The Golden Kingdom: Shadowed Voyage (Book 2)

By Jeremy Jaynes

"Until your next A'una," The final words the dark character - the "Stranger" - spoke before the Zyii lost consciousness.

Picking up after the events of "The Golden Kingdom: Z" (Book 1), a young Martial, looking for peace, knows war awaits him. When an unexpected visitor arrives on the Zyii's very doorstep, he knows his voyage is only beginning. Those responsible for the Battle of Olen'dom need to be held accountable - need to answer for their crimes. And a young Martial once retired, will bring them to justice.

This time it's not for his hometown, not for a Dome, but for his country and the world.

Phoenix thought lost - their story finished, couldn't be more wrong. When global catastrophe strikes, like the bird of legend, they will rise from the ashes. Heroes new and old will emerge from every nation. They will fight to their last breaths to avenge the fallen - to keep safe those still with us - to ensure the world does not crumble. Though their enemy is insidious and powerful beyond comprehension, hiding in shadow and using others to accomplish its unknown goals, they will not go gently.

Tales of the Zyii span far beyond lifetimes. They span eternities. And this story - the story of the Zyii - is not over yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Jaynes
• Release date: Jul 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476486031

Jeremy Jaynes

Jeremy Jaynes is author of The Golden Kingdom: Z and a graduate of Ball State University where he obtained a degree in Professional English with a focus on Professional Writing. He was born and raised in Seymour, Indiana where many of his friends and family still live. He currently lives with his wife in Indianapolis, while working on further projects, including following entries in The Golden Kingdom and Freelancer series.

Book preview

Prologue

Gimme Shelter

The frightened girl couldn’t understand the sounds clattering about outside her metallic prison. Like many of the events from the past few days, she’d been brought to this place – this old, rusty cargo trailer – against her will. Ripped from her parents’ arms, these people – these same people who took her from her home – threw her in here, tossed her in a cage like some animal, and left just as quickly. Several cages surrounded her in the container – yet, she was alone. The bars were thick with rust and the smell of rotten meat and ash filled the metal box.

She’d always heard the rumors. Who hadn’t? People disappearing by the droves – whole communities going dark. Rumor had it, the U.S. was behind the missing folk – their leaders had gone nuts and started stealing people for crazy experiments. Of course, there was no proof. The news media around the world kept getting close, and a few governments stepped in to investigate. But, even as a girl of sixteen, she knew a shallow promise when she heard one.

And now, surrounded by dozens of containers – each filled to the brim with people from her hometown and packed into similar cages – she knew the rumors were true.

More rustling came from outside followed by a loud bang against her trailer. She jumped at the sound, afraid these horrible men had come back to fulfill whatever depraved thoughts brought them to caging a young girl. Young girl? She reckoned that was matter for debate. Sixteen was the new twenty. If these slavers… at least she hoped they were slavers... If these slavers hadn’t come along, she’d be considered an adult and looking for a job or joining the military by now. In retrospect, the military didn’t sound half bad compared to her current situation. She’d love to know how to defend herself.

A gunshot rang out, making the girl leap back as far as her cage would allow. Now there was shouting. She could hear her captors booted feet clomping through the brush outside. They were calling in hushed tones. Oh, God! They had executed a prisoner! That’s the only explanation. She must be next!

Then, in the darkness of the container, she could hear someone apply pressure to the mechanism latching her box closed. The lever faintly, gradually grated against metal. The girl pulled away from the bars, attempting to flee into the darkest corner of her cage, but she could truly go nowhere. Once the door opened, regardless of the night sky, she knew light would be shed upon her and she would feel exposed – defenseless against the moonlight. The door to the container creaked ever so slightly, and then a little more. Then more. The poor girl just wanted to be home. She just wanted to be free.

Why are you doing this!

In one last, faint screech the door opened. A man dressed in ragged survivalist gear staggered across the threshold as if his balance was waning due to too much drink. The girl was at a loss. The beastly man was her worst nightmare. Burly, unshaven or showered, with dark black, sleepless eyes, he looked as if he could eat the girl alive. And, maybe he planned to!

