The fourth seizure passed with relative ease and Damon found himself fighting back this time around. He felt the tremor ascend and again felt Terebyeva hold him and ease him onto the floor. For a moment he thought his entire mind would go blank again as his body convulsed on the cold stone floor. But when he found that he could grab ahold of it this time and fight back, his mind willing the convulsions to stop, he found that he did not entirely lose control. Several minutes of enduring the tremors and convulsions passed until Damon regained complete control over his body again. He sat up much to Terebyeva’s surprise, who held his hand back to keep the advancing soldier from coming to detain Damon.
“Impressive, young man,” Mitkä responded, offering his hand to Damon.
Damon took it, holding it firmly for support as he pulled his weak and tired body up. Again Terebyeva supported him, but it seemed he did it more as a precautionary step than an anticipatory expectation.
Looking to Terebyeva, Damon no longer could resist the question forming in his mind, “why am I here?”
“It seems all men wonder that at some point in their lives. I would have assumed you of all people would have an answer to that question already,” Terebyeva answered, his gaze again locked on the step before him.
“You know what I mean,” Damon insisted, knowing that the man was deliberately avoiding his question.
“Not now Diehl,” the voice was cold and dark, ordering him silent in front of the entourage that followed.
And Damon found himself obliging. Rather than fight against them now, he only wanted to rest, put his head down and sleep. The exhaustion took over and the pain intensified. He could feel the shattered bones in his arm reminding him that he was but a puppet in life and the effects of that imprisonment took their hold. So naturally, it was to everyone’s surprise when Damon collapsed, barely caught by Terebyeva who hit the ground hard in an attempt to keep Damon from hitting his head.
“DIEHL!” his voice ordered, insisting the man awake. When Damon did not respond Terebyeva moved into a crouching position beside the man, ordering a light. He held open Damon’s eye, flashing the light, the pupil unresponsive as his eyes seemed to stare at nothing before them.
“Boss, what is it?” a soldier asked, joining Mitkä.
“An unexpected response,” Terebyeva responded as he attempted to shake Damon. Others in the group responded, the commands never needing to be given as everyone did their part to assist in the event.
“What happened?” a medic asked, arriving and crouching beside Damon with Mitkä.
“He collapsed. I caught him before he hit his head, but he is unresponsive,” Mitkä spoke, remaining at Damon’s side even as the medic began examining him.
“Any precipitating events.”
“None. He was in discussion just seconds before he lost consciousness.”
“The medications you gave him, any reaction to them at the time?”
“None that we noticed.”
“Was he complaining of pain?”
Pain. The word ignited within his mind the answer and Mitkä almost stared petrified at the man before him. He had read the psychological profile of Damon, had analyzed this young man in every report he had read. Still nothing prepared him for the reality of the words he had read time and time again, he will lose consciousness if his pain threshold exceeds his coping resources.
“Treat his pain,” Terebyeva ordered, standing up and looking down at Damon as the medic slowly injected the young man. He had never even seen Damon respond to the pain and all along it was slowly building.
And within several minutes, the medic rechecked Damon’s responsiveness, finding that his pupils did in fact react well to light. More so, he was shocked when Damon suddenly threw him to his side, rolled backwards, away from them, and pushed himself up with one arm.
Terebyeva moved slowly looking into Damon’s eyes. Eyes that had the same intensity Terebyeva had before seen burning in another powerful Mahanionian.
“Damon,” Terebyeva held up his hands in a sign of surrender, “we are not here to hurt you.”
“What do you want with me?” Damon ordered, a second wind taking him.
“To show you the future,” Terebyeva responded, the soldiers behind Mitkä not yet removing their rifles and taking aim on Damon.
“Then why-” Damon hit the ground before another could reach him. His body convulsed, twitching outside of his control, as he stared at the light above him, the light that seemed to blur itself in his mind. He saw only Terebyeva’s face break it as the man came to his side and rolled him over, holding him in place.
And when he awoke, it was dark. No lights were on and only the faint smell of vodka seemed to penetrate his senses. He groaned and with that he saw the movements of another in the room, someone who had been sitting still the entire time.
“You are awake,” the voice did not identify itself.
“Where…” Damon did not finish the sentence, no longer wanting an answer to his questions.
“I moved you to my quarters,” the voice jarred in Damon memories a face he last remembered seeing.
