and simple task, will you?” The voice seemed rife with contempt.

“I am fighting just to put one foot in front of the other, touching my toes will be far from simple. And as I'm sure you're aware, the tech team has full logging enabled to help map your motions to my musculature. So, it is far from worthless, either,” Jim said disdainfully. “I'm not sure about the last person to pilot you, but I need to calibrate before I truly be the 'warrior' you call me.” Jim took a second to compose his thoughts, and began the monumentally difficult task of leaning over and maintaining balance. After what seemed an eternity, Jim had bent over while maintaining balance and begun the equally strenuous task of returning to upright.

“Really good, Jim, really good. We've got you another point. Let's do some knee raises and leg extensions,” The tech came over once Jim had returned to standing.

“Bah, such boring trivialities! When will my flesh once again experience the hot breath of battle?” The voice bellowed, contempt dripping on every syllable.

“If we can get the ratios to where they need to be, then I'll be deploying tomorrow. Probably won't see combat, though. It's a Secure and Patrol mission,” Jim responded as he carried out his various calisthenic feats.

“Jumping Jacks, Jim, If you'd be so kind,” the tech came over again.

“And shall I ever be able to slake my thirst for combat again, or was our first dalliance my last true taste of scrimmage?”

“Well,” Jim replied between pants as he executed his jumping jacks, “We're in peace time. There's potential war brewing, but we're trying to avoid it. If we're unsuccessful, or just unlucky, you'll get your 'true taste of scrimmage' soon enough.”

“That's really good, Jim, we're homing in. Few more drills and we should be able to get you to 75% without bias and then we can work on getting you there with compensation. Let's switch drills. Run a few laps around the catapult deck, if you can.” the tech instructed Jim.

“On it,” Jim replied as he panted heavily, maneuvering the core to begin a jog and then a decent-paced run around the catapult at the center of the deck.

“Well, I can only hope my services are never needed for more than rousting and intimidation, but I am a warrior, and as such I crave the thrill of the fight. I shall not bother you again until we are once again immersed in glorious combat.”

Jim waited a bit while he ran, but the voice seemed to have gone. He was sweating profusely and breathing hard. The effort only became harder as his synch ratios increased sans compensation.

“You're looking good. We're gonna start adding compensation in, can you switch over to some more advanced drills? How about run and tumbles?” The tech sounded more suggestive than commanding.

“I think I can manage that. So I guess you're implying that we're at 75%?” Jim was too exhausted to sound optimistic. But, as with anything, had to push through the fatigue if he wanted to get better. He began to do his run and tumbles. They composed of a start from kneeling, a dash for 10 paces, and then a dive forward, tumbling through a somersault back into a kneel facing the other direction, where he'd repeat it again.

“We are, and you're currently up to 5 Rands. You push 15 regularly, shall we work up to there?”

“I push 15 when I have synch ratios in the 90's,” Jim replied to the tech. “Let's work up in increments of 5 and I'll let you know when it feels more natural.”

“Roger that, upping you to 10 now. Switch up exercises, too, we've got all the data we can from this one. How about some acrobatics? Think you've got that in you?” The tech came over.

Jim could feel the subtle bias begin to take effect in the form of a numb feeling in his appendages. It was welcome, the uneven weight of the Core finally beginning to balance out. “Think I can, I'm starting to feel pretty good.” Jim started with a light jog and then hurled himself forward into a front handspring, followed by a front flip, into a backflip and a series of back handsprings which he finished into a backflip with a 540-twist. He did not, however, stick the landing, and went tumbling onto his butt, and flailed several dozen feet backward. The shock transference took some edge off the impact, but they still gave Jim a punishingly sharp jolt to his tailbone, and each tumble gave a pretty solid pound on shoulders and other appendages. Not enough to be damaging, but plenty enough to be more than punishing.

“Not bad, all things considered, Lieutenant. You're currently at 35 Rands, where you were flying on your last mission, and at 75% even. Want to leave it for now?” The tech came over with a slight chuckle in his voice.

Jim dusted himself off and shook out the bangs and bruises. “75% is my target and I hit 75%. 35 Rands feels sufficiently normal. Let's call it good.”

“Alright,” the tech responded, “bring it in and we'll get you down to the simulators.”

“On my way, but I'm going to stop in the mess hall first. I'm at 60% energy reserves and it's going to be a long day drilling.”

“Roger that, Lieutenant Ross, see you in the hangar.”

Chapter 11 - Gone to Hell

 “...as it breaks down, a charged particle escapes and interacts with its environment. That's why it's so dangerous to life,” Blaize continued to Tomah. “After the bombs dropped, most of our atmospheric protections, ozone and the like, were actually stripped away as a result. The resulting sun exposure, dust cloud, and torrential weather shifts were so sudden, it actually formed a mini-Epoch. It's crazy if you look at the core samples. It's relative stability for ten's of thousands of years, and then just wild shifts every few centuries. It's especially interesting once we introduced the Adam bug. As it absorbed all the charged particles, its rampant photosynthesis released a ton of excess oxygen into the atmosphere and propagated a wave of mega-fauna and gigantic insects. A host of creatures actually rapid-evolved to adapt. It's slowed down now that generation lengths have stabilized, but it probably compressed a few hundred thousand years into a mere several thousand.”

“We have completed our collections and eliminated the heat signature. Void beetles, whole hoard of them. We have resumed our approach to the primary objective. If you disembark now, Bull team, you should hit there just as we reach the rear ingress point,” Marion's voice piped into Jim's rig, interrupting Blaize's lesson. “Are you capable of deploying Bull-seven?”

“My reserves are at full. We're ready to engage whenever you are,” Jim's response was cool. He had put his plug into stasis mode, with just his sensors running, in order to conserve his metabolic energy. He revived his core, the pillowy nanomachines squirming into life and the out-of-body experience re-engulfing his physical awareness.

“Roger that, Gold-one,” Blaize came through, “we are beginning our decent. Once we arrive, we will begin engaging the enemies right away, do not wait for confirmation, please update your status to us as we combat.”

“Acknowledged, Bull-five. We'll keep you updated. Good luck. Gold-one, out.” Marion was in full-leader mode. Her voice was finite and authoritative. It sounded very reminiscent of the Commander's in tone.

“You heard the lady,” Blaize came over. “Let's get moving. Hold the rear, Bull-seven. -Nine and I will take point. If you have ANY trouble, let us know so we can initiate an extraction. There shouldn't be any resistance until we get to the actual camp. Sweeps show this camp doesn't have any monitoring set up around it. With communications channels jammed by the Valiant since the beginning of the campaign, they should have no awareness that we have destroyed their other base, yet. This is a small trafficking point that has been mostly hidden, so they will not expect us to be aware of it. Be quick and we should be able to knock this out easily.”

“Roger that,” Tomah and Jim rang in chorus.

As they entered the cave, the path began to narrow considerably. Marching hunched and single file, all of them cranked the recoil absorption on their Achilles' Sinks to near 100%. This recovered almost all of the rebound energy such that each footfall of the gigantic machines would not shake the earth beneath them, alerting of their approach. This, however, meant that movement was slow-going as each step required a long pause for the sinks to dissipate and reabsorb the energy. After a grueling slog, the path opened up enough for them to walk three-abreast. As expected, the approach was uneventful, nary a watchman to be seen.

“Up ahead is the primary ingress point,” Blaize announced as they neared the final approach. “-Nine and I will flank either side. I will take objective-right. -Seven, I want you to hold distance and give us suppressive fire. I'd recommend getting low as there does not appear to be any cover in front of the cave mouth. We need to pull those mobile platforms away from the rear access corridor to maintain Marion and Enlil's cover.”

“Roger, Bull-five,” Tomah came over.

“Roger that,” Jim replied in kind. He removed the automatic energy rifle magnetically clipped crosswise against Vishnu's back. The mass driver carbine, similar to Marion's, it crossed would come in once they had achieved penetration across the line, but Jim knew that energy is better against organics.

As they closed the last few steps, they normalized their Achilles bias. This did a decent job of telegraphing their advance, and, as expected, the sensors showed an advance of the enemy units to fortify the entrance. Tomah removed an explosive charge from his bandoleer and lobbed it into the cave mouth. The explosion sent reverberations through the caverns, and as hoped, the mobile platforms began to pull forward toward the entrance.

“Looks like the fireworks have started, hope we're not too late to the party,” Adrian came through. “Engaging Chameleon cloaking.”

Adrian's location marker whizzed across the mini-map, his presence invisible to everyone, like a wraith blowing on the wind. With deft motion he bounded from objective point to objective point, briefly disengaging his stealth to plant his charges and then disappearing like a firefly in the darkness. Marion held position at the rear, waiting for the right time to storm through.

Blaize and Tomah had taken position flanking the cave entrance, and Jim had rolled into a prone position dead center. He was peppering the cave entrance with suppressive fire, keeping the people at bay. They had trained artillery installments along the outer rim on the entrance and were providing their own counter-fire. At interval, Jim would halt fire and Tomah and Blaize would peak around the edges and fire a few rounds themselves, attempting to neutralize the artillery installments. After a few attempts, both had eliminated the installment across from them, the left artillery for Blaize on the right, and vice versa for Tomah. With their primary obstacles neutralized, they crossed from their current position and took up cover behind pillars that flanked either side of the geofront just within the entrance. Jim saw a ledge directly inside the entrance, the pillars on either side, ramps flanking the perimeter, a great place to gain vantage with the mobile platforms against ground troops, but a perfect chest-high wall for Jim's massive core to take cover. Jim clipped his energy rifle onto his back and sprinted to the ledge with a push up and a lunge.

Once in position, Jim unclipped his mass driver and loaded a round. With Tomah and Blaize covering from the top of the ramps and Jim hiding behind the ledge, they held a half-circle-shaped bulge of an offensive line. “Where are the mobile platforms?” Jim inquired from behind his ledge as slugs from the platforms ripped through the earth above his head and slammed into the ground at a diagonal trajectory.

Marion popped out from cover and took stock of the enemy positions. The platforms were slowly advancing across the battle field as troops swarmed to the front. There were still a few artillery installations around the outer perimeter of the cavern. “They're running the center. Looks like one of them has rocket charges, so don't pin yourself. I'm going to begin my advance to your position once you get those platforms out of the way. Should be able to handle the artillery pretty easily. Careful with your pressure waves. Don't want to blow the cave early.”

With Marion holding a visual, the platforms appeared on the mini map. Jim popped up over the ledge and keyed his targeting computer onto their location, and then ducked back into cover, narrowly dodging a spate of large mass driver rounds from the artillery. Tomah and Adrian were making quick work of any trooper that wandered within energy rifle range as they disappeared into a cloud of vapor and brilliant light, not even a corpse left to bury. Jim popped out again, planted his core's elbows onto the ledge, and trained his mass driver on one of the platforms in one deft motion. When the computer blinked it's positive lock, Jim pulled the trigger and launched a round at the vehicle. The bullet slammed into the vehicle and ripped through the outer shell. The vehicle did not halt, however, and continued advance. Jim let loose another round before ducking back behind the barrier. This time, however, a satisfying “clunk” was quickly followed by an even more satisfying “boom.” The wave that followed knocked a sizable portion of the troops to the ground, the advancing shock causing destructive internal damage.

“Missile away! Jim!” Marion shouted through the intercom.

With a hurl, Jim pulled himself up over the ledge and rolled forward into the enemy ranks. The charge landed dead center in the arena that the ledge and ramps formed. The shockwave sent Jim's core stumbling forward. He recovered with a roll, but no sooner had he got to his feet, between the husk of the blown-out platform and the operational one, did a crashing noise draw his attention. The troops, much less wary than them, had collapsed the pillars behind which Tomah and Blaize were covering. Luckily they had rolled out of the way in time and were now advancing along the perimeter toward the artilleries, which were now peppering them with fire. The entry point they had stormed through, however, was now caved in.

“Looks like the front door is closed, Marion. We're sweeping the perimeter, we're gonna need to slip out the back,” Blaize's strained voice came over, the stress palpable in his tenor.

“I'm hit!” Tomah bellowed through. Jim wheeled around just as he saw Tomah fall to the ground, a mass driver from one of the artilleries having ripped through the knee actuator on his leg.

Marion pulled out from cover and stormed his location, annihilating the artillery with surgical precision as she sprinted over to assist him. With the exposure, the still-operational mobile platform began to move, fixing the barrel of it's missile launcher on both their locations.

“Now it gets fun,” the ethereal voice came through to Jim, startling him out of his reverie and snapping him into action. On reflex, Jim lunged at the platform, closing the distance in a single bounding stride, and grabbed the barrel of the tank. With a yank, it bent to a 90 degree angle.

