3. Vladimir

Dice did not know how long he was unconscious or—even after he had woken—how long he spent inside the dark confines of a burlap sack. No one spoke to him, his hands were bound, and the bag blocked all light.

The only thing he was sure of was that he was moved.

When he first came too he realized he was inside a vehicle of some kind, probably a small car. He could hear the engine, smell the exhaust, and feel the heavy thumps, thuds and assorted sways associated with driving across a post-Apocalyptic Earth.

Once the grogginess had cleared, Dice had tried to speak. His inquiries were greeted with shouts to "shut up" and the occasional punch in the chest or arm.

Then the car had stopped. Dice had been grabbed by two sets of arms and hauled off.

However far he had gone, however long it had taken, whatever the truth there was no doubt that a fair amount of time had past: Dice could feel the warmth of afternoon sun on his uncovered arms.

His ears offered more clues. They had taken him to some kind of community or compound or house or something. A place with lots of people and rooms and stairs. Dice knew this because he could hear voices ("who's that?" "Is that him?" "He don't look so tough!"), because he was guided down stairs and through rooms, because he could smell cooking and because he bumped into furniture on several occasions.

After being pushed, pulled, prodded, and led, Dice finally arrived at his destination. He was forced to kneel on what felt like shaggy yet plush carpeting.

A voice spoke in bad English wrapped in the unmistakable accent of a Kazakh.

"Take that sack off. A man like this must be treated with more…um…the word I want is respect."

The dark vision that had blocked Dice's sight for, at the very least, several hours was removed in a flash. His eyes were flooded with fiery light. He shut them and fought the pain of the brilliance.

"Easy…easy mister…what is his name? Oh yes, easy mister Dice. Your eyes will adjust, of this I am sure. You will see clearly, yes."

Dice's arms were still bound so his only relief was to shut his eyes tight and tilt his head toward the floor. He found the strength to speak, though. Still, he did his best to control his growing anger.

"Someone mind tellin' me why I've been dragged here? I am NOT a happy man."

Quaid sensed that there were several people in the room. He could hear their breathing, could hear their small talk, and he could see blurs hidden within the wall of light that assaulted his eyes.

The Russian's voice was layered with respect.

"You see…this is what I told you. Yes…I told you all…he is so very good. Here he is bound and surrounded with seemingly no—oh, what would be the word?—oh yes, with seemingly no way of escape yet even as we speak he is plotting his move…who to strike first…how to dash from this room."

Dice blinked once, twice…his pupils shrank rapidly to compensate. What had at first felt like a thermonuclear explosion of light slowly, gently eased to normal room lighting.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Dice looked up.

He was in a large, plush living room dressed in white and cream colors. A stone fireplace was against a far wall, bay windows lined one side and afforded a look at a patio and in-ground swimming pool with a large fence beyond, sofas and recliners, a glass coffee table and an entertainment system completed the room's décor.

Dice was, in fact, surrounded by shady looking characters in a collection of outfits. A few wore desert camouflage, a couple wore polyester suits as if they were gangsters left over from the disco era, and a few others were in less noteworthy garb; the patchwork type of clothes worn by the nomads and refugees that populated the Blue-dominated Earth.

Each and every one of the hodgepodge of goons carried a weapon. Machine guns and rifles and high-caliber handguns were all about.

The Russian sat upon a sofa that was draped with a tiger-skin blanket that created such a clash with the upholstery that it nearly blinded Dice's eyes as severely as the shock of sunlight had.

Two men stood behind that sofa on the leader's flanks. One Dice recognized—it was that Daven guy who had been hanging out with Elena's father's band. Dice did not need an advanced degree in reasoned thinking to understand that Daven had certainly been one of the men responsible for the burlap sack.

The other fellow behind the Russian was much younger—probably more a kid and less a man. He had spiked blonde hair that was so dramatically outrageous that it had to have been for the sole purpose of pissing off his father. Just incase the hairdo hadn't done the trick, the boy—probably late teens—had a nose ring to boot.

Daven watched Dice suspiciously. The spiked-haired kid looked bored.

As for the Russian…he wove his fingers together, clenching and unclenching them as he spoke. He was dressed in fine slacks and a silk shirt; his face was hard but the man was trying so very much to hide that hardness—Dice was certain make up was a part of the man's morning routine.

His eyes studied Dice side to side, up and down as he spoke as smoothly as he could for a fellow who had learned English as a second (or third) language.

"What am I talking about?" The Russian repeated Dice's question. "Oh, mister Dice, that is—what would you say now?—oh yes, priceless. That is very priceless."

