Chapter 2

Six-hundred hours. My eyes snap open and I am fully alert. One item of particular note is the lovely girl in bed with me. I brush some hair away from her face and kiss her softly. In response, she moans softly in her sleep, shortly before her eyes flutter open. Once she awakens, she quickly squeezes me with renewed vigor and kisses back.

"Good morning, Sophie. Sleep well?" She seems to find this incredibly funny.

"Very." She kisses me again, then looks a little sad. "You've got to go soon, huh?"

"I am afraid so. I should take a shower and repair my uniform, then head to the admin building."

Sophie pouts a little, then perks up again quickly. "Come on, let's go take a shower!" I am unsure what she means, exactly, but I follow her naked form as it hops out of bed and skips down the hall. While being naked does not bother me, I am somewhat self-conscious about being seen naked, with Sophie. When I reach the bathroom, Sophie is leaning over the tub and running the water.

The shower begins to spray and she steps in, pulling me in with her. "Come on." In a moment, we have re-embraced, beneath the steaming cascade of hot water. We kiss passionately and slip against each others wet body. The smell of arousal is obvious from both of us.

After a few minutes of this, Sophie breaks the embrace and reaches for the soap. "Time to clean you up... too bad you have to go so soon, isn't it?" She smirks and giggles. She is teasing me.

"Perhaps another time."

"If you're lucky." A pair of soapy hands begin wandering all over my body. I return the favor, paying special attention to her breasts and nether regions. Soon, we are kissing heavily all over again. Both hands find their way to my throbbing erection and squeeze a little. "Can't have you interrogating someone like this, now can we?" As if to answer her own question, her hands begin to quickly slide up and down my shaft. "How do you like that?"

"V-very much!" It doesn't take long for me to cum explosively in her hands. Panting and moaning, I kiss her passionately. "Oh, that was..." Once again, she cuts me off with a finger over the lips.

"It's okay. The look on your face was thanks enough." This is followed by a few mocking imitations of my mid-coital expressions. We both laugh, then return to washing each other. When we are finally as clean as humanly possible, Sophie shuts off the water and we go about drying each other off. Now, dressed only in towels, we leave the bathroom and return to my room.

"Hey, did Grampa ever come home last night?"

"No, I would have awakened if someone opened a door."

"Okay, it's not unusual for him to sleep at the infirmary. I washed your uniform as best I could, there aren't exactly any washing instructions on the tag."

"Thank you, Sophie." I kiss her softly and accept the laundry basket. I dress in the underclothes, then place the BDU's on the bed and pull the repair kit from my rucksack. Sophie just takes a seat at the foot of the bed and watches intently.

Repairing the kevlar-weave is not really difficult, but requires a great deal of manual-dexterity to do quickly. First the slugs must be pried out, and a special tool is used to loosen the fibers. The fibers are then impregnated with a special epoxy and re-woven together, as tightly as ever. Twenty minutes later, my uniform is as good as new. Sophie is impressed.

"Wow, I've never seen a person's hands move so quickly. They were a blur, and your suit is just... in perfect shape all over again. Maybe I should teach you to cook." She smirks a little and comes over to kiss me.

I kiss her back and smile. "I'd be happy to learn. The best I am trained for is cleaning fish, butchering game and other survival cooking." I stand and dress, donning only the BDU's and boots. Sophie seems to approve of leaving the rifle, helmet, backpack module and utility belt in the basket. Next, she leads me into her room, where she quickly dresses in jeans and a denim shirt.

"Yesterday was my day off, but now I've got to go back to work at the infirmary. I'm studying to take over as head doctor when Grampa retires."

"I see."

"I'll be working all night, so you might as well eat with everyone else tonight. You could use some practice with people." I chuckle at this.

"I'm sorry. Am I not social enough?"

"Are you kidding me? The other night, when you had to greet all those people, I thought you were going to gnaw off your arm and escape." This is true, though I probably would have just used a flash-bang before resorting to self-amputation.

"We should get moving, there'll be breakfast at the admin." The thought of being around a few hundred people makes me consider switching to my recycled metabolism until tomorrow... or whenever Sophie gets her next day off. Something tells me, she wont let me off that easily.