“Jim!” was the last thing he heard Marion say as the platform operators, unaware of the bent barrel from their covered vantage points attempted to fire a charge. “Attempt” being the key operating term, as the missile ran down the barrel. It detonated upon slamming into the bent end of the barrel, the shockwave ripping through its armor and causing the internal energy sources and the other remaining missiles inside the tank to cascade into exploding onto itself, just as happened on their previous mission. The resulting pressure wave, so powerful it was visible to the naked eye, ripped even farther out and sent a tremor through the cavern, igniting one of the demolition charges Adrian had planted earlier. The pillar vaporized into a rain of sand as a stream of gigantic boulders plummeted down into a pile on-top of Jim.

The chasm heaved and lurched as Marion reached Tomah. She scooped an arm under Heimdall and helped limp him toward the cavern. Blaize had finished clearing his artillery and was making a B-line to Jim's location. “You have to hurry, Tiger-three. We don't have much time. Bull-five, recover Jim fast! We have to get out of here, this cave's integrity is massively compromised with that pillar down,” Marion sounded frantic.

“Look out!” Tomah bellowed through the intercom. “Bug!”

Marion, Blaize, and Adrian stopped dead in their tracks as a beetle twice the size of their cores rushed into the cavern, destroying part of the entry to accommodate it's massive size. Its oily black carapace emitting the same inky, light-absorbing, aura as the smaller beetles, but wrote large. Tomah, with his free hand, pulled his energy rifle to his shoulder and began blasting at the creature, to no effect, however. The abyssal miasma surrounding it seemed to drink the energy blasts in, a puff of smoke-like vapor coiling into the shroud with every hit.

Marion and Blaize took note and began hammering on the insect with their mass drivers. The super-heated chunks of metal made a satisfying, squishy crunch with every land, but it did not seem to deter the massive thing. “Looks like this is what the platforms were for,” Tomah mused. “They were probably to afraid to even explore where that tunnel led.

One round seemed to gain purchase, hitting something vital, as the beetle reared onto it's back legs and screeched an unearthly howl. It failed to cripple the bug, however, as it slammed back down, a tremulous ripple shivering through the geofront. “We've gotta take this thing out or it'll take this whole damned thing down on top of us!” Marion yelled. “Tiger-three, what's your ETA?”

“I just planted the last charge, Gold-one, Let's bring this place down on top of this sucker's head,” Adrian announced as he disengaged his Chameleon cloth and began hammering on the beetle with his mass pistols, reloading a new clip of ammunition at least twice. Progress, however, was heavily stalled. The bug refused to move into the main theater, blocking their path and preventing their exit. “We're pinned down!” Adrian came over.

“I told you this would be fun,” the voice piped into Jim's head. His core was pinned down. He could hear what was going on around him via the intercom.

“Guys!” he yelled. “I'm OK! Don't forget me! Get me out from under here! I can help!” Jim frantically transmitted to no response.

“I'll get you out of here, don't worry,” the voice sent icy chills up Jim's spine.

Jim's screen went black. His mini-maps, HUD, information controls, everything. Just black and silence. At length a command prompt invoked and a bunch of scripts began to invoke. It was in a language couldn't read. It looked vaguely like Old-World characters remembered from history class. Molly could read that, Jim thought. After a bunch of several hundred lines of foreign-language code streamed by, Jim heard a whirring sound coming from his core. Jim's screens returned, the his visual sensors unable to see anything but the rocks under which he was buried.

“Stand up,” the voice ordered him.

“I'm buried in rock. How do you expect me to do that?” Jim said out loud. He wasn't sure if the voice could hear him.

“I said stand up!” the voice boomed, so loud it shook Jim's head.

Jim, startled by the angry and authoritative voice, instinctively tried to stand up. The whirring sound reached a deafening pitch. With ease Jim felt Vishnu rise against the stones under which he was buried. The debris shot upward like an explosion, a stream of rocks riding a rippling wave vertically and crashing back to the earth like a fountain.

“Approach the beast,” the disembodied voice said to Jim.

The world seemed to stand still to he walked toward the creature. The rocks appeared to be suspended in mid air, Adrian a few lengths away from him, planted on knee, barraging the beetle. Marion had Simo's arm underneath Heimdall, as they limped their way closer to the exit, trying to get behind the beetle, both with their weapons in their good arms planted to their own shoulders, firing wantonly. Enlil was frozen mid-air as he dove sideways pistols blazing, himself also attempting to get behind the creature. As Jim walked forward, the world holding still, a bright hot light began to glow in front of him. He was moving so fast, it seemed, that he was collapsing the air in front of him and forming a self-igniting pressure wave. The space shimmered white-hot in front of him as he eventually stood directly in underneath the beetle, locked in a rear-up. Him swung his hands up from his side as quickly as he could, a white-hot pressure wave building around them, and pushed them out in front of his body, flat palms toward the beetle's undercarriage.

In an instant, the world seemed to resume speed. The pressure wave of Jim's motion rocketed forward. The conical burst and two pulses from Jim's hands propagated forward along their lines of motion. Faster than the eye, or any of their cameras, could detect, the bug exploded, the massive heat incinerating any bits before they could fly away. All that remained was Vishnu, standing in a crater of rent earth, hands aloft, shrouded in inky black smoke.

“What the fuck just happened!?” Adrian yelled into the intercom. “Is that Jim?”

“I don't know,” Jim replied. “One minute I was buried in stone, the next thing I know I'm standing up and under that thing and then it just exploded. What happened?”

“I don't know but we don't have time,” the cavern began to shake and rumble as bits of boulders started raining down from the ceiling as Blaize spoke. “We have to blow this thing NOW, before the whole thing caves in on us.”

“Yeah, that's all well and good,” Tomah said as they all made their way out the back entrance, “but what I want to know what the hell just happened. “One minute we're about to get stomped out by that thing, and the next there's a fucking geyser of rubble and that beetle is nothing more than a flash of light and smoke.”

“I can't tell you what happened either, Tomah,” Jim came through autonomically, his brain still trying to catch up. He shook his head, despite his computer, to try and knock his head back into place, causing Vishnu to follow in kind.

“Even your core does that,” Adrian came over. “That head thing.”

“Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out what happened,” Jim replied as they ran down the corridor single-file.

“We don't have time to figure out. We'll talk about it when we get top-side. I'm blowing this place, now. Brace yourself guys.” No sooner had Blaize finished talking than did a loud boom and rumble propagate through the cave floor. A “whoosh” of dust blasted through the tunnel they were walking as the cavern around them continued to rumble and quake. “Objective destroyed. We should be able to resume communication with the Valiant shortly.”

“Uh-oh,” Adrian chimed in. “Looks like we gotta find a new way out.” Just ahead of them, the path had collapsed in, blocking their entrance to where Blaize and Marion had abseiled down. “Long-wave says that's solid blocked all the way across. No blasting our way out. We need a new escape route.”

“We should be able to reestablish contact with the Valiant very shortly. Combat always seems to knock the long-range communication radio signals out of phase,” Blaize chirped over. “Few more seconds.”

“Gold one?” Standish's voice came through after a few moments. “Status report? We saw the collapse. Pretty spectacular. Radar shows you're not at the extraction point.”

“We're blocked in. Ran in to some trouble and some really stupid terrorists. Jim saved us back Bull-five and -seven, cover eight and four. Let's take this nice and slow. No more contingencies. Bull-seven, how's the knee?”

“I should be able to limp it along, gotta go slow, though,” Tomah replied.

“Roger that,” they all confirmed in chorus. Enlil started off, light on his hoof-like feet. Simo and Vishnu set off next, mass drivers butted against their shoulders, pointed off on diagonals as they there, though. Is there another way out?” Marion sounded much more relaxed now that contact with the Valiant was restored.

“Two birds, one stone. My lucky day” Standish snarked. “Gonna need you to go back to the cistern. There's a tunnel in the antechamber the water was dumped into. It connects to a larger reservoir that has exposure to the surface. Have fun guys, enjoy your swim! Valiant out.”

New mission data pushed from the Valiant populated into their HUDs. The route took them back along the path next to the river, through the cistern, and into the antechamber where a long underwater tunnel took them to a large subterranean reservoir. From the looks, there was a skylight big enough for them to climb out of. “This will be fun,” Marion eventually said once all of the info finished updating. “Tiger-three, you'll be out in front running recon. Bull-nine and I will cover ten and two, advanced behind Blaize. Adrian and Tomah fell in step behind, walking backward as they trained their energy rifles to the rear diagonals. Progress was paced but quick. They arrived at the cistern with no complications. Blaize and Marion finally got a good look into the antechamber as they all gazed down. The drop was a hundred or so feet from where they stood. There was no erosive damage to the wall implying that the water burst through and didn't trickle. At the bottom of the drop was a pool of water. Clear enough to see to the bottom, it was difficult to judge exactly how deep it might be.

“Well, here goes nothing.” With that, Blaize jumped down into the water below with a thunderous splash. The liquid engulfed him completely. “Water is really deep. Have to turn on vision assist down here, too. Having a hard time getting enough light.”

With a leap, one after another, they all jumped into the water and resumed formation. With vision assist, a suite of sonar, lidar, radar, and infrared/UV sensors, the dank blackness became somewhat navigable. The rock walls and silty bottom became ghostly black-and-white. With depth perception a foregone sacrifice when using vision assist, a shadowy blue grid was laid over the terrain to help highlight any inconsistent features such as pot holes or ledges. They slowly and methodically followed the orange line running along the ground on their HUD that had become their new mission line.

“How is everyone? Status update,” Marion came through. “Push an update to my HUD.”

“Looking good here, Gold-one,” Blaize replied first. “Metabolic reserves look good, kinetic energy stores look good. All life support systems are green.”

“Same here,” Adrian piped up.

“As I,” Tomah confirmed. “Internal repair on the knee joint is progressing. I am now only limited to about 60% capacity, now.”

“I'm doing Ok, here,” Jim came over. “I'm pretty beat up right now, though. Computer's saying my metabolic rates are low and I'm inclined to believe them. I'm starving and my muscles are aching. I should make it topside, but only just.”

“Alright, we'll keep it moving, then. Let's roll, guys.” Adrian began leading at point again as they moved out. The antechamber was tall and cylindrical, but not very wide across in diameter. It didn't take them long to get to the underwater tube. “Not tall enough for us to stand vertically. Engage your anti-field generators, we're gonna swim. It's only a few miles, should go by quickly.” With a round of “affirmatives,” the team engaged the anti-field generators that would counter-act the effects of gravity on them. As the generators slurped kinetic reserves, they all made haste as they began to swim through the tunnel. “Still gonna be tight guys. Not sure if you'll have enough room to paddle. We should probably stretch out formation and use thrusters.”

“I'll go first,” Tomah came through. “Better to have a heavy in front.” Tomah leaned forward and engaged his thrusters. His shoulders barely fit through the tunnel, as the blue geomagnetic thrusters on the bottom of his feet began to spark blue. Traditional thruster kits like ionic drive and jet propulsion were also available, but it was much easier to surf the electromagnetic field enveloping the planet.

After a short time, Adrian, Jim, Marion, and Blaize followed in order. The tube was mostly straight, save for a few deviations. Occasionally they would need to dodge around a pillar here and there, but the trip was mostly uneventful.

“I like you,” the voice came over as they traveled.

“What?” Jim said into the intercom.

“I didn't say anything,” Marion replied.

“Oh, sorry. Thought I heard someone,” Jim sheepishly responded.

“You did. Just not them,” the response almost like a whisper, tickling Jim's ears. “I hope you liked the show.”

“Who are you?” Jim questioned to himself, leaving the intercom off.

“I am called many names, but to you I am known as Vishnu. I am the supreme being, successor of Indra, Preserver of the Universe. I have been imbued into this creation of humanity to defend them from the demons of their world,” the breathy voice wafted into Jim's ear. “Your mind is pure and your body strong. I have allowed you to be my weapon. Do not betray me.”

“What does that mean?” Jim inquired, again to himself.

“In time you shall know all,” The voice cooed as it trailed off.

“We're here,” Marion came over. The reservoir was, more accurately, a massive underground lake. At the very top, a few hundred feet up, was a large opening through which the sun shone weakly.

“I can see pretty clearly without vision assist,” Tomah announced. “What do your scanners say, Adrian?”

“Looks good, it's a bit of a jungle up top, but we should be able to fit through the opening and reconnoiter with the Valiant. Lead the way,” Adrian's voice sounded ragged.

“Roger that, Adrian, heading up,” Tomah said as he began to ascend vertically through the pool.

At length, they all ascended the depth. The top was less an opening and more the surface of a small pond. A waterfall fell off a low-slung cliff into it. Around it was dense jungle, a small hole in the canopy overhead allowing the mid-evening to creep in through a massive dust cloud caused by the collapsed ground. A small speck, the Valiant, could be seen descending on their position to collect them.

