XV. Dies Fractionis
NEW NOVELETTE! The Final Change Comes Not From Beyond, But From Within...
I.
In all their many changes, the seasons of being endured, there was always a little seed of thought tucked deep in the back of Valentina’s mind: was this the last? Overcoming the ruin, harnessing the power. It seemed a perfect dyad of transformation. A.C.E.S had bent her, cracked Marcus and Brennus, and damn near captured Jovian in totality. But with time, care, and attentive understanding of their conditions, all soon found their gifts from the curse.
And then came a day one week after their first mission with the 365th Infantry.
Having successfully aided in fending off the raiders, General Knox saw to it that the Pack not only had designated time on the ranges, but began fast-tracking the investigation into the links between the Colosseum and the other points of intel. These were attended by Val and Eric, laying any remaining cards on the table they had. They were welcomed into a world of labyrinthine networks, system schematics, historic records, and eyewitness accounts. A proper archive of material concerning the Colosseum and its ties to Comm/Ent. and the war effort. The results were flurries of tales never told to the white wolven desert-dweller.
Military manufacturing conducted beneath common place police stations. Scores of archaic designs resurrected for modern use with advanced laser weaponry and hover engines. And there at the center, the all-powerful generative strength of the Artificially Controlled Eco-System. Able to make anything, anywhere, anyhow, at any time. Even with the wildly modular nanotechnology at her disposal, not all creations need have been tangible in the first place.
Stories of holograms, virtual realities, home systems capable of projecting and manifesting images and items as real as the perceiver they were formed before. Things as simple as learning how to use a screwdriver before having to bother with actually holding one. Itinerary items as complex as coding virtual games for contests held by the Commercial/Entertainment District’s Civ-Game Fest. All manner of lustful simulations and masochist pains for the pleasure-seekers. All manner of torturous interrogations and heart-attack-inducing horrors for citizens on the wrong side of a benevolent goddess and her oh-so-loving will.
It was something she’d never say in front of the others, but for a country girl from the sticks like Valentina, one pint-sized piece of her mind found it a fate worse than even death in the ring. A single continuum of placation, manipulation, and swift execution should one step out of line. Cradle-to-grave, all cared and accounted for, but only if you accepted one simple fact. The fact it could all be snapped away in an instant if you asked the wrong question, spoke the wrong line. Even a single, sour thought within what should have been the privacy of your own mind. A privacy violated at birth by the chipping of all citizens at the back of the neck, direct to the brain stem.
“And yet so many still live there.”
Val said it aloud, almost involuntarily. The dark gray General with the metal hand nodded and met it with an equally chilling remark.
“My parents are still there.”
Knox looked away from the table before standing up and pacing the room.
“Bet you the best unleaded on tap so are Jovian’s. And if the last news bulletin I heard about myself is true, they think we’re dead.”
Valentina’s jaw went slack, the white wolf’s wide jade eyes locked with the General’s piercing blue.
“Hero’s death too.” he continued. “I died three months after I left defending the capital again. Only this time I lost a fair more than my arm.”
He pulled up the fabricated clip of a young, rather dashing dark gray policeman taking a shot of laser fire straight to the chest in front of a black-furred female senator.
“Buried with full honors. In a city so big, no one would ever think to ask where that fella coulda gone between his big day in court and his last day on the force.”
Eric held Val’s hand, patting it gently as Knox’s death looped behind the toughened-up 30-something before them. And it wasn’t the only “fab” he had.
“What’s next doesn’t leave this room,” the General sighed. “This is about showing you just what we’re dealing with. I wanted to get as much public feed as I could relating to your former ‘place of employ’ and of the various news items I found regarding the sports side of Colosseum affairs. Adverts, interviews, full matches. A sports center’s wet dream. Among the news items...we found Jovian’s fab.”
He pressed a button on his small remote, and switched from his own death to a grizzly scene. The body of a towering gray wolf with an enormous gash in his stomach lying in an alley. Beside him the sobbing face of a gray mother cradling her pup.
“‘Jovian Stanton, Promising Young Gladiator. Dies A Hero At Age 19 After Saving Mother & Babe From Ruthless Muggers.’ Believe it or not, he ain’t even dead in that frame. They said all possible cybernetic augments were lined up, only for him to die en route to the nearest hospital.”
“Jesus God, why though?” Val gasped.
