Belina laid her head on Bailey’s bare chest, which heaved with the recent exertion of their love making. Bailey stared at the smooth steel ceiling in deep thought. Belina ran her fingertips over his chest tracing the outline of his pectoral muscle. She looked up at his vacant expression and was immediately concerned. Their love making had been as passionate as ever but now he seemed distracted, worried about something.
Belina remembered a phrase she had heard the humans use and thought it was perfect for this very moment. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ she said warmly.
Bailey turned to her and kissed the top of her head. He was torn between the loyalty to his friend and his feelings for Belina. It didn’t take him long to make a decision, his uncertainty was cancelled out by the concern he felt. He needed to talk to someone about Tyson. Bailey told her of his concerns and then went on to describe his feelings towards his friend and what had happened yesterday. Belina listened with her head resting on her hand staring up at him. When he had lapsed into silence Belina raised herself until she was the same height as Bailey and face to face. The warmth of her body pressed against her boyfriend.
‘I think we are all intimidated a little bit by Tyson. He is very powerful but his heart is in the right place and you have to agree he loves Amelia?’ She kissed him sensually on the lips, leaving her lips barely touching but lingering.
‘Hmmm, you may be right. I just have never seen Zebulon so subdued,’ Bailey pressed. Belina kissed him repeatedly, slowly, softly. Bailey felt his worries begin to fall away from him under the caresses of this beautiful woman.
Belina’s hand drifted to his chest. ‘I think I can take all your worries away,’ she teased. It wasn’t long before Bailey was in total agreement.
Kabel was faced by four of the Malacca clan. They flanked him from each corner of the room, each carrying a weapon in front of their bodies. Kabel tossed his seckle up into the air with his left hand, catching it smoothly with his right.
‘Come on, do your worst,’ said Kabel beckoning them forward. One of the men ran at him. He was a tough looking soldier with huge broad shoulders, knotted with substantial muscle, the same muscle that was behind the hand sweeping upwards to Kabel’s gut. Kabel sidestepped bringing the back of his hand down on the attacker’s arm and using the momentum of the run to fling the man into the side wall. Before he had completed the move two of the other men attacked. Kabel used the movement of the throw of the first man to carry him into his next offensive move.
His seckle clashed with the second man’s weapon and he used the body of the second man as a launch pad into the third man with a two footed kick to his chest, sending the man crashing into a number of boxes stacked at the side.
Kabel jumped to his feet as the first man came for him again. The fourth man just hung back, waiting for his moment. The first man was more cautious this time and moved in slowly looking for an opening and Kabel intentionally let his eyes wander to the second man, struggling to climb back onto his feet.
The third man took this as his opportunity and moved fast to close the distance between him and Kabel. Too late, the man saw the error of his assumptions as Kabel whipped round, blocking the incoming blow and punching with his left hand into the solar plexus of the third man, who collapsed to the ground. Engrossed with this move he didn’t see the copper pipe come spinning through the air, thrown by the second man and though Kabel just activated his personal shield in time, the force knocked him off his feet.
The fourth man saw his opportunity and he raced in with the second man and they both brought their seckles up to strike the telling last blow when, with a heavy grunt from Kabel, a spinning seckle traversed in a split second hitting and removing both seckles and spinning the two men around. Kabel followed up with two kicks to both the men’s chests to send them toppling backwards.
Clapping broke out breaking Kabel’s concentration as Amelia and Gemma whooped their support from the sidelines of the training mat. Kabel wiped the sweat from his forehead and provided a flourishing bow. He then made his way across to the fourth man and offered a hand up.
‘Good move, Linus, using that intelligence well, you nearly had me,’ said Kabel.
‘Lord Blackstone, I think you give me too much credit,’ said the huge soldier rubbing his bruised chest gingerly. The other soldiers stood up, each with a rueful smile. Under strict instructions not too hold back they still came second best in the training sessions. They all saluted the Chancellor, respect clearly seen in their demeanour, and traipsed off to the showers.
‘Well done, bro, now are you going to stop playing with the hired help and have a real fight?’ said Tyson, with a sardonic tone whilst slowly clapping the spectacle in derision. He had entered the gymnasium just in time to see the sparring.
‘Tyson! There is no need for that,’ admonished Amelia as Gemma passed a towel for Kabel to dry his sweat covered upper body. Gemma handed him a drink of ice cold water from one of the many drinking fountains in the training arena.
The training arena was a massive room covering half of the forty-eighth deck with only the main aircraft and shuttle decks below it. It had a training capacity for a thousand soldiers at a time, with state of the art technology that worked on every muscular element of the body and included a hologram simulation area, now renamed the Coliseum, after the famous Roman monument, enabling whole platoons to practice battle movements and tactics across all manner of terrains.
