by CG Blade
“Do you want me to go with you?” Harrison asked from his buggy seat.
“No sir. You had better stay here. Patrick protect!” she told her patriotic striped drone with a one-finger sign up in the air. Patrick hovered above Roger as Petra made her way to the large gates. Roger looked up at Patrick and Patrick seemed to look back at him as it made a chirping sound.
“Do you think he is still here Ter?”
“Files indicate he has never left this domicile in 2.3 years Petra.”
“I wonder how he gets food.”
Petra was now ten feet from the buggy and staring through the rusty iron gates. She quickly changed from the feet up into her Cobalt armor turned her head to Roger Harrison and winked.
“Holy shit Lieutenant! You weren’t kidding were you?”
“No sir. I’ll be right back.”
Petra took out her right Colt and aimed it at the padlocks shielding Mr. Harrison in the process. He ducked in his seat as metal from the bullet hitting the lock smoked sparked and clanked. She slowly opened the creaky rusty gates not knowing what to expect next. The half-quarter mile long blacktop driveway that wound around the front of the house was silent. The birds and insects that appeared in Ohio at dusk were the only sounds surrounding the estate. She could hear crickets starting to chirp as critters ran through the uncut foot high unkempt landscape. Now changing back into her Dress Blues, Petra made her way towards the massive dirty white double front doors. Halfway down the driveway she saw what looked like a curtain move so Petra took off her officer’s cap, tucked it under her arm, and walked towards the mansion. Blonde and blue hair up in a military style bun her eyes were scanning every crack that could be used as a surveillance lookout by someone. Once again, she politely rapped on the front door of another well-known man.
“Hello sir!” she yelled loudly as her words echoed throughout the front of the mansion and the yard. She turned to look at Mr. Harrison who was now sitting on top of his seat in the buggy trying to get a look at the doors she was standing in front of. He was pushing a hovering Patrick out of his way so he could get a better look at the house.
BAAAAANG-POOOOOOF!
Projectiles went through the front door and hit Petra in the chest. Her armor had responded in time and she was lying in the middle of the front yard. She made an indentation in the tall grass fifteen feet long from the force of the blast kicking up muddy earth with her as she slid in the wet yard before coming to a halt. Petra picked up her head slowly and looked over her spread knees to see a three foot wide hole in the front door and a whole lot of smoking white wood pieces lying everywhere. Singed smells came off of the door as the pale, white, brown-bearded occupant looking out of the large blast hole was pointing the shotgun at her—well—let’s say her “Lady Parts”. She put her hands up in front of her face and closed her legs as the second blast came quickly. The shotgun rounds bounced off her and hit various wood pieces around the nearest pillar leaving dents and gouges. She began crawling on her knees ducking and covering in a small bush in front of the house out of eyesight of her shooter. The shots were not harming her; she just didn’t appreciate being shot at very much.
“Rick—Rick!” Roger Harrison’s deep voice was now coming from the middle of the driveway. His hands cupped together over his mouth forming a human megaphone aimed towards the warzone.
“Roger?” the shaky voice came loudly from the hole in the door.
“Yes you damn dumbass!” Harrison said putting his hands down and standing in the driveway stomping his feet. “Would you please stop shooting the nice lieutenant?”
“What the hell is she? She’s like weird or something. What’s she wearing some kind of armor?”
“I’ll tell you if you stop shooting at her!” “Just like a damn Democrat always shooting first and asking questions later” Harrison had muttered aloud.
“Well—start talking!” He screamed out of the hole in the door. His beard was sticking out through the hole with him.
He never saw Petra who was squatting and sliding against the contours of the front of the dirty house as the two of them exchanged words. She reached up from below and yanked on the gun and the shooter. Roger Harrison ducked as the gun went off in the process and she pulled half of Rick’s body out of the hole. He was just hanging there by the waist swaying back and forth. The weight of his body put a strain on the already decaying rusted hinges and the door fell off the house with the crash of wood meeting cement. Half a man lay on his front eave with half a door on top of his lower half. His unkempt years of hair and hygiene were an ungodly sight and smell as Petra threw the door pieces into the yard trying to help him up as he started whining about how sore he was.
“What the hell is going on? What are you doing here Roger?” he asked as he put his fingers through his greasy long brown hair trying to remove wood chips and dirt.
“Mr. Speaker I presume?” Petra asked putting her hand out to help him up as she changed back into her Army Dress Blues in front of him from the ground up.
“Well I was—holy shit.” He exclaimed looking Petra up and down in shock and amazement.
“Let’s go get you cleaned up sir,” Petra told him as she helped the open-mouthed broken bearded man in dirty blue jeans and a torn white shirt limp through the opening where a door used to swing.
The Navy’s Commander Rick Connley was once the country’s most decorated and highly respected Democrat before he was forced out of the Speaker of the House position two years ago. He had never married and inherited his land through his family. Although his father had helped forge his political career, he didn’t keep in touch with him anymore—or anyone in his family for that matter. He hid from WASPs and drones in his dark and dirty locked up mansion dreading daylight and the sound of high-pitched whining machinery.
