Blackbow Page 12

  Shocked, Bruce could only look at him. Grimacing, the soldier bowed to him then to Savage, many followed suit. Savage gave him a determined, smiling nod as if to say, ‘Your will be done ‘King’.’ Bruce grimaced at the sarcasm he knew she would’ve concocted. His final gift to Master’s Mecha was to Mount Bonerend’s head, arrow still jutting from it, on the highest bridge for all to see upon entry.

  “By decree of Blackbow eh?” Spirit said, adjusting her bow on her shoulder.

  “I know... brutally cheezy. I worry what Savage is gonna do with that much power.”

  “She’ll go crazy, which might just be what the Mecha needs, a psychotic to counter the psychotic masters that remain.” Spirit guessed.

  “Here’s hoping.” Bruce replied, ignoring the pain he felt with every step.

  Carefully, the duo journeyed back to the Holdfast, mindful to avoid conflict in their current state. Between camping in the remains of buildings and wandering through the brutal weather patterns, Bruce starts to wonder if an army will be waiting at the Holdfast to avenge Bonerend.

  “I sincerely wish you hadn’t destroyed your bow...” Spirit whined.

  “I know... you keep saying that!” Bruce complained.

  “Because you keep imagining something terrible. I know that face, you kept making it when our training started! Quit your worrying. Put that energy into carrying me instead, my legs are getting tired” Spirit demanded playfully.

  “Buck up, Sergeant, we’re almost there.” Bruce commanded, not playing along, but he did give her a slight smile. Bruce returned home like a conquering champion.

  The second he and Spirit enter the Holdfast Bruce yells out, “BONEREND IS DEAD!”

  As news traveled and people gathered together, they were met with cheers, as everyone knew their days of fear were over. Bruce escorted Spirit to medical so the bio-repair lab could fix her up.

  “There will be a slight nearly-invisible scar, but she’ll be fine.” A slender woman named Dr. Hawambre explained, reading from her various scans after her nano-flesh replication bots had finished their work. To finish the procedure, a coloured laser traced the area, closing up the seam left by the bot extraction.

  “All right, at your... request I saw to the lady, but medicine at this level is reserved for you, Mr. Prime Minister.”

  “That’s King Prime Minister Blackbow to you.” Spirit said with a gentle joking tone, drawing a raised eyebrow from the confused doctor.

  “Nevermind that, thank you Doctor. I’ll be needing your services as well.” Bruce informed her.

  Dr. Hawambre audibly gasped when she saw his array of bruises when he finally managed to strip free of his armour.

  “For the record, this facility is only equipped to provide treatment at this level ten times. That is how many uses our automated nano systems have left before they would normally be replaced. As such I have to caution you against... whatever it is you’re doing to end up in this state.” Dr. Hawambre informed Bruce sternly.

  “Duly noted.” Bruce replied politely before laying on the scanning table. At the press of a button, a laser horizontally swept from the top of the table to the bottom, allowing the doctor to see all of his internals.

  “Well, a few broken ribs, trauma to many points of your midsection that isn’t life threatening, and the beginnings of a concussion. Take this pill so we can deal with the worst of it before your lungs are punctured. You’re lucky that armour absorbed as much impact as it did. From the looks of it, if it hadn’t, I’d be mending bullet holes, too.” Bruce chuckled, drawing a look of offense from the good doctor that prompted him to politely down the pill.

  Moments later, he was escorted to a see-through cylindrical tank that took up half the height of the room with countless pipes penetrating it, and a small staircase that led inside it. At her direction Bruce stepped into the cylinder. Thick fluids quickly filled the space, suspending him from neckline to toe in relaxing warmth. After Dr. Hawambre hit some switches the liquid seemed to electrify, flowing around him independently to better seep into his skin.

  “I understand your confusion. Think of this like a lotion filled hot tub. The lotion will accelerate your body’s healing process. After a night of rest in this you’ll be just fine, and you won’t even feel the bots working on your innards.”

  Shocked by her cold explanation he decided to try humour. “Just try to leave the scars, I’d feel naked without them.” He said calmly, unsure if she’d get the joke.