“You drink?” Damon asked, pulling himself shakily into a sitting position.
“On occasions like this,” Terebyeva responded, moving closer to Damon and taking a seat before him, his image obscured mostly by the darkness of the room.
“What is the occasion?” Damon asked, failing to pick up the reference.
“I had too high of hopes for you Damon,” Mitkä confessed, his voice slightly crestfallen, “I was wrong to push you so hard. I knew your limitations but I thought I could push them under the circumstances.”
“I do not understand,” the words seemed slurred and Mitkä watched as Damon rested his head in his hands, evidently staving off the headache he was undoubtedly having.
“You have an extensive psychological profile and I was given access to it when Novac authorized your latest mission. You evidently anticipated something would happen and I was curious to know the man who could foresee his own downfall. When I read your profile, I became aware of much of what was recorded to have happened to you. They pushed you to your limits…they recorded the results. I thought given that I was not beating you, I could take you further. I failed to understand that you would hide your own pain like you were trained to do,” Terebyeva took a drink from the glass.
The smell of the alcohol nauseated Damon, his head a screaming vengeance with each of Terebyeva’s words. But even with the pain, he could detect a missing element to the man’s story.
“Then why are you drinking?”
“The man I saw before you took your last seizure reminded me of friend I lost,” Mitkä answered.
“My father,” Damon answered, disappointed that this whole situation was again about his father.
Taking Damon’s arm, Terebyeva injected him with another medication, surprised that Damon did not resist…as if the man had accepted that they would do whatever they liked to him. Pulling Damon up, he again held the man with the same anticipation that Damon would collapse on him again. And it was not until they walked down a series of unlit corridors and entered what Damon knew to be a large room based on the sounds that seemed to disappear as they walked along that Terebyeva spoke again, “Dante.”
Damon looked to him despite the darkness, “What about him?”
“It was not your father that you reminded me of, it was Dante.”
And with that Mitkä clicked something in his hand and the lights of the room slowly turned on, revealing a rather expansive room, stretching beyond the eye, lined with planes he had never seen before even in the top Mahanionian bases.
“Who are you?” Damon asked again noticing that the lights did not inflame his mind and again looking at Terebyeva in a new light, seeing something in the man that he had hidden the entire time.
“My name is Mitkä Terebyeva. You know me as a Carbonis general. I am one of the founding members of the Carbonis Corporation and it was I who built that plane you fly. CCTM 0065 is my product name. I was contracted by your father when you detailed a list of specific qualifications for your plane. I have to say, that was one of the most challenging projects I had engaged in. A combat plane that operates in space and on earth; even with our best technology that was an impressive feat to accomplish. No doubt you realized this because the theoretical plan you included was precise, even if some mechanical details were slightly off. I have to admit, I read your request and thought you were joking until I built the first test model to your specifications and it worked.”
“And you brought me here to introduce yourself?” Damon asked, respecting the man before him but still questioning the man’s intentions.
“No, being recognized for my work is not important. I brought you here because I need you to give something to your father. No one will question a transfer of this kind. You came to Carbonis because of an order that brought your incapacitated body to my doorstep. They will not anticipate that I rushed your revival process just so we could have this meeting and I could pass off a transfer. This is how we must operate now Damon, in the shadows,” Terebyeva seemed relaxed, less formal that he had appeared all day.
“Who is we?” Damon asked, trying to analyze what Mitkä was referring to.
“The Elites Damon. We are more alive than you realize. This base has become a collecting ground for hiding and fleeing Elites. We have several prominent Elite leaders here right now, you met about six of them during the transition down here. Your father ordered a specific comm system to be developed and passed onto him. The anticipated completion date of the project was next year, but we completed the project much sooner than expected by having a breakthrough in another project that helped the energy source of this comm system. I wanted to ensure he receives his system as soon as possible, the reasons he needs it are to organize a movement against this shadow government. He had an extensive plan and creating this system was crucial to success of it.”
“Why are you asking me to help?” Again Damon seemed on edge as he knew the direction this conversation seemed to be heading.
“Well you know what he plans. You can deliver this to him. You know better than anyone where he is right now. I know he looked up to you, spoke very highly of your abilities. No doubt he would appreciate you of all people bringing him this system,” Mitkä responded with a smile while gently patting Damon on the back.
