| Chapter Four-The First Step “It was good to see you again, Pete,” Dr. Cain said with his traditional warm smile, shaking hands with his guest, “I wish you the best of luck with your project.” “Good health to you, Doctor,” replied General Peter Thornton as he returned the handshake, smiling back at Cain. He nodded politely to Signas and, in high spirits, departed. “An interesting lot of company you keep, Doctor,” the second in command stated. “Yes, well…” Cain replied, settling back into his chair, groaning as if to testify to his age, “General Thornton was never a favorite of mine, anyway.” “You couldn’t tell,” Signas responded with a raised eyebrow, “What with the way you two carried on.” “Pete was always a dreamer,” Cain explained, “He came on a little too strong for some people’s liking, myself included. He’s strongly tied to politicians, after all.” “That’s no good…” “Agreed. God knows what his people have done in their lives, but that’s a guy who’ll do most anything for his ambitions. It’s admirable in some cases, but…” “All one has to do is look at Sigma to know what else ambition can do to you.” “Exactly…” Cain stretched luxuriously, looking over his second in command. “So, Signas, how are you adapting to life as a Grand Commander?” “It’s different…” Signas admitted, “I haven’t exactly spent much time with this army, so I feel a bit out of place as its leader, but…” Cain shrugged. “Don’t worry too much, my boy! The Unit Commanders have been cooperative, have they not?” “Yes, X and Zero especially, which is a big relief. I don’t think they’ve gotten over the Sigma thing yet…” “Yes, well…” Cain let out a long sigh. “They’ve been fighting him for ages now…X hasn’t had much of a life because of it. Before he joined the Hunters he was just a big mass of confusion, not knowing what the hell he was supposed to be doing. Afterwards, he became the one everyone depended on to win the big battles, and in a sense do all the real work while everyone else cowered behind him. Whenever a peacetime like this is interrupted, I’m sure it depresses him a bit…Zero, though, he doesn’t mind war at all. He claims it keeps his wits sharp, and I’d have to agree.” Cain looked lost in thought. “He also hates Sigma with a passion deeper than even X, though I can’t see exactly why. I mean, sure, they’re archrivals, but still…” “Perhaps,” Signas offered, “It stems from the fact that Sigma’s soldiers got Zero killed? Maybe Zero’s ego couldn’t just forget something like that.” “That’s what I was thinking, and recently it’s gotten worse, what with Colonel and Iris…I don’t know, sometimes I really worry about his mental stability.” Signas’s eyebrows raised immediately, and Cain had to clarify. “I mean, I don’t expect him to go Maverick or anything. He’s already proven he’s too strong to give in to that virus…I just think that he might be losing himself, I guess.” Signas bowed his head in thought. He knew by now that the childless Cain tended to think of X and Zero as his “children”, if nothing else because of the large amount of time the three spent together. Anything that might seriously endanger either of them weighed heavily on Cain’s aging mind. “I don’t see Zero losing it any time soon, sir. He and X will beat Sigma again if need be, and each and every time he returns until they beat him for good. They’ve come this far; nothing’s stopping them from going further.” Cain smiled slightly, trying to believe it. “I know, I know, I’m just an old worrywart nowadays. Anyway, how about Mr. Sigma? Anything coming up on him lately?” “Nothing yet, sir,” Signas said in a resigned tone, “But I should probably be knocking on wood right now, knowing that weasel…” General Thornton closed the door of his suburban home behind him and collapsed on his couch. He had another project under his control. He loved these moments, and at the same time hated them, because they meant he had a new window of opportunity before him, but there was now the responsibility of making everything work. But that was business, and business hours were over. The 56 year old general, who had never actually seen combat, but had risen to power through shady friends and behind the scenes work during the wars that were honorable, in his mind anyway, but wouldn’t be understood if he told anyone about them. One in particular, but the past was the past. Thornton got to his feet as his wife and daughter entered the room. His wife Margaret, a woman of 50 years, was half buried in shopping bags, and his daughter Susan, a 20-year-old college student carried her own baggage. “Okay, remember,” Margaret said as she got near her husband, “We’re returning these things and going out for dinner, meaning you’ll have to make something for yourself. There’s a frozen pizza in the fridge, and we’ll be back around 10.” “Of course, of course,” he replied as he kissed his wife goodbye, “It’s not rocket science.” “Right,” his daughter laughed as she followed her mom out the door, “Try not to set the house on fire.” “So funny…” Thornton muttered as they left, and marched into the kitchen to prepare the said pizza. Ten minutes later he was eating it, alone in his home, and reading through the files he’d brought home with him. In exchange for cooperating with his project, Cain wanted Thornton to do a little research on a company