To which, Harrison lost it, laughing hilariously.

  “Oh, and from what I’ve heard, she was a sheepdog, a bit of a mongrel, with patches of black and white on her, but she had the gentle nature of a lamb,” added Brains. “She would go everywhere with him. Into the office, into the boardroom, into the lecture halls, you name it. And when the little blighter let one rip, well, the smell would bring tears to your eyes. It was like peeling onions.”

  Harrison was beside himself, slamming his hand on the table as he laughed, laughing so hard it brought tears to his eyes just thinking about the poet cramped in a small boardroom with all those executives all dressed in suits and ties and a dog, of all things, the little critter sitting in the corner, oblivious to the negotiations going on, scenting the room in innocence.

  “Are you for real?”

  “Oh, that’s real,” replied Brains. “Would I lie to you?”

  “Hilarious!”

  Susan stirred on the couch. She could have slept through a hailstorm on a metal roof.

  “Yeah, pretty good one, ah,” said Brains. “Wouldn’t mind a dog like that myself.”

  The old man chuckled to himself at the thought and tried to whistle in some drunken imitation of the dog but he couldn’t quite make the sound, which Harrison found all the more funny.

  After they stopped laughing at each other, Brains continued in a soft tone.

  “Harry, it’s a trap. Few realise how intoxicating their own ego is. They might not be able to light an oven with their breath, but they’re drunk, alright, as drunk as a fart.”

  Tears welled up in his eyes.

  “I left the new world because I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I couldn't give in to my own sense of ego and pride anymore.”

  Harrison shifted in his seat feeling awkward, not knowing quite what to say. He’d seen his fair share of drunks in his time, but Brains was different. Something rang true in his words.

  “Don’t lie to yourself, Harry. Don’t tow the party line just because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Be true to yourself, Harry, if to no one else.”

  “You’re pretty upset about this,” said Harrison softly, being gentle with the old man’s feelings. Getting up from the table, he walked over to the old man, placed his hand on his shoulder and comforted him.

  Brains staggered to his feet and said, “You’re a good man, Harry. A rare find in this world.”

  Harrison grabbed him by the shoulders as he fell to one side.

  “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Don’t you forget,” said Brains, murmuring under his breath, dragging his feet as Harrison led him to the bedroom. “Don’t you forget about me. I’m not crazy, Harry, I’m not crazy.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  Harrison laid him down gently on the bed. Brains was asleep before Harrison could pull off his boots. He covered him with a blanket, leaving him fully dressed on top of the bed.

  “I won’t forget you,” promised Harrison, speaking in a whisper as he closed the door to the bedroom. “I’ll be back for you, my old friend. I won’t forget.”

  With that Harrison walked back into the living area and gently woke Susan, saying, “Rise and shine, sleepyhead. We’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter 07: Escape

  Spotlights flickered across the outside windows, lighting up the night.

  Kane sat up against a wall, nursing his broken hand in his lap. Blood soaked through the thin strips of cloth he’d used as a makeshift bandage. The swelling in his fingers and wrist made the slightest movement painful. Just the thought seemed to cause spasms to surge up his right arm.

  “We need to talk,” said the senator, looking intently at Artemis.

  “Oh, I've seen what talking does,” replied Artemis. “Your words are smooth like oil, but your actions are a poison.”

  “Things are changing,” the senator added, trying to appeal to reason. “We made mistakes, but that is in the past. We're looking to the future now.”

  “Hah. You were looking to the future then,” said Artemis with a grin. “The only change you'll accept is that which is brought upon you by force.”

  “You must know you can't get away with this,” said the senator. “You’ve taken things too far. The council will not allow you to escape.”

  “The council fears me,” said Artemis. “Men are always afraid of that which they don’t understand. And now I have hostages, the head of the anti-terrorist task-force and the senate representative for reconciliation. I think you underestimate the strength of my hand.”

