Difference between revisions of "Captain Adamant: The Hunt"

The motionless, pastel air sank its cold influence into Carter as he reclined in the snow. It bypassed his fatigues, his orange bomber hat, with a slow burn. Montana air, kissed by the breaking sun and wrapped in icy character, visited his lungs. Not a sound, save his breathing, and the breath of his partners. Ajax was planted next to him, equally motionless. The German-Shepherd scanned the horizon, a sentry born.

Home. Carter was home.

There was no armor, no barrier between Carter and reality. He was happily vulnerable to all its wiles and ways. The plots and schemes of millions, housed in glass and steel, were another world away. The wilderness of man awaited him, but for now the wilderness was welcoming him back. Carter would shake its hand if he could.

“What do you see?” The words vibrated from Frank’s back into Carter’s spine.

“No antelope, just horizon. We’re the only things breathing here.” The rifle in his lap only weighed less as he spoke the words.

“I thought I spotted one.”

“Ajax would spot it before either of us. Or smell it. You’re looking upwind.”

“He takes to the country well, for a city dog.”

Carter broke that statue’s stillness to look upon Ajax, who kept his eyes fixed on targets yet to be realized. “We’re alike.”

“So you are. Not sure which is better disciplined.” Frank sipped at an angry coffee, steaming in spite of the cold. Carter broke into a smile, eyeing his canine partner. Ajax seemed to be trying his best not to listen.

“You’re my mentor. I’m his. What do you think?”

“You’re hardly his mentor. Seems to me he’s teaching you.”

“How do you figure?” Carter sipped his own coffee. His eyes fixed, lost even, in the pattern of his gun. The maple wood resembled a tiger’s pattern.

“You haven’t made friends in years, Carter. Haven’t bothered.”

The words knotted in Carter’s head. He began untwisting them.

“You sound like you’re accusing me.”

“I’m reminding you. I don’t think that dog has changed a bit since you found him.”

“I have?” They were now unraveling on their own.

“You’re getting close to people Carter. The armor isn’t just a cover, or a weapon. It’s a totem. It should remind you of your mission.”

“It’s fieldcraft Frank. I have to get close.” Frank’s laugh vibrated against Carter’s back. It felt condescending. While the heat of anger began to fan about in his head, silence took over, for a few moments. Frank pulled again from his coffee.

“Did I ever tell you about that recurring dream?”

“You tell me about all kinds of dreams, Frank.” Carter sighed. His breath died in the winter air. Carter shifted in the snow. Ajax, like the antelope, had apparently vanished.

“Dreams are dangerous. They birth religions, inventions, even people. I dreamt I was a hawk, once. I flew over the world. I could swoop down and everything was at my mercy. I could see everything.”

“Hawks make better hunters than old army colonels.” The joke relieved some of the tension in Carter’s head. Frank didn’t seem to hear him.

“You’re dreaming of capes, Carter.”

“There’s no dreaming about it, I am one of them. I have to be to accomplish my mission.” The heat was coming back now, and with a vengeance.

“You’re hunting, Captain, and you’ve lost your target.” The sun had taken all morning to climb onto the horizon’s ledge. Something, it seemed, was pulling it back.

“You’re paranoid Frank. I haven’t lost sight.”

“You remember what I taught you? Principles are pillars. People push daisies. They come, and they go. Even loyal Ajax, whether by death or betrayal, will leave.” Carter was grinding his teeth now. The spark had become a flame, and he bristled. The horizon had gone. If Ajax was nearby, Carter could not see him.

“They may not be soldiers, Frank, but they know loyalty. They’re not traitors.”

“You will be.”

“What I do isn’t betrayal.” The snow began to melt. The ground was mud, and Carter could feel the aggravating suction and stickiness that comes with it.

“It is. You must have their trust, and trample on it, for the greater good. That’s your mission; not trifling reconnaissance. You’re a sleeping giant, and must awaken.” Carter now heard fire, and the dark lit up again. The flicker of flame came from behind. He almost didn’t notice; words, thoughts, emotion raced through his mind like so many trains, their passengers all a blur.

“Only if they’re a threat. Until then, it is reconnaissance. And I can help them in the meantime.”

Carter heard the roar of fire now. And wings.

“If you get too close, and pull the trigger, you may miss. You will be compromised and vulnerable, like you are now, in this wilderness. Keep your defenses up. That’s what we do, Carter. Defense. Who will you be without that principle?”

Carter looked at his rifle, and the hands holding it. They wore the armored gauntlets of the Hardwear suit. Carter was in his armor now, but still felt the fever behind him. It was a heavy, and impotent shield now. Too little and too late. He had only his mind, and the identity somewhere within. If nothing else, it had to be ironclad. It had to be.

“I know who I am. I’m Captain Carter Williams. I’m Captain Adamant.”

Carter defied the mud and the heat to turn and face Frank then. He was blinded by the fierce passion of atoms making the inferno. Thunder almost deafened him, his knees wanted to give under its massive roar. Carter readied his rifle, by reflex. It melted in his hands, pooling into a pocket of mud. Then his armor slid off him, too, and his feet were planted in sludge and molten metal. His eyes adjusted as best they could, seeking their adversary.

He beheld the raptor. It was massive, and burning like a star. Its wings outspread, its talons sunk into the mud, as if it would carry the world away. Its eyes were Frank’s eyes, silver and piercing. The golden beak pointed at him, and the bird regarded him with a frenzied scrutiny. Carter heard it laugh, the sound short and human, perhaps the last ounce of humanity to flare from its burning mass.

“If you’re a superhero, then I’m a hawk.”

It lunged upon him. The hawk's cry tore into him before the beak and talon followed. There were no wounds for its fire to cauterize. It was annihilation.

The eyes of a man opened, to reality, suddenly and fanatically grasping for security. Carter was flat on his bed, panting and sweating the dream out even as he reckoned with it mentally. Ajax stood at his bedside, regarding him with curiosity. Carter swallowed, and sat up, running hands through his hair.

“I’m alright.” Carter almost believed the words. Ajax inspected him.

“Not convinced?” Carter’s eyes followed his breath into rhythm, away from their frantic tempo. They regarded the Millennium City skyline with a mixture of relief and agony. Not home. Only a dream. His reflection in the plate glass looked back at him. It seemed to agree with Ajax.

It wasn’t the first time he had dreamt of Frank, since his disappearance. The Colonel hadn’t made any attempt to contact him. The air of their last meeting had hung over Carter since. It was like smoke. Obfuscating. Suffocating. Deadly. Or it meant he was raving mad in a backalley, or a sewer. Carter's guts felt otherwise.

It seemed an eternity since he had looked into it. He suspected he didn’t want to know.

Hm. Eternity. The ironclad obligations of work returned to him. Pillars, supports and shields at his disposal, waiting to be reassembled. Reattached. ISOL would be screening candidates today, and he would be wearing his actual armor for that. Montana, snow, the antelope, and even Frank Spektor would have to wait.

Carter tried to blow out the last of the dream with a deliberate sigh, rising from bed. He passed Ajax, patiently awaiting orders. Or breakfast. “Let’s go for a run. I’m not done sweating.”