The Wounded World, a story of Mantra, Chapter 11

By Aladdin

Edited by Christopher Leeson

The Wounded World

Originally written 2006

Posted July 21, 2019
Revised August 21, 2019

DATING THE NM-E

"I gather our eternal fate: Outcasts from life and love:

Unless we find a way to bind these awful forms to our embrace,

We shall perish annihilate, discovered our delusions."

William Blake 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There was a schoolgirl running headlong into danger, but I was pinned down and couldn't help her. Watched by Aladdin agents, I couldn't get away unseen. And even if I could, I didn't know what I could do to fix a problem as large as NM-E. For the moment, I couldn't do much of anything, except monitor the A-Team's communications.
Greg Tunney was sending in play-by-play reports via his remote. At noon he had released NM-E and the robot was advancing across the mall tarmac. At the first sight of the thing, hundreds of panicked shoppers dropped everything and fled to their cars, or else took off across Sherman Way on foot.
According to plan, the robot would be allowed to roam for a while. Tunney was to recall it as soon as local authorities started to arrive. If Mantra or some other ultra showed up before that, then the A-Team would rush in with nets, gas grenades, and stun guns. If captured, the hero would be spirited away for interrogation and brainwashing, à la Blythe Ashwin.

If forced to leave the Mall without a capture, the team was to move the operation to an alternate site -- a movie theater about a mile away. I kept my fingers crossed, hoping that Lauren had already slipped the net.

I was almost equally worried about Warstrike – or Strike, as he was called here. But the old unlisted Brandon Tark number -- the one that I recalled from my dimension -- only got me a recorded voice saying that the number I'd dialed didn't exist. Nor could I reach the man directly, via telepathic contact, for some reason. I felt like I was living in a dream; awful was coming, but couldn't do anything about it.

Brandon was going to get mixed up in the disaster that would soon devastate New York. I'd never felt so helpless. Giving a public warning -- either openly or anonymously -- would have been useless. Government doesn't pay attention to people who claim to see the future. Fun City was on its own, and so was Brandon. I only hoped that becoming an international terrorist fugitive didn't ruin his life.

An electronic voice interrupted my thoughts. It was Tunney again. His excited voice was saying that NM-E had made contact with an ultra opponent! I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, hoping that – this time -- the robot had run into Necromantra and not Lauren Sherwood.

"What does the opponent look like, Wrath?" I asked, my throat tight.

"It's not the red-headed chick," he replied. “I'm seeing is that bouncy cheerleader-type from Saturday night -- the one that your little girl called 'Mantra.' She's coming on strong! That kid's got real power!"

Worst-case scenario! Why was Lauren doing this? I'd already warned her not to. But why did kids her age do anything?

“Ah! The little blonde just got in a good haymaker on NM-E..." Tunney was saying. "He's staggered. I'm checking now to see what damage he's registering...No, it's good! Old Nuts and Bolts has the constitution of an Abrams tank.” Then I heard Wrath give his an order: “NM-E -- intercept and detain....”

Then, suddenly, he yelled ~"No!" and went silent.

I sucked in a breath. This had to be the point in time when Lauren trashed the equipment van – the van that Aladdin needs to keep control of the situation. Even now, NM-E's hard drive would be rebooting to its original program -- a program that was somehow written long ago, before the human race even knew that a computer program was. That program would be telling it to kill all ultras.

I knew that my contact with Wrath was over. He'd soon be intervening to help Lauren in battling the killing machine and would get himself seriously injured for his good intentions.

I needed to draw from another source of information, and quickly. "Try to pick up Tunney's lieutenant on the A-Team," I instructed my subordinate communication officer, a man who had been following the operation with equipment of his own.

A moment later, he'd raised a woman's voice from the field.

"Smoke is coming from Wrath's van," she reported, agitated. "Tunney doesn't respond. There's an ultra-battle going on between him and us! I'm sending someone to circle around the fracas to get a fix on his whereabouts!"

That was it, as far as I was concerned. The sooner I let Aladdin know that we had a disaster on our hands, the better. I couldn't do anything myself; maybe, with all their firepower, they could. “We hear you, Agent Blake,” someone on the other end acknowledged.

"We think that Mantra attacked the mobile mission center," I said into the microphone. "There's a good possibility that Wrath has lost control of NM-E. On his own, the asset is closing in battle with an ultra of some sort. This could turn into a civilian slaughter. We need to deploy a heavy support team immediately."

“Measures will be taken, Agent Blake,” a different voice told me. “Maintain your position.”

I sat for a few minutes, waiting for more of such brilliant advice, but nothing was coming in.