The man who was in charge stood and strolled—almost strutted—closer to Dice while the latter remained on his knees.

"Mister Dice. You should not have accepted Jordan's offer to come to my home and steal away his daughter. But I respect a man who has courage such as this. I am certain Jordan warned you of our…our…" he struggled for the right word. "…of our strong defenses…yes…strong. No, wait, 'impenetrable!' Yes, that is the word. I am certain Jordan warned you of our impenetrable defenses yet you were coming all the same to save the damsel in distress."

Dice cocked his head as he twirled the man's words around inside his head.

"Wait a sec…hold on," Dice caught up with his surroundings. "You're that Vladimir guy he was talking about, aren't you? I'm right…huh?"

Vladimir smiled a big oily smile, waved his hands in the air in a sign of false humility and conceded, "You are very clever, mister Dice. Not much goes past you, of this I am sure."

"Hey, whoa, hold on then. We got one of those miscommunications. Yeah, really," Dice grinned meekly. "I wasn't coming this way. No sir. I wanted nothing to do with—"

Vladimir Zhukov interrupted his prisoner.

"Fear not, Mister Dice. I have great respect for your talents. This is why you are here in a condition of alive. A man so brave as to single-handedly come to the rescue of the young woman is a man for whom I would have much work."

"Dad," the spiked-haired kid interrupted. "I don't think he was doing it. I think your man Daven here jumped the gun—"

"Silence!" Vladimir interrupted his boy harshly, then calmed his voice and walked to his son.

"You are my son, and I love you so very much. But you are not yet a man. You can not see the courage and…and…and…the courage of a man such as Mister Dice here. Of course, it is my intention to change all this."

Vladimir turned away from his son and spoke to Dice again.

"I apologize. This is my son, Tommy. He is a smart boy. But he is not yet a man. That is part of the reason as to why Jordan's daughter has been brought here. I may very well marry her to my boy, so that he may someday be a man."

Dice smiled again.

"Oh, hey, that's great. Yeah. Congratulations!"

"Dad, I don't want to marry Elena. She does not want to marry me, either. I never met the girl—"

"Silence!"

Vladimir faced his boy once more.

"Perhaps it is time for you to be leaving. Yes. Now is the time for men to speak. Someday you will be able to stay in this—"

Tommy left he room without argument so fast that his father did not have a chance to finish his speech.

Vladimir clasped his hands together then sat again on the sofa.

"Where were we talking? Oh yes, Jordan owes me a great debt and what better way to repay it? Still, I must confess. My boy is not ready to be man. He has much to learn. So I was thinking about possibly killing Elena."

Despite a lack of attachment to the girl, Dice was horrified at the suggestion. This was a woman, he knew, for whom Yuji had felt strongly. An innocent girl that was merely trying to carve out a slice of happiness on Earth for herself and her people. The idea of Vladimir killing her…

"I know, I know, this sounds so harsh," Vladimir admitted with a phony look of regret. "But Jordan's people owe me…owe me…hmmm…they owe me. A man in my position must collect on his debts, you see. I'm sure you do."

"Uh…"

"However! I am very happy that now that you are here I have realized that maybe you could be of help to me and if you are, then I could let Jordan's daughter go free as my gratitude to you. And you too, of course, Mister Dice."

Dice's ears and mind followed along. When he had caught up with Vladimir's circular, confusing words, Dice nodded and said, "Well, that's just fine…but I really wasn't—"

"I have a problem, Mister Dice. As you know—of course you know—anyone surviving planetside these days must be, well, prepared to defend his property. We have done a good job of this with a few of those wonderful Shrikes. Yes, Armored Shrikes. A man such as yourself no doubt has driven just such vehicles in combat, no?"
"Um…"

"Good, yes, I knew as much. But, I am sorry to say, my Armored Shrikes have run down their power…power…" Vladimir waved his hand around as he tried to find the word, "power…um…power…"

Dice volunteered: "Cells?"

"Yes! Exactly! You are such a very brave and intelligent man! Yes, their power cells!"

Dice tried his best to find a way out.

"Well, that's bad and all but I'm not a mechanic and—"

"So I need you to go get some for me, Mister Dice."

Vladimir stopped speaking for a moment and looked Dice Quaid in the eye. There was no doubt that Vladimir had a great deal of respect for whatever talents he believed Dice held.

"I…um…I see."

"They should be easy to find, of course. There are several at a Second Earth Resource Recovery Station a few miles east of here. Why, I would just like you to go and—what would be the word?—oh yes, go and 'fetch' for me. Could you do that, Mister Dice?"

