'It's longer than you'd think,' said the soldier. 'Ten, twelve hours if you take steps to keep it from drying out.'
By then, Horton had hauled himself up to a sitting position, cradling his injured thumb in his other hand. 'Let me get this straight - the way your mind works, you now expect me to be more cooperative?'
'I expected the same finely-tuned sense of self-preservation that makes you gun-grabbers afraid to live in a world of armed free citizens to kick in,' Wilkins said. 'But since you're having trouble getting there, let me simplify things for you. We're the bullies. You're the geek. Nothing's changed. You're still in high school, and we're still on top. If I want your goddamned lunch money,
I'm going to get it. The only question is how much pain you want before you give it up.'
Horton slowly pulled himself up off the ground and onto the bench. 'You want the President to know you have me, right? That's what you want now.'
'That's right. That way I know they'll listen to what I have to say.'
Nodding slowly, Horton said, 'I don't suppose I really have anything to lose.' He sighed heavily, then pointed at the comset, which had been knocked off the bench into a clump of grass beside it. 'May I pick that up?'
'By all means.'
Moving gingerly, Horton hobbled the couple of steps, then crouched down and clasped the comset firmly in his good hand. He started to rise, grimacing as he did. His thumb slipped easily into the hollow on the side of the unit where the personal authenticator grid was located.
'Personal directory,' he said. 'Open secure folder. Scroll to Breland.' As he did, he saw in their faces that they were enjoying their triumph, saw them relax that little bit he had been hoping for. He reached up as though to enter a number on the datapad.
But, instead, he grasped the comset firmly with both hands, and allowed his legs to turn to rubber beneath him. Adding his falling weight to every bit of strength remaining in his arms, he smashed the unit against the edge of the log bench. The blow was agony to his injured hand, but produced an agreeable scattering of plastic and metal bits. A second blow, struck from his knees, shattered the guts of the comset and spilled them into the dirt.
The nearest guard tackled him before he could complete his demolition. The impact drove him backwards onto the ground, and he quickly lost the fight for what was still clutched in his left hand. But it didn't matter - the largest piece remaining was the battery pack.
From his back, oblivious to the weight on top of him, Horton searched for Wilkins, and met his disbelieving stare with a lopsided smile. 'To hell with you,' he said. 'I never could respect a bully.'
They beat him until he nearly passed out, then bound him facing a tree trunk while they argued about what to do with him. He tried his best to follow the argument, but his guards made it difficult - any time he stopped moaning long enough to hear the voices clearly, one of them would hit him again.
They left him hanging there while they broke bread together, the smell of food drifting in the evening air almost as great a torment as his aches and bruises. They left him hanging there while they prayed and sang in fellowship, washing the blood from their hands with the bleach of ideology.
Then they came back to him, surrounding the tree as they cut the nylon cords that held him. With Wilkins leading the way, they took him a long five minutes into the woods, away from the camp. Horton was certain that they had decided to kill him, but the truth was far worse.
When they stopped, he was pushed down to his knees in a large patch of bare earth, and made to watch while four men with long-handled shovels dug a shallow trench directly in front of him. The rest of the gathering stood shoulder to shoulder in a circle around the spot, with even the children clasped in arms or peeking between legs eerily silent.
That will do,' Wilkins said finally, unholstering his pistol as he stepped forward.
Horton found it almost impossible to breathe. Strong hands on his shoulders made it impossible to run.
'Bring the first one in,' Wilkins said.
The circle opened, and two militiamen dragged a slightly-built woman to the center, forcing her to her knees on the other side of the trench. Her arms were bound behind her, and she was gagged with duct tape as Horton had been that first day. Blood from a gash on her temple had stained the breast of her pale brown uniform. He did not know her, but he knew all the colors of fear and confusion in her pleading eyes.
'What is this?' Horton demanded. For his curiosity, he earned a rifle barrel jammed sharply into his ribs from behind.