Chapter 10 - The Mission

  “Today's mission,” the Commander began, “is a difficult one. Intercepted communications during the combat operation yesterday confirm the presence of a large ammo dump in the cave system north and east of our current location.” the Commander waved a few gestures in the air, and with a snap, a section of the map highlighted and the overhead satellite image turned into a landscape portrait, and then zoomed in on a specific mountain, and then further onto a cave mouth nested in a tropical jungle at its foot. “Long-wave imaging and exploratory drones show a massive accumulation of arms, munitions, and ancillary supplies in this specific tunnel.” The Commander made a few more gestures and the screen turned wire-frame and began descending into the cave like a roller-coaster. The graphics then turned to a white-on-blue spider diagram of the entire tunnel system, an orange dot at the beginning of the line indicating the cave mouth. On the other end of the line, after following a few branches and off-shoots, was a green dot. “There is a second opening deep along the cave system that the combatants seem to be unaware of. It is completely unguarded. Sonar imaging of this area has regions that could potentially indicate Dale's Fissures.”

“Radioactivity?” Marion shifted in her seat uneasily. The long cable of her flight harness draped over her shoulder like a braid.

“Hopefully,” Standish said from the other side of the screen, looking exceptionally casual today in a tight blue v-neck pull-over and khaki slacks, the cleft of his prodigious pecs barely visible at the bottom of the V. Instead of his traditional fedora, he let his shining bald head lay bare, a rarity in and of itself, considering his usual ostentatious nature.

“After the release of the Adam bug,” the commander started, “it has been assumed most or all radioactive matériel had been consumed or eroded. However, the spider-web nature of the radial geological fractures are highly indicative of the creature's colonization patterns and corrosive excretions. If we can find a source of ground-based radiation, it would be a massive boon to the IA. Interplanetary harvesting of atomic fuel is one of our most costly endeavors, and the farther reaches of our solar system do not have as much access to solar energy sources. Reducing our need to send harvesters, that themselves run on nuclear fuel sources, would even further reduce our reliance on the stuff,”

“Isn't NRI the largest consumer of nuclear fuel in the IA? And isn't that one of the major resources we import from the non-Union territories,” Tomah, his green-white eyes obscured by his heavily-furrowed brow, cocked his head to the side, his tone interrogative and conspiratorial.

“New Roman Industries does indeed consume a large amount of nuclear fuel. And we do indeed import it from mostly non-territory regions who specialize in space-based harvesting,” Standish began pacing across the front of the room, the wood, pistol-gripped cane replacing his silver-topped black walking stick, clicking on the black-slate floor in rhythm with his pace. “And it is correct that if NRI were to acquire a planet-side source of nuclear fuel it would be a huge boon to our company. But, my good man, the point you fail to take into account is that, due to government restrictions, NRI is legally forced to pass almost all of those savings onto the IA as a whole. I won't go into the finer points, but the public/private setup between the IA and NRI means that we operate for you” Standish, the sarcasm almost overwhelming his indignance, retorted, a bit of feigned sadness creeping across his face as he addressed Carol, “I thought these were supposed to be the 'best and brightest' the IA had to offer.”

The Commander scoffed silently at Standish and turned to Tomah, “NRI and IA are inextricably linked, Tomah. It's just the nature of our system. Over the hundreds and thousands of years we spent subterranean, we developed a lot of complex and very nuanced governing systems. For us to have the agility, scalability, and technological devotion we want, we had to make sacrifices, both culturally and politically. That means eschewing a lot of the classical pure-governing systems and siding with a more hybridized public-private collaboration that allows for economic forces to drive political necessity, but also allows policy to minimize collateral damage to both the the people and the environment. It has its weaknesses,” She said with a sideways head-nod to Standish, “but the benefits far outweigh them, turning those weaknesses into strengths in disguise,” She made a head-nod forward to the group.

“So, what's the mission? Storm the back door, set some demos in the grotto, collapse the ammo dump, and investigate the Dale's Fissures?” Blaize asked as he leaned forward, the yellowish internal glow of his white eyes making them look cat-like in the dimmed room.

“No,” Jim interrupted. “Look at the population map. That thing is a hive. They're aware of the rear exit too, and have a couple mobile platforms on defense,” Jim sat reclined in his chair, arms folded across his body. He lifted a hand and pointed at the map on-screen. “I'm guessing a 3-2 gatecrash, yeah?”

“Your signature style, no?” Standish said with a beaming grin.

“No, I'd run a 4-1, but you guys are a bit less aggressive than I am,” Jim flapped the back of his hand outward, as if brushing the comment away with a faux-sheepish smirk

“Pincer,” Marion mused aloud. “make a charge at the front to pull forces there and then sweep the rear with a covert assault team.”

“I am putting Marion and Blaize on rear guard. Marion will remain in Simo and Blaize will remain in Enlil. Simo is currently being fitted with a sharpshooter outfit, so you'll have an armor suit for this run, Marion. Enlil will again be our forerunner. We have several demolition charges to be placed,” A wire-frame of the grotto took over the screen. There were blinking red dots on several parts of the ceiling of the grotto, as well as a central pillar. There were various caches of goods scattered throughout the grotto and a small unit encampment behind a wall of mobile platforms, 7 in all. They were smaller-sized platforms , Mobile-3's and -5's, mostly, and appeared to be outfitted with close-quarters artillery, and not missile pods. “We'll have Adrian, Tomah and Jim in the vanguard. Adrian, You'll be in Cúchulainn, Tomah in Heimdall. You both will be escorting Jim in Vishnu,” the Commander said cooly as she cocked her hip out and crossed her arms. Her white shirt was down a few buttons and her khaki uniform pants were tucked into her black uniform boots, the vulcanized rubber making a squinching noise as her feet shifted into a T-stance.

“What?!” Marion exclaimed loudly, darting up so quickly her chair skidded back into the row behind her, creating a startling crash. “Vishnu has never been combat tested. This is Jim's second mission, EVER. He's never even piloted Vishnu! We can barely get him to move in training, let alone fight. And Jim is going in dry,” she exclaimed pointedly as she grabbed Jim's harness connector and flailed it around, an unceremonious drop jerking Jim's head back from the weight. “This is madness,” she stood with her hand on her own cocked-out hip, her other hand pleading with them for an answer.

“This one comes from way above our pay-grade, sugar,” Standish said condescendingly. “None of us get a say in this one. Dyman's orders. Besides, Tomah and Adrian can do this themselves. If Jim can't get Vishnu to behave, we can extract him in situ and drop him down in Musashi.”

“We haven't run Musashi in combat in a very long time. I don't even know if Jim knows how to pilot multi-class cores,” Marion countered, a bit defeatedly. “I can take Musashi and we can run formation like usual. Tomah in Heimdall, Adrian in Simo, and Jim in Cúchulainn.”

“I already offered this to the GA. Dyman was insistent that we take out Vishnu with Jim piloting,” the Commander replied in an equally-defeated tone. “Look, we're not even sure Vishnu will get going, let alone at an operational level commensurate with the combat theater. We'll put him in Musashi should that be the case, which it probably will. He will not be operating at an optimal level, but it will be good for Musashi to get some play again, and it will help increase Jim's skillset and make him a more valuable asset to the team,” the commander took on her most diplomatic of tones, face still unflinching.

“Yes, Sir,” Marion grabbed her chair and returned to her seat, a worried expression impossible to miss behind a forced-neutral face.

“Hold the line until Blaize and Marion confirm that the charges are in place,” Standish used his cane to point toward Blaize and Tomah as he spoke. “After that, Marion will engage the enemy as Blaize escapes and forces them into a siege position, hopefully pulling everyone into the central chamber. Our Geo-architects say that this explosives pattern should collapse the space in its entirety. Too bad you won't be topside. Gonna be a hell of a show. The geologists say that the cave-in may cause localized tremors that could affect the tunnel system so you should begin evacuating the tunnels as soon as the charges go off, if you can't find a break to get the hell out beforehand.”

“This is going to be a tough mission, guys. You have your orders, let's get you guys jacked in and prepped. Dismissed,” the Commander sighed as she walked to the door, the crew raising to follow in tow as she passed by them.

*************************************************************************************************************************

The flight plug was in-dock horizontally. It opened like a clamshell and Jim took up position inside the pillowy material that composed the nanomachine encasement. A tech jacked the cable attached to his flight harness into his helmet, and then his helmet into a large aperture at the top of the clamshell. He clipped the breather over his mouth and lowered the helmet's visor as the tech closed the hatch. The space went black and was so quiet Jim could hear a steady “wooshing” sound as the blood circulated through the veins in his ears. Jim began his preflight initiation sequences.

“Plug oxygenation commencing,” Jim said as he quickly turned on the breather's air circulator, evacuating the stale hot air away from his face. “Inertial dampeners online,” he recited again, as the tech outside the plug inspected the super-systems from a console. “Intercomm systems online.”

“You're currently registering at 35 Rands for your heuristic environmental simulations. You usually fly at a 15. You want us to increase sensitivity?” the tech inquired through Jim's intercom.

“Hard to say what this is going to be like, keep it dull and I'll increase it on the fly in the field if it's too little,” The screens in Jim's visor began to come online, scrolling by a series of checklists and sensor array's initiation sequences on the primary display. A screen in his periphery had a cartoonized model of the core, a similar rendering of Jim himself flanking the opposite side. Overlays began populating on top of the renderings full of figures like energy levels, quantized health indicators, and various control statistics like speed and the like at various locations on the readout. The crane began to transport the plug to the core. Once the plug had been dropped into it's fitting, a serious of internal hydraulics began “kutschhh”-ing into place, piping the plug into the core's various internal systems. “Plug is inflated,” Jim said as the nanomachines writhed and he felt the familiar out-of-body disconnect wash over him as the muscular overrides kicked into place, “commence screw-in.” A crane wheeled Vishnu's head over to the Core and dropped it onto the large fitting sticking out from the top of the plug. One more “kutschhh” And the video feed came online, populating Jim's visor with a view of the hangar, an objective mini-map on the lower corner of the visible screen, various overlays giving heads-up information on points of interest in front of him.

“I'm online. Begin syncing,” Jim recited to the tech.

“No.” A disembodied whisper breezed through Jim's intercom.
“We're getting weird feedback along the sensor channels, Jim. Can you hear anything?”

“Yeah,” Jim said, feeling a bit uneasy.

“Your cortisol levels are spiking, everything OK?”

“Yeah,” Jim responded. “Just getting antsy. Nothing to worry about. Begin sync.”

“If you insist,” the ephemeral voice seemed to say.

“Beginning sequence. Feedback seems to have normalized.”

Jim could feel the sensors make his body twitch as they started going through each muscle group and mapping it to the data core.

“This is going to be fun,” the breezy voice breathed into his ear. Jim swore he could almost feel the wind of the whisper on his earlobe.

“Are we getting any cross-talk on the intercom? I'm not sure, but I swear I'm hearing something come over the channel,” Jim was firmly locked in, so he couldn't squirm, but felt an unrequited urge to shake his head.

“No, sir. We are getting random feedback spikes, but those appear to be a result of the flight harness. This Core really was designed to be run Aug'd, it would appear. Some of the earlier Cores had unconstrained variables in the code that were causing some chatter on the line. I can do a global recompile on the codebase with the variables constrained if it's too much,” the tech's voice implied he knew the answer already, but he felt like he had to say what they both knew anyway.

“No, those constraints limit sync ratios by wide margins, which is why they were eventually backed out on Simo and Annie. I need as much as I can out of this thing. Leave it unconstrained, I'll just have to deal with the chatter.” The stress in Jim's voice was palpable. “Alright, Syncing is complete. 60%; it's bare minimum but I should be able to get this guy walking. Release the docking clamps and lets get this party started.”

“Aye sir, the rear guard should be at navpoint prime shortly and the vanguard is currently at navpoint alpha. Releasing docking clamps. This will be a mid-air deployment, so please make your way to the catapult,” the tech's instructions were followed by the loud sound of the hydraulic clamps releasing.

Here's hoping you don't move, Jim thought. He began to try and walk. Disappointingly, Vishnu began to walk as well. It felt like trying to walk along the bottom of a swimming pool with his legs attached to the wall by thin rubber cords, but it was walking no less. The effort was monumental, but with every plodding footstep Jim tried started to make, the computer intercepted the command, initiated the sequence in the Core's feet, and then, using a series of nerve-ending-like sensors and elaborate algorithms, gave feedback to Jim's limbs via the nanoclusters in the Plug, giving him the sensation that Jim was, in fact, the thing moving, not the core.

“Congratulations Commander Ross, our systems are registering full autonomy. How are the feedback levels?” the tech's voice sounded genuinely surprised.