“Well I don’t.” The response was cold, thrown at Mitkä like a cold knife driven into the ribcage.
“Diehl?”
“Stop calling me that,” Damon again responded with the same cold response before turning and looking into Mitkä. “You brought me here, put me through a brutal revival, blocked my memory, let me endure several many hours of misery just to tell me that you have a package for my father? What makes you think I know where my father is?”
“You are an Elite, are you not?” Mitkä asked, now confused with the outburst Damon was having.
Grabbing his head with the return of the headache, Damon forced himself to continue making eye contact, “NO! I am not an Elite. Stop treating me like I have a fucking clue what you are talking about. I was never an Elite. My father never talked to me about his missions. I have no idea where he is right now or what he is even doing. I am not an Elite…never was…and never will be,” he snapped before watched the tremor return to his hand.
It was Mitkä who moved towards him, anticipating the need to assist him, but Damon pushed himself away. “No,” Damon ordered, refusing to let the seizure take hold. Fighting against his mind, he focused his energy on keeping control of his muscles.
And when Damon again fell to the ground in a fit of convulsions, Mitkä began to realize that this man was serious and all the official reports were wrong. Damon was hiding no truth, keeping a secret about his training. His father did not grant him any special privileges or train him in the life of an Elite. Even if the man was impressive, what he knew no doubt came from his own studies and less from formal Elite training. Damon’s own response should have confirmed it, nothing preprogrammed as he might have expected an Elite to react with, but he wanted to believe the reports, wanted to believe this was the future of the Elites…the son to take his father’s legacy.
Disappointed at how terribly wrong he had been, he again crouched aside of Damon and rolled the man onto his side, watching as Damon twitched and seized outside of his control. No, Damon was right, there was nothing spectacular or extraordinary about him that made him better than the rest. Five seizures within the hour. Periodic seizures for twenty four hours. It was the expected norm and Damon just reminded him that he too would fall to the norm despite what everyone else seemed to think about him.
When Damon came around again, he was alone, lying in the same clothes he had been in. He had no idea how long he had been out for this time and no way to tell. The large cavernous room he was in was silent, seemingly no one within it, not even the man from before, Terebyeva was it? He stared at the planes and had a sense of déjà vu as he remarked that they were planes Mahanoy had never seen. Everything about this room had a vague sense of déjà vu to it, like he was here before. But he could not have been because his last memory was a blurred conversation about seizures with a man named Terebyeva, a Carbonite General.
Sitting up, Damon felt his head ache. He was a mess and scarcely cared at that moment about how pathetic he felt. Climbing to his feet, he wavered, walking over to the planes to inspect them. They were new, definitely unlike anything he was used to working with, but similar to the design of his plane. Running his hand along the side, he remarked at the difference. The contours of the metal, the texture, the smoothness and temperature…they were all different. Was this a new material?
It was then he heard the sound of footsteps enter the room and he quickly stopped inspecting the plane to see a hard-pressed man walk towards him…it was the man he remembered vaguely from earlier and he looked at the man who now seemed to advert his eyes from Damon. “I brought you a change of clothes. I will take you to my quarters where you can shower and change.”
“This plane,” Damon asked, “what is it made of?”
The man seemed to question whether he should respond or remain silent, but seeing Damon’s own interest he reluctantly gave into his own reservations and smiled softly, “I see you are interested. This is a new discovery. Came from beneath the sea here in The East Pacific. We are not quite sure if it is specifically a metal, but we found it works well for aerial support and transitions between the atmospheres. I took your design, revamped it to incorporate this new material, tested it, and found that speed was enhanced by 13%. We created a few others to test this and all pilots are experiencing the same results dramatic increase in speed…if only our pilots could tolerate the speeds they reach,” Mitkä laughed, “we had to remote access these babies a few time because a pilot lost consciousness. Not that we can remote access fly them, but it keeps the plane in the air long enough until the pilot regains control.”
Standing before the plane Damon seemed to analyze it, critically evaluating the effectiveness of it.
Mitkä again smiled, the man may have been no Elite by training and title, but he had the passion and heart for the job. Placing his hand on Damon’s back, Terebyeva walked him along the room, showing him their latest developments. Despite knowing the truth, he felt he could trust the man, felt he could help the man. But the call from Mahanoy had come and Mitkä struggled to refrain from showing his own disappointment. They would kill the man and this may be his last moment of freedom before that moment.