So, when a tiny blond girl with vibrant green eyes shoved the man into the nearest wall, holding him there with his right arm aggressively forced behind his back, the captive girl thought she was dreaming. Had her own id escaped and taken human form? The blond apparition, hearing the girl stir in the corner, turned her pretty green eyes and great big pistol the young captive’s direction. Her face, upon seeing the poor girl, told immediately of her disgust.

What the hell is this? the blond id asked in a hushed tone. What were you about to do with her you big perv? The young woman’s words obviously mimicked her face.

Nothin’! Swear! The man grunted out. She’s just… pretty… so planned on selling her separate.

The young woman, not caring if a word of it was true, kicked the man in the back of his knee, dropping him to the ground. The lumbering brute landed harshly, wincing as he hit the hard container floor. Putting her gun to the man’s temple, she said, Keys, now.

The man fished a set of keys from his pocket and shakily handed them to the pretty blonde. Semi-satisfied with the man’s compliance, she let out a low whistle. The caged girl was so terrified, she at first thought she’d imagined the whistle’s tune, but when the young woman let out another, the girl knew the melody was very real. Like a construction worker ogling a woman, the pretty blonde was cat calling in a low whistle. A few moments passed, and when no one came, the young woman became frustrated.

She called, Honey! in a soft, aggravated tone.

The captive girl could only glimpse a portion of the outside, but she could make out enough to realize she needn’t see more. Her overly-taxed mind had no idea how to process what she was witnessing. A man – roughly six feet, maybe one or two inches tall – was skewering one of her captors. A solid gold blade ran through the man’s arched back, protruding from the chest, while a black gloved hand quieted the dying slaver’s scream. When the man’s death rattle left him, the black clad figure removed the blade, quietly dropped the body to the ground, and sheathed the weapon on his back. The sword crossed another blade, making a sort of ‘X’ formation. Having heard the blond girl’s call, the man moved hurriedly into the container. The oddest part, the girl thought, was he made no sound as his surely heavy feet touched the metal container’s floor.

What? the young man asked with the same attitude as the blonde. I was busy!

Save the girl? She ordered, while tossing him the keys. You’re good at that, remember? There was some coyness in her remarks or possibly menace. The caged girl couldn’t quite tell.

The young man, wearing tinted goggles over his eyes, nearly tripped over his feet when he reached the darker portion of the container. Aggravated, he removed the eyewear and flung them to the side.

Told you not to wear them, the girl jibed.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, the young man replied. I forgot you’re always right.

Damn straight, the girl returned.

Between their demeanor and their actions, the girl was almost peaceful by the time the young man reached her. He was saving her. Her hero. Her white knight. Her… What the hell is that?

As the young man’s face came into full view, the captive girl found herself staring into a bedeviled pair of golden irises swimming in a sea of blood. The young man’s skin, if he was a man at all, was a glistening gold, while the muscle beneath burned red. The girl instinctively shrieked and recoiled from his monstrous touch.

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! We’re not here to hurt you, the golden eyed young man attempted. He continued derisively over his shoulder, "And this is why I had the goggles."

The pretty blond was about to say something when Mr. Burly Perv, using the shrieking prisoner as a distraction, shoved the young woman from his bulbous physique and, as fast as his corpulent feet would allow, made for the door. The next actions the captive girl witnessed were staggering to her already shredded mind. In a blur, the two blades on the young man’s back were in his hands and launching across the container. But, he did not throw them straight at Mr. Burly Perv. Instead, he chose to launch them at an angle so they would spin at their target. The opening to the container was only about four feet wide and the golden blades over three feet long, so how he was able to aim them in such a way they did not bounce off the container’s walls was inconceivable. Then, just as Mr. BP exited the container, his stature proudly stiffening as he’d obtained freedom, one blade cut the man’s legs out from under him, while the other removed his head.

The frightened girl nearly collapsed in disbelief.

Damn it! the blonde said as she stood up and dusted herself off. Alright, my bad. This time, I’ll save the girl. You okay mopping up out there?

Shouldn’t be a problem, the young man… or whatever he was… replied as he retrieved his blades from the thrice-pieced corpse. I can handle’em.

That’s not what I meant, the young woman replied with a slightly worried tone.

The captive girl then saw something in these horrific eyes – not only a suppressed pain that seemed so very human – but a compassion and soul she had overlooked solely due to this thing’s… this young man’s appearance.

