Ascendance, p.6
Ascendance, page 6
“Yes, you! I’m coming for you!” the local shrieked and he shoved aside a chair to emphasize his point.
Fear starting to rise, Mitchell gestured to himself. “Me? What’d I do?”
“Filthy lil’ corporate rat!”
A thousand excuses or statements flashed through Mitchell’s mind as he struggled to conjure something that might pacify the enraged customer. Sadly, his mouth never got to vocalize any of them before the man’s fist smashed into him.
He’d been punched throughout his life, between training or being bullied. But all the hits he had endured seemed reserved, as though the aggressor never wanted to go too far. No such restriction existed with this blow.
Vision blurring, Mitchell crumbled to the dirt, struggling to make sense of the pain now searing through his face. He might have wanted to cry if his body had had time to process that desire. However, it never got the chance as the crazed local grabbed hold of his ballistic vest and hauled him up against the wall. Though the man appeared gaunt, his grip was like iron.
“Oh, god. You’re strong,” Mitchell managed to stammer as he struggled against the patron’s hold.
With a snarl the villager snaked his hand up toward Mitchell’s throat, hot rancid breath venting out between the man’s bloody lips. The danger was obvious, and the only defense Mitchell could think of was the pistol holstered at his thigh. Given his attacker’s state of mind, it was more than likely he intended to vent his rage on Mitchell’s windpipe.
Still fighting against his captor, Mitchell reached out for his sidearm.
“Gun!” someone screamed.
Both Mitchell and his attacker froze, glancing between each other before turning their attention elsewhere in the bar, where another customer was leveling a pepperbox revolver at Perkins. There was a mixed reaction amongst the other locals, a few giddy at their newfound power over the corporate officers, while others backed away as they realized this scuffle had become lethal.
Perkins calmly held up her hands. “Is that how you want to play this, mate?”
Mitchell couldn’t see the face of the armed patron, but they didn’t seem like they had any interest in backing down. They appeared to be enjoying their current position and, with a fiendish giggle, their finger tightened on the weapon’s trigger.
The exo-frame might have heightened Perkins’ strength and speed, but she still couldn’t outrun bullets, especially in the enclosed mess that used to be the bar. In that instant, Mitchell realized his hand had reached his own holster.
There were seconds before Perkins would receive the business end of a gun and in those scant moments Mitchell was plagued by a dark realization that was sure to trouble him in the coming days: did he care if she got shot? He didn’t want to be on this venture to begin with and if someone killed the leader of the SRU Taskforce, perhaps the company would abandon the mission, leaving it up to the Dragoon. Also, surely the entire hamlet knew about the brawl taking place in the saloon by now. Where was the Dragoon?
As if summoned by his thoughts, the super-soldier exploded through the doors of the tavern.
It took everyone by surprise; the gunman casting a quick sidelong look at the demigod a millisecond before the Dragoon charged him. The weight of the armor alone would have dogged a normal human, but no hindrance was visible as he crossed the gap with such speed and ferocity that Mitchell couldn’t help but compare it to videos he’d seen of wolves running down prey. On impulse, the armed villager tried to spin to engage this new and more lethal threat. He never got the chance.
With the force of an oncoming train, the demigod’s armored fist connected with the gunman’s chin, sending a crimson spray of blood into the air as the man’s body was hurled upwards as though he were trying to transcend to another astral plane. For a fleeting instant, the local’s form hung suspended in midair, a heavenly offering encircled by a scarlet halo. That was before it came crashing down with such a nauseating crunch that everyone grimaced.
Seething, the Dragoon looked over the humans. “Look at you! Like children! I leave you alone for a moment and you try and kill each other. Pathetic!”
A collective sense of humiliation overcame the bar and without a word, the villager fighting Mitchell released his hold, even going so far as to brush some dirt out the officer’s hair. Only the woodswoman was unfazed, and with a haughty sneer, she rose from her seat.
“They were merely trying to express themselves.”
The Dragoon’s visor turned to regard her and for a frightful moment Mitchell was worried the super-soldier was going to hurt her for challenging him. He didn’t know what the typical etiquette was for demigods, but he’d heard enough stories to know they weren’t fond of humans even attempting to confront them.
“I almost forgot. Humanity’s favorite language: violence.”
It was said with such venom that Mitchell felt guilt for even considering to leverage his pistol to save himself or Perkins. He didn’t consider himself a brutal person, having only ever fired his weapons in training and yet only a few moments ago he’d endeavored to take someone’s life. Did that make him the same as the fallen gunman?
Gesturing to the now demolished entry, the Dragoon addressed the corporate team. “Fall in line. We’re leaving.”
Taking a moment to dust himself off and collect his cap, Mitchell turned back to the woodswoman, entranced as ever by her spirited demeanor and the glittering medallions adorning her braids.
“It-it was real nice to meet you,” he stammered, unsure of what else to say in this situation.
The woman’s face softened, once more taking on that flirtatious tone. “You can call me Reika. And don’t you be a stranger now, little lamb. You come back and see me.”
Struggling against a boyish grin, Mitchell headed toward what was left of the door, shooting one final look back at her before he ducked out of the tavern.