  She didn’t. A few more system commands sent mechanical arms out from the walls of the cylinder, holding him at an angle like a lounge chair, joined by one more that held a support pillow under his head.

  “I’ll return in the morning, this will help you sleep.” With clinically deft efficiency she jammed a needle in his neck, injecting a small amount of clear fluid. Moments later Bruce was unconscious. The next day Bruce awoke. His body felt amazing, his lotion-filled space made him feel like he was floating on a cloud.

  “How to you feel?” Dr. Hawambre suddenly asked from a far corner of the room by her command console.

  The thin, serious-faced doctor had a severely tight bun in her silver hair that made her naturally angry expression look all the more intense.

  “Great, thanks.”

  “Lovely.” Dr. Hawambre said kindly.

  Moments later, the mechanical arms withdrew, the lotion drained, and Bruce was allowed to exit. As he dressed Hawambre gave him a sour look.

  “What?” Bruce enquired.

  “You need to have that suit adjusted if you can’t replace it entirely; it’s too tight in many places.”

  “I never noticed that.”

  “Of course not, you’re too oblivious. I, however, was a physiotherapist in a past life. Bring me the tools and I’ll have the mechanical aids here do something about it.” Hawambre offered kindly.

  “Thanks, will do.” Bruce said. She’s a lot more kind than I realized. Bruce noted. Fully suited up, he met Spirit outside,

  “You look great! If you’re wondering, I had your bow stored in the armoury while you slept. I have a surprise for you, but first come with me. No questions.” Caught off guard, Bruce did as she bid, finding himself in the cafeteria. All around him people applauded, some more halfheartedly than most. Racial tension due to forced Mot integration? Bruce posited silently, noticing Monster’s remaining men getting the occasional dirty look which seemed to support his thoughts. There was food spread out on all the long tables in quantities that shocked him. Christmas cakes, pies, multiple meats, harvest fruits, egg nog, maple syrups, pancakes... so many things normally kept deep-frozen for specific occasions now being indulged in together.

  “What’s all this?!” Bruce asked incredulously. Sergeant Hanzo walked up to him beaming.

  “A feast I arranged, King Knight, to honour your liberating the slaves!” Looking somewhere between flabbergasted and agitated, Bruce chose to adopt a stoic pose. Calmly he raised a hand for silence. “Thank you. But you shouldn’t celebrate yet. I fear my efforts may’ve only incited conflict.” A tense silence fell.

  “BUZZKILL! Small victories should be celebrated, KING Knight!” Birdy hollered out, drawing many cheers of support. Huffing in exasperation, Bruce noticed a dirty look from Spirit that showed she clearly agreed.

  “Alright, you’re right... of course. But please don’t call me King; I’m not even qualified to be Prime Minister... I’m just Bruce Knight, Spetsnaz Sergeant. Fighting’s my purpose, which is what I’ll continue to do until I can say for certain slavery is abolished on all fronts!” Bruce exclaimed with powerful conviction.

  “You’re not just Bruce Knight... You’re Blackbow! I know you can do it!” Dave’s little voice cried above the murmurs of the crowd. Another passionate bout of cheers erupted. Embarrassed, Bruce waved and marched out of the room. Blackbow... I couldn’t even win one fight without losing my bow, and my wisest friend. Bruce thought darkly. Come on, Bruce... Spirit thought to herself frustrated before stepping for
ward to address the crowd.

  “It won’t be just Blackbow alone, he’ll have his friends, the other Blackbows! Together we’ll finish the fight for all of humanity.” she exclaimed energetically. Many occupants cheered.

  “Can I be a Blackbow?!” Dave asked, many of his friends voiced agreements. Spirit smiled.

  “Maybe someday, if you’re parents are okay with it. You all know Blackbow’s friends, The Hollywoods and Birdy right? If you’re very good and really serious about it, they’d be more than happy to train you on Blackbow’s orders. He may seem silly sometimes, but he really wants all of you to be safe and happy. But for now, let us handle it for you, okay? Enjoy your feast and have a good time, that’s what Blackbow would want.” Everybody cheered, even the slightly concerned parents. With a final wave, Spirit walked off to find her pain-in-the-ass ‘superhero’ leader.

