Phoenix Reborn Page 9

  “No! How do we use it?” Johnny asked, stepping forward. Any sympathy he may have shown before was now gone.

  “Omega, can you hear me?” Connor asked to the room, looking around.

  Quiet.

  “I haven’t used it in a long time, so maybe it doesn’t work over here,” Connor said with a shrug.

  “Training program, activate,” Vector said loudly.

  Still nothing.

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you guys. The only other way I found to get points outside the arena is to fight.”

  They could tell by the look in his eye what he meant. Connor was renowned at the OMBIcademy for his hand-to-hand skills; he had completed Grand Master martial arts training within his first two months.

  “Okay, kid. Let’s see what you got. Red Army, get ready.”

  This was the plan they had developed; they wanted to teach Connor a lesson by stunning him and then kicking him while he was down. After all, “If you can’t run faster, break the legs of the guy who does.”

  The Red Army leadership fanned out around the long dining tables in the room. The room had a lot of silver color to it. The walls were silver, and so were the tables. The serving area shone like it had never been used.

  When they were ready, Connor, still standing perfectly still, yawned. “Any time you guys think you’re ready.”

  He was surprised when the four members of Red Army drew guns and leveled them at Connor.

  “Crap,” Connor said to himself, diving behind a table.

  Shots rang out loudly in the cafeteria. The Red Army leaders gave chase with their small hand guns, while Vector laughed from the corner.

  Connor took a hit on his left arm as he dove behind another table, causing it to hang limply at his side. He felt the pain rippling through his disabled arm as he rounded the end of the low table, and ran along the outer wall of the room. Snake jumped up on a table and attempted to block Connor as he ran.

  Connor spun around, leg out, sweeping the kid as he was still trying to gain his footing on the table. Snake fell hard on his back and rolled off the table and onto the floor. Seeing Vector move to block his way, Connor turned suddenly and rolled over the table on his back, taking another hit on his limp left arm, causing pain to shoot through it anew.

  He landed on top of Snake and rolled over the next table, finding himself in front of Hammer. The kid, to his credit, reacted quickly, getting his gun out in front of him. Connor grabbed his wrist with his right hand and turned the kid around, using him as a shield against Rat and Mouse as they continued to fire at him.

  When he got close enough, he shoved the much larger kid into Rat and then jumped up, coming down hard on both of them. Face to face with his old friend, Johnny started firing quickly, shots consistently going wide. Connor took a hit in his right arm as he came forward, leveling Johnny with a head butt to the face. Johnny went down with a cry and his nose bleeding profusely.

  “Well, that isn’t how it was supposed to happen.” Vector laughed from across the room.

  Arms stunned, Connor turned and asked, “What was supposed to happen?”

  Vector shrugged. “You were supposed to go down, so they could beat you up.”

  “Whose great idea was that?”

  Realizing that he said too much, Vector closed his mouth.

  “I see, you were ordered, weren’t you?” Connor said, getting angry.

  “Shut up, kid. You’ll get me in trouble,” Vector barked, coming forward.

  “Well, no doubt about that.” Connor retorted, taking a step toward Vector with a strange look in his eye.

  “What are you doing, hisser? You want a piece of me?”

  “I want the whole thing, idiot. You’re bigger, stronger, and older, plus I have two arms stunned. Should almost be a fair fight,” Connor taunted, eager to hurt someone.

  “It’s worse than you think, kid.” Vector laughed, as a black shotgun manifested in his hand. It wasn’t the glowing black virtual shotgun that Connor had expected, but a very real weapon that Vector was pointing at him.

  “Crap,” Connor said for the second time that day as he fell into a backwards roll, using his core muscles to pull himself up.

  “I am not going to shoot you, kid, just hurt you a little,” Vector said as the weapon changed into a large staff.

  Connor didn’t feel better. He turned and ran, diving over the serving table into the kitchen. Vector was on his heels, quickly swinging the large staff at him.

  Connor ran into the back where the cutting tables made for a smaller corridor. As Vector came on, he changed his staff into two smaller sticks to accommodate the tighter battlefield. Connor dodged and danced out of the way, staying light on his feet, unsure of how, without arms, he could beat the larger foe that apparently got to use real weapons.

  As he rolled over a table, his limp arm caught on a drawer, pulling his shoulder back painfully and stopping him midway over the table.

  “Sorry, kid, but you’ve had it coming for a long time.” Vector grinned as he swung his stick hard into Connor’s trapped arm.

  Connor yelped out in pain, feeling the arm snap beneath the weight of the older kid’s weapon. Vector hit him again, this time across the face, causing Connor’s mouth to bleed.

  He was in agony. Wishing he had a hand free to fight back, he tried to get his legs under him when Vector hit him in the knee, causing him to collapse again.

  He felt helpless, unable to stop this older kid from beating him. Vector was getting into the beating too, a smile growing larger on his face as he mercilessly hit Connor over and over again.

  “Boys will be boys,” he kept saying, until Johnny intervened. The Red Army leaders had gotten up when the stun effects wore off and walked into the kitchen as Connor fell unconscious.