Chapter 30
EXCURSION
After a candle filled night of political debates over old dusty bottles of Boone’s Farm wine and canned SPAM, Vice President Roger Harrison and the Speaker of the House Rick Connley stepped out of the one door mansion in Dublin Ohio and onto the front eave taking in the morning sunlight and beautiful cool air. Spring thoughts were turning to summer as both of them opponents at one time were now standing proudly next to each other. Their suits and ties were sharply fluttering in the breeze. They walked down the black driveway towards the street with First Lieutenant Dace behind them dressed again in her sharply stitched Dress Blues.
“No damn way! No Goddamned way!” Connley was now backing up as he spotted the drones whining and hovering above the buggy in unison.
“You are not getting me near those—those things!” he said turning and slamming straight into Petra.
“Sir” Petra now holding him up grabbing onto his arms above the elbows “They’re mine sir and they’re on our side.”
“I don’t give a shit Lieutenant. Those things—kill people. Have you seen them in action?” he asked almost weeping.
“Yes sir. I have,” she said chuckling and nodding to him. She remembered her own encounter on the third stair step in Gwadar. “They are with us sir. Please believe me. Look at them sir do they look like WASP drones?”
“Well now that you mention it, no” He was perspiring profusely on his brow and through his shirt. His now shaven face and brown hair was seeping sweat.
“I promise you we are in no danger,” she tried to reassure him again. She let go of him and followed his brown eyes with her blue ones until he settled down a bit.
Petra held onto Connley as his fifty-seven-year-old frame stepped into the front seat of the blue buggy. Harrison told him he would sit in the backseat as Patrick chirped some binary language to tell Connley he was his defender now. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off of Patrick and the boys in the back. Not for a second. In the last two years, Rick Connley once a great young Naval Commander had stooped to the level of a Hatfield or McCoy. He fought WASP soldiers and drones with everything he had until he ran out of weapons, ammo, food, and ambition.
Now he finally had a renewed hope and a sense of urgency. Maybe there would be a chance at a little retribution mixed in with a dash of vengeance.
The three of them hovered down the highway simultaneously munching Twinkies while the politicians being typical politicians discussed the events that were going to unfold before them and made a promise to each other to work together. They were hoping that a Republican and a Democrat could start over fresh and maybe even form two different united parties. Petra smirked to herself remembering how this discussion started to sound a lot different than what her father used to tell her about early Washington D. C. employees when she was younger. The corruption and scandals fueled by years of bribes and kickbacks from lobbyists had torn most of the capitol apart like a rag doll. Maybe in a way this whole country needed a new beginning and a cleansing, a good ass kicking so to speak and a reason to fight again. She listened to the both of them actually agreeing on something now driven towards a new revolution. She wanted to be sure both of them and every other American never forgot. Petra would make sure of that one way or another. They would remember forever through media and communication unlike the founding fathers that scribed their anger and hatred for oppression, subjugation and the quest for freedom. The great patriotic thoughts and foresights of great men that no one cared to read or fight for anymore. Now the country had succumbed and buckled to tyranny and it was over with in the blink of an eye. All of it was gone.
How many Twinkies do I have left? Petra thought counting on her fingers and flexing each toe to reel off the digits.
“You have exactly twelve left,” Ter told her confidently, “counting the one you have hidden in your pocket currently.”
“Thanks Ter. You’re a real spy so to speak.”
“Thank you Petra. It might come in handy someday. My spying I mean. Not your Twinkies.”
“Who’s she talking to?” Connley asked Harrison curiously tapping his shoulder. Petra noticed the wind was hitting his face hard in the back seat of the buggy.
“How much time do we have left?” Harrison turned and asked Petra.
“I’d say about—”
“Three hours and three minutes,” Ter told her.
“We have three hours and three minutes left. We’re halfway to Washington D.C. outside of Pittsburgh now traveling east on route I-70. We should be there in three hours and two minutes now.”
“How does she know that?” Connley asked looking Petra up and down scanning for a GPS a Vidset or a Vidscreen somewhere in the buggy.
Vice President Roger Harrison turned to Connley and starting from the very beginning, with Petra’s assistance, spun her tale of patriotism and resurrection. She spat out the whole story including Nelson, Dreama, Cooper, the Med Lab, and the entire winding road that was her past, present and possible future. Today was May 1st, 2076 the day the secret society of The Illuminati the Latin word for ‘enlightened’ was formed by Adam Weishaupt three-hundred years earlier. Petra and Ter discussed the ramifications and implications of that society in mind-blowing detail while Roger and Rick—well mostly Roger—smiled proudly at her amazing detailed saga.
“Call from Jackie,” Ter informed Petra
“Yes Jackie. How’s the lab?”
Roger and Rick both stopped talking. They were eavesdropping like schoolboys trying to find out about the pretty girl in class.
“We’re good Petra. Doctor Sanders is up and about he’s—”
Jackie was emotional now and Petra could sense it.
“He’s younger, much younger.”
“You mean coming out of the Cobalt solution?”
“Yes. He looks like he’s twenty-five, maybe thirty-years-old?”
Petra thought about that for a minute. Could this actually have worked the way Cooper intended? Healing and curing the body of wounds and diseases for everyone not just her? Not just someone with a Terprise installed in their brain?
