Terminus (Fringe Worlds #1) (8 page)

Chapter 8

Maker awoke bright and early the next morning. Back on Ginsberg, he’d maintained a strict policy of exercising daily. However, the week of space travel he’d recently experienced had seriously disrupted his routine – something he intended to remedy asap.

He tossed on his old PT uniform – a t-shirt from his old unit and a pair of exercise shorts. A few moments later he exited the room, leaving Erlen sleeping on the couch. Normally, Erlen would have come with him, but apparently Maker wasn’t the only person whose regular habits had been thrown out of whack.

He went downstairs and out through the lobby. By his estimates, the closest base gym was about five miles away – far enough to get in a good run. Maker started jogging.

Thirty minutes later he arrived at the gym, sweaty and out of breath, but feeling good. He went inside and spent a few minutes locating a water fountain to slake his thirst and resting on a bench before going into the weight room.

Maker spent about thirty minutes pumping iron, focusing primarily on his back and legs. (With respect to weights, his exercise regimen called for working out different body parts every other day. Thus, he would focus on chest and arms on the morrow, followed by legs and back again the day after that.) As at the mess hall the previous evening, he couldn’t help but notice the stares and whispers that seemed to be focused on him in the weight room. Still, he did a good job of staying focused on the task at hand and managed to get through his reps and sets without incident. When he finished, he headed for the locker room.

Once there, he found an empty clothes-cleaner, then stripped down and tossed everything inside. He set the cleaner for ten minutes and pushed the start button, and then headed for the showers. By the time he finished up, his clothes should be clean and dry.

The showers were typical of gyms everywhere: just a long line of about a dozen retractable showerheads set in the wall. About half of them were in use at the moment, but Maker saw one open near the back wall and headed for it.

Once there, he took a moment to glance at the control pad for his showerhead. It was essentially a touchscreen set in the wall at about chest height. Maker set the water temperature at eighty-five degrees and hit the start button. The showerhead’s sensor, detecting someone in front of it, activated the jets and a second later hot water came cascading out.

Maker put his head under the shower, allowing the warm water to flow soothingly over him for a minute – starting at his head, then down his neck, torso, and legs until it reached his feet. Turning back to the control pad, he increased the water pressure. Next, he gripped the showerhead and pulled; attached to a retractable hose, it came away easily from its notch in the wall.

Maker reached over his shoulder and aimed the shower at his back. With the increased pressure, the water was like a much-needed massage – kneading his muscles and joints, relieving tension he didn’t realize he’d had.

After a few minutes of allowing the forceful water to work the stress out of his body, he placed the showerhead back in its notch. He then punched additional codes into the control pad, this time pulling up a list of cleaners – specifically soaps and shampoos. Frankly speaking, the shower could manufacture thousands of them, so that a person could wash up with almost anything they desired once the proper code was entered.

Rather than be smothered by nigh-infinite options, Maker chose – as he always did – a standard soap that had been a personal favorite since he first joined the Marines. It was great for getting yourself really clean, and had a refreshing, but not overpowering, fragrance that gently lingered after its use.

After making his selection, Maker put his hand into a small recessed area just below the control pad. A dispensing nozzle squirted soft, scented soap into his hand. Maker lathered up.

He had scrubbed himself twice and was in the process of washing his hair – had his head under the shower, in fact – when he heard three things that struck him as odd. First, the one or two random conversations between other people in the showers (and which Maker had been tuning out) all seemed to end abruptly at the same time, as if someone had hit a mute button on all the speakers.

Next, all of the other showers turned off almost simultaneously, like water had unexpectedly stopped flowing through the pipes.

Finally, there came the cadence of numerous feet suddenly in motion. It wasn’t in unison, the way one would expect of, say, a squad of soldiers marching in formation. Instead, this was the random patter that might accompany people who were trying to get out of the path of a runaway car.

Individually, the three things might have meant nothing, but taken altogether, they set off Maker’s personal alarm bells. He quickly ran a hand across his face, wiping down from his forehead to his chin. Looking towards the entrance of the showers, he saw several men – who had presumably been showering just moments before, since they were still naked and wet – beating a hasty retreat from the area. And he also saw the reason why: standing just inside the showers were Kepler and his three friends from dinner the day before.

Chapter 9

Kepler and his cronies were fully clothed, wearing fatigues. This obviously wasn’t an accidental meeting; this particular encounter was intentional. They probably thought that ganging up on him while he was in the shower, nude, gave them a psychological advantage. Even if it didn’t, they still had him outnumbered and had more or less caught him unprepared.

Maker took a moment to size up his opponents. Aside from Kepler, there was the big one that Maker had mentally tagged as Bear, who looked like he lived for ripping arms out of sockets. The last two looked a little nervous, less sure of themselves. Maker recognized the type: born followers – guys who went along with any idea that the group had, no matter how asinine or idiotic. In his head, Maker named them Tagalong 1 and Tagalong 2.

