Ex-Patriots (23 page)

“Look,” St. George said. “Can I be
blunt?”

They shuffled on their feet.

“I just flew close to four hundred miles at
top speed. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and none of you is carrying
anything that would even slow me down if I decided to walk into
that building over there.” He pointed at a random office. “So could
somebody please find Captain Freedom or Agent Smith?”

They exchanged glances and mouthed a few
silent words. The gray haired soldier stepped away and turned his
attention to his radio. The first soldier gave St. George a polite
bow of his head. “It’ll just be a moment, sir.”

“Thank you.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his
flight jacket and looked around. He’d never been on a military base
before, but Krypton looked a lot like what he expected from
watching movies. Most of the buildings looked like they were
designed for function more than form, and they all felt just a few
years out of date.

Of course, everything was starting to get a
few years out of date.

St. George turned his head and noticed one of
the soldiers, the youngest one, was staring at his forehead. He
reached up and tapped the goggles. “For flying,” he said. “It can’t
hurt me, but getting a bug in your eye at a hundred and fifty miles
an hour is still pretty gross.”

All of them grinned. “It wasn’t that, sir,”
said the private. He was nineteen, tops.

“What then?”

“I just... nothing.”

“What?”

The private shrugged. “Well... I always
thought you were green. With a big fin on your head.”

St. George smiled. “That’s the Savage Dragon.
I was the Mighty Dragon.”

“Was he your partner or something?”

“No, he’s a comic book character. I’m
real.”

“St. George? That’s like, a knight, right?”
One of the other soldiers gestured with his chin. “Is that why
you’ve kinda got one of those page-boy haircuts?”

He sighed. “No, we just don’t have any good
barbers left back in Los—”

“St. George,” called Freedom. The officer
strode out of a building, towering over the woman who followed him.
The hero recognized her from the Mount.

The soldiers around St. George stepped away
and fell into a line. The officer crossed the gap in a few quick
strides and grabbed the hero’s hand in a grip that would’ve cracked
bones in a normal man. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

“Good to see you, captain.” He tried to
return the grip and realized Freedom had done that damned
macho-leverage thing to lock St. George’s fingers.

“Your people are waiting for you at Doctor
Morris’s new workshop,” said Freedom, releasing the hand. “It’s
about a ten minute walk from here if you’re up for it.”

“Sure. Good to stretch the legs after all
that flying.”

“As you were,” Freedom told the soldiers.
They snapped off a set of salutes and he turned to the woman. “I’ll
meet you back at the office, First Sergeant.”

She handed him the bundle she’d been
carrying. Then she gave a salute of her own and a quick bow of her
head to the hero.

“I’m never quite sure how things line up
between officers and enlisted,” said St. George. “Is she your
assistant or something like that?”

“First Sergeant Kennedy?” He shook his head
and gestured in a direction to walk. “Easiest way to think of it is
I’m the one in charge of the Unbreakables, but she’s the one who
runs everything.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got a small welcome gift for you,” said
Freedom. He handed over the bundle. “I noticed your jacket was a
little ragged. This is the newest Army Combat Uniform coat.
Reinforced with a triple-layer Kevlar weave. A bit more durable
than what you’ve been wearing.”

The hero shook out the coat. “Thanks.” It was
a blur of tiny squares. Someone had stitched up a velcro nametag
that said DRAGON in bold letters.

“Let me know if it doesn’t fit. Sergeant
Johnson estimated your size.” They walked in silence for a few
yards before Freedom spoke again. “I also hope you’ll accept my
apology, sir, for our hasty actions back in Los Angeles. It wasn’t
our intention—definitely not mine— to start our association by
throwing punches.”

“Tense times,” said St. George. “I guess it
wouldn’t’ve been that out of the question for someone to take a
shot in a situation like that.”

“You have no idea,” the huge officer said.
“Regardless, I am sorry, sir. We were all on edge, and it doesn’t
help it was the first serious action any of my soldiers had seen in
close to six months. It sets a bad first impression.”

“Not a lot going on out here?”

