Balance

By Kurt Bartling

2050. Since the Secession, most of the civilized world's population lives destitute. For Michael, alone, fighting to survive by the cages, everything changes the night he meets Rena, the enigmatic redhead with turquoise eyes. Discovered, abducted and secreted away to the military facility for one of the most powerful and ruthless men in the World. Under the watchful eye of the dangerous Takada, head of counter intelligence, Michael and Rena form a team, their purpose the infiltration and assassination of all in their mysterious benefactor’s way.
But … All is not as it appears. Michael’s physical feats defy explanation. Rena is not whom everyone believes her to be. Playing a game of human chess to keep Michael and herself alive, Rena navigates her own secret agenda. An agenda made more complicated by the introduction of Megan, an unlikely street urchin brought in as leverage. Leverage to get Michael and Rena to do Takada's bidding.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781300190646

Book preview

Balance

BALANCE

BALANCE Series – Book 1

by

Kurt Bartling

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction.  All names, characters, places, entities and events are the work of the author’s imagination and are fictitious.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, entities, events or locations are purely and entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photo-reproduction, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the author.

Copyright. © 2012 Kurt Bartling.

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-1-300-19064-6

Published 2018, Lulu Press.

This book written, edited and designed by Kurt Bartling

Thanks to: Jill, Ali, Addie and Andrew, John K., Jay F., Cassie B., Mat J., Chris B., Barb H, Michelle B, Jeff P, Marie and August.

For mom, who always loved to read … and read everything.

1.      Survival, 2050

Although the crowds this evening are lighter than normal, the excitement level borders on electric. Stadium seats rise from the floor, forming a bowl around the central cage.  Overhead lights, focused on the epicenter, illuminate the smoky haze filling the expanse, creating glowing veil of mystery.  The old coliseum arena surges with activity as spectators move like waves through the stands, gathering information on the fighters, boasting accomplishments, negotiating odds and surveying the talent. Here in the Hustle, the fights are big business.  Any money that does exist will run through the cages at some point.

The ‘Hustle’, what used to be the general population of the United States. Since the global market evolution and the ‘Secession’, it’s now where anyone not Elite; survive.

The fights are a means, in or out of the cage.

.

Michael came tonight to make a little money, to get through the next couple of weeks.  He’s new to the cages, having just started fighting in the last year.  Although allowed when he came of age, he held out two-years, until his body matured. He’d seen enough young talent battered and broken, before they ever reached their potential, never able to fight again.  For everyone, existence in the Hustle is a precarious proposition.

Signing up for a lower level bout, he just needs enough money to make it through the next few weeks, to the next venue.  Young and relatively new, drawing little attention to himself, few have seen him fight.  Here in the cages, too much notoriety can be a bad thing.  Michael knows winning against better opponents could limit opportunities over the long run.

The cages are not about ego, but endurance … you win, and you live a few more weeks.

Michael enters the fenced in ring wearing jeans and a tee shirt.  Done this enough, he understands presentation drives the odds.  Looking too comfortable or capable can swing them in his favor, costing him money.  The worse his odds, the better the return on his wager, assuming he wins.  What little money he has, he always puts on himself.

Looking around the arena, he notices her, again. The dark red hair and light olive skin make her hard to miss.  Attractive, yet she projects an air of confidence that also seems remarkably approachable.  It surprises him; reading so much in just a distant glance.

.

Planning this night for some time, Rena has followed several fighters for the last half year.  This one, the smart young one, he’s good, better than most here tonight realize.  He fights infrequently, likely only when he needs to, always moving from one cage to another, never twice at the same venue, maintaining his anonymity.

Suspecting he’d show up here at some point, she just had to make sure her guest was on hand, when he did. Having a conversation with the promoter earlier, just in case he did appear, she needs his exhibition to be memorable.

Although close to hers, she was concerned his age could work against him, the guest finding him too young.  Rena hopes his handsome, healthy, appearance is deemed too valuable, offering more potential opportunities.  Ultimately, his skills should prove too enticing, offsetting any concerns.

.

In the cage, there’s only three ways to win, kill, incapacitate or tap out.  Tapping out being a death sentence.  The fights have an unwritten rule; a fighter cannot return to a cage after a tap out.

.