As quick as they arrived, Kirkland pulled the Dye-Tech team out of Grantham, leaving a trail of exhaust as the trucks ascended into the hills overlooking the village. The sun was beginning its descent as the human officers turned to him for their new orders.
“We’ll maintain distance and observe,” Kirkland said. “If our quarry is operating in the area, they may be using the town as a staging area or resupply. Unless of course they’ve gone to ground.”
Perkins tapped the side of her rifle. “Why don’t we just make the villagers tell us? Between you and my team, there’s no way they can hope to resist us. Few bullets here, few burnt shacks there. Works wonders making people talk.”
A shudder rippled down Kirkland’s spine as the human’s words resurrected memories he had spent so long trying to purge. Names of places so obscure he was not sure anyone else amongst the living would still remember them. How much innocent blood had he spilled in those forsaken lands, and for what purpose? The eternal echo of those screams caused his jaw to clench as he labored to silence them. He was a Dragoon, he reminded himself, as though that would magically remedy the trauma.
“We observe. That is all until we have a better grasp of the situation. No raids and certainly no bar brawls,” he ordered.
Most of the SRU members groaned, and the one named Nguyen apologetically held up his hands. “Hey, those bogans started it first!”
Kirkland considered replying when he noticed Mitchell sitting on the periphery, a half-witted smile on his pale face. The officer appeared to not be grinning at anything, staring off into space with a delighted expression. It was enough for Kirkland to wonder if the human had gone and lost his mind.
“Set up a perimeter! I want constant observation of the village. Tag any persons of interest and mark where they go. We need leads!” Kirkland announced, making sure to snap Mitchell out of his apparent daydreaming.
Perkins waved a hand at the other Dye-Tech employees.
“You heard him! Snap to!”
To their credit, the SRU complied with haste, each member devoted to a task without being told. Shokri pulled a series of small containers from the back of a truck and, in rapid fashion, emptied their contents to assemble an electronic spotting scope, which he mounted on a tripod for whoever wished to survey the settlement below.
As if not to be outdone, Nguyen began deploying sensor rods around their makeshift encampment while Temur unloaded a wheeled drone off a vehicle, a control visor now clipped over her eyes. With the state of technology being what it was, it would not be a struggle for a company to fully automate the machine. However, that would go against the Dragoon edict that no robotic system could adapt and learn, since a human element was always required to keep the drone from falling into Taboo.
Perkins oversaw most of this activity while glaring at Mitchell till the orange-haired man realized she expected him to help in some manner. Hesitant, he toddled over toward the SRU as if they were wild beasts.
“Come on, Mitchell! You bloody dawdler!”
Kirkland watched the exchange with disinterest, wondering if he should send Mitchell home before they got too involved with their assignment. Would he survive the trek back by himself? Did it even matter? At this moment, he was a liability and seemed to bring more harm than good.
Nguyen paused in his work to call back to his colleagues, “Bet our boy is all distracted thinking about that local filly!”
Color flushed over Mitchell’s face and he looked down at his boots as though the secrets of the universe might be hidden there. With a chuckle, Perkins placed a hand on the younger officer’s shoulder, directing him toward one of the trucks.
“Listen here, boy. Fillies like that seem like a good idea at the time but let me tell you, they’re a one-way ticket to getting your jam bags amputated. You want to keep your jam bags, don’tcha?”
Mitchell squeezed his face into a look of confusion. “Yes?”
“Course you do! Now stop mooning about and get to work!”
The next few minutes passed peacefully, the colorful rays of twilight piercing through the trees only to fade into darkness. Nocturnal insects took up their chorus and were accompanied by the distant howl of what Kirkland could only assume was some canine. Even with his helmet’s filters he could still make out familiar scents that stoked a nostalgic fire in his heart. The sights, the sounds, the smells: they were all ingredients of his upbringing.
Still appearing to oversee the efforts of the humans, Kirkland began toggling through maps on his HUD, searching for some information regarding his boyhood home.
Unlike the more civilized corners of the world, the Northern Reach was poorly charted and studied, whole communities disappearing to the likes of weather, plague, and mutants years before anyone made cartographic note of it. It was all a business decision. The maps were the works of a zaibatsu and if there was no financial gain in following the status of a backwater village, then it was not going to reach the top of anyone’s desk. However, most citizens of the territory preferred that; freedom valued above all else in this remote region. This, after all, was why so many had immigrated here in the first place.
Kirkland was not sure what had brought his parents out here, he had not been around long enough to ask them. They were simple folk who cherished the land and the fellowship it brought about. Each morning they would greet the sunrise with a thankful mindset and a small prayer to their deity. It was such a foreign approach compared to the restless existence of a corporate acolyte or even the belligerent and elitist manner of a Dragoon. The longer he pondered it the more he had to wonder how his mother would look upon him now if she knew all he had done in the service of his Clan. Would she reject him? Nothing but an armored devil in the shape of her lost son.
