by H C Edwards
The tech glanced at the door then back at the screen pad in his hands.
“I think we need to do a system diagnostics check. You seem to be experiencing some-”
“I am fine,” Claire said, even as the twitches stopped.
She turned her head to the tech.
“What is your name?”
“M-my name?” he asked. “Um, my name is Todd.”
“Do you have a family, Todd? Any loved ones?”
The question seemed to make him uncomfortable.
“Um, no. I, uh…no, I don’t. Look, I think I need to call-”
“How many people have you killed like this…for the council?”
The question completely unnerved him.
“W-what?” he stuttered, the screenpad dropping from his stiff fingers and clattering to the floor.
“How many people, Todd?”
“I-I-I,” he stuttered, his jaw moving up and down, his eyes going to the door where the guard was stationed outside the room.
“Do not call for him,” Claire said evenly.
The tech held his hands up in front of him in a warding gesture.
“Listen, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I-”
“Does it bother you?” she pressed, swinging her legs off the cot and standing.
“Lady, I just do what I’m told, okay? I don’t even-”
Claire had heard enough. Her fist shot out quickly, faster than it had ever moved before. At the last moment, she veered off, just grazing his chin. It was enough, however, to cause him to spin about and drop to the floor unconscious.
She looked down at her enclosed hand, knowing that she could have killed him, wanted to kill him, but had changed her mind at the end.
Would she have felt the same indifference seeing his inert body on the ground as she would his corpse? The fact that she couldn’t say troubled her more than the thought of killing.
What would her father have said about that?
Claire listened, expecting his voice, but it didn’t come. She had a feeling she’d never hear it again.
Bending over, she yanked the clothes off the unconscious tech, throwing her own gown to the floor after. Now she knew why it seemed familiar. Such a flimsy thing and yet it felt like chains around her body.
The clothes were big, but she cinched the belt tight around her waist then put on the lab coat. After, as she looked down at the mostly naked man, she felt sorry for him.
She was glad that she hadn’t killed him, and that thought made her feel better.
Claire walked up to the door. The sensor engaged and opened. Without missing a stride, she grabbed the surprised guard by the face and slammed his head into the wall before he could even utter a word of protest.
When he slid to the floor, she squatted down and pulled out the pistol in his holster, tucking it into the pocket of her labcoat.
Talbot had said the boy was in the clinic, and even though it defied any sort of logic, she was certain that he was talking about Quentin.
Claire paused, still bent over the unconscious guard, searching for those emotions that usually arose when she thought of him, but there didn’t seem to be anything at all, at least nothing she could quantify.
Did she lose that part of her?
There had always been a slight flutter in her heart when Quentin rose to mind, a feeling of being lost and found at the same time, afraid but hopeful.
Where was that feeling now? Had they taken it from her in the transition, or was it the price paid for immortality?
Claire reached down and yanked the comms device form the guard’s ear and put it in her own. She listened intently as she walked in the direction of the clinic.
Misao’s ears were ringing. She groaned as her eyes opened. There was smoke and the acrid smell of ozone in the air. She was on her back, staring at the ceiling.
It took a moment for her to realize where she was, what had happened. When it came to her, she tried to sit up too quickly and swooned, nearly passing out. Hand to her head, she looked around the room. Behind her, near the open door of the cooling chamber, a large piece of shrapnel from the tank was sticking out of the wall. If it had been a foot to the left it would have gone into the chamber, and she doubted she would have woken from that explosion.
Dumb luck.
Misao crawled to the wall near the tunnel opening and pulled herself up. Her legs were not nearly as wobbly as they had been before, but now her whole body throbbed with pain, and after a quick glance around the room, she realized that she had somehow lost her gun.
“Perfect,” she mumbled, and for a second she felt like laughing.
There was the sound of metal screeching, and then a low boom that snapped her attention back to the moment. Misao slid along the wall and peeked around the corner.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the damage. The exploded tank had blown the tunnel apart. It looked as if a giant hand had come down and scooped away a twenty foot section. She could see darkness beyond the fringes of the bent out metal of the walls but nothing else. Unfortunately, she also saw the bodies of the guards, about twenty feet past the swath of destruction, or at least what was left of them.
The sight made Misao bend over and retch violently. She hadn’t eaten in more hours than she could remember, so what came out was acidic bile that burned the back of her throat and made tears come to her eyes. A cramp hit her stomach almost immediately, and she fell to her knees, clutching her mid-section and crying out in pain.
For a long time she didn’t think the muscles would loosen. She had to fight for breath, the pain near unbearable, as if a long knife was twisting in her belly. She thought of those poor guards and the pieces of them lying all around the tunnel floor and against the walls and wanted to scream.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, her stomach unclenched. It happened quickly, so that she gasped in air with relief, the pain fading, but leaving a stain on her memory like a reminder.
Misao rolled onto her side, curled up in a ball as she drew in shuddering breaths. She felt like she needed to stay there for awhile, maybe regain some of her strength before attempting her feet again, but just as she started to close her eyes, the lights went out…and the alarms started to blare.