A monster of a man climbs into the cage, a large black man, over six-and-a-half feet tall, thick, and muscular.

Waiting inside, the draw surprises Michael.

One of the top tier fighters, this monster has been fighting for a while and hasn’t lost in a long time. Michael gives up six-inches in height and at least sixty pounds.  The promoter normally uses this beast to weed out the chaff, to eliminate the mid-level fighters over-reaching their skills, willing to take a shot at a top tier fighter for the big payout.

Miss-matched fights don’t make the enough profit, the outcome, too predictable.  This fight should not be a moneymaker.  Fortunately, for the promoter, the financial difference had been covered in advance.

The monster is vicious, long arms and very strong.  He uses his size to his advantage, employing strength and reach to stun his opponent.  Once dazed, he’ll wrap up and end the fight.  He’s an equal opportunity animal, kill or maim matters not. 

.

Recognizing Michael, a few spectators rush to place bets on him, much to the amusement of the promoter.  Wagering closes with Michael 10:1 to win.

.

Rena watches with keen interest, hoping the young man pulls off the upset she expects.

.

The monster approaches Michael sporting an ominous grin, revealing several missing teeth.  Not one to entertain the crowd, in the cage, the monster is all business.

Keeping his distance, Michael circles, moving purposefully, constantly shifting his center of gravity, allowing for an instantaneous change of direction when the monster makes his move.  Watching the man closely, Michael scans from shoulders to waist, looking for the first tell of an opening foray.

It happens, like a wave on water, the monster plants his feet, waist squares, muscles in his right shoulder flex … Instinctively, Michael knows a powerful right is on the way.  Moving instantly, naturally, without thought at the first indication of the monster’s intent, Michael's right hand rises up level with the huge man’s eyes, at the same time his hips rotate left and down as his left arm drops down and into his body.

Like a battering ram, the monster’s right arm extends to contact where his opponent’s face had just been.

Simultaneously, Michael’s right hand comes down hard on the extended arm at the wrist, and his left fist accelerates up, striking with tremendous force on the elbow.  The combination of fully extended limb, the downward leverage at the wrist, coupled with the incredible acceleration of the blow from below on weaker joint, snaps the monster’s arm like a stick, the massive forearm rotating, grotesquely, in a downward arc.

The monster wails in agony, shock sweeps his face.

Without hesitation, Michael’s right arm changes direction, hurtling forward as his hips rotate right and up.  His fist, turned vertically, first and second fingers bent at the knuckle to form a blunt point, strikes the monster in the throat, finding the soft spot above the V created by the clavicle bones, cutting off the man’s screams.

The amount of power delivered in the punch is unexpected.  The monster’s head lurches forward then back, while his body is launched backward into the air.  The huge man lands on his back and crumbles to the mat.

The crowd, deathly silent for seconds, explodes.  The fight ends immediately.

Michael, surprised, stares first at the monster then at his fists.

Shocked, gaping at the crumpled giant, then turning his attention to the young man standing over the mound of human mass, the promoter ignites with fury.

.

Making his way to the cage entrance, Michael climbs down the stairs to the floor, coming face to face with the incensed promoter.

The furious man utters a single guttural word; hallway, turns and stalks to the entrance.

Fuck! Michael swears, then turns and slowly follows in the promoter’s wake.  As he moves through the crowd, spectators lining the walkway congratulate and pat Michael on the back, oblivious to his mounting fear.  Cautiously, he approaches the exasperated man, now standing alone in the darkened hallway.

The promoter turns, face ablaze, What the fuck!  Who the hell put you in my cage?

Stunned by the accusation, and understanding this man could place a ‘black ball’ on him, Michael needs to diffuse the situation quickly.  A black ball makes it impossible to get into the ring without drawing unwanted attention or worse, prevent him from fighting altogether.  He hadn’t expected the fight to end quite the way it did.  Having fought several matches, Michael can’t recall doing so much damage with so much precision, and no idea why.

Before he has a chance to defend himself, or say anything, the redhead enters the hallway. Wearing a turquois blouse and form-fitting black jeans, Michael can tell immediately, she’ll create a distraction, and with luck, enough to make his exit.  As much as he needs the money, there are other cages to make it back.  Too much interaction with a promoter can have lasting effects.

That’s a hell of a fighter you’ve got there.  You’ll make a fortune off him. She says.