Finally, a headquarter colonel whom I knew slightly, Smekes, signed in and identified himself. "Agent Blake. Use what team support is available and move your monitoring position closer to the scene of the operation. We need better information.

Without waiting, I made for the battlefield, taking only what I was carrying.  I didn't want any personnel tagging along; emergency measures might be called for, and the last thing I would need was witnesses.”

#

If I encountered Lauren at the Mall, I intended to act like a hard-nosed cop, determined to catch "Mantra." But if I had to, I'd let her "outsmart" me and get away. If she wasn't capable of fleeing -- well, in that case I'd have to play scenario out by ear.

Every car at the mall was trying to get away from rukus. Other motorists were pouring in toward the lot -- thrill-seekers hoping to witness a first-class ultra brawl, one that they must have heard about from the initial media reports. Horns blared as the opposing streams of traffic ran afoul of each other. All progress in either direction was quickly coming to a halt.

I ran between the mostly-stationary autos and, just as I set foot on the concrete surfacing of the parking lot, I saw something jetting into the sky like a giant bottle rocket. I could tell at a glance that it was NM-E, making his escape by air.

Thank God that that the robot had taken itself out of the picture! That would make it possible for aid-workers to come in and help the survivors!

I already knew that Lauren's fight with NM-E would climax inside the Toy World store, and so I made directly for it. That's when I saw Wrath stagger out of the wreckage, holding his shoulder and limping. I pimpled with goose-flesh. According to what Lauren had told me – would tell me – he should have been in much worse shape. History had been changed! But if Tunney had been hurt less by the fight than he should have been, would Lauren be hurt more?

"Wrath," I yelled. "Where's L -- Mantra?"

"Back -- Back in there," he gasped.

I scrambled through a gaping hole in the Toy World wall. Inside, it looked like a herd of buffaloes had racing through the aisles using flamethrowers. Broken and scorched toys were strewn everywhere. A headless action figure of Mantra lay at my feet; the sight of it gave me pause.

My eyes tearing from the stinging smoke, I scanned the wreckage. When someone touched my shoulder I jumped and swung about. Tunney again.

"She's -- she's over there, M-Mrs. Blake. B-Behind those boxes," he stammered.

I went where he pointed and, amid a pile of crumpled cartons, I beheld as bad a sight as I never hoped to see again. It was Lauren. Blood covered her slim body and that peaches-and-cream flesh of hers was torn in many places. That gray-colored magic armor she'd been wearing was heavily scarred. The girl had been battered, but her open throat wound made all the rest of her injuries unimportant.

I strangled a cry of dismay and dashed to the teenager's side. Desperately feeling for a pulse, I detected warmth in her limp arm, but not a hint of life. She hadn't been dead long. 

But dead she was. 

Lauren was dead.

And I was responsible, because I had interfered and made a bad situation worse.

"It -- It got outta hand," Tunney was yammering. "She trashed the controls. The thing went wild. The harder she fought, the stronger its attacks got. She was just a kid -- no match for a monster like that. I tried to lend a hand, but NM-E knocked me head over heels before I could land a blow. By the time my head stopped spinning, it was too late."

I nodded, afraid of what I might reveal if I said more. What surprised me was that even at the pinnacle of the horror that I was feeling, I didn't blame Tunney. Nothing could have controlled the crazy situation that Aladdin had set into motion. Why had the girl pitched into such an insane fight? Was it just bravado? The thought of her parents grieving sliced through me like a dagger. Soon, so soon, Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood would know the truth. How could they -- how could any parent -- bear such a loss?

And then there was the added shock that this tragedy would bring to Evie. She would soon know that her friend, the very person who had saved her mother's life, had been killed in a terrible way.

I shook my head. I didn't want to see Evie cry. Not again. Not so soon.

I almost stumbled on the debris underfoot. Tunney's uninjured arm supported me. I swallowed hard and struggled to get a grip on myself.

"I know. This is bad," he said. "She was just a kid. I feel like crying myself."

My cheeks were wet. I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of the ripped and battered schoolgirl. What was I suppose to do? If I could fail at this, something that I'd had advanced knowledge about, how could I succeed at anything?

Still in the man's grasp, I stiffened and raised my head. I had to buck up. I was stronger than this. I had seen many friends die. I'd seen thousands die. In fact, I had seen tens of thousands die in a single day. I'd also beheld countless children losing their lives in every kind of massacre and disaster. Loss was no stranger to Archimage's knights. I wasn't in a good place just then, but I couldn't let myself give in to emotion. I didn't have the luxury of falling apart -- not quite yet.

I stood up; Tunney backed off, saying, “We have to report all this to headquarters.”