called Seraph, and here was a file containing their basic description. Though he’d heard of the company, he’d never heard of anything that might be remotely threatening come out of Seraph. He set the file down as he got up to refill his glass of water, noting a shrill whistling sound. He cleared his ear with his finger, reminding himself that he probably needed to see a doctor about his varied ear problems. He made it to the sink, and at that precise moment Satan flew through the back wall of his house, shattering everything in its path and creating a swirling inferno and a shockwave that through Peter Thornton clear across the room. The area of the floor where the missile had landed was now nothing more than a crater. One whole side of the house was blown in, and the rest of it was burning and falling apart at a rapid pace. Terrified, Thornton dragged himself over behind a counter, where he cowered until he could shake the cobwebs out of his frenzied mind. His vision focused again, and he beheld the all consuming fire that was quickly reducing his home to ashes. Thanking his god that his family had just left, Thornton tried to limp towards the front door, making slight progress, at least until an area of the second floor above him caved in and sent a tornado of splintered wood and other projectiles flying down at him. He threw himself to the floor, covering his head and screaming, and when it was over he tried to jump to his feet but he landed terribly, and when he turned to see why his left leg wasn’t responding to his brain’s commands, he was quite shocked to find that it wasn’t there any more. The room melted into one hazy, red image, and Thornton’s mind exploded in a mix of pain, fear, and frenzied confusion. Before he knew it he was screaming again, but there was also another presence in the room, and it had bound his arms behind his back and wrapped its strong metal arm around his throat. “It’s been a while, Major Thornton,” said the hard, gruff voice, “But that’s right, you’re a general now.” “Wh…who are you?” The general managed to whimper, losing control of himself with every new second. “You don’t remember me?” he asked, pushing a hard object into Thornton’s spine, causing the general to arc his back. “Well, I don’t suppose you should be expected to…you thought we were all dead, after all.” Thornton’s mouth went even drier and every ounce of energy he had left was diverted to desperation. He flailed and struggled to no avail, like a fish caught in a net, tears of hopelessness spilling down his face. “My god…Terrornova…” “Ah, so you do remember…” The Reploid behind Thornton laughed with cruel humor, obviously enjoying himself. “Are you afraid, Thornton? Are you afraid to face the retribution you knew was coming? You did the inexcusable…” “No, no, no…!” Thornton pleaded miserably, a total wreck by now. “Poor baby…” the Reploid said in a mocking tone, his green/brown camouflaged armor seeming very cold on Thornton’s neck, “It’s our turn to do the unthinkable.” The Reploid activated the object pressed into Thornton’s spine, and the human was quite shocked to watch a lightsaber beam explode from out of his stomach. “AGGGHHH!” Thornton all but wailed, coughing up blood at a rapid pace. The killer Reploid laughed again, deciding to be even more merciless. He leaned closer and whispered into the dying human’s ear the words he knew that would make General Peter Thornton die as horrible a death as possible: “You think this is bad…it’s a good thing you won’t see what we do to your family.” Thornton let out a sound from deep within his body that sounded like the mournful wail of a wandering spirit, and slid off the lightsaber as the Reploid deactivated it. Gredam watched the body fall to the floor, allowing himself to savor the moment as best he could. Here he was, the man who’d made his life a living hell, dead at his feet, his house blazing. This was the ultimate revenge. He would not be going after Thornton’s family, though, that was just a bit of last minute cruelty. They had not been the ones responsible for Thornton’s deeds. “Good riddance, you bastard…!” Gredam gave the body a mock salute before spinning on his heel and leaving the house through the back, hearing the police sirens already. What they would find would be the first evidence that compensation was finally coming to Gredam, and all the other members of Terrornova. Vulcan’s saber climbed up through the air, slamming into that of the training droid with an explosive crackle. The droid recoiled from the impact, and Vulcan threw his right foot into the drone’s chest to get it a good distance away from him. While it was still recovering, he charged it again, slashing into its torso and permanently disable it. It would be nice if real enemies were this stupid, he mused, but the Mavericks generally didn’t make many of the mistakes the training droids did. He turned to see Krysta finishing off her opponent. She used a fairly lightweight battle-axe to swing in wide arcs, cutting down all nearby foes. The blade was made of a light metal that was at the same time extremely sharp and durable, and it suited her perfectly. It now swung at the training droids’ neck, and being a droid, it didn’t make much of a move to stop the attack. The battle was over and Krysta started thinking