Here's today's chapter! Please enjoy :D

-Plum

27 – Stress Test

“I think it looks perfect,” Gladia said, shifting toward the edge of the couch as though she might get up and approach. Lemon looked away from her to the mirror—the old-fashioned thing in such a nice suite had caught her by surprise. She’d expected a holographic “try-on” app to tie into her AUI. When she’d seen the full-length, three-angle mirror, she’d been relieved, of course; her AUI was sparse in its capabilities.

“You think so?” she asked, tugging the lapels of the smart, cream-colored coat; it was part of an executive-style suit Gladia was trying to give her. It turned out they were nearly the same size—long inseam and all.

“Yes, I do.” Gladia held up a finger. “Just a minute. Iris is calling.” She listened for a moment, and then said, “Sure. Yes, I’d like to be there… Your father’s office? All right. Perfect… Thank you, Iris.”

When her eyes refocused on Lemon and she stood up, Lemon said, “Anyway, I love it, but I really can’t—”

“Don’t start that again. I told you! I brought too many things, and I want an excuse to shop later. Besides—” Gladia stepped closer and grasped Lemon’s wrist with her elegant, ivory-and-gold hand. “—I want you with me over the next few months. I’ll be meeting with people who make me nervous, and I’d like to have someone I can trust by my side.”

Lemon’s instinct was to act demure and downplay her desire to spend time with the Royal, but Gladia’s words unlocked something in her spine, and she stood up a little taller. She didn’t respond immediately, but she smiled, and Gladia took that as acceptance.

“You put yourself between me and that monster, Lemon, and I’ll never forget it. I know you’re loyal to Hector, but he’s my ally, so I don’t see a conflict. Don’t you see it the same way?”

“Um…” Lemon licked her lips. “Well, yes, but I’m not a fighter, Gladia. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t—”

“You did it because you have the instincts and backbone that most of my people lack. Only Flint, bless him, would have done what you did. Gil is a dependable security agent, but he’s not a hero.” Gladia squeezed her wrist again before releasing her. “Besides, I’m not asking you to accompany me because I expect you to fight; I just want someone around me whom I know I can trust. Flint can only be so many places at once.”

“Well, sure, Gladia. Of course I’d like to spend more time with you and all, but—”

“Then it’s settled. Don’t worry about Kit; I have an engineer and a medical officer working on an AI-assisted curriculum for him. As for you, I’ll pay you a salary. I know Hector’s been taking care of that, so let’s just say this can be something extra—something you can put away for a rainy day. Think of it as an independence fund.”

“Independence?”

Gladia nodded, walking toward the suite’s exit. “That’s right. My own father taught me that lesson. ‘Never keep all your bits in one vault,’ he’d say. I miss him dearly.” She tapped the door panel, and it swished open. “Let’s go. Apparently, Sparling’s putting Hector to some sort of test, and he wants to make a show of it.”

Lemon followed Gladia through the house, from the guest wing into the main building, and then upstairs to an expansive office that doubled as a conference room. The rear wall was floor-to-ceiling crystal-glass. At the moment, it was transparent, providing a view over the property and beyond, into the hilly vale. Iris, her father, and Burton were already there, sitting at one end of the long, oval table, and as Gladia and Lemon entered, the windows darkened to a deep, opaque gray, and a pair of video displays appeared.

“Please, have a seat, Lady Ventress,” Sparling said, gesturing to the seats beside Iris. “That’s lemonade on the table, and there are pastries in the basket.”

“A bit late in the day for pastries, thank you,” Gladia said, moving to the seat beside Iris and, to Lemon’s horror, pulling out a chair for her. “Here you go, Lemon. Help yourself to the refreshments.”

Sparling, standing on the other side of the table in front of the video displays, looked at Lemon for a heavy pair of seconds. Then he said, “Korhonen, wasn’t it?”

Lemon nodded.

“Hmm.” Sparling turned to face the two large displays and made a gesture with his left hand. They came to life, both of them showing an aerial view of the Martian landscape. He looked at Gladia. “Drone feeds. Recognize him?” he asked, pointing to a small black-clad figure running on a narrow trail along a hillside. Sparse vegetation surrounded him, but his head was down, and he took one step after another, smoothly traversing the rough landscape.

“Hard to tell, but I’d guess that’s Hector. Why else would I be here?”

“Exactly!” Sparling smiled as if he’d just performed a trick. “He doesn’t know we’re watching him—the drones are very high and gliding. Naturally, they’re painted with an anti-reflective coating.”

Burton cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows they’re there.”