"Understood." We step out of the house and Sophie stops to lock the door. She did not do this when we left for the town meeting, I assume this is to protect my equipment. Biometric countermeasures will not allow anyone else to operate anything, but no one else really knows that.

Arm-in-arm, we walk towards the admin building, parting company as we enter. "I wont be home until late tonight, Jonathon. Here." She tosses me her key, a flicker of motion is all it takes for me to catch it. I walk to Garret's office and find him there.

"Ah, Jonathon, just in time. Doctor Hunt tells me the prisoner woke up just a few hours ago. He is not happy."

"I would not expect so."

"Well." He stands and motions to the door. "Shall we?" I nod and follow him out. Garret leads me to a small room, secluded in the basement. Inside, Lt. Falkin is handcuffed to a chair. Doc and two armed guards are also in the room. Doc offers me his hand.

"Good work, Jonathon. But... did you need to hit him on the head so many times?" He whispers the last part. From the rather heavy bandaging around Falkin's head, it is obvious that he has suffered some severe head trauma.

"I'm sorry. I'll be more careful in the future."

"Right." Garret changes the subject. "Let's get to it, shall we?" He turns to the prisoner. "So, is this going to be easy, or not?"

"Fuck you!"

"Not."

I step forward. "Let me. It'll be quicker my way." No one seems to object, except Falkin.

"What? Keep the fuck back, you son of a bitch!" I take note of his life signs, heartrate and breathing are fast and shallow, his scent acrid with adrenaline and bile, and just a little urine. He has seen what I can do and is afraid of me.

Garret takes this opportunity. "So are you going to talk, or does my friend here get mean?"

Falkin's shoulders slump forward, defeated. "Alright, here goes. Hope you're comfortable. I work... worked for a warlord who called himself General Hack. Hack is new to the area, having just moved east for larger towns to conquer and more resources to strip. I joined up when his outfit moved into my settlement and asked for volunteers. I've got no loyalty to him, I'd much rather be living in a town like this and..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stick to the story and maybe we'll think about it." Garret growls.

"Okay, okay. Easy. Alright, Hack is a fucking monster of a man. I swear, he's a goddamn freak. Huge, and his skin..." Falkin shudders slightly, then continues. "Anyway, he just sweeps from settlement to settlement, picking up conscripts and grabbing anything that isn't too well nailed down. He's really interested in this place because it looks rich compared to most of the agros he's used to robbing." This is all very interesting.

"What is his strategy?"

"I think he's had some pretty serious training, because his tactics are pretty good. For all I know. If it's anything like the other walled towns, he'll have teams running through the woods, like we were, but more; ten to a team, maybe eight or ten teams. They'll all hit the walls randomly and fade back, trying to confuse your defenses and keep everything off-balance, then move in the frontal assault. He's got a couple of old treaded tanks and even a fucking hover tank! We're talking high-tech! Nearly a quarter of everything he plunders goes into keeping that thing running, but it certainly does the trick!"

"Hover tank!?!" Garret's eyes nearly bug out of his skull at the idea. Although he's probably unaware of their capabilities, it obviously can't be good for us. I am curious.

"This hover tank. Is it black and smoothly contoured?" This rings a bell for him.

"Yeah! You seen it?"

"Read about it. NORAD Alliance X-4 Jager. Fast and agile, with some impressive armor. Does it's primary armament still function?"

Garret interrupts the question. "What primary armament?"

"Twenty-one millimeter gaussian-acceleration rotary assault cannon."

"A what?"

"Imagine a gun that fired railroad spikes five times the speed of sound, at a rate of forty rounds per minute."

"Fuck me!" Everyone turns back to Falkin.

"Um, yeah. It works, kind of. He can usually get a few good bursts off, then it's done for the battle. But that thing can tear shit up like you wouldn't believe!"

"I figured, they tended to be temperamental when they were new, maintained by pre-Fall technicians, with precision-manufactured parts. I am impressed with Hack and his technicians for being able to get as much out of it as they do."

"Yeah, well. While the tanks are barraging the door, the commandos will be trying to slip in and wreak some havoc from inside. It all works pretty well, he trains his elite really well and sticks one of them in each group, so they can keep really good timing and turn most town defenders running in circles."