With a lopsided grin, he tossed the pretty blonde the keys to the girl’s cage and replied, Just take care of the girl. I can take care of the monsters. I’m good at that too, remember?

And with that one line, he gusted away. It was the most literal version of the term gusted the frightened girl had ever used. One moment he was there. The next, he was only a gold/red/black blur and gone from her sight.

His companion scurried to the caged girl. Trying key after key on the rather full key ring, she was getting impatient and huffy at the noncompliant lock. As the grateful girl looked on, she could not help wonder who these people were. She remembered tall tales of these super beings made of gold, but never in her life did she imagine them real. She attempted to posit the question, but there was another question pressing her – one which had become stuck in her throat when she was so terrified – one which needed to be cleared from her passage first.

And, before she knew it, the girl found herself asking, Why are you doing this?

Taken aback by the sudden outburst, the young woman stopped fidgeting with the keys and considered an answer. As the captive girl awaited some multifaceted, complex explanation of these great and strange heroes’ origins, she held her breath. The pretty blonde, noting the girl’s anticipation, pondered the query with a deep intensity, if only for a moment. Then, looking into the girl’s eyes, the blonde came up with most truthful answer she could find.

Finally, with a shrug and cocked eyebrow, the young woman

replied, "We were bored.

Chapter 1

Cat’s in the Cradle

Do not be afraid.

Sam, shirtless, his reddish-bronze skin glistening gold, buried his shovel in the ground below him.

These were the first clear words the young man had understood from the beautiful golden light in a very long time. She stood there, in the darkest corner of his mind, always watching, always reassuring with loving caresses across his consciousness. Most days he felt as if he had an angel on his shoulder, loving when needed, discouraging when needed more.

The footsteps she referenced had started at the edge of the drive. They’d emerged from one of many vehicles along with several other booted feet. Most of the automobiles were hydrogen powered, a couple petroleum based. This told him more than he needed to know. Whoever approached had money or power and neither of these things Sam wanted on his land. He played with the Olden on his wrist – the string of black beads, one gold crystal and one red – given to him by a wise old man.

Luckily for him and the visitors too, the drive was about a quarter mile long and wound through the thickest trees this side of Canada. It would take time for them to reach him. He found this acceptable since he really wanted to finish his chores. Fall was upon them, and thanks to the irregular weather caused by the Domes, it was time for him to seed his garden. He picked up his shovel and continued digging next to the old farmhouse. The open holes, rowed like open graves, looked just about the right size for landmines. Food would of course grow there instead, but old habits were hard to break. And, thinking like a military man instead of a gardener was among the hardest.

Inside, he could hear the squawking of the local news, no doubt being watched by Renny. Unlike Sam and his additional awareness, she would have no idea intruders were on their way. He considered whether to warn her.

This marks the thirteenth state to cede from Presidential authority this week, the newscaster spoke on the flickering television. Governors of each state have issued similar statements claiming they no longer recognize the President or Congress’s authority. Many are worried this means these thirteen states are joining the Sovereign States in the south. But, each has denied these accusations, stating they do not have any current plans to do so. This does not, however, preclude any possible future involvement with the South.

Renny flicked off the television. Everything about what she’d heard disgusted her. Having witnessed first-hand the atrocities committed by her country’s leaders, she was not upset by the states ceding. No, she was upset because it took them so damn long. She and Sam were so disgusted, in fact, they had moved to a small community in Canada where the U.S. could not reach them.

Sam rarely watched the news with Renny. He’d told her long ago to stop watching too because it only caused her aggravation. But, the pretty blond girl with vibrant green eyes, holding true to her nature, wouldn’t listen.

Figuring the approaching steps would soon arrive; Sam picked up his shirt and slipped it on. When he closed the North American Dome, Olen’dom to those who lived within its borders, the gelatin like walls had healed his wounds but they had also dyed his skin for a third time by his count. His pigment had a slight bronze to it, and in large doses one could see a gold shimmer in his flesh. The few scars on his chest – the ones he’d received during an ill-fated grocery store trip – were a glistening gold, making them impossible to explain away if his shirt was off.

And, these were the attributes he carried when at rest. When excited or when his heart level raced, his muscles would burn with a hellish red and – like the flames which pushed forth the Tricky qualities which resided in his DNA – they too pushed out the Umas lying within, making the flesh outlining his red muscles a shimmering gold. Sam at first thought these striking attributes had left him after The Battle of Olen’dom. It was not until he was reunited with Renny, and the two were sharing a passionate moment alone, that he learned these particular traits remained.

Renny, having never seen the transformation, was a little surprised.

His blond companion also wasn’t thrilled with the golden, starburst-like scar which reached across his forehead. Renny had seen deadly wounds like this before, but had never seen anyone survive them... nor for them to turn gold. Sam had grown his hair out to conceal the scar, and on most days, chose to wear a hat or bandana just to be sure.

His eyes, which truly gave testament to the young man’s unique DNA, were the hardest to explain. Even when at rest, his irises were a haunting, reflective gold. When excited or agitated, his white corneas were consumed with red, leaving his eyes to look little less than a devil’s. But, Sam was no monster. He was just a young man – one who had lived a very long life in a short amount of time.

The footsteps were getting closer.

Sam twisted the shovel which had aided him in his chores, debating if he might need the tool for defense. The only thing stopping him was Kyr. She impressed upon him a level of calm he would not typically be able to maintain when knowing intruders were near. However, while he loved his friend dearly, he couldn’t solely trust her judgment when she was locked safely away, and the love of his life could be in danger. Just as he began to shout to Renny, another incredibly curious word crossed his mind.

Blue…

When sharing ones thoughts, words and pictures were very mixed. And, in this case, he saw the color as much as he heard the word. There was more to the sentiment Kyr was trying to convey, which Sam could not understand. Whatever it was though, her message was important enough for her to press their connection, and that told Sam a great deal.

Renny, Sam tried again.

Yeah? She called from the house.

We’re about to have visitors, so you might want to break out the lemonade, he replied calmly. And, you might get Beatrice and Betty dressed as well.

Beatrice and Betty were the guns the young woman had been using since she and Sam reunited in Metropolis, Illinois. A cowboy – or cowgirl-like six shooter, Beatrice was the same model Renny’s mother had trained her on. The girl had tinkered with it, decorated it, and scarred it to the point the sight of Beatrice was unmistakable. Betty, recognized by her white pearl handle and tarnishing silver finish, was a smaller gun she’d begun wielding the same day she met Beatrice. The girl had never recovered fully from the tortures she endured at the hand of Collins – the man who was the cause of she and Sam meeting. But, Betty was small enough the girl could control the weapon even with her nerve damaged hand. Both guns had belonged to men trying to kill her, and each kept her alive long enough for Sam to rescue her from a burning town.

Calmly but cautiously, Renny made preparations for the friends or foes they were expecting. Sam could hear her slide the metal bar across the backdoor, firmly securing it. She continued by deadbolting the windows and securing the steel bars across the glass. Finally, just before opening the fridge, she unlocked the panic room door hidden under the kitchen rug.

While Renny prepped the homestead, Sam kept his more than keen senses on the woods ahead. One person was ambling up the rocky dirt road. His footsteps were purposeful, loose, and yet rigidly controlled. The intruder walked like John Wayne in a soldier’s role.

At the same moment Sam’s memory recognized the sauntering demeanor, the figure rounded the bend in front of him. The man, throwing a cocked eyebrow at the shovel Sam wielded like a weapon, didn’t bother to slow down. He simply swaggered straight up to the young man with no fear in his heart.

Jesus, Zeek, the man said. Think you could find a longer driveway?

The man, General Henry Riggs, Sam’s former Commanding Officer in Phoenix Division – his friend – and Renny’s father figure – stood before him extending his hand. His hair had greyed further, and a few more lines were present in his taught skin. Being on the run, if he really had been hiding, had aged the old soldier.

Sam was equal parts happy and skeptical, but there was no way he would refuse this man’s open hand.

Good to see you, General, Sam said in earnest, while establishing a firm grip.

The click, which came from Beatrice, told of Renny’s feelings entirely. The pretty blonde stood at the screen door of their home, pistol cocked at her side. Her eyes were glassy and jaw clinched. While Sam’s feelings were muddled when seeing his former CO, Renny’s were tenfold. Riggs was the closest thing she’d ever had to a father, and he’d abandoned her just like the real one.

Renny, Riggs said with the sincere, conciliatory voice of a papa, Darlin’, I didn’t think it was possible, but you look even prettier than the last time I saw you.

The young woman didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could. The last time she’d heard from this man he sent her to a town very literally crawling with unspeakable horrors. Granted, it was because of that trip and the General’s intel that Sam and Phoenix were able to save Olen’dom, but her pain didn’t stem from the fact Riggs put her in danger. It stemmed from the fact he never cared enough to check on her after.

At least, that’s how she thought of it. With Sam’s subdermal implant gone and Renny’s DigiCom destroyed, the General didn’t have an easy way to track them down – especially when they were actively hiding their whereabouts. But, Renny didn’t care. He should have found them. He should have sent word. He should have done something. Her conclusions were illogical and completely unfounded, but our hearts rarely heal from the scars of our parents. Sam was evidence enough of that. He rarely spoke of the parents who abandoned him.

Realizing Renny wasn’t ready to speak, Riggs turned back to Sam and said, Son, you have no idea how glad I am to see you. Any chance we could talk for a bit inside?

Depends, Sam replied. Is your shadow in the woods going to pick me off as soon as you move from his line of sight?

The shadow Sam referred to was good. No, not just good. He or she was Sam good. They didn’t make a sound, not a peep, not a broken twig, not a rustled leaf, not until Riggs began speaking to Renny. Then, the lurking figure accidently rustled a branch, alerting Sam to his presence. Since that moment, the young man had intentionally placed Riggs between him and the shadow.

Riggs winced and shook his head.

Damn it, I told him to wait with the cars. Thanks, Blue! he called toward the woods.

Blue… Sam said, mirroring Kyr’s earlier thought.

Yeah, Riggs humbly replied, Sorry, Zeek, guess I should have told you I brought a half battalion and a big gorilla with me. Just not that easy to slip into conversation.

*           *           *

They definitely didn’t have enough lemonade.

As the crowd filed through their door, Sam stood in the archway leading to the kitchen while Renny stood just behind. Having heard their footsteps when they first arrived, Sam wasn’t surprised by the number, but he was completely taken aback by the assortment. Not a single one bore flag or rank, and none carried large arms. A few had small weapons strapped to their legs and/or chests, and of those, only a handful seemed to be soldiers assigned as guards. Really, these people had brought little to no protection with them. Whether it was a gesture of peace or strategy remained to be seen. One particular theme of note was a few of the guests wore no uniform at all. As he tried to place these men and women taking up residence in his living room, a most unexpected face crossed Sam’s threshold – Stacey Graham, a woman Sam used to refer to as CanadaGraham. She was the Non-Domed Canadian delegate his friend, DoRight, once protected. As if seeing an old war buddy, and Sam estimated Ms. Graham had never served a day in her life, she flashed the young man a large, warm smile and immediately walked up to shake his hand. Considering neither knew one another exceptionally well, Sam realized the bond they shared was one most people would never know – they shared Olen’dom.

As CanadaGraham left Sam to rejoin the group, he found another figure slipping into her place – this one also familiar, but a person he knew far better – General Darren Kemp, father of Captain Aaron Kemp, Sam’s best friend.

Colonel, Sam said with welcome surprise. I had no idea.

You still don’t, Kemp said with some levity. Because it’s ‘General’ now.

Sam had missed that news.

With an appraising look the man continued, I only have one question for you – how’s my boy?

Sam knew someday he would cross paths with Aaron’s father and this question would arise. General Kemp, while humorous when he wanted to be, was a fairly gruff man with a very short temper to match. Sam knew his answer would have to be brief but telling.

Well taken care of, sir, the young man replied in the most Aaron way possible.

The General squinted his eyes and assessed the words before asking, Blonde or brunet?

Neither, Sam replied. Gold.

The young man was poked twice for his cavalier comment – once from Renny, standing directly behind him, and once in his mind by Kyr who did not fancy herself a trophy for his friend. Sam could feel some humor from her though, as an image of Aaron as her trophy lightly crossed his mind. While Sam and General Kemp continued their brief conversation, the young man noted a large, black clad figure slinking into the room. The man, standing at a robust seven feet tall, slipped in and out of the crowd with silent efficiency. His clothes, black and military by design, covered him from head to toe. Nary a hair would be exposed or a skin flake dropped, and his goggles protected even his eyes. The grace with which the figure moved had Sam’s near complete attention until a much shorter figure slithered through the doorway. This new guest wore a finely tailored silver suit, red and dark blue striped tie, black leather overcoat, and black leather gloves.

Colonel Seth Olik had just entered Sam’s home.

The young retired Captain was angry at the audacity of Riggs bringing such a man here. Olik was the right hand of Grand Administrator Henry Alec Westlake, leader of the Sovereign States, butcher to thousands. Sam would have confronted the General then and there if it wasn’t for the singular spark he caught in Olik’s gaze. As the Colonel locked eyes with him, there was a hint of something he’d never seen in the man’s face, not just the same recognition Ms. Graham had shared mere moments earlier, something more profound stirred behind what were once soulless eyes. Unlike Ms. Graham though, Olik could not bring himself to warmly greet the exiled soldier. Instead, he gave a nod of respect to the young man – a nod which Sam did not return.

Once the crowd settled in – some taking seats, others having no choice but to stand – Sam and Renny finally chose to sit on their creaky, old couch. Riggs, Graham, Kemp, and Olik took up seats in four kitchen chairs which had been placed directly across from the couple. The pitcher of lemonade, having been left out for their uncertain company, was quickly snatched up by Riggs who, after offering it to the others, poured himself a full glass.

There was an intense few moments of silence as Riggs sipped his lemonade and the crowd said nothing. Sam had taken to tracking the shadow silently browsing the bookcases that literally lined the room. Stacked to the brim with texts, the dark character browsed them all. As he pulled a thin, colorful comic book from one such bookcase – a favorite of Sam’s, Superman #204 if he saw correctly – the book’s loose cohorts decided to follow. The shadow quickly snatched several books mid-air, as they tried to make their way to the floor, but several slipped past. While the rest of the room turned to view the ruckus, Riggs simply closed his eyes and shook his head. Obviously, the shadow was good, but Sam had been wrong earlier. The black clad figure might not be Sam good. He’d done the same thing before but caught all the falling books.

Olik, using this as an opening to comment on the plentitude of books lining the walls, said, This is quite a collection, Captain. Where in the world did you acquire them?

Sam, still eyeing the shadow who was meticulously replacing the errant comics, replied, There was an old book warehouse in area .216 – decided to lift them from there.

Ms. Graham exclaimed, Captain! That’s the worst Tricky region in Canada! It’s completely overrun. We sealed the borders and carpet-bomb the area on a regular basis – to no effect! How on earth… She stopped short realizing to whom she was speaking. Taking a moment to laugh at herself, she continued, Never mind, forget I even I asked.

Well, said a soldier with the most proper English accent Sam had ever heard, His todger definitely seems long enough. The Englishman, roughly thirty years old, was probably at one time considered good looking and might be still. However, the bags under his eyes and grungy beard had flipped that silver coin. Sam knew the look. This man had just come off a long stint in the field with little or no support. Maybe after a good shower and several days of sleep he might look like his more attractive self. Otherwise, his tone of voice and general air left the distinct impression of an English gentleman… if he wasn’t as vulgar as a soccer hooligan.

Looking at the multitude of bookshelves, Riggs asked, Zeek, just how many of these have you read?

Before he could reply, Renny, somewhat arrogant of the fact, blurted, All of them.

Kemp, astonished by the response, asked, All of them?

A couple times, Renny replied. Not sure how many times he’s read the comics though.

The comics, Riggs began as though something clicked, You can’t memorize those like you do the books, can you?

Somehow, Sam wasn’t surprised Riggs knew the young man had developed this ability.

Books only take me an hour, maybe two at most, Sam replied. Comics – it feels like there’s always something new I never saw before – a new line, a shadow I never noticed, a shade of blue that escaped me – but at the same time it’s always familiar. How’d you know?

Riggs laughed and said, I know someone else with the same uncanny ability. He didn’t let slip who this person was, but Sam had his suspicions.

Orwell, Poe, Thomas, Tolstoy, Sun Tzu, the English soldier read from the shelf behind him. Sodding hell, his library would be better than a blue pill for my primary teacher.

