Morning Sun

by Jeremy Flagg

  “Salvador.” She stated his name as if he were her subservient. “I see we are still working on our boundary issues.”

  From the perfectly tailored suit that showed off his excessive gym habit to the gaudy diamond in his ear, the man smelled of arrogance. He didn’t break eye contact until the dress slid over her head. He rubbed the three days of scruff on his chin as he evaluated her. Even as the President of the United States, her position awarded her no authority over the man.

  “Zipper, please.”

  She lifted her hair, exposing her back. The man reached for the zipper, slowly closing the garment. “Give us the room.” His words were less than a command, but he spoke with confidence, knowing the people in the room were his subordinates and responded to his every request.

  “I asked to meet with Jacob.”

  One name, that name—she understood the statement was the quickest way to get a rise out of the man. From speaking with Salvador’s associates, she knew him to be the most gifted of the quartet, but by some cosmic joke of fate, the mightiest had not been chosen to lead. She wondered how deep his contempt ran for Jacob; the twinge of resentment might be a useful tool to exploit should the need ever arise.

  “He’s overseas at the moment.”

  He didn’t offer any further explanation. To anybody else, she was the leader of the free world; to them, she was nothing more than a puppet. In the eyes of their master, they were evenly matched and they would spend the entire encounter taking jabs at one another, trying to force the other into an inferior position.

  Cecilia gave the young man a once over. In her younger days she would have devoured him. The man wanted to be seen, his suit hugging his narrow waist and accentuating his chest; even the top buttons of his dress shirt were opened. She let a grin creep across her face. Maybe someday she would let him bed the President of the United States.

  “I would appreciate if you stopped undressing me with your eyes.”

  “Salvador, if you stood a chance, being undressed would be the least of your worries.” She whispered the last line, hoping the man may someday take her up on the offer—less for sex, more for making the stud want it.

  “I tire of your games.”

  “You grow tired because you can’t play this game.” She leaned back against the exam table and tried to predict his move. Would it be a threat? Would he stick to business? Would he brush her off like a common groupie?

  “Why did you call us, Cecilia?”

  Business.

  “We have matters to discuss relating to the production of synthetic units. There is a war going on, and we need to increase the manufacturing at least twofold. I believe the General has already spoken with the board, but I thought it be worth my time to speak to the real power behind my favorite technology company.”

  “You mean you’ve come asking for favors.”

  “In part.” She had no reason to lie. Their arrangement had been simple: they maintained her throne of power, and in return, she helped hide one of the largest secret societies in the world. “No, there is something even more nefarious afoot in the White House.”

  “The General?”

  “You sensed it?”

  “Jacob has yet to meet the man, but Dikeledi and I sat with him. The man is well composed, almost eloquent I’d say.”

  “Eloquent?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, primera dama, he is a brutal killer as well. Dikeledi guzzled down his emotions like a drug. Her intoxications were almost overpowering. But the man is not a brute.”

  “I suppose. The man is not thrilled with my position, or myself. While I might not have been born with your gifts, I do possess the intuition of a mature woman. I can tell something is not right.”

  “Mutiny?”

  “No, nothing so drastic, but he’s playing a game I can’t see.”

  “He asked the same thing, increased production. He wants his troops to come home. For the places where he must leave troops, he wants to leave as few humans as possible.”

  “More synthetics.” She echoed her earlier comment.

  “And I’m to believe your needs are the same as his?”

  His hand danced close, as if he may wrap his fingers around her slender wrist. Before he could act, she pulled her arm back and walked toward the door. She had been trained by a telepath. The moment his skin touched hers, his chance to violate her mind increased. No, she wouldn’t risk giving away her secrets.

  “I am not playing with the Society, Salvador. I believe the increase in production will allow for him to rescind the troops, a joint venture which will help secure my presidency. It will also allow us to start augmenting the police force to help ensure our control over the domestic situation is maintained.”

  “Call me a skeptic when it comes to your altruistic causes.”

  She ignored the man as she opened the door into a long hallway. The heels of her shoes echoed loudly as she made her way to the exit. She waited for the elevator to arrive. It’d take her down to the lobby where dozens of other socialites waited to be called on, their aging bodies worked over by the Body Shop.

  It dawned on her that this Body Shop probably never received military members seeking enhancements. The space felt more like a cosmetic surgeon at the turn of the century. People sat patiently as they eyed one another, questioning why the other might be there. She tried not to hold the men and women in contempt for wanting to extend their vanity for as long as possible. She wished she could afford to look her age and reveal every wrinkle awarded to her throughout a healthy life.

  Salvador followed her into the tiny elevator. As she reached for the button, he gestured for her to wait. He opened a small panel above the controls and placed his palm on the blue pad. He pulled back his hand and leaned in with his face. A blue light scanned his features.

  “Research and Development.”

  The elevator jerked upward. She spoke as if undisturbed by the change in plans. “I understand your affinity for this city, but I still think Genesis Division would be best suited in a more secure facility.”

  “Like your Facility?”

