The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (41 page)

Conferring with her two Hunters, she ordered her Troopers to remove the chains from their prisoners. Four returned to the basement elevator and pried away long metal strips from the outside of each set of double doors. They came away in several pieces, all passed down the line of waiting Troopers to the closed doors.

Each chain from the prisoner’s throats came apart at disconnect-links. As Hunters blocked the closed door, a single Trooper securely fastened the recycled chain around the door’s opening lever and stretched it back the twelve plus inches from the handle to the hallway. When the Hunters cleared the alcove, one section of elevator plate slid horizontally across the opening. Deftly, a Hunter wound the slim chain around the metal from the elevator and tied it off instead of using a disconnect-link. It did not need to be a permanent part of the building, just tight.

The short chain, the elevator metal across the opening—an effective horizontal “T,” its foot chained to the door handle, prevented the door from opening in. Now, no one inside would snatch another of her troopers or pelt them with stones.

The next door did not take as long.

Hunters charged the open doorway, shields at ready. A Trooper followed close behind pulling the door closed. Each alcove in turn received the chain and steel treatment. It took a lot of time, but they could finally see their goal just ahead.

A small fighting force of Others had detained them just long enough.

The written history of this day contains a puzzle. Who was it, the Builder army or The Blue army that committed the most critical error? Had The Blue locked itself into an impossible position? Had The Queen and her Battle Group taken overlong reaching the express elevator? Whatever the true story, it will never be known since there are no survivors. At least none came forward—a legend with no witnesses is more valuable.

Within hours of the battle, a two-story hologram appeared on the marquee of Number 3 Building—a stark black and white image of a small female in tattered battle armor hunched under the weight of a legless Hunter. He was clinging to her back with the stub of one arm, the other holding high a spear signaling victory over piles of Builder Troopers.

On the building across from the first, a second hologram joined the first—an old woman pinned to a wall with spears, spitting her blood on a Queen and her Hunters as they killed her.

This day-old memory almost cut David in two. The fear again, no longer crippling as it had been when he was young, but threatening to paralyze just the same. He knew his Crosser training had made sure he could protect himself against the best, regardless of his small size. It made no difference; the second hologram stroked his inner fires. Only planning and execution kept his cancer...fear...buried.

When David was young, Doctor Painter-Richards recognized his fear and the added dimension it offered. She withdrew him from army service after he completed the required amount of hours and started new training.

Fear allowed him to recognize discontent in anyone, opening an avenue to bend them into any shape he desired. Apparently, he had a gift. In less than a month, he led the small cadre of like males and females in classes dissecting the process of the human mind. They joined him as equals because he recognized each of them brought a unique understanding of their ancestors and the triumph of survival.

With their input, David perfected the art of invading the soul of another.

In a chance encounter, he himself became victim to the quick mind of a young girl. David had gone in search of Doctor Painter-Richards in the hospital wards. Directions sent him to intensive care where the young girl attacked and won in less than a second. When she finished planting the contents of her limited experience, she left only a plea.

Please save us!

He reached down to touch her, a tender moment intending to extend his support. Her cold, long dead flesh made him flinch away. She left a single name imprinted on his soul—Winnie.

From then on, he was in constant contact with Winnie, the driving force behind the Little People’s battle against the Wicca. Following secret meetings in rubble surrounding both their homes, they made plans. The first to bear fruit warned of an impending Builder attack designed to crush his Crossers. His troops were waiting.

The second, a Hunters plan to occupy a new building some distance away. Added tidbits of information obtained with bribes, along with snippets pilfered from unguarded thoughts and he hatched a plan quickly approved by now Prime Minister Painter-Richards.

His plan included input from a trusted Wicca Leader, Sala, and a Hunter named Yates. As with any plan, he scrapped most of it with the debacle encountered in building One Nine. It was the first time he committed troops of The Blue. This informal army included anyone who felt they needed a new life. All in all, an endless supply of individual souls willing to die for anything better.

One benefit was the addition of two Builder Battle Groups who wanted to defect to the Blue. David helped them stage a battle scene that would appear as if they had met their demise at the hands of the Ergots. They brought no weapons or armor but plenty of supplies.

The scrapping of the plan itself led him to one name, Brody-1. He followed his intuition and joined the mission to rescue Sala. Brody-1, a giant of a woman and her reputation across the Builders community, would be the single difference needed to take and hold Number 5 Building—once he enhanced her reputation to legend status.

Anyone can tell lies with enough guile for the masses to believe. He was not dealing with the average person. He must convince over one hundred politicians who had more practice with this type of lie. He started with the nurses in Number 2 Building. Everyone in the five buildings knew this was the start of the rumor pipeline—it was and always would be.

David planted stories of Brody-1’s physical powers, her heroic exploits in and around building One Nine and her promotion to Security Commander by the ultimate Builder symbol, Mistress Ann. No one person could do everything he credited to her. He had what he needed, a genuine female hero.

Now, here he was regretting his decision because of this female who he had known less than a week. He buried his fear. His plans had never failed completely and neither would this one. Yes, he would second guess—and third and fourth and fifth—continuing on as always, ready with a thousand alternate plans each soon discarded in favor of another.

Commander Brody, in the name of The Blue, would occupy Number 5 Building today; all of the Builders government would be under their control.

He walked “
Across the Street
” toward Number 5 Building. He passed the Holes leading to the old subway below his feet. The Builders troops no longer maintained the blockade of his people. He had an escort once he reached his destination. Quickly following through the garage and up a flight of steps, he found a long hallway and an extremely comfortable room where his escort left him to himself.