“Damon, I do not usually do this for outsiders, but tell you what. Clean up, rest a little, and when you are feeling up to it, I will let you take one out for a test flight.”
Looking to Mitkä, Damon seemed to critically evaluate him, “but why?” he asked, skeptic that the man would consider letting him pilot this new plane.
“Damon…you are one of Mahanoy’s best pilots and their youngest Runner. If anyone can fly one of these puppies and not pass out, it is you. I want to see how a real Mahanionian combat pilot operates one. It would be one hell of a test and I am sure you would have a few thoughts to contribute to the advancement of the design,” Terebyeva offered with a wink, guiding Damon back to his quarters.
The quarters were clean, simple, almost empty as if the only time this General came back to them was to bathe and sleep and evidently occasionally drink as the half filled glass of what smelled like vodka sat unfinished on a table nearby the bed.
Getting himself together was no easy task and Damon found that his right arm seemed to respond to basic commands. Taking several moments to ponder these possibilities, Damon watched as he was capable of lifting the arm with his left arm, holding them at the same height. No more did it remain limply at his side. The scar remained though, the mark that he had nearly been a dead man not but a year ago. The assassin’s bullet…the reminder he was a marked man.
Dressed and standing in the empty room, Damon again waited for Terebyeva for a few moments, but decided to backtrack his way to the empty room anticipating perhaps the man was waiting for him. But the room was empty, Terebyeva no where to be found, his previous mess long since cleaned up. Seeing two planes sitting out, he examined one of them again, evaluating the contours and design. It was then he again heard the footfalls of the man and turned to find the General behind him.
“Ready to go?” Terebyeva asked, forcing a friendly approach that went undetected by Damon who was more distracted by the shiny toy in front of him.
“With your permission,” Damon responded.
Motioning to enter, Terebyeva walked around the plane and entered the other plane, guiding Damon along the facility to an internal runway that already was open to the outside. As both took off, Damon could already feel the differences, the plane moved with an ease and speed that seemed much more natural than the forced mechanically created speed of his plane. Adapting to the adjustment, he reached a cruising altitude with Terebyeva, flying alongside the man until the man banked left suddenly, leaving him in the air alone.
“Show us what you have,” Mitkä’s voice came over the communication system and Damon flashed a grin to himself as he pushed the plane to almost a vertical climb. The plane moved much easier than his own and testing its abilities, he pulled it into a spin, feeling the pull on his body as he broke through. For a moment he was weightless…the darkness spreading all around him. And he lost himself in it, pushing the plane to go further into it. He wanted to eject himself at that moment, push out and reach out to touch one of those burning specks so very far away. He was free. There was not a man, not a soul, not a nation nor a government that could order him to do anything. No man could touch him here. No person break him. He was free, free to float and wonder aimlessly.
But the soft vision and smile of a blonde haired woman flashed in his mind and he reacted before he realized, entering the atmosphere with a speed that threatened to break him.
“Damon. You are coming in fast. Too fast,” the voice warned.
But Damon embraced it, challenged it, dared it to break him as he took the plane into a spin. And below, the Carbonites observed as he seemed to play a game with them all half a world away. Concluding that the man ether had a death wish or serious thrill issues, they prepared to remotely access the plane, anticipating having to take control momentarily.
Pushing the plane and himself, Damon fought the rush to his head, the pain in his body, the threatening of his heart to stop if he did not slow down. Even though the oxygen was provided to him, his lungs threatened to stop breathing in protest. His entire body seemed to revolt against it and Damon pushed, challenging the speed they said would be impossible. And when he spiraled down at them like a moth on its suicide plunge, they attempted to gain access, only to find Damon had locked the system.
“Rule one to being a Runner. Keep everyone out,” Damon spoke as he sped towards them, breaking the distance in record time.
“Never anticipate your limits. Set new ones,” Damon repeated, speaking a mantra that was uttered only by those who set the bar for Elite Empire standards.
“Never quit. When you reach the point of breaking, break yourself before you quit.”
His voice came through and as his plane rapidly approached Carbonis from across The East Pacific, they began to stare in wonder at the Mahanionian before them. It was Terebyeva who came up behind Damon, appearing from the right.