Surprised by her insinuation the fight was a setup; Michael finds her timing inopportune.

The promoter immediately turns to Michael.  There goes his opening.  The dubious lowlife considers her words, the hamster wheel turning in his greasy haired head.  The smile, Cheshire cat-like, emerges slowly.

Moving in next to the promoter, Rena inserts herself into the encounter. I’ll keep your secret, but you have to let me know when he fights again. She pauses to consider him with a fervent glance, A girl’s got to eat too, you know.  Scanning the fighter’s body, she considers the handsome young man, rather like a piece of meat, then turns her attention back to his assumed accomplice.

As Michael expected, the redhead distracts the promoter. In close proximity to this attractive young woman, the promoter’s face goes blank.  Stammering and fumbling for words, he babbles a couple incoherent sentences and then shuts up.

Keep him well fed.  He’ll need to keep his strength up. Rena suggests, applying the final touches to her manipulation.

The promoter turns his attention again to Michael, a crooked smile forming slowly from the blank expression. Like a deer in headlights, he pulls Michael’s winnings from the roll stuffed in his shirt pocket.  Absolutely!  Gotta keep the boy fed.

Rena smiles, turns and walks out without saying another word.

The lowlife watches her leave, not realizing she never gave him a name.  He turns back to Michael, You let me know when you want another fight.  Don’t you go fighting in anyone else’s cage.  My cage only.  You and me, we’re going to make a lot of money.  The promoter grins malevolently, turns, and walks back down to the cage.

With a curious smile, Michael watches the odd man leave, shrugs and then runs off up the hallway after the redhead.  Reaching the all glass front doors, he sees her standing on the sidewalk, looking down the street, obviously searching for something in the distance.

Michael exits onto the street, catching her eye.  She turns, giving him her full attention.  Her gaze fixed and unflinching, he finds her calm demeanor unsettling.  Crossing the sidewalk, he starts addressing her immediately, I don’t know if I should thank you or be pissed?  You got me paid, but you may have made me that asshole’s mule. stopping directly in front of her.

Out on the streets, with more lights, he now fully considers her appearance.  Unlike her, his eyes remain focused on her face; teardrop shaped with high subtle cheekbones, small cute nose and lightly tanned complexion.  Her appearance is not artificial with sharp features that seem unearthly or goddess-like.  Most definitely attractive, her beauty is more natural and unquestionably earthly.  Even up close, she still seemed approachable.  Standing about a half foot shorter than him, her dark red hair parted over her left eye, was pulled tight in a braid, falling just below the her shoulders.  When she looked up, her eyes startled him, almond shaped and a most striking bright turquois color, the same as her blouse.  Finding no indication of contacts, he’d never seen eyes like hers before.  Silent, Michael waits for her to say something.

Her gaze abruptly moves from Michael’s face to engage something behind him.  After a moment, she turns her head to the right.

Up the street, a black limousine approaches slowly, pulling to a stop a short distance from their location.

She redirects her attention back behind Michael.

Noting her actions, Michael shifts his position to her left, turning to address whatever approached from behind him, while keeping an eye on the car up the street.  Standing at her side, close enough that he can feel body heat radiating off her, Michael assesses the situation, watching as a well-dressed man, having just stepped out of the same building he just exited, walks slowly in their direction.

Friends of yours? He whispers.

You should go. She responds softly, never taking her eyes from their new guest.  The man, middle aged and fit, watches her and Michael as he continues out onto the street.

Studying the pair for a moment, the man steps forward, addressing them as he approaches, Impressive display, both of you … My employer … would like to extend each of you … an invitation.

Michael tilts his face toward the redhead and whispers, Shit, scout.

The world has changed much in Michael’s lifetime.  What was a geographically segregated world of countries, providences, and territories has evolved.  The global economy took hold, although probably not how many anticipated.  The growth of the financial fortunes of new industrialized countries, coupled with the debt of Europe, Asia and America resulted in the destabilization of governments.

In the United States, laws continually shifting to promote business growth, weakened business ethics and oversight.  Business financial controls deteriorated, allowing profits to avoid taxation; causing the government to run out of money.  A downward spiral of spending cuts accelerated the process.