Sparling snorted. “Burton, I’ve never seen you like this. You act as though he’s some sort of precog.” When Burton didn’t respond, Sparling looked at Gladia and said, “As my daughter told you, I wanted to evaluate Hector a little more thoroughly. I saw him in a couple of controlled matches back in Redwick, and I’ve heard of his exploits since, but I wanted to see how he’d react when he’s not in charge of the scenario.”

Lemon watched Gladia take in the man’s words. She stared at the video feeds for a moment, then said, “What did you have in mind?”

Sparling gestured to Burton, and the burly man cleared his throat. “Well, Hector’s on a run right now—a long one. He ought to be pretty well worn out, what with the heated suit and the weighted vest. It’s something we call a stress test; his body’s exhausted. He’s probably distracted—long runs can make a mind wander—and he won’t expect an attack, being that we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“An attack?” Gladia arched one of her elegant eyebrows.

“That’s right,” Sparling said, too giddy with the prospect to stay out of the explanation. “Three of my wolves are lying in wait.”

Lemon couldn’t restrain her tongue. “Hector doesn’t know?”

Sparling glowered at her. “What would be the point of that?”

Lemon felt like she was overstepping, like she was on thin ice with the powerful magnate, but she shook her head and said, “That’s not a good idea.”

“I concur,” Gladia said, glancing at Iris, who hadn’t uttered a word. When she didn’t speak, Gladia turned to Burton. “You approved this?”

“He doesn’t approve anything,” Sparling growled. “This is my ranch. My training program. Burton works for me.”

Burton ignored him, speaking directly to Gladia. “I told him we had some scenarios in mind, and he’s not stupid. With some luck, he’ll realize the attack isn’t genuine.”

Sparling glowered at Burton, but the coach didn’t seem cowed. It was Gladia, though, who settled the matter, turning to Sparling and speaking in a flat tone. “Grover, you’ve been a friend of the family for a long time. Naturally, I recognize your loyalty. If you’d spoken to me about this, though, I would have warned you: Hector isn’t someone you ought to test this way.”

Sparling paced back and forth before the viewscreens for a few seconds, but Lemon felt some tension ease as his head began to nod. He turned back to the table and said, “Well, what’s done is done.”

“Bullshit,” Burton growled. “You could call it off.”

Sparling’s glower returned, and he stared at Burton for several long seconds. Then he turned to Gladia. “This is important to me—and your brother. He doesn’t share your faith in the very mysterious fighter we’ve pinned so many hopes upon.”

Gladia arched an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“I was there,” Iris said, finally adding her voice to the discussion. “I was in my father’s office when he told Loyal about this.”

Sparling smiled as though he’d just won something. His tone was smooth and almost fatherly as he looked over at Lemon and added, “Don’t worry, Miss Korhonen; my boys have strict instructions not to do lasting harm.”

Lemon shook her head. “You misunderstood me, I think, Mr. Sparling. It’s not Hector I’m worried about.”

Sparling chuckled. “Is that right?” He turned back to the video displays and then flicked his wrist. One of the drones changed its camera feed, showing the trail ahead of Hector, and then it moved rapidly, progressing along the path to a narrow gully through which the trail ran. As it cleared the first pair of ridges, some figures lit up with red highlights. “Here are my wolves. Hector should be there in—” He tapped the air, and a countdown timer appeared on the video display. “—just under four minutes.”

“How are his vitals?” Burton asked.

Sparling nodded, waving a hand in the air. Another display appeared on the opaque glass, this one displaying several bar graphs, all of which were colored green in the “optimal” zone.

“Devils,” Burton hissed with a chuckle.

“There has to be a glitch,” Sparling growled. “He’s run forty kilometers!”

Gladia’s polished nails tapped the arms of her chair, and Lemon glanced at her. She looked nervous. On her other side, Iris leaned over the table, hands clasped, face unreadable.

“Well?” Sparling asked, his eyes flickering with tiny lights in the dimly lit room. He shook his head. “My tech says the readings are valid.”

“Grover,” Burton said, “I told you what he’s like. He routinely spars with me and two or three others. Even Lady Ventress’s man.”

“Flint?” Gladia asked.

Burton nodded. “That’s right.”

“He’s lying about his level, then,” Sparling growled. “This is Praetorian-class endurance!”

As the heated discussion continued, Lemon tuned them out and focused on the display showing Hector. She felt like she was out of her depth, listening to them talk about auras and levels and how Hector could do this but he couldn’t do that. None of it mattered to her; all she knew was that they’d made a grave mistake to put men up against Hector without telling him they were there for practice. If he thought someone was trying to kill him, he wouldn’t hold back.