“Always expect the unexpected,” Damon spoke, pulling his own plane into a spin, refusing to reduce his speed in the presence of a higher ranking officer.
But the communication system went dead and only Terebyeva’s breathing matched with his own came over, “I knew you were an exceptional man. It pains me to say this Damon, but I was ordered to kill you. So I am going to rely on your superior flight skills, fire three shots, and hope that you are the man I believe you to be,” he offered as Damon already dodged the first missile.
“Who?” Damon asked, refusing to reduce speed even at personal toll it was taking and with the certain death that would follow him losing consciousness at this moment.
“Damon, you are no Elite. You taught me that tonight, but that is not going to stop an entire Empire from believing that. They want you dead. They have wanted you dead. Your entire profile details their attempts to kill you. You may be no Elite, and you may only carry the name Diehl, but you are no Diehl even. The man you are is someone we once respected and trusted to lead our nations against the most formidable of foes. And one day, I hope to serve under your command. But right now, I do not, and when the orders say eliminate Diehl. I am going to follow them. You know who I am. You know I am an Elite General. You know I have an entire base operating and protecting Elite preservation. You may not remember now, but your memory will return to you in seven hours. If I do not go along with this order and make an honest attempt to eliminate you, that will all be exposed and everything I have been working for gone.”
“Terebyeva,” Damon responded, but the man fired another missile and pulling into a dive, Damon barely avoided the man’s accurate aim. Couple with the speed, Damon felt his vision blacken, seeing the blackness begin in his periphery.
Fighting it, he pushed himself to continue on his path until Terebyeva unexpectedly cut aside of him forcing him to turn around quickly, heading the opposite direction.
“Damon. An order came in from Vaeda Desanti to meet her in Allegheny at the location I programmed into your plane. Use the access code of 7234JKA-943 and Interceptor code D82E2100-362. You will no doubt avoid my last shot and I will inevitably pass out from this speed shortly after. You will meet her and find out what she wants. It is your only way to avoid them. Stay out of Mahanoy as long as possible and Damon…” the words became more rapid, the General fighting his own body as his breathing picked up more heavily, “please…come…visit…you are…welcome…” the shot fired and again Damon barely avoided the missile as he whipped to the side of it as it grazed past him. But Terebyeva fell silent and he turned to watch Terebyeva’s plane dip, plummeting rapidly towards the ground, just as the man predicted his own fate.
He wanted to turn around, ensure that the man made it to safety, but he planned for this happen and the orders were clear…go forward. This is my gift to you. As he rapidly entered the Alleghenian airspace, still fighting the effects of the speed, he gave the access codes before heading to the location listed. It was a tiny humble house in a quiet small neighborhood and if it was not for the mission that came across a screen on the plane, he would have passed over it entirely.
There is a woman and her husband in the house. Grab them and run. They are under surveillance. Act quickly and get out of there fast. Meet Desanti in FPS. Location programmed.
Circling he descended, slowing as he did, regaining his breathing and recuperating from the effects of the speed. The landing was hasty and Damon came in much harder than he expected, straining the plane as he skid to a stop only after his plane crashed through the side of the house. Disconnecting from the seat, he opened the hatch, the plane still on as he leaped out of the plane in full flight uniform. The woman clutched her husband as the man pulled his gun out, holding aim on Damon. Extending his arms in the sign of surrender, he slowly moved towards them.
“I am a friend,” he said, but the sound was obscured and as Damon attempted to take off the helmet the man fired a warning shot.
“Don’t move.”
“MY HELMET!” Damon tried to yell more loudly and it was not until another shot came through the window that Damon ran forward and grabbed them both, pulling them towards the plane.
“Get in. Get in,” he urged trying to push them as quickly as possible facing the threatening aim of the man again before another shot fired, hitting George in arm.
And it was then that they began to realize whoever this stranger who crashed through their house was and whatever he was doing there was not to hurt them but to help them. He was sent by someone, someone who knew they would be under danger and someone who insisted this man help them.
Trying to climb in, another shot fired past Damon, implanting itself into George’s head. His body collapse before Damon could react to grab him and the shot that struck his own helmet told him this was too serious. George was dead, attempting to retrieve the body would be all their deaths at this point. Getting into the plane, Damon closed the hatch, providing them a temporary reprieve from the advancing shots.