"Interesting. When will the offensive take place?"

"We sent a messenger two days ago and they're stationed about eight days away. He'll be on the move the same day the messenger gets there, so fourteen days until he's here. Maybe a few more for him to get his strike teams into the forest. I don't know how he's going to handle my absence though." This is true, what will Hack do when he finds that his spies are gone.

"Have there ever been any desertions? Could this be written off like that?"

"Yeah, actually. Most of his conscripts don't really enjoy the grunt's life, especially the way he treats us. The last of his elites got wasted in the third test-raid, so there wouldn't be anything to keep us from bolting... except for our utter fear of him... and the fact that we're too far from home to get back. But, yeah, he might figure that we made a run for it. He might even expect it, since we're going to be going into battle, not popular."

"I see. So, if we get rid of the bodies and camping gear, he might carry on as if nothing is wrong. This doesn't seem right. No, I don't think we will be getting the element of surprise here. How is the messenger traveling?"

"By foot."

"And will his entire force will be moving out?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"About three hundred."

"Very well." It feels as if I am slipping into a battle trance, but different. Rather than extending my senses outward to be more aware of my surroundings, it is as if my mind is turning inward, running through possible scenarios and outcomes. It becomes difficult to maintain more than basic contact with Garret and Falkin while all of this information is being sorted. Slowly, as things fell into place, my consciousness returns to the here and now.

Everyone is staring at me, my internal clock tells me that I have been in deep-autist hyper- cognitive mode for seven minutes. I lean over and whisper to Garret. "Here is what we will do. I will leave tomorrow morning and make my way to Hack's base of operations. My two priorities are to demolish the tanks, especially the Jager, and to assassinate Hack. If necessary, I will eliminate his inner circle, their supply stores, and whatever else it takes to persuade them to disband." Data is still swirling in the back of my mind. "In the mean time, you must clear the bodies from the forest, I will give you their positions, then fortify for the worst."

Suddenly, a query from my subconscious stabs into the fore of my mind. "Does Hack have purple skin?"

"What?!?" Garret has no idea what I am talking about. But Falkin does.

"Yeah, how did you know? He's got dark purple skin, when someone asks about it, he damn-near beats them to death. As you can imagine, no one asks about it anymore."

Garret still doesn't know what we're talking about. "What's this about purple skin?"

I wish I had an answer for him, the query was based on a few incomplete battle reports, downloaded into my mind, and were being interwoven with other data by some rather tenuous ties. "I'm not sure, just a hunch." A long, tense pause followed, but I hardly notice as I slip back into mind again.

Three minutes later, I come back with a few more answers, but far more questions. "Alright, I think that is all the information I need, for now." I stand and step toward a corner and Garret follows, he already knows what I want to ask. "What will we do with him? He has been quite helpful, but then, so would many prisoners of war." My voice is too low to be heard, but it is probably evident to everyone of what we are speaking.

"I don't know. If he's telling the truth, then I can sympathize with his situation. But we can't be rolling out the red carpet just yet either."

"Agreed. I am pretty sure that he is telling the truth, though his recent concussions make him somewhat difficult to read accurately." This is true, his eyes still do not seem to dilate or contract in perfect concert, and an occasional slur in his speech makes voice patters a little erratic. "I suggest that he be allowed to live for the next two weeks. By then, we will know a great deal more about the situation, and might be in a better mood about him at that time."

"... or dead." Garret finishes my thought with a solemn look, then turns to Falkin. "Alright, you're going to live, for now. We'll talk release or citizenship, or whatever, after General Hack has been taken care of. Any problems?"

"No! No, none at all." Falkin obviously prefers prisoner over cadaver. He may be useful yet. Garret orders that he be un-cuffed and provided with a cot and three meals a day. Guards will be posted outside the door at all times and the room looks secure enough to keep him in - I could escape in at least eleven different ways, but that is what I do... also, Falkin lacks the capabilities required for most of my escape plans (the simplest of which being to kick the steel door off of it's hinges and kill both guards with my bare hands).