What will he do? She wondered, glancing at Sparling. The man seemed quite proud of his “wolves”—how would he react if Hector killed them? She watched as Hector’s figure entered the gully, just a minute from the first ambusher.

As Sparling blustered to Burton, Gladia leaned close and whispered, “Are you worried?”

Lemon could hear a hint of something in her voice—perhaps some worry of her own. She tried to affect a confident expression. “I don’t know why, but no. I’m only worried that he’ll get in trouble.”

“For?”

“For killing those men.”

“It’s almost time, Father,” Iris said, and the two men stopped talking and focused on the drone feed. It zoomed in, showing a bulky man in combat gear lurking behind some boulders up on the ridge. He was out of Hector’s line of sight.

Sparling pointed. “That’s Chago. He’ll let Hector pass. Then, when Art engages, he’ll take Hector’s back.”

Hector ran through the gully beneath the lurking watcher. It seemed he’d keep running, right into their trap, but then, right before everyone’s eyes, he turned toward Chago’s position; the air flickered with crimson light, and Hector disappeared.

“What the—” Sparling began to ask, but then the drone refocused on Chago, and suddenly Hector was there, looming over the man’s back. Everyone gasped—Lemon included—as the crimson blade in Hector’s hand flashed out and severed Chago’s arm. Then, in a pair of seconds, Hector had beaten and broken the bigger man into unconsciousness—at least.

“God damn it!” Sparling roared, enunciating each syllable of the curse. “What’s he—” His words were cut short as Hector disappeared again. “Where…”

“I knew he could phase, but damn me,” Burton said, chuckling.

“You laugh? Is Chago dead?” Sparling barked. Another window appeared—more vitals displayed beside Hector’s. Two were mostly in the green, though Lemon saw that their heart rates were in the yellow. The third was all red lines, though even she could see Chago wasn’t dead; his heart was still beating, and he was still breathing, albeit poorly.

“Look!” Burton said, and the first drone’s feed zoomed in, showing another lanky figure jogging down the trail, toward where Hector had first disappeared. “That’s Art.”

“That’s right, but where the hell is Hector?” Sparling growled.

Lemon missed what happened next; the men cursed again, and then she saw two figures on the screen, one with a crimson knife—Hector, she knew—and the other with something that looked like a smoky axe. They fought for a few seconds, too fast for Lemon to follow, and then a third figure slid down the slope behind Hector. Blazing blue light exploded from his fist, annihilating Hector—or so she thought.

Hector reappeared up the trail, outside the cloud of dirt and debris thrown by the man’s devastating aura attack.

“Damn it!” Sparling growled. “I wanted to see how he’d handle Bastian’s strike—curious if he heals as well as—” Again, Sparling’s words choked off as he watched a crimson sword weave out of the dust cloud to engage the third man. “He has…” He coughed, slapping at his pocket and digging out a pack of cigarettes. Glaring at Burton as he pulled one out, he said, “He has two Aura Blades?”

Lemon was still trying to figure out what was going on, watching the figures move around faster than her eyes could follow—flashes of crimson punctuating the blurred motion. A moment later, the tall one with the axe screamed and fell, clutching a bleeding stump. Sparling thumped a fist on the window, clenching his eyes shut in silent frustration or fury.

Burton took over, tapping a crystal-glass display on the table. He cleared his throat and said, “Okay, Hector! You win, dammit. Cut the poor bastards some slack before you do something the autosurgeon can’t fix.”

Gladia pushed her chair back and stood. “Is that the end of the…stress test?”

Burton glanced at Sparling, but the older man was still leaning on the window with his eyes shut, chewing the butt of an unlit cigarette. “Yeah, I guess so. Do you mind if we use a shuttle to pick them up?”

Gladia waved a hand, nodding. “Just tell the AI to keep it low.” She looked at Lemon. “Shall we?”

Lemon nodded, standing. Before she followed Gladia to the door, though, she cleared her throat and nodded toward the drone feed display. “Mr. Burton, Hector’s already running. You should tell him there’s a shuttle coming.”

Burton nodded. “I will, Lemon, but he’s probably going to tell me to shove it up my ass.”

#

Hector was angry at first as he ran out of the gully and stretched his legs back into a long, ground-devouring lope. He’d recognized the men immediately, and while part of him had considered the possibility that they were trying to eliminate the “competition,” another part of him had known better, even if he hadn’t fully acknowledged it in the heat of the fight. There was no other explanation for why none of those men were dead.