Dice did not answer right away. Not because he didn't have an answer in mind, but because he had the distinct impression that Vladimir Zhukov was not going to accept 'no' as that answer.

Vladimir continued, "This should be an easy job for someone as talented as you, Mister Dice. Indeed, I'll have you take a couple of my associates along so that they can watch you and learn from a master soldier."

Dice nodded his head.

"Thank you, really, Mister Vladimir, Sir. And, you know, I mean that. I really do. You are too kind."

"It is my pleasure."

"But, see, here's the thing. I wasn't heading this way at all. No sir, I don't want trouble. That's my motto, you know. Stay out of trouble. I'm really not all that good of a soldier. In fact, truth be told I'm really a deserter so I'm not the kind of guy you need for something like this."

Dice painted a brilliant smile on his face, as friendly as he could make it.

Vladimir was not friendly. He looked sad.

"Oh, dear, that is too bad, Mister Dice. Too bad indeed. I suppose that leaves me with no choice. I'll have to kill the young Elena or marry her to my son. As for you…well, if you are of no use to me then…"

Vladimir did not need to finish his sentence. The cold steel of a gun barrel pressed against Dice's temple. The smile on Dice's face faded fast.

There was a long silence.

Dice's smile returned.

"Hey, I'm always up for an adventure. I mean, how bad could it be, right?"

Daven spoke. No, he spat the answer to that.

"Automaton attackers."

"Oh."

Vladimir laughed.

"Not much of a challenge, no doubt, for a man with your talents, Mister Dice."

---

It occurred to Dice that he could overpower Daven and the other fellow—the skinny one with the powder blue sport jacket over black BDU's (a post-Apocalyptic Don Johnson, no doubt)—and take the jeep in which they road.

That must have occurred to the two men, too. They kept Dice handcuffed to the back of the vehicle as it raced across bumpy, barren fields in the shadows of red rock mountains.

They had been driving for more than an hour. Part of that time had been spent hiding in those red rocks from a swarm of flying Blue man-eaters. Fortunately the behemoths had not spotted the humans and had eventually moved on.

Dice, cuffed in the rear of the car, took stock of his situation.

They were on their way to a Second Earth Resource Recovery Station with the aim of snatching spare power cells from the inventory stocks there. Dice had the distinct impression that this was NOT going to be a joint operation. No doubt he was going to be sent in first while the two henchman—including the miserable Daven—stayed at a safe distance with rifles pointed at his back.

As for the station itself, it offered nothing but bad and worse scenarios for Dice.

Resource Recovery Stations were dotted across the surface of the Earth in key locations. Most were at sea, sucking up and de-salting water for transportation to the orbiting space stations that comprised Second Earth.

Some were manned by robotic farmers; some were in rainy environments to harvest water; some were in oil fields and used automated drills to pull fossil fuels from beneath the Earth's surface.

Apparently the one in Vladimir's neighborhood was built into the side of a mountain and was periodically operated to mine an assortment of precious mineral deposits.

The bad scenario for Dice was that the Station was vacant and guarded only by security fields and automaton attackers. The worse scenario was that it was occupied and that the attackers would be waiting along with a platoon of infantry and shrikes. While that might help him escape his captors, it would also deliver him directly into the hands of the Second Earth military. His record of service—or lack thereof—would place him in front of a firing squad rather quickly.

The base itself was built into the side of a mountain face and surrounded by a chain link fence. Between the fence and the main base were several structures including power sub stations and storage facilities, all rather small. Alas, the motor pool—his target--was behind a set of large garage doors that were part of the main building.

This stretch of rock and sand within the perimeter fencing also served as a kill zone for the automatons.

As the jeep approached the outer fence, Dice saw that this was going to be no easy task. Of course he realized that even if he completed the job, it was quite possible that his escorts had no intention of letting him get out alive.

He was, in essence, cannon fodder. Much like he had been in the Second Earth military. The difference here, of course, was that his controllers were more up front about the whole thing. No lies of grand purpose, no pep talks, no assurances of victory.

The jeep came to a halt by the main gate, a gate that had been conveniently left open. Dice, of course, felt this to be strange. In fact, the sight of the open gate made him add a third scenario—call it, the 'very bad' scenario—one being wherein the Blue had penetrated the base. Indeed, the lack of any automatons in view sent a shiver along Dice's back.

"Get out, super man," Daven ordered.

The skinny fellow unlocked the cuffs while Daven kept a rifle aimed at Quaid. The latter did as instructed, rubbing his sore but now free wrists as he moved.