I felt like shouting "To hell with headquarters!" But that wouldn't cut it. I had to be the strong and steady government-agent type. If Aladdin stopped believing that I was hardcore, I'd be sent away to re-cooperate, or even be discharged. I couldn't help Gus if that happened.

I was expected to do something, but what? The perimeter had to be controlled, of course. The girl's body had to be treated with respect and taken away. Then I realized that when Sarn and her cohorts learned who this new Mantra had been, they realize that Eden Blake had known her, and had knew her well. I'd have to talk my way out of that noose, somehow. And what else? Tunney, of course. He needed medical attention.

By now, some of the other agents were trailing into the toy store, loaded down with weaponry at a time when weapons were no longer needed. I turned and faced them, my chin high, my fists clenched. I had to make my colleagues think that death and destruction couldn't move me. I had to become was I still was at the core, the Dark Age knight who was hardened to battle. I needed to give the impression that I was all Aladdin, all the time. I had to convince people without pity that I was just like them, that I had ice-water in my veins.

"Cover up this body and send for an ambulance," I told the personnel around me. "P-Put up a cordon. Keep everyone out until a forensic team has done its work. Don't give any statements to reporters. Don't answer anyone's questions. It'll be a news blackout. Standard procedure.

For a short time, what had happened at the Mall almost made me forget that even worse catastrophes were coming. A-Team had returned to the local headquarters after sundown, but the New York disaster had hit. The corporate media leaped on the story with saturation coverage. They made the whole country stop thinking about anything else, including the unimportant ultra-battle that had been fought inside a minor mall in California.

The acting director informed us to stay inside the building until we'd all undergone our mission debriefings. We were told that we could call home, but with the usual restrictions. I followed some of the others into the employee lounge, where the TV set was on.

On every channel the news services were doing what they did best – going absolutely crazy and getting everything wrong. A news anchor on MSNBC was speculating that a nuclear war with Russia had definitely begun. He didn't sound horrified, but excited. Every news channel was talking like Christmas Day had arrived early. I heard show-host Rachel Madcow declare. “Unnamed sources say that Congress intends to start impeachment proceedings the first thing in the morning.” The frenzy was made worse by the lack of solid information. Many NYC communications centers had been wiped out -- including the New York Times building.

What I was listening to was all misinformation, wishful thinking, and paranoia. It was like the media establishment was trying to start a panic in the streets. There didn't seem to be anyone who wasn't calling for massive retaliation against the Russians. One failed bureaucrat, who used to be a Secretary of State, even suggested that if the President didn't order a counter-strike immediately, the military should take control and do it themselves.

The President came on the air about 10 P.M. to reassure the people that National Defense was on full alert. “Contrary to the uninformed speculation in the Fake News," he said, "our monitoring units have not detected any hostile actions by foreign nation.” He further reported that there was no nuclear radiation found near Ground Zero, which reduced the likelihood that the explosion had been caused by a terrorist device smuggled into the city. This information didn't surprise me. I had read about the ongoing investigation in the Wednesday morning newspapers.

When the President signed off, Chuck Schlepper came on CNN News. The Senate minority leader was sitting across a desk from the senior correspondent Jake Trapper. Schlepper hit the ground running with another new attack on the President, this time for not doing anything.

All this was a waste of time. I already had better information than anyone on television did. Withdrawing into the snack room, I dialed my mother's home, where I knew Evie would be staying. "Hello, M-Mom," I said when Barbara Freeman answered.

"You sound awful, Eden. Where on earth have you been?"

I steadied my voice. "I'm at the downtown office.”

“I thought you were in San Francisco!” 

“I was, until early this morning. I was able to...to look in on Gus. He was under sedation, so we couldn't talk. But a work-related crisis suddenly came up and I didn't have any choice but to pitch in and help. We were under a communications shutdown until just now." 

"Was the crisis about New York? Eden, what's happening? Is there going to be war?”

"No, I don't think so. We don't know who or what made it happen. According to the information coming in, there were no missiles picked up on radar, and there was no radioactivity.”

She wanted to know more about Gus, but I fended off her questions. “With the CIA, everything is classified, Mom. We'll have to wait until someone I work for is willing to bring us up to date. I'll be home as soon as I can; I'll let you know then everything that I've found out."

"You know what a fright Eve's had. She needs her mother more now than ever."

"I'm sorry. I'm not a free agent. I haven't gotten permission to leave yet. This is a government office and they do things their own way."

I doubt that that satisfied her, but she changed her tone. "Eden, the A.P. was here yesterday, wanting to know all about what happened Friday. You hardly told me anything before rushing off, and Evie couldn't say very much without starting to shake. But she did say that she couldn't find you until Saturday morning. What happened?"

