Episode 133

                “Would you mind not shooting at the nuclear weapon?”
                                Deacon, Broken Arrow

                “Oak Ridge was part of the Manhattan project back in the day.” Vincent explained to the four who listened around the hood of the car. Parked in the electric hum of the neon lights of the gaudy, all-night fast-food restaurant, the five spoke quickly in hushed tones.

                “The reactor there is being targeted for destruction,” The knight went on. “The thing is, by all the intelligence that we’ve gathered, it doesn’t look like they’re going to use it as a weapon, they’re going to use it as some type of distraction. My theory is that they’re going to use the threat of detonating the nuclear reactor as black-mail/extortion to buy themselves time to dig in even deeper once they make their move, whatever that may be.”

                “Our plan,” Jason took over, speaking more to Lilah and Morgan. “Is to go into the Brotherhood’s local cell and take them down: A surgical strike at a small farmhouse just outside Knoxville, just on the other side of UT. It’s a ten-man operation at the cell, according to our data, but we’re all confident that we can take them.”

                “Question.” Morgan said, holding up his hand. Before the others could even fully register what he said, he continued. “I know for a fact that there are at least two knights in Knoxville. One of them’s at the university. Why aren’t they attending to this?”

                “Under qualified.” Arthur answered, giving Morgan a dead-on stare. “They’re not capable of handling this.”

                “But they could help.” Morgan pressed the rhetorical point. Vincent and Lilah looked from the former knight to their leader. Jason just glared.

                “We’re trying to keep this team as small as possible.” Arthur finally answered, sighing as he seemed to relent. “The fewer, the better.” He looked to Morgan for some sign of satisfaction, but the former knight just stayed quiet. “As for the plan,” The large knight finally addressed to the group as a whole. “I’ve got point, Jason you bring up the rear.” He looked at Morgan. “Since you’re new at this,”

                “Says you.” The former knight said, still appraising his sandwich as he ate.

                “Since you’re new to this team,” Arthur grudgingly allowed. “You stay behind, in case we need back-up.”

                The Tennessee breeze stirred the pine trees as Morgan leaned against the car, staring up at the star-filled sky. The cool air swept over the sky, sliding the dark clouds ominously over the moon and the bright, poignant stars.

                “I hate this part.” Vincent said, as he stood next to Morgan against the car. “Arthur goes off and does his thing, whatever that is. Jason gets himself all prettied up for combat. And Lilah does her stretches.”

                “Stretching before a fight’s not a bad idea.” Morgan said to no one as he leaned back, his hands stuck in his trench coat pockets.

                Vincent looked over at the former knight and gave him a thought. “So why did you quit?”

                “Why does everyone keep asking me that question?” The former knight returned.

                “Because knights are knights ‘til the day they day.” Vincent quoted. “Even if you stop believing, you never stop being.”

                “Maybe.” Was all Morgan would say. He looked around at the blue world of nighttime darkness, then turned back to Vincent. “What about you? You’re so interested in why I stopped being a knight, what made you become a knight in the first place?”

                “Why did I become a knight?” Vincent chuckled rhetorically. “I guess, it was my sister.” He looked over at Morgan, a sentimental look in his eyes. “My sister and her friends made me into a knight. You see, I grew up in Iraq. My parents, all my family, we’re all serious Muslim fundamentalists.”

                “One day, my sister came home from school. I was, I don’t know, eleven or twelve. And I just remember noticing her eyes. For the first time, I noticed her eyes and how beautiful they were. I noticed, I don’t know.” His voice trailed off. “After that, you know, everything was different. I saw girls at school and on the street and I was just bowled over by how beautiful their eyes were.”

                Morgan smiled. “So you became a knight to protect their eyes?”

                Vincent laughed also. “Yeah, I guess so.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the pavement as he thought. “Of course, my dad, he hates the idea. He thinks Chivalry goes against Muslim at some of the most fundamental levels.”

                “It does, doesn’t it?” Morgan asked. Ahmed just shrugged.

                “Differences make the world go ‘round.” He countered, changing up to put his hands in his trench coat pockets. “And not really. It just needs to be understood.”

                “Ah, the joys of community.” Morgan said, looking back out.

                “Community’s right.” Vincent laughed. “I moved to New York when I was thirteen or fourteen. And let me tell you, a rag-head in rural New York, oh no. That just isn’t going to happen.”

                “Sounds familiar.” Morgan lamented softly.