As Garret and I leave the room, he appears to be very agitated. When Doctor Hunt joins us, he finally lets out his frustrations. "Okay, Jonathon. When you first came here, I bought your story about amnesia, and training, and finding milspec equipment under a rock, because I thought I would need to you protect my town. And I do. But I need more answers now. How the fuck do you know all about seventy year-old hover tanks, or whether this mother-fucker, Hack, has green or yellow or purple skin. And what makes you think that one sixteen year-old boy can take an entire army. Im sorry, I just can't buy any more of it."

Sound and smell suggests that Doctor Hunt is on the verge of panic, but I can't spare my eyes to look, they are locked with Garret's. "Alright, Garret. If you want the truth, you'll get it. I am a genetically-engineered assassin, designed by Doctor Hunt at the end of the war to be a last-ditch offensive against Eurasian invasions. However, I never saw active duty, as the lab I was created in was sealed off when the military base above it was destroyed. I recently awoke from suspended animation and crawled out of the wreckage."

I wait a moment for this to settle in, then continue. "I am stronger, faster and smarter than a baseline human, with heightened senses and a more efficient metabolism. My training is a result of VR-immersion and my age is either fifty-two years or six days, depending on whether you count the time I spent in a large bottle or not. I can take on General Hack and his army because that is what I was bred to do!"

Once Garret has digested all of this, my hand flashes from my side to his holster, removes the firearm, ejects the magazine and breach round, and then returns it to the holster again. All of this happens far to quickly for human eyes to follow. This snaps Garret out of his confusion rather well.

"Alright, so you are the most genetically-superior human on the planet. Why aren't you trying to run the show."

"I don't want to."

"What?"

"I don't want to be in charge. I function much more effectively as an individual and, quite frankly, large crowds make me uncomfortable."

"Alright, let's say I believe you. Why are you here?"

"I've got to be somewhere."

Garret seems to think for a very long time. Finally, he sighs loudly and shakes his head. "What can I say? For as long as Hack is a threat, we need you. After that, we'll talk." He glares viciously at Doctor Hunt and walks away. Doctor Hunt is somewhat shaken.

"Well that went... well."

"Indeed. He will come around. For now, we need to talk. Let us go for a walk, I would like a tour of the settlement." We begin to walk.

"Alright, but... tell me, what is this about purple skin?"

"Nearing the end of the war, many of the Neo-Soviet Republic's soldiers had purple skin. I'm not sure why it came up, but it would appear that General Hack is a descendant of one of these soldiers."

"Yes, I recall. We never really had a chance to find out why though, the Neo-Sov's used hypno-chemical therapy to turn their troops into bloody-great psychopaths, none were ever taken alive, and there usually wasn't much of a corpse to speak of either. It turns out they all had self-destruct charges strapped to them. Later, I was moved onto the Specter project before any more inquiry could be made."

"Could any information be gathered?"

"Well, there was some footage that showed one of them flipping over a fully-loaded humvee. Now, you're strong, but two metrics tons is too heavy for even you to move. Besides that, however, there isn't much I can tell you."

"I see. What could give a man that kind of strength? I wouldn't have thought that even transgenics could do that."

"Neither would I. Well, regardless. There is something else I would like to talk to you about." It is obvious that he is leading me toward one of the large hangers, a currently deserted one.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to say that I am glad that all of my Specters are dead... My Specters were soulless killing machines, but you are so much more - you're a goddamn person! I can't take credit for the way you are, you've made yourself into something far better than I ever could." So this is what he has been mulling over for the last few days.

We continue to walk some more, going behind the hanger. There is no one around for nearly three-hundred kilometers, guards posted on the wall. He continues. "I'm also happy to see that Sophie has taken such a liking to you. She's had some... bad experiences... and you really seem to treat her well."

"I wouldn't hurt her."

"I know. I know. Believe it or not, the fact that you've overridden your control protocols makes me feel better - if they don't affect you, than neither does any of the indoctrination programming." There is a very long pause, I find myself thinking of Sophie the whole time, until Doctor Hunt finally clears his throat.