The room was more than comfortable, opulent a more apt description, the best available anywhere would be another. Leave it to the politicians to have only the finest when dozens starved each day. A single comfortable chair with what appeared to be wings, sat positioned against a wall hung with tapestries. Two couches angled, one end facing away from the chair, two seats of honor closest to the chair. A simple place for one woman, Mistress Ann, to hold court while sitting comfortably with her guests, all of them bathed in upholstery matching the ebony blue of her Superior’s robes.

Now he had his own dilemma, two women. He removed the computer printout from his packet, delivered by currier, just as he was preparing to rescue Director Sala. He had read it briefly and would deal with the opportunity when this was finished.

Memory of his casual lover, Jutes, had drifted away when he met the giant woman. He had a decision to make. Would he keep Jutes or Commander Brody—
no, you cannot have both.

In the center of the wall, across from the winged chair, a large Vid-screen shouted for attention. Only the occupant of the single chair would have a clear view, her guests forced to turn sideways to the screen. Mistress Ann would view her underlings at length while remaining unobserved. That woman had more than a little psyche training.

Happily, David eased himself down to luxury—
oh my, it fits.
As if on cue, the Vid-screen commanded his attention when Sala walked from the council chamber’s open door to the lectern. He eyed the row of chairs he had ordered placed against the wall—too many, or not enough? If they did not work, it did not matter, there was always another plan.

Ready for her stolen role as Leader of Leaders, Sala, resplendent in her shocking blue scarf, marched across the floor and up two short steps to assume her position at the podium.

With five minutes until roll call, we have quite a few empty seats,
she thought. Her internal “get even” grin was about to spring on them.

She banged the microphone three times, Mistress Ann’s valuable lesson.

“Roll call, in five minutes,” her clear and precise voice rang through the hall.

For some of those inside, hearing the five-minute warning was new. Following the example made by more experienced members, they took their seats. Even the few old timers had no clue what was up, yet political instinct knew when to take its place.

“Two minutes,” echoed with another pained squeal from the microphone.

Everywhere, the sound of concerned shuffling on padded seats began to invade the silence. This was uncomfortable for these women: stuck in their seats...adhering to a rigid timetable...no guards protecting the door...what next?

“Call to Order.” Leader Sala banged the Wicca’s gavel three times, the vicious strokes delivered more pain to the lecterns wounded microphone. It never failed to amaze her when the members of her government could not get to work on time even when they lived in the same building. Today it would cost them.

The Sergeant at Arms walked to each tier repeating, “Call to Order.”

Sala checked the Leaders seats behind her. Yes, twelve of thirteen overstuffed chairs contained two white-robed leaders from each of the five buildings and the two permanent members. The Coven at least was complete.

Bet this is the first time they all arrived on time,
she thought, giving then no credit. She had made sure each received a warning call.

Making the fidgeting assembly wait again, she slowly surveyed the Council floor. Five tiered rows of comfortable bleachers complete with back supports. Only one female Superior, dressed in the flowing indigo robe required by her position, sat in front of Number 5 Building’s limited representatives. Twelve council members represented each of the five buildings: with their Superior, thirteen should be their number. There were too many gaping holes, too many colors and not enough members—in any of the rows.

“Order has been restored Leader,” the Sergeant at Arms said as she returned.

Sala removed her scarf—how she ached for the woman who had demanded the gift of her crossed lightning bolts. Draping several bright blue layers over the long-suffering microphone, she leaned down and spoke softly to the Sergeant. “Please stand where you are, you will not be needed at the door.”

The Sergeant started to protest, took one look at the hooded stare of her Leader of Leader’s, and thought
best to follow orders.

“A pleasant day to you all, as you can see, we have done things a little differently this morning. However, bad news always comes first. Unfortunately, the 1st of One, the respected Mistress Ann passed away this morning...she will be missed.”

Obviously, that could not be the case since not one comment escaped the limited assembly. Sala heard murmuring from the seated Leaders behind her as the “next in line” received quick congratulations from those within reach.

“Enough mourning for now,” Sala said, unable to resist that barb. “Before her death, Mistress Ann left with me her vote for the replacement of the 4th of Four who unfortunately fell from the top of her building.”

Glancing up to the larger of the Vid-screens that lined the wall, she checked the time. Six minutes had ticked away since Call to Order. Excellent timing if she did say so herself.

As if choreographed to some strange rhythm, the double doors banged open. Troopers in strange brown uniforms prodded a knot of political stragglers through the doors, then to the waiting chairs. They had trouble sitting with arms bound behind their backs. Those Troopers formed up between the wall and row of chairs—their bright blue helmets gleaming dully under the artificial light flooding the room.

A giant of a woman, dressed in the battle armor of Number 1 Building’s Security Commander, entered the hall followed by two...no four Hunters—four female Hunters. All five wore a bright blue scarf around their throats. The last two deliberately threw the double doors closed with a bang: hell of a statement.

“It seems the members sitting against the wall were tardy. Too bad, they will not be missed.”

“We have only one item of business before us. Select a replacement for our departed 4th of Four.” Sala motioned to her new Security Commander.

Commander Brody covered the distance to the seated Wicca in four quick strides, two of her Hunters jogging to keep up. Splitting off rapidly, the two remaining Hunters marched quickly to each side of the 5th of Five, the only Superior in the room. It did not take much to see this was not protection for the senior woman, but guards keeping her in place.