                “But man, when I walked in, didn’t have an accent or anything, those kids just didn’t know what to believe.” The knight went on. “And when a couple of the local bullies tried to pick a fight,” Vincent laughed. “Man.”

                “Yeah, that’s the fun part about being a knight.” Morgan laughed, nodding. “The ritual beating of the high school bully. Oh my god, you want to talk about a religious experience. For me, it was my entire high school football team. And man, let me tell you about the stares when I laid out two star players, the ‘toughest guys on the team’ in ten moves.”

                “But of course,” Vincent added with a laugh, still smiling. “Nobody stopped respecting them. Everybody knew, and I mean everybody, that you just got really lucky and they slipped on their shoelaces or something like that.”

                “People want to respect the bully.” Morgan mused. “It’s human nature.”

                As the words exited, Arthur appeared around the street, walking towards the two like a street preacher out to cleanse souls. “Are you two ready?” He said, his gravel voice projecting softly in the moonlight of the street lamp.

                “Stand here and wait.” Morgan said. “Check.”

                “This isn’t a joke, Morgan.” Arthur said guardedly as he stood in the darkness. “You’re our back-up, and if it comes to it, our get-away man.” The larger knight looked to Vincent. “Go get the others. Let’s get started.”

                In the darkness of the night, Morgan waited.

                The hill that they were parked on over-looked a long, flat valley of farmland, land where the crops were carved into the ground by the long tradition of generations of farmers. The steel irrigation tractors stood out in the clouded moonlight, while the starlight reflected off the world like the wishes of fairies.

                There was a loud, unrecognizable sound.

                Morgan’s head dropped into his hands. “You guys are worse than Armand.” He muttered.

                Arthur picked up the chair by the back, swinging it around just before slamming it into the back of the Hand Agent. The man went down hard, slamming onto the floor. The large knight moved to stand over the agent, but a second man came rushing in, trying to bring a pistol to bear.

                Arthur swung around; slicing his katana threw the air, slicing the man’s clothes. The scared man jumped back, but the large knight moved too fast, punching him across the face to knock him down onto the ground.

                The Hand agent was up and swung for a fast body blow to Arthur’s abdomen. The knight moved narrowly out of the way, just before slamming the broad back of his katana into the man’s face. Blood came from his smashed nose as Arthur grabbed the back of the man’s neck before throwing him through the window of the living room. The man hit the ground hard, unmoving. Blood spilled out from his chest.

                “Where did you guys learn to do this stuff?” Morgan asked rhetorically to the night, staring down at the farmhouse in question as he ignored the wind playing with his hair.

                Lilah swung her katana for the man’s legs, barely missing as he stumbled back, trying to take aim with his shotgun. He pulled the trigger, but only as he fell, the blast exploding through the roof. Lilah rushed at him, slicing to impale him as she drove her katana down into the ground.

                A fast kick to the knees and the girl hit the ground as a Hand agent came up from behind her. He made sure the other operative was okay, then he kicked Lilah again in the ribs.

                This time, though, the girl swung her katana like it was a whip, driving the blade deep into his leg. The Hand Agent dropped as Lilah came up with her knee to his face. Blood exploded on her jeans, but she kept moving, kicking the Agent in the back of the head with her right boot.

                Red and blue appeared in the night. Echoing off the leaves and the trees, the distant sound of authority and civil power resounded into the darkness. Morgan watched with crossed arms and an expectant look as Arthur led his team up the steep hill, rushing towards the car. “You guys suck, you know that?” He said to them as soon as all four appeared out of the mountainous darkness.

                “Just drive!” Arthur yelled as he ran past Morgan and jumped into the passenger’s seat.

                “Anything you say boss.” Morgan said, standing by the car, staying still.

                “Morgan!” Arthur yelled into the window. “What the hell are you doing?!”

                “He’s going to get us caught.” Jason yelled.

                “Lilah, be a dear and hand me that.” The former knight said calmly to the girl, pointing into the car at the drink from the dinner earlier. As she reached through the open window to hand Morgan the plastic cup, two police cars came swerving around the bend, skidding to a halt.

                Morgan turned to the cop cars and pointed down the street. “They went that way!” He shouted in a thick southern accent, looking terrified. “This bag van full of guys just pulled out off the hill and they tore off in that direction.”

                The two cop cars didn’t even come to a full stop.

Squealing their tires, they shot past the parked car. Morgan turned back to the car, taking his time to straighten his trench coat before he opened his door and sat down in the driver’s seat. He took out the keys slowly, then looked to Arthur. “You and me need to talk.”