Wilkins raised his left hand in rebuke. 'No need for that. I'm sure I have Dr Horton's full attention,' he said. 'Jeffrey, I'd like you to meet Sheriff's Deputy Shannon Drayton. She's twenty-eight years old, the single mother of two children.
That's offense enough against God's plan for us. But she also works as a dispatcher, helping the local thieves in uniform confiscate the property and curtail the freedoms of sovereign citizens. That makes her a traitor, and we have every right under the rules of war to execute her on the spot.'
Drayton could not answer with more than a whimper, but her eyes were pure, wild terror, searching for understanding, pleading for mercy. Strangely, she did not struggle against her restraints -her limbs seemed to have no will left in them.
This is insane -' Horton began.
'Listen carefully, Jeffrey, because the offer I'm about to make you is available for a limited time only. I'm going to give you a chance to save Shannon's life -'
'How can you expect anyone to follow you down this road? You're far more of a tyrant than Breland could ever be.'
'- and return her to her children. Since the lives of innocents mean so much to you, I am giving you the chance to intervene in those lives. Tell me what you've been holding back, everything you know, and I'll pardon this woman.' He raised his pistol and pointed it at the woman's midsection.
'Colonel - Robert - for mercy's sake -'
Wilkins held up his hand. 'No, you're right, that wouldn't be humane. Belly wounds hurt so much and take so long to kill. This is better.' Wilkins moved to the side and raised his arm until the barrel of the pistol was a hand's-breadth from the woman's ear. Talk to me, Jeffrey.'
'Don't do this -'
'You can stop me. Tell me how to block a Jammer. Tell me how to neutralize a Trigger. I hold the gun, but you hold her life in your hands.'
'For mercy's sake, there are children watching.'
'Good. Let them learn the price of treason.'
This is pointless! I can't give you what you want! It doesn't exist - it's nothing but your fantasy!'
'Shannon is real. Where's your compassion for her, Jeffrey? Here you are with a golden opportunity to prevent a needless firearm death. But you're running out of time. When this offer expires, so does she.'
'You don't want to do this,' Horton said, desperate to believe his own words. 'You don't need to do this. There's no goddamned code! Ask me for something I can give you. Give me a real choice -'
'I think I know what your problem is, Jeffrey. I think that on some level, you just don't believe.'
'No, no, no, don't,' Horton pleaded. 'Please - Wilkins!'
There was no sign that Wilkins was even listening. In the span of a few seconds, with a chilling deliberateness, he bent the woman forward with a foot planted in the middle of her back, then reached down and fired one bullet into the base of her skull.
The report seemed thunderous, and yet the trees swallowed it up almost at once. Something warm and wet flew through the air and spattered Horton's face. He began to retch as the shattered, empty flesh that had been Shannon Drayton toppled sideways and slumped half-way into the trench.
Unbelievably, Horton heard cheers.
Tears were running freely down his face by the time Wilkins looked up from his handiwork. 'You bastard,' the physicist whispered. 'You're damaged goods, Wilkins. You sick, murderous bastard.'
But Wilkins's affect never changed, not the slightest bobble. 'In my world, that was a
n execution, for good and just cause. But you murdered her, Jeffrey - you made the choice. I only held the gun for you.' He looked away to the circle. 'Bring in number two.'
'No!' Horton shouted. For just one brief moment, he managed to fight free of the hands holding him, long enough to stand and advance a step. Then something hard struck him behind his knees, and he toppled face-forward into the dirt and gore, only inches from the edge of what was now a grave.
'Ah, so you do care,' Wilkins said, crouching beside him. 'And I can see that you now do believe. Maybe that will make the next decision easier.' He waved a hand, and Horton was hauled backward and again forced to kneel and face another hostage. This is Ray Macey, Jeffrey. He's an appraiser for the county tax assessor -'
'No!' Horton shouted once more. 'I will not play your game. You can't shift the responsibility to me - you're responsible for everything that happens here. This is your little cult, and these are your crimes. And you'd better kill me next, because if you don't, I'm going to be the happiest witness you ever saw when I testify at your trial - all of you, every one of you standing here who could have stopped this, except you were too much of a coward or too much of a robot to do anything -'
Wilkins said nothing. He simply walked behind Ray Macey and pressed the barrel of his pistol against the base of the visibly shaking hostage's skull. Then Wilkins looked across at Horton with a defiant gaze that said Choose.