the same things Vulcan had, mainly, it would be nice if the Mavericks were this stupid… “Very impressive,” said a voice behind Vulcan. The young Hunter turned to face his unit commander, a tall, alabaster Reploid named Archer. “You, Krysta, and that Rykov fellow…you’re definitely a step ahead of the others here.” “Thank you, sir,” Vulcan replied, standing slightly at attention, “But I don’t know of any reason why.” “You mean, you’ve been on the force just as long as anyone else, and yet do better?” Archer smiled slightly. “It’s called a gift, Vulcan. Reploids-and humans, for that matter-with natural fighting abilities show up all the time here in the Hunter ranks, and they’re the ones that wind up with the higher units, like the 17th. I’ve seen it happen a few times…don’t be surprised if you find your drones slightly more…advanced from now on.” Vulcan grinned inwardly. “That certainly won’t be a problem, sir.” Archer turned away from his soldier to acknowledge a messenger from Intelligence. Generally, the Intelligence department was the first to get word of a problem, and after getting orders from Cain and Signas, they’d also play the mailman and deliver the orders to the unit leaders. Not many Hunters working Intelligence liked this much, and since they knew well enough that everyone pretty much depended on them and couldn’t do a damn thing about it, they slacked off. Here was a perfect example. This messenger, rather than walking the whole ten yards to Archer, stood by the door and waved his arms like an idiot until the commander would go to him. “Take a break, I guess…” Archer said to Vulcan as he went off towards the door. Krysta sidled over towards Vulcan, yawning gloriously, as soon as his commander had left him. “So what was that all about?” she asked lazily. “He’s gonna give us stronger drones to fight, because we rock. Rykov, too.” “Oh, he’ll just love that…” Krysta looked warily at Rykov, who was actually teasing his droid. Rather than simply shredding the already damaged drone, Rykov had switched to low power on his chain gun and was sending out single shots, targeting various pressure points and dodging the droid’s attacks at the same time. He was trying to keep the droid active as long as possible, but at the same time work on dodging and aiming. That, and it was fun to be so obviously superior to the enemy. “Let’s not tell him,” Vulcan suggested, “So that tomorrow when he does that, the droid will just stroll up to him and kick him in the shins. Can you imagine the look on his face?” “Shamed by a battle droid…” Krysta had to laugh. “That’ll put a hole in his ego. Though he’s not as bad ego wise as others…” She referred of course to Harrier, who by some small miracle was not in their unit. Vulcan was about to reply when suddenly all the drones in the room dropped to the floor, inactive. Rykov was very upset. However, he still turned with everyone else to look at Archer, who was the only one who could shut the droids off. “Maverick Hunters of Unit 5, get equipped for a field trip and meet me back here in ten minutes.” Archer’s eyes narrowed and his voice dropped a few levels; he was all business now. “We have a situation.” A situation, he said? This was a catastrophe! Vulcan stared in a fair amount of disbelief at what had once been a house, but was now just a smoldering wreck. It wasn’t exactly the biggest disaster scene in the world, but what really struck the Hunter was that a single small rocket had done the job. Whatever their weaknesses, the Mavericks certainly had potent weaponry. It was suddenly obvious how they were able to flatten entire cities. Apparently, this was where the late General Peter Thornton lived, but what was left of him had been taken away by now. The fires were finally under control, but if anything things were even more hectic than they had been when the fire was still blazing. Thornton’s wife was now talking to Krysta, sort of. She wasn’t getting much out other than helpless sobs, though. Archer had asked Krysta to help get the woman to cooperate, and head for a safe house in case the people who had killed her husband wanted to keep the ball rolling, if nothing else because Krysta worked the best with humans. Vulcan, however, was nearest to Susan Thornton, the general’s daughter. She had gotten over the shock of the incident by now, but she didn’t seem any better for it. She paced back and forth, still trembling with sobs now and then, trying to get a hold on the situation. Vulcan had never seen people dealing with a tragedy firsthand, and he didn’t exactly know what to say, though he figured he had to say something. He was, actually, supposed to try and get the family out of the area. Staring at the remains of their former home couldn’t help their stability much. “Um…I’m sorry about what happened, ma’am,” he started, and she stopped and stared hard at him, “But we really need to get you to a safer place…” “Safe?” she all but spat, “Safe? What’s safe?” Her already misty eyes brimmed with fresh tears as she threw him an accusatory glare. “He was working with you Hunters…why didn’t you give him any protection?!” “Wha….?” “You just…” she turned away, wiping the tears from her face and choking out a sob before trying to compose herself again, “You just let him die…” she finished, just as Archer