Shaking with chills, his muscles aching like nothing he had ever felt before, he managed to hold fast to her. His left arm itched like crazy, even though there was no arm to scratch. And his shoulder burned with icy-hot fire. He gritted his teeth to bare the pain.

  By the time they cleared the fields, Fairy guided the trike like an expert, maneuvering deftly around obstacles and keeping the ride almost glass smooth. Marcus head slumped against her shoulder, his forehead soaking it with sweat, his eyelids downcast, watching the landscape blur past beneath them, the soft glow of the anti-gravity coils illuminating the earth.

  “Are you alive back there?” Fairy shouted. “Just bang your head against me or something.”

  He did, managing to lift his head a couple of centimeters and drop it back onto her shoulder.

  “We’re almost there,” she announced. “Ten minutes, maybe. You made it this far, don’t die on me now.”

  Marcus bumped his head against her again, struggling to contain his growing nausea. He was already sweating on her, he didn’t want to vomit on her too. He closed his eyes, focusing his attention on the soft hum of the reactor between their legs, still cool to the touch despite the power it was putting out. He had never seen a hoverbike like this before. The tech had to be the last generation before the trife arrived.

  A few minutes later, Marcus shifted his attention to the changing landscape around them. They had entered another old settlement, apparently abandoned. He spotted rows of houses on either side of them, most of them dilapidated and crumbling, overgrown by weeds and brown brush. It was too dark to see much further into the distance, though the sky had started to lighten, the sun on its way up. He noticed silhouettes of a few taller structures against the moonlight, but they were few and far between.

  The trike zipped along the highway, following it as it curved from west to north, through what had once been a large interchange. It was mostly in tatters now, crumbled stone mixed with wrecks of cars and overgrown weeds, a few wild dogs moving around it in the shadows. They hunkered down as the trike’s headlights crossed the area, fearful of the newcomers.

  Fairy guided the trike through the area, shooting north. She slowed a little as they passed through an old structure that crossed the road, small booths resting between the lanes, accelerating once she reached the other side.

  “This is the place,” Fairy announced. “We were just wandering around in here when the folks in the uniforms found us. I don’t really know how to find—”

  She stopped talking, braking hard as a blinding light hit the front of the trike. Marcus groaned at the pain from being jostled, the trike coming to a quick stop.

  The light moved, a soft hum changing pitch as the drone began to circle them, hovering a few meters off the ground. The light fell onto Marcus, remaining there.

  “State your name and rank, Centurion,” the drone said.

  “Marcus. I don’t have a rank.”

  “That is a Centurion issued Advanced Tactical Combat System unit. If you aren’t one of us, you will be handled accordingly.” A pair of plates on the rounded drone slid aside, two gun placements emerging and pointing at him.

  “Wait!” Marcus said. “I came from Houston. Major Jade Heath. Captain Travis…” He trailed off. He couldn’t remember Travis’ last name. Captain Jason Stacker.”

  “What is their status?”

  “Dead,” Marcus said. “They’re all dead. Sheriff Duke killed them.”

  He sensed the trepidation in the voice from the drone. A receiver and speaker, not an artificial voice.

  “Why aren’t you dead?”

  “I will be soon,” Marcus said. “I need help. My arm.” He turned, squeezing the armor so the drone could see the damage. “It’s infected. I have a fever. I would have died, except—”

  “What is the status of the mission? Did Jade carry out her orders?”

  “No,” Marcus said. “I did. Sheriff Duke is dead.”

  The gun fixtures on the drone retracted. The small vehicle turned and shot away, leaving him alone with Fairy.

  “These people wanted the Sheriff dead?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder. “Why?”

  “He was in the way.”

  “In the way of what?”

  “I don’t know. Not completely.”

  “Marcus, what did you do?”

  He almost laughed. He had killed Sheriff Duke. Yesterday he was certain that made him strong. Today, he wasn’t so sure.

  He didn’t have time to answer her before a different light appeared, coming around the corner of a building. Marcus recognized the armored personnel vehicle right away. Low, wide and heavily armored, with eight large wheels and a heavy machine gun turret on top. His father had had three of them in his possession at one point.

  The vehicle stopped in front of them. A side hatch opened, and a thin older man in a black Custodian uniform stepped out. White hair, a chiseled jaw, light eyes. He stood with a confident posture, holding his hands behind his back.

  “Can you prove it?” he asked Marcus, remaining next to the APV’s hatch while a squad of Centurions climbed out behind him, quickly circling the trike.

  “I didn’t collect his head, if that’s what you mean,” Marcus replied. “But he’s dead. Sure as shit. I hit him center mass, right here.” He tapped his chest. “No man survives that.”

  “Sheriff Duke isn’t any man,” the officer said. “You may have shot him, but I’m dubious that the wound was fatal. No offense to you, Marcus, but without his head I cannot risk believing you.”

  Marcus’ stomach dropped. Sheriff Duke wasn’t dead? Both relief and disappointment flooded through him. Which one was stronger than the other? He couldn’t tell.

  “You,” the officer said, looking at Fairy. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Fairy,” she replied. “I was here a couple of days ago with my friends. You told us to get lost.”