  “That’s enough,” Johnny said to Vector, while looking at Connor.

  Vector stopped and looked at the other boys in the room. They stared at each other for a long while, none of them quite believing what they had just done.

  The left soon after, not telling anybody that they had left a bleeding boy in the room behind them.

  Chapter 9

  To Catch a Dragoon

  Chester Stahl was born in 2064 before the nations merged under a one world government, before the colonies and before Earth’s technology was advanced by the discovery of the ship that was now called the OMBIcademy. He remembered when his father, a United States Senator at the time, told him that an alien craft was discovered in the Pacific Ocean. He had imagined what aliens would look like and what they would do if they ever came back to Earth. It was from the drawings of the ten-year-old mind of Councilman Stahl that the Gortha were created.

  He was much older now and didn’t often think of those days. Three failed marriages, twenty years on the Earth Military Council, and the multitude of decisions he’d made that had cost many lives left him cold inside, beyond the excited dreams of a child. Now he sat with the captains of the ten squads of the New York Special Operations unit. He had been instructed by the rest of the council to use local resources in his attempt to capture the man called “The Dragoon.”

  “The man is a terrorist! We need all your available units on standby,” Stahl commanded, slamming his fist on the holographic map projector.

  “We have counter-terrorist forces available, Councilman Stahl,” the New York Police captain offered. “But there is no way I can commit all of my officers.”

  At that angle, the lights from the map of New York City gave Stahl a menacing shadow across his face. He had lived through the bloodless coup six years prior when the EMC took control from the elected leadership of the UEDF and had enough of rebellions for his lifetime. He was not about to let one man turn his territory into chaos.

  “Captain, I understand your position, but I assure you, there is no greater nuisance to our way of life than the Dragoon. We simply have to catch him, and we cannot afford to make a mistake.” There wasn’t room for debate in Stahl’s tone. />
  “On standby then. I will commit my counter-terrorist unit and ten squadrons, and the rest will be waiting,” the captain agreed reluctantly.

  “Excellent. Now for the plan,” Stahl began, bringing up the holographic map. I will announce my plans for a public speech in central park. An announcement on the Gortha War. My decoy will arrive and proceed to the podium where he will bait out the Dragoon. Your squads will be waiting in with the civilians, on rooftops here, here and here.”

  The captain nodded along as Stahl pointed at the various locations, admiring his quick assessments and strategy.

  “Are you sure he will come? He’s got to know that going after a councilman is risky,” the captain asked skeptically.

  “He will come. Councilmen are rarely so accessible. Kaufmann messed up by being too public with his movements and it cost him his life. The Dragoon was reported in Pennsylvania raiding supply depots, so he is close. This will work,” Stahl offered confidently.

  Stahl dismissed the captain and issued his press release.

  The bait had been set.

  ~ ~ ~

  On the holotube an hour later, advertised across the world, word of Stahl’s public appearance and speech was broadcasted on every station.

  The man called Dragoon was sitting in a diner outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania when he saw the report. Not in his western wear, the man seemed like an ordinary person, eating his lunch slowly at the counter, watching the holotube intently. While other customers slouched and complained about the weather, the government and the current excessive inflation rate, the Dragoon sat tall, absorbing it all, thinking about what it would take to push these people toward achieving their own freedom. A plan was forming in his mind, as the people on the holotube discussed the subject of planetary unity in the face of the Gortha threat.

  The idea that Councilman Stahl was going to be giving a live speech the following day gave him another idea that was too good to pass up.

  When the waitress brought the bill, she placed it carefully on the table, along with another slip of paper. On the paper was the girl’s contact number. The man picked it up along with the bill and walked to the register where the waitress was standing. He paid with cash, tipped her, and handed her back the note.

  The girl frowned as she took it back until the man held up the fingerless glove on his left hand to reveal a gold wedding band. He smiled and shrugged at the girl, who smiled back him.

  “I appreciate the thought,” he said sincerely.

  “It’s nothing. You just seemed different from any of the other guys that come through here,” she said with a smile on her face.

  He looked around the room for a moment and turned back to the waitress, saying, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  With a slight grin, he walked out the door and got onto the motorcycle that he’d been driving for the last few months, putting on a helmet that enhanced his vision by highlighting potential threats, which, on a motorcycle, was just about everything.

  He knew he wouldn’t have a lot of time to prepare and had a long way to travel, so he set to the road immediately, riding hard down Highway 78 toward New York.

  ~ ~ ~

  The morning of the speech, Councilman Stahl watched the crowd form around the podium off Central Park West from the penthouse of the Dakota building. The Special Police had confiscated the penthouse from a man who had earned his riches producing high-end dramas for the holotube. He had complained at first, but eventually gave in when he realized that an EMC Councilor might feel indebted to him.

  Stahl did not. Stahl believed that all property belonged to the people, and as their representative he was entitled to use it as he saw fit.

  The decoy was to go on in a half hour and Stahl nervously paced the suite, anxious to see if he would be able to facilitate the public capture of the nation’s top terrorist. The holotube had been downplaying the raids and attacks for the couple months of activity, on orders from the council. However, now that his capture was eminent, Stahl had the media displaying a wide range of his exploits.

