by T. C. Edge
“We should honour the agreement,” Martha said flatly. “He deserves that much for what he’s done for us.”
Deserves, Martha thought, finding her own wording so odd. This man had killed so many, been the harbinger of such grief and pain. If anything, he deserved to die more than most. But no more than me…she thought.
“Well then,” said Pamela, shrugging, lips pursing. She raised a thin, black eyebrow, as she often did when thinking. “I…suppose we can make him suit our needs. Embed a little bit of new programming into that warped consciousness of his. Yes,” she nodded to herself, “that might work. If he could be made to comply, he could be an asset.”
“I did promise that he wouldn’t have to serve, Pamela,” said Martha wearily. “It may backfire on us.”
“Backfire,” balked Pamela, turning up her nose. “Nonsense. I’m not comfortable letting that madman loose from this facility without some safeguards in place…”
Martha opened her mouth to disagree further, but Pamela waved her words away before they came with a typically dismissive and impatient flick. She turned back to the scientists, waiting patiently nearby, and drew Doctor Lang back over.
Pamela smiled as he came, puffing her chest out with a breath, then turned to Martha.
“We have some good news, my dear,” she said, eyes beginning to twinkle. “Harold, go ahead. You deserve to tell her.”
Harold Lang, eyes bordered by dark shadow, wizened face looking frail and exhausted, drew a breath. Despite his obvious fatigue, he looked excited by what he was about to say.
“Mrs Mitchell,” he croaked, voice gruff, “I’m delighted to say we have completed our work on Professor Phantom’s research. It is…a work of art, I have to say. Brilliant, quite brilliant…”
“And so are you, Harold,” smiled Pamela. “Don’t ignore your part in this. You have outdone yourself, truly.”
Harold Lang bowed respectfully, looking almost close to tears.
“Madam President, you honour me.”
“You honour us, Harold.” She laid a hand on the old scientist’s shoulder, and smiled pleasantly. Then she turned to Martha once more, whose heart had begun to pace. “We’re ready, Martha,” she said softly. “Come, follow me.”
Pamela began moving off, drawing Martha along with her, Doctor Lang falling into step behind. The other scientists, half a dozen of them, followed. They moved towards the rear of the large, bustling laboratory, past the cylindrical pod where Martha had first been introduced to Sarah’s perfect clone. The tube was open, the mattress empty.
Martha’s breathing grew stunted as they moved on, heading for a thick metal door. They reached it, and Pamela knocked lightly. A moment later, the door opened up, clanking loudly as if protecting something precious beyond. They were greeted by the pensive eyes of Doctor Nathan Cavendish, who’d headed up the creation of Sarah’s clone, as well as other synthetics down here in the hidden depths.
Martha peered past him and into a dark, circular room. A light flourished at its centre, illuminating two further coffin-like pods, positioned end to end and linked by an assortment of wires and leads.
“Everything set, Nathan?” asked Pamela.
“Yes, Madam President. We’re all ready.” His eyes lit excitedly, and he turned to Martha with a smile.
Pamela did the same, and then opened up her arm for Martha to pass through. She hesitated, her breathing shallow, pulse racing.
“It’s OK,” whispered Pamela. “Go ahead.”
Martha glanced at her, and saw the keen eyes of her old friend. They gave her strength, and she stepped over the threshold on wobbling knees, legs turning to jelly, eyes beginning to blur. The room was dim around the edges, several technicians and scientists inside, their usually bright white coats dulled within this setting. They worked at stations around the walls, several of them placed at intervals across the room. The small procession followed Martha in, fanning out to the left and right, eyes on the illuminated pods at the centre of the strange, spherical chamber.
Martha inched forwards ahead of the others, eyes stuck fast on the two pods. She approached, and looked through the glass windows set to their flanks. Inside the one on the left, she saw the brand new clone, her daughter’s face vibrant and full of colour, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling silently, gently. She looked to the other, and saw her true daughter, her Sarah. The contrast was stark, her skin pallid and blotched, her frame sunken and depleted of muscle and fat, her chest rising and falling more sharply. Both were connected to wires, mesh domed-shaped helmets on their heads. Martha stared, eyes turning from one to the other, body starting to tremble…
She felt a hand touch her arm, and a short gasp escaped her. She turned to look at Pamela, who smiled supportively, and gently drew her back. They withdrew a few paces, the two women standing side by side.
“Are you ready, Martha?” Pamela whispered.
Martha stared forward, hesitating. She nodded gently.
“Good. Then let’s bring beautiful Sarah back.” She heard Pamela shift, looking to one side, where Doctor Lang and Doctor Cavendish had taken position. “Go ahead,” Pamela said.
The room began to hum gently a moment later. The edges, which were already dim, faded into further shadow, and the pods in the centre, already lit, began to glow brighter. Martha’s body shivered as she stood, watching, barely feeling her touch as Pamela reached down and gripped her hand. The humming grew louder, a buzz spreading from the room’s centre. Lights began flashing across the ceiling, the walls, the floor, sparks of illumination drawn to the pods. Those glowed, bright lights spreading out from within, the wires and cables connecting the two radiating brilliantly.