  The man smiled. “You aren’t doing a very good job of it. Where did you get that hovertrike?”

  “It belongs to Marcus,” Fairy said.

  “No, it belongs to us,” the officer replied. “It was stolen from us some time ago. Marcus, where did you get this machine?”

  “Sheriff Duke had it,” Marcus said.

  “I see.” The man walked over to them, getting closer to Marcus. “Did you take Sheriff Duke by surprise?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” Marcus replied. “We had a duel.. I blasted his chest. He blasted my arm near clean off. I told you, it’s infected and getting worse. I need a doctor.”

  “We have a doctor here,” the officer said. “The only question is whether or not you deserve to be healed.”

  “I killed the Sheriff.”

  “You shot the Sheriff. It remains to be seen whether or not he’s dead. I’m sure that will make itself apparent sooner or later. If you really did beat him in a draw.” He paused, making an impressed expression. “I suppose we’ll take you in for further questioning. We’ll have to at least clean up the infection to ensure you don’t die before we can get a full debriefing.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus said.

  “What about me?” Fairy asked.

  “Did you shoot the Sheriff?” the officer asked. “Were you there?”

  “No. I’m just a wanderer.”

  “Who likes to pick up strays?”

  “It’s a long story. My friends are waiting for me back east. Marcus asked me to bring him here or else he would die. I don’t want him to die.”

  “How sweet.” The officer motioned to the Centurions surrounding them. “Take them, and have engineering come out to pick up the trike.”

  The squad closed in as the officer climbed back into the APV. Marcus tried to get off the hovertrike, to fight back. He slid off the side of the machine and onto the ground.

  “Marcus!” Fairy said, concerned for him.

  “Fairy, get out of here,” Marcus growled. “Go!”

  Fairy didn’t hesitate. She turned the throttle of the trike, using the pedals to send it arcing upward and away from the Centurions. They spun their rifles toward her, opening fire as the trike fell back toward the Earth, skids sparking against the asphalt, bullets sparking against the chassis as it darted away.

  The drone returned from overhead, giving chase. Marcus grabbed his sidearm, aiming it at the machine. The guards were too distracted to notice him.

  The officer re-appeared in the doorway of the APV as Marcus squeezed off four rounds, all of them hitting the drone and smashing through its shell. Smoke poured from its tail as it nosedived into the ground.

  The Custodians turned back to him the moment the hovertrike vanished from view. Marcus dropped the gun, holding up his hand.

  “That was stupid,” the officer said, rushing back over to him. “She won’t make it very far before we catch her.”

  Having ridden here with Fairy, Marcus wasn’t so sure. “We’ll see,” he replied. “I promised her I would let her go back to her friends. I couldn’t let you take her prisoner.”

  The officer grimaced. “That was an impressive shot to take the drone down,” he admitted. “Since you at least tried to kill the Sheriff for us, I’ll overlook this insubordination.” He looked at his Custodians. “Take him.”

  They surrounded him a moment later. One of them produced a device from a pocket and placed it against the back of Marcus’ neck. A warm shock dug into his spine, knocking him out.

  8

  Marcus

  Marcus opened his eyes, looking up at a transparent shell extending nearly a foot over his face, a drab gray ceiling visible through it. His first instinct was to look over to his left, at the same time he had the distinct sensation he was naked.

  The undressed state of his chest and shoulder helped confirm the suspicion, though he didn’t care all that much, especially when he noticed the stump of his damaged arm was completely gone, his torso nearly flat on the left side save for the thin disc of metal of a control ring. A moment of panic threatened to overtake him seeing they hadn’t been able to save any part of his limb, but he closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down.

  The arm was gone. That meant the infection was gone. He had a control ring, even if there was no augment attached to it. He was in some kind of machine.

  He opened his eyes again, getting a closer look at the shell, following it to metal sides and a pair of robotic arms draped near his feet. Fort Hood, he remembered. This had to be Fort Hood.

  Marcus settled back onto the soft interior, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t notice anyone in the room with him, though he couldn’t see all that well from his position. His eyes followed the ceiling to equally drab walls that reminded him of the lab back in Houston. Jade had said the Custodians made their bases predominantly in places like that. This had to be another bunker like that one. How many were there?

  He heard a click and a whine. A moment later, a woman approached the machine, standing over him and looking down. She was thin with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail over her shoulder and a chiseled serious face. She wore the same black uniform as the rest of the Custodians beneath a white lab coat, no name badge or any other insignia visible on her dress.

  “Marcus,” she said. “I’m Doctor Weir.”

  “Doc,” he replied, smiling. “Where am I?”

  “Fort Hood Bunker Three,” she replied.

  He reached up, tapping the transparency. “I mean, what is this?”

  “We call it a medi-bot. A self-contained, artificially intelligent diagnosis and repair unit. It repaired the damage to your arm.”

  “I have a control ring,” Marcus said. “Does that mean you can give me a replacement? Do you have a borger here?”

  “We have the capability to provide you with a new appendage,” Weir admitted. “The question is whether or not you’re worth the investment.”

  “Oh, I’m worth it,” Marcus said.