Knox crossed the room and knelt down by the shell-shocked white wolf. “A.C.E.S. is a mother. Think like one for a bit. What would you rather hear? That your son’s an enemy of the state, a draft-dodging sonofabitch, a betrayer of all that’s good and right in your little patch of electric Heaven? Or that he died a hero? He died saving a beloved politician, he died saving a neighbor, a stranger on the street he couldn’t stand seeing in harm’s way. And with a few clever dressings for an android, you’ll never know the difference of who’s in the casket.”
Valentina buried her head in her hands before dragging them down along her muzzle in sheer exasperation.
“He’s gotta know at some point,” she began, only to be snapped towards General Knox by his metal hand. When those eyes met hers once more, they were not the eyes of the seasoned soldier but the young wolf who saw his own fab for the first time. Wide, haunted, and knowing.
“In due time,” he answered coolly. “But not now. Not when he’s hurting for a home he might not get back to for a good long while.”
The white-furred hunter composed herself, took a mighty deep breath, and nodded.
“Lay the rest on me while I’m still fresh.” she continued. “I got all fucking night.”
II.
Even with the wealth of new material to study, the sight of that bloodied gray-furred kid remained etched in her mind. Valentina would keep the secret, alright, but living with it was going to take a while. Even her confidant Brennus wouldn’t be able to know. At least she had the excuse of “it’s top secret” in her back pocket this time.
It was only when she finally faced Jovian the next day that she found herself at ease. Just being reminded he was alive—that seven-foot sonofabitch sat there in the mess hall woofing down bacon—helped the world for her. Though the ox-tight hug she gave him might’ve let on something was troubling her.
“Hey, easy does it, I’ll flip a switch!” Jovian chuckled. “Meetings going well?”
“Yeah.” she nodded. “Finding out a lot about where things are landing. Even got to see some of you in the ring...you know it ain’t a bad sport when you’re on the right side of the sand.”
The long-haired gray blushed. “Well it was good while it lasted. Maybe when it’s all over and we’re starting anew, I can bring ‘em back. Obviously with a little more of an ethics board to keep kids getting suckered like me, but I think it’d be cool.”
Val flashed a wink and smiled. “It’ll be nice to see the new old guard at work then.”
“Maybe we can stage some later for driving drills,” he added. “Will catch ya later at dinner.”
Brennus perked an ear at the last word as he sat his and Val’s plates down on the table.
“You miss a meal in there?” the gentle gray fighter quizzed.
Jovian shook his head. “Nope. Working with Marcus, remember?”
At first, Brennus scrunched his snout in confusion. But before long, the reason for the fast finally came back to mind.
“Oh right, almost forgot!” he smiled. “Best of luck on it.”
“Alright, what did I miss?” Val chuckled.
Brennus rested his hand on her shoulder before answering. “I think you better meet with Marcus and let him tell you. Let’s eat first, then we’ll make our way down to his quarters.”
Now it was the white wolf’s turn to look confused, but she acquiesced, ate her breakfast, and joined the two grays as they made their way to Marcus and Sabina’s quarters.
When they got there, Val gave a gentle knock at the door and waited. She was met by Sabina in her tank-top and jeans with a smile that said plenty about why they were still in their quarters.
“How we doing Sabina?” Val grinned cheekily.
“Oh just fine,” the red wolf nodded, feigning ignorance. “Damn fine if I do say so myself.”
“The hubby still in there?” the white wolf asked. Sabina nodded, and finally opened the door. As the other couple stepped in, they were greeted by a most remarkable sight.
Since quieting his mind, Marcus had bulked up some and lost most of his ticks and urges. Since joining the Force, Marcus had not only toned that muscle but found himself in a whole other world of the mind. Not his juvenile absent-mindedness nor the deep, treacherous plains of a once-tortured subconscious. When Val and Brennus stepped into that room, they found their gentleman hound in a whole new way.
Standing in the room was a long-haired red wolf with locks of black. He still bore his well-worn khaki shorts, leather cuffs, and knee-high sandals, but around his neck and halfway down his chest was a full warrior bone choker necklace. His most intricate design, complete with rows of black beads and white hairpipe and three shocks of fringe leather dangling from the sides and front. Gone were the rectangle-framed shades, his Hawaiian shirt left on the bed. He was intently bundling up a cache inside a striking red Navajo rug, decorated with diamond shapes and many black stripes.
And yet for all the change, when he turned to meet his friends, there that warm smile was to greet them.
“Morning you two.”
It was the moment of a chrysalis breaking open, and from out the shell came a most magnificent beast. Val bolted over and embraced the immense warrior with all she had. She could hardly believe it, even as she felt those kind, reassuring arms around her.
