[The Fear Saga 01] - Fear the Sky (2014) (48 page)

His head free, Shahim moved to bring his rooks into play. Starting to flip himself, pulling his head back and bringing his feet forward. Both Agents were now in midair. The momentum from Shahim’s first attack still driving them upward and back into the wide-open room.

John saw the new attack. Shahim’s fists were bad enough, but an Agent’s legs contained exponentially more power. John’s tactical analyses scrolled.

He looked for a way to counter. There. Maybe.

While Shahim wanted nothing more than to beat John into submission, he knew that victory in a straight fight was far from certain, especially with his weapons system gone, his proverbial queen. But he did not need to win. He needed only to get out alive, and bring the AIs into the fight, and this match would be all but over.

His systems told him that when his legs connected with John, who was flying backward through the air just ahead of him, they would catapult his enemy at the far wall. Any moment now. Almost there.

John saw Shahim’s knees come up. He did not stop them. John opened himself to them, inviting them in.

As Shahim’s castles surged forward, John enclosed them, and at that same moment, began firing his sonic pulse, repeatedly, at the wall Shahim had just come through, using it to propel his body back and down. And suddenly, Shahim was not attacking, he was being pulled in once more. His whole self, king and all.

Shahim felt his body wrench upward, successive pulses from John into the wall and then the ceiling sending the British Agent down and under Shahim, while John’s grip on Shahim’s ankles was now redirecting Shahim’s own strength and ever increasing momentum up and over John. It didn’t seem all that bad at first, but Shahim’s onboard computers were already telling him how it would end.

John held on as long as his machine fingers would allow him, flipping his enemy with all his might. John was attempting to wield Shahim like a transcendent sledgehammer. They both saw the forces at play.

The concrete floor literally rippled under the blow.

John had not been able to hold on any longer, and he was sent scurrying across the floor as his opponent impacted, trying his best just to keep his eyes on the scene.

It was spectacular. Shahim hit hands first. He had set them, as pawns, to attempt to alleviate and redirect some small measure of the impact. But in the end he knew he was going to have to take the brunt of the blow directly and hope his armor could withstand it.

For the most part, it did. The superconducting shielding spread the pressure across every inch of him, and every system buckled and sang under the blow. His machine brain shuddered within its protective cradle and his systems flickered. It was momentary, but highly disturbing. He could not feel pain, but his systems never slept, never, so when they went offline even for a second it was a profoundly unpleasant sensation, like somebody switching off the sun for a moment in the middle of the day.

But it was not quite over yet. Shahim, his position shattered, his pieces decimated, scrambled for purchase. If he could only get a signal to the hub satellite. He looked for a gap in his opponent’s position. The wall he had come through was all but obliterated, but there was still the basement’s main entrance.

As they both regained their footing, John saw Shahim trying to claw his way out, broken, but still full of fight. And as Shahim began to turn toward the door. John focused a sonic wave at the Agent’s feet and fired.

Shahim felt his feet fly from under him, the impact spinning him in midair. Reacting smoothly, he threw his arms back to connect with the floor once more. Even if John could stop his legs from running, Shahim would happily use any of his remaining strength to get out of this fight.

John knew his shot at Shahim’s feet could only delay his opponent for a moment. He needed to end this. He needed to get to mate. He looked for position.

He was now in the far corner of the room from the only exit still intact, so as Shahim flipped in midair, John pressed his hands back at the corner wall, bringing his feet up so that he could push off with all four limbs at the same time.

His feet connected with the wall a moment after his hands did, and with unified precision, all four bionic limbs powered at once, the drywall caving and cracking under the compound pressure as John propelled himself backward in a high arch, angling up toward the ceiling in a massive backflip.

Shahim saw it and flexed his damaged muscles once more, using his arms to try and throw his upside down body upward into the path of his opponent.

It was a desperate move, and John brushed it aside with a deft sonic punch. Not too powerful, not too much, a well-protected knight swatting back an errant king.

And in a moment it was done. John was past Shahim. He landed and turned in one fluid movement. It was almost beautiful. And as Shahim clawed and kicked to get at him, John turned his queen upon his opponent’s lone king and thrust him back again.