Closing his eyes, Horton drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he had calmed himself enough to speak the thoughts screaming inside his skull.
'You really don't understand how little power that gun gives you,' he said. 'You've fallen for your own myth. You're trying to use guns to control people, when all they're really good for is killing them.'
That'll do until something better comes along!' a voice called from the circle.
'Something better has come along,' Horton retorted, then fixed his gaze on Wilkins. 'But even if it hadn't, you'd still be wrong. All you have in your hands is the power to inflict death, arid that's nothing special. That's something so ordinary that every living thing and most of mindless Nature has it, too. And it isn't nearly enough to make me into someone else. It isn't enough to make me into you.
'I don't have what you want, Colonel Wilkins - no one does. But if I did, that gun couldn't make me give it to you. It's fear that controls us - it's controlling you, right now. But I'm not going to let myself be afraid of you, or what you decide to do. I know where my responsibility ends, and yours begins. And this poor woman is on your ledger, not mine. Come on, point that damned thing at me, instead, so I can say "Go to hell" one last time and be done with you. You know you'll enjoy killing me much more than you will killing him.'
'Nice speech. Very philosophical. Here's my rebuttal,' Wilkins said, and pulled the trigger -
- to silence.
Macey whimpered and snuffled.
Frowning, Wilkins racked the slide and cleared the misfire, then once more jammed the barrel against the appraiser's skull. In the held-breath silence, the entire circle heard the tight metallic clank of the hammer falling, but nothing else.
'What the hell -' Wilkins said.
Then Horton heard the whisper of the helicopter blades, and a few seconds later the roar of the downdraft. Then came the cracking of branches overhead as the weighted lines tore through the canopy, with a Special Forces commando riding each bucket to the ground.
'Maintain the formation!' Wilkins screamed. 'Shooters, face out - everyone else, move to the center and get down on the deck! Fire at will!'
The unit discipline of the Army of Righeous Justice lasted just a few seconds. That was all it took for its members to realize that they had been Jammed, and none of their firearms were going to work. Then the circle broke and scattered like insects from under a rock that's been kicked over.
Wilkins screamed at them to fight, and a few battle-eager militiamen responded by drawing knives or fixing their folding bayonets to charge the invaders. But Horton saw more of them reaching for their wives and children instead, and retreating in the general direction of the long houses. Some merely huddled on the ground where they were, arms raised in surrender.
Those who did go on the attack found themselves facing what seemed to be an ever increasing number of opponents, not only sliding down the bucket lines, but closing in through the trees from every point of the compass. The commandos were armed with quarterstaves and compressed-air dart guns, and wielded the former with such skill and efficiency that the latter were superfluous.
And as the short-lived battle began to wane, Wilkins and Horton found themselves momentarily alone in the middle of the chaos, one man's face painted with incredulity, and the other man's painted with delight. Their eyes met for a moment, and in that moment both men remembered things they had momentarily forgotten.
In the next moment, Horton lunged for Wilkins. His charge was turned aside with embarrassing ease, and Wilkins compounded the insult by paying him no further attention. As Horton lay gasping on the ground, Wilkins broke into a run, angling off into the trees.
'Stop him,' he croaked, pointing after Wilkins.
No one took notice. Horton pulled himself up to his hands and knees and tried again. 'Please - listen - you can't let that man get to the armory! There are chemical weapons. Stop him!'
His voice was stronger now, but there was no one to respond. The scattered fighting had moved past him. The only commando within twenty-five meters was fully occupied, herding at least a dozen prisoners.