“How the hell did you get hair that good in a week?” she guffawed.
“Well I’d been letting it grow out and get scruffy there for a while,” he shrugged, “then I woke up to this yesterday while you were in with Eric and Knox. And then I woke up to her this morning making me feel ten feet tall.”
Sabina winked playfully as she sauntered up and cozied up beneath one of his arms. Her man kissed her on the head and nuzzled her.
“Kinda glad for it too,” Marcus chuckled. “Helped clear the urges for what’s to come.”
“Speaking of,” Val pressed. “What are you and Jovian planning?”
The red gladiator shook his head. “Less planning, more being. I want to sharpen him up the way I’ve been this past week. Teach him some true ways of a warrior, to steel him for the months and years to come. You can’t do it with drills and textbooks, you gotta bring it out from within.”
Quick as a flash he folded the blanket and stuffed it under his arm. He looked back to the Hawaiian shirt for a moment, only to turn back around and shake his head.
“We’ll be back for dinner by 1800. See ya then!” Without a second to lose, he was out the door, down the hall, and on his way to the garage.
Brennus turned to Sabina in disbelief. “You ever see something you swear is too good to be true? And yet you still think it is?”
The red-furred lady nodded. “His temper is almost gone completely. My formosa still has his pet peeves and gripes, and yet they all roll off that great, broad-shouldered back of his. Last night, he was going through book after book about his people. He’s dead certain his heritage is with Diné, the Navajo. And yet he still loves speaking Spanish for me and he’s still forever learning Latin. I think my formosa has finally found himself.”
She thumbed a stray tear away as Valentina embraced her.
“He sure did the way you were smiling,” she teased. Sabina threw her head back, roaring with laughter before squeezing her white-furred friend tight. While it would be business as usual for the rest of the Pack on Base, the two warriors were off on a matter wholly apart from all that came before...
III.
The silver grin of the cream-colored DeSoto crested a final incline before screaming to a stop on a plain. Behind the wheel was Marcus, and sat passenger-side was a star-struck Jovian. Part of it was the pure rattling of the drive, Marcus never letting his mighty lead paw off the throttle for most of the journey. The other part was all thanks to the land itself.
It was perfect. Flat with eternity on all sides, only the faintest hint of distant hills dancing about the heat waves. They brought their rifle and sawed-off for protection, but deep in Jovian’s gut, he sensed they were well and truly alone.
Both hounds climbed out of the DeSoto and walked out in front of her. Jovian handled the rifles while Marcus brought out his well-folded rug.
“Take a seat opposite of me,” the red gladiator nodded, setting the blanket on a random patch of land. Jovian did so, followed by Marcus, both wolven men crossing their legs and resting their hands upon their knees.
“There’s a saying attributed to one of the tribes who walked this land,” he began. “‘Thoughts are like arrows: once released, they strike their mark. Guard them well or one day you may be your own victim.’ Try as I might, I spent many a year managing to shoot myself in the ass.”
The young gray chuckled.
“I almost took you out in those early days of meeting and understanding your dilemma.” he continued soberly. “I wanted to start by properly apologizing. You’re a brave young man and you’ve so much ahead. I don’t ever wish to extinguish flames such as yours. They’re far too few in this terrible world.”
Jovian bowed graciously. “I’m just sorry for scaring you guys. I’m scared every day to be honest. Scared of one dumb trip, my switches going up, and then...that comes out of me, y’know?”
The nod Marcus gave was one all too knowing. “I’ve killed so many wretches who dared to cross me or my wife. Hounds for whom I only remember the face who locked eyes with me before, and the blood upon my hands in the screaming afterglow of it all. To be of two minds within one to the degrees at which we’ve been is one mighty albatross, now isn’t it?”
Gone was the towering gray gladiator’s smile, only the same knowing nod as Marcus.
“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” he continued. “Eric found ways of bringing us closer within ourselves. Hypnotic techniques to burrow deep within the mind. In a strange way, the spirits of Níyol which brought us together were not mere ghosts in the machine either. This past week, I endured perhaps the most vivid of these, and yet it never took place under his watchful eye, or that of our former state-sponsored honey-pot.”
Jovian perked up, his white and black eyes wide with wonder.
“I was meditating one night. As I descended, I found my second self. One last little hound within me. A small, feral demon with eyes like Hades and teeth that could shred meat from bone in the blink of an eye. A blood-soaked bastard who I knew was behind every torturous impulse, every sleepless night. In a way, he was the one who led me to the ring. He found the right agents and booked one mighty show that night. You want to know what I did to him?”