  “You’re going the wrong way, Sergeant Knight.” Spirit called out. In response to his confused look, she gestured for him to follow with a very serious expression on her face. Eventually Bruce found himself confusingly back in the med bay. On the scanner bed was a large pile of stuff covered in a blanket. More confusingly, both Dr. Hawambre and Sergeant Hanzo were both in attendance.

  “What’s going on here?” Bruce asked with a hint of suspicion.

  “Shut up and remove the blanket!” Spirit exclaimed cheerfully.

  Curious, Bruce did as she asked. To his shock, his quiver with a mix of arrows, a brand new suit of armour and a small object he couldn’t identify, with a grip and a bulky section that looked like a sizeable square black equivalent of a brass knuckle that had to ends sticking out of it sat on the bed.

  “The hell is that thing?” Bruce asked.

  “Pick it up.” Spirit ordered. Wordlessly Bruce grabbed it by the grip, which felt strangely familiar.

  “Squeeze it hard.” Spirit continued.

  Bruce obeyed, as he put his growing irritation into the effort. Suddenly, the squarish shape erupted apart in multiple folds. When it finished, a brand new highly futuristic militarized compound bow sat in his hand, strung and ready, embedded pulleys automatically adjusted the tension on the metallic string. Fully extended, the bow itself looked like a deadly instrument, with precise intimidating curves that met at the center grip where, a guard extended like an extension of the fist that held it, and two small lines one above the other acted as a sighting reference.

  “When bullets were in short supply after the West-China war, more retro methods got a second life. Hunters became soldiers, so their bows, too, needed an upgrade. When I was digging through the vault’s databanks I found a couple of these. Not sure why there were two, but your father being a military man, and with how well they were hidden, I figured he was collecting them. Whatever the case may be, it’s yours now. I already coded one of them to your biometrics and now it will also respond to your grip-strength. Don’t worry about breaking this one, they were built to withstand the weight of tanks on top of them.” Shocked, Bruce couldn’t speak.

  “I already adjusted it to make full use of the tech intended to make it lethal in a beginner’s hands. Now, for the same effort of a seventy pound draw weight, you’re shooting 130 pounds without sacrificing speed or impact. Better still if you hit this,” Spirit paused to indicate two barely visible buttons just above the grip, then continued, “the bow will auto adjust its settings for more or less poundage if you find my estimate inaccurate. The buttons above that adjust the draw length, in case you’re stuck on your back. Double-pressing any one of the aforementioned buttons will reset the bow to the base settings I put in. Right now it’s set like your old bow, but with way more punch.” Bruce stood, took his proper-form stance and drew to his normal length. Smiling he turned to her.

  “It feels perfect!” He exclaimed.

  “My turn, if you’ll come with me.” Dr. Hawambre asked.

  Putting the bow down, Bruce followed her to the mechanical arm station.

  “This new suit was ordered before the bombs fell by your father’s detail. Given it used top-secret technological upgrades, it, too, was a lucky find on Sergeant Hanzo’s part. Please put it on and stand where footprints are indicated in the floor when ready.” Bruce did as she bid. With the push of a button the system scanned him, causing light-like reactions in the suit.

  “OK, adjusting now. Bear with me, these attachments are new to my mechanical arms.” Minutes later, the suit was perfectly adjusted for his body.

  “Amazing, it feels like skin!” Bruce exclaimed.

  “It should; it’s now perfectly calibrated to you. Compared to your father’s old wartime set, this is lighter, tougher, and has far superior impact absorption. You’ll still feel a bullet hit, but it won’t slow you down. The armour’s plates adjusted fluidly to his movement, providing the same reliable coverage with more weightless, better padding, and no more bullet scarring. Better still, the Prime Ministerial seal that put him through hell before was replaced with a faint near-invisible etching of the Canadian flag on its breastplate.

  “This is a one of a kind prototype likely brought in for your father, don’t wreck it immediately!” Hawambre finished sternly.

  Spirit piped up, “Your old suits been recalibrated and stored in your mom’s room as a keepsake. The new arrows you doubtless noticed are weightier in general. Some have explosive tips, some thermite. You can tell from either two bumps in the nock where you draw or three respectively. I tried it, even in the suit gloves, you can feel it cuz they were made for each other, just takes training. Your old arrows were adjustable, so you still have forty of those. Giving you a couple thousand to blow through total in the vault, with various heads, but try to bring some back eh? Can’t have future Blackbows left with nothing.” Spirit explained.