  Weir laughed. “You have a high opinion of yourself for a savage.”

  “I killed the Sheriff.”

  “Just like a savage to equate killing to power,” she remarked, causing Marcus to again frown. “In any case, Lieutenant Colonel Rasha wants to speak to you. The outcome of that discussion will determine whether or not you’re fitted for a replacement. We have a limited supply.”

  “So where does that leave me, Doc?” Marcus asked. “Am I a prisoner here or what?”

  “I think that depends on you,” she replied. “But I really don’t know. I’m just the doctor.” She moved behind his head, tapping on something out of sight. A moment later, the transparency split at the middle, lowering to the sides. “Watch your step getting out.”

  Marcus climbed out on the right side, using his arm for balance as he lowered his feet to the floor.

  “You’ll find clothing in the bathroom,” Weir said, pointing to a closed door. “Return here when you’re dressed.”

  “Will do.” Marcus went through the door into the small bathroom. Underwear, boots and a black Custodian uniform waited there. He relieved himself and put it all on before stopping in front of a mirror. His cheek had healed as well, though the damage had left a raised scar. He ran his finger over it, deciding he would wear it proudly. A badge of honor for the most dangerous man on the planet.

  He froze at the thought, remembering what Fairy had said. And also what Weir had just said regarding power. Maybe he shouldn’t be proud of the wound. His father would tell him he had earned the mark. That it was a sign of strength. Marcus didn’t know what to think. Good or bad, he didn’t know which Marcus he was now. Which one he wanted to be.

  He turned away from the mirror, frustrated by his inner conflict, returning to the outer room. The officer from the gate was waiting for him, standing with his arms behind his back, an amused expression on his face. Weir was at the control panel for the medi-bot, doing something to it.

  “Marcus,” the man said. “I didn’t get to introduce myself out in the field. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Rasha. How are you feeling?”

  Marcus looked to his left, where the arm of his uniform hung limply at his side. “Good, all things considered.”

  “I couldn’t let you die before we had a chance to speak, now could I?”

  Marcus looked at Rasha. “No, I reckon you couldn’t. What happened to Fairy?”

  “The girl on the hovertrike? Smart girl. She high-tailed it out of here and disappeared. Don’t worry. We didn’t go looking for her. We have higher priorities than a single trike. Follow me.”

  Rasha turned on his heel, the door behind him opening to allow him out. Marcus hurried around the medi-bot. “Thanks for everything you did for me, Doc,” he said on his way out. She glanced up at him but didn’t respond.

  “Colonel Rasha,” Marcus said, catching up to him. “What happens now?”

  “Right now?” Rasha replied. “We’re going to have a little talk. I want to know what happened in Houston. I want to know about the Sheriff. I want every detail. When we’re done, I’ll either kill you or have you fitted for a replacement.”

  “Kill me?” Marcus said. “Why?”

  Rasha didn’t offer any hints. “Those are the two outcomes. If I tell you what determines them, you’re more liable to tell me what I want to hear instead of what you know.”

  A pit expanded in Marcus’ gut. Did Rasha already know what had happened in Houston and he wanted to see if Marcus would be honest? Or if he were honest, would that information lead to his execution? He tried to come up with how the man might know what had happened already. The dragonfly drones in the stadium? Ruger? The Operator, Thomas?

  Rasha stopped at a hatch like all the others, opening it and motioning Marcus through. He entered what he assumed was the Colonel’s office. Four gray walls, an old wood desk scuffed and scraped, a pair of chairs that had seen better days—one placed behind the desk, the other in front. A tablet computer rested on top of the desk, the screen dark.

  “Have a seat,” Rasha said, motioning to the chair on his side of the desk, while he circled the desk to sit in the other.

  Marcus sat.

  “We lost contact with Houston weeks ago,” Rasha said, his opening statement surprising Marcus.

  “How long was I in the medi-bot?”

  “Almost three weeks,” Rasha replied. “The medi-bot won’t release a patient until their health is as close to one hundred percent as possible. In addition to the damage to your arm and your cheek, you were badly malnourished and heavily bruised. You also had a fractured rib. To be honest, that you did what you say you did in the state you were in is even more impressive.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” Marcus said. “I think I just got accustomed to running on fumes.” Now that Rasha had mentioned it, he did feel a lot stronger than he could remember feeling in some time.

  “You told me you came up from Houston,” Rasha said. “Your arrival here came a few days after our last check-in with the Operator. I imagine you know what happened.”

  Marcus stared at Rasha, wondering if the Lieutenant Colonel already knew what happened, and was testing him. But that didn’t make sense. If the Sheriff were dead and Ruger was still in charge, then why would they have lost contact.

  “Something doesn’t add up,” Marcus said. “There’s no reason for you to lose contact with the Southern Reach. Last I knew, Sheriff Duke was dead and Ruger wasn’t.”

  “What about Major Heath? What about Stacker?”

  “I told you, Duke killed them.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said without missing a beat.

  “What about the BodyCon?”

  “Alice?”

  “If that’s what she said her name was, sure.”

  “Destroyed.”

  “The Sheriff?”