The End of Dreams
The clinic entrance was a beautiful solarium, a large open area built along the curve of the Pantheon, replete with curved sofas end tables that were carved to resemble a bird’s eye view of the heart of the city. Between the pieces of furniture were large pots embracing the most beautiful selections of fauna, the displays ranging from the Sumazau Orchid, with its petals reaching out like the limbs of a lithe dancer, to the Jade Vine, its resplendent turquoise pedals seeming to reach for the light filtering through the layer of stain-glassed windows above. A beautiful fountain with a replica of Venus de Milo was the centerpiece, water spouting from the pores of her curled hair, cascading down along the perfect physique. It was meant to convey awe, as well as being a reminder that humankind had finally reached the pinnacle of its existence.
As Trey rushed out of the clinic and turned left at the fountain, heading towards the lift that would take him to the lower levels, a shot rang out, hitting the edge of the statue, sending chips of stone into his face and eyes. He immediately dove behind the low wall of the pool at the base of the fountain, even as more shots slapped at the water and stone above him.
He wiped away the dust and tiny pieces of rock from his eyes as he brought his pistol to bear. Looking left, he saw that the hallway was empty, meaning the assault had come from his right. Peeking up just for a second over the rim of the pool, he saw four guards armed with rifles coming down the opposite wing, no more than twenty yards in the distance. He ducked once more as another burst of fire came from their guns, but not before he had seen Talbot at the end of the hall, standing stock still with his cane between his legs, like the lord of all come to witness an execution.
The brief glimpse of his one-time friend and confi
dant filled Trey with an unbridled anger. He felt the hate coiling within his body, thrashing and snapping like an angry dog, its teeth and claws tearing at his insides, demanding to be set free.
A deep cry of fury built in his stomach and burst past his lips. Trey sprung out from behind the fountain, bounding into the small pool and hugging the statue of Venus for cover, squeezing off several rounds.
The first two caught one of the guards in the face and obliterated the top part of his head, the other six shots following in rapid succession. Those bullets were meant for Talbot, and the aim was true, but the old man had ducked down when he saw Trey appear, and the wall a few feet behind the councilman took the punishment.
The guards were young, but they were trained well. Trey had seen to it, in fact, and after that initial surprise attack, they laid down a long burst of fire as they advanced, tearing apart the statue in front of him.
Trey felt something like the kick of a horse in his midsection, and was thrown back out of the pool to the floor. He slid a few feet on the wet ground and when he came to a stop, rolled over twice, clearing the low wall of the fountain, firing between his legs.
Another guard dropped, leaving just the two, but Trey’s gun had fallen on an empty cylinder. They might have had him then except their guns were empty as well. Just as they reached for fresh clips, Trey scrambled a few feet to his right and grabbed the legs of a large armchair, hurling it towards them. The closest guard was the quickest, but just as he cocked the rifle and took aim again, the chair slammed into his torso and sent him sprawling, the bullets hitting the layer of stain-glass above the solarium.
The last guard ducked as shards of glass showered down around him, and Trey realized that in their brief exchange, four more guards had come around the bend of the hallway to join Talbot.
Jumping to his feet, he ran down the opposite hallway, reloading his pistol. He half-turned, and sent another few rounds back behind him, scattering the guards, buying him enough time to make the bend and get to cover. He stopped almost immediately and leaned back against the wall, looking down to see the damage.
There was a neat hole the size of his thumb right below his ribs. He felt around his back and grunted with pain as he pressed on the even larger exit wound. When he pulled his hand away, it came away covered in blood.
Trey wiped his palm across his uniform and pushed off against the wall. He wanted more than anything to go back and pick off the guards, fight his way to Talbot, see the look on his face as he ended him, but now that cooler sense had prevailed, he thought of Misao all alone in the cooling chamber.
It wasn’t much of a choice really.
Trey took off running down the hall towards the lift. He had a bit of a lead. The guards would be cautious now, having lost two of their own, and wouldn’t be advancing as quickly. Of course, that also meant they would have alerted the rest of them as to his position, and that was fine. If they were focused on him, that meant less of them to go after the doctor and Quentin.
The lift, when he came to it, was open. He ran into it and punched in Misao’s security code that would allow him access to the lowest levels. The doors started to close just as he heard booted feet from around the hallway.
“Upload Sia now,” his father said from his perch near the doorway.
“It hasn’t been five minutes yet,” Quentin argued from behind the desk.
He was holding the forearm computer in his hands.
Griffin stepped away from the door, the rifle looking almost comically out of place in his hands.
“You heard the shots,” he said. “That was a helluva lot more than just one gun. The Major could be dead. We need to do this and get somewhere safe.”
They had both heard the gunfire, and the sudden cessation of it, but Quentin had not given up hope.
“You said we’d wait,” Quentin said evenly. “So we wait.”
“Goddamit, Quentin!” his father erupted angrily. “We don’t have time to argue about this! This is not about one person, this is about everyone!”
“I know, Dad,” Quentin replied, nonplussed. “But you gave your word.”
His father looked on the verge of exploding, his eyes wild and slightly unhinged. He took a few steps forward, perhaps thinking of taking the forearm computer himself.
