GRIDER

 

Tuesday January 14 - 2013 MST

Six hours and seventeen minutes until Turbocharger activates

 

The female Prime had been wobbly legged for a few minutes when it happened. At first I thought it was just from the chopper's deck pitching in air turbulence, but she just kept going on like that even when things were calm like she was drunk. Then she just face planted.

Priestley was over by her side in an instant. He'd been shooting the breeze with me but I could tell he'd already forgotten about me by the time he was halfway to her limp form. "Carlie? Carlie? Can you hear me?" He looked up at me when she didn't respond. I could see the misplaced concern written clearly on his face like a sign saying "Hey, I've been taken in by a monstrous beauty."

Everyone knew about him and the female Prime being an item. I tried to tell him it was a bad idea but like a lot of young guys he ignored the wisdom of the experienced and listened to his hormones instead. Granted, the female had an angelic face and a shapely butt, but every time I saw her I was always reminded of the old legends about the Succubus. That was a type of demon that supposedly lured unsuspecting men with its beauty and then stole their souls before killing them. What that meant in real life terms I wasn't sure of. But I had a feeling it would manifest itself like "Carlie".

"Medic!" Priestley shouted out over the steady thrum of the engines.

Kuzmin and his Praetorians came over. The Praetorian medic stared down at Priestley and the unconscious Prime with dead, uncaring eyes.

I thought at first that he shared my sentiment. "Carlie" was certainly beautiful on the outside, but with everything exo-related you had to look deeper. She could be a wriggling pile of tentacles under that smooth skin. Just like the thing we nuked in Arizona. Yet there was something else in the look of the medic. In fact all of the Praetorians had it. They expected this and were just observers now. This was part of their plan.

"Why won't you do something?" Priestley pleaded. But the Praetorians simply watched with cold, dead eyes.

Hooper had come to our corner of the cargo deck to see why Priestley was making so much noise. Unlike the Praetorians he actually looked concerned about Carlie's condition. "What's going on back here?"

"Something's happened to Carlie." Priestley explained it like we couldn't all tell that just by looking at her.

"Yeah…" Hooper watched Priestley cradling Carlie's limp form in his arms. "I've been feeling a little…"

Hooper never finished his words. He leaned drunkenly against the skin of the chopper before his legs gave out. The Praetorians continued to stare like they were watching a show.

"You drugged us." Everyone looked at the third and final Prime, Eddie the Marine, who had finally decided to join the throng at the back of the helicopter. He wasn't asking a question though. His words were an accusation.

To my left I heard the snap of an asp baton being extended to its full length by one of the Praetorians. He understood the meaning of the accusation and the implications of a pissed off Prime in the confined space of a MH-53's cargo deck.

Priestley looked up at Kuzmin with barely contained rage. "You did this to her?"

But like the rest of his men, Kuzmin was focused on Eddie. He was a lot bigger than Priestley. Primes had a way of growing to sizes that no men should reach and muscle densities that would make a bull jealous. Eddie was no different. He was the largest of the three Primes and had biceps that were thicker than my thighs. A lot thicker in fact.

But Eddie also had that dull, far off look of someone who was high on something. It hit me then that the fancy drinks that Kuzmin had been pushing on the Primes must have been laced with something. Whatever it was it must have been strong enough to knock out an elephant because Eddie looked like he was losing his battle against it.

Eddie took a lumbering step forward and made a wild haymaker swing at the nearest Praetorian. Even slowed by the horse tranquilizer his blow hit the hapless merc like a jackhammer. The sound of snapping bone cut the air as his massive fist crushed a nose or a cheek bone like it was a celery stick. That guy was laid out quick by the massive trauma to his head. But the rest dog piled Eddie.

More asp batons snapped out and just as quickly came down on Eddie's joints with practiced precision. The batons whistled through the air with each swing and landed with a loud crack each time. Every time one of the batons would land, Eddie's face would contort in pain as a fresh wave of it washed over his body. I almost felt sorry for him having to endure the brutal pummeling. The fight was long gone from him and it was clear he wanted to quit. But it was too late for that. The Praetorians were caught up in the frenzy that comes with any sort of mob violence, and Eddie had just knocked out one of their brothers. He was going to pay for that no matter how much he wanted to surrender.

I watched in mute fascination, not so much because I enjoyed violence but because of who was involved in it. On one side we had the Praetorians who were assholes playing for the wrong team, and on the other we had a Prime who had been touched by the corrupting influence of exo-magic. If he wasn't already playing for the other team he would be soon, and I was left to watch two potential enemies duking it out. Really though, it was one-sided now. Eddie had used up all his cards in the first strike. Now he was being beaten like a disobedient dog.

Priestley stood up to join the melee but I held him down with a firm hand on the shoulder and shook my head. "Brother, you need to pick your battles. This isn't one of them. Just let it go."

Thankfully he got the point, because unlike the Primes and Praetorians I knew he was a good kid, and I didn't want to see him beaten into unconsciousness like Eddie.

By the time the Praetorians were finished, Eddie was a bleeding and bruised mess on the deck. But he was alive. The Praetorians shackled him and pulled a bag over his head. Eddie now looked like any number of dangerous prisoners being transported back from a war zone.

Kuzmin came up to me and Priestley with a half grin on his face that now shined with sweat. "Is all good now. Primes are under control finally." He was wiping a small blot of blood off of his asp when he caught a glimpse of Priestley's barely contained rage. "Don't look so angry, my friend. I didn't tell you plan because I knew you would object. But this is safest way to transport them. Primes and exotic cargo do not mix well. Trust me."

And for the first time since meeting Kuzmin, I found myself in agreement with the bastard. Yes, he was a dick, but even he recognized how dangerous exo-magic was. You had to take every precaution with it, because if you didn't it would end you.

Priestley's angry glare told me he didn't fully agree, but at least he was keeping it to himself. That was good, because I didn't like the idea of having to restrain him too. This was why I hated the whole transient world. It had a way of driving good men, like Priestley, nuts. But with time he would learn, and hopefully keep his sanity in the process.