Of course, Burton’s voice coming through the drone had confirmed it, as had his subsequent message about a shuttle coming to pick him up—a message Hector had flatly ignored. He was in the mood to run. So he ran, and he thought about the fight and how he’d performed. Overall, he was pleased; his abilities were shaping up to make him a dangerous foe, capable of threatening even opponents with powerful aura abilities and highly enhanced physical attributes.

In his old life, he’d been a hell of a combatant with a devastating aura blade, a robust shielding ability, and boosts for Strength and Speed. It would have taken much to kill him, but he’d been a very in-your-face kind of fighter. There’d been no phasing, no stealthy trips through the veil. He could have stood against any Praetorian, but not two or three. Even a handful of Invicti or high-tier Legionaries with energy weapons might have put him down.

I’m more suited for vengeance with this build. I can choose my ground—my moment.

//I was thinking similar thoughts. I’m surprised how trivial that encounter was for you.//

Same.

Still, against a single powerful foe—someone like he’d been in his old life, or even someone like Lux—he’d have to work much harder. What about Lucien?

He knew how Lucien fought. He had a deep golden-red aura, a rapier-styled Aura Blade, and a feedback barrier that made getting close to him living hell. “Worse than Lux’s?” he wondered aloud. Evie didn’t answer; the question was too subjective and she didn’t exactly feel what he felt. He glanced at his mini-map; he’d just cleared kilometer sixty-two.

When he came around a low hill and saw a long, flat stretch of ground ahead, he slowed to a stop, watching as a distant vehicle approached. Even without his optics, his potentia-enhanced vision could easily make out a low, buggy-like vehicle. He’d seen it parked near Sparling’s ranch—something the old bastard probably took out to hunt or survey his kingdom.

Walking toward the vehicle, still two klicks out at least, he loosened the cuffs on his heat suit and let his sweat pour out, leaving a wet trail on the dusty track. “Who was in it?” he asked Evie, knowing she would have saved an image and analyzed it.

//Grover Sparling and Gladia Ventress. There may have been someone in the back, but I can’t be sure.//

Hector sighed. “Coming to chew me out or apologize?”

//Fifty-fifty.//

He chuckled and kept walking, watching as the little dun-colored buggy drew nearer. It was silent save for the satisfying crunchy rumble of its oversized tires. When it was just a half-klick out, he saw Gladia’s sunglasses and her scarf blowing in the breeze, and she waved, signaling that she, at least, was in Hector’s corner.

Sparling wore a wide-brimmed tan hat, an olive shirt, and sunglasses that looked a bit higher-tech than Gladia’s. When the buggy came to a stop just a few meters from Hector, sliding through the dirt in a cloud of dust, the older man leaned over the half-height door and grinned. “Well, you sure did a number on your teammates. I wanted to be pissed, but everyone says that wouldn’t be fair, considering I didn’t warn you.”

Hector just stared, silently wondering how badly it would blow things up if he gave the man a solid beating.

“Anyway,” Sparling continued, “they all learned a good lesson, and the medic says we picked up their damn limbs in time to save them.” When Hector continued to stare, it seemed the old magnate couldn’t help adding, “You could have taken it easy on them.”

Hector started to reply, but Gladia leaned across Sparling and spoke first: “He did, Grover. Now quit harassing the man.” She unbuckled and stepped out of the buggy. “I’ll ride in back, Hector.”

Something made him want to be difficult, and he shook his head. “I’ll run.”

“Dammit, kid. Can’t you see what this is?” Sparling said, nodding to the steering wheel still in his hands. “It’s a peace offering.”

Hector stepped closer to the buggy, and something about his posture made Sparling shrink back and glance at Gladia almost as if he were asking her to vouch for him. She didn’t notice; she was tilting her face toward the sun and letting the breeze blow her scarf. Hector paused to watch her, finding his irritation fading at the genuine pleasure on her face.

“It’s so lovely here! Is it always like this, Grover?” she asked.

“No. It’s hot as blazes in the summer.”

Hector leaned against the buggy and looked inside the cab at Sparling. “What are you going to do with that footage?”

“Footage?”

“From the drones.”

“Well…” Again, Sparling glanced at Gladia, but she wasn’t being any help. “Loyal wanted me to send it his way.”

Hector nodded. “I figured.” He straightened and looked at Gladia over the top of the buggy. “I guess we need to talk—I don’t think you should send that footage of me.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because there’s a traitor close to your brother.”