passed by. Vulcan was about to say something else, but Archer’s hand rested on his shoulder, cueing him to stop. Susan shook her head violently a few times and looked for someplace else to walk to, where she could be alone. “Don’t worry about it,” Archer said softly as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared after the young woman, “Victims of a tragedy like this will have a lot of trouble finding answers…they’re likely to strike out at the first available target, and pin the blame on them.” He sighed in resignation. “In this case, she’s chosen the Hunters…in time she’ll come to her senses, of course, but until she sorts out her thoughts…” “This is horrible,” Vulcan managed, “Why would someone do this…?” “We don’t know yet,” Archer admitted, trying to find the right words. “People do strange things sometimes. This might not even be a Maverick attack, like we of course assumed. It could be that Thornton was murdered by a human rival who wanted him out of the way. It could be burglars. There are a whole number of possibilities…but the world is not a friendly place.” He motioned towards the widow and her daughter. “And these are the common folk who have to deal with that. Can you imagine what it was like during the wars, the first one in particular? You’d see this every day, and in mass quantities.” Vulcan was silent, processing the image of hundreds of thousands of destroyed families. It was quite a disturbing thought, and one that merely awakened him further to the realities of combat and war. He was sure the others in his unit were learning the same things. “Don’t worry about them,” Archer continued, “We’ll get them to a safe house until this blows over, and we’ll calm them down and what not. Then comes the hard part of figuring out who did this…since Thornton WAS involved in some Hunter projects, it is feasible to believe he was killed because of them, and so we have to investigate.” He looked at the wreakage one last time. “But we’ve done enough here. There’s no threats in the vicinity, so Intelligence will have no trouble searching the place for evidence. Let’s get the group together and go home.” “These guys don’t know the meaning of ‘subtle’, do they?” Cyber Peacock shook his head at the news report covering the murder of General Thornton. “I don’t know,” Storm Eagle countered with a beaky grin, “I like their style!” “Feh…” the brilliantly decorated bird tilted his head to one side and reclined further in his chair. “The guy probably deserved it, but still…” “Oh, he deserved it,” Commander Sigma insisted from behind both of them, seated in his own slightly larger chair, “Though I’m not sure exactly why.” “Whaaat?” frowned a puzzled Storm, “Didn’t you have a reason for sending The Team out to nail that loser?” Sigma shrugged. “Thornton’s killing wasn’t exactly endorsed by me…it’s something The Team is doing on their own.” The corners of his mouth actually twitched up into a slight smile. “I love it when the mission is so blunt.” Cyber cackled, spinning in his swivel chair back to face his computer. “And now I’ll go and check the message boards. See what people think of us. Ah yes,” he crooned as his fingers danced effortlessly and rapidly across the keyboard, “’MAVERICK BASTARDS!’ ‘Damn Reploid Revolutionists Don’t Know When To Quit!’ ‘Mavericks suck!’ They love us so much, don’t they?” Sigma let out a laugh that was full of actual humor, something his cohorts had not witnessed in a long time. “I’m touched by their devotion.” “Notice that they only consider us to be the suspects, and no one else,” Cyber mused, “We’ve become the international scapegoats.” “Kind of fun,” Storm snickered, “Considering they can’t do a whole lot about us.” “Sort of,” Sigma corrected him, putting a damper on the mood for a moment. “How goes the other plan, Storm?” “Oh.” Storm shifted his weight to look his commander in the eye. “Revolver said that the Gallagher should be battle ready in about a month, as scheduled. He does, however, lack a few of the necessary parts, and he’ll need us to get them for him because in order to keep production moving swiftly, he needs all of his men in the garage.” Sigma shrugged. “Get a list together, and do what you have to as far as getting the stuff.” Storm nodded. “Most of the stuff should be right here in our base, but we still might have to do some outside searching. Is Gravity Beetle still available for an assignment?” “He’ll do fine. Get in touch with him first thing tomorrow.” Sigma stretched once and pulled himself to his feet. “But for now, finish up whatever you’re doing and switch off all the appliances you can. Our bank accounts have enough things eating away at them, and the electricity bill is a biggie.” The birds nodded. Since they were still holding up the façade that they were really the Seraph company, they had to pay bills and stuff like any other company at least until their cover was blown. Sigma left his soldiers and strode through the halls of his mostly completed base, heading straight for his own quarters. The first step had been taken by his elites, and now he had to get that first ball really rolling, so that an avalanche would follow. The danger, however, unnerved him, but all things in life involved some degree of risk. One time or another, fate had to lean in his favor. |