Shedding the Demon (28 page)

Leland was not impressed with Ken Westron physically, but he
could tell immediately that the man was in charge from the moment he stepped
out of the airlock. He asked pertinent questions of the commander regarding the
mission, the “opposition” (Leland’s group), and the status of Damon. He talked
a lot, but he also listened carefully and got himself up to speed quickly.
Based upon this first impression, Leland couldn’t help but like the man.

Turning to Leland, Ken thrust out his hand to shake. “Mr.
McKrae? It’s nice to meet you.” He paused, his countenance softening, “And
thank you. For saving the Demon.”

Leland shook his hand firmly, “My pleasure, but I’d rather
call him Damon. That poor kid is no demon, really.”

Ken held his hand a moment longer, looking as if he might
say something, but decided against it. He walked toward the doors to the
hospital, and spoke over his shoulder. “Mr. McKrae . . .”

“Leland. Or Lee, please.”

“Sure.” Ken stopped and faced him. “Leland, would you like
to come along and see how the . . . Damon is doing?”

“Not sure you could keep me away.”

Ken smiled as he led the way into the ship.

Once they changed into sterile clothes they entered the main
operating room. Equipment of every shape and size gleamed along the walls and
ceiling. Screens, mounted on various stands, appeared to float around the
doctor and his team. Leland looked around, his mouth open as he gaped in awe.

Something, however, seemed out of place. Finally, he
realized what it was—everything was quiet. He had expected beeping monitors,
buzzing equipment, and other various alert signals to be clamoring for
attention. But the room was eerily quiet. The doctor and his small team
gathered in a group to the side of Damon, who was strapped to an articulated
operating table.

The group stopped talking as Ken approached. Camden
Castenada answered the un-asked question. “We’ve got nothing. No readings, no
monitors, no signals of any kind coming from him.” His speech began to speed up
as he continued. “I can’t break through that
Kyndra-cursed
armor with
anything I’ve got—lasers, plasma, nano-blades—nothing! And every other damn
thing I could think of up to and including a machete!” He paused and ran a hand
over his eyes. “I don’t even know if he’s alive in there.”

Leland found it difficult to swallow after hearing the
pronouncement.

No one moved or spoke for a moment, all eyes turned to Ken.

When he spoke, he started softly and everyone leaned toward
him to hear. “I’ve brought in every piece and type of modern biosurgery
equipment known to man.” His voice rose in volume. “I’ve even brought in some
industrial-grade cutting equipment and modified for you.” Now he was even
louder and few of the aides stepped back. “And that’s the best you can give me?
You’ve only been at it for 15 minutes and you’re quitting? Why in
Kyndra’s
sweet embrace
did I bring you here at all?”

“I don’t know what else—”

“TRY SOMETHING!” Ken yelled and everyone stepped back again,
except for Leland and the doctor.

Camden stared at Ken, his eyes burning. Leland saw slight
tremors running up and down his body, as if he was quivering with the effort to
restrain himself. Leland expected him to storm out of the room. Everyone seemed
to be holding their breath.

Ken spoke first, quiet once again while holding the doctor’s
angry stare. “Cam,” he said. “I brought
you
here because you can do
things no one else could even dream of. It’s not only your skill as a surgeon,
but also your creativity and willingness to try unorthodox measures that I
value so highly. We have no idea what’s going on inside that armor, but I think
he’s alive. If anyone can get to him and save him, it’s you.”

Camden brought himself under control, somewhat mollified by
Ken’s words. “I’ll keep working, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

The group left the room and Camden returned to his
examination of the Demon. Leland stood outside the observation window, watching
him work. The doctor slowly circled the inert form on the table, consulting
each screen as he passed by it. At times he stopped moving and stared intently
at the patient, his face betraying his churning thoughts.

Leland’s thoughts began to wander. Why do I care so much
about this kid? I don’t even know him. Who’s controlling him, and who took him
down? His weapons and armor are unbelievable, only the Council could manage
that, and he’s certainly no more than a tool to them. I guess I hate to see
people used and discarded this way.