Quentin put it protectively behind his back.
“What’s the point of saving everyone if we can’t save one?” he asked defiantly, and his father stopped in his tracks, a look of frustration mixing with the anger.
“You couldn’t save mom,” Quentin continued. “No matter how hard you tried. And you can’t save me either.”
The words seemed to sap the anger from his father’s face. He looked hurt and scared, and Quentin knew it wasn’t fear for his own life but for the life of his son.
“I knew the risk when I came here, Dad,” he said, lowering his voice to ease the sting. “We all did, but we came anyways, because it was the right thing to do. And the right thing to do now, is wait.”
His father sighed, his shoulders drooping, but he was smiling. It was a somber one, filled with the fear and uncertainty of their situation, yet a smile nonetheless, one that Quentin could return.
“He has roughly two minutes,” Griffin said, turning around and walking back to the door. “After that, it doesn’t matter what inspirational-”
He didn’t get to finish his sardonic sentence, because at that moment Quentin heard the retort of a gun, and watched in horror as his father stumbled backwards and crumpled to the floor.
Claire waved at the closest door sensor and ducked into the darkened room when she heard the approach of several boots. She never would have recognized the sound with her human ears, but her synthetic ones were more than apt at picking it up.
She waited, breath baited, as the boots passed the door and continued down the hallway. Even then, she gave a good five count before exiting the room.
The guards, being the only ones who wore boots in the Pantheon, had disappeared around the bend. She tried to guess how many they could be, but even her new ears couldn’t decipher that information.
Walking quickly, but being careful not to let her steps ring out, Claire gave pursuit. She knew that the clinic was close. The corridor in this part of the building smelled freshly cleaned, the scent of lemon and fresh grass in the air. Funny how she had never noticed it before.
The first shot that rang brought her to an abrupt stop. It was so close that for a moment she thought that maybe someone was shooting at her, but then came the rapid fire of several rifles, and she knew that the echo in the corridors was playing tricks on her.
Claire heard a scream, except it was a scream unlike any she’d ever heard before, a primal rage full of violence so intense that it didn’t seem possible that it emanated from human vocal chords. It was quickly followed by rapid gunfire exchange.
She didn’t know how long it went on. A few seconds at most, but by the time it was over, she was hesitant to move on for fear of finding a hallway full of bodies around the next turn.
“Get after him!” a familiar voice yelled, one she knew quite well.
It was Talbot, and though his words were in the distance, they snapped her out of the fear. She heard the boots fading away, and picked up her pace to a run, fishing the pistol out of the pocket of the lab coat.
When she came to the corner, a cross junction connecting with a curved hallway that led to the north wing of the clinic, she skidded to a halt, peering around the edge cautiously.
Just past the bend of the wall, she could see her grandfather accompanied by a single guard, looking after another set of guards fading in the distance down the far hallway. She assumed that they were chasing someone, but who?
Talbot seemed frail, leaning mostly on his cane. She expected him to give pursuit with the rest of the guards, but when he limped to the solarium and the entrance of the clinic, he stopped in his tracks, turning his head.
Claire ducked back, thinking that he had som
ehow heard her, or perhaps even sensed her. She pulled the pistol up and cocked it, taking a grip with both hands. It felt heavy and bulky in her hands. She had never fired a weapon before, only read about it in the books she and Quentin shared.
Counting to three, Claire steeled herself, and turned the corner, arms upraised and holding the pistol out in front of her, only to find that Talbot and the guard were gone. She crept forward slowly, expecting them to appear from nowhere, having lain in wait for her, but she was almost to the solarium before she realized that they were truly gone.
Claire relaxed the slightest bit, lowering the gun, when heard another shot, only one, but this time coming from inside the clinic.
Talbot hobbled in and stopped next to the guard, who had his rifle aimed at Quentin.
The councilman looked at Griffin lying on the floor, and prodded him with his cane. There was a sharp gasp of pain.
“I’m glad you’re still with us,” Talbot said. “Because I want you to watch when I kill your son.”
He held out his hand to the guard, who drew his pistol from its holster and passed it over.
Talbot pointed the gun at Quentin’s chest.
“I would have preferred this to go differently,” he said. “But I can honestly say that you have been more trouble than you’re worth.”
Quentin looked down at the time displayed on the screen and back up.
“Can I show you something first?” he asked quietly.
“And what is that?” Talbot sneered.
“This,” Quentin replied, pressing the upload button on the forearm computer.
There were a few seconds where nothing happened, at which time Talbot smirked, cocking back the hammer of the pistol, but then the lights went out…and the alarms started to blare.
Misao swayed on her feet, weaving back and forth like a drunkard. She was trying to focus her vision and steel herself for the walk back into the cooling chamber, when she heard someone shouting her name.
She turned as the backup generators engaged and the lights came back on, not sure what to expect, and watched as a man leaped across the exploded gap of the tunnel. The sudden appearance of the stranger caused her to reel back in fright and lose her balance. She pin wheeled her arms, almost regained control, and then slipped on a patch of frozen condensation.