More and more of the wealth shifted to fewer and fewer people.  Eventually the rich became so powerful and the government so weakened that the wealthy just stopped acknowledging the government altogether … the ‘Secession’.

The ‘SuperElite’ took over, having built up their own militaries, their own régimes.  The US government could do nothing to prevent it, here, or abroad.  Once the United States finally fell, much of the world quickly followed.

95% of the world’s wealth is held by 5% of its populace.  Less than 1% of the population, comprising the Elite and SuperElite control most of that.  There are only a handful of SuperElite in the world, acting as sovereignties unto themselves, unrestricted by geographic borders.

Existing within pockets of prosperity, the Elite live like lordships among the peasantry, lawlessness, and destitution of the world, no care for their fellow man.

Scouts, ‘Talent Scouts’ as they are more formally known, were the agents of the Elite. Their job, identify people with skills that might be of use.  For the most part, the rest of the world’s population were cattle to be harvested. When they find a talent deemed useful, those with it, are ‘invited’.  To some, the scout can be a way out. To others, especially with families, it’s abduction.  Elite status is not a sound existence, constantly at risk of hostile takeover by their competitors, so once identified, a talent cannot decline an invitation for fear a competitor’s scout might also make the same discovery.

Michael understands what comes next, as he suspects, does his new acquaintance.  He takes stock of their surroundings, noticing over his shoulder, behind him, two more well-dressed men appear on the sidewalk a short distance away.  Scanning beyond the young woman, a fourth man has just emerged from the open door of the limousine.  Michael knows he could get away, but leaving her alone, unprotected, is not in his nature.  He’s resourceful, an opportunity to escape might present itself, just not at this time.  He might even find a way to get her out too.

With no family or anyone close, no one to miss him when he’s gone, Michael looks with concern down at his companion.  She too seems to have become resigned to the situation.

.

Both escorted to the limousine, Michael and the young woman sit across from each other on the seat at the rear of the compartment.  The Scout, the man who extended the invitation, positions himself on the bench seat behind the driver partition, across from them, the only occupants in the back of the vehicle.

Sitting across from the redhead, Michael studies her more carefully.  Slim, yet not slight, athletically proportioned, with delicate hands, she has a small tattoo visible under each wrist, symbols, or cryptic letters he can’t make out.  Michael looks up, engaging her striking turquois eyes.

Rena. She offers.

He nods, Michael.

The scout turns to consider them, having assumed they were acquainted.

2.     A Life Abandoned

Michael and Rena ride in relative silence.  Beyond the initial introductions, neither speaks another word the entire three-hour trip the limousine headed east.  Without government resources, most roads fell into disrepair, with only major thoroughfares maintained to any degree, most all in support of Elite interests, financial and recreational. Therefore, their destination, located nowhere near any discernible city or populace, must warrant some degree of importance, evidenced by the superior quality of the passage from Los Angeles.  Finally the car pulls into a small airport and ultimately into a well-lit hanger.  Inside, a rather large private jet waits, engines running.

Pulling up next to the aircraft, the car door opens.  An armed soldier leans in, points at Rena, then Michael.  Stepping out, they’re directed to the jet, signaled to enter the craft as quickly as possible.  The scout follows, stopping briefly to converse with the soldier. As they move from the vehicle to the plane, Michael and Rena observe several well-dressed, well-armed agents positioned inside and outside the hanger.

Rena, barely seated when the jet starts taxiing onto the tarmac to the runway, airborne moments later, watches out the window as they climb rapidly into the dark night.

After several minutes, the jet levels off.

The scout releases his seat belt and looks back at his guests, indicating that Michael and Rena, again seated across from each other in the rear of the cabin, do the same.  He walks over to a chest built into the forward bulkhead and pours himself a drink, returning to a seat, joining the pair.  Extending his hand to Michael, he introduces himself.  Alexander.

Michael just looks at the man’s extended hand, indifferent to the attempt at civility.

Alexander withdraws, takes a pull from his drink, sets it down and takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, suggesting impatience.  Listen, you’ve got a five hour flight to Chicago.  You can sit here like a pair of sandbags or you can try to enjoy the trip.  At least lighten up, have a drink.  I was once in your place, many years ago.  I know how it is, make the best of it.  If you had families, I apologize.  If not, you can look at this as an opportunity, as a way to rise above the Hustle ... Any questions? Alexander pauses, observing both of them.  You can ask me what you want. I might be able to provide you some answers.  I guarantee; I will likely be more forthright than almost anyone you meet when we get to Chicago.

