by H C Edwards
“Well, that’s one stroke of luck for today I guess,” Mia replied with a forced smirk. “Let’s hear it then. We don’t have much time.”
But Claire had frozen, her gaze locked onto something just over Mia’s shoulder, jaw slack and eyes widening with renewed fear.
Mia felt a coldness bloom in her stomach as she heard the crowd’s voices in front of her grow muted, all eyes turning towards her, or rather, what was behind her.
When Mia finally turned slowly around, it was to see that they were too late. There stood two ASF guards not more than a dozen yards away, the long barrels of their rifles trained on her and Claire. With the guards was a third person, a tall thin woman with almond eyes dressed in the robes of a councilmember of Akropolis.
Charlottesville
Trey opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings, but at least to a familiar face. Looking at Dr. Byrne stirred up a sense of déjà vu that was more memory than a feeling. He was older and had more lines gathered around his face, but that was just aesthetics. The man was over three hundred years old, and while he looked human, he was anything but. His son, on the other hand…he was something different entirely.
“Major,” Griffin Byrne acknowledged with a grim smile. “It’s been a long time.”
Trey looked down at his body and realized that he was strapped down so tightly that there was no give.
“Not so much time that I don’t remember our situation looking much the same as it does now.”
“You have to forgive me,” Griffin apologized. “But as you said, the circumstances of our last meeting requires a bit of caution on my side. I take it if you remember that, you also remember who it was put you in that situation.”
“Talbot,” Trey said deep in his throat, the name coming out like a growl.
“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “The bane of our existence it seems.”
Trey closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on that singular memory, that day in the cell, Talbot condemning him to the wipe after he had lost his daughter for the second time. He recalled Talbot’s speech about the greater good. How often had he heard the same talk over the years since that day, that first time?
“What did you do to me?” Trey asked as he opened his eyes.
“Your matrix was crashing. I’m not sure what happened but it seems like you were revived with the programmed block I installed all those years ago, except whoever did it this time around didn’t know what they were doing. It was sloppy work, so I removed it. Your memories, such as they are, belong to you again.”
“Dr. Wadzinski,” Trey mumbled.
“What?” Griffin asked.
“She’s the one who revived me.”
“Of course,” the doctor responded, nodding his head. “She would have recognized it as my work. Did she say anything about it to you, to Talbot?”
Trey shook his head. The doctor sighed with relief.
“We are lucky then. If it had been anyone else…”
He left the thought unfinished.
Trey looked from the doctor to the son and back again.
“Why would she do that; keep something like that from him?”
“Because,” Griffin replied. “We’ve worked closely these past few years. She is privy to the same information I have. To say the least, she is concerned. You see, we have a crisis on our hands, one perpetrated at the highest levels.”
“I know,” Trey said, looking down at his bonds. “Charlottesvile was no fluke of nature. What happened there was deliberate and planned.”
Griffin frowned.
“How do you know that?” he asked, though his stiff body language spoke volumes about his own knowledge.
“That block you put in,” Trey said. “Someone else found it, someone in Charlottesville.”
Griffin stepped forward and began to loosen the straps. After a few seconds, Trey was free to stand. It felt good to be clear-headed again, even though all the new memories felt like a heavy stone on his mind.
“So tell us…what happened in Charlottesville?” the doctor asked.
Trey nodded towards the son.
“It’s okay,” Griffin said. “There are no secrets between us.”
“I’m Quentin,” the kid said, though he was no longer a kid but a young man.
Trey remembered him as a boy, his innate curiosity, the solemnity that was more accustomed to an adult. He recalled the day that he found out the kid was not human; a domino that set in motion a freefall of events that led him here.
“I’m Trey.”
“The Major,” Quentin replied, his awe peeking through despite his effort to hide it.
“Just Trey will do. Do you remember me?”
Quentin glanced quickly to his father and then back again. He nodded.
“I do now.”
“Do you…”
Trey didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence.
“I know,” the young man replied, somehow sensing the direction the question was heading. “But I’ve got no strings to hold me down.”
Trey smirked. He liked the kid then and he liked him now. The boy’s father, on the other hand, that was something he was still undecided on. There was a lot of history there, and not much of it was pleasant. Of course, that was as much his fault as it was the doc’s.
“Charlottesville,” Griffin pressed.
“I’ll tell you what happened but I expect the same honesty from you,” Trey replied coldly.
The doctor’s lips pressed tight, and for a moment the Major thought there might be an angry retort, but the physical response was fleeting.
Griffin nodded his acquiescence before he spoke.
“No more secrets.”
“Now that we’re agreed on that,” Trey said. “I could really use something to drink before I spill my guts.”
A faint smile played on the corners of the doctor’s lips.
“How about a cup of Joe?”
“My God,” Trey said, eyes closed in bliss, sitting hunched over the kitchen table.