  She had recommended they move before, some place away from the middle of the largest city in the United States. Even with the promise of tax incentives and additional military aid, the board refused. Cecilia often wondered if they spoke for themselves, or if they were nothing more than puppets for the inner circle of the Society.

  “This building houses more than enough military personnel, and if they are part of the problem, our defenses rival even the most secure military facility.”

  As the lift stopped moving and the doors opened, she understood exactly what he meant. Two synthetics stood waiting, their arms held out, lasers ready to fire on the occupants of the elevator. The artificial intelligence housed within the cranium of each robot took a moment to scan their faces.

  If the two machine guards weren’t enough, two men in brown bomber jackets stood nearby. The Society referred to them as the Barren, humans with their brains chemically wiped clean and programmed by Jacob himself. The Barren served as the bodyguards of mentalists, only controlled by people able to implant commands through extraordinary abilities.

  “I have always found them in poor tastes.”

  “The Barren? They’re tools, like a pair of reading glasses.”

  “They were once people.”

  One of the Barren turned to her, making an overt winking gesture. Cecilia eyed Salvador as he held a similar pose. She truly loathed mentalists. They stripped away any sense of self from the Barren, and then they raped the poor idiot’s mind. Salvador, with a cocky smirk on his face, possessed the empty vessel and used his body as if he had his hand elbow deep in the Barren’s ass. Salvador thought himself witty; she thought him a virus amongst mankind.

  “Can we talk safely here?”

  “The few researchers on this level are loyal. Jacob has seen to it they are obedient.”

  “The blatant disregard for a person’s mind is not lost.”
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  “Do I sense your cold dead heart thawing, Cecilia?”

  She turned, grabbing the man by the neck. She leaned into the move, putting her weight behind her hand. Salvador’s back pressed against the elevator. He relied too much on his gifts, forgetting she had spent plenty of years proving herself to men far more terrifying than him.

  The synthetics didn’t move to his defense, nor did the Barren. She had a split second to wonder if they found themselves conflicted between attacking their master and the one woman they were sworn to protect. His whispers filled her mind. His antagonizing had been a ruse by the man.

  Long before Salvador joined the Society and learned his abilities, a masterful telepath had seen the potential in a young political hopeful. They spent years together, talking, exploring their relationship, but most of all, they had studied one another. She kept no secrets as the man walked through her mind, and day by day, he taught her to hide herself away from mentalists. Determination and an iron will allowed her to deflect his intrusions, a skill that became increasingly necessary when she befriended Eleanor.

  “No.” The statement was flat, not much more than a whisper. The imaginary wall protecting her mind expanded, putting a firm barrier between her thoughts and his abilities. Her fingers pulled back from his neck, a red spot on his skin left in her wake. The moment she released the man, the pressure in her skull diminished and she shook her head, trying to get the thought of him out of her brain.

  “You are impressive, Cecilia.” Two of the Barren and a researcher spoke the words in unison, their mouths moving as one for Salvador. She eyed the two men in bomber jackets, unnerved by their parasitic owner. “I wonder how long it would take to whittle away at that barrier?”

  “Try it again, soul stealer, and I’ll make sure you are gutted and put on display.”

  All three of his possessed bodies laughed. A threat from Cecilia in any meeting left the threatened scared, terrified they’d vanish in the middle of the night. Foreign leaders feared she would unleash their robotic army. She spent her entire professional career cultivating that fear and wielding it like a weapon.

  Salvador did not fear her.

  The handsome man only a few inches away straightened, his eyes opening wide as he sucked in air like he’d been drowning. It wasn’t the first time she witnessed a possession, but it was the first time she saw him control three people at once. It was abilities like his that allowed her to remain seated as president long after her term should have ended.

  “Show me the synthetics.” She walked past glass room after glass room. Inside, groups of men and women conducted experiments. Programmers punched away at keyboards in several of the rooms. There was no denying the obvious innovative talent of Genesis Division; their technology continued to revolutionize the world. She found it unfortunate it was left in the hands of several unstable mentalists.

  As she moved further down the hall, she recognized parts of synthetics in the individual rooms. One man, diodes attached to his head, moved his hand as a synthetic hand mimicked the motion. As he rolled his fingers into a fist, the machine repeated the action only a fraction of a second later. The machine, a blend of artificial intelligence and human pilot, worked together in the field, a stunning achievement and one of the greatest setbacks.

  “There’s a delay in the machine’s reaction. Why not rely solely on the A.I.?”

  “We’ve field tested and found in complex situations with too many variables, they turn unpredictable. It may work if combat was only machine versus machine, but with humans involved, there comes an uncertain X factor.”

  “Then why not place Marines in the pilot seat and let them fight from afar?”

  “Soldiers can make uniformed decisions. The synthetics are processing an uncanny mount of information. We’re trying to develop new methods of integrating the two more cohesively. It has been at the forefront of the newest developments, right alongside the Body Shop and weapons development.”

  “Show me something new. I want to be dazzled.”

  “I forgot where I became your personal escort.”

  “I didn’t. Show me something, Salvador. If you’re going to bleed taxpayer money, I want something that will leave them feeling some sense of security. What is going to bring my troops home.”

