Giovanna rested her head on the back of her hand, propping herself up from falling asleep on the table. “I feel like a broken record. Nothing will change. The EU relies so heavily on Germany now, that if I said Lucius was putting children in ovens, they’d put together a secret op to make heat-resistant children before they’d ever tell him to stop. There just isn’t enough here to go on besides Cora’s word. That’s nothing to anyone, really. No offense, patatina.”
“None taken. He said it, every time,” Cora replied. She shook her head in disgust. “Lucius telegraphed what he was doing, and I only realized it after the fact. There’s no two ways about it, now - he said I’d go home and prove nothing. That you’ll welcome me back just to hear the campfire story I have to tell.”
Cora looked to the doctor, wishing he’d hurry up and stick the needle in already.
“Any allergies I should be aware of?” the fair-haired doctor asked.
“Bullshit,” Cora said, her tone dry. “This city was full of it.”
“Alright, big stick coming,” he warned, pushing the needle in.
Cora turned her head to the window, getting her attention off the pain. The clouds always looked so different once you were among them. They were real and puffy and you could see where they began and ended. Something about their mystique got lost in the process. The mystery was gone. It was the best metaphor for Berlin. Cora wasn’t a kid anymore. She wasn’t breaking into high-security facilities with magic and not getting caught, feeding on the adrenaline like some Sim junkie. Richard, Drake, and Doctor Nielsen were dead. Countless others followed in the wake of what Lucius described as only the beginning. Lucius tested her to see what she was made of, and she met it with the same detached, lethal force he showed her. This was far too much thinking and introspection for her liking. She hoped this plane had a decent wet bar.
“It’s not just great stories,” Director Thompson stood up. “You’ve cleared your name, proven yourself, and survived an ordeal with the dragon. There are people who are going to want to understand how you’re still here and not some bag full of ashes.”
Cora exhaled. “I don’t know. He has something planned for me. He said our fates are intertwined for the time being. I mean, I’ve been getting calls since this thing started from someone that appears to foretell the future. Maybe Lucius can, too?”
Gideon kicked up his feet on the conference table. “The problem with prophecy is that it’s often self-fulfilling.”
Cora and the director turned to face him. She knew there was wisdom to that statement, even if he did sound like an arrogant brat when he said it.
“I’m just saying, ancient oracles weren’t predicting the future by rolling around a bag of bones, they were telling the king what they wanted him to do,” Gideon shrugged. “I mean, as long as they have a good enough track record of being right about the outcome, who’s to say they weren’t seeing the future, you know?”
Johnny looked at Giovanna and threw up his hands. “Did you get a word of that?”
Giovanna made a finger gun to her head.
Johnny turned to Gideon. “Kid, how in the hell is that relevant to this conversation?”
“If Lucius and this dreamer are just playing games with each other, and Cora is, we’ll say, a chess piece, then telling her where to go and when isn’t really predicting the future as much as making plays and counter-plays. Even when it doesn’t work, you hide the weakness by moving her to somewhere else,” Gideon replied. He took his feet down and leaned forward. “I mean, he certainly didn’t think you’d have the stones to blow the whole Project Phoenix building up or he wouldn’t have reacted the way he did.”
“That much I agree with,” Johnny said, pointing at him.
Cora hung her head and sat back down on the conference table. “I’m going to have to tell this story again multiple times over the next few days.”
“Not so much,” Director Thompson replied. “I’ve spoken with the President, and he wants you in front of the Joint Chiefs for debriefing after we’ve landed. From there, you’ll file your report with your supervisor and be free to go.”
Cora laughed aloud. “Free to go? With NSA keeping tabs on me and now Lucius, too? ‘Free to go’...to the end of my leash, maybe.”
“Drake was probably right about that,” Giovanna reminded. “It could be worse, patatina. My government would rather jam their fingers in their ears than listen to my reports. They activated me, and now they wish they hadn’t.”
Cora watched the saline drip wind its way through the tube and into her arm. She nodded at the doctor and pulled her good arm out of Richard’s bomber jacket, setting it on the table behind her. Director Thompson loosened his tie and took his seat back at the head of the conference table. All eyes shifted to him.
“Well, I’ve heard Agent Blake’s story,” he said. “What happened to the three of you after the explosion?”
