True Heroes (39 page)

              Both attackers moaned from their backs as Caleb stood straight and smiled; the carrot, a few strands of hazel hair sticking out from under her costume, looked a little befuddled. Her hands quickly went to her face as blinders for a horse, causing Caleb to be concerned. “Are you hurt?” His standard question received no response, worrying him more. ‘You knocked the knife away. Perhaps he got her a little but she’s fine.’

              “…it’s fine….”

              She began whispering too softly for Caleb to hear with his own ear. ‘Maybe I should lift her head, check for myself?’

              ‘Touching an Asperger’s patient: yeah, great idea. Be smart. Why are you so concerned?’

              He dropped down to a knee, trying to look into her tightly closed, downturned eyes to see what was wrong, his ears inadvertently catching her whispers more clearly, “Their faces are fine. Two eyes to see, a nose to smell, teeth to smile. It’s all there.”

              Caleb’s demeanor turned playful to alleviate her mood. “Actually, you knocked the crap out of his face. Looks pretty bloody—”

              “No! His face is fine!”

              Her shouts were directly to his face as her hands shoved at his chest before going back to blinding the world. He backed away, his power activating and controlling his march away. ‘You’ve had enough fun for one night.’ His body churned slowly around the corner from the dancing carrot, soon finding the distance between them too far to traverse.

---

              “Twenty-eight…twenty-nine…thirty.”

              The weighted bar, simulating two-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds of weight, heavily clanged to the steel holder. Powdered hands, merely seconds later, seized a different bar, situated and anchored to seven-hundred-and-seventy-pounds, and pulled it to their owner’s hips. The man began his count again until his muscles begged for relief ten repetitions later; he did not oblige them.

              His exercises brought him quickly under a spotlight, white-coated men focusing on the smallest peaks and largest lulls on the black pad as he lifted the weighted set for a final time. The few sitting men inside the room above ran their muttered opinions around the table until a shadowed figure leaned forward. “Good enough?”

              Major Howard looked on with a slight smile and a freshly straightened uniform. “Roll it out, batter him up, and put him in the fryer. Be informed everyone, I want this first test to be our last. Time is life here.”

              They all bothered with a nod and scattered to their preparations. A doctor named Ancel clicked open the thickened glass between rooms and called to the sweating man. “Stephen,” he called with thick, German-drenched syllables. He held out a water bottle as bait to which Stephen swarmed. “You impressed a lot of people up here with your display of supplement-flexing.”

              Stephen smiled and chuckled between cooling drinks. “Bite me. I do what I have to. I’d love to see your old ass do that kind of weight.”

              “We Germans are thinkers, not doers.”

              “Tell that to the Jews.”

              A crate rolled into the room as they smiled. Stephen walked to the crate with his chest held high and Doctor Ancel close behind. Several more guard-types came into the room and split the crate along the axles, revealing the apple of the militarized branch’s eye. ‘About damn time. I’ve been itching to take that baby out of the package for a week now. They would’ve had to tranquilize me if this was another week away. If he was another week away. That itch he’s rubbed into my genes has got to be scratched. I don’t care if they think its rage or personal, I’m going to bash his skull into the pavement.’

              “Are you paying attention at all?”

              Stephen answered without truly losing the image of Caleb in his mind. “Nope. Just admiring.”

              His eyes began to pass over the assembling machina. The gleaming suit came into his iris piece by piece; both shin guards, then the forearm gauntlet-gloves, into the slab of silver that would cover his right shoulder and half of his chest. The visor and backpack came last from the case, all lain straight. “Well, start paying attention. All of these pieces are bulletproof fibers sewn together for the highest conductivity possible. Signals will be sent faster than brain synapse can fire through these connecting tubes and into your intrinsic field, which we will create and monitor. Inside each piece is a small reactor that collects our energy and mixes it with your body’s natural energy to create the field—”

              “Looks like an old Roman suit.”

              “Perceptive.” The guards began fitting the pieces to Stephen’s body. They were strapped quickly, and his vision soon went blank as they fitted the silver half-mask over his head. He was blind for a second before the red visor flickered to life, and his senses were suddenly sharper. “Connect everything before powering up. The forearm pieces automatically thread thin wires into your blood stream when activated so be prepared.” Ten separate spots suddenly stung on Stephen’s arms. “This will allow your natural strength to be multiplied by hundreds instead of the suit multiplying itself.”

              “So I’m going to bleed dry while this thing charges me up?”

              “Not a bit,” Ancel said, looking cankerous and begrudged. He flipped open a panel on the shoulder. “This will act as a heart for the suit in that it will evenly distribute the field across the body as it is being produced. It does this with protoplasm. Your blood just makes this symbiotic, not parasitic.”

              “How is it increasing brain function?”

              “Let’s power it up and you’ll see how.”

              Everyone nearly jumped back as Stephen’s shins and forearms began to feel warmer. The visor flicked off again as the warm parts began to cool slightly, and then slightly more until they and his body felt chilled. His senses felt new to the world; with a first gasp and a fluttered sight, Stephen felt a sweeping sound from his brow, lifting the sheets of misted sleep that his humanity had held for a very long time. People moved, now, slowly enough to travel back in time: they de-evolved before his eyes. They became sloths: lazed and lacking attributes accredited to even semi-sapiens. He could soon see their imperfect, craterous faces; like whipped, skinless dogs they smiled in fear. Doctor Ancel—‘He’s so slow now,’—lifted a twenty-five pound weight to Stephen’s chest. His effort was minimal; snatching and hurling the small poundage through the warehouse, denting the opposite wall. ‘And this is where they fall to ants: the lowest of the ruled.’