  Not even Kane had seen Artemis this close before. At first, he was somewhat disappointed. Artemis was shorter than he’d expected. And his physical presence wasn’t what he’d imagined. He’d always thought of Artemis as a fabled warrior of old, all muscle, with the physique of a demigod, something like Hercules or Ulysses. But Artemis was rather average in a dull kind of way. Physically, he could blend in with a crowd. Artemis had the kind of face you’d forget in a couple of minutes, nothing distinct at all. He was, in short, bland or neutral, neither handsome and dashing, nor ugly. Perhaps that’s why he’d been so difficult to pin down. He could melt away in a crowd without shifting phase, just by stepping into the shadow of some more robust man.

  “Where is he?” asked Olivia.

  “You don't remember, do you?” replied Kane, referring to the hotel.

  “No,” said Olivia, standing over him, her legs spread slightly apart, the blaster just inches from his head, her finger playing on the trigger. “Time travel will do that to a girl. But I've seen the pictures. I know enough.”

  Kane fought off a feeling of intimidation as she stood, defiant over him.

  She squatted beside him, exposing her cleavage, running the warm barrel of the blaster around his face, toying with him.

  “We have unfinished business, you and I,” she said, looking at her reflection in his shattered glasses. “Where is he?”

  “In the containment room. Behind interrogation.”

  Olivia went to help the young, bloodied man out of the interrogation suite. No sooner had she stepped back into the corridor than the young man dissolved and reappeared almost instantly in front of Kane, a shadowy mist swirling slowly into the form of a man.

  Although he was defenseless, Kane got to his feet to face the young man in some macho, bravado show of pride.

  “Taylor, no!” cried Olivia, turning and running toward them.

  At first Kane couldn’t feel anything, but he could see the young man’s wrist in the centre of his chest. Shock took hold with surprising speed. Deep inside his chest cavity, Kane could feel Taylor’s fingers gripping his heart, tearing at the muscle, ripping apart the sinew and arteries that held his heart in place. Blood seeped through his shirt, seeping around Taylor’s wrist. The Special Agent sunk to his knees, coughing up blood.

  “Don’t do it, son,” said Artemis. “Not now, not like this.”

  Artemis rested his hand gently on the young man’s forearm. There was no intent to force him to stop, just the kind touch of someone that understood the rage inside.

  Taylor was now in physical form, his hand still buried inside Kane’s chest.

  “We need him alive,” said Olivia, resting her hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “There will be a time for justice later, but for now, we need him as a hostage.”

  Kane vomited, bringing up a mouthful of bile. His body began to convulse as his arms and legs fell limp.

  Slowly, Taylor released his grip, pulling his bloodied hand out of Kane’s chest. The only remaining mark was a blood soaked stain in the centre of Kane's business shirt. With that, Kane slumped to the floor, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

  The senator knelt down next to Kane, checking his pulse, pushing two fingers up hard against his jugular. An erratic, inconsistent throb told him the Special Agent was still alive, if only just.

  “I need to fix the charges,” said Artemis. “Taylor, gather the pulse rifles together, strip out any live ammo.”

  “What about the blasters?”

  “Leave them. They’re not armour-piercing. The first wave will be robotic, probably a swarm. With VIPs as hostages, the police are not going to take any chances. They'll take their time. They’re going to want to take us all alive.”

  Taylor went to work, moving in and out of the cubicles. Overturned desks, smashed holo-monitors and chairs lay scattered across the floor. Every few feet a hand or a boot protruded from the carnage.

  Olivia had already armed herself with a plasma rifle taken from one of the bodies. The gun looked out of place in her slender hands, its bulking black frame and tubular magazine looked too heavy for her but she handled the rifle as though it weighed almost nothing at all.

  Sitting up on one of the desks with her legs crossed and the rifle resting across her lap, she looked down at the senator. He’d slumped up against the wall next to Kane. His tunic, so beautifully trimmed with gold, looked worn and ragged. Bloodstains marred the soft, white linen.