Not being able to offer any other help, Leland prayed. He
contacted his congregation back on the ground and asked them to initiate a
prayer chain for this mysterious stranger. He felt drawn to Damon and his
plight, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Finally, after nearly thirty continuous hours, Camden sat
down with Ken and Leland to discuss the next steps. The surgeon’s eyes were red
and showed dark rings of exhaustion. Leland was tired, although he had been
able to catch a few hours of sleep here and there. The prognosis was not good,
since they could not find a way past the armor and its control systems.

Into the uncomfortable silence following the doctor’s
summary, Ken spoke, “Well, I didn’t want to bring in more people from the
outside, but we have one more specialist we could contact for help. I spent the
last day tracking her down because, although Damon had talked to her in the
past, he never actually trusted me with her contact ID. But I was able to find
it in his personal files. I didn’t think he’d mind under the current
circumstances.”

He paused, looking back and forth between the two men and
when neither reacted negatively, he continued. “She was on the design team that
created the Demon, but is now apparently on the run from her former employers.
She should know something about cracking open his defenses.”

Camden's eyes brightened. “When can she get here?”

“I’m not sure. I could only send a message to the secure
address and wait for a response.”

 

Reave walked out of the modest
suburban home, and quickly scanned the area for any possible threats. He knew
that he was taking a chance by not using a Pryke house, but he didn’t want to
risk anyone stepping in and taking credit for his work. Truthfully, he trusted
his own Pryke people less than most strangers on the street. Pryke was the
perfect dynasty for a person of Reave’s talents and predilections, but he
couldn’t trust his peers for that very reason.

Nevertheless, he felt good about himself, and he liked his
chances for
serious
promotion within the family. Over the past months,
he had located four out of the five remaining friends of Joann Tashus, and even
though one still remained hidden, he was confident he had enough. He decided to
leave them in their hiding spots, and made plans to have them captured all at
once if he actually needed them. Again, he did not trust his Pryke counterparts
to hold them for a long time without screwing something up.

He was walking in the bustling stream of people heading for
the local transportation hub when his day got even better.

An alert icon popped up in his HUD and Reave stopped
abruptly, causing the man behind him to jostle him as he tried to go past.
Reave suppressed the urge to knock out his teeth, and returned his attention to
the icon.

Someone was contacting Joann through one of the secure
channels he had discovered from her friends during their interrogation. He’d
been waiting for a break like this, and had just about given up hope on that
lead. The telltales that he had attached to the code would not pinpoint her
location, but it would give him a very small area to search.

He ran for the transportation center, brushing people aside
as he went. He cursed his remote location for the hours he would lose getting
back up to his ship. While he ran, he listened to the conversation.

Hearing the actual voice of his target made his heart race,
and his lips drew into an involuntary snarl. The sound absorbed him for a few
seconds before he realized he wasn’t listening to what they were saying.

They were circumspect, of course, but it was still easy to
tell that they did not actually know each other. A twinge of disappointment
passed through him because he thought the person making contact would be the
last remaining friend and he would have a solid lead on both.

After a frustrating exchange, the mystery person was able to
convince Joann that she could trust him. Once that was established, he quickly
summarized the current state of affairs and Reave couldn’t believe his day
could get any better.

As Reave took a seat on a shuttle, the two contacts ran
through the details of the planned pick-up. Apparently the mystery man had some
powerful friends; the strike team he put together sounded formidable. Reave was
not too worried, but he wanted to avoid a confrontation with them if possible.
Finally, when the call ended, Reave sat back and started his own planning.

The Demon’s down and out, and Joann’s the only hope to save
him. I’ve got a lock on her location, and I’m going to make sure she never
makes it to the rendezvous. Reave’s thoughts continued on into what he planned
to do with Joann once he had her. He needed to deliver her alive, but she owed
him a lot of pain to make up for the difficulty she’d caused him. His breathing
quickened as he imagined her screams.

The transport system was unbelievably slow, and Reave‘s
anxiety built as he waited for the low orbit lift to the dock where his ship
berthed. Minutes ticked away and turned into hours. By the time he stormed into
his ship he had lost almost an entire day. Cursing the backward, low-tech
world, he threw himself into the seat and slammed the controls to readiness. He
transmitted his intentions to flight control, but took off without waiting for
their approval.