              “Easy, we’re not pushing it full go all at once. How do you feel, boy?”

              Stephen half-turned to the shorter man. “Powerful. When do we ship out?”

              “Well you listen up now.” Major Howard waltzed carelessly towards the tall-standing Stephen. “You’ll have three disadvantages: you can’t extend your energy from your body, you have a power source, and you’re gonna be running for revenge. We’ll be monitoring you and your vitals closely from here, and if we see the rule of two coming up, we’re pulling you out.”

              “The rule of two?” The suit powered down and Stephen carefully pulled the half-mask from his face. “Be a little more obvious. If you’re worried about me dying don’t send me out on the assignment, and if you’re worried about him prying the suit off me, make a better suit. Let me loose, and I promise I’ll bring back something you guys can use.”

              The Major smiled casually. “We leave tomorrow. Bright and early.”

-
         
                            -                            -             

              The final bite of a delicious pie slid down Caleb’s throat before being nearly regurgitated by a belch. His short burst of peace and feast had a foreseeable end, but he would enjoy every second before. He adjusted his sunglasses—‘Better safe than sorry,’—and left his eyes to wander behind their protection. The fountain area was an interesting place; the nearly religious monolith twenty-feet away gave the square an illusionary tranquility. There was nothing resembling peace on the face of the passing crowds, their suits not moving from the wind and their ears plugging with voices far from them. Caleb kept all his power contained as he sat and simply wondered, ‘What’s going through their minds? They smile, some frown, countless separate focal points that dismantle symmetry, and yet, it’s still poetic.’

              ‘Why do you care about their simple minds?’

              ‘I admire them.’ Caleb kept his gaze unfocused. ‘No matter how ordered everything is in their lives, it’s truly nothing but chaos. It’s just me, you, and the area in-between. Such complex simplicities they are; not a pair of them has that same reason for action, but all of them seek the same thing. Our actions always move to the same ends. We’re boring.’

              ‘Hmph. We move to gain power. We have purpose.’

              ‘Your actions are all towards power. Mine are all away from it.’

              ‘Which gives us an even keel when we meet in the middle. It’s why we’re a perfect symbiot. That’s why we could rule them.’

              ‘You think power over them means anything more than power over this chair?’

              ‘To them it does.’

              Caleb let loose his mind. ‘But you don’t want power over them. You want them all dead.’

              ‘Letting them feel anything would be a mercy, even the strength of our hands.’

              ‘But you have gained a flavor for torture….’

              ‘I am giving them all the sensation they’ll be missing for the rest of their lives. I thought it kind.’

              ‘In the form of pain?’

              ‘Sensation is sensation. Handouts are handouts.’

              ‘No, I don’t buy that….’ Caleb stayed quiet for a few minutes after that, barely registering his drink disappearing down his throat. The up-turned glass obscured his view of the approaching men, causing near panic to take him for a few seconds as he lowered the glass. Caleb studied the closest grinning man and pushed out a chair with his foot. “General.”

              “Caleb, thank you.” General Fink removed his jacket and aviators before taking a seat as if at a royal ball. Three men behind him spread out slightly to create a perimeter, a fourth simply standing with his back to the table. “First things first: allow me to personally apologize for our last encounter. I was…still a bit emotional from my brother’s funeral, as you can imagine, and overstepped a lot of professional and personal boundaries. I hope you can accept my apology so we can move beyond past transgressions to more common ground.”

              ‘You covered all of our tracks?’

              ‘Yes. This is about our time frame anyways, perhaps a week earlier than anticipated. We’re running from a giant that can see from coast-to-coast; they’re bound to catch us a few times. Especially in large cities.’

              ‘Doesn’t matter now. Watch their perimeter.’

              Caleb noticed again the guards as they scanned windows, except the one behind the General. He looked aimlessly about the square with a long hood over his head. “You bringing more muscle doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.”

              “No muscle this time. They’re simply escorts for me. It’s a dangerous time to be a part of the brass of the military, hence, no shiny bars and a standard escort. Ah…,” he reached into his coat pocket slowly, as if either side of Caleb cared if he had a weapon, and pulled out a brown book, “my brother told me to hand that off if we should ever meet.” He slid it across the table. Caleb pounced on it once it registered. ‘Keep your compassion in a bottle for later.’ “I haven’t looked inside yet out of his wishes.”

              ‘Find his angle.’ “What is it exactly that you find interesting in me this time?”

              “Our interests haven’t changed, just our pitch. We’re done low-balling. We still would like to see you dance a little, but we have a wonderful catering service we’d like to show you. Any location of your choice, I call in a pod, and we do the experiment there in front of God, Zeus, or damn forest-elves it doesn’t matter to us. We’d like to treat you like the precious mix of man and powerhouse that you are.”

              “And you hope that by catering to my whims, I…?”

              “See the humanity we’re trying to promote here. The sacrifice on your end would be minimal and you could save thousands of lives. Someone with your natural talents must have an end in sight, some sort of goal. Why not humanitarianism?”

              “You’d think that wouldn’t you?” Caleb turned the book over in his hands, causing his power to get impatient. ‘Let me take over while you wander in your mind like a fool. I won’t kill anyone.’ His eyes became inflamed behind the dark glasses. “If and what my goals manifest as won’t be under some false banner of humanitarianism. You want what I have for your own goals, not the army’s.”

              “Well, with all due respect, to think that the United States government would let a power as strong as you run around unchecked is nothing short of insanity.”