Martha could hardly breathe as she watched, Pamela’s fingers holding on tight. Soon the entire room was bordered in total darkness, all light seeming to be drawn to the core. She stared, breathless, as the humming built to a crescendo, before gradually, slowly, fading once again. The lights followed, the glow diminishing. The edges of the room returned from the darkness, lightly illuminated as they were before. Within a minute, the room had returned to normal, and a deep silence fell upon all within it.
No one dared speak, or move. Pamela gently drew her fingers from Martha’s hand, and Martha found herself coaxed back forward. She stepped on shaking legs, heading between the two pods. She filled her lungs, shut her eyes, and then approached.
Her eyes opened, and she looked within. They went right first, through the glass at Sarah, real Sarah. She looked just as she did before - pallid, emaciated, stricken by her illness. Nothing had changed. She turned her gaze right, to the clone of her dear daughter. Her skin seemed to glow a little brighter, her chest rising a little faster.
Suddenly, from nowhere, the pod opened up, its lid lifting with a hiss of air. Martha gasped, and took half a step back. She stopped, and glanced to the right. The other pod remained locked, its interior falling into darkness, the face of her sick daughter fading away.
She looked again at the clone, stepping forward gently towards it, a swell of hope beginning to rise up inside her. She saw movement, subtle movement; fingers started to twitch, toes doing the same. Eyes flickered, lips creaking open, a breath gently drawn into brand new lungs. Martha stood, paralysed, watching. The beautiful face before her was waking. Her daughter…
The eyes opened. Martha stared, tears building. She didn’t dare breathe, or make a sound. She just stared, waiting, hoping, hardly believing…
The clone of Sarah’s eyes stared up for a moment, bright blue, beautiful. A slight frown fell, then she turned her head, and looked right at her mother.
“Mommy,” she whispered. Her voice was perfect.
Martha’s tears broke free, dripping from her lashes, flowing down her cheeks and into the corners of her quivering mouth.
“Sarah,” she croaked softly. “It’s…really you?”
Sarah frowned again, thinking, eyes distant but…but hers.
“What happened, mommy?” Sarah asked inn
ocently, her voice a beautiful melody. “I had…the worst dream.”
Martha fell forward, collapsing into a crouch in front of the pod. She reached out and took Sarah up into her arms, weeping violently, holding her tight. A sense of profound joy flooded her, casting everything else away. Nothing seemed to matter now. Nothing but Sarah, nothing but her.
She drew back again, holding her daughter’s face in her palms. She stared into that face for a long moment, hardly believing it, shaking her head.
“It’s really you,” she whispered again, sniffing. “It really is you.”
She kissed her cheeks, and stroked her hair, laughing and crying at the same time.
“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, confused. She looked over Martha’s shoulder. “Where are we?”
Martha heard feet tapping behind her. She turned from her daughter, as if forgetting anyone else was there, and looked to see Pamela approach. Her usual calm countenance was breaking, eyes filled with joy. Martha leapt to her feet and hugged the President tight, ignoring the usual decorum, not caring who was watching. Pamela hugged her back, though maintained a little more presidential reserve.
“I can’t thank you enough, Pamela,” Martha wept. “You did it. It worked.”
“We did it,” Pamela whispered into her ear. She drew back, and turned to look at the scientists, hands clasped before them, smiling broadly. Others were shaking hands, even clapping. A sense of euphoria was filling the air.
Pamela nodded hastily to Doctors Lang and Cavendish. They hurried forward, their exhaustion forgotten, old faces smiling like they hadn’t in years.
“You have done fine work here, gentlemen,” Pamela said. “But there’s still plenty to be done.” Her eyes intensified, jaw clenching, chin lifting proudly. “Activate the first batch,” she said, nodding to them. “It’s time we took our revenge.”
The doctors nodded and hurried away, given no time to bask in their triumph. Pamela looked back to Martha, and then glanced at Sarah, sitting up in her pod, body clothed in light, white fabric. The girl was looking around in wonder, as though her eyes had never been used. They hadn’t, really. Not these ones.
“I’m so happy for you, Martha,” Pamela said, smiling. “You have your daughter back. Now, we take our nation back.” Her eyes narrowed. “And we make the others pay.”
Martha’s joy weakened at the face before her. It was the face of a woman who had murder on her mind.
And much murder, Martha knew, was going to follow.
The world was about to erupt into chaos.
THE END
The Phantom Chronicles will continue in book 4…
What’s Next?
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I hope you’re still enjoying the story, and are anxiously awaiting the release of the next book :)
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Toby C Edge
Also by T. C. Edge
THE ENHANCED SERIES (MAIN SERIES):
The Enhanced (Book One)
Hybrid (Book Two)
Nameless (Book Three)
Assassin (Book Four)
Captive (Book Five)
Renegade (Book Six)
Invader (Book Seven)
Avenger (Book Eight)
Defender (Book Nine)
Nemesis (Book Ten)
THE WARRIOR RACE SERIES (ENHANCED UNIVERSE):
The Warrior Race (Book One)
The Red Warrior (Book Two)
Angel of War (Book Three)
THE WATCHERS SERIES:
The Watchers Trilogy:
The Watchers of Eden (Book One)
City of Stone (Book Two)
War at the Wall (Book Three)
The Watchers Trilogy Box Set
The Seekers Trilogy
The Watcher Wars (Book One)
The Seekers of Knight (Book Two)
The Endless Knight
The Seekers Trilogy Box Set