Outcasts

Gail R. Delaney

The Phoenix Rebellion Book II

Triskelion Publishing
www.triskelionpublishing.net

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379

Copyright 2006 Gail R. Delaney

Publisher's Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Dedication

To– Patrick. You did more than was necessary, pushed harder than I thought I needed, and supported me 200%. I love you.

To–Jenifer. Once again, you came through.

To–Tricia. My one-woman cheering squad.

To–Everyone who asked "When will you finish book two?"

Acknowledgment

My use of The Marine's Prayer is my way of saying "Thank You" to all the service men and women all over the globe who fight for their country. More information on the prayer, the Marines, and other armed forces of the United States, visit http://rangerjarhead.com or a multitude of websites dedicated to our nation's greatest heroes.

"Out of ashes, humanity will rise again"

Prologue

Sunday, March 3, 2052

Washington, District of Columbia

Former United States of America

"I had a brother at Ke Sahn fighting off the Viet Cong. They're still there. He's all gone..."

Ancient music of a nation that no longer existed thumped against the walls and scratched against the inside of Jackie Anderson's head like steel wool on rust. The interior of the backstreet bar was dark and hazy, curls of contraband cigarette smoke hovering in the red glow of the ambient hydrogen cell lighting embedded in the walls. Jackie shifted on the tall stool she had perched on over an hour before, crossing her legs with a sharp tug of the short hem of her dress. She nodded at the tall, broad, dark-skinned man behind the bar; tipping the bottom of her highball glass towards him. He walked to her, grabbing a bottle of amber liquid as he came.

"You waiting for someone in particular?" he asked, pouring a finger of scotch in the glass.

"Maybe. Guess I'll know when they get here."

She slid her hand inside the small bag she had set on the bar, and before the thin cigarette touched her painted lips, the barkeep had a match lit and the end of the cigarette glowing. "If he doesn't show by closing time, maybe I'll do?"

Jackie smiled, blowing a long trail of smoke from the corner of her lips. She let her gaze slide slowly over what she could see of him from mid-stomach to short-cut hair. "Maybe you will."

Someone called to him from the other end of the bar, and he turned away with a cocky smirk. She raised the glass to her lips to suppress the groan that tempted to escape, swallowing the burning liquid. Damn it, she hated scotch.

"Do you have any idea how much you've pissed them off?"

Jackie set the glass down with practiced ease and turned her head, letting her long hair slide across her bare back to look at the man who now sat beside her. "We're not exactly in the business of keeping them happy."

"Oh, but this time is different," Bruce Wilcox said, not asking permission before snagging her glass and throwing back the remains of her drink. "They are really pissed. Have you talked to Castleton? Do you know the details of what went down in New Mexico?"

"I know the gist of it. We infiltrated one of the top Alliance facilities and extracted a couple dozen humans the Areth were holding as lab rats. I'm sure it pissed them off."

"Oh, you did a hell of a lot more than that, sweet cheeks."

Jackie scowled, but Bruce missed the subtle warning, signaling to the bartender to refill her glass and to bring him one of his own. Bruce swallowed the alcohol before the hunk with the booze had a chance to pour Jackie's, and swirled his hand over his empty glass for more. With a sidelong glance at Jackie, the tender left and Bruce leaned into the bar; his knuckles braced against his temple.

"Are you going to enlighten me, or are you just going to get drunk?" Jackie asked, smashing out her cigarette. Nasty things.

"Well, apparently your little band of merry men not only made off with their favorite lab experiments, but one of their greatest scientific minds. Goes by the name of Victor. The whole lot of 'em are running scared."

"Why?"

"By what I hear, Victor hasn't been the most stable of good little Areth brethren the last century or so. Barnabas and the other uppity-ups at this facility are nervous as hell that it won't take much for Vic-ol-boy to spill his guts to anyone who'll listen."

Jackie arched an eyebrow. "Really..."

"Oh, but I'm not done."

Jackie sighed and glanced at her watch. "Look, Bruce. This conversation is truly stimulating, but I don't have all night. You showed up half an hour late and I have to be across the city in an hour."

"Fine," he said, leaning close enough to her that she could smell the scotch on his breath plus whatever alcohol he had consumed before showing up. "One of those prisoners you took... they want 'em back. Bad. Seems he's special somehow."

"Special."

Bruce nodded, grinning stupidly. Jackie rolled her eyes.

"How is he special, Bruce," she ground out.

"How the hell should I know?"

Jackie huffed and yanked her payment card from her bag, waving it for hot-hunka­bartender to come retrieve. "Thank you for your help. My people couldn't survive without it."

Bruce's hand, cold from the damp chill outside, curled around her bare knee and slid an inch up her thigh. "Aw, come on, sweet cheeks. What's the rush? Share another drink with me."

The distinctive click and hum of a personal pulse charge pistol emanated from her bag, and Bruce's gaze slid sideways to focus his bleary eyes on her hand buried inside. Jackie pushed him away with her free hand and slid to the floor.

"Don't call us. We'll call you," she said as she took her payment card and stepped around Bruce's stool, her stiletto's clicking on the polished wood floor.

She was halfway to the door when it opened and three Alliance Enforcement officers burst in, pulse rifles braced against their shoulders and trained on the patrons of the bar. "No one move!"

Jackie dropped to her knees and rolled before the first blast echoed over her head.

Chapter One

Wednesday, March 13, 2052 06:32

Phoenix Compound

Outside Colorado Springs, Colorado

Former United States of America

Doctor Lilly Quinn flipped the infirmary's main overhead light on as she stifled a yawn behind her hand. If she had a hard time getting out of bed now, she wondered what she would do in a few months when she had a newborn. Running a hand habitually over her expanding waistline, Lilly picked up her handheld data recorder and headed for her first check of the day.