  “Will do, Sergeant... Blackbow.” Bruce retorted jokingly.

  “So you do hear me!”

  “Yup I just ignore ya.” Bruce said with a wink. Walking back he graced Hanzo with a smile.

  “You’re impressed?”

  “Quite. Many thanks, Sergeant.”

  “A kit fit for a king, at least your father managed to help out in a roundabout way.” Bruce looked at the bow seriously, a hint of sentiment forcing its way through him.

  “That he did... Well I’m off to confer with our Mot allies and train.”

  “Of course, war never ends... Be sure to eat with the commonfolk; the kids worship you. They’ll want to see Blackbow’s new look.”

  “Sure.” Bruce said then left with a wave, Spirit in tow.

  Chapter 11 – Reminisce

  Noticing Bruce was leading them to the armoury she stopped him.

  “Why are you going that way?”

  “To return these arrows.”

  “Why?!”

  “For one thing I don’t even know what thermite is, for another, explosives seem like more trouble than they’re worth, and standard arrows have done well enough thus far.”

  “Stop. Just stop. I get your father was shit and you don’t want anything to do with his collection, but there’s no sense in denying yourself an advantage! Calm down.” Spirit reasoned, keenly aware for his expression that wasn’t the reason.

  “I AM CALM.” Bruce practically yelled, restraining his anger.

  Scoffing, Spirit punched him in the side of the head. “Wake up, Knight! You never had any problem wearing his old suit, shooting the other arrows... What’s this really about?”

  Restraining a sudden wave of emotion, Bruce stormed through the Holdfast all the way to his mother’s quarters. Once inside, he sealed the door behind them.

  “Well?!” Spirit demanded impatiently.

  “It’s not just Jonathan. I took his gear to avenge my mother, and now you’d have me take even more when all of this is likely causing more problems?!” Bruce retorted, a tear falling from his eye.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “People call me King, Prime Minister, Blackbow, but all I do is antagonize guys like Bonerend and people di
e because of it, because I’m a self-righteous killer! She’s still dead, Monster’s dead... you could’ve died and for what?!” Bruce stood stiffly, clenching his fists so hard his bow redeployed, tears flowing freely from his failing stoic facade.

  “To stop people like Bonerend, the ones who are really at fault. To end their tyranny... Don’t you dare stand there shouldering blame for things you didn’t cause!” Spirit argued passionately, slowly reaching out to hold him, but he pulled away.

  “WE can’t end shit! We don’t even know how far the slave trade goes! Even if we did, you can’t tell me this isn’t my fault. I made an enemy of Bonerend and when it counted most I failed everyone... If I was as strong as those people outside think I am none of this would’ve happened!” Bruce yelled, slumping into his mother’s bed.

  Spirit stood there ready to hit him harder, to scream at him like a true Sergeant, but deep down she felt something different. “You can’t do anything for those lost except fight on like you always have. I can’t speak for your parents but I know Monster made his own choices because he believed in us and what we fight for. I’m fine, look.” She said calmly, showing him the area under her hair where she’d been shot. There was only the faintest line in her skin to indicate anything ever happened. “You know I’ll always be here for you, but if you try to take the blame for what happens to me like I’m some damsel ever again I will kick your ass!” Bruce looked into her serious eyes apologetically, blinking away tears. Brushing aside a tear herself, Spirit continued, “I’m a Blackbow just as much as you, remember that!” After a few moments of reflection her words started to calm him.

  He rose, grabbing her in a hug. “Forgive me, sister.” “Of course.” Stop calling me that... idiot. Spirit thought to herself, frustrated. Wordlessly, Bruce left her embrace and once more headed for the armoury.

  “What are you doing now?” Spirit called after him suspiciously. Bruce gave her a follow gesture rather than answering. When they finally arrived, he used his new clearance to gain access to what was essentially his father’s elite collection. After a quick scan of the large dimly lit space, he found what he was looking for.