|
|
|
|
General Uspa kept his eyes locked on those of his opponent as the two combatants circled around each other, searching for an opening. He bore a slight bruise on his right temple from the last time he had underestimated the other android’s speed; he would not be so fooled again. Uspa moved cautiously on the balls of his feet, always keeping his left hand and left foot pointed at the warrior opposite him. When the attack came, he was prepared.
Lunging forward and left, the General sidestepped a hand thrust intended for his throat. Continuing on in the direction of his defensive lunge, he brought his right knee up into the attacker’s midsection—and was rewarded with a sharp expulsion of breath. Viper-quick, Uspa shot an arm under the stunned android’s chin, across his throat. Rolling across his opponent’s back with momentum, the General’s fluid combination culminated in a wet snap as he broke the other’s neck; rolling through, he threw the now-limp figure neatly over his hip. The broken android landed suddenly at a grotesque angle, his unseeing head angled impossibly backwards. Uspa had come up to his feet in a position facing the dead form, once again in a stylized combat stance as if waiting for his next opponent.
Several of the watching soldiers crowded around the gymnasium shouted their approval of their General’s victory over the training android; very rarely were any invited to Uspa’s private training sessions, and each observer strove to memorize the rapid sequence of techniques he or she had just witnessed.
Uspa paused only momentarily before assuming a more natural posture and facing the soldiers—Captains and Majors all—he had personally invited. The onlookers came to rapt attention under his potent gaze; indeed, they had been well trained, and he couldn’t help but feel a modicum of pride in his soldiers. He nodded at them—a gesture as close to a smile as he allowed himself—before addressing the assembled men.
“As you have all seen, even a training opponent can take you by surprise—so be prepared for any tactic and adapt. When the humans arrive, they will need us to protect them. There will be vagabonds, murderers, rapists.” He invested the last word with a hiss of disdain. “These outcasts, these unhumans, will become our responsibility. We must be prepared for any…”
A preliator entering the gymnasium cut off Uspa’s speech; this training room was strictly off-limits except in cases of extreme urgency.
“Dismissed!” he barked at the soldiers. Stunned, they hesitated momentarily, looked at one another. “Move!” Uspa bellowed, and the group fled. Striding away from the corpse behind him, he met the preliator halfway just as the last of the observers was exiting the gym. The cold bowed slightly before it spoke, its synthetic voice inflectionless and dry as dust.
“The search for the missing facilitator has failed, General. Deputy Head of Security reports that one of his Watch Leaders is missing from the northwest quadrant of the outer ring. Central Services confirms that no training exercises were reported in that area.”
A brief pause from the preliator allowed Uspa a moment for the implications to sink in. An undesignated rogue…impossible!
“You are asked,” continued the cold messenger, “to report immediately to Central Services for an emergency meeting with Head of Security Letaran. A sled waits outside.”
The General dashed past the messenger, though he heard the metallic cold following him as he exited the gym. Still in a training formsuit and sweating, Uspa wasted no time. Tactical responses and emergency scenarios played through his mind as he rushed along hallways, past humming servitors and military personnel, towards the front entrance. Not even breaking his stride as he gave commands for the following guard to relay to Uspa’s senior officers, he was speeding towards the Central Services headquarters before the crumpled form in the gymnasium had gone completely cold.
There was a brief delay in meeting with Head Letaran, so Uspa took the opportunity to request a clean uniform from one of the servitors. He was properly dressed and clenching his hands in anticipation when he was finally summoned. Though he was technically Letaran’s superior, Uspa accorded the Head of Security a high level of autonomy such that, to all outward appearances, security matters were handled outside the jurisdiction of the military. Being forced to wait for the Head, however, prodded Uspa to think that perhaps a public rejoining of the two spheres of defense was in order in the near future.
Shaking his head at his own shallow emotions, Uspa let himself be led towards the main office by the young woman who’d been sent to deliver his summons. She was lithe and alert, indicative of the successful training regiment Uspa himself had redesigned centuries earlier. He watched the compact motion of the muscles of her back and hips, emphasized rather than obscured by the form-hugging uniform she wore, as they traversed a series of short corridors. Stopping and standing to one side of an open portal, the young woman motioned for him to go through. Nodding his thanks, General Uspa entered the rather spartan office of Olek Letaran. He heard the metallic click of the privacy door sliding down and locking behind him, but ignored the implications as he approached the large man now standing behind a polished obsidian desk.
