"So this virus . . . by your calculations, will take three days to create?" Crysilis asked.

"Unfortunately, from reviewing Vecto's records, his programming is a very complex series of commands in a foreign language, not just the simple ones and zeros," Dr. Azmeck noted as he sat in a hovering chair that seemed to dwarf him. "Not to mention, it'll take hours upon hours to put the virus through a series of tests to evolve it into a form that can penetrate through his antiviral scans." Azmeck stroked his chin. "That is assuming that Vecto's programming is based on conventional technology, which is undoubtedly not the case."

"There's no time to waste. Is there another way?" Crysilis asked, leaning against the wall and tilting his head back.

"Perhaps, just postulating, what if we were able to transplant human thoughts and commands to Vecto's mind to shut him down?" Azmeck was amused by his brilliant idea. "The human brain functions on bioelectric waves, which in turn may be transferable into data by converting the series of quarks and leptons that comprise an atom into computerized data."

Crysilis mused over the idea. "Yeah, but Vecto's more than the typical coding, remember? And how long will that take?"

"A matter of months, perhaps . . . for the study, of course. Science takes time, I'm afraid," Azmeck said, acknowledging it wasn't the best of ideas for the situation at hand.

"Then perhaps we need force after all . . ."

"I'm afraid so, unless I'm able to formulate another plan," Azmeck said. "I'll be sure to let you know if I do. I had no idea it would take such a long time to create an anti-Vecto virus."

Crysilis walked over to the door.

"Well, any ideas, son?"

"I'm going to the Gateway."

"You mean the Gateway of Time?" Azmeck was curious.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Vecto," Crysilis said, teleporting away.

* * *

Vecto slowly stood back up. A Lapton Map scan detected about one hundred men over a mound of dirt, many of them sitting down. Acro tanks climbed over the steep mound like tired bugs, splashing mud with every step. An army of soldiers prepared for combat.

"Ninety-nine barrels of guns in the way. Versus one machine," Vecto said as he moved forward. "I kind of like my odds."

And so did the SS6 trainees. Many of the tanks had three cannons on their roofs, adjustable but all aimed at Vecto. The long-shaft tri-cannons fired at Vecto, back-to-back, as rapidly as they could. The cannons struck Vecto's outer shield, pushing him back. Vecto was thrown into an obstacle-course structure, but stood back up. Yet more cannons pounded his shield. The training course blew up, and Vecto staggered to rise. He was weakening. This feeling . . . is this pain? Vecto pondered. Was this what Leroy warned him about? Did he experience more pain the darker his shields became?

More shells impacted him, tossing him deeper into the mud. The tanks walked down the slope, continuing their approach. Vecto began fueling his shields with carbon. He had to get stronger. He had to take revenge.

A barrage of heavy firepower catapulted from the tanks, creating a dead zone around Vecto. The area went up in smoke as the tanks came to a stop and ceased fire.