Riggs made an agitated grimace. Sam could see the Englishman had already thrown off the General’s plan. This whole conversation had likely been prepared like a well-timed engagement by his former CO. But, this was Riggs. He above anyone would know most engagements don’t go as planned.

The General, attempting to reassert his authority, continued speaking to Sam with, How long has it been, anyway? I can’t seem to keep track these days, and you were always meticulous about that.

Oh, Sam replied with feigned ignorance, A while.

It had been exactly 762 days since they last heard from Riggs – since The Battle of Olen’dom – a fact Sam was well aware of, but not something he sought to share. The General was correct. When he served with the Law Martials, Sam was meticulous, obsessive even; as though he was cataloging just how many days he’d lived – waiting for that one day – that final day of his life. After The Battle of Olen’dom, he had sworn off tracking the days. He was no longer interested in counting down to his death… but a new fear persisted. As time marched on, Sam had watched his Renny grow and mature into a beautiful twenty year-old woman.

He, on the other hand, still looked like the same twenty year-old young man who exited the Dome – barely aging a day. While he had no illusions of true immortality, he realized his Umas and Tricky dispositions were likely slowing his aging to a crawl. So, he really had no interest in keeping track of a life that might last forever… he was, instead, keeping track of one he knew would not.

Renny’s.

He never mentioned this fear to her, and he likely never would. But, the agony of counting the days until the person you love died haunted him worse than anything, even more-so than those ghastly faces which plagued his dreams – of the people that had fallen under his wake.

Of course, that shadow could be here to kill me. That’d fix the problem.

Riggs could see something in Sam’s demeanor had shifted. Unnoticeable to most, the General knew his soldier too well. Recognizing he’d inadvertently struck some personal chord, the old warhorse did his best to change the subject.

I need to apologize for dropping in like this, Riggs continued, But, we need your help and whether you know it or not, you might need ours.

Sam was listening to Riggs, while keeping the dark giant in the corner of his eye. He wanted to be very aware of this man’s location at all times. If anyone was a challenge in this room physically, it might be him.

How so? Sam asked. Renny, still clutching Beatrice in her lap, had at least tucked Betty in the back of her pants – a baby step at trust.

Truth is, I’ve been looking for you for some time, and I’m not the only one, Riggs replied. Several people left the Dome before you closed it, and because of it, a lot of people know what you can do… the wrong people. And, many of them want you.

Glad to see I’m popular, Sam joked.

With a hint of his son’s wit, Kemp added, Don’t break out your prettiest dress just yet. Most of these people just want you for your body.

Riggs continued, There’s a bounty on your head, and we aren’t certain why. It could be anything from creating soldiers like you to experimenting with your blood and the effects it might have on the Domes – you could be the Holy Grail to many. And, if we found you, that means others eventually will too.

Sam, while unhappy with the bomb dropped on him, wasn’t exactly surprised. One of his first fears after leaving Olen’dom was the U.S. would come after him, hoping to create more soldiers with his unique qualities. Most of the time, he’d call such theories paranoid. But, considering how his country had used everyday citizens to create Tricky, the notion was not far from the realm of possibility. The idea other parties might have the same idea, well, that was just the ugly side of human nature.

After mulling over the unfortunate news, Sam replied, So, I get the feeling your protective services aren’t coming for free.

Riggs leaned in close and looked Sam in the eye as he said, Son, even if you turn me down flat, don’t you dare think I won’t have your back if the shit hits the fan. The General, for all his secrets, was an honest man, and Sam took him at his word. But, we do need you.

Kemp advised, I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but the U.S. is on the brink of real change. Twelve states have ceded and another is on its way.

Too late, Renny chimed in. Unlike Sam and Riggs, the crowd seemed to have written her off as a meaningless part of the conversation. Those two, however, knew she’d be in the thick of it – maybe even more so than Sam. Thirteenth was just announced on TV right before you got here.

Good to see our intel is up to the minute, Riggs mused.

"Well, with these thirteen states, Kemp continued, And more on their way, we stand at the precipice of transformation."

What my friend means, Riggs interjected, Is that we’re about to clean house, and I’d like you with us.

Renny, letting go of her anger just long enough to look Riggs in the eyes, asked, Ousting the President?

Riggs, happy to see some spark of the girl he once cared for, advised, "You bet your sweet bippy. State leaders are ready to stand with us as soon as