The Coliseum was placed at the far end of the arena and was shielded off from the main arena by massive sliding doors. Behind the doors, members of the Tyther clan had spruced up the original environmental programmes, providing experience across desert, sea, fields and urban areas. If in single combat you were killed a bleep would trigger in an ear device and the training session would end. If a group exercise, then the programme would calculate the algorithms of the tipping point where the battle was won or lost either based on numbers slain or terrain taken. The area was amplified by the written code, which meant that once you entered it could feel like it was a particular city, country, ocean or continent and already during the last six months one exercise had gone on for days, until a senior officer called an end to the exercise.
‘Amelia, I am only pointing out that fighting with those foot soldiers is hardly going to improve his skills to match Zylar’s.’ His statement earned a glare from Linus as he made his way to the showers.
‘So what do you suggest dear brother?’ Adrenalin causing Kabel to rise to the challenge. Amelia shook her head at Tyson sensing the wildness in her partner.
Tyson ignored her. ‘Why don’t we have a go in the Coliseum and fight the Ilsid?’
‘Sounds good, which programme?’ said Kabel, not backing down.
‘How about one of the urban ones?’ Tyson retorted and Kabel accepted without reservation.
‘Kabel, there is no need to do this,’ said Amelia, exasperated. She knew that nothing good would come from this bravado.
Men and their egos.
Amelia realised that nothing she could say or do would change their minds. People had been hurt in these realistic programmes and Amelia did not want either of her friends injured. The blades or guns wielded by the opponents had no impact when they hit a person, though the code registered a “hit” but soldiers could be thrown around and impact on the sets had left men and women bloodied and with a few broken bones. ‘Look, if you want to do this hair-brained stunt then I am not watching,’ said Amelia, stamping her foot in frustration.
Tyson laughed and placed an arm round her as Kabel tugged on a top. ‘Don’t worry we will look after each other, won’t we, Kabel?’
‘Of course dear brother, of course,’ Kabel answered. Amelia didn’t like the rising tension between them. She had spent many hours teaching Tyson how to calm his mind and anger and now just as she thought she was winning, they have to resort to this macho challenge.
‘Gemma you coming?’ she turned for support from her friend, only to find Gemma was engrossed in the battle of wits between the boys and therefore declining Amelia’s request. Gemma’s heart was beating fast caught up with the excitement of the situation.
‘I would like to see how this plays out,’ she said, running a hand across Kabel’s back. Amelia just stared at her friend and seeing that she had no intention to either say anything to stop this stupidity or storm off like she had every intention of doing, vented an annoyed grunt and left the arena in disgust.
Tyson’s eyes followed his girlfriend’s ramrod retreating back with a hint of regret. Then shrugging his shoulders in resignation he raised his hand gesturing to the Coliseum, ‘Now, shall we go and have some fun?’ he said. They both walked to the console outside the Coliseum and Kabel opened the panel and reviewed the different programmes. He selected one of the urban ones and punched in the details, setting the number of opponents at twenty. Tyson playfully asked for more by holding his palm out and bouncing it up and down. Kabel doubled it to forty and as Kabel rested his hand on the panel, Tyson nudged Kabel’s hand and it increased to four hundred.
‘Four hundred Ilsid!’ said a shocked Gemma, now wishing she had supported her friend to stop this nonsense. ‘No one has faced four hundred Ilsid in the Coliseum, ever.’
‘We are not just anybody, are we, Chancellor?’ Gemma detected the resentment in Tyson’s voice and for the first time felt a level of uncertainty. If Kabel had noted the change of tone he did a convincing act of ignoring it and turned to Gemma and took her hands in his.
‘We will be fine, don’t worry,’ he said, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘Remember we have our shields,’ he reminded her. Gemma understood he was trying to alleviate the tension, it didn’t help, and her heart was still racing. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
He dropped her hands and pulled from his jacket one of his real seckles to replace the wooden one he had used during the earlier training session. Tyson pulled out his own weapon; he now had his own seckles, handcrafted by skilful Tyther hands from the finest zinithium. Each picked up a photon shotgun from the rack of weapons outside the Coliseum.
‘Shall we go, your Excellency,’ said a smiling Tyson, cocking his shotgun and then holding his hand out directing Kabel to the doors, bowing with a mischievous look on his face. Kabel, following his gesture, laughed and took him up on his invite. The doors opened and on entering Tyson was surprised to find they were on Tower Bridge in London.
‘Good choice brother,’ said Tyson, ‘A little history whilst we fight.’