The young, shaggy-haired gladiator nodded again.
“I beckoned him into my right hand, the one which had torn throats out. I helped him into my left hand which had beaten wolves to complete pulp. I let him rest on the pad of my palm. I let him get real comfy there. Once he was...BANG!”
Marcus slammed both hands together with a mighty clap, Jovian jolting back while remaining where he was seated. The older red wolf ground his palms together before laying them back upon his knees, palms up.
“I crushed that devil and watched him bleed. He didn’t vanish or fade back into me. He sat there in the same spoils he craved in my feral days. I made sure to watch him die. Then before me came a basin of water, clear as the sky above you today. There is where I washed my hands of him, watching that bloody mess fade from my fur and sink to the bottom, and then away forever. And now here I sit.”
The seven-foot gray shook his head in amazed disbelief. “And you think it worked?”
“There is no thinking,” Marcus smiled gently. “Only a knowingness. And I know that was true. As true as our fight is just. As true as my love for that beautiful little spitfire is everlasting.” He cocked his head back and smiled at his steadfast machine. “As sure as my Lady has ever been, and that’s one hell of a yardstick.”
The red warrior took the gray’s hand before continuing.
“I want you to try it. I beckoned mine by name, but I daren’t speak it. I know yours, but it is not mine to speak, nor yours to say aloud. You must call to him within your mind, and you must slay him there.”
Jovian looked out across the desert, to the placid horizon and cloudless sky. He looked to the ground, expecting anything from a scorpion to an ant, only to find no beasts of any kind. There was only him and Marcus.
“Is that why you wanted me alone?” Jovian asked sheepishly. “If it goes wro—”
Marcus shook his head. “It won’t. Remember what I said of thoughts. I wanted you to be in a place of complete tranquility where there can only be you and that second-self. I had the luxury of walking these paths in different ways. I think you’ve the strength to do this right here, right now.”
The red wolf finally began unfolding the rug, revealing a thick wooden dowel rod, a single folded sheet of paper, and a gorgeous bone choker necklace, as big as his, colored with turquoise beads, dark brown hair-pipe, and a silver shell at the neck. Marcus walked over to Jovian with the necklace and helped tie it on.
“I’ll take your shirt in exchange,” he winked. “It’s a fine garment and I don’t want it getting ripped. I’m a...speaking from experience on this one as well.”
It got a much-needed laugh out of the gray gladiator who obliged, his colorful patchwork chest now exposed to the sun as it neared its zenith. Now prepared, Marcus placed the dowel in Jovian’s mighty hands.
“It will only break upon the second’s death.” the red warrior nodded. “So you can prepare, I do have a mantra to bring you at ease. This too should not be spoken, only recited within your mind.” Carefully he unfolded the paper and presented it facing Jovian. Upon the page read the phrase: Dies Fractionis.
“Don’t even worry about enunciation,” he said. “Go forth and conqueror in its name.”
Jovian nodded and slowly closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and upon its exhaling, began looping the phrase in his mind.
Dies Fractionis, Dies Fractionis, Dies Fractionis.
He did his best not to hurry, not to force it. Slowly but surely, it was conjuring a trance within him. He felt himself floating deeper and deeper through himself. Not the physical body, but layer upon layer of the mind. Ineffable shades of red, pink, black and white, a warm tunnel that carried him deeper and deeper.
At a certain point, the inciting mantra gave way to the real one. That dreaded name he so feared, loathed, and regretted.
Tertius, Tertius, Tertius.
Slowly from out the cosmic primordial came that black-hearted, cold, soulless automaton. His body was bigger than Jovian’s, his mane of hair immense as a lion. He spoke in a booming echo, the young wolf deafened by words indecipherable through sheer volume. The roar, the might, those black eyes, and their thin white pupils. Part of Jovian was fixing for a monstrous fight, a knockdown drag-out that could set his switches flying and his heart racing out of his chest.
And then the other remembered Marcus and his story.
While Tertius stood too tall to be properly invited, Jovian knew there was but one way to bring him down to size. It was to not fear him at all. And in that quiet, pin-drop clarity of the desert plain, he knew just how to level the playing field.
What a small, useless man.
It was true after all. With the Nero program dead, what was the point of Tertius?
What a small, useless man.
It was Jovian who had control of his body, and no use for such an unruly behemoth.