"Alright, let's get this tour underway now, shall we?" With the tension broken, he begins to show me through each of the warehouses and hangers. It would appear that the majority of Clearwater Settlement's livelihood comes from sending twenty-man teams out to the various sites of ruined cities and industrial complexes within the surrounding countryside. The teams scavenge virtually anything of use and bring it back.

Each hanger and warehouse has a specific purpose, from initial sorting of all scavenged junk, to a motor pool, to a factory for ammunition. It is in the ammunition factory that we are approached by a heavyset man, wearing protective goggles and a leather apron.

"Hey! You must be Jonathon, I didn't have a chance to meet you at the meeting the other night, but I've heard about you. My name's Gus, I'm the head gunsmith here... I, uh, don't suppose I could get a look at that fancy rifle I heard about sometime, could I?" There is a child-like fascination to his voice, I suppose my flechette-rifle would be very interesting to him. "So, what kind of ammo does that sucker use?"

"Six-millimeter Teflon-coated steel flechettes." Gus whistles and grins wide.

"Wow! Can't say I can make that, but I'd love to try."

"Actually, any lightweight steel will do nicely. There is a mill built into the rifle for ammunition production, but I would be intrigued to see what a live craftsman can do." I do believe that I have made his day.

"Yeah! Oh boy, just bring it on by anytime and I'll have a pile of them ready in no time. Maybe some different kinds of ammunition. Hmm." Just as quickly as he had shown up, he wanders off, lost in thought.

Doctor Hunt chuckles softly and leads me to a raised solar cell array, measuring fifty meters squared, mounted on scaffolding and covered in chainlink fencing. "Here is the solar generator, the power it produces is transmitted, through buried cables, to the admin building. There's a few dozen wind collectors just over there too. Power is stored in about two-thousand car batteries and such in the admin's basement. Water pumps too."

"Very clever."

"Indeed. Right this way, we've got the reservoir." We walk to a large, manmade lake. I see several children frolicking in the water. The tour continues on with the methanol still, which appears to be an old water-tower, taken off of it's mounting. Finally, the living quarters, a vast field of mobile homes and trailers.

"Tell me, Doctor, how is this colony governed."

"Well, basically, Garret, Emma and I are in charge. We meet every week to decide how our resources can best be divided, plus Garret and I have our own everyday duties."

"And Mrs. Masters?"

"She... teaches the children and... is in charge of the kitchens and..." He seems to be having a hard time coming up with important things. "Well, anyway, no one has really asked her to step-down, so here she is." I notice we have gone full-circle and returns to the admin building. "I've got to get back to the infirmary."

"Understood, I will follow you there to say hello to Sophie." Doctor Hunt chuckles softly, but doesn't say anything. As we walk down the hall, I hear Emma Master's voice coming from one of the rooms.

"Now children, the history of Clearwater Settlement begins forty-two years ago, when my late husband founded it. Later, he allowed Garret and Doctor Hunt to join..." I continued to listen for some time, a combination of sharp ears and a shrill voice making it possible to hear her from virtually anywhere, as Mrs. Masters told an intriguingly self-serving history of Clearwater Settlement.

"Are her classes always so..."

"Self-empowering? Yes. But most parents are sure to set their children straight after each lesson. We just want them to be literate and able to do arithmetic, after that they'll get special training for whatever job the end up doing."

"I see. Though, maybe someone else should take up the math and science portion of the curriculum: she seems to think that fire is on the periodic table of elements." We both laugh loudly at this, until Mrs. Masters comes out of the room, looking very displeased.

"Do you to mind, I am trying to teach a lesson here." We are still laughing, but Doctor Hunt manages to get some words out.

"I'm sorry Emma, we were just listening to your class... you do know that fire isn't an element, don't you?" Her whole body seems to shake with rage.

"Of course I know that!" The way her eyes are shifting suggests otherwise. "If you had listened to the whole lesson, you would have seen that!" Her reactions are almost comical as she tries to cover her own ignorance. Shortly, she just storms back into the classroom and slams the door behind her.

"Well, my boy, if she didn't like you before, she hates you now." More laughter. We reach the infirmary, I look and find Sophie doing inventory in one of the supply rooms.