‘Thought you may like the setting as you are always going on about London,’ replied Kabel, looking carefully around them. They were on the middle of the famous bridge which was built in the late 1900s and is a combined bascule and suspension bridge crossing the River Thames. The bridge itself consisted of two towers joined together at the upper level by means of two horizontal walkways, designed to withstand the forces of gravity exerted by the suspended sections of the bridge on the land facing sides of the towers. The vertical component of the forces in the suspended sections and the presence of the two walkways are supported by two robust towers. The bascule pivots and operating machinery, housed in the base of each tower, providing the mechanism that drove one of the most impressive sights in this large city allowing the bridge to part to allow large sailing ships or other large vessels through. All this above the dirty, murky, battling currents of the River Thames which flowed under the bridge, caressing its supporting foundations.
At this precise moment Kabel wasn’t dwelling on the history lessons he used to enjoy with Malkin, his teacher for many years before he was killed in the attack on the mast in the Eastern Quadrant, more on what was happening on the opposite side of the river to the Tower of London where a charging mass of Ilsid were running to the bridge. He paled what had he signed up for!
‘Come on let’s go brother,’ Kabel began to run towards the empty side of the bridge where the imposing silhouette of the Tower of London rose up from the ground. He stopped. Tyson wasn’t moving but waiting for the hordes to reach them. ‘Tyson, enough of your insane posturing, move,’ shouted Kabel. Tyson looked with regret across the bridge and then reluctantly turned and ran with Kabel back towards the start of the bridge.
The Ilsid poured onto the historic bridge and without any hesitation stormed across it holding a collection of photon shotguns and seckles.
Tyson turned to face them when he reached the end of the bridge and let go a couple of shots at the advancing Ilsid. Two men fell. Kabel joined Tyson and sent a couple of rocket grenades from his all-purpose pump action photon shotgun. The grenades soared and then dropped into the mass of soldiers. The explosives exploded, killing many and sending a number of the Ilsid reeling, but still they came.
Kabel swore, and Tyson smiling at the apparent discomfort of his sibling and couldn’t resist a quick quip, ‘Now this is what you call a fight, Kabel.’ His half-brother ignored the jibe. They ran down the steps and under Tower Bridge, followed by the rampaging Ilsid, their faces frozen in time.
Kabel went through the deserted gates until he was in front of the infamous Traitors Gate of the Tower of London. Above Traitors’ Gate, set back was the Wakefield Tower and next to that was the Bloody Tower. The Tower of London, the building of which began in 1078 as part of the Norman Conquest of England by William the Conqueror, was a magnificent sight. Tyson always had a thrill when he saw it, yes, Kabel had chosen well. They turned to face their pursuers.
The Ilsid came at them five a breast, forcing the pair to fire a barrage of shots into the front line, but there were too many. Soon the Ilsid were close enough to use their seckles. Kabel’s hands were moving so fast he made no attempt to follow their movement; he just relied on his extensive training. He knew he could not be terminally hurt, except if he fell over his own two feet, but the press of the bodies was intimidating.
Tyson was slashing and parrying with ease, Ilsid after Ilsid warrior falling dead before him, but still they came. The brothers were pushed back to the edge of the railings outside Traitors’ Gate.
‘Tyson, this is madness, we can’t fight this many,’ yelled Kabel. In answer, Tyson turned to face Traitors’ Gate, using his shield to ward of the blows, and hooked one of his arms around Kabel’s waist.
‘Hold on tight, bro,’ said Tyson with a manic look on his face. ‘What the…,’ Kabel spluttered, before Tyson leapt over Traitors Gate taking Tyson to the top of the Bloody Tower. Before Kabel could say another word, Tyson released him and set off across the battlements towards the steps down to Tower Green, a patch of grass beside the imposing White Tower, which stretched high into the sky. Kabel looked across and could see the Ilsid making their way to the main entrance below Tower Hill. It wouldn’t be long before they were flooding into the fortress. He chased after the energised Tyson.
Outside following the fight on the big screen, Gemma felt her heart racing as the action unfolded, the excitement initially causing her body to shake with anticipation but quickly turning to dread when she realised Tyson was out of control, acting as if he had drunk four Red Bull cans in quick succession. She heard footsteps behind her and was pleased to see Amelia half running, half walking and following behind her were Hechkle and Bronstorm.
‘How are they doing?’ said Amelia, gasping for breath. When she had stormed off it wasn’t long before she had sought her friends out and after explaining what had happened they all agreed they needed to see if Tyson and Kabel needed help.
‘What the heck are they doing?’ said the disbelieving Hechkle as he saw the Ilsid burst into the Tower of London fortress. Tyson and Kabel stood back to back on Tower Green fighting wave after wave of attacks. ‘Can we not stop the programme?’ asked Gemma.
‘No, once started, the algorithms kick in and the only one who can override proceedings is the senior officer who set the scenario in motion,’ Hechkle said, looking thoughtful.