“I'm going to leave them at 35 Rands. This is hell trying to get this thing to respond. I've already lost 3% of my metabolic energy, and I ate so much I was uncomfortable this morning. Any more sensitivity and the resistance will drain me before we even get there,” Jim said through heavy pants. With labored movement, Jim walked the core over to the flight catapult. With considerable effort, he squatted the core down, resembling a sprinter on the blocks. Once in position, two robot arms clipped a pair of giant intertial sinks to the Core's legs. “Launch any time,” Jim informed the tech. With that, a siren began to blare and Jim braced himself. He felt the pressure against his feet as he flexed his legs against the catapult. With incredible shock and velocity, the block sprung into action, hurtling the core along a long rail as it gained momentum, the magnets in the railgun rapidly increasing their velocity. The technology used on the deployment catapult didn't differ much from the mass drivers used in weapons, in truth.

After a significant length of track had been progressed, Jim stood his core up against the blocks at his feet, riding the block like a surfer, the centripetal force holding him tight to the catapult as he put his arms to his side to increase the aerodynamics. With a great “thud,” the block slammed against the stopping element. However, the Core had no such restraint and was hurled off the block and out the opened hatch, sent plummeting at intense velocity. He kept the core in his bullet-dive position as he descended the various layers of atmosphere, wiggling his hands and feet slightly to correct his flight trajectory. The Valiant flew at just below Low Earth Orbit, giving Jim and his core roughly seven minutes before he touched down. As he flew through increasingly-dense atmosphere, the air in front of his core began to compress and ignite, a shell of heat, raising external temperatures dramatically and slowing his progress. “Engage dissipation fields,” Jim commanded the computer. The temperature readings on the core diagram began to drop rapidly as the systems engaged the disruptor fields around the core. Jim's ETA dropped drastically as his drag factor reduced to near-0, the fireball in front of him turning into a shimmering wave, “3 minutes ETA, guys,” Jim said over the intercom.

“Bull-team has a visual. Vishnu or Musashi?” Tomah's voice questioned.

“Tiger-team has a visual as well,” Blaize's echoed, “Long-range visual sensors look like Vishnu.”

“How is it, Bull-seven?” Marion's voice sounded scared.

“I feel like I'm trying to swim through a pool of molasses, but so far everything is operating within specification. I'm currently at 61% sync at 35 Rands. I could probably get into the 70's if I dropped down to 25, but I burnt 4% of my personal energy levels just getting into the air,” Jim flexed his head, wiggled his ears, and made some darting eye movements -methods used to control the flight computer- and brought up an overlay underneath the down-ticking ETA clock. “I should be landing within a hundred yards of Bull-five. Internal inertial dampeners will hit 3000% capacity on impact. External inertial dampeners will hit 86% and internal dampeners 20% with compensation. Flight correction thrusters are at 70% energy. I was a little early engaging my disruptor field so I will need to make some extra in-flight corrections, but thrusters should hold throughout.”

“Roger that, Bull-seven. We'll see you when you touch down,” Marion's voice sounded slightly reassured.

Jim was having a hard time staying focused. He'd run a flight-pattern in the simulators more times than he could recount, but actually seeing the planet from up so high was intensely distracting. The clouds scrolling over brown, green, and blue tracts were hypnotizing. The elements of the quickly-approaching ground beneath him began to resolve as he got closer, changing from blue-grey splashes of color through a green sploch into a mountain range full of valleys and canyons amongst an impenetrable jungle, to a couple of mountains surrounded by a large clearing. Jim again resisted the urge to shake his head, for fear of falsely indicating to the computer, and snapped himself back to the mission. With impact a few seconds away, Jim pitched his body forward, disengaged his disruptor field, and front-flipped at the last instant, knees bent and body pitched back as his feet connected with the ground. Jim felt the feed back in his legs as they slammed into the earth,. The indicator bar for the inertial dampeners Jim had brought up on his display spiked into the red-zone as the indicator bar for Vishnu's dampeners remained in the green, leaving the earth underneath Jim's feet barely marred, save for a set of giant footprints in the grassy undergrowth.

“I have touchdown,” Jim said through the intercom. “Dampeners overcompensated and absorbed 92% of impact force. Jettisoning now,” A puff of steam plumed up as the air escaped from the hydraulic latches, pushing the grass down and shaking the trees around the clearing as the drop dampeners ejected. Blue jets sparkled out of the rear thrusters as the kinetic energy stored from the landing pushed the dampeners upward back toward the Valiant. “I'm a bit low on potential energy reserves because of the dampeners, I'll need to take a minute when I get to you guys to let the generators build up stores.”

**************************************************************************************************************************

Marion made a sweep of the hole they were standing over. She had just completed setting up the rappelling gear. She and Blaize were clipped in and ready to begin descent. The body armor on Simo always made him feel different, no matter how many hours she logged with it on. Mass driver rifles felt equally as weird, the balance and weight very different than her light and long energy rifles. Enlil had a harness over his flowing chameleon-cloth shift, bunching it up in certain spots, the satchel strewn across his shoulder dangling freely behind him as he stood on the lip of the cave, perpendicular to the planet, the cables they were to descend on swaying similarly as they disappeared into a seemingly-endlessly dark abyss.

“I have reconnoitered with Bull-team, Gold-one,” Jim came over the intercom into Marion's headset. “I still need a little bit to build up intertial force, but I should be ready to mobilize in thirty.”

“Roger that. Cool your heals Bull-team. Tiger-team is aweigh. Tiger-three, let's begin descent,” Marion addressed Blaize as they began to abseil off the lip of the cave's horizontal mouth and into the tube's dramatic depths.

Marion made a few gestures with her head inside her Plug, “Initiate low-light gamma correction.” As they continued their descent deeper into the blackness, the rendering on Marion's screens never darkened as the extremely sensitive cameras in the external sensors processed the data and corrected on the fly. The cave was brown and hollow and enormous, even in comparison to the large size of the Cores themselves. So big, in fact, that the Cores looked like regular people spelunking, not machines ten-times those regular people's size. They descended deeper, the echoes of rushing water starting to be slightly detectable and gradually growing to a voluminous roar as it sliced it's way through the cavernous depths, the stony shores on either of its sides diminishing as erosion took its toll.

“Touching down now,” Blaize announced as Marion did the same herself. “Beginning advanced scanning of the area.” After a brief period Blaize came back over, “Thermal and long-wave mapping is complete, I am going to upload the data to our mission server for distribution.”

“Syncing now.” Marion initiated the download and updated the credentials into her nav computer. The mini-map in her screen's lower corner changed from a wire diagram to a cartoonified map of the area with details filled in and the objectives overlaid. Her heads-up display began populating objective points and routes onto her heads-up in ghostly digitized blue.

“Let's get moving, I've got your six. Take point, Tiger-three,” Marion wheeled Simo around and began walking in reverse, butting her carbine-style rifle against her the shoulder-pad on the heavy body armor suit in preparation, muzzle angled downard. They moved carefully down the thin rocky bank that extended deep into the tube system and eventually connected with the grotto they would be bringing down when Bull-team stormed in from the other end.

“Up here and to the left is where we diverge from the river so we can analyze the fracturing,” Blaize instructed into the intercom. Just within eyeshot, a wide path branched off to the right, perpendicular to the river bank, an orange line following it on the HUD as it itself branched off from the blue primary route line.

“Roger that,” Marion acknowledged. “Central command, do we have an objectives overlay for the waypoint Beta?”

“We do. I am uploading the criteria sheet now,” Standish came over the intercom as Marion's nav computer began populating with mission information. “We need you to follow the fissures to the source of the spidering. Our drone was in a bit of a hurry so we weren't able to take any measurements. Once you're at the fissures, we would like a full imaging suite run on the surrounding area. We've had one of our cyber-warfare specialists repurpose one of our server clusters into an image processor designed to identify the geological pattern and generate inspection points. Tiger-three has a sampling drone with him, we'll upload the the collection points to it once the processing finishes. Our imaging satellites are showing a lot of organic activity in your general vicinity. The team is working on a patch to push the data to your nav computers now. I'll let you know when we can push up the program. If you're quick, it shouldn't be a big deal. Tiger Prime, out.”

“You heard the man,” Marion came over the intercom as she and Blaize resumed their approach. The tips of the fissures were pushing onto the main path and were pretty hard to miss. They were deep and started out small, getting wider and wider as they zig-zagged closer to the source like a sunbeam as they followed the tendrils of radioactivity. “Are you getting the feed, Tiger Prime?”

“Roger that, Tiger team. Those are pretty unmistakable,” the commander's voice came over. “The bacteria absorb the radioactive discharge and use it to power it's photosynthesis. The waste product is an extremely caustic acid that erodes the rock. That pattern emerges as it crawls along the natural topology in the shortest path to the source, growing more potent as it gets closer, causing that etched crater.” The lines got deeper and wider as they moved along the path. Eventually the individual canyons merged together into a single sloping decent. The cavern itself slowly began to bubble out at the base. “It looks like there was a large body of water at one point. The Adam Bug is environment-agnostic. They probably increased the acidity in the water source enough to begin eating at the limestone formations. I'm willing to bet there's a cistern breach toward the back of this chamber that caused the stagnated water to evacuate.”

“Commander,” Blaize interrupted. The path they were on continued to slope ever downward as the ramping path took them deeper under “water level.” “We're in the middle of the cistern. I am going to deploy the imaging sphere. Once the servers have processed the data, please upload it to our nav computers. Gold-one, I recommend we cool our heels for the data dump before we proceed.”

“Acknowledged. Good idea. Deploy imaging when ready.” Marion assumed a kneeling position, weapon trained at the entrance.

Blaize reached into the bag slung over Enlil's shoulder and pulled out a round black orb. “Dispatching now,” Blaize declared as he threw chucked the orb into the air. Tiny levitation thrusters kicked into action, glowing blue, holding the ball aloft. Soundlessly, the ball moved to the center of the geofront and spun rapidly, the points of the thruster's glow morphing into blue rings. The orb began to wobble as it gradually spun down, it's energy source finally depleted. As it soundlessly plummeted to the cave's floor, it slowly disintegrated into a black mist, leaving a comet-tail behind it, quickly turning into nothing more than a puff of dust before it reached the ground.

“Data received,” Standish's voice came through. “We finished coding up the software patch. We've already uploaded it to your nav systems. Force a refresh if the points haven't already populated onto your screen. We've marked the five most-important points of interest for Enlil to collect samples from and identified the potential source of the radioactivity. Survey the points and you'll be all set. Oh, and if you were feeling left out, Gold-one, that organic activity looks like it'll be on top of you guys shortly. Have fun! Try not to make too big of a commotion or the guys up the cave might hear you. Tiger Prime out.”

Marion scrutinized her mini-map. As Strandish had stated, there was a large amorphous heat signature moving up the shore bank from behind their drop zone and converging onto their current target. “I think we have bugs,” Marion announced to Blaize. “Prepare for engagement. Tiger-three, hurry up and collect those samples, now! Converge on beta-6 way point afterward and be prepared for engagement.” Marion invoked the targeting system and adjusted the gamma settings on her display, the darkness taking on a shadowy whiteness. The heat signatures on her display slowly emerged from behind the veil of ghostly darkness. Sitting low and squat to the ground, crawling on 6 legs, each attached to a segment veiled beneath a smooth carapace shrouded in a veil so dark it seemed to soak up the light around it like a sponge. Marion locked her targeting reticule onto the gigantic beetle, the size of a small people-carrier, and pulled the trigger. A red tracking swept verticly from Marion's position and disappeared into the inky aura surrounding the creature. With a trigger pull, the plasma rifle discharged near-silently. Instantly, the bug flashed white and vaporized into a miasma of gooey blackness and whispy, carbony smoke.

“I am at the first point,” Blaize's voice rang through Marion's flight rig. He withdrew the first surveyor probe from his satchel. He threw the long torpedo-shaped tube into the air and locked his target reticule onto the first harvest point. The characteristic blue thruster kicked on, as the item spun at high velocity, drilling a core-sample of the geology and then rapidly exiting the cave to eventually rendezvous with the Valiant. “Sample is away. Reconnoitering the beta-2.”

Marion watched the drone scuttle away, hugging the contours of the cave's ceiling, as she retrained her targeting reticule on the next heat signature to come around the corner. This time, several of the inky beetles emerged from the curtain of darkness. With surgical precision, Marion used the eye-tracking targeter to lock a reticule onto the targets. Marion pulled the trigger, the core's targeting computer swiveling her arms and torso into position so that she was perfectly aligned for her next shot, a flashing reticule indicating when to pull the trigger again. A second pull swept the core automatically into the third shooting position. Marion pulled the trigger like an instrument, the core popping into action and then locking into position like a dancer synchronized to some unheard bass line. Another wave plowed through the beetles rushed Marion's position from the blackness, this time many more than just 3. With deft precision she targeted each beetle individually, leaving a red reticule on each insect, trying to minimize the travel distance between each jump to optimize mobile efficiency. Marion pulled the trigger, initiation the script. With rapid precision, the bugs would vaporize into coiling smoke with a loud hissing sound, Marion slowly dropping back as two more white torpedo drones soundlessly fled the site.

