James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.
4
"Chow down, my grunts, mess is on," Max says cheerily as she walks over with a few pizzas. She must have been able to read my mind. We all tear into the food hungrily, all of a sudden seeming as if none of the intervening years away from each other had ever happened. I look at Syl and see her eyes roll back in her head a little bit as she bites into her food, sorta like a shark's do. Krit, like he always used to, is eating with his mouth open, allowing intermittent glimpses of chewed cheese and pizza dough. And Max simply stands there inhaling her food, obviously used to eating on the run. She gets a bit of the tomato sauce on her chin, and I want to reach over and gently rub it off for her, but Syl beats me to the punch, sorta grunting to Max as she points at her own chin. Maxie understands Syl's vague pantomime and wipes away the sauce with her thumb.
"So, I know it's food time and all, and we never liked to talk business during meals, but I have a question," Krit says between bites, somehow keeping his food from falling from his mouth as he speaks.
"What is it?" Max asks.
"It's about Lydecker," Krit says, not surprising me in the least. I've seen the way Krit's been looking at Don, and I have to admit I've been a little concerned. He's almost resembled a tiger preparing to pounce.
"He says he had nothing to do with Tinga, but how can we be sure?" Krit asks.
"Look, I don't trust him either," Max says, "but I was there when Tinga was originally recaptured. The look on Lydecker's face was... well, someone fucked him over on that deal, I'm pretty sure of that. Also, I don't think he would ever have willingly killed any of us, at least not like that."
"Of course not," I interrupt, "we're all worth far too much money."
"No, it's more than that," Max counters. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying the son of a bitch really cares about us or anything, but he's got some kind of twisted father-child dynamic built up in his head. Sometimes he refers to us as 'his kids,' and I don't think he means it only as a commanding officer would say 'his soldiers.' It's more than that, somehow."
"So you're basing your conclusions on a hunch," Syl surmised.
"You're gonna tell me he doesn't feel something more for us than he's supposed to?" Max asked.
"Not at all," Syl said. "I've always known how he really feels about us, and that makes me hate him that much more when I remember some of the things he's done to us. He's kept us in a pool until we were all in danger of drowning, he's allowed us to be carved up on the autopsy table when something goes wrong with us, and let's never forget that he gunned down Eva in cold blood right before we made our escape. I don't doubt he's capable of whacking Tinga, too."
"I think we should kill him," Krit mutters. "We don't have to do it now. We can wait until the job is done, and then we can see how happy Lydecker is being put underwater for four minutes, or see how he likes the idea of running battlefield simulations with live ammunition. He's got a lot to answer for."
"If we did that, we wouldn't be any better than him," Max says. Leave it to Maxie to get all moral like that. I honestly have no idea where she found that inconvenient conscience of hers."
"No, it would be worse than that," Syl comments, her eyes going to the floor. "If we killed him, we'd probably only make him proud of us. He spent years trying to frighten us, since fear was the only power he knew he could ever have over us. If we found the courage to ever kill him... he'd die with a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing that we'd finally become everything he ever wanted us to be." It's obvious that Syl has lain awake at night thinking about this very often. To tell the truth, I don't see any way to disagree with her.
"I don't care how proud he'd be as he died, just as long as he was dead," Krit spits.
"Enough," I say, making certain there's a bit of a growl in my voice to emphasize just how much this conversation is over. "I honestly don't give a rat's ass how you feel about the Colonel," I tell Krit. "We have a job to do, and we're gonna do it. These personal feelings of yours had better disappear real fast; you got that, soldier?" Krit nods his head in affirmation, and I breathe a little more easily.
"All right, people, listen up," Lydecker suddenly announces, grabbing our attention and dragging us away from our recently completed conversation. "We've got a lot of work to do before we move out."
"Hang on, there's something we need to know," I say, making certain that at least one issue gets cleared up before my sibs and I do any killing for dear old dad.
"Who murdered our sister?" Krit asks, his voice still holding a tinge of anger. He should have stuffed that down more thoroughly by now. He's only giving Lydecker an edge by letting him know just how pissed off and suspicious we are.
"The new director," Lydecker finally says. "Name's Renfro. She's a real piece of work."
"Why'd she do it?" Max asks, as if something like that could easily be summed up in a one-sentence answer.
"I don't know," Lydecker admits. I don't remember ever hearing him say those words. Well, more to the point, I don't know if I've ever heard him say those words and actually mean them. He's said that plenty of times before, but I always knew he was lying. Now, however, it seems the Colonel, the man who always had all the answers, whether we liked them or not, is every bit as much in the dark as the rest of us. The feeling is rather unsettling.
It's at that moment that I hear a bird, a crow, start to caw from above us. I whirl to look at the crow, feeling Max, Syl, and Krit move right along with me. The sound of the cawing... it reminds me of a time from my so-called childhood, not long before our escape. The X-5's had been divided up into several strike units, each of them working independently of the others. In the end, we had a seven-team free-for-all on the Manticore grounds, each of us using live ammunition just to make sure that everyone would stay on his toes. There had been a crow then, too, and Scott had decided that he would chase the bird away. He fired a single round, but he was careless and his shot hit Barry. The bullet went right through Barry's chest, collapsing the right ventricle and preventing any sort of effective treatment. He died in front of us all, as we gathered helplessly around him to watch his final, wheezing breaths.
That was the first time we had ever lost anyone in the field, the first time we saw just how deadly a rifle could be. We had never lost one of our own like that, and the worst thing was that Barry was in my unit. He was my man, my soldier, my responsibility. That was the first and only time that I lost anyone. I swore that day that I would never experience that kind of failure again.
I glance quickly at the others, and I can see that they're all thinking the same thing. Each of these three was in my unit that day, so it makes sense, I guess. Still, I don't see any reason for dwelling on the past, not when we're facing the uncertain future that we are. With one quick motion I draw my 9mm and glare up at the stupid bird, making certain I can track the bullet's path. I glance at the angled, metal roof and decide in the blink of an eye that the ricochet will carry the bullet in a safe direction. One shot, and the bird flies away. I make certain I don't hit it – there's something about crows that's just a little spooky, even for me, and I don't want to tempt any bad luck. I know what most people would think if they ever heard me talking about luck, but I think there's probably something to it. Whether bad luck exists or not, though, I don't see any point in taking chances.
Once the echo from the shot stops ringing off the metal walls and roof of the building, Max starts walking away, glancing over meaningfully at Logan. "I need some fresh air," she announces, and robo-boy dutifully follows her out into the night.
Against my best intentions, I find myself recoiling at the idea that she would prefer to spend her time with him rather than me. What the hell does Logan have that I don't? Not only am I smarter, stronger, and faster, but I'm also fully mobile and closer to Max's age. And I can field strip any modern assault rifle in under twenty seconds, too. Let's see Mr. Logan Cale, cyber-journalist crusader, do that. I really just don't understand women. Once again, though, I push all of those thoughts from my head and remind myself of what's most important. Max is one of my soldiers, and not anything that would even vaguely resemble a love interest. She's not interested in me that way, she's never been interested in me that way, and she'll never be interested in me that way. She's my soldier, and nothing else. That means she's my responsibility. I won't allow my feelings to get in the way of what I have to do to keep my team safe.
To be continued..................................