In brief, it was four-on-one. Needless to say, Maker wasn’t particularly wild about the odds; he needed a plan, and fast.

He reached up and gently pushed the showerhead to the side, turning it so that it faced the direction of the other four men as much as possible. Its sensor, recognizing that there was no longer anyone directly in front of it, stopped the flow of water.

Still keeping Kepler’s group in sight, Maker began punching codes into the shower control pad.

“You boys are going to find it a little tricky to get clean while still dressed,” he said.

Maker put his hand beneath the soap dispenser; a second later, his hand full of liquid soap, he began to lather up.

“Don’t worry about us,” Kepler said with a wicked sneer. “We’re not worried about getting a little water on our clothes. Blood, on the other hand? That can be a little tricky to get out.”

Maker reached for more soap. “Well, let’s hope nothing happens that’s likely to get blood on your uniform.” He continued covering himself as much as possible in suds from his neck to his ankles, still keeping an eye on his adversaries.

“Now that I think about it,” Kepler said, rubbing his chin as if in thought, “it’s really not that big a deal – as long as it isn’t
our
blood.”

He stared at Maker furiously, clearly telegraphing his intent. “Get him!” he screamed.

All four rushed at Maker, who by this time had lathered himself up enough to have a nice sheet of foam coating his body. He reacted immediately to their charge by reaching for the showerhead and pulling it down, pointing it so that it faced his foes.

The showerhead sensor, detecting a body in front of it, suddenly came on at full blast. It shot a powerful stream of scalding hot water directly into the scowling mug of Tagalong 1, who went down screaming and clutching at his face.

Maker smiled to himself. When he had worked the shower controls earlier, he’d done more than tell it to give him soap; he’d also put the water temperature well into the boiling range.

Kepler tripped over his fallen friend and went down as well. Oddly enough, it probably kept him from being put out of commission, because Maker next aimed the showerhead in his direction. Being face down on the ground, however, it was his back that ended up getting doused rather than his face. His clothing gave him some protection, but not enough, as evidenced by his screams of pain.

Maker then tried to spray the two remaining attackers as well. Tagalong 2, however – showing more presence of mind than Maker would have given him credit for – had changed tactics. Immediately recognizing the threat, he had headed for the control pad, and – while Kepler and Tagalong 1 were still on the ground – slapped it with his palm. The water turned off.

Meanwhile, Bear, who had been in the rear of the charge, had agilely leaped over the two on the ground. Maker attempted to throw the showerhead at him, but almost the second he released it, the tension in the retractable hose pulled it back into its mount on the wall. (Maker did note, with more than a smidgen of satisfaction, that it smacked Tagalong 2 on the cheek as it went by, slicing it open. Tagalong 2 screeched, wincing in pain as he raised a hand to his injured jaw.)

Maker, meanwhile, found himself in the midst of a vicious hand-to-hand battle. Bear wasn’t particularly quick and his technique was sloppy, but he was incredibly strong. Thus, while Maker was able to evade and block almost with ease, the blows he landed had little effect other than evoking a mild groan from his opponent.

Still, the fight almost ended prematurely when Maker, after landing a solid blow to his adversary’s midsection, found that Bear had grasped his forearm before he could pull it back. However, still covered in soapy foam, Maker was able to slip out of the big man’s powerful grip. When it happened a second time a few moments later, Maker caught on: Bear was deliberately leaving himself open, hoping Maker would take the bait and go for a blow that would allow Bear to get his hands on his smaller opponent.

What the larger man hadn’t counted on, however, was Maker smearing himself with a particularly slick cleanser. There was no way Bear could get a firm grip on him. However, the soap would eventually dry, and then…

Suddenly Maker saw movement with his peripheral vision. It was Tagalong 2, whom Maker had almost forgotten about. He rushed in from the left side, almost tackling Maker.

As he struggled with this new opponent, pain exploded in Maker’s right side like a land mine going off, and he immediately identified the source. Grappling with Tagalong 2 had left him open to Bear, who had deftly landed a punch just below Maker’s ribcage. All of the air went rushing out of his body, and with it, much of his stamina. He stayed on his feet, but just barely.

Using both hands, Tagalong 2 got a firm grip on Maker’s left arm; in addition, his right wrist was being held by Bear, who lifted it, thereby raising Maker’s entire right arm. This was, presumably, so that the big man could land another blow in the same place on Maker’s side as before, like a boxer working the same spot on an opponent.

Bear pulled back his free hand; just as he began to throw the punch, Maker let all of his weight drop. He went down, sliding towards the shower floor. There was a slight hesitation as his adversaries tried to retain their respective holds on him, but then he slipped completely out of their grasps. Even so, he didn’t escape completely unharmed: Bear’s swing grazed the side of his head painfully as he went down, much like the showerhead had hit Tagalong 2 in passing.

The big man’s meaty fist hit the wall with a sound like a sledgehammer, echoing through the showers as it smashed the tile. Bear howled, cradling his injured hand.