Grabbing a long-handled shovel that was lying abandoned on the ground, Horton staggered to his feet and set off in pursuit of Wilkins. He was still wheezing, and he knew he had no chance to overtake the rangy, fleet-footed colonel. But he did not know what to do except try. He stumbled on roots and rocks in the gathering darkness, falling headlong before he had gone twenty strides. Gathering himself to his feet, he went on, barely noticing that the blade of the shovel had deeply gashed his forearm.
By the time the armory shed came into view, Horton had long since lost sight of Wilkins. But the physicist's persistence had finally attracted the attention that his pleas had failed to. Two commandos appeared from nowhere, and one took Horton's legs out from under him with his staff while the other struck the shovel from his hands. He fell hard, but made his first words count.
'Let's take it easy, now, your war's over -'
'Soldier, there are chemical and biological weapons in that shed,' Horton gasped. 'If the door's unlocked, it means the militia's in there after them.'
One of the commandos shined a hand flash in his face. This is the hostage - this is Dr Horton,' he said in surprise.
'Stay with him. I'm on it,' the other said, and sprinted away toward the shed.
'I'll try to get you some backup, Badger,' the first said, and reached for his throat mic. 'Warthog to Lord of the Forest - I have the package in hand, repeat, package in hand. We have a structure unsecured, northwest section, reported possible Charlie Bravo munitions.'
'We're coming, Warthog. Get the package out of there.'
'That's you, Doctor,' the commando said. 'Can you walk? Sorry about the takedown - we didn't know.'
'I can walk,' Horton said. 'But, look, that armory's more important than I am -'
'Badger is a Recon Marine, Doctor,' the commando said. 'He'll get it done.'
By the time Horton's escort located the assault commander, a bank of portable floodlights was turning dusk to midday. The commander took one look at Horton, insisted that he sit down, and called for a medic. The medic, in turn, took one look and called for a stretcher.
I'm Captain Sandecki of Unit 13, attached to the 641st Tactical Brigade,' the commander said, squatting on his heels and offering his hand. 'You look like hell, Doctor. I'm damned sorry we weren't fast enough to spare you some of that. But it's over now, and I can tell you that your friends back East are going to be real pleased to hear that you're okay.'
'Ho
w did you find me?'
'Got a ping from the backup locator DIA put in your comset. Then a.Global Hawk out of Minot located the camp and kept the area under IR and SSR surveillance until we could hoof it up here.'
Horton nodded, though he understood hardly a word of it. 'Captain - where's here? Where the hell am I?'
The nearest town is Babbitt, Minnesota - about ninety klicks and a hundred years north of Duluth.'
He took a moment to absorb that. 'Can you arrange me transport to Columbia, South Carolina?'
'I sure can - so long as you don't object to an itinerary that includes stops at the nearest military hospital and a hotel suite in Washington. There's some folks at both very eager to see you.'
'I just want to go home,' Horton said.
Sandecki smiled understandingly. 'You have family in Columbia, then?'
'Not to speak of. Not at the moment,' Horton said, lying back and allowing his eyes to close. 'Seems I managed to leave the pieces of my life scattered so far apart that I'm not sure where home is. But maybe I can put them back together, if I get a second chance.' He grunted, then added. 'Not sure I deserve one.'
'Well, hell, Doc, who really does? But it looks to me like that's what we're all trying to do, make the most of a second chance,' Sandecki said, and patted Horton's hand. 'You and your friends gave us that chance. If there's any justice - and today, I'm willing to say maybe there is - you've got one coming, too.'
* * *
III: Killer
Even though the narrow gravel path took the most direct route through the campus woodland, it was still nearly a kilometer's walk from the main complex of the Terabyte Corporation's Columbus facility to the contiguous Brohier Foundation Laboratory for Peace Technology.
The isolation gave the twenty-two researchers at PeaceTech the elbow room they needed for advanced work in H-wave mechanics and defense engineering. The gravel path gave Terabyte research director Jeffrey Horton a reason and a place to find a few minutes of solitude and exercise in the middle of the day. Except in the worst weather, he made it his habit to walk back and forth between the two nodes of the campus at least once a day.