“Oh, there’s lots to do,” said Freedom. “The
proving ground is the largest military test facility in the world.
We’ve barely reclaimed a third of the sub-bases and stations here.
Even discovered two no one knew were out here. But it does get a
little...”

“Monotonous?”

He grinned. “I think that would be the word,
sir.” He raised his huge hands and flexed them into fists. “Doctor
Sorensen’s enhancements feel like a waste when we don’t get the
chance to do anything with them.”

“Yeah,” said St. George. “I know that
feeling.”

They walked for a few more yards. The white
brick buildings gave way to a series of more industrial-looking
structures. St. George caught a glimpse of the distant fence line
between two and saw sentries plodding back and forth.

“Would you mind if I asked a question,
sir?”

“I guess that depends.”

Freedom had his fingers laced behind his back
again. His eyes dropped below St. George’s chin. “What’s with the
tooth? I noticed it in Los Angeles.”

He glanced down at his lapel. “Oh, that.” He
ran his finger along the length of ivory. “Believe it or not,
that’s a demon fang.”

“Come again?

“A fang. From a demon. Honest.”

The corner of Freedom’s mouth twitched.
“Pardon my language, sir, but bullcrap.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you. If I hadn’t been
there I wouldn’t’ve believed it, either.” St. George pushed up the
sleeve of his jacket, revealing a line of ragged scars. “That’s
where it bit me. The tooth broke off in my arm.”

The captain stopped walking. “Are you
serious?”

“You ever hear of a hero called Cairax?”

“The monster man? Yes.”

“Demon man, not monster.”

“I thought Cairax was a hero.”

He stopped walking and looked up at the
officer. “Are you a religious man, captain?”

“Why do you ask, sir?”

“Because I’ve tried talking about Cairax with
a few religious people and it doesn’t always go well. We can leave
it at ‘monster’ if you like.”

“I’m comfortable with my faith, sir.”

“Okay,” said St. George with a nod. “Max, the
guy inside the demon, was a sorcerer. An honest-to-God, Harry
Potter-sorcerer. As he explained it to me, he trapped the demon
with a special medallion he made. Or in the medallion.” The hero
shrugged. “I wasn’t clear on that part. Anyway, sometimes demons
possess people and make them do evil things. He figured out a way
to possess a demon and force it to do good things.”

They started walking again while Freedom
mulled over the facts. “He died near the end of the outbreak,
didn’t he, sir?”

“Yeah, he did. But we all know dying doesn’t
mean what it used to. His ex was part of the group that attacked
the Mount last fall. Which is how I got this.” He tapped the
five-inch fang again.

“So he was... what, a zombie demon?”

“Yeah. Sounds silly, I know.”

“You beat him?”

St. George shrugged. “I cheated a bit, but
yeah.”

“And the medallion, sir? What happened to
that?”

He studied Freedom’s face. It was a firm
face, but an honest one. “Destroyed,” said St. George. “I crushed
it myself. The demon’s gone for good. So’s Max.”

The captain nodded. “Let’s hope so.”

The hero looked at him again.

“As you said, sir, dying doesn’t mean what it
used to. Your friends are in here.”

They’d reached an oversized garage. Or maybe
a small hangar. St. George held out his hand again. “Thanks for the
escort.”

“Of course, sir. I believe the colonel
arranged dinner with Doctor Morris and Stealth at twenty-thirty
hours. I’m sure you’re invited as well.”

He batted some dust from the sleeve of his
flight jacket. “I don’t think I’m dinner-ready.”

Freedom smiled. “Good thing you’ve got a new
coat then, sir,” he said. “Wash up, shake the dust out, you’ll be
fine.”

“Thanks, again.”

“One other thing. Your friends have some news
for you. We agreed it’s best they tell you, but I hope you’ll see
where we were coming from.”

“Okay,” said St. George. He looked at the
honest face again. “That doesn’t sound too ominous at all.”

* * *

St. George hefted the three hundred-pound
array of armored plates. “And you say they’ve got over a thousand
of these... what, ex-soldiers?”

“At least,” Danielle said from inside the
half-disassembled armor. “I did a sweep before we came back inside.
Four other buildings in this section of the base have the same
overpowered cooling units, and I saw two more near the far side. At
a hundred and fifty per building...” She turned her head back to
him and raised her eyebrows. “That’s a lot of exes on this side of
the fence.”