“It’s amazing Petra! You should see his body his face his hair—all of it younger and healthier!”
It’s like starting over again Petra thought. However, couldn’t this substance also be used against the human race? Over population, starvation and no one ever dying again but on the other hand, diseases, wounds, and disfigurements would be gone forever. It was a razor’s edge. The implications and future of Cobalt needed to be discussed and dealt with soon.
“That’s good news Jackie we’re on our way to the Capitol. How’s Jim doing?”
“He’s still the same. We’re growing new organs using his DNA. It probably will be another week until we’ve completed the process and then maybe we can start micro surgery. Until then it’s still touch-and-go with him.”
“Okay thanks for the update. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Oh and Petra Ray Nelson sends his thanks.”
“Jackie I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now but keep him there with you. Don’t let him leave the facility under any circumstances.”
“I think I know where you’re coming from but can you tell me why?”
“There are two reasons and one is obvious. His life is in danger until I can end this. The suspected danger would be coming from Dreama—if she is still alive—or from his replacement or doppelgangers. Right now with the exception of us, everyone thinks Nelson is a greedy monster for other reasons and is still quite frozen or dead. The second reason is I don’t think we should allow the Cobalt Program out into the open right now. I don’t know if the world is ready for it. There is going to be too much confusion in the nation in the next couple of days for everyone to take it in and soak up its qualities and ramifications and its intended purposes.”
Jackie was silent for a second.
“Okay Petra. I’ll keep him here as long as I can. You take care of yourself.”
“Try using Whiskey or Scotch on him I know he likes that stuff. At least his replacement does.”
“Okay will do,” Jackie reassured her laughing.
“Good-Bye Jackie.” Petra signed off thinking of that conversation in depth. Roger Harrison and Rick Connley looked forward staring at the road ahead knowing what they had to do. They had to keep a massive world-changing secret to themselves. Maybe keep it for a very, very, long time.
Chapter 31
CONFRONTATION
The rented blue Hover-Buggy now traveling on I-395 east was nearing the Potomac River in Arlington and closing in on the Capitol Building. The Cherry trees in the area were about to pop their beautiful blossoms into the waiting world to announce the arrival of spring. About a quarter of a mile from the river’s bridge Petra’s thermal HUD was capturing some WASP soldiers that had been guarding the metropolitan Washington D. C. area from unwanted visitors. The WASP encampment had erected a steel guardhouse. Sawhorse looking deterrents and a motorized metal gate was set up to keep pedestrians and Cruisers out. Petra could tell there were around ten soldiers as she pulled off the side of the road and parked under a large budding oak tree out of their sightline. She kept Patrick and the rest of the clan near the backside of the giant tree towards the back of the buggy close to the ground so as not to be spotted by the bridge guards. It was hard to keep them so close together. They naturally wanted to bob and weave leaving dents on each other’s sparse patriotic paint jobs in the process.
Mr. Harrison and Mr. Connley were contemplating her next moves as they discussed the plans in vomit-filled detail to Petra. She turned to look at both of them wanting to grab their attention so they would quiet down.
“Rick and Roger I really appreciate your suggestions but I think I will try another approach if that’s okay with you two.”
“Yep—okay no problem,” Roger told her confidently.
“Yes okay we’re just trying to help sorry,” Rick told her now sort of lowering his own expectations of how this would play out.
“It’s okay gentleman we’ll get through this together. If anyone comes near this buggy Patrick,” she was now holding up the “protect” finger “the boys will respond
okay?” Patrick chirped an acknowledgement as Connley shuttered at his binary language and tried to crawl inside his own skin.
“Yes.” Harrison replied.
“Yes Lieutenant.” Connley reluctantly agreed wanting to help in any way he could.
“Okay then don’t leave the buggy. Please don’t leave the buggy gentleman,” she inferred to them sternly one last time.
First Lieutenant Dace stepped out of their transportation and onto the middle of I-395 heading east. The warming one o’clock sun was shining down on the top of her officer’s cap and cast a perfect shadow of her beautiful outline on the blacktop below. Petra could hear the two of them talking to each other as she made her way towards the bridge. It gave her an idea.
“Wow she is beautiful! Is she single?” Connley asked Harrison.
“Not sure Rick. Why don’t you ask her some time? I’m sure she probably goes for your type,” Roger told him sarcastically smirking.
“She kind of scares the hell out of me”.
“Everything scares you now. Well I think she’s a peach. She’s a damn peach.” Rogers’ southern upbringing was now coming out. He was proud of her accomplishments so far.
Petra now wearing her Dress Blues walked towards the inclining steel bridge with a much-shortened skirt and a swagger that could only be described as “eye-numbing candy”. Some of the WASP soldiers— men and some of them women—were under a kind of hypnotic spell from her blatant use of sex as a weapon. Her breasts seemed to get larger and perkier as she moved closer to them. The soldiers were fixed and drawn to her overly-developed movements and curvature as she walked up to the guard shack in front of the mechanical striped gate and asked in a low sexy drawl if she could pass through with her friends waiting on down the road. One of the men in the back piped up and told her sternly: