William C. Dietz by The Final Battle Legion Of The Damned 2

Author:The Final Battle Legion Of The Damned 2 [Legion Of The Damned 2, The Final Battle]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-12-14T17:50:06+00:00

Fisk-Eight turned the corner, stopped to look into a shop-front window, and used the reflection to check his back trail. He'd always been careful but never more so since the narrow escape from the apartment building. The off worlders had come very close to neutralizing his entire cell and his escape aboard the unicycle had been more a matter of luck than skill. There was no doubt of the fact that they had been betrayed, and betrayed at the highest levels, since the location of the safe house had been a closely guarded secret, known only to those who lived there, and a tiny handful of high-level cadre.

Fisk checked the reflection one more time, assured himself that it was clear, and headed down the street. He was an average-looking man who had gone to great lengths to look even more so, a task made easier by his even features, light brown skin, and nondescript clothes.

But in a society made up of millions of look-alike soldiers, technicians, laborers, teachers, and cops, and less than a hundred anarchists, Fisk stood out as much as any free breeder would have, and had to fight for his anonymity. A check? Put in place by the Founder to make sure that her homegrown revolutionaries never got out of hand? There was no way to be sure.

The clone turned into an alley, walked twenty feet or so, and slipped into a doorway. He waited five minutes for a tail to appear but none did. Satisfied that it was safe, he touched a carefully concealed button, stepped out into the alley, and continued on his way. Cameras hidden under the eaves of nearby buildings swiveled, captured his image, and fed it to a nearby control room. Fisk-Three saw it, confirmed his brother's identity, and was waiting when Eight took a sharp right-hand turn and descended a short flight of stairs.

Fisk-Eight waited for the steel fire door to slide open, stepped into a small metal-walled room, and heard it close behind him. A full minute passed while he was X-rayed, weighed, and retina-scanned. Eight felt no resentment, no impatience, because security was of the utmost importance. The final door slid open and Three stood waiting to greet him. They embraced. "Greetings, brother."

"Greetings . . . I rejoiced at the news of your escape."

Eight held his sibling at arm's length. "Thank you. Fisk-Twenty was not so lucky. A sniper shot him through the head."

Three nodded grimly. "The free breeders will pay. As will the sympathizers who coddle them. Come, I will show you the progress we have made."

Eight followed Three down a hall, through a door, and out into a carefully sealed warehouse. The windows were located high above the concrete floor and painted black. Smoke drifted through the light provided by six ceiling-mounted fixtures. There, supported by a maze of scaffolding, and served by a crew of androids, was an eight-foot-tall Trooper II. Or what looked like a Trooper II, since the fabrication of a real cyborg was

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