What a small, useless man.
If it was between holding Tertius eternal and saving his friends and loved ones, the choice was so damn obvious.
And when looking at it all through his mind that way, Tertius had gone from this mountainous, murderous statue to but a mortal wolf stood before the young warrior. A mortal wolf who found two mighty gray hands wrapped around his throat. Tighter and tighter he squeezed with fangs barred and eyes fiery, wringing the ever-loving life out this wretched machine-hound who haunted him so. No matter how frightening the face—Tertius contorting and distorting into all manner of night terrors that had visited Jovian upon his travels—the towering gladiator kept squeezing and wringing and squeezing and wringing.
Until he heard the sound of the century: the snap of that foul being’s neck. The cybernetic body went limp, and opening before Jovian was a massive hole that emptied into the stars. The cold vacuum of space, fitting for a cold machine hound. Before he dropped him though, he made sure to look at that face one last time. The face that terrified him, the face that he feared frightened others. And in a small, strange way, the reason for his friends and newfound sense of purpose. For that, he had only two words, read once in his mind.
Thank you.
The last thing the body of Tertius heard before plummeting into the sky and drifting into the ineffable dark of night.
Jovian’s eyes remained closed for a while, slowly opening as the grand fight drew to its close. When he finally opened them, he saw that the dowel had been snapped clean in half. He looked up to see the beaming face of the red warrior who had brought him here, arm outstretched and begging for a proper Roman handshake. A shake met with furious passion and a tight embrace.
“What did I tell you!?” roared Marcus. “A brave hound meant for great things!”
The weight was well off his shoulders, though one question remained.
“How will this affect the programmed patterns?” Jovian quizzed.
Marcus rested a firm hand on the young gray’s shoulder.
“I don’t quite have the science for that, but I think Eric will. Let’s get back to Base and then we’ll continue with the day’s work.”
The gray wolf with the shaggy hair stood up straight and looked to the world around him. It felt lighter, clearer, brighter than ever. It felt like bliss itself smiling back at him. He gave a nod to Marcus before answering.
“Alright then. Let’s pop me open and see.”
IV.
Jovian’s return brought a great commotion in the labs, but not one of relapse. One of complete and utter surprise. Eric double-taked to the shirtless red warrior and his gray mentee in disbelief as he went back over the monitor with some of the technicians.
“The personality overlay is gone. It’s just gone. There is no Tertius. There is no brain-dead factory reset. Jovian’s the base now. If I went flipping switches, all I’d get seven different flavors of Jovian. It’s like that half-electric mind just rewrote its own code. But the programs are still down there. And they are kissing close to decryption.”
The red-furred mechanic embraced the two gladiators warmly, hooting and hollering like the country boy he was.
“You bastards are the most beautiful fucking things I seen on God’s green earth in a year. How the hell you do it?”
Marcus simply tapped his temple and winked. “Mind over matter, old friend.”
“My kind of mind over matter too,” Eric winked in reply. “Just downloaded the last of the dupes. After we get the man cleaned up from all that cyberjunk, he’s free as a bird.”
Tears welled in Jovian’s organic eye as Eric patted his shoulder. “Ain’t no lost causes on my watch, son. And don’t you forget it.”
The young gray dried his eye and beamed from ear-to-ear.
“Once you’re out of the electric chair,” the red gladiator added, “Now I can show you what a clear mind like yours can do.”
True to his word, they leapt back into the smiling DeSoto and tore off into the desert. Only this time, Jovian was behind the wheel. And he was giving her everything he had. With his sandaled paw flat down, the Adventurer swerved and roared down the same roads Marcus had taken. And instead of feeling a lump of fear in his throat at the hands of the car’s devil-may-care owner, he felt a synchronicity he had scarcely known with his own Lincoln.
“IF YOU THINK YOU TWO ARE GOOD TOGETHER,” Marcus bellowed over the DeSoto’s engine, “JUST WAIT TILL YOU AND YOUR OLD GIRL GET BACK TOGETHER!”
When they returned to the sight of the awakening, what followed was a furious regime of combat. They sparred with sticks, mocking up everything from swordplay to improv weapons. They fought bare-knuckle, both taking a pounding while never taking a beating. Target practice came on instinct as well as iron sights, the warriors landing further and further shots until the only thing that stopped them was the distance limit of the laser cartridge. While not spiritually nourishing in the way he expected, the feeling was invigorating because of something he finally felt capable of: letting loose without losing grip.