“Beta-2 and -3 are away,” Adrian calmly narrated through the channel. “Reconnoitering beta-4 and -5, then falling back to beta-6.”

“Roger that, it looks like there is still a lot of the heat signature remaining and rapidly approaching, pulling back to beta-6 now.” Marion pulled Simo out of his crouch and began strafing backward toward the way point. The chasm itself was about a couple dozen strides from one end to the other at full tilt, about the size of a warehouse, proportionally. The last way point was in the far back of the chasm. She sprinted to there, across the empty expanse that once was a pool of water, to the back of the cistern. As expected, a large hole, taller than Simo, had been eroded through the cistern. Marion rolled forward and then planted into a prone shooting position. The remainder of the heat signature swarmed into view, dozens, maybe hundreds, of the tarry black beetles covered the floor like an oil slick. “Switching to manual targeting,” Marion announced as she disengaged her targeting computer. She clicked her rifle into semi-automatic mode by having Simo depress a switch at his thumb. Marion forcibly pulled the trigger and let out a few blasts of energy. Even in spite of not being able to use her red-dot laser sight, each trigger pull evaporated another beetle into its own cloud of elementary particles and whatever remained of the misty shadow on its back.

At length, two more little white tubes jetted by along the ceiling and out of the entry point. “beta-4 and -5 collections complete. Heading to beta-6 now,” Adrian stated the obvious. Enlil withdrew the energy pistols strapped just within reach underneath the slit running along the length on either side of his long flowing shift. He, too, fired wantonly into the roiling black mess, each shot soundlessly turning a critter into shattered particles. At length, he and Marion had cleared out all of the critters, the the heat signature having quite literally dissolving off his map overlay. He turned to address the large hole as Simo returned to its feet. It look like the cistern they were in was abutted against another large chamber, into which all of the water had flooded after what seems like the thin sandstone wall separating the two was eroded away. Adrian lobbed an imager probe into the expanse. The spinning black orb did it's duty and, just as before, evaporated before it could land. “beta-6 surveyed. I think we're good, Gold-one.”

Chapter 9 - Trouble in Paradise

 “I need to go over this dossier, Molly,” Jim said as she flopped into his lap, red hair lapping over her face as they both sunk deeper into the giant overstuffed armchair in the study. Jim covered his screen with his hand, halting the 3D projections of landscapes, people of interest, and mini-maps floating over the text on the datapad.

“Hmph,” Molly grunted as she crossed her arms in her lap, face still drowned in a sea of fiery curls. She angled her lower lip over her upper and temporarily blew a strand out of her face, revealing the subtle upturning of the corners of her mouth.

Jim balanced the datapad on his knee and reached around to brush the hair from her face, a white toothy smile hiding beneath it. He ran the back of his fingers along the soft subtle line of her cheekbone and rested his palm on her chest just below her throat. “I deploy on my first real mission tomorrow. I want to make sure I didn't miss anything in the material,” Jim leaned down and kissed her deeply.

“I know,” she said after they broke apart, “that's why I want you to stop locking yourself in this damn study and spend time with me. You've been going over that file every night for, like, ever! You're starting to recite lines in your sleep. I won't get to see you for two whole weeks. Can't you come into the other room? I was digging through some old internet documents and found a movie called 'Casablanca.' It's one of the first movies ever made in the old world. It doesn't even have color. I wanted to watch it with you before you left.” She wiggled in Jim's lap and reached up, placing her hand over his. “I'm going to miss you.”

“I'm going to miss you, too, my love. I'll meet you in the other room, just give me a second to close out my stuff.” Jim reached down and began to fidget with the datapad single-handedly.

Molly wiggled her butt into Jim's now-tingling lap, “I'm not going anywhere without you.” She re-crossed her arms and made a grumpy face, freckled brow furrowed, lips smooshed together and pushed outward.

“Fine, be difficult, then,” Jim said as he lifted his hand off of her chest to help close out his datapad.

“No,” Molly said in a childish voice and grabbed his hand, pulling it into her lap and clinging to it like a koala.

“What?” Jim chuckled as a wry grin pushed against his eye and eyebrow.

“Mine,” she said, with the same death-grip a baby would have when trying to pull away their rattle.

“If that's how you want to play it,” Jim said as he put the datapad down on the arm of the chair near the back, behind Molly's legs, “so be it.” Jim leaned forward again and kissed her ferociously. When he felt her grip loosen, in one deft motion, he scooped his arm underneath her legs, and with a sharp pelvic thrust and heave of his upper torso forward, catapulted himself out of the chair.

Molly let out a high-pitched wail at the surprise, reaching her arms out, hands twisted into scared claws. When she realized Jim had her secure in his arms, the shocked look on her face softened into a brow-furrowed smirk as she languished her arms around his neck. “Now that, mister, was pretty damned smooth,” she said as her eyes slowly closed, the green circles collapsing to reveal the sky-blue eye shadow lightly powdered over her top lids. She pushed her fingers into Jim's thick, short-cut hair, pulling his face to hers, and kissed him with an electric depth. It felt as though a wire had been run from both of their hearts to their lips, the closed circuit sending out a lightning surge of emotion.

Jim whisked Molly into the main living room, sashaying from side to side dodging the various end-tables and furniture obstacles, winging her to and fro in a rhythmic dance before unceremoniously hucking her onto the long leather sofa in front of a bare white wall. Jim pounced on top of her before she could recover, hair mussed in front of her face again. Jim, propped up on his elbows, shifted his weight to the arm near the back of the couch and brushed the hair away to see her face, an impish grin creasing her cheeks.

Molly used Jim's precarious balance to her advantage and bucked forward, pushing Jim's shoulder with her own, pulling on the arm Jim was balanced on, and grabbing his other wrist as she flipped him onto his back, hands pinned behind his head, her pelvis pressed firmly against his. A ravenous gaze penetrated Jim briefly, her hair framing her devious visage. She hungrily began kissing Jim's neck and collar bone, his already-casually-unbuttoned shirt wide open, exposing his bare chest.

“That,” Jim started as he strained to stay focused, “was pretty damned smo...ugh” he started before an uncontrollable moan burst forth when Molly began to playfully nibble his ear, casually flipping her tongue along the cuff between sensual gnaws. “ Smooth,” he said, with another breathy moan, “pretty damned smooth.”

“I know,” Molly cooed into his ear as she ground her pelvis into his, tingling waves rushing through his lower body. She let go of Jim's hands and kissed him passionately, another gyration sending pulsing vibrations through Jim. She rolled Jim onto his side, his back pressed firmly against the backrest of the couch, and abruptly broke contact. She spun around, snuggling herself deeply into Jim, and nestled herself beneath his large frame. She snapped her fingers, and the white wall they were now facing filled with her computer's desktop, a long text document she had been reading behind a black frame. She snapped again, and the black box expanded to fullscreen and a big “Warner Brothers Presents” logo splashed across the wall. She placed her bottom hand beneath her head and pulled Jim's top arm around her.

“Ok, then,” Jim said as he shook his head, knocking himself into the world Molly decided she wanted them to be in. He freed his face from the mass of hair it was now burried in, and with his free hand, pulled a couch cushion underneath his head. He threaded his arm underneath Molly's head and re-positioned his other around her neck and chest, wresting his palm on her rib beneath her breast.

“I love you, Jim,” she said as she looked, mousy green eyes wide, eyelashes fluttering relentlessly.

“I love you too, Molly,” Jim craned his neck to meet her gaze. A pang sunk his chest and he was again assaulted with a barrage of intense emotion. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Molly responded by wiggling her hips into Jim and snuggling tight. “It's about to start,” she said as she patted Jim on the forearm and a globe enshrouded in mist began spinning on the screen.

************************************************************************************************************************

“Alpha-five take point, Charlie-three, keep cover. Zulu-seven, guard the flank. Zulu-nine, you're with me,” echoed Marion's voice through Jim's flight helmet. It was as though she was directly next to him as she spoke.

“Roger, Gold-one,” Jim spoke aloud. Adrian was to the group's left, piloting Annie Oakley, covered in brush and dirt sighting down a long-barrel mass driver covered in it's own leaf-woven netting. Tomah, in Heimdall, was crouched next to him, a rapid-fire energy rifle butted against what could be considered his core's shoulder.

“Taking point,” Blaize's low voice boomed through Jim's headset, reminding him of Deka's deep bass, but with a much less sonorous timbre. Blaize's voice was buttery in it's own right, but had a thick gravel behind it, making him sound a generation older than he actually was. “Keep tight on me.” Blaize's Hermes-class Core, Enlil, was tall and slender. It had a special-tuned sensor stalk that sat like a hat atop the head-like structure and a piece of armor extending from what would be the Core's chin, similar to a beard, used to protect it's neck-actuators. It wore a long flowing shift made of Chameleon Cloth. It wasn't turned on so it looked white-ish. It's feet were tiny, almost like hooves, and were reverse-jointed, allowing him to bound effortlessly over the bumpy and incongruous terrain in front of him in near-silence, inertial sinks absorbing most all of the energetic shockwaves such a monolithic machine would normally create.

Jim and Marion struggled to keep up with Enlil and maintain form. Jim was in Cúchulainn following Marion in her Cowboy-class core, named Simo Hayha, and was strafing backward so he could cover her six while she scoped forward down her precision energy rifle on their objective. The mission was simple: Blaize had a backpack full of high explosives. There was an an enclave of terrorists inside a cave-carved bunker being funded by a small republic outside of Great Union jurisdiction. They had infiltrated a pre-Collapse server cache the Southern Union had been excavating, and after tragically eliminating some of the SU's greatest minds, they were now holding the site hostage. A Great Union covert team had already infiltrated the server cache and was in the process of extracting the data cores and hijacking the explosive rig the terrorists had set up to hold the server farm hostage. The GU traced activity back to this fortress and it was their job to set explosive charges, dismantle their mobile platforms, and eliminate the terrorist threat before they could expand operations.

“I have a fix on the combatants,” Blaize's voice again came through the intercom in Jim's flight rig. It was hard to tell if the crackling of the speakers in his earpiece was the gravel in his voice or the tone causing the speakers to clip heavily. “I have engaged stealth. I will attempt to strafe them and position myself behind the target.”

“Copy that Alpha-five. Once you are in position, obscure yourself as best as possible and disable stealth to preserve energy levels,” Marion's orders were crisp and concise.

“Copy that.”

“Charlie-three, do we have a visual?”

“Roger that, Gold-one, I am unable to detect Alpha-five on visual sensors and I have three Mobile-10's in sight. Gold-one and Zulu-nine are showing circumambulatory motion across the theater. There appears to be several meatsacks in proximity, none carrying heavy weaponry,” Adrian's crisp voice was a well-enunciated baritone. Unmistakable against Blaize's booming bass, Tomah's brassy and lethargic tenor, and Marion's feminine alto. A soprano and some talent and they could form a barbershop sextet.

“I can confirm,” Blaize boomed through the comlink. “I am in position. I have a visual on the enclave and am currently obscured by a rock face above the objective.”

In the meantime, Marion and Jim had caught up with Blaize and were positioned in a wild outgrowth of forest just below the ramped path leading to the cave mouth. Marion laid Simo prone and set up her energy rifle's stand,training it on the middle 100-ft-long mobile platform directly in front of the ramp. These were serious mobile platforms. Three or four stories tall, and twice to three times as long, this was an anti-siege platform outfitted with large missile batteries and high-caliber energy turrets. Though they moved slowly on levitation engines, in a stationary situation such as their current positioning, they could halt entire armies in their place. “Zulu-nine,” Marion sang through the intercom, “I want you to rush Mobile-three in front of us. I am fixed on Mobile-two. I want you trained on Mobile-one, Charlie-three.”

“Roger that, trained on Mobile-one,” Adrian's calm voice spoke through.

“Roger that,” Jim said, feeling his skin prickle into goose flesh and his eyes go blackish. It reminded him of his first kiss, the rush of adrenaline.

“Alpha-five, when all three targets are confirmed as immobilized, drop down from your position and place the explosive payload. Execute a high-speed scramble and we will detonate when we have reconnoitered at Charlie-three. On my mark. Zulu-nine, begin your advance,” Marion's voice was imminent but not excited. Cool.

Jim launched from a crouched position and bolted through the tall, old growth of the wilds, trees twice as high as his massive Core. He emerged in a small clearing where Mobile-three had been put into a defensive stance. Resembling a small mountain, the triangular missile pods were aimed forward, turrets on either side of the parked levitation platform - eight in all - indicating this was an anti-ground unit. Cúchulainn's lumbering sprint covered vast distance, and before long, was within gunning range. “Engaging the enemy,” a crack in his voice punctuating an otherwise calm-sounding declaration.