The full-powered sonic punch sent Shahim reeling. John slowly rose from his crouching position and stared intently at the prone Shahim Al Khazar, cornered and alone at last.

Three and a half seconds had passed since Shahim had entered the room.

The battle was over. Shahim had no pieces left. The two meters that lay between them was all John needed to stop Shahim from bringing his remaining brute force to bear. But still Shahim would not surrender. He would try against hope to escape. He bent his legs to launch himself away but John fired another pulse at his feet flinging him onto his front. Without pause, even as his feet rolled beneath him, Shahim was already trying to use his arms instead. But John fired another pulse under the man, flipping him once more and sending him sprawling across the floor.

Again Shahim tried to power himself upward but John was stepping slowly toward him now, beating each limb down, forcing Shahim into the corner, into mate at last.

Shahim registered components of his machine frame starting to break down. Too much pressure, too many hits, his systems were failing. But John did not relent. He did not let Shahim move a muscle without immediately smacking him down. For his part, Shahim did not stop either. He was ready for death but he would not give in to it. Why did the other Agent not start attacking with his laser as well? Why did he not finish it?

Eventually Shahim stopped fighting, refusing to move again, or to acquiesce, and glared at his opponent with his one good eye.

“Why?” said Agent Shahim Al Khazar.

John paused a second, tactical systems still running. But this was not a problem for them. This was for the man alone, and he considered his reply.

“You ask me why, Lord Mantil of Hamprect?” John said, eventually. “You ask me why I am doing what I am doing? You have the audacity to ask me why I am trying to
stop
you killing seven billion innocent souls so that the Princess Lamatis of our world can have more lands to fight over? Well, I do not need to explain myself to you, you genocidal bastard. Tell me, Lord Mantil of Hamprect, what reason do
you
have for attempting to bring about the death of an entire race of intelligent beings we have never even spoken with? How do you excuse
your
behavior?”

Shahim stared at John Hunt. His machine mind was listing the extensive damage he had suffered, still striving to come up with tactical options. Among those options, and now disturbingly close to the top of it, was his self-destruct sequence. It listed his chance of successfully detonating before Agent John Hunt could disable him at 12%. Shahim switched off the display, and disabled his defensive systems, facing his destruction with what dignity he still had left.

As he thought of how he was going to die, he thought about John’s question. Why was he here? He thought of the family of the prime minister of Pakistan. The humans were very different from what he had previously thought of as intelligent beings: they walked strangely, their strange hands were disturbingly long and slender, they ate meat, sometimes even raw, something no Mobiliei had done in an age, and all these things repulsed him. But he could not deny that they were intelligent, and nor could he honestly say that he had been untouched by the innocence of the prime minister’s young daughters. But he had killed them. He had slaughtered them unflinchingly after killing their father in front of their horrified eyes, and as he thought about it, he knew that it was one thing to kill a soldier with a gun or missile. But this, this was something different.

“I have no answer for you, Agent John Hunt.” said Shahim with the few scraps of pride he could muster, “End this, I have disabled my self-destruct mechanism, end this and leave. You have your victory. The rest of the Agents will think that somehow the humans killed me and they may well retaliate against them, but you may still be able to survive this if you leave now.”

John Hunt looked at him. Of all the warriors that had been chosen for the advanced team, Lord Mantil had struck the Nomadi conclave as the most reasonable and pragmatic of the group. But no one had ever doubted his resolve. He was a brutal and effective champion of Hamprect, a hero who had led countless battles in the various insurgent wars that sprung up from time-to-time in the crowded empires of Mobilius. But he had never executed those tasks with relish, never displayed the psychotic zeal that was so evident in the eyes of Princess Lamati and her like. For what it was worth, Lord Mantil had always seemed a noble and honorable man.

John looked at him, “Tell me, Lord Mantil, what is your justification for eradicating all of these humans? What threat do they pose to you and your nation?”