Marcus demonstrated with a recreation of his old ways.
“Before I even met our dear Valentina,” he chuckled. “I was percussive. My hands would snap to the throat, my knees stabbed up into the gut. My paw would pound that Lady’s poor throttle till it was almost bent in half.”
Jovian saw his point as the mature red warrior gave quick, heavy jabs to the air with his hands, hard stomps of his paws on the ground. Jovian nodded as he saw the stiffness.
“Now look at how I was driving, how I move as a hound and with my machine.”
There was a greater freedom of flow to his punches, long sweeps of the leg. He spun around on a dime and swung out his sawed-off and fired two shots at the last remains of the target cans they had set up.
“Now the meditation didn’t just give me these skills overnight,” he continued. “It gave me the clarity to realize my greater form. In this way, this was what that wicked bitch wanted to make us all along. Only difference: now we control our fates. Not where we eventually end up, but where we move, where we strike. Freedom, but a kind to be wielded wisely and always for more than yourself.”
He beckoned Jovian to a clear patch and gave him the “your turn” nod.
“Just remember to skip the Lurch routine and show me your true self.”
The colorful gray warrior did just that. He remained more percussive in his fisticuffs, but when both hands and paws were flying, he moved in a graceful, lyric way. His unbuttoned shirt made the display almost balletic. And for the first time, the pupil finally surprised his master. Jovian made a flying leap over the hood of that trusty DeSoto, landing gracefully before turning his attention to the targets. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed his rifle from out the car and blasted the target perches into oblivion.
When he looked across the ride’s roof to Marcus and the playful grin splitting his muzzle, he knew he’d made quite the impression.
They carried on like that for hours and in all different parts of this ethereal sacred place. The true test of their mettle wouldn’t come until the drive home.
Marcus was back behind the wheel. He made sure the radio was still on the Force frequencies to get them clearance, but with access to the network, it also meant they could take calls from the Outposts, other rides, and other associates. Not that they expected any calls of course—the newly-minted “Cazadores” were still just that. However, a static-crushed voice came over the speaker.
“RESERVE STATION DELTA TO ALL FORCE UNITS, RESERVE STATION DELTA TO ALL FORCE UNITS, WE’RE UNDER ATTACK FROM RAIDERS. I REPEAT, UNDER ATTACK!”
Concern swept across Marcus and Jovian’s faces. The red-furred warrior snatched up the radio and held it for a moment.
“What are you waiting for?” Jovian pressed.
Marcus pounced on the brakes and cut the wheel, swerving away from the well-worn dusty trail. “Well, help me out here. We’re still green to the protocols of the Infantry, we’re still under a blanket unit call-sign, and have you ever seen this reserve station?”
Jovian shook his head.
“How do you think it sounds when a stranger calls asking for your location when 15 of ‘em are trying to take the castle out from under you?”
The young gray warrior nodded. As he did, Marcus clicked the call button and made his request. “Cazador Unit Marcus to HQ. Requesting location of Reserve Station Delta, current location Dootł’izh Flats.”
“10 miles east of current location, over.” came the operator’s voice.
“Gracias.” the red wolf nodded. “Request to enlist full Cazadores team in fight.”
“Permission granted.” This time it was the gruff tones of General Knox.
“Make sure someone brings up Jovian’s Lincoln.” Marcus added.
“Will do. Sending Captain Herrera with main unit. ETA 20 minutes. Cazadores might be there in 15 the way you lunatics drive. If you get there sooner, don’t directly engage. Snipe if you can but know what you’re hitting.”
“Gracias.” Marcus replied. “Over and out.”
The DeSoto soared towards the east, Jovian checking over his rifle and handing Marcus his sawed-off. Lucky for the two, there was a cliff-face perch just begging for them to take a seat. He slammed the brakes, parked the car, and leapt out.
“Glovebox, binoculars.” the red wolf order. Jovian snatched them up and slipped out of his seat. He looked through them first to get a lay of the land before handing them off to Marcus.
The reserve station was built much like an old oil refinery, but it wasn’t pumping out Texas tea either. It was essentially a synth-station farm designed to manufacture fuel, an additional resource to supplement the comparatively meager fuel stations back on Base.
Circling the outer perimeter were the usual cadre of scummy looking machines and walking-dead riders—no doubt high off radium with the state of their molting fur. They saw some guards had been killed, and some raiders were already inside the compound.
As for those still outside, Marcus charged Jovian with the honors.