“Let them try to stop me,” he growled to himself.

Once away from the planet and heading for his tunneling
coordinates, he faced more waiting. The trip would be quick, less than a day,
but after running through the calculations a few times, he realized he’d never
make it in time. He threw his screen across the cabin, shattering it against
the wall. He’d miss the strike team pick-up by more than six hours, minimum,
which left him with no other choice but to include the Truebloods.

He punched up the contact codes for the Director of the
Trueblood special investigation team. The response was surprisingly quick, and
Reave reluctantly shared what he knew about the rendezvous. After checking his
available assets, the Director assured him they could get there in time, and
prepared to handle the strike team if necessary.

“One last request, Director,” Reave added before cutting the
communication, “I must be allowed to see the target. You must wait for me to
arrive before you tunnel out.”

The Director was quiet for a moment, and Reave clenched his
jaw until it hurt. Finally the Director answered. “Understood and agreed. I owe
you that much for giving us this intel.”

Reave didn’t entirely trust the Trueblood. “If you
double-cross me, I will find you,” he rasped through his clenched teeth.

“No need to worry,” the Director replied and cut the
connection.

 

**** ****

 

Joann leaned back in her chair and
breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been hiding for so long, looking over her
shoulder and jumping at shadows, that she could not believe it was now coming
to an end. She had to admit to herself a certain excitement at seeing Damon
again, even though the circumstances were not ideal. The mysterious contact on
the other end of the private connection had explained the status of the Demon,
but she felt confident that the armor would keep him alive, and she knew how to
bring him back.

She jumped up out of the chair and quickly started packing
everything she wanted to take with her.
Finally, I can take stuff that doesn’t
fit in my Flight Bag!

Everything she currently owned fit into two suitcases and one
bag. The excess bags were heavy and cumbersome, but the change felt good. No
more running away with only a single small bag, she looked forward to a return
to her normal life.

Joann locked the door on her way out and felt like she was
closing one chapter of her life. A chapter she didn’t particularly like, yet
she felt proud of herself for surviving and thriving under the constant
pressure. No longer a bookish professor with a cushy appointment to SecForce,
she felt comfortable making her way in the dark recesses of society. As she
turned to leave, a door slammed in the distance and she smiled at the imagery.

 

 

She arrived at the transportation
center about thirty minutes early, and used the time to scout the area while
buying a magazine at a local stand. She made only a half-hearted effort, since
it not really necessary anymore. She picked a seat near the side of the room,
which gave her quick access to an exit, and a good view over the main
concourse.

Watching the ebb and flow of the crowds over the top of the
magazine, while remembering to periodically turn pages to maintain the
illusion, Joann saw the soldier the moment he entered the waiting area. Still a
good twenty meters away, the man didn’t even make an attempt to blend in.
Not
that he could,
she thought in disgust,
wearing a full suit of powered
armor!
She exhaled slowly, disappointed since she thought her contacts
would be much more savvy.

She began to notice disturbances in the smooth flow of
people, as groups bunched up unexpectedly and shifted directions all at once. Picturing
flocks of spooked birds she saw another soldier enter from a different hallway.

Then another.

And another.

Now she could see they were everywhere, and her heart jumped
up to speed, thudding painfully against her chest. Her movements were awkward
and jerky as she left her belongings and made for the nearby hallway leading to
an exit. She ran, but had no pre-planned escape route in mind.

Stupid, stupid, stupid
was all she could think,
berating herself in rhythm with her echoing footfalls. As she neared a bend in
the hall, she realized it was strangely empty. She skidded to a halt as she
cleared the corner and bounced off an armored figure. Instinctively, she tried
to twist and jump back, but the soldier was too quick and grabbed her arm. The
force of her struggles twisted her arm painfully in his immovable grip, and she
felt something give in her shoulder. The man never moved or released pressure
on her arm as she lost her balance and fell against him. The pain in her
shoulder intensified until she cried out and her vision blurred to black. The
last thing she saw as her head cracked face-first into his chest was the
blood-red crest of the Trueblood dynasty.