The energy rifle butted against Cúchulainn's shoulder made loud “fwamp” noises as the trigger was pulled, missiles moving at the speed of light, a muzzle flash the only indication a pulse was volleyed. Each blast caused a huge red spot to appear on the side of the battery as the metal super-heated from each blast. Using this as tracking, Jim trained his weapon on the four turrets facing him. Within seconds of Jim's exposure and assault, the turrets returned in kind, lobbing mass-driver bullets in Jim's general direction. Woefully inaccurate at such distance, even with advanced computer tracking and telemetry calculation, the large rounds caused the earth to spurt upward in an earthen geyser, the occasional errant bullet splintering wood off of a tree and ripping through underbrush in a dusty cloud.

Jim danced Cúchulainn through the onslaught, kilt flapping up and down with each rapid knee-raise, the muzzle of his weapon flashing as he raced against the turrets to dial in his accuracy before they did. After a few misplaced pulses, Jim's sighting struck pay-dirt. A bright red flash erupted on the turret battery, causing the structure to shine bright red. The overheating internal inertial drivers caused a spectacular chain reaction, culminating in a shockwave of explosion that shook the forest around them. With his accuracy now fixated, Jim rolled Cúchulainn forward into a somersault, ending in a crouch, elbow rested on one knee. Jim quickly invoked his tracking sub-routines on Cúchulainn's inner computer and arrayed his visual sensors onto the objective targets. The systems then deftly swiveled his gun at small set intervals. Three trigger-pulls later and each installment was bursting in explosion in rapid succession.

“We're getting activity on Mobile-one,” Adrian cooed through.

“I am getting the beginning of a rotation maneuver on Mobile-two,” Marion's smooth voice rung in Jim's ear. “Give'em hell, Charlie-three.”

“Roger that, Gold-one. Initiating counter maneuvers.”

Almost in unison, Mobile-two and Mobile-three erupted into catastrophic explosion, the shockwave was so immense it actually knocked Jim's core sideways, forcing him to execute a rolling procedure in order to continue his forward sprint toward the missile battery. If there were any foot-soldiers not ensconced in the fortress, they were no doubt dead from the internal damage caused by such an immense pressure wave. Thankfully, the Plug in which the pilots operated the cores from were all heavily inertial dampened, so Jim was mostly safe from the devastating ripple, even if he was unable to counteract the tremors resonating through the ground below him. No sooner had Jim recovered than did the soundwave from the rifles arrive, a deafening “bwooooowhmp.”

"Reloading. Newtonian Syncs at 80% force capacity and dissipating," Adrian reported, the heavy thud of his old-school physical weapon's next mass driver round dropping into the railgun accelerators overwhelmed his microphone's ambient noise filters, nearly muting him over the intercom. Adrian was very old school all around, preferring to use environmental audio sensors and loudspeakers over headsets and heuristic audio computations, as well.

“Sniper rifle charging. 10% and climbing,”Marion's voice declared after a large shimmering energy cylinder was shucked from the rifle's chamber. “Get a charge into a missile tube if you can, Zulu-nine,” she said as she collected her spent charge, and began her retreat.

“Already in progress, Gold-one,” Jim said as he continued his barrel forward to the front of the Core. Once he had himself in position, he began peppering one of the missile doors with energy shots. A small hole began to burn through the metal of the sliding door protecting the missile tube. When the hole was big enough, Jim locked the internal targeting computers onto the opening, and used the trajectory calculator to perfectly lob a high-charge grenade into the hole, like a basketball player hitting nothing-but-net on a 3-point shot. No sooner had the charge left the core's hand than did Jim begin his fevered run back to Adrian and Tomah's position. “Charge out,” Jim yelled as he pushed through his fevered sprint. “Detonating in three.”

When Jim had cleared the red-zone, he initiated the blast sequence. The warhead of the missile in the tube set off the missile in the other tubes, and soon a shower of shrapnel and a massive pressure wave was pushing Cúchulainn to the ground. Jim kept him flat down as the shower of metal and forest rained around him.

“Mobile-three eliminated. Alpha-five, begin objective completion,” Marion ordered Blaize as she herself began retreating.

Jim engaged sonar detection and put the Core on autopilot as he craned the sensor stalk of Cúchulainn behind him and watched Blaize as he dropped down onto the huge ramp leading to the giant cave mouth, a satchel containing about a ton of explosives in hand. While in mid-air, he winged the bag between his legs and into the cave opening, blocking off the entry point like a giant boulder. He began sprinting at full-speed once he landed, quickly passing Jim and Marion as he returned to the rendezvous point.

“Might wanna cover your ears for this,” Blaize came through on the intercom as Jim finally pulled in last at the waypoint. “Satchel charge detonating in three...two...one...” A huge plume of rubble burst up from the mountain wall followed by a visible shockwave, rippling the atmosphere around it, brought with it a violent tremor in the earth, an ear-shattering boom tailing in its wake.

"Holding for confirmation," Marion said once everyone had regained composure and the dust-cloud had cleared.

"Satellite imaging shows no traditional life signatures in the current theater of operation beyond our own. Charged-particle and Long-Wave Sonar imaging show the tunnel network has collapsed. Visual inspection confirms," Adrian detailed.

The entire side of the mountain had collapsed in on the now-destroyed network of caves and tunnels. Marion came over the intercom, “Objective complete. Preparing for extraction, come and get us Valiant."

After a short period of time, a gigantic airship, almost the size of a city, appeared. Jim and his crew sprinted up the now-lowered ramp and slotted their cores into their respective docking bays as giant cranes extracted the pilot Plugs.

**********************************************************************************************************************

“I'm proud of you Jim,” The Commander elbow-checked Jim as they walked abreast down the hallway to the debriefing room. The other four were walking abreast themselves, a few paces ahead of them. “Marion gave you the harder position and you handled it well.”

“Was a hell of a run, Commander, especially for a first mission,” Jim looked down at his boots. His grey flight suit and flight harness were light and a bit loose, but still fit snuggly. There were huge sweat rings around his armpits and on his back. He could feel the cold, still air in the airship through the wet spot between his suit's neckline and the top of his black harness. His hair clung together in tight rivulets to his head, itself salty and drenched.

“You were supposed to be on rear guard. Tomah was on linear assault duty. They switched up on the fly,” the Commander took a few steps faster than Jim and broke off as they all entered into the debreifing room. Just like Jim's dorm, this too was a black slate and white grout deal with digital whiteboards and projectors everywhere. There were a few chairs unceremoniously occupying the center of the room.

Standish, in a purple-red shimmering suit with a black top-hat, a long gaudy red feather held on with a skull-shaped clasp in it's purple ribbon, was leaning against the wall in a corner behind a transparent digital screen. He had on a black mandarin-collared shirt with a white skull button at his neck, and his medal of rank tucked into his blazer, the horizontal zig-zags on the ribbon resembling teeth. He looked far more intimidating than usual, his white-blue eyes beaming through a skull-shaped insignia, contouring his face from the screen he was behind. “Good job, guys,” he said as he kicked himself off the wall. The silver ball on his black walking stick had been replaced with an ornamental skull. It slipped from his uncrossing arms and landed peg-straight, floating for just a second before as he put his hand to rest on top it. The group took seat in the chairs in the center as, Standish strutted his way to the center of the stage area in front, the group's shuffling occasionally punctuated by the clicks of his cane on the floor.

“Very morbid,” Carol said as she gave Standish an up-and-down glance. She crossed her arms and stared penetratingly over her glasses at him, hip cocked out and a toe pointed at him in a T-stance. “What's with the skull motif?”

Standish, his left leg crossed over his right and resting on the toe of his pointy black shoe, head tipped down, leaned heavily on his cane, both hands covering the top. “Hey mon,” he said in a stereotypical, movie-accurate creole-cajun accent, “dis be a day of death.” He straightened out and touched his scepter to the brim of his hat, revealing to Carol a broad, white-toothed smile.

“You and your movies,” Carol shifted her glance to the crowd as she scoffed in disgust.

“Watching movies is very different when you can get them piped right into your head,” Standish said, touching his index and ring fingers to the side of his face, a devilish glare creasing the corners of his eyes.

“You're not supposed to use them like that,” Blaize interrupted smugly from the peanut gallery, “It screws up your brain's reality perception.”

Standish's face went from glaring to grim as he stared him down, “Don't lecture me. You don't even understand half the power residing within you,” his brow furrowed down as his white eyes began to glow, his gaze penetrating into Blaize.

Blaize turned sheet-white as Standish's eyes glowed brighter and brighter. His face contorted and he slammed his eyes shut as the yellow began to glow from beneath the white, in contrast to Standish' equally-shimmering blue.

“Eli!” Carol hit him on the back hard, knocking his hat to the floor. He fell to a knee, one hand resting on the head of his walking stick, the other quickly slamming over his own eyes as he winced in agony, the muscles in his neck forcing his head to twitch sideways for a few ticks. He shook it away and then snatched up his hat, returning it to his freshly-shaven pate and hoisting himself up with the assistance of his cane.

“What did you do!” Blaize yelled questioningly as he snapped out of his trance, darting to a stand, knocking the chair over as he stumbled backward, his own hand snatching across his face.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Standish casually snarked as he looked down over himself, far more concerned with straightening his suit and adjusting the hat to sit on his head just so.

“Sit down, Blaize,” the Commander said as she turned her attention to him, “And you, Standish, are going to have a little conversation with Tyler and I after this.”

Standish looked sufficiently spooked as he turned to the group. Blaize seemed sufficiently satisfied as well with the reprimand. He re-positioned his chair, flipping it in reverse, and sat on it a cowboy-style, resting his arms and chin on the back of it. “So how did we do,” he said after he regained his composure.

“Well,” the Commander started, as she slowly panned away from Standish, who was looking very grumpy and a little bit scared, and met Blaize's yellow-white eyes, “Marion went a little off-script,” she reprimanded as she panned her gaze across the room.

“We felt,” Marion began as she brushed away the wire for her headgear which was draped over her shoulder, “that with Jim's exemplary graduation performance and previous qualifying talents, that he could handle a hands-on combat position and would not need previous combat experience to operate at a high-functioning level, Sir.” Marion suppressed a snicker as she glanced side-to-side at her co-conspirators.

“They were trying to fuck with the new kid,” Standish spoke loudly from the corner of his mouth around the back of his hand.

“I know,” She said as she swatted him across the chest, causing him to turn his face into a squinty pucker, arch his back and pull his chest away, and comically complain onomatopoetically. “That was stupid and dangerous. Jim is an untested pilot who has never been in an unstable combat situation. You could have jeopardized the entire operation if Jim did not 'operate at a high-functioning level,'” she made air quotes. “What would you have done if something went wrong?”

“We had multiple contingency plans,” Marion replied, again stifling a chuckle. “Many, many contingency plans. Yes. Tons, even. Yes,” she couldn't restrain a snatch of laughter.

“Come on. Lighten up Carol, they did fine. No need to delve into hypotheticals,” Standish said quietly to her from over her shoulder. “But nothing did go wrong,” he said as he walked forward to stand in front of Carol. He snapped his fingers and a digital whiteboard sprung into action, displaying a large area map, several columns of text and graphics on one side, a checklist flanking the other, a large legend blocked off in the corner denoting what the various lines and icons represented. “Our current campaign has us at about here,” he tapped the silver cap at the bottom of his walking stick to the map on the wall behind him. The map zoomed out, a flashing dot indicating their position on it, closely located to the end of Standish's cane.

“As of now, we currently have the terrorists routed along this skirt here,” the Commander proscribed a squiggling arc that lead to a blinking dot on the screen, the path nestled between mountains and dense forest and other various geographical features indicated in the legend. “As you know, this mission was commissioned by the IA as a service to the Southern Union. The group we hit is believed to be funded by a small unaffiliated city-state named Gotoma. The SU has been excavating this site for the last thirteen months. After tracing the enemy's movements, imaging shows they were following this path here to reach the fortress.” A line traced along her finger as the map zoomed in to show the theater of operation they were just pulled out of. “Our job was to neutralize the enemy enclave while our covert unit extracted the data cores and destroyed the server facility. With both threats neutralized, we can now formally indict Gotoma and the SU can return to its data analysis operations. That concludes the debriefing, we'll go over the next leg of the campaign at briefing tomorrow, 0900. Dismissed.”

Everyone slid their chairs back and started to weave their way between seats to get out. Jim, who was sitting in the back-corner next to the door, stayed seated and waited for everyone to file out before he stood. As they all passed by his chair as they left, Adrian slapped Jim on the shoulder. “You did good out there, kid,” he said as he gave him an approving smile and thumbs up over his shoulder.

“Yeah, nice job, mate,” Tomah said, as he passed by with a sidelong glance.