Johnny shook his head. “We weren’t there for the explosion. They loaded us into their own van and drove off...what, thirty or so seconds before the bomb went off?”
Gideon nodded. “Yeah, we barely saw the explosion from the window.”
“Alright,” Director Thompson said. “So, what were you doing in the intervening three to four hours before Cora rescued you?”
The trio looked at each other. Knowing glances were exchanged, each of them holding back laughter. Cora narrowed her eyes.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You really want to know where we were?” Johnny said. He held up his hands, surrendering. “This little bistro in Kreuzberg.”
Cora’s mouth dropped open.
“I know!” Johnny laughed, joined by Gideon. “I mean, sure, they took all our wrist computers, our wires, made Giovanna wear a tracking device, kept checking Gideon for any outgoing communications from his implants.”
“They’re cybernetics,” Gideon corrected, appalled. “They’re not implants. I’m not some NeuralNet model begging for likes and credits.”
“Woah, easy there, kid,” Johnny laughed. “Seem a little touchy about all your tech.”
“I’m just saying...ugh, you know what? Forget it,” Gideon replied, miming washing his hands. He turned to the director. “Am I getting a pardon?”
Director Thompson folded his hands. “That was promised to Agent Blake for your role in this. Please keep in mind, they wanted you in a hole so deep you’d never see the sun again. You ruffled a lot of feathers with your exploits. Since this will be an ongoing effort against Lucius, are there any insights you can offer into the data?”
“With my rig destroyed in the van, let’s see,” Gideon looked up to the ceiling. “Oh, right, I remember one thing.”
“One thing?” the director repeated it, not believing his own words.
“Yeah, I deconstructed three of the sorting AI and analyzed their algorithms. I know the method under which they’re sorting. I mean, that’s for starters,” Gideon paused, pretending to be lost in thought. “I can corroborate Cora’s story of what Project Phoenix was, I can walk you through how they’re keeping track of these artifacts...think that will be helpful enough?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Cora said, raising a finger. She turned to Johnny. “You guys were in a bistro? No torture? Nothing?”
Giovanna shook her head. “The only torture was the spaghetti in my Pasta alla Norma. It was too soggy. The eggplant was good, though.”
Cora’s head reeled back.
“Yeah, it’s true,” Johnny laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “Not the pasta part...I had the shrimp, so I don’t know. I mean, I’m not kidding. We have three freakin’ Bauer guys in suits, armed, and they’re telling us Lucius wants us to have anything on the menu we desire. Keeps the place open way past closing. We figured if we lived through it, no one was going believe us.”
“I still don’t,” Cora laughed back. She sighed. “He is so bizarre.”
“I don’t know,” Johnny replied. His face grew sour. “Maybe he
figured if he had us killed afterward, that would have been a last meal? I don’t know. The food was good, though.”
“Alright, Agent Blake,” the doctor said, moving her jacket off her wounded shoulder. “I may have to cut your shirt free, just a warning.”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” Cora said. She could find a dozen more vintage rock t-shirts where this one came from. “Just get the bullet out or sew me up, or whatever it is you need to do.”
The doctor cocked his head to the side. He pushed and pressed against her shoulder, the dull ache challenging Cora to resist the urge to punch him dead in the face.
“Agent Blake, where exactly do you recall getting hit?” he said.
Cora’s brow furrowed. It should have been obvious at this point, she’d been dripping blood across half of southern Berlin and this damned plane. “It was a through-and-through, upper portion of my shoulder. See it?”
“No,” he replied with a dry tone. “I see a lot of dried blood. I don’t see a lot of wound.”
Cora rolled her eyes. How the doctor missed a bullet wound was beyond her. She pulled the neck of her shirt aside to show him, only there wasn’t anything there. No hole, no wound - just nothing. A dull ache with nothing to show for it. She hadn’t imagined a sniper rifle round punching through her shoulder, narrowly missing the head shot he was taking.
Whether by instinct or confusion, Cora pressed her tongue against the left side of her mouth, expecting the razor-sharp remnants of a broken molar to press against her tongue. Instead, she found the tooth whole and smooth. She jammed a finger in her mouth in disbelief. She could feel the contours and the full dimensions of her tooth intact. After her altercation with the troll Bauer guard, she remembered spitting fragments onto the pavement.