“I know iron sights might seem inadequate,” the red warrior reassured, “but trust those instincts, aim only for the drivers still outside. I’ll keep a hand on the radio and wait for our part of the cavalry to come in.”
Jovian nodded, dropped on his stomach and took his aim. He waited for the moment when he knew it would all line up; his rifle, their head. When it did:
BANG!
A single shot of laser fire sent the tan-furred raider’s head scattering across his dashboard, the rat-rod skidding and tumbling into its fellow raiders. From there, it was fish in a barrel, but never without care. One shot for one hound. And when they started firing back, it only took one grazing slug of red lead for Jovian’s defenses to shift into high gear. Quickly he tucked and rolled, returning fire with each place he landed, and making his mark. The raiders kept him dancing across the sand, but not without Marcus firing on them. While the sawed-off’s range wasn’t quite as well-calibrated as Jovian’s rifle, it could still split one of those savage, scowling faces like a cantaloupe.
But no sooner had the two warriors whittled the enemy’s backup down, more raced in from the canyon pass below.
Just in time for their own backup to show.
Racing into view were those three beautiful machines: the sandy Humvee, the black Mustang, and that boat of a Lincoln. But they weren’t all driven in the same order. While Brennus was still in his muscle car, Marcus was surprised to see Sabina in the Humvee and Valentina skidding to a stop in the Lincoln.
“Special delivery for one Jovian,” the white wolf winked, scooting over to the passenger side.
“How you like her?” he quizzed, diving behind the wheel.
“Smooth like butter and a real bitch to the right killers.”
“What’s the goal now?” Jovian asked Marcus.
“What’s ETA on the Captain?” he asked, covered behind the DeSoto.
Val shook her head. “Intercepting more of the bastards coming up the canyon. Said to take the fight to ‘em now that there’s at least some of us here.”
“Alright,” Marcus began, “I’ll stay perched here and—”
“FORMOSA!” Sabina screamed. “BEHIND YOU!”
Racing into view was a black-furred raider on an old Harley, aimed straight for Marcus. When Marcus saw him, he leapt onto the roof of the DeSoto and watched as the biker flung himself off the cliff’s edge, tumbling down several hundred feet into a bloody mess.
“As I was saying,” the red warrior winked. “From this vantage point, we got several angles to take ‘em from, but we also have that avalanche pouring in. Brennus and I will start cutting down on these newcomers. Jovian, Val and Sabina, get inside the station and start cutting down these bastards. Just remember where we are: one bad move and the whole damn thing blows up.”
Quickly, Marcus sprinted over the hoods of the white Lincoln and the black Mustang and hopped onto the side of the beige Humvee.
“Take this and aim sharp, babe.” the red warrior smiled.
“But what will you use?” Sabina asked.
Marcus produced a rusty pistol from his front pocket. “Snagged this on his way down. We’ll see if he was smart enough to charge it before heading out. If not, I’ll have to borrow another.”
That tender Latina kissed him square on the lips, long enough to last but short enough to send him on his way.
“Let’s roll out!” Marcus barked.
Jovian and Sabina bombed down the backside of the ledge, away from the canyon road swarming with raiders and towards the reserve station. Valentina worked the on-board radio with a Force hold-out still on the line.
Sabina took the stance Val would with her Humvee; front line, brute force, and the power packed in her and her lover’s sawed-off didn’t hurt.
The raiders who had gotten inside had sealed up all the gates. And while they were chain-link, they weren’t exactly A.C.E.S.-backed titanium.
“Think they’ll miss a door?” Jovian asked innocently.
“They’ll miss this plant more.” Val replied.
The shaggy-hair gray nodded and slammed his paw down. The Lincoln tore through the fence and smashed right into the first raider behind it. Val swung herself out the window and started popping heads with her Mars automatic. Engines roared, putrid wolves screamed, but it looked like they were clearing out the worst of the invaders.
For a split second, Jovian clocked his rearview mirror, trying to gauge how many more were on their tail. With Valentina still looking out the back, she couldn’t see one of the wild-eyed grays on the steel ladder ready with a hatchet in hand, and a dead-end at the base of a fuel tower just ahead.
When Jovian looked up however, he could.
“HEAD IN! NOW!” he barked.
The deep, roaring voice that came out of the young gray startled her back in just in time. Jovian slammed both paws on the brakes and swung the Lincoln in a full 180.
He missed the base of the tank by an inch, but he didn’t miss the head of the gray raider, who took a shot of his rifle right between the eyes. Without a moment to lose, he stepped on the gas and went charging back towards the putrid hoard, who promptly tucked tail and ran back the same way with screams of terror in their throats.