‘I am scared,’ said Amelia, staring at the screen worriedly. ‘I don’t think Kabel will back down and I think Tyson will not be able to hold back any longer, look!’ The companions all focused on Tyson. His face had lost the carefree wide-eyed look and the tension and fury were building within his face. Kabel was unable to see what was happening as his back was turned but Tyson was now using one of his hands to spurt power directly into the midst of his attackers, reducing their numbers drastically. His force-field was building in strength and he seemed to be growing in height.
‘If he allows his magics to explode he could kill Kabel,’ said Amelia, noting the temper and lack of control in her partner, which she had spent hours managing.
Gemma began to panic and her heart rate was going off the scale. ‘We have to do something,’ she said pleading to her friends.
‘I have an idea,’ said Hechkle. He grabbed four bracelets and handed them to the worried friends. They didn’t hesitate, trusting the big Fathom warrior immediately, all snapping the bracelets on. ‘Grab a weapon,’ he ordered, pulling his seckle from his tunic. Bronstorm, following the instruction, did the same. The girls grabbed a photon shotgun each. Hechkle punched in some details then turned to the waiting companions.
‘Place your bracelet into the hologram and hold on as we enter the game.’ They all nodded. ‘Amelia you need to get to Tyson and calm him down and we will form a perimeter around you.’ Amelia confirmed she would. With dry mouths they each thrust their arms with the bracelets on into the hologram and to their shock they were pulled into the programme by a powerful force. Amelia felt a sickness to her stomach as her centre of gravity shifted and she felt herself catapulted to another dimension.
Kabel had felt the increase in Tyson’s power. It was so strong he could not fight back-to-back with his brother as Tyson’s force-field pushed him away. He heard a loud pop and his face betrayed the surprise he felt when he saw Amelia, Gemma, Bronstorm and Hechkle in front of him.
‘Help Tyson,’ screamed Gemma to Kabel, laying down a concentrated blast of gunfire. Kabel turned and had to raise his hand to partially cover his eyes as the brightness emitting from Tyson was blinding.
Tyson hardly noticed the arrival of his friends. Inside him the magic was twisting this way and that, he felt it grow and consume his every movement, sound diminished. He didn’t use either of his seckles but power was cascading from his fingers. The same thought came to him over and over again. Kill, Kill, Kill. Just like an Ilsid warrior.
Amelia fought against the force-field, using techniques taught by Lord Southgate to position her body to circumvent the powerful magic. There were three rules. Get close. Move slowly. Establish contact. Tyson felt soft arms wrap around him, a voice murmuring in his ear. The warm words began to seep through him. An Ilsid warrior launched himself at Amelia who was now at one with Tyson. He stretched out a hand and pure energy streamed from his outstretched fingers, tearing apart the programmed initiated attacker. Tyson felt calm return as the soothing words, like tendrils of smoke, curled around his thoughts and the tension eased from his body.
Amelia, it was Amelia.
Suddenly the Tower of London and the attackers disappeared. The battle was won, the algorithms calculating that the tipping point had been reached and switching off the game. The group stood gasping for air in the centre of the Coliseum, which was now just an empty box, the environmental programme no longer active.
Tyson felt Amelia’s body against his and snapping out of his adrenalin fuelled battle state he looked down at her gentle brown eyes that shone with concern and love and he pulled her to him in an all-consuming embrace.
‘What is going on here?’ The sliding doors to the Coliseum had opened and in stalked General Corder, anger spilling out from his broad frame. Flanking him were twenty of his personal guard of US Marines. ‘Who gave you permission outside prescribed hours to use the training programme? You know this is against regulations, don’t you?’ he snapped.
Tyson, who had felt the anger subside, now felt it surge forward, much to Amelia’s and his other friends’ alarm. He pushed Amelia away from him and before General Corder could react he had taken a few steps forward and placed his hand round his throat. The general’s personal guard reacted swiftly with all the soldiers’ weapons raised and pointing at Tyson’s head. Not that this bothered the focus of their attention. ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Grandpa, you got that?’ Tyson hissed.
‘Let him go Tyson,’ said Kabel, shocked, hastily stepping forward and placing a hand on the hand gripping Corder’s throat, Tyson ignored him.
‘Tyson, we should not have been in the game, please let the General go,’ said Amelia, softly, her words enveloping him in that sweet manner that soothed his soul and the anger left him as abruptly as it had fired up. Tyson’s shoulders slumped and he let go of Corder. The soldiers moved in but General Corder put a hand up to halt them as he clutched his throat, trying to catch his breath. It was Kabel who took charge.
‘Stand down, let him go, put your weapons up,’ said Kabel. The soldiers glanced across General Corder but he could not speak as he still had trouble breathing. They hesitantly and reluctantly dropped their weapons to point to the floor. Tyson flung a furious look at Kabel and then marched out of the arena, closely followed by Amelia. The rest watched them go with a sense of foreboding.