Still on the floor, Maker knew better than to waste an opportunity. He swung his arm as hard as he could, swiping Bear’s legs out from under him. The larger man landed on his back, his head smacking against the floor like two bricks being used as cymbals.

Maker was fully in motion almost before Bear hit the ground. Ignoring the pain in his side, he drew his legs under him and lunged up at Tagalong 2, who still hadn’t seemed to process what had happened. Maker hit him with an uppercut square on the chin; the man’s head snapped back, and he went down.

Sensing motion next to him, Maker turned and was surprised to see Bear slowly starting to raise himself up. Maker dropped onto the man’s chest, which elicited a grunt of pain and caused him to collapse back down. Straddling his opponent, Maker placed his hands on both sides of the man’s head, lifted, and then smashed it back down onto the shower floor – twice.

Convinced that Bear was now unconscious, Maker let out a deep breath. He was exhausted and in pain. Still, he didn’t think anything was broken and was about to rise when suddenly there was humming all around him – a weird vibration that made the very air seem to quiver. It was a sound Maker immediately recognized.

Maker threw himself to his right, rolling as fast as he could and staying as low as possible. As he went into motion, he felt the air shiver madly as something passed through the spot where he had been astride Bear just a moment earlier. He came up into a fighting stance, facing Kepler.

In all honesty, Maker had practically forgotten about the man, who had instigated this entire mess. Apparently Kepler had recovered. More to the point, he now held a vibro-blade. Oscillating at a rate almost too fast to be seen, it was a formidable weapon in the right hands. You’d have a difficult time using it against someone in Marine armor, but the weapon could slice through flesh and bone like it was ice cream.

“You…” Kepler hissed with murder plainly in his eyes. “I’m going to slice you up into so many pieces that it’s going to look like you swallowed a grenade.”

Kepler kept talking, a torrent of abuse and idle threats pouring from him as he moved in on his prey, occasionally taking a swipe with his weapon. On his part, Maker ignored the man’s words, focusing instead on the blade and how Kepler handled it, as well as staying out of his opponent’s reach.

One of the first things he noticed was that Kepler was moving slowly, stiffly. He didn’t seem capable of extending as far as he should with the blade.
Of course! His back!
The scalding water had burned him to some degree, so not only was he stiff and less mobile, but he was probably in pain as well.

Unobtrusively, Maker slid his right hand slowly down his side, gathering the soapy foam in his palm. Steeling himself, he stepped forward, the move catching his adversary somewhat by surprise.

Maker flicked his right hand towards Kepler’s face, and then took a skittish hop backwards as his opponent swung the blade at him and missed. He had been aiming for Kepler’s eyes, but foam isn’t known for its adhesive or kinetic properties. It basically flew apart as it left his hand, most of it going wide and missing Kepler altogether. Some of it went into his hair, and a bit got on his shirt.

One speck, however, came close. It didn’t go in Kepler’s eyes, but it did hit the bridge of his nose, spattering into tiny motes that went flying to either side. Kepler reacted instinctively, automatically closing his eyes. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the opening Maker had been looking for. He moved in.

Kepler swung the vibro-blade wildly as he reached up to rub his eyes with his free hand. Maker avoided the weapon with ease, then gripped the wrist holding it. He brought his knee up and viciously slammed the wrist against it. Kepler screamed, releasing the blade.

Without a hand on the hilt, the vibrations ceased; the blade hit the ground like an ordinary knife. Maker kicked it to the other end of the shower, well out of reach. Releasing the wrist he still held, Maker kicked the back of Kepler’s legs, sending the man down to his knees. Kepler attempted to turn and Maker chopped him on the back of the neck with the edge of his palm. Kepler fell face forward and didn’t move.

Maker looked around warily; all four of his opponents were still out. (Actually, Tagalong 1 was moaning and shaking all over – clearly in pain but apparently conscious. However, one look at his face – which was red, swollen, blistered, and peeling – and there was little concern that he was likely to present a problem.)

Maker headed towards the shower exit, stopping to pick up the vibro-blade. Now that he could examine it without fear of the business end finding its way inside him, he was very impressed. It was a late-model version, high-end, too. (It probably cost a month’s salary.) Well-made, well-balanced, constructed of the finest material – an excellent blade all the way around. And not only was it a new model, it was a new knife (as in recently purchased). In fact, Maker wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Kepler had gone out and bought this knife just for him.

The power-switch on the blade’s guard was still in the “On” position. However, as it was designed only to operate when being held, the only way it would become live again would be if it were turned off and then back on again, or…

Holding it in his palm, he gave the hilt a firm squeeze. Almost immediately, it began vibrating, as it had done for Kepler just moments earlier. Maker smiled, then switched the blade off. Glancing back, he saw that Kepler had rolled over and was staring at him.

“Thanks for the knife,” Maker said over his shoulder as he left. “If you get any more new toys you want me to have, you know where to find me.”