“Impressed,” Blaize said with a smirk and a wink as he sauntered by.

“Me too,” Marion said with a smile and chuckle.

Jim craned his head as they filed by. “Thanks,” he said with a wave. Once they'd all gone, Jim stood and made his way to the front. The commander was deeply and very animatedly involved in conversation with Standish, not noticing Jim's approach. “No, I have not been having any issues with this,” he heard Standish say, with a theatrical tap of his head from his cane.

“Commander,” Jim said before they thought he was eavesdropping.

“Jim, yes,” she said as they both spun around to hear where it came from.

“I have no idea where I'm going. I was loaded on from the bay. Where can I change out of this,” Jim said as he held up his arms and looked down at his suit and harness.

“Standish and I,” she held his hand out horizontally in presentation, “can show you to your quarters. The Valiant is pretty big, we wouldn't want you getting lost, now would we?” The commander said as she turned her head and smiled cattily at Standish.

“No, not our precious Jim,” he said with a sneer and a smirk.

The commander swatted Standish across the back. He darted forward, his hat shifting weight to the front. He knocked it back with the skull of his walking stick and followed the commander as she lead them out of the room and back into the large hallway. “The Valiant is our mobile combat base. It's about twice as large as a luxury cruise ship, and as such, has a large retinue of support staff. Due to aerodynamic designing, there are only about 26 floors that aren't hangers, storage space or critical system like inertial dampeners and atmospheric dispersers and the like. We're on the main floor now, just above the hanger. Each floor is mapped out with 4 major blocks connected by 6 major hallways. Each hall has signs and maps to let you know where you are, but loosely speaking, major operations are on this floor. The mess hall and most other support operations take place on the floor above us. The rest are bunks. The Valiant can host an entire regiment of soldiers.” The commander pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to Jim. It projected a 3D rendering of the boat, a blinking red dot indicating current location. “You're on floor 26 in the individual quarters, room 26600.” A blue dot took Jim to a turbolift and then proscribed a path to his quarters. The map shrank in size as a bar bumped in from the side listing turn-by-turn directions on how to get there. “Get showered up and look around the ship. There's a crew's lounge on the 2nd floor. Standish and I need to go over tomorrow's campaign with Dyman.” She gave Standish a penetrating sidelong glance as they all halted in front a set of sliding doors.

Jim boarded and hit the button for his floor as the Commander and Standish departed in the opposite direction. The map route was relatively simple and Jim found his room toward the end of a seemingly-infinite row of doors. Jim's rank and position afforded him a nice room on the base. Medium sized, with it's own private bathroom and a full bed, not just a cot. There was a dresser against the back wall, and a computer terminal against the right. Jim plopped down on the foot of his bed as he began to undo his flight harness. He stepped out of it and hung it from a hook on the wall next to his bed, shucking his soaked flight-suit and undergarments. “Shower,” he said after snapping his fingers, a "whoosh" indicating the sound of running water going off in the bathroom.

Chapter 8 - Shields and Medals

  Jim sat nervously in front of a small stage that the bunker had set up in the Styx in the big empty room that had become the de facto auditorium for the base. The civilians and lesser military personnel would often use it for socials and promenades and such. This was, however, the first time Jim had ever been inside it. It was cozy. The stage had a podium with the IA logo and some flags behind it. At the back of the small stage, the Commander, Standish, the Magister, Tim and a couple other distinguished base personnel were sitting in full formal uniforms.

Jim, however, had his full attention trained at the gigantic man at the podium. Taller than a mountain and built just as one, the dark-complected man, an obvious Culture Kid, roared and boomed in a brassy bass voice. He had a smooth shaven head with several silver piercings hooped along his ears, and a giant ruby seated in a golden stud adhered to his forehead between his eyebrows. “Today, I see in front of me soldiers. Men. Women. Today is the first day of your lives. Your time in the service will take you to far away lands and you will meet dangerous people. These experiences you are about to have will shape your life forever. Some of you may rarely ever see outside these walls. Some of you may never again set foot in these hallowed halls. Whatever happens, the world is your home now.”

Jim was barely aware of anything around him, he was so lost in his words. His dad was sitting next to him and had his hand on Jim's knee. There were the two recruits who Jim had signed on with, and a few scientists, support staff, and petty officers who had finished stints at bigger bases and took reassignment here. Some had their families with them, but most were alone. Most were disinterested in the whole ordeal as well, but Jim was entranced.

“And, by the power vested in me, as General at Arms, I ask all inductees to stand and receive their rank and their new designation as members of the Fraternal Order of the Knights of Steel.” The man began to clap, and the base dignitaries and families followed suit as each member walked up to the stage. Jim was at the back of the queue. As the inductees crossed one by one, the dark man would offer a hand after reading their name, placing their Medallion of Rank around their neck. A turn to the audience would pause and resume clapping, proud family members occasionally snapping pictures and videographs for scrapbooking. Finally, Jim's name was boomed out. Carol gave him a neutral gaze, but Jim could see her fighting back an immense wave of emotion. Standish, contrarily, could not hide his pride. His brilliant white teeth sparkled against his smooth brown skin and made his white-blue eyes pop more vividly than he'd ever seen before.

“And lastly, today we have the special privilege of inducting a very special member of the Knights. Not only do we get to welcome Flight Lieutenant James Ross into the Order, our newest Core pilot, but I am also honored to present him with the hallowed Shield of the Crown commendation for exemplary performance during his initiation process,” Jim stood in front of the man as he lay the blue and white striped ribbon around his neck, the angular gold medallion resembling a bursting sun sitting squarely beneath the the mound of ascot tucked into his blue cardigan, recessed by the black button pinning it to his shirt-collar. His tight tan trousers were tucked into shiny, form-fitting. knee-high, black boots. Gunny Garrel was merciless when it came to dress presentation. If you didn't tuft your ascot just so, or your boots didn't have just the right amount of luster, you would be forced to wear your dress uniform every day to mess, and if you got a single bit of food, you'd do the entire base's laundry for a week. The medal shown dazzlingly on his chest, twinkling and bursting as the artificial light caught the various facets. Jim felt good knowing his uniform was now complete.

After laying the Flight Lieutenant's medallion over his head, the man presented a black velvet box to the audience and Jim in a sweeping arc, and then opened it to reveal a beautifully ornate silver shield with gold-inlaid filigree and fantastic intricately-engraved scrollwork. He removed it and snapped the box shut with a deft flick of his wrist, returning it to the podium. He then pointed his focus to Jim, and with hands the size of dinner plates, gingerly pinned the medal to the oversized shawl of Jim's sweater, the substantial weight pulling slightly at the neckline. He then returned his attention to the crowd and clapped his hands together before spreading them wide, “Let us all welcome our newest members!” His booming voice incited a standing ovation as he offered his hand to Jim. Quite unexpectedly, his hand felt soft, almost pillow-like, but his grip was fiercly stiff, as if a crowbar could not pry his mighty claw open. As he shook his hand, Jim trained his gaze to the gallery. He saw his dad weeping, clapping furiously, pride welling uncontrollably out of him. He saw wives and brothers and mothers all beaming with equal amounts of enthusiasm. Jim had never realized how special this moment really was until now. And yet, he could not feel as much joy as he wished. Molly was nowhere to be seen in the blur of faces, her red hair and green eyes unmissable in the menagerie were they there.

After the clapping had subsided and Jim was hustled off stage, the big man in tow, the Commander took stand at the podium. She offered a speech dismissing everyone, informing them that there would be refreshments in the cafe across from the auditorium, and that the base staff and dignitaries would be around, and that the recruits and their families should stop by and say hello if they had time. Jim took his seat next to his father, who put his hand on his knee and squeezed hard as he listened to the Commander. He made brief eye contact with Standish, who winked at him, and the Commander herself, who gave Jim a flash of smile. When she finished, everyone stood and slowly shuffled their way to the door, offering congratulations and back-slaps as they filed into the cafe across the way.

“I wish your mother was around to see this. She would have been so proud. I know I am,” Jim turned to his father as they both stood and hugged him, hard. He felt his ascot pin push into his throat, and his shirt coming untucked, but he didn't care. His father rarely was so emotional and Jim wasn't about to let the moment pass. Thankfully, his father was hugging him back equally as hard.

“I love you, dad,” Jim choked out, hot streams of water running down his cheeks, moistening his dad's blazer.

“I love you, too, Jim. Congratulations,” Jim's dad, too, couldn't help but moisten Jim's sweater He broke the embrace a short bit after, and wiped the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. “Let's get over to the next room. I want to meet your Commander and that white-eyed bloke that you talk about so much.” Jim's dad wrapped his thick, hard-worked arm over his shoulder and they walked abreast out of the auditorium at the back of the crowd, in content silence as the traffic jam eventually brought them into the cafe.

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The tables and chairs that usually lined the cafe had all been stacked against the back wall, a table full of goodies and punch bowls had been run along front, butted against the ordering counter. The room was full and buzzing with idle chatter, the occasional guffaw bursting over the din. Standish had positioned himself in a chair that had been lined against the wall opposite the door. Carol was behind the till with the large man from the podium, chatting over a cup of punch, his hands waving like crane arms as he gesticulated in animated conversation. Jim made a gesture to his father that he was going to go and chat with Standish, and his dad indicated that he was going to go hit the refreshments table.

“Congratulations!” Standish clucked from his repose. He held up a glass full of punch and toasted it in his general direction. Judging from the instability of his motions, Jim posited that Standish may have infused his cup with more than just the punch. He was deeply reclined into the chair, legs splayed wide, his fedora tipped low over his eyes, only able to make contact with Jim after raising his head, deep bags heavy and dark underneath his lids. He looked worn, as if he hadn't been able to sleep for days. Jim had completely missed his ill state on the walk, his pride overshadowing his ragged visage. Standish in full dress uniform was a bit jarring as well, as his image had become synonymous with his typical pre-Collapse suits. The blood-red center-button peacoat, snow-white riding trousers, and frilled, medal-laden gold sash looked almost alien. Stodgy and uncomfortable in contrast to the way his well-tailored suits hugged his impeccably-proportioned physique. His white-trimmed red beret sat on the chair next to him, the majestic Elite Forces medal emblazoning it glinted gold in the false, crisp, white light of the cafe as it pinned the long and regal green peacock feather to its front, limply dangling across a line of seats. “I can't stand that thing,” Standish said with a slight slur as he tilted his fedora to the beret. “I look like a total ass with that feather swishing around like it owns the place.”

“You do look a bit off without a suit,” Jim sat down next in the seat next to Standish not occupied by his cap as he corrected himself to make room for him. “I didn't notice it earlier, but you look like hell.”

“I've been off-site for the last couple of days. Dyman asked me to make a trip into the Wilds for some recon. Dicey shit out there, man. Dicey shit.” Standish took a long pull form his glass and then blearily eyed the bottom of the cup, surprised to find it empty.

Jim was a bit taken aback by Standish's candor. If it weren't for the crisp blue-white discs he called eyes, Jim would have been sure he wasn't even talking to the same man. “What's in the Wilds?”

Jim's inquisition wrenched a body-shaking chuckle out of Standish as his head lolled back limply. He unbuttoned the top portion of his coat and pulled a silver flask from his inside breast pocket. He unscrewed the top and took a long belt before shaking it next to his ear, visibly dissatisfied with its empty-sounding state. “Some dangerous shit, man. Now that you're in, I don't have to mince words with you. Shit is getting really real on the outside. Dyman has us doing raids almost every night, now.”

Jim looked perplexed. “Raids?” Jim felt extremely sheltered and apprehensive.

“The Outsiders, man. They're pushing their boundaries closer to the Domes. Assholes are ruthless, man. They've been little more than pests for the last few years, but they're starting to use some serious terrorist bullshit to make a mess. PR Team is having a hell of a time keeping the news quiet.”

Jim couldn't move. He knew he was staring at Standish slack-jawed, but Standish was a bit too drunk to care, it would seem. “Outsiders?”

“Oh come on, man. Don't tell me you don't know what's going on. Shit, I thought you would at least have some idea. Here's hoping Dyman didn't overestimate you.” He raised his flask to Jim in mock-toast again, and then threw it hard to the tables against the back wall, a disgusting animal scowl temporarily consuming his face. “Things are not all roses and paradise here in Utopia, Brother,” Standish put a nasty inflection on the “brother,” as if mocking his now-confirmed position in the Fraternity. “There are a lot of people who couldn't hack it here in the Capital and were given the boot. Ever wonder what happens to people when they do something really fucked up?” Standish gave Jim squinted eyes and cocked his head down.

“I always thought they were just put in prison or turned over to the labor camps,” Jim didn't know if he was prepared for Standish saying he was wrong.