  “You’re not one of them, are you?” the senator asked, looking up at her. Although Olivia was still wearing that stunning silk dress, the red colouring had lost its lustre. The hem was torn. Dark streaks ran across the fabric, soot stains from the discharge of a blaster.

  “No,” she replied. “I’m not.”

  “And Taylor,” the senator asked. “He’s one of the daemon… But the program was destroyed during the war. The detonation over Chicago, the team was killed, all the files were lost. I don’t understand how he could…”

  “He’s my son.”

  For a moment, the senator was quiet.

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixteen, next month.”

  “I see,” said the senator, the gravity of the situation dawning upon him. “This…”

  “Complicates things?” asked Olivia. “Why? Because he’s the offspring of a genetically engineered experiment? What, you thought all this would stop at one generation?”

  “We never considered the possibility of reproduction,” the senator confessed, his mind racing at the thought.

  “No, you intended to kill them once you were finished using them. Did it ever occur to you that they’re human? That they have just as much right to life as you? No, to you, they’re just chattel, just another weapon to be used in your war. Well, this weapon fought back.”

  “I think you underestimate our intentions,” the senator began.

  “Your intentions,” Olivia cried, somewhat flabbergasted. “How dare you. Do you think you can just wave your hand and make all of this go away, make all of your crimes just disappear?”

  “You have a lot of hatred, a lot of anger. I can understand that.”

  “And let me guess,” Olivia countered, pulling back on the bolt of the pulse rifle and loading a round from the magazine. “You’re here for me if I need you, right? A shoulder to cry on.”

  Taylor materialised beside Olivia, condensing from a fine mist into human form in less than a second. He dumped a bag full of plasma magazines on the desk.

  “I hate to break up the party, but we’ve got company,” he said. “Bugs coming through the ventilation system.”

  Taylor held up a holographic projector. A map of the interrogation floor appeared with small red objects moving through the vents above the drop-ceiling.

  “Artemis,” cried Olivia. “Are you ready?”

  “Just setting the zip-line.”

  The senator looked over toward the windows. Artemis had bolted a small tripod to one of the concrete support struts. After rummaging through his bag, he set up a harpoon-style gun on the tripod. A coil of razor-thin wire led from the harpoon back into the rucksack he’d been carrying over his shoulder.

  “I need a few more minutes to set the charges.”

  “We don't have minutes,” yelled Olivia. “I thought you said they'd take their time?”

  “They should,” replied Artemis. “At least according to their standard operating procedures.”

  “Looks like they didn't get the memo,” said Olivia drily.

  Artemis went to phase-shift so he could set the explosives in a fraction of a second, but the buildup of lactic acid in his muscles from a day of heavy shifting caused a severe cramp. As much as he tried to will himself through it, the pain was excruciating and he found himself limping in real time.

  The sound of hundreds of small metal feet tapping on the sheet metal inside the ventilation duct began to softly echo around them.

  “Get up,” said Olivia, grabbing the senator by the hand and surprising him with how strong she was. She pushed him over toward the zip-line.

  As he began moving toward the windows, the senator realised the floor was littered with blasters. Both Olivia and Taylor had their backs to him, slowly backing away from the centre of the room over toward the zip-line, both of them carefully watching the various ventilation ducts lining the roof. The senator stumbled, feigning that he’d tripped over some of the debris. Reaching out with his hands to break his fall, his fingers came within inches of a blaster lying on the ground.

  “Do you have a death-wish?” asked Olivia, her plasma rifle just inches from his head. “Do you really think you’d stand a chance after seeing what just one daemon did to a whole floor full of highly-trained police officers?”

  The senator was mute. He stood up and continued to the window. Artemis was setting a moulded, shaped-charge on the blast-proof windows. The strength of the windows demanded that the charge be laid out in the shape of a bullseye, with each concentric circle timed to fire in sequence to amplify the intensity of each detonation. So far, Artemis had laid two of the five coils they needed to break the Plexiglas.