Back up the canyon, Brennus and Marcus were raining hell down on the raiders as they came. Every shot had to count for the red wolf with his pistol on loan, and Brennus couldn’t waste a shot even if he had to. When the two thought it safe, they’d take a pit-stop and shoot from behind their rides instead of in them.
Whenever the bikers of this motley pack got wise to their assassins and started racing up to the two fighters, that’s when the blood really started spilling. If Brennus couldn’t shoot them, he’d deck them right off their bikes and throw them down into the stampede of dirt-orange pickups and air-cooled V8s. When Marcus was under attack, he snatched them off and folded them in half over his knee before pitching them into the same mire. When Brennus saw this for the first time, the single fluid sweep of the flat-pawed, broad-shouldered red wolf, he bellowed over the noise, “miracle what a good night’s dive’ll do for ya!”
Marcus gave a salute before returning to the firefight.
For all the courage, the valiant stubbornness, the game of numbers was still teetering towards the rusty rat-pack of raiders. More machines crashed through the piles of scattered debris, more irradiated foot-soldiers kept making it past Brennus, Marcus and Sabina.
“We can’t keep this going forever!” Val barked over the radio. “If they don’t get here soon I don’t know what the—”
BOOM!
At first, Val’s heart was in her throat, fearing the worst had happened and that one of the large fuel towers had finally gone up. Until she saw where the flame came from.
One massive explosion swept through the canyon pass, dozens of rusty rat rods and trucks and bikes plastering the ground and walls.
Then through the second clearing came the Force’s boys, led by a fierce looking black wolf in a deep-blue, topless pickup truck. He was decorated from head to toe in black denim and leather, silver conchos popping off his belt, hatband, and boots.
A black angel of death he rode, with dozens of well-kept muscle cars and trucks behind him. He swung round, directly in front of the canyon mouth and produced a monstrous RPG.
“STAND CLEAR!” the black wolf bellowed as he leapt out of the truck, dropped into position and fired the next round down the canyon. Again, an immense explosion erupted through the pass, engulfing the swarm of desert thugs in a blistering wall of orange flame. The heat subsided, and the sheer scope of the devastation was apparent. Shrill screams of surrender began to sound from behind the Auto Corp unit and the Cazadores.
“V. Galvez to Cazadores on the Ridge, you hear what I’m hearing?” Captain Herrera radioed.
“Cazador Marcus to V. Galvez...yes sir, I do believe we can.”
V.
For their second debriefing, things had gone awfully smooth. Particularly was the impression made on the Auto Corp Captain.
“In spite of the rather loose organization,” the Gothic vaquero concluded, “these are fighters of great stamina and sharp skill. If five hounds of this caliber—combined with the remaining dozen holdouts at Delta—can hold off a swarm of roughly 80 all-told, then with time and training, they can be front-line material. Not that I wish to pull them from their current objectives. But should the need arise, I would put my life in their hands. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. I fear raiders may organize more supply attacks like these in future. My recommendation is doubling security on all reserve stations...and maybe increasing on-site fueling service here to reduce need. If we were to lose a piece on the board, I’d rather it be a pawn than a knight.”
After the meeting, Captain Herrera shook hands with the five warriors. He gave no favor, no special remarks, just a polite “gracias” to each before departing.
When Valentina looked over to Jovian, a strange chill rushed over her. It was like she was looking at a different wolf. Not just the deep thrum of his voice that had saved her from a beheading, but that he clearly looked different. He stood up straight, all seven feet of him on full display. He never looked down at his big paws or shoved his hands in his pockets like he’d done from time to time. But above all else, those eyes.
One black, one brown on white. Completely at ease. A soul stilled and forever content in the now. Part of her, in a strange way, sensed that the news of his public fate wouldn’t hit as hard now. She wasn’t going to find out, knowing how delicate the solidifying phase of such change could be. But as she saw the two warriors—Marcus and Jovian—embracing warmly and shaking hands, she knew that the boy had finally become a man. A proper man. And that was indeed something worth celebrating.
Before anyone could leave the room however, a call came in from the lab to Knox’s office phone. When the dark gray General got on the horn and heard what was said, he looked at all five warriors with a slackened jaw and stern eyes.
“I want all five of you down to the labs. I think our hound of the hour’s unclogged chakras have given us more than just a glimpse at the past. We have quite the future ahead.”