It had been a long time that he felt such a thing, since his daughter recognizing him after her first and only revival, but that was a doomed experience and he didn’t want the memory to interfere with the near ecstasy of the moment.
“That is my reaction every time,” Griffin said, sipping from his own mug of coffee.
Trey hovered over the murky black liquid and breathed in the fumes, triggering a whole set of memories he didn’t even know were there.
“I could forgive you a lot for this,” Trey murmured, opening his eyes and smirking to show that all may not be well between the two but neither was it all bad.
Quentin sat to the right shaking his head. He had declined a cup himself, making a face at the thought of another taste.
Trey took another drink, a bigger one, and felt the perk of caffeine hit his system. It was nice to know that some things didn’t change, though the body he occupied now was not the same since the last time he had a cup of coffee.
“What do you know of Charlottesville?” he asked the doctor, setting the cup down on the table but keeping it between both hands, as if reluctant to let go of its warmth.
“A coastal sanctuary,” Griffin replied. “We do a lot of trade-”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” Trey interrupted.
The doc shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting to his son as if there was culpability he didn’t want to impart.
“I don’t know what happened there, if that’s what you’re asking,” Griffin said defensively.
“But you know something,” Trey prodded.
The doctor licked his lips nervously.
“I know that a few years back the council had approved a highly classified joint operations plan with The Mountain. What that plan was I wasn’t privy to. But I do know that they required approval from both councils.”
Trey sat silently for a long moment.
“That’s all?”
“No,” Griffin said quietly, looking
down at his own cup of coffee. “Originally the plan involved three sanctuaries, New Charlottesville, Akropolis, and The Mountain. Apparently the project required resources from all of them or it wouldn’t be viable.”
“Why did Charlottesville back out?”
Griffin shrugged.
“Who’s to say? All I know is that they were involved for upwards a year, and when they pulled out the project was halted shortly after due to a lack of resources. Talbot wasn’t pleased about it to say the least.”
“Who told you all of this?”
“I uh,” and now Griffin looked less nervous and more anxious, worried even. “I’d rather not divulge at the moment. Suffice it to say, it’s a reliable source.”
Trey stared hard at the man, but after a few seconds realized that this was not something he was going to budge on.
“Okay,” he said, letting it go for now.
“But,” Griffin continued. “The project was recently resumed.”
“Let me guess,” Trey said stonily. “As of three weeks ago.”
The doctor shook his head.
“No…as of two months ago.”
Trey frowned.
Quentin, who up until this moment, had been a silent witness, blurted out, “I thought the project was halted due to a lack of resources?”
But Trey and Griffin was sharing a look, thoughts bridging the gap without having to be spoken.
“Unless somehow they knew that resources would soon be available in mass quantity,” Trey stated for the young man’s benefit.
“Wait,” Quentin said. “But that would mean…”
He trailed off.
Griffin leaned forward on the table.
“Major, I think it’s time you told us what you saw in Charlottesville.”
When he woke it was to find that he was propped against a wall, slumped over but unbound or otherwise hindered. He gave no outward appearance of consciousness, neither altering his breathing nor opening his eyes. Instead, he carried on the ruse, his ears tuned to his surroundings lest he give away the element of surprise again.
“You said they’d send someone. We should kill him now and be done with it,” said a voice with a slight southern drawl.
It had been a few hundred years since Trey had heard that accent.
“Don’t be so quick about it,” came the reply, a woman’s voice, deep and gruff, but unmistakably feminine.
“We all know why he’s here, a damn scout for the rest,” the man angrily retorted.
“If that’s true then it doesn’t matter what we do. They’ll come sooner or later.”
“I’ll be damned if I’m just gonna-”
“Hush your mouth,” said the woman. “He’s awake.”
Trey heard the rustle of rifles being brought to bear. It was a distinct sound, one he had heard a thousand times before. He opened his eyes and slowly raised his head. Gathered around him in a half circle were four people, three of which had rifles pointed at him, standing a good six feet back.
The woman stood in the middle of the men, slightly shielded by their bodies. She was much older than the rest of them, evident by the curly white hair that bloomed like a dandelion around her head, wrinkles like a roadmap covering her face. She was old but looked sturdy, standing straight and unafraid, dressed in the clothing of someone of standing, slacks and a dress blouse.
The men, on the other land, were less apparent, ranging from a machine maintenance worker in a grey jumpsuit, to a bedraggled engineer looking fellow who obviously didn’t know how to hold a rifle, the third man favoring his side and sweating every time he had to shift while trying to keep the rifle steady.
“How did you know?” Trey asked.
“Please,” said the woman. “Don’t waste our time with that. How about you tell us who you are and what you’re doing here.”
“That’s simple,” Trey replied. “I’m here to help you.”
The men looked from one to another but the woman didn’t flinch or miss a beat.
“What kind of help can a single man provide?”
“I have an air transport,” Trey said. “It’s a few buildings over.”
“No shit,” she stated impatiently. “We saw you land.”