“Yeah, most of the time. But the really bad guys get marooned. Put outside the Dome and left to fend for themselves. We've been doing it since the caves and bunkers. Barbaric as fuck but times change slow, and all that,” Standish turned his nose up in disgust with a depressed sniff. “Well, those bad eggs started roughing it and formed up villages. Now there are tribes of nomads out there trying to 'fight the injustice' and all that crusader-type bullshit. And you can guess how much they've forgiven the Alliance,” Standish let out a chuckle that rocked his whole body again. “Few of them have been smuggling shit out of the Domes and are establishing some secret ways inside. They've been increasing their activities recently as well, causing a fucking ton of mayhem on the outskirts of the city. Suicide bombers and guerrillas with energy weapons decimating entire farm colonies and scorching the Earth in their path. The IA has been sending us out with the Cores to hunt them down and keep them at bey. It's been a hell of a run the last few days. We had a group of them on the ropes. Nasty fuckers. Raped a five year-old girl and shot her head off with a scatter-gun right in front of her mother before they fire-bombed the barn with her inside. Mom was laid up in the infirmary for a few days before she kicked the bucket. Millenia of medical research still can't re-animate a corpse,” Standish slammed a tightly-balled fist onto his hat, the loud thump causing a few near-by people to glance sidelong at the spectacle. Standish craned his neck in a stretching gesture and sighed heavily as he closed his eyes for a second.

“Sorry. Anyway, we had them pinned them against a canyon. Never sits well watching a hundred or more people throw themselves off the cliffs instead of getting squashed by a Core or captured and sent to the secret 'labor camps' the government calls it's torture facilities. Don't care what they did. Never sits well, man.” Standish leaned forward in his chair, arms in his lap, shoulders slumped down, head hanging low. “Oi,” Standish said with a flick of his hat, eyes barely looking up to survey the crush of people, “I think your dad is calling for you.”

Jim shook his head and pulled himself together. He looked up to his father, who was summoning him over to Carol and the big man with a broad arm gesture. “I-I'll see you later,” Jim stuttered out as he blankly and silently forded the crowd to his father, occasionally throwing his glance back at Standish to see if he had shifted. He hadn't. The light might have been playing tricks on him, but He could've sworn he might've seen his body spasm a few times as Standish brought a hand to his face.

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Jim must have been unable to hide his feelings very well. “You look like you've just seen a ghost, Jim. Are you alright? What'd you and Standish talk about?” Jim's dad asked as he put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close.

Jim shook his head and jumbled his thoughts back to place. “Oh nothing, sorry, yeah, I'm fine. Standish just wasn't feeling very well and I'm still just a bit shocked to not see him in his suit is all,” He forced a broad smile and an easy laugh. With a bit of focus, he could feel the pretending start to ease him for real.

“Good. Carol here was just introducing me. Have you met Tyler before?” Jim's dad seemed sufficiently happy with his response as he extended a presentational hand to the giant in front of them.

“We have not. This is the first time I've had the supreme pleasure of meeting your son Jim here beyond diplomatics. Tyler Dyman, as I'm sure you've already guessed,” he said, pearl-white teeth sparkling behind the perfect politician's smile. He presented his gargantuan, ring-laden hand to him again, and gave him the same vice-firm pillow-soft handshake.

When Dyman released his hand, Jim struck immediately to attention and proffered his most precise of salutes, “General Dyman, sir. It's a pleasure and an honor to meet you.” Jim looked straight ahead. Dyman was so tall that Jim, no short person himself, and taller than most everyone on the base save for Standish and Tomah, was staring point-blank at the Medallion that lay at the center-point of his torso. The lance in the center of the sunburst had twelve platinum bands engraved in it, in comparison to Jim's four, and Carol's nine. As Dyman's rank was honorary because he was not a commissioned officer, he was allowed to wear a suit. A fantastically-tailored grey affair at that, similar to the ones Standish usually wore. It clung to his behemoth top-heavy hourglass of a frame, making Jim question how his slightest movements didn't cause it to burst at the seems and how his steps didn't cause the ground beneath him to tremor slightly.

“Oh at ease, Lieutenant Ross,” Dyman made a dismissive gesture as if to indicate that he was both accepting and flattered. “I was just talking to Carol and your father here about your career in gaming, rather. Quite the masterful tactician that came to place. Not only mechanically gifted and a genius with the minutae of the game's knowledge base, but also extremely deft at executing highly-coordinated tactics in grace. Your dad was saying that you forced one of the developers to hot-patch a game mid-tournament because your tactic broke the game and left you undefeated for an unprecedented thirteen rounds.”

“Yeah,” Jim blushed and bashfully averted his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact after the compliment. “But I was only like eight at the time. It was the developer's fault for leaving such a glaring hole in the game. I only learned about it because some kid at Gymnasium pointed it out to me in a public match and I noticed that no one in the professional scene was taking advantage of it. It turns out I guess there was a bit of a gentleman's agreement not to use the loophole that I wasn't aware of.”
“Only eight? You left that bit out, Mr. Ross! That's great, truly and indeed. You needn't gloss or be so modest, Jim. Such brilliance is what earned you that coveted medal,” Dyman extended a tremendous arm and pointed at the Shield on his collar, the gigantic emerald nested in the ornate gold ring adoring his index finger lending a feel of yet more immensity to the digit.

“It's nothing, really. Just operating at the margins. I played to win, gentleman's agreement be damned,” Jim twisted his head to left, still ill at ease with the compliments.

“And that's what we need on the team, Jim. Someone willing to call the tough shots and find the most optimal and efficient way to execute a mission,” The commander nodded to Jim as he shot his head around to address her. She too waved off his salute with a matronly smile. She swished the peacock feather out of her face with a deft and obviously well-practiced head flick as she turned to address Jim's father. “As we were saying, with the upcoming military campaign's timetable accelerated because of the instability out west, it was a bit of a do-or-die moment with Jim's graduation that caused us to terminate his gaming career a bit prematurely.”

“And it's been a tragic loss for the scene,” Jim's dad said nodding, pausing to take a sip from the cup of punch he had in the hand not around Jim's shoulder. “But my boy has grander responsibilities than silly games and sports. His country needs him,” Jim's dad smiled and shook his shoulder, causing Jim to shift uncomfortably under the ever-increasing scrutiny.

“Dale!” someone shouted from behind their group. A tall, aristocratic man was waving over the crush of people. His snow white, short-cropped hair was slicked back and his facial hair was elegantly manicured into a medium-length Van Dyke. He had on very modern clothes, a green silk-like piece of single machine-printed fabric with extremely ornate filigree, gemstones encrusting the leaf-like ends of the golden spirals. He was tall and slender with an ageless but paternal face.

“Terrance?” Jim's dad, Dale, was looking in disbelief. “Is that Terry O'Callaghan?” Dale took his arm from around Jim and pointed to the man who was fast approaching.

“Molly's dad, you mean? It looks like him. I don't really know anyone else with that beard.” Jim turned full-body to look at him as he approached. It was unmistakably Molly's father. “What is he doing down here?” Jim mumbled loudly, his brow scrunched deeply with confusion.

“Oh, that would be my doing,” Dyman said as he squeeze his immense form between them all to greet Mr. O'Callaghan. “Terry! Pleasure seeing you. Excited you're here, and for not eschewing,” Dyman intercepted Molly's dad with his most stately of handshakes. “ He turned, placing his hand on Mr. O'Callaghan's back and bringing him into the conversation group. “I've known Terry since he was a broodling.”

“My great-grandfather was one of the initial investors in New Roman. An O'Callaghan has sat on their board since the company was founded. Dale! It's good to see you down here, I'm glad the factory gave you the time off,” he reached out and shook Jim's father's hand. “And Jim! I haven't seen you since the funeral, you look so great, I'm so proud of you! I got to see the ceremony on closed-circuit from my data pad while I was on the tram,” he reached out and offered Jim a hug.

Jim accepted. Molly's dad hugged him tight, pressing his pins and medals deep into his skin, but he didn't care. Molly's dad was a wonderful man, if a bit short-tempered with his daughter, and Jim revered him with only the utmost respect. “It's really good to see you as well, Mr. O'Callaghan. I am indeed doing much better, thanks in no small part to your daughter. She has been a guiding light through my darkest hours.”

“Oh Jim, I really do like you,” Molly's dad said with a wink. He placed his hands on Jim's shoulders and gave him a warm paternal smile. “I don't think Molly and I would ever have come around if it weren't for you. I'm glad my Mol' could return the favor.”

“Speaking of which, where is Molly? I haven't heard from her in quite some time. I've been starting to worry. I was really hoping she could have been here to see me at the presentation,” Jim broke eye contact and looked at Mr. O'Callaghan's brown designer shoes.

“I really wish I could have been in the auditorium with you, but I did get to see it, Jim,” an unmistakeable mousy voice cooed over his left shoulder. The notes sent a jolt through Jim's spine and he swung around as fast as he could. Before he could even register what was happening next, his face was buried in a sea of thick, short, red curls, arms wrapped around his neck and waist threatening to break his ribs. When the exquisite and familiar mélange of scents hit his nose, Jim burried his face into her shoulder and squeezed with all his might. “I'm sorry, Jim,” she whispered softly into his ear.

“I'm not going to let go,” Jim said in a strained voice, fighting back the swell of emotions and tears.

“Is that a promise?” the mousy voice cooed into his ear over her own punctuated sobs.

“Ah, young love,” Dyman said, arms open wide. He clapped his hands together, his 10 rings forming a gold-set rainbow in front of him. “It was quite a close call, pulling her from above. Had to pull a few strings, is all, and now our organization has, on loan, this dove.”

Jim pulled back and made eye contact with Dyman's piercing khaki irises, arms still wrapped around her. “You did this?”

“I had planned on taking the internship down south,” Molly started. “When daddy told Dyman about it over lunch after a board meeting, Dyman insisted that he could beat the offer. He talked to Professor Daniels, and when I heard what they were going to be doing down here, I accepted on the spot. They put me in lock-down immediately, which is why I wasn't able to write to you. I was stuck under a communication ban for weeks so they could do background checks on just about anyone I've ever even shared a room with.” She pulled the arm off Jim's shoulder from around his neck and held up her index finger, “DNA access cleared,” a coy, fiendish smile creasing her milky cheeks.

“Molly is going to take a gap-year from school and do a research expedition down here dissecting ancient text,” Terry interjected. Jim turned his focus to him, Terry's penetrating blue eyes warm with mischief. “The Ritz has one of the most complete collections of original ancient texts in the world. Every couple of years Professor Daniels leads a group of academics down here to pore over the books. Usually it's only upperclassmen and post-certification researchers, but Ty pulled a few strings and got her involved last-minute. A day later and she would've missed the ceremony!”

“I have yet to discuss this with father and dame, but I am thinking I shall have her nest in your quarters, at least that's my aim,” Dyman began, a deviousness hinted in his eyes, but not in his smile. “You have a spare room, and texts you claim are the favorite genre of our little bloom, and I felt like you wouldn't mind, if it's all the same,” he craned his head side-to-side to address the fathers, both Jim's and Molly's, as if polling for their approval.

“I think Dale and I have no protestations,” Terry grinned wide. The teeth behind his incisors were both gold-capped and gem-studded. Jim adored Mr. O'Callaghan's smile. It always had a way of putting him at ease.

“None from me. I think shacking up will do a world of good for them,” Dale jabbed his elbow into his son's rib, causing Jim to blush uncontrollably and drop his head. He peered sheepishly at Molly who had a wide, excited smile filling her face. He addressed the Commander with inquisitive eyes.

“Not my place to have an opinion on this one, Jim,” she said, a rare, genuine smile creasing her hardened face. “If she impacts your performance I'll pull her out in a second, but as long as you can keep your home life out of your work, I think your father's declaration is both sound and accurate.”

“Is this really happening?” Jim said as he turned to face Molly straight-on. Molly nodded her head, her locks bobbing back and forth, spilling onto her face. Jim reached a hand up and brushed them away from her cheek. “I love you.” Ebullience bursted from within him.

“I love you, too, roomy,” she said, as she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him deeply.

After a short, knowing laugh washed through the group, Dyman placed his hands on his hips, pulling everyone's attention to his monstrous frame. “Well, I'm glad everything turned out so well. Sadly, however, I cannot dwell. I must move on, as duty calls. Enjoy the festivities and all that befalls!” He dipped his head in a bow, hands steepled infront of him, and then turned on his heel, gesturing to Standish in the corner to follow him. Standish took note and ungracefully swiped the hat off the seat next to him as he rose shakily and shambled to Dyman's side. Once the two were walking abreast on their way out, Standish straightened himself and any sense of inebriation was non-existent, at least visually. He turned his head to Jim as he filed out the door behind Dyman, flicked the bottom brim of his fedora up with his index finger, and the faint disappearance and reappearance of a saucerous white-blue circle indicated a wink before he disappeared out into the hallway.