Victor.

Four months had passed with very little fluctuation in his condition. Since his vitals had stabilized, he had remained comatose with no indication of waking any time in the near future. Higher than usual brainwave activity in the hypothalamus had her confused, but other than that, the Areth scientist-come-Phoenix-guest was a typical coma patient. No movement, no reaction to stimuli... nothing.

Michael sat inside the glass isolation enclosure, in his normal chair at Victor's bedside. In his lap was an open book, and as she reached for the door handle, Lilly saw his lips moving as he read aloud to Victor — his daily ritual.

"Many were they whose cities he saw, whose minds he learned of, many the pains he suffered in his spirit in the wide sea, struggling for his own life and the homecoming of his companions..." Michael's voice was steady and sure as he read, his voice carrying to her as she opened the door. He looked up, pausing, as she stepped inside. "Good morning."

"Good morning. You're here early."

"Yes," he said in answer.

Lilly smiled and moved to the monitors that kept a constant record of Victor's every vital sign. "What are you reading to him?"

"The Odyssey of Homer."

"I read that when I was young. It's very fitting..." Lilly trailed off as she scanned the record from the night.

She heard the slap as the book closed and the squeak of the chair's leather before Michael stood behind her. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure. It could be nothing. But look here," she said, pointing to the cardiograph from several hours before. "What do you see?"

"Tachycardia."

"Almost, yes. His heartbeat didn't accelerate enough to set off the alarms, but it did accelerate. His respiration increased right around the same time, and again around 04:47 this morning."

"Could he be dreaming?"

"Coma patients don't dream," Lilly said, her voice dropping as she turned and looked at Victor. His head was turned away, his chin dipped toward his chest, and a niggling feeling tickled at the back of Lilly's mind. That wasn't the position I left him in last night. "Michael, did you touch him at all?"

"No."

Lilly yanked open a supply drawer in the bedside table and dug around until she found a small penlight. Michael watched her with avid interest as she turned Victor's head to face her, and gently slid back his eyelid, flashing the light across his iris.

"Is there a response?"

She repeated the process with the other eye, then flicked the light off and sighed. Lilly looked at Michael, but even before she spoke she saw in his eyes he knew her answer. "No." He stepped back from the bed and walked away with his hands pushed into his pockets. "I'm sorry, I thought maybe there was a ray of hope for a minute there, but his pupils are fixed and dilated. I'll keep a close eye on his readings, to see if―" Her voice froze in her throat when she looked down again to see Victor's dark eyes staring at her. Lilly blinked, making sure she actually saw what she thought she saw and then raised her hand to lay it across his forehead. "Hello, Victor."

His lips parted, shifting as if he wanted to form words but they wouldn't quite come to him and deep lines furrowed his brow. Lilly smiled and slid her fingers to his wrist, checking his pulse. It was slightly elevated, but not overly so. Good and strong.

"Michael, come here," she said softly, just loud enough for Michael to hear her across the room but not loud enough to startle her newly awakened patient. "How are you feeling, Victor?"

He shook his head, his warm skin rubbing across her palm. Good. No sign of shock. Skin isn't clammy, temperature isn't elevated or dropping.

"I don't know," he finally said, his voice rough as dried leaves.

Michael stepped behind her and Lilly stepped back. He set his hand on Victor's shoulder, leaning forward so Victor could see his face. "It's all right, Vic. They're going to help you."

Victor rolled his head on the pillow, his eyes squinting slightly. "Michael..."

"Yes. It's me," Michael said with a wide grin.

Victor's features twisted and he winced, a hiss whistling through his clenched teeth. Michael looked at her over his shoulder and she reached past him to lay her fingertips against Victor's carotid artery. With a guttural howl, Victor snapped his arms out and viced his fists around Michael's throat. Michael jerked back, pulling Victor off the bed with him when he wouldn't give up his hold. Both men fell back, Michael's shoulder slamming Lilly back into the thick tempered glass wall of the enclosure. Equipment and monitors clattered and fell as the wires and cords connecting ripped off Victor or pulled the machinery in his wake.

"Michael!" Lilly shouted, but both men were oblivious as Victor slammed his body into Michael and sent them both into the wall.

Lilly yanked open a drawer of the supply cabinet in the corner of the room and removed a pre-loaded sedative syringe.

Michael gripped the front of Victor's scrubs, pinning him against the wall even as Victor fought to find leverage and get his hands around Michael's throat again. "Victor! Stop this!"

Victor howled again and fought with everything he had against Michael, even though Lilly could see his struggling to stay on his feet. With a new surge of fury, Victor shoved away from the wall and Lilly barely managed to get out of the way before the two men tumbled into the monitors along the side of the bed.

She was outside the isolation room in seconds. Her next decision made in a split moment as she shut the vacuum-sealed door behind her. No one else had reported to work yet, and it would take far too long for security to reach the infirmary. Lilly punched her private code into the keypad beside the door as Michael and Victor slammed against the glass in a physical battle for dominance. Seconds later, she heard a hiss and white fog filtered into the airtight chamber.

Victor fought until the Neurophynal gas finally overtook his neurological systems and both he and Michael slumped to the floor. Lilly entered another command to reverse the air filters and suck the room clean, leaning her forehead on the glass as she tried to calm her suddenly frazzled nerves.

*****

"How long do we have before we have to go outside the Mountain for supplies?" Beverly Surimoto asked, scanning the food supply report on the PAC in front of her. She glanced up to read Damian's answer on his lips.

Only a few other people sat in the cafeteria with them, scattered around at various tables. The majority of the breakfast shift had come and gone, leaving those who had worked through the night and only now managed to come eat, or those who enjoyed the pleasure of sleeping in. Or, like the small group gathered at their table, chose to hold their morning meetings over coffee and muffins. S...