  This one man had been responsible for the destruction of one military prison, seven military supply depots, two national reserve banks, a holotube broadcasting hub, and a military testing facility. To say nothing of Councilman Kaufmann that he had murdered and the riot he incited in Germany. All of it was on the news that day, coming out in bits in order to make his capture more epic. Councilman Stahl had even authorized the holotube news to report on the starvation crisis in Germany as a direct result of the man’s intentional destruction of supplies that were supposed to be transferred there. He hadn’t destroyed any food, but the council was looking for an excuse to not send any supplies to the rioting mobs of Germany.

  As the time approached for the speech, Chester Stahl sat back in his chair with a glass of bourbon, trying to relax. He knew that the ten squads of Special Police were out amongst the crowd, standing ready to take the Dragoon down, many who were disguised as civilians. Further, he had several snipers and spotters posted. As he leaned back in his chair, he felt quite confident that his plan would result in success.

  ~ ~ ~

  The motorcade arrived five minutes late, pulling up to the curb near the promenade where Councilman Stahl was supposed to give his speech. Several limousines arrived and dropped off minor celebrities and holotube personalities in order to give additional hype to the coverage. The plan was for all eyes to see when the Dragoon got taken down. The crowd that gathered grew more excited when the faces of famous people appeared out of the cars.

  From one, a man dressed in a black silk suit with a long coat got out to the sound of half-hearted applause from the crowd. They didn’t know who he was, but they pretended all the same. When he rose his hands into the air the crowd cheered, thinking that they were supposed to. The man was smiling as he walked with a long stride toward the podium, informing the stage manager and security guard that he was to give the preliminary address to Councilman Stahl’s speech. He handed holodisc to the manager and informed him to play it when cued.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Councilman Stahl will be out to give his speech momentarily regarding the state of the American Region of the United Earth Defense Force, along with an update on the progress of the Gortha War,” the man spoke in a firm, confident voice. The crowd was silent; updates on the war were rare and always taken very seriously by the global media and the people.

  “Before he begins, I would like everyone to take a moment and bow our heads for the men and women of the UEDF military who sacrificed their lives to defend us from the Gortha; we have prepared a short presentation.” He cued the stage manager.

  In the park the people bowed their heads reverently. Around the world, citizens watched the holotube silently as images of the original press footage of the Incident of 2115 came up to the sound of patriotic music. An image of the Andromeda appeared, which evoked an emotional outburst, causing many people to begin to cry. The image was one they had seen a lot since the event, always a reminder of the enemy lurking out in space.

  The narrator began in a quiet voice, “Man’s quest to colonize the galaxy, to deliver hope to the people; the Andromeda and her valiant crew seeking new resources to help sustain the human race.”

  The streets where quiet as the people listened, heads bowed. Everyone knew the story, and they knew what was coming next.

  “Escorted by Captain Marlena Mercer, beloved mother of two, wife and defender of Earth, murdered!” The holotube showed a six-year-old picture of Marlena Mercer followed by an image of a destroyed Anubis Fighter.

  “Murdered by her own government. A death ordered by the Earth Military Council in order to rally the people around their leaders against a fictitious enemy.”

  People in the crowd began to raise the heads, looking at each other and mumbling.

  “WHAT?!”

  The yell from the window eight floors up across the street echoed out over the stunned crowd. The man who had been on stage with
his head bowed like everyone else was gone in a flash. Moving with the enhanced speed of the mechanized battle suit that he wore under his clothes, he ran toward the lobby of the Dakota building.

  It happened fast; the reel continued as Special Police forces emerged from the crowd and nearby streets to chase after the man into the lobby.

  ~ ~ ~

  Councilman Stahl had not meant to yell out, but the shock of the best-kept secret in the EMC being publicly announced had gotten the better of him. He covered his mouth and stepped back from the window, seeing the man running with blinding speed toward the lobby of building he was in. He quickly ordered his bodyguards to take him up to the roof and call in the emergency evacuation transport.

  The video reel outside was blaring at the still-stunned crowd. A familiar imagine, to Stahl, came onto the screen, the face of the former Councilman Kaufmann. He was pressed against the window by a gloved hand.

  “I want the truth,” a man’s voice demanded.

  “The truth about what?” Kaufmann said, clearly afraid.

  “The incident of 2115. Speak quick.”

  “My datapad has everything you need. Please don’t kill me.”

  “Your datapad will be traced and you know it. You really are a clever little weasel, aren’t you? Besides, I didn’t follow you all the way from Berlin to read a datapad. Tell me the truth!”

  “You were in Berlin? You had something to do with the riots?”

  “Send the dogs in and the birds will fly. Now tell me what I want to know!”

  “Okay, I will tell you everything! We were losing control of the people; we were out of resources! We had to protect ourselves, don’t you understand? It was for the greater good!”

  “Then it’s true. The entire thing was a lie in order to seize power. The Gortha aren’t real.”

  “It was Harruhama’s idea! We had to…”