As if in response to her blunt reply, the man that was dressed in the grey jumpsuit, the one most at ease with his rifle, pressed a button, which as Trey knew from the model, switched from gas compressed rounds to lethal ammunition.
“Easy there, Richard,” the woman said.
The man tensed as if he was about to disobey but then relented, his finger coming off the trigger.
“I did come here to help, despite what you believe,” Trey assured them, keeping his voice calm and even.
He wasn’t sure how these people had survived, but he was glad of it, despite the rifles trained on him and their inhospitable welcome. His best bet for surviving the next few minutes relied on keeping their attention long enough to hear what he had to say.
“It’s just me,” he continued. “No one else is coming. I was sent to look for survivors, if there were any. I have to admit that I didn’t expect to find anyone, at least not anyone human.”
“What’s your real purpose here?” she bluntly replied.
“It’s like I explained,” Trey said, and upon seeing the woman’s expression grow sterner, he hurriedly added, “but also to set up your quantum processor in a housing unit…to save everyone’s profile for future revival.”
“Bullshit,” she rumbled.
Trey’s eyebrows drew together in annoyance. He was not used to being questioned for his motives and even less used to the idea of being at someone else’s mercy, and while he understood the severity of their situation and the trauma they must have experienced, he felt as if they were definitely not being very receptive to his offer of assistance.
“Look, I don’t know what the hell you think I’m here for, but every word I spoke is true. We received survivors from your sanctuary. They told us what happened. The council sent me to look for other survivors, and if not, then to ensure that your profiles weren’t lost to the Ether.”
The woman didn’t speak for a long time, just stood there with that severe expression, as if waiting for him to give away some hint of his deception.
“What’s your name?” she finally asked.
“Trey Boeman,” he replied. “Major Trey Boeman…of the ASF.”
She reached out to her side and put a hand on the rifle barrel of the man closest to her, gently easing it down.
“I’m Councilwoman Trish Goodin.”
“How did you survive?” Trey asked as he sat upon an office chair that was brought just for him.
While the others were seated as well, they still were in a protective half-circle with their hands holding their rifles, ready to swing them up at the slightest provocation.
“This building is shielded,” Goodin explained.
She had eased herself slowly into a cushioned chair before the rest of them, wincing as she did so, as if hiding some unseen injury.
“Why?” Trey asked.
“Because under this building is our quantum computer.”
It made sense then, but it also made him wonder why there were only four of them.
“What about the rest? Surely there are more than just you.”
“The rest are gone,” she said harshly. “Those that didn’t drown are dead of rad poisoning.”
“You said this building was shielded?”
“It’s shielded,” she replied. “But it isn’t like the Wall. The radiation is still getting through.”
Trey frowned in realization.
“But that means-”
“We’re all dead,” she finished for him.
The men around her didn’t look scared so much as helpless and resigned, having accepted their fate long before Trey arrived.
“In Akropolis we have drugs, gene therapy. We can get-”
But the councilwoman was already shaking her head.
�
��We don’t have that kind of time. It might not show but my guts are already melting. By day’s end it’ll be like pudding in there. Same goes for the rest of us.”
There were nods all around. That’s when Trey noticed that maintenance man had a dark stain down the front of his jumpsuit that was still wet. It also explained the way that sweaty guy kept shifting in his seat and wincing, as if he couldn’t find a way to rest without pain, and also why the councilwoman had eased herself so slowly into her chair. They were all suffering the middle stage of severe radiation exposure.
Goodin was right. They had hours, maybe until the end of the day, if they were lucky. Pretty soon they would be coughing up blood. When their organs ruptured they would choke to death on the bile and their own insides. It wouldn’t be a pleasant death.
“Do you have something for the pain?” Trey asked, wondering if there was anything worth scrounging for on the air transport.
The councilwoman smiled wanly, sadly.
“We have each other,” she answered, gesturing with a hand toward the rifles. “But it’s hard to let go. Every breath is precious, you know?”
Trey did, but it had been a long time since he understood the feeling, several lifetimes in fact.
Goodin sighed.
“Albert here,” she said, nodding towards the spindly bookish man who had the air of an engineer. “He can give you the access codes you need to get to the quantum computer chamber. From there you can retrieve your processor. It’s deep underwater and I’m not sure if you’ll make it, but I’m sure you thought of that much before you even agreed to come here.”
“I did,” Trey replied softly.
The Major looked at each of the men in turn, studying their faces. They all looked at Goodin with a sense of reverence and almost love. It was Trey’s guess that they knew her before the disaster. He wondered how that was so, these few from obviously different walks of life.
“And you?” he asked. “Will you be here when I get back?”
The silence was all the answer he needed.
The one named Albert stood and slung his rifle over his shoulder.
“Follow me,” he said, walking towards a closed door, a slight limp in his steps.
Trey lingered.
“I’ll get the processor. Your profiles will be saved,” he said with assurance.