Nonetheless, Cal got his feet under him and went outside the building just as the sun was starting to peek up from over the mountains. The weather had improved considerably since he was captured. As long as you were going to be held captive somewhere, there were far worse places than a thousand-year-old temple.
Cal really didn’t think highly of other religions, when he thought of them at all, but there was an undeniable serenity to the place. It was called Songbul-sa, a Buddhist temple tucked into an ancient fortress on the side of Mount Jongbang. He had no idea where he was on a map — and would’ve been stricken to know he was less than 150 kilometers from the front — but the place seemed like a slice of heaven compared to what had come before.
The Chinese and North Koreans were using the ruins of the fortress and the still-operating temple as a safe haven and operating base. Most of the soldiers were camped among the ruins, but Black Wind was held in such high regard that he was given quarters within the monastery itself, and tended to silently, almost reverently, by the robed, bald monks. They also gave the same treatment to Cal and Miguel, and Yamato as well, to Cal’s surprise, allowing them the bedding and some decent food. Cal would’ve killed for some spare ribs, mind you, but the temple food was surprisingly good, even with the lack of meat. Those Buddhists really knew their way around some spice.
They’d been kept there for a couple weeks now, once the Koreans had figured out just how to keep them. After Yamato’s outburst in the POW camp, they’d kept him fully sedated for days, waking him just enough to feed him. Even then, though, Cal could tell the young man was getting weaker and weaker. Cal had tried to slip him a little life energy whenever he could, but they’d been keeping Cal’s hands chained up behind his back most of the time, having seen what he could do to a man when angry enough. He felt bad about what had happened to that soldier. Some folks could get used to really hurting people like that. Cal hoped he never would.
Ultimately, they were given a choice. Behave, or watch a bunch of American POWs get slaughtered — as many as they had on hand. Kim had translated the ultimatum with a pained look on his face, and even Black Wind himself had seemed uncomfortable with the idea. But it was incredibly effective. If the Reds so much as saw a spark out of Yamato, or Cal made someone feel even just a little sleepy, people would die. Lots of people.
Now, that didn’t mean Yamato was always a hundred percent on board — Cal had to talk down the hothead a few times after he was allowed to wake up and had the situation explained to him. But Cal remained the senior commander on the scene and, with a great deal of patience, he’d managed to get Yamato in line every time. It was wiser, of course, to hold out for the right time. Their last attempt was ill-conceived. They’d been tired and angry and they hadn’t been thinking right. They had to pick their spots better moving forward.
Mostly, though, Cal felt bad for all the people who died for nothing. Even the Reds had moms and dads. And he wasn’t going to condemn a bunch of Americans to the same fate just so they could try and fail again.
Cal looked over to the guards on the other side of the little room — each Variant had two men on him at all times, armed to the teeth. Today’s pair looked young, maybe sixteen each, and that was generous. But they had fully loaded rifles with them, as usual — leftovers from World War II or even earlier, but rifles all the same. Cal nodded at them and waved, but was greeted with stoic, inscrutable staring, as always. They no doubt had orders to shoot on sight at the slightest hint of provocation, so Cal made damn sure not to give them any.
Instead, he pulled on his boots — they’d been given fresh clothes and real boots, another sign of favor — and stepped outside his room and onto the wooden building’s porch, beautifully carved and tended to, with a tiled roof overhead and intricate columns supporting it. There was a mist hanging low over the trees this morning, obscuring some of the mountains, but it was a damn fine sight regardless. Toward the main temple building, Cal could hear woodblocks being struck — the Buddhist monks were at their morning prayers. That meant breakfast would be soon, with rice, some kind of salty soup, and pickles. It wasn’t bacon and eggs, but there was definitely something to it, because Cal always felt nourished afterward, but not heavy. He figured he might look into that diet more when he got home, have Sally give it a try….
If he ever got there again. A wave of sorrow and regret washed over Cal for a long moment as he thought of his beautiful wife and his son, Winston. He swore that if he ever got home again, he’d find a way to hang it up with MAJESTIC-12 and just go off with Sally and grow old together on Social Security. And they’d watch Winston, now in law school, become a lawyer and follow his dream of seeking justice and equality for his fellow Negroes.
Yes, Cal wanted to grow old. Theoretically, so long as he kept his life-energy levels up, he could live indefinitely. But how much life would he have to hoard as he got older? Back when he’d first discovered his ability to drain life — well after he found out he could heal people — he could slaughter a horse or a cow and be a hale and healthy twenty-five. Now it took two or three head of cattle to take him from his real age to that peak again. So how much would he need when he turned eighty? Ninety? A hundred? It really didn’t seem fair, after a while, living like a vampire to stay young. Sure, he could keep Sally young, too, but there would come a point when the price tag would be too high. Best to let it go sooner rather than later, before they got too used to the benefits and started justifying the drawbacks.
At least, that’s where Cal stood now. He wondered if, when he was old and about to die, he might start thinking differently. What a test of faith and morality that would be… and Cal honestly couldn’t say how he’d respond. That was a frightening thing to contemplate.
Cal’s attention was drawn to the monastery gate, where shouts and movement could be heard on the other side. He didn’t know Korean from Greek, but he could at least tell the ruckus was a positive one — there was no gunfire, for starters. Finally, the gates opened, and Cal saw Hei Feng stride into the courtyard, flanked by a bunch of grinning young soldiers, weapons held in triumph. They hadn’t seen much of the Chinese Variant since they arrived — apparently, the young man was in high demand. Of course, the ability to deflect bullets and send people flying wasn’t something you came across every day. Cal had picked up enough scientific lingo through the years to theorize that, like Miguel Padilla, Hei Feng had the ability to manipulate kinetic energy. Miguel’s Enhancement allowed him to adjust a moving object’s kinetic energy to make sure it went where he wanted, every single time. Hei Feng could do the same, but only away from him, and only if that object was already moving. Neither of them could so much as lift a pebble, but once that pebble was thrown, the two of them could probably have it bounce all over the damn place.
Cal turned to see that Miguel and Yamato, the latter looking particularly sleepy, had joined him out on the porch, along with their guards. At least three of the guards had weapons trained on them, but the frightening thing was, Cal was getting used to that.
A young soldier separated himself from Hei Feng’s pack and ran toward the porch, shouting in Korean. Suddenly, there were rifle barrels in their backs and some shouted words Cal had grown to recognize, in a general sense, as “move it.” They were shoved and prodded down the stairs and into the courtyard, and from there toward one of the nicer buildings in the complex, where the monks stayed and ate. It was also where Hei Feng himself was quartered, when he was around.