Letaran’s grin was often described as infectious by those around him; Uspa found its frank dishonesty cloying and unsavory. The General preferred that business remained business, so he ignored the man’s smile and moved to stand in front of the desk. Uspa stood at formal attention, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. The big man—corpulent rather than muscular—waited a few moments, expecting Uspa to take his seat. Seeing that the General remained standing and silent, the Head’s smile flickered briefly in barely concealed irritation. He ran his fingers through his short blond hair, a gesture Uspa recognized correctly as irritation rather than anxiety.
“Sit please, Arak. You look so uptight standing at attention. We are equals, you and I.” The muscles of Uspa’s jaw clenched tight, but the General refrained from setting the Head of Security straight on that particular issue. Finally relenting, he sat in the provided chair. His eyes flicked over the office, and he noted sardonically the affected simplicity of the office. Letaran was studious in his appearance, both personal and situational. Everything about the man and his office bespoke efficiency—everything, perhaps, except the translucent black desk. That single transgression into opulence provided a true insight into the nature of the man, something that Uspa had long ago observed and filed away for future use. The current head of Security believed in his superiority, reveled in his position of authority as if it had not simply been accorded him by the creators.
His smile somewhat more relaxed, Letaran offered Uspa a drink from the bottle of maple whiskey perched on the corner of his desk. Uspa refused, of course, so Letaran had no choice than to broach the subject of the summons.
“Arak, thanks for coming so quickly. I realize you’d scheduled a high-level hand- to-hand combat demonstration for the military boys in Mission, but I knew you’d want to hear about this as soon as possible.” The man paused, his smile suddenly gone. “One of my men was murdered.”
Uspa was taken aback. “A training accident, surely. One of the designates…” He did not finish the thought; designated rogues did not kill, though some had seen fit to injure or capacitate their fellow androids while obeying the peculiar strictures of their assignments.
“It was no accident, General. I believe that it may be a direct result of the transmission-related malfunctions.” Letaran leaned forward, his fingers steepled in front of his face as if prefacing his next comment with certitude. “Reports indicate that the murderer is, in fact, the missing facilitator: Max Haiden.”
Uspa listened intently as Letaran outlined the findings of his security forces. An empty grav-rail transport had been found near an outer-ring exit ramp late last night. Blood had been found inside the transport as well as on the ground below, indicating that the injured occupant had fallen—or jumped—down to the tunnel floor. More blood was discovered along a trail generally northwards, heading into a stretch of forest used primarily for training purposes. One of Letaran’s Deputies had questioned a training Watch Commander, but none of his patrols had found anything unusual. Later this morning, one of the Watch Leaders failed to report in.
Letaran leaned forward slightly, as if emphasizing his words. “An extensive search of the patrol area to which he was stationed turned up this.” The Head of Security touched a hidden control under the lip of his desk. An overhead projector displayed the sprawled corpse of an android. The body wore no uniform, but Uspa knew it would be the missing Watch Leader. Eyes open in death, the face bore a permanent look of horror which stemmed, no doubt, from the violence that had crushed the man’s throat.
Letaran went on to summarize what had been found at the location: evidence of a struggle, the faint Higgs field signature indicating that the humbike had been ridden away by Haiden. Uspa heard the words, but his mind was already planning his next course of action.
“We have a problem, it seems,” Uspa spoke over his steepled fingers, interrupting the Head of Security in mid-sentence. “Place your division on full alert; I will consult with the Chancellor before I issue your commands.” Uspa stood up. Open- mouthed, the other man was clearly startled at Uspa’s interruption.
“Well…that is to say…”
“I will be in touch with you shortly when I have spoken to Spar,” Uspa forestalled him. “It might be a good idea to start out by doubling all patrols and to set up a perimeter around Mission. This Haiden will be unpredictable, and he may attempt to re-enter the city.”
Without waiting for a response, Uspa turned on his heel and exited the office, leaving a bewildered Security Head, recovering from his stunned silence, to begin relaying commands to his subordinates. Only fists clenched at his sides belied the death-like calm of Uspa’s stony visage.
Copyright © 2004-2005 Jay and David Steele. All rights reserved.
Recent Comments