Lord Mantil flinched at the remark, but he could not answer it. Over the last six months, he had been forced to admit that there was no true honor in this war they were planning. The last shreds of his enthusiasm for the enterprise had died with the Pakistani prime minister, his brave guardians, and his innocent family.

As John spoke, a message from his machine mind was trying to come through the temporary moratorium he had set on his system. Shahim could feel it too. The ever-watchful AI above them was requesting an update from Shahim. It had not heard from the Agent for too long. In its ever-implacable way, it was worried.

As Shahim considered the message from the AI, John shook his head and spoke, “You will not be replying to that message, Agent Shahim Al Khazar. Once I have killed you, I will fake an explosion here. Nothing will be left of you or the plot you found. We will rebuild it somewhere else and our work will continue.”

Shahim said nothing, but just lay on the ground stewing in the broth of his defeat. As he lay there, his machine mind continued to try and prompt him to action with tactical suggestions. The Agents’ bodies were designed for a long deployment in a hostile environment, and over time nano-machines built into their superstructure could repair even the most drastic damage. Shahim felt his machine mind updating him on its status. It was diverting all its resources to the laser component of his weapons array, which Shahim was informed would be online again in one minute. It was not much, but it would allow him fight back a little, and to send an accurate signal to the satellite if he could get outside for even a moment.

John bent down to look into the other Agent’s one good eye. With his own augmented sight, he could see the machine inside Shahim’s left eye reconstituting itself and his own machine mind was estimating the amount of time it would take for the eye to regain some measure of its operational capability. He knew he did not have much longer.

“You have an honorable reputation, Lord Mantil, surely you can see that you have been dispatched on an errand that is evil to its very core. I know that asking you to betray your orders goes against everything you believe in, but I also know that you are not a blind or stupid man, that you have always been known as fair and just. Your observance of the rights of your foe, even when they do not observe your rights, is well documented. So I will give you this opportunity. Swear on the name of Mantil, on your Lord Protector, and on the soul of your father that you will help me stop this genocidal butchery and I will … well, I will believe you. Such is my faith in your inherent honor.”

Shahim was stunned. Surely this man could not put such faith in the strength of his character. Shahim certainly no longer had such faith in himself after what he had done in Islamabad.

“You know what I have done, Nomadi. So tell me, why? Why would you believe me? What is there to stop me from saying the things you ask and then betraying you the moment I leave this building?”

“In truth, Lord Mantil, nothing would prevent you. So if you think me foolish for asking for your help, Lord Mantil, then prove me wrong about you. Swear on your father’s soul that you will help me and then break your oath and betray me. After all, you have already betrayed all that you hold dear. You have already killed women and children, coldly and without mercy. Why not break an oath in your father’s name while you are at it. What do you care for that man’s memory?”

Shahim’s fury at this insult ignited a deep-seated rage, rage that was truly directed at himself, but which he allowed to burn in John Hunt’s name. He reactivated his systems and launched his fist upward, but John was ready for him, he stepped back and away from the wild swing, shouting fiercely as he went, “Do you deny it, Lord Mantil? Do you say to me that you believe in this enterprise?”

Shahim went to rise, but John fired another crushing wave into him, pounded him to the floor again, still shouting, “Well, Lord Mantil? What do you say?” John hit him with his lethal left eye again, “What do you have to say in your defense, Lord Mantil?” again the needle eye pounded Shahim to the floor, “What? Lord Mantil? What would your father say about this massacre?” Again the pulse drove into Shahim as John screamed at him, “WHAT WOULD HE SAY?”

Shahim broke, not stopping any of his emotion from showing on his face, or in the broken wail he let out, “He would have killed himself rather than do this. He would have killed anyone that brought such massacre to such innocents as these.” John stared at Shahim, resting his sonic fury a moment and allowing Shahim to carry on, spite and venom and shame filling the broken man’s voice, “For God’s sake, even the soldiers here are innocents. They do not even know they are at war. They cannot fight us because we cower in the shadows like thieves and petty bullies. We are nothing.” Lord Mantil’s final words ebbed from him quietly as he broke, “We are no better than assassins and grave robbers.”