The trio walked to the open gate. Daven and the other guy stopped.

"Okay, Dice, here's the deal. You get in there, take out the attackers, then signal us. Don't go into the motor pool without us, here me?"

Apparently Daven could read minds. Dice had already begun formulating a plan that involved him somehow surviving the robotic sentries and getting hold of one of the base's shrikes, then blasting the two goons to pieces.

"We'll be able to see you from here," the skinny guy displayed a scope on his rifle so as to make his point.

Dice grunted and held his hands in the air in a non-threatening manner.

"Hey, yeah, I'm a team player, right? You don't have to go worrying about me."

Daven motioned toward the base with the front of his rifle, telling Dice to get moving without saying a word.

Quaid, for his part, smiled then turned to face his objective. His smile faded. Somewhere between that maze of sub stations and storage rooms waited several well-armed three-legged automaton attackers; attackers that could shred the largest of the blue to pieces in short order. What they could do to a man…

Dice gulped and marched forward, fully expecting to be dead in seconds. He did know, however, that the robots had one weakness: a thirst for gobs of power. This meant the bots had to stay hooked to long, thick cables that limited their effective range. Furthermore, most resource bases such as that one kept the automatons powered down except when threats were detected.

He marched across the rocky sand. His feet crunched on the ground. That sound seemed to echo all about, suggesting that maybe Dice was the only living, moving thing around for miles.

The front of the base—built into the side of the mountain—grew larger in his eyes. He past the first of several block-like sub stations. His eyes darted from side to side, waiting for the hum and whirl of the attackers; waiting for the laser bolts and metal, pointed slugs to reduce him to goo.

But…he saw…nothing.

He figured Daven and the other idiot had to be watching. Perhaps they were just as surprised that Dice still lived as Dice himself was.

Quaid reached the front door. It was open. He pulled the heavy metal portal open and glanced inside.

A long console rested beneath thick security glass that looked out on the area Dice had just walked across. This had to be, Dice figured, the security station. The control point for the automatons as well as other automatic defenses.

The console had power. He could see blinking lights and monitors. He also saw a control panel marked "Automaton Control."

That panel offered a series of complex buttons and knobs that controlled sensitivity, targeting preferences, power usage, and much more. Dice did not understand any of that.

He did, on the other hand, understand the word "off". Pointing to that word was a big, heavy handle. That handle had another setting called "on."

Someone switched the attackers off?

Near that heavy switch sat a small LED display under the words "Automaton Status." The red letters of the display warned: "Armed – Ready."

"Hey Dice!"

Daven's voice called from one hundred yards away.

"Don't you go in there! You wait right there."

Dice stood in the doorway, raised his hands, and smiled.

"Hey, yeah, sure. Come on over, guys! It's all clear!"

The two thugs trotted forward, first keeping their eyes on Dice but, as they moved, their own fear got the better of them. The two began looking side to side.

Dice took the opportunity.

He quickly jumped inside the open door and slammed it shut behind. Rifle shots rang out and bounced off the bulkhead a second too late.

Dice found a tremendous feeling of satisfaction in the sound of those missed shots. He found even more satisfaction in the heavy thunk that reverberated in the control panel as he turned the automatons on.

Of course none of that satisfaction compared to Dice's glee at the sight of Daven's face twisting from anger to fear as small hatches opened along the base's front face and released four of the seven-foot tall, three-legged attackers.

The skinny guy got blown away first. A shot of metal arrows skewered the fellow and tore him to pieces.

Daven gained some control over his emotions as he dodged between power substations to avoid a series of laser bolts. Dice watched from the control room, smiling.

Daven saw this and charged at the big window from the outside. He fired at Dice from twelve feet, then eight, then two feet (just outside the window).

Dice didn't even flinch. The bullets held no hope to penetrate the heavy glass.

He did hear, however, Daven's frustrated growl that morphed into a scream as three attackers surrounded him and blasted his body to scarred pieces with laser blasts.

Dice looked into Daven's dying eyes and made a gesture that involved only one finger.

"That's what you get for putting a burlap sack over my head!"

Daven died. The attackers fanned out to patrol the front grounds of the station.

"Okay then," Dice spoke to himself. "Now I've got a car or maybe even one of the shrikes that have to be around here. Maybe this isn't going to be a bad day after all!"

He smiled to himself while gazing out at the patrolling robots, knowing full well he could just turn them off before leaving.

A sound, however, caught his attention. A click, actually. A metallic click.

The sound of a gun being cocked.

The sound came from very close to his left ear.

Dice closed his eyes and slowly raised his hands.

"Aww Christ."