  Silence. Stealing a quick glance of the man, she found his eyes fixated on her, his jaw gaping. “What is it?”

  “There are moments when I forget you’re a wretched human. Sometimes you almost seem like a decent person who actually cares about the people around her. Perhaps you’re growing soft in your old age?”

  Her intentions had always been to protect the people. Her partnership with Eleanor had been for the betterment of Americans. Her involvement with the Society had been to prevent terrorist acts. At some point, averting the threat of bombings became secondary to the defense their future as a people. Cecilia tried to recall when her focus shifted from protection of a nation to the protection of a species. The image of Eleanor holding a gun came to mind. The elderly psychic claimed Cecilia had changed, become soulless, and threatened the future.

  The opposition had called it the Culling, the unnecessary eradication of people with mental abilities. The media ridiculed her and talked about how much these powered people had been used by governments and how by removing them, she weakened a potential line of defense from nations still in league with mentalists. She ignored the news reports and photographs of deceased family members assaulting her publicist. When her term approached the end, she cemented her alliance with the Society. In exchange for their influence over members of Congress and the Senate, she declared war on domestic terrorists. With the Society acquiring major news networks, the spin on her presidency reached the people and she became a hero.

  “Careful, Cecilia, memories carry a unique flavor to them.”

  The man couldn’t read her thoughts or possess her body, but it seemed every mentalist had the ability to sense emotion. With a deep breath, she steadied herself. Looking back took away her attention from the future. “My troops, how do we protect them?”

  “We can agree that the synthetics program is working fine. However, they do have limitations. They are meant to replace standard infantry. They are bodies on the ground, but even with excellent marksmanship, increased firepower, and increased strength and stamina, they are not perfect. We’ve found there are ways to hack the operating system, jam the signals, or even use technological countermeasures to cloak the enemy. The biggest improvements are coming from the back end. That’s where the real battle is happening, but of course that doesn’t give the same oomph as a weapon.”

  Salvador was a pretty playboy, and his dashing good looks and rugged visage frequently made her forget he was a successful businessman. He stepped toward a glass wall blocking off the remainder of the room. He pressed his hand against it. Fiber optic wires within the glass fired to life, projecting several monitors. Looking past the man, she found it difficult to see into the darkness.

  “Until we solve these issues, we have found a way to utilize our troops in a much more impressive fashion.”

  Lights blinked on, illuminating the remainder of the space. With the frequent changes in research on this floor, Cecilia couldn’t remember if the room had been there on her last visit. As the area brightened, she understood why he saved his newest toy for her. Synthetics were generally the size of a large male, but in the middle of the floor, she had a chance to see the newest creation, a fifteen foot tall machine.

  “Synthetics were created to imitate humans. They do so extremely well. But against tanks with reflective armor, they are outmatched. These mechs will someday join the synthetic artificial intelligence hybrid program. For now, we are focusing on a pilot program using some of the members of the military’s advance units.”

  “Why not upgrade tanks?”

  Every glance was an effort to disarm her, an attempt to lure her into his charm. Behind the slight shine of teeth, his ego revealed itself. He was deli
ghted with himself. “Begin demonstration, Cecilia Joyce.” He spoke aloud, letting whatever computer within earshot pick up the sound of his voice. The machine powered up, lifting itself on two thick legs. The inverted limbs and egg-shaped body resembled an ostrich. Even more so than the synthetics, the number of weapons multiplied as panels opened, guns rolled out and decks of missiles emerged from the head. It already appeared more threatening than any tank she had seen in action.

  “The synthetic is not currently piloted, so we have to imagine the reaction times would be slower by milliseconds. But with threat detection protecting the machine’s flank and rear, the pilot will have defenses as if a comrade protected his six.”

  Drones descended from the ceiling, a dozen of them circling about the room. She watched in anticipation as several sped toward the rear of the machine. Guns flipped backward on the arms of the machine, several pulses of bullets fired, and the small aggressors exploded.

  “Impressive. But I’m not sure I would call the drones—”

  Panels in the floor opened and three synthetics rose to the surface. Drones were nothing more than a tactic for surveillance; a fight against synthetics would be more adequate. All three had arms outstretched, lasers firing up until red beams hit the massive machine.

  “Reflective armor.”

  Projectiles launched from the shoulders of the synthetics. The barrage was enough to penetrate a tank, but as the smoke cleared, hardly a scratch showed on the mech. Her heart raced. She asked for impressive, this on the front lines of their war efforts would mean a reduction in troops without a losing firepower.

  “It’s remarkable, what about close quarters?”

  “Engage.”

  The three synthetics moved as she expected. Their attacks were choreographed, a hallmark of efficiency created by their artificial intelligence. They assessed, analyzed, reacted. They spun about, dodging a barrage of bullets. The next landed square on one synthetic, driving it into the ground in a heap of metal. It sacrificed itself to give its compatriot an opening to jump on the machine. The snap of electricity between the mech and the synthetic was bright enough to force Cecilia to look away.