I had to tell her the same story that I'd told Aladdin. "Gus hit me with something. I staggered outside in a daze. I woke up on an empty lot. As soon as I could walk, I went to find Evie. I ran into Lauren Sherwood, fortunately, and she let me know that Evie was at Mrs. Walker's house."

Suddenly I heard Evie's voice in the background. "Mom, is Evie still up?" I asked, glad to change the subject.

“She couldn't sleep. She came out when the phone rang.” Mother summoned the little girl to the receiver. 

"Mommy!"

It felt good to hear that voice; it was just what I needed at such a time. I could hardly remember just then that she wasn't my own daughter. "Darling, I wanted you to know that I'm all right and that I'm going to see you soon."

"Are you still in San Frisco, Mommy?"

"No, sweetheart. I'm back at my usual work place. I think they'll let me leave soon."

"You're really okay?"

"I'm very tired, but I'm perfectly okay."

"Did you get your ---?"

I thought she wanted to ask if my powers had come back, so I quickly spoke over her words. "Shhh, honey. No, that didn't happen. But, please, remember that we never talk about important family things like that over the phone."

"Okay. I'm sorry, Mommy. Did you hear how a super-bomb landed on New York City? That's on the right side of the map, isn't it?"

"Yes, precious. It's terrible news. Try not to think about it."

"And the TV said that a monster attacked the mall where we shop. Mommy, what's happening? Is the world coming to an end?"

"No, I don't think so, Button. Try to be brave until things get better."

"Did you find out where Gus is?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes, I did. The doctors gave him something to make him sleep. I'll have to go back and try to cheer him up when I go back to San Francisco."

"You're going to go to San Frisco again so soon? It's such a long way!"

"I know, Pumpkin. I think we'll both have to move to San Francisco and stay there for a while. If we'll do that, we'll be able to visit Gus every day."

"Me, too?"

"Maybe. I hope so. I'm not sure yet."

"It must be awful to be in jail."

She didn't know the half of it. "I'll tell you all about Gus when I get home. It's so late; you shouldn't wait up for me. Tomorrow we'll decide if you're feeling well enough to go to school."

"I had nightmares last night, Mommy. I had to sleep with Grandma because I was so afraid. My hands shake sometimes, too, and I can't make them stop."

"My poor baby. You were frightened more than any little girl should ever be. I know a good doctor. I'm sure she can cure that nasty shaking. I'll see you soon, sweetie. All my kisses. Please put Grandma back on the line."

"Eden?" came Barbara's voice.

"I'm worried about Evie. I've decided to take her to a child psychologist."

"I was going to suggest that."

"I know one from college. She's working in Frisco now. She's one of the best."

"Okay." Mom sounded just about as drained as I felt.

"Just do whatever you can to keep Evie calm," I said. "It may be best not to let her listen to the nighttime news. She doesn't need any more bad dreams." Most of all, I didn't want her to hear any report that "Mantra" was dead – at least not until I could be with her. "Maybe letting her watch some cartoon videos will maker her sleepy," I added.

"I'll do that," she said distractedly. "I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep myself. The news is making it sound like the whole of New York's been destroyed. Millions may be dead!"

"I think they news is wrong,” I told her. “The main downtown center took the most damage. After dark and on a Sunday, the business district would have been mostly deserted. We'll know more by daylight."

"If you say so. But do you think L.A. will be hit next? Somebody on CBS was saying that the ultras might have done it -- and there's more ultras here than anywhere else."

"So far, there's no reason to think that any ultras were involved. If you want to get better news, go to your favorite independent news sites on the net. And talk-radio might be able to sort out the nonsense. Go to Russ Lingard's broadcast.  It's usually on the mark."

"I will, darling. Just get home soon. Evie needs you."

"I'll try. Bye."

"So you don't think ultras are involved?" broke in a strained, but mellow, voice. I knew it for Wrath's.

Tucking away my cell phone, I turned toward him. Tunney was wearing civilian attire and a snowy sling supported his right arm. His expression was tight and grave.

"Just an opinion," I said with a sigh. "A teenage girl with amazing powers died today trying to help strangers escape from danger. There aren't any facts yet. Should people like her be subjected to a witch-hunt?"

He shook his head. "A couple days ago, I wouldn't have put anything past the ultras. But today, I'm not so sure."

"Almost anybody can become an ultra, it seems. But I don't think that becoming an ultra is going to make a good person into a bad person.” 

“Maybe, but Aladdin is always reminding us that absolute power corrupts absolutely.” 

“Well, Aladdin should know.” 