She had been a kind woman, loving and dutiful to her relatives and neighbors. It could not have been a carefree life, only made more difficult by her inability to give her husband a child. Their faith revered motherhood above all, likening it to how God herself had given birth to the earth. For years she had languished in her infertility and for years she had ventured into the wilderness to pray in the ancient shrines that lay secreted in the trees. This persisted till her heart was nearly broken from sorrow. Then one night she returned from the forest with a babe in her arms.
No one knew where this child had come from, but the people were quick to proclaim him a miracle. A blessing given to this woman for her devotion and piety. Time and again, she explained she had found the infant squalling near one of the shrines, perhaps the abandoned offspring of a desperate soul or the forgotten property of a slaver. This only strengthened the notion that the boy was a gift from God herself. Content and warmed by this explanation, she named him Flynn and raised the child as her own.
“I’ve got movement!” Temur called out, pulling Kirkland back to the present.
The SRU officer was kneeling beside one of the trucks, her hands shifting in the air as she manipulated the drone that stood a few meters away from her. With a faint whir of receptors, the machine scanned the darkness of the woods, its integrated turret swiveling back and forth as it tracked some unseen threat.
Kirkland peered out into the gloom, his HUD switching through various vision assistive modes to spot their guest. Nothing showed itself. Not from low-light, not from thermal. Was there even anyone out there?
“What you got, Temur?” Perkins asked as she edged around another vehicle, rifle sighted out into the forest.
With most of Temur’s face hidden beneath the control visor she wore, it was impossible to make out her expression, but her body language alone made it apparent she was frustrated.
“I can’t get a fix! It’s like I’m trying to track…a ghost.”
It was enough for Kirkland to ready his own weapon and the rest of the SRU team joined him, Mitchell eventually mimicking them when he realized they expected him to do so. Fingers danced along triggers as each person waited breathless for any sign of this invisible adversary.
5
Mitchell could feel his hands shaking as they waited for their ghostly visitor to make an appearance. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins or the weight of his submachine gun, neither mattering as he fantasized about being back home: cozied up where there were no psychotic murderers hunting him or angry villagers trying to pummel him; safe and content, listening to his mother complain about something mundane, like how her prawns were not as large as she liked. The more he envisioned it, the more he was transported there. The comforting scent of agarwood tickling his nose even though he knew it was impossible.
“Steady,” Perkins breathed, and Mitchell could hear her voice echoing inside his head as the wetware in his brain synced itself to their communications signal.
The weight of their weapons made no visible impact on the SRU, and the Dragoon was so motionless that he could have passed for a statue. While he’d never had any interest in security before, Mitchell wished he was better at it now. It might make this whole experience a bit more survivable.
Temur leveled a hand toward the trees, the drone’s turret wheeling in the same direction.
“I think I’ve got them! I’ve got them!”
Chest struggling to breathe from the mounting anxiety, Mitchell tightened his hands around his gun even as his muscles burned from the weight. Would he even get a chance to fire? If this was the same foe who’d attacked the depot, they’d hit so hard and fast that all he’d get to do was toss his weapon and run. Although, this time he was with a Dragoon. Surely whoever this adversary was, the super-soldier could handle them?
Shokri altered his aim, as if hunting for what Temur had spotted.
“I’m not seeing shit.”
“It’s there.”
A tremor wormed its way down Mitchell’s leg and for a terrifying moment he was worried he’d collapse. If he made it out of here, he’d make sure his mother addressed the woefully inadequate training the average security officer received. None of this was covered. Well, that he recalled. Maybe it was one of the classes he’d napped through?
“Show yourself!” Perkins ordered. “Otherwise, I’m a give you some new holes to breathe through.”
Silence was the initial response, and Mitchell bit his lip as he waited for the elusive killer to emerge from the forest. In his delusions, it made sense they’d stalked him, somehow tracking him this entire time to silence the only surviving witness to their deeds. The prospect was terrifying. There was still so much he wanted to do in this life.
Their intruder appeared a minute later, and everyone’s weapon lowered as they tried to make sense of what they saw.
Much to Mitchell’s relief, it wasn’t the cloaked assassin at all but a small boy, easily only six years old. His clothes were stained and threadbare, hanging loosely from his scrawny frame. Almost stupefied, he stared at the group of armed individuals eyeing him with suspicion. Mitchell couldn’t help but feel for the child.
Nguyen snickered at Temur. “You couldn’t track a kid? Or was it he’s just so skinny the sensors confused him for a squirrel?”
“Very funny. Anyone getting any electronic readings from him? Is he strapped?”
The Dragoon spoke up, Mitchell noticing that the demigod’s rifle was still trained on the gaunt child.
“No electronics detected, but maintain your guard. He still could be dangerous.”
“Maybe we should just shoot him?” Shokri suggested, and Perkins appeared to be mulling his proposal.
Some part of Mitchell’s brain screamed for him to do something. To protect the boy before a band of gun-toting thugs used him for target practice. This wasn’t the type of work that corporate security was meant for. Their training and fieldwork entailed learning to bust punks or subdue malcontents, not shoot up children. For a fleeting second, he almost vocalized this before clamping his mouth back shut. No, he’d keep this to himself. It wasn’t his place to question his superiors. Training had made that paramount.