 

**** ****

 

Reave Nachman jumped out of the car
before it stopped moving and the automated system beeped at him in protest. He
bounded across the sidewalk and into the transportation center before the car
door finished opening.

Barreling through anyone who couldn’t move fast enough, he
charged through the building at his top augmented speed. Crashing through the
door to the holding room, he nearly ripped the hardened security door from its
mounting.

“Where is she?” he demanded before anyone could react to his
entrance. A handful of armored soldiers jumped up and brought their weapons to
bear.

Reave snarled at them, daring them to engage. In the back of
his mind he knew he was out-gunned, but in his current state, he didn’t care.
He’d risked
everything
by getting the Truebloods involved and the sooner
he took his prize and left the better.

“Good morning, Lieutenant, you sure took your time getting
here.” The Director sat behind a cheap desk, his posture rigid, but his
demeanor calm.

Reave reigned in his fighting instincts and replied as
calmly as he could. “Where is she? Don’t make me ask again.”

The Director’s eyes narrowed and leaned forward to rest his
arms on the desk. “Excuse me, Lieutenant? You need to remember your place here,
and if I were you, I might decide to rephrase my question.”

“Look,” Reave said loudly, pointing his finger at the Director’s
face, when his HUD alerted him to weapons powering up all around. The warning
flashed bright red and urgent, indicating his defenses were no match for the
combined firepower. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a long second.
He withdrew his finger and stepped back.
I really need a Plan B,
he
thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though it came out through gritted
teeth and did little to mollify the Director. “Please understand, I’ve been
tracking her for a long time.” He kept his eyes locked on the Director’s, but
also monitored the various weapons around the room through his HUD.

They stared at each other for another moment until finally
the Director leaned back in his chair again, “I understand, no real harm done.”
He motioned to the soldiers in the room to stand down. Reave noticed that the
weapons may have been lowered, but they were not powered down. “Please try to
control yourself in the future,
Lieutenant
.”

Reave wasn’t sure how to interpret the emphasis placed on
the title. Was the Director trying to remind him of his position, or was he
hinting that he knew something more?
If he knew something definitive, he’d
have me killed right now,
Reave reassured himself, but his nerves tingled
and his hands shook.

Finally, he was ushered into another room with Joann Tashus.
He had to keep himself from killing her on sight, since she had given him such
a difficult chase. She sat on a couch, not tied or restrained in any way. She
did not have a bruise or a mark on her anywhere that he could see, but she
looked haggard and defeated nonetheless. His face reddened and his fists
clenched when he realized she’d been treated so gently.

He walked over and slapped her hard across the face. She
yelped once as she was lifted off the couch and thrown halfway across the room.
She fell in a heap on the floor, unconscious but alive. He stepped back as the
soldiers all started yelling at him and rushing in to lift the inert form. Her
cheek was split and bleeding, and he could see a couple of teeth laying on the
floor. It lifted his spirits.

The Director stepped into the room, shaking his head. “You
do that again—” he said but Reave interrupted.

“Don’t worry. I need her alive and functioning just as much
as you do.”

Doesn’t mean she can’t be a little beaten and battered
however,
he thought. Belatedly, he realized that now he would never be
allowed alone with her, which would put another kink in his plans.
I’ve got
to learn to think farther ahead. But still, that felt good!

Over the next two weeks, the Trueblood team completed
whatever mission they had used as cover to intercept Joann, and Reave was
forced to wait for them. He was only allowed to see the prisoner twice in that
time, and always with a contingent of guards that he would be hard-pressed to
overcome. He talked with her briefly, but of course she was not forthcoming
with any information.

He took most of his meals with the soldiers, and despite the
fact that they were wary at first, he was able to warm them up and soon found
he could banter easily with most of them. Over the many years he spent as a
covert agent for the Prykes, he found that he had a knack for mingling and
interacting with others. He honed the valuable skill, and trained himself to
bury his true, murderous feelings, while portraying a likable facade. In this
current situation, he used all of his talents, tricks, and training to work his
way into the good graces of the escort crew.