I wasn't sure if he'd caught on to my sarcasm or not, but he came back with, “No matter what we think, we'd better be careful about what we say in front of the people wearing neckties.” 

I forced a smile. "I'll bear that in mind. Say, you aren't looking so beat up now with all that dirt and blood washed off. How are you feeling?"

"I'm still a high on painkillers and my head's spinning. I got plenty of abrasions and some torn ligaments, but things could have been a lot worse."

I knew that they could have been worse – worse for him and better for Lauren.

But the situation was bad enough. And I had no expectation that the days ahead were going to be any better.


TO BE CONTINUED in Chapter 12.

The Belle of Eerie, Arizona - Chapter 2, Part 2

Posted 07-07-19 

By Christopher Leeson
 
Chapter 2, Part 2

December 19, 1871, Continued

George Severin couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't adding up. Didn't it stretch reason that Myra should arrive in the town riding on the exact same stagecoach that her cousin would rob an hour later? And why had she show up with hardly any clothes? Was the story about some kind of flood credible? And why did she so dislike talking about her past? Beyond that, the youth couldn't help wondering about the saddled horse that suddenly showed up in the Fanning corral. Had Thorn ridden to the farm after the robbery, maybe wounded? Could Thorn still alive and the women were hiding him?

George had just come back from a talk with the clerk at the stage depot. He'd asked the man about the flood where some people's belongings had been lost.  The man on duty hadn't know what in Sam Hill he was talking about. According to him, no river-crossing problem had been reported, and no one had put in a claim for loss, not even Miss Olcott.  In fact, he'd never heard that name before.  No one who had come in with the stage had matched her description.

The interview had only increased young Severin's doubts. Someone was not telling the truth and he couldn't guess why. If the horse wasn't Thorn's, had Myra brought it into town herself? But if it really was her own mount, why hadn't she just owned up to it? Had she stolen it, or had someone stolen the critter for her to use?

So, what was really the truth? The stage guard and driver were the best people to question, but they wouldn't be back until late in the week. Luckily, the young man still had one option. Everyone knew that Mrs. Lurleen Deeters had witnessed the robbery personally. She had, in fact, already returned to Eerie, the theft of her shopping money having ruined the Phoenix trip she'd planned.

George hoped that the elderly lady seen Myra leaving the coach as she was joining it. Things would be so much simpler if he could start believing what the ladies at the farm were saying.  With that aim in mind, he was now making for the Deeters' home. But he didn't go to the door.  He preferred to wait out of sight, hoping to see the lady strolling outside. If that happened, he could intercept her, casual like, and strike up a conversation. In such circumstances, it would be natural enough for him to inquire about her recent, frightening experience.

Partially concealed by a leafless apple tree, the farm boy watched for movement on the Deeters' porch. He was becoming both hungry and restless by the time the front door opened. The youth first saw Mr. Ezzard Deeters step out, tall, lean, and a bit stooped. The old gentleman was holding the door open while his wife shuffled out to join him. Ezzard was a good old soul; George knew him slightly.

The farm boy now got up and circled around, to make it look like he was coming directly from Main Street. The old couple had almost advanced to the end of their footpath by the time he'd sauntered into hailing distance. “Hello, Mr. Deeters. Mrs. Deeters.”

“Oh, George,” the man called back. “What brings you out from the farm?”

“I'm just making a produce delivery along the way,” the eighteen-year-old answered, showing them the bag in his hand.

“Anything we can do for you, lad?” Ezzard asked.

“I hope I'm not being too forward, but I heard people say that Mrs. Deeters was on the stage when it was robbed. I know that my folks would want me to pass along our family's condolences.”

“Well,” nodded Mr. Deeters, “that's a fine sentiment. You Severins are neighborly people.”

George smiled. “I'm sure glad that Mrs. Fanning's niece left that stage just in time, before it got robbed. All that gun-play would have frightened an Eastern girl something dreadful.”

“I didn't know that Mrs. Fanning had a niece visiting,” remarked the old woman.

“Why, yes she has. You must have gotten a glance of Myra when she was getting off the same stage that you were going to take. Red hair and awfully pretty. She's a little younger than me, I think.”

“I can't say that I noticed anyone like that,” Mrs. Deeters confessed. “And I was sitting on the bench in front of the depot the whole time. Are you sure that the young miss came in on Wednesday?”

“Well, that's what I've understood. Did anyone at all get off the stage in Eerie that day?”

“Only Ben Meldrem,” Mrs. Deeters said, “and nobody could mistake him for a young lady.”

“I'm not sure I know the fellow. Does he live here in town?” George asked.

“Why would you want to know?” inquired old Ezzard.