  “Here they come,” yelled Olivia over the sound of her plasma rifle opening up. Flashes of light burst across the room.

  A series of spider-like robots hung from the drop-ceiling, running upside down across the panels towards them. Olivia and Taylor fired controlled three round bursts, tearing huge holes in the ceiling. The spiders quickly multiplied. Long, thin, slender chrome legs flexed around the smooth, alloy body of each robot. Cheap and expendable, spiders were designed to take people alive without the use of force. On reaching the perpetrator of a violent crime they would work together to wrap up the offender’s arms and legs, disarming and disabling them, overwhelming them with their sheer numbers.

  Firing from the hip, Olivia watched the counter on top of her plasma rifle running down, sweeping through two hundred then to a hundred and fifty and on down below one hundred rounds as she fired rapidly at the growing throng of small robots clambering over the desks, chairs, walls and ceiling. The spiders came in waves, in a surging mass of chrome and steel. Olivia and Taylor set up opposing lines of fire to cover each side of the room.

  The bulk of the spiders came at Olivia. Working as a single unit, the spiders swarmed across the ceiling, trying to press forward their attack.

  “I’m out,” cried Olivia as the counter on her pulse rifle ran down through twenty, ten and then zero.

  Taylor tossed her a spare magazine. As he did so, he sprayed a burst of fire across in front of her, buying her some time before turning back to fight off the horde closing in on him. Strands of metal and chrome exploded before them as the spiders swarmed on.

  Olivia ejected the magazine from her plasma rifle and slipped the new magazine in place effortlessly. A thin strand of spiders moved across the far wall, scrambling rapidly toward her, each spider acting like a bridge for the next, building a line of robots that reached out through the air toward her. Another group clambered across an overturned desk before launching themselves at her, flying through the air for the final few feet.

  Through the stock of the rifle, Olivia felt the first round of the new magazine load. She turned, facing the stream of spiders flying at her and fired. The closest spider had hold of the barrel. It clambered along the rifle toward her. Olivia slammed the side of the gun into the support pillar beside her, shaking it off. For a brief instant, she whipped the rifle down, firing just inches from her feet and destroying the spider. Then she was back up again, firing incessantly at the horde of mechanical spiders pouring out of the ducts.

  “Artemis,” she yelled. “This is getting serious.”

  For his part, Artemis was working rapidly to complete the outer shell of explosives.

  “Thirty seconds,” he yelled back, his hands feverishly placing the last of the charges.

  Through the haze of smoke and metal shrapnel, Olivia could see the form of a man standing to one side, Kane. Just the sight of him, standing there defiant, incensed her with rage.

  The special agent was barely able to stand. He leaned up against a column. In his left hand he held a blaster. Blood dripped from his right hand as it hung limp by his side. Kane fired through the mass of coiling spiders all clambering over each other. Chunks of masonry flew out of the concrete support beside Olivia.

  “We’re good to go,” yelled Artemis. “Everybody down.”

  With that Olivia and Taylor dropped down behind an overturned cubical. Artemis knocked the senator to the ground before tripping the fuse. The charges blew outward, shattering the Plexiglas and sending a compression wave back through the building. The blast knocked the spiders backwards, knocking Kane against a support pillar.

  No sooner had the blast wave passed than Olivia and Taylor were back on their feet firing again. Both of them had used the blast as an opportunity to reload.

  The wind howled through the floor, whipping in through the shattered window, causing the temperature inside the building to plummet.

  Artemis fired the harpoon. A thin strand of high-tensile carbon filament streamed out of the backpack following the harpoon as it sailed across the sky and into one of the adjacent buildings.

  “Go,” yelled Artemis, hooking Taylor onto the zip-line. Taylor was still firing as Artemis took the gun from him.

  “Olivia,” cried Artemis. “Time to go.”

  “Take the senator,” yelled Olivia, now firing on full automatic.

  The magazine display on her rifle scrolled rapidly downward as shells poured out in a blaze of fire.

 

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