Who is it? Michael asks.

Chango.

Why us? Rena follows.

Alexander considers the question for a moment, works his way through various answers, finally deciding ambiguity, seizing the opportunity to test a theory, You both exhibit, let’s say … desirable skills.  Now, whether those skills can be honed, and made useful to Chango, hard to say. I will say this … the fact that I found your unique skill sets at the same time was quite, fortuitous.  I will also say that I haven’t seen your level of raw talent in a long time.  Alexander takes another pull from his drink.  Must also admit, I was surprised you two were not acquainted before last night.

Rena and Michael turn to each other, confused by the implication.

Alexander smiles, ever so slightly, I’ll leave you two alone … You might want to at least get to know each other a little before we arrive.  Considering timing, skills and development … you two might be spending a lot of time with each other in the future.

What exactly was it about each of us that peaked your interest? Michael inquires, less interested in himself, more so in Rena.

Alexander again pauses to consider whether that information should be shared, Let me think about that a bit, but, I’d hazard a guess, your new friend might be able to deduct the likely reason for the invitations.  Turning from his guests, he returns to his seat in the forward portion of the cabin, leaving Michael and Rena alone in the rear.

Michael turns to Rena, mildly curious as to the meaning of the answer he just received.  They regard each other for a moment, each not knowing what to say next.

Knowing far more than she suspects Michael or Alexander realize, and worried she might give herself away, Rena makes the first effort, hoping to direct the focus away, Although, not too sure about me, I know why you’re here.

Know why I’m here?  What are you talking about? Michael exclaims.

Seriously? She states incredulously, Your fighting, it was amazing.  How’d you do that? Rena inquires.

Do what?  I didn’t have to do much, at least enough to base my fighting skills on.

Studying him, confused by his ignorance, she clarifies, It wasn’t the content so much as the execution.  I’ve never seen anyone move like that.  It was as if you knew what your opponent was going to do before he did.  You move faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move.

Michael considers what Rena said.  He had thought there was something different about the way the fight unfolded.  In his mind, he walks himself back through the bout, replaying everything he can remember; but ultimately still unable to put his finger on what transpired that made it different.  Dismissing the implication, Michael redirects; You really don’t know why the invitation was extended?  From what I’ve heard, Scouts are looking for military specialists.  Did you do anything tonight that might have relevance in an operation?

Rena answers as best she can, without revealing too much, completely understanding why the invitations were extended. It might have been how I managed the promoter.  I guess, I kind of manipulated him, to get you paid.  Skills like that might be helpful in intelligence.  Right?

Maybe? He shrugs.

Rena leans forward and whispers, for only his ears, What do you know about Chango?

Michael considers the question.  Only what you hear on the streets.  He’s a very powerful SuperElite, based in Chicago, one of the first to secede from government control … Bad guy to get on the wrong side of.

Rena tries to determine if his response is the extent of his knowledge, or abridged.  She wants to expound on his statement, but until she has a better feel for him, Rena acknowledges and adds nothing.  Certain he has more information, she suspects he’s holding back some of the more daunting details, for her sake, concluding he’s just being chivalrous.

No disrespect intended, Michael watches Rena closely.  Now in close quarters, with more time to consider, he suspects she’s about his age, from a good upbringing, maybe even Elite.  He finds it curious she was in the Hustle by herself.  Most women, especially someone so attractive, would be fearful of the elements that reside there.  It dawns on him; he’s never seen someone so beautiful in the Hustle.

Rena, noticing Michael scrutinizing her, returns the appraisal.  He’s healthy, which considering the conditions, says a lot about his person.  He obviously knows how to survive, has probably used his good looks to his advantage.  She assumes his non-confrontational reaction to the invitation could mean he has no family, or anyone close he might care for.  Considering his display in the cage, he had a good chance to escape, yet chose to remain.  She turns away; avoiding Michael’s gaze … realizing, he remained out of a sense of responsibility for her.

Lifting her eyes, their gazes lock on each other.  Michael says nothing, fixated on her brilliant turquois eyes.  After several moments, embarrassed, she turns away.  Feeling uncomfortable, Rena rises, walks over to Alexander, and sits down in the seat next to him.