“Strap yourself in,” Damon ordered to Autumn as he began to secure himself into his seat.
“What!? George!”
“Now,” Damon’s order carried with it the weight of a command. “Secure yourself now.”
And as she fumbled with the straps, Damon did not wait to ensure if he was secured before he backed up out of the wreckage and prepared for a rapid take off. When he heard the click of her belt, he manipulated the controls focusing on controlling the vertical takeoff.
Pushing up, Damon quickly pulled away from the house, the shots never ceasing until he reached a height too great. But even as he broke far enough away and thought that they might be safe, he saw two specks appear in the distance, closing in quickly.
“I am going to have to maneuver us out of this. There is an emergency oxygen mask aside of you. I suggest you put that on. I would normally take out to a height that they cannot fly at, but you are not equipped to handle those altitudes and speeds so I am going to take us as high as you can tolerate and push us as far as you can go. I need you to stay with me and think for the moment. George is dead. Stop worrying about him and focus on this mission or we will both die too.”
“He’s dead?” Autumn’s voice peaked with concern.
“These are our lives ma’am. With all due respect, I need you to focus. At times in life you need to make these difficult decisions. He is dead. Focus on keeping yourself alive now so you can mourn his death later.”
“Okay,” the response was meek, but Damon knew that some part of her had already accepted this news when she saw Damon make the decision to leave him behind. “What do I do?”
“You are going to feel like passing out. While I normally would let you just pass out if this was not a life or death mission, I need you now to tell me when you feel like you are going to pass out. I need to know what speed is your max speed and what height is your max height. When those pilots back their catch up to use, we are going to have to push our limits to avoid them. My plane is not equipped for plane to plane combat. I can only dodge them.”
“Okay,” Autumn responded, holding the sides of the plane to keep herself steady as Damon ascended. She felt the first rush to her hit, the mask stifling her breathing, and the darkness threaten to take over. “I’m losing it…” she spoke as Damon evened out the plane and he waited until she regained herself again before he pushed the plane faster. And Autumn too felt the rush, the heat to her face, and a heavy thud of her heart before she could gasp the words “I…” was all she could manage before she could feel her vision narrowing. It was several minutes later that she realized Damon had descended some and was cruising at a slower speed, the black specks he saw earlier now appearing to be tiny planes approaching them fast.
“Are we going to be okay?” Autumn asked, her breathing still rapid, her heart pounding as she pressed the mask closer to her face. Although she worded it as such, what she really wanted to know was could they survive within her maximum toleration levels. If he could only dodge, he probably relied on height and speed, the two items that she singlehandedly prevented.
“Yes,” Damon answered, his voice even as he seemed focused on watching the planes quickly behind them.
And the voice of another man broke through a radio “you are ordered to land immediately by the Alleghenian government.”
But Damon did not respond, he kept his pace, allowing them to give a second order.
“You are ordered to land. Land immediately or we will shoot.”
“Brace yourself,” Damon spoke and watched as Autumn clutched the sides of the plane again, anticipating this would be the worst ride she was ever one.
And as he spoke, he wielded the plane like a deadly weapon and it dodged the first missile. No other warnings came through, but none needed to. His actions spoke all and they opened fire. Ascending, Damon pushed Autumn to her point. He knew it would buy them a few minutes, a few minutes before they were able to reach his altitude and when they appeared again behind him firing, he spun the plane, dipped, and dove around their missiles, barely avoiding each one. And as he continued to dodge their bullets two more planes emerged in the distance coming towards him.
When they neared, opening fired, he dodged their weapons and dove beneath them, accelerating as he had done so. The rapid acceleration and maneuver bought him enough time to for the others to fight crashing into one another and catching up with him. And by the time they regained their positions in the sky, he had a cushion of distance that would protect him from their weapons for the time being.
“We are almost at the border. Hold on, I am going to push.”
And as they approached, he heard the click of a round off the plane and for the first time began to wonder if they would make it out alive.
Pushing faster, he broke through the border, heading to FPS as instructed, expecting the fight to carry itself out of the borders. But as he ascended rapidly again to gain more time, he watched Autumn lose consciousness and he stopped focusing on whether or not they were following and more on getting them to the ground. As he evened out his plane and burned his fuel, he found the first airport he could in FPS, requesting an emergency landing and hoping against odds that they would live to see the landing.