"Hi, Jonathon!" She smiles when she sees me, then quickly wraps her arms around my neck for a brief hug. "So, what have you been up to all day." I tell her about the tour, meeting Gus, and the confrontation with Mrs. Masters, I decide that the grim news from the interrogation can wait.

"Yeah, I can see Gus drooling over your rifle. Just don't leave him alone with it, he might try to take it apart to see how it works."

I laugh. "That would be bad indeed."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"No, I've been busy."

"Are you sure you aren't just avoiding everybody?" She pokes me in the ribs and it is quite obvious that she is teasing me.

"Quite sure." I poke her back and squirms away, giggling. She is ticklish. Sophie tries to get away, but I am easily fast enough to grab her and begin tickling her mercilessly.

"Ah! Put me down!" Sophie shrieks and wriggles, trying to squirm free. "All right, all right! You aren't avoiding anybody, you're a goddamn social butterfly. Just let me go!" I stop tickling, but don't let go. Once she calms down, she looks up to me with total seriousness. "You are going to pay for that."

"Am I?"

"Yes you are. Since you missed breakfast and lunch, you're going down to the kitchen to see if they'll let you have a sandwich."

"That's alright Sophie, I'll be fine until dinner."

"No, you wont. You're going to go get a sandwich." There is an evil glint in her eye as she grins at me. Something tells me that I have no choice in the matter. "Go on now." A peck on the lips and a pat on the butt later, I am in the hallway, wondering how she can talk me into anything.

Finding the kitchen is simply a matter of tracking the scent of cooked food. Not hard. I pass the cafeteria on the way, the smells of two-hundred diners, their food, and the ammonia used to clean up after them all very fresh to me. The kitchen is the next door, I step in and see four women running in every direction at once.

I choose one who is standing relatively still and approach her. "Excuse me."

She looks up. "Just a second. Here, stir this slowly, I need to check the bread." As soon as the words leave her mouth, she is gone. I don't think I have ever seen a human move that fast, and I am left stirring a very large pot of chicken broth. She returns a few minutes later and takes over. "Thanks, can you chop vegetables?"

"I... yes, I suppose so." I've never done so before, but how hard can it be?

"Good, see that pile over there." She indicates a sink-full of recently washed vegetables. "Get started. Garret called another town meeting, which means dinner has to be two hours earlier than usual." She returns to fussing over the broth. I guess the conversation is over.

I walk to the sink and consider just how harried she looks. Despite that, her petite frame and dark hair is quite attractive. Where are those thoughts coming from? Elevated hormonal activity due to adolescence - growth factors and developmental agents are further amplified beyond human norm to encourage early adulthood. Very well, so this is normal for adolescent males... amplified?

Putting those thoughts aside, I pick up a knife and some celery. How do you chop celery? Thinking for a moment, I remember that some of the left-overs Sophie fed me had celery it them - they were cut into cross-sections, that must be how it is done. I begin, first with slow, deliberate motions, but I quickly accelerate to full speed. Within a few minutes, my hands are a blur and a pile of uniform, five-millimeter vegetable slices is growing very rapidly.

"Holy shit, look at him go!" She is looking over my shoulder, sounding very amazed. Maybe I should not be going at optimum speed. At this distance, I can pick her scent over that of the kitchen and it makes me start thinking with my hormones again. This is probably why Sophie has me... wrapped around her finger, I think that is the term. Best to keep my mind on the vegetables. "You're Jonathon, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"I'm Gina. So, you are the guy who's supposed be our savior?" She doesn't really seem to believe it. I keep forgetting what my apparent age is.

"I wouldn't say 'savior', but I am quite good at what I do." This elicits a chuckle from her.

"Oh? And just what is that?" As an answer, I throw a tomato into the air and slice it three times, in mid-air, spinning the knife over the back of my thumb each time. Four, perfectly sliced, tomato pieces land on the cutting board. "Holy shit! You're the real thing, aren't you?"

"I like to think so." I allow myself a quick look in my peripheral vision, she is quite pretty. One-hundred and seventy-nine centimeters, fifty-two kilograms, with very... pronounced curves in her form. Gina's face shows her to be in her late-teens or early-twenties. My thoughts shift to Sophie, and stay there, I am still in love with her. This is just my hormones talking.