Alexander studies her, takes another sip of his drink and sets it down in the holder in the table in front of him.  Young lady. He addresses her congenially.

I was wondering if you could be a little more forthright as to where you are taking us. replying in the same amiable manner as her host.

Smiling warmly, intrigued with her initiative, he concedes, You two are going to Chicago. We’ll land at a small private airstrip where you’ll be taken to a secure military facility, the ‘Bunker’.  There, you will be tested and evaluated.  If, after evaluation, they feel you have value, they’ll determine where your skills and strengths will be best utilized.

What if we are determined to lack the skills required for effective use?

Alexander smiles, Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, I am a very good judge of talent.  I’m pretty sure you’ll both make the cut. If for some reason I am wrong, well … I wouldn’t worry about that.

Perplexed, Rena returns to her seat.  Still feeling a little self-conscious, she tries to relax, crossing her arms over her chest.  She shudders, just starting to notice the chill of the flight, or maybe her nerves starting to kick in.

Seeing her discomfort, Michael stands and opens one of the overhead compartments. Returning with a blanket, he carefully lays it over her, never saying a word, and then returns to his seat.

She regards him for a moment, then whispers, Thank you.

He smiles and nods.  Worried his further interest could upset her, he swivels his seat to look out the window.

Time passes, how much, Michael is unaware, but when he turns back around, Rena’s sound asleep.  Her condition reminds him, it’s been quite some time since he last slept.  He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes.

.

Awoken by turbulence, Michael realizes the jet is in its descent, meaning he slept through the remainder of the flight.  He looks over at Rena.

Now awake, she hasn’t moved, still covered by the blanket he placed over her, and staring absently at an unseen spot out in space.  Blinking herself back to the now, she turns her gaze on him.  She doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, no real expression on her face, save maybe a little apprehension, which he feels understandable considering the circumstances.

Alexander walks back to the rear of the cabin and sits down.

Removing the blanket, Rena stretches and sits up.  Both of them turn their attention to their host.

Alexander studies them, trying to determine his course of action.  In a few minutes we are going to land, a small airstrip outside Chicago.  I’m not going to tell you exactly where, so don’t ask.  After a brief pause for effect, he continues.  Once you depart this jet, there are protocols.  Follow them … Understand this; everything is a test and you are always being evaluated.  Alexander waits for comments.

Rena turns to Michael, a concerned look on her face.  He winks, trying to calm her fears.

Alexander watches, Now, when we land, I will exit first, you will remain until agents escort you off.  The agents will take you to a waiting vehicle; from there to a facility called the Bunker.  Do not delay the transfer… in any way.  I need to make this very clear, the moment you walk off this jet, you are assets of Chango.  Our rivals are always looking to infiltrate our business; an exposed asset is a threat to our security.  Do I make myself clear?  He waits a moment for a reply.  If there are no questions, please prepare to land. Alexander turns his seat forward.

Michael and Rena briefly look at each other before turning their seats as well.

Rena gazes out the window; the dense lights of the metropolis visible in the distance.  She guesses they are roughly fifty miles outside metro-Chicago.  The interior of the jet abruptly goes black.  She notices even the indicator lights on the wings, no longer visible.

Minutes later the jet lands on a darkened runway, taxis into a similarly darkened hanger. The doors close immediately upon entrance as the engines shutdown.

No more than a minute after the craft comes to a complete stop and powers down, the side entrance door opens from the outside and interior black lights illuminate glowing running lines in the floor.

Without comment, Alexander gets up and climbs out.

Moments after, an armed soldier, wearing night vision goggles, climbs in, his form no more than blackness in the front of the compartment.  He points at Michael, directing him to the doorway.

As Michael climbs down the steps, a second soldier slips a black hood over his head and guides him to a waiting military vehicle.

Rena repeats the extraction exercise.

As soon as the vehicle doors are closed, it departs the hanger.  Underway, the hoods are removed.

After Michael’s eyes adjust, he finds he and Rena seated next to each other in the aft compartment of some sort of military personnel carrier.  The windows, tinted black and impenetrable, the world outside veiled to them.  Two soldiers sit at the rear of the compartment facing them.  One of the soldiers