He set the back section of the armor down on
the work platform, nestling it into the foam cradle. “And this Nest
thing makes them docile?”

“It activates enough of their brain to
dominate the core behaviors which manifest, yes,” said Stealth. “Or
so Sorensen claims.” She was sketching out circuit diagrams.

“If he’s lying he did a great job convincing
the exes to fake it for him,” said Danielle.

St. George drifted into the air behind the
armor and hooked his arms under Danielle’s shoulders. He lifted her
out of the battlesuit and floated down to the ground. She shook out
her legs and arms and took a few unsteady steps.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I was only in there a few
hours. Barely had time to adjust.” She hobbled across the workshop
in her bodysuit, each step more confident, and grabbed a thick
power cable. She leaned into it, dragged it back with her, and
plugged it into a hidden socket above the armor’s hip. “This is
going to suck without Barry here. No quick recharges.”

“Another point for you to consider,” said
Stealth. She didn’t look up from her notepad.

“Where are your pistols?”

The cloaked woman shifted her head inside her
hood. St. George was looking at her. He pointed at the empty
holsters.

“They were seized upon our arrival,” she
said. “Standard military protocol for civilian guests, and by their
definitions we are civilians.”

“It doesn’t bother you? Being unarmed?”

“It does not. Why do you ask?”

“I ask because I would’ve expected not having
them to drive you into a rampage.”

She turned her attention back to her sketch.
“Colonel Shelly asked for them to be returned to me. I am
satisfied.”

He looked at Danielle. The redhead glanced up
from the armored helmet and shrugged. St. George returned the shrug
and nodded at the cable. “Where are they getting their power?”

“A large solar farm, three miles to the
north-north-west,” said Stealth. She pointed her left hand without
looking up from the diagram. “It was visible during our approach in
the Black Hawk. No doubt an Armed Forces renewable resource
project. I would estimate it provides the base with six to seven
times the electricity of our own solar resources.”

“For less than a thousand people,” said St.
George. “Not bad.”

“But twice the equipment and resources, at
least,” said Danielle. She ran a second cable from the battlesuit’s
helmet to her laptop. “It’s not bad, but not good. Definitely not
great.” A third cable ran out from the laptop to the armored spine
on the back section of the torso. The redhead’s fingers danced
across the laptop’s keyboard.

St. George peered over Stealth’s shoulder.
“Almost done?”

“I believe so,” she said.

“You did all that from memory?”

“Of course.”

“That’s kind of amazing.”

“Thank you, George.” The cloaked woman set
the diagram in front of Danielle.

The redhead stopped typing. “Did you just
thank him?”

Stealth straightened up. “Yes. What of
it?”

“What’s going on with you? You’ve never
thanked me for anything.”

“You have never paid me a compliment.”

“Oh. Yeah, fair enough.” She shrugged and
traced the circuit patterns with her eyes. “Like I said before,
it’s pretty simple. Just a monitored power source for the organic
components.”

“
From the slight variations in
the two we saw,” said Stealth, “I would reason the Nest units are
individually assembled.”

“Makes sense,” said Danielle. “They’ve got
raw materials and tools, but not much in the way of actual
manufacturing facilities.”

St. George glanced at the diagram. “So what’s
bugging you two about this? Isn’t this a good thing?”

“Perhaps,” said the cloaked woman. “However,
Cerberus and I were both struck by how simple this technology
appears to be.”

“Is that bad?”

“Maybe,” said Danielle. “It’s not like these
things do miracles, but they’re right on that edge of being
too
simple. I’m not skeptical it works because, well...” She
jerked her head at the door and the Tombs across the road. “...it
does. It’s just hard to believe something so small could do so
much. I mean, have you ever seen anything brain-related in a
hospital that didn’t need its own cart, at least? Usually its own
room?”

Her laptop sang a few bars of Wagner at her.
She muttered to herself and slid her fingertip back and forth
across the mousepad.

Stealth’s head tilted inside her hood. “Is
there a problem?”