“I didn’t do this,” Cora said, speaking mostly to herself. As far as she knew, magic could not be used to heal wounds. “This is impossible.”
“What’s wrong?” Director Thompson asked, peeking around.
“What am I?” she asked the doctor, plain. “I’m not kidding. I had a broken tooth and a bullet wound, they’re both healed. What do you chock that up to?”
The director seemed as curious about the answer as Cora did. He leaned in, eager to understand. The doctor shook his head.
“I’ve dealt with magic-users, particularly those of Native descent,” he replied. “I’ve never seen regeneration before.”
“Great,” Cora replied. She huffed, yanking the IV from her arm. “If we’re finished here, I haven’t really slept in the past forty-eight hours.”
The doctor shrugged, his tone like wheat toast. “There’s nothing for me to fix if you’ve already done it yourself. Feel free to rest, I’d imagine your body needs to replenish magical energy.”
Cora looked at Thompson and nodded a goodbye. She left the conference room, moving into the cramped hallway of the plane. Giovanna was a step behind her. Cora picked a direction and started walking. They were the only ones on the plane, so any quiet place to lay down would do, as soon as she could find one. She glanced behind her. Giovanna was still there, a step behind.
“It’s not like you to be shy,” Cora said, turning around. “What do you want to ask me?”
Giovanna wrung her hands, choosing her words. Her eyes were glassy. “You said you saw him walk into a portal of light...”
Cora replied with a nod. Her jaw clenched, holding back her own emotions on the matter. “I know he’s at peace now.”
“Okay,” Giovanna said. She sniffled and bowed her head in thanks.
Leaning in, she surprised Cora with a sudden embrace, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her close. Cora hugged her back, shutting her eyes and finally allowing some time for them to grieve Richard. It was long overdue. Giovanna pulled away after a moment, turned and went the opposite way down the hall without another word.
Cora looked in on a few doors in the sterile white hall with its intense blue carpeting. Eventually, she found a small sleeping quarters. There was a bed, a chair, and a shower stall. That was all she needed to see. She grabbed at her clothes, stripping off her shirt before she had fully gotten into the room. She kicked off her boots and fumbled with her jeans.
As she went to pull off her Arcadia from her wrist, there was a tiny amber light blinking on the face. Butterflies swirled in her stomach as all of her muscles tensed. She didn’t want to check if it was a message, though she knew it was. She shook her head and sighed. Lucius was probably letting her know he was shooting down the plane or something. That’d be the perfect end to the day.
She swiped up her screen. One new message. Her hand trembled as she tapped on the screen to display it.
You alive? Come see Derk. Derk bang.
Cora laughed to herself, her body releasing the tension she had allowed to mount. As she got into the shower stall, she couldn’t think of any time she was quite so happy to receive an unsolicited booty call. She giggled to herself as the warm water cascaded over her. If she didn’t distract herself with the humor of it all, she’d have to face the swirling pool of crimson at her feet. There probably wasn’t enough Jack on the plane to face those demons so soon. Try though she might, she let her legs go weak under her, sitting in the shower stall with its trickling water pressure making her feel wet, but not clean. She put her face in her hands and quietly wept to herself in that shower, where she stayed until the water ran cold.
The Gift
A room that normally fit dozens, from military brass to reporters, felt silent and isolated. Cora sat in a business suit behind a one side of a conference table, a place setting for her stocked with pens, paper, a pitcher of water, and a glass dish filled with an assortment of candy. On the other end of the table sat nine men, seven of them in military uniforms, all of them highly decorated in a rainbow of colored bars, stripes, and pins. Not another soul was allowed within the confines of the boardroom for the past three hours of interviews and relentless questioning, clarification, and innuendo. Cora was already tired of chocolate drops and water, and the shade of those hideous gold drapes over boarded windows behind the old men.
A bald man leaned forward, a four-star Army General. “Agent Blake, I have one more question and I believe we can end this. As you know, we will advise the President on this matter, and I guess what I want is your opinion.”
“My opinion, General?” Cora asked. She had been factual, cold even, for the past three hours. Her emotions stayed out of her debriefing, as did any mentions of her contacts made while there.
“Yes, as it relates to Lucius,” he continued. “You were with him as he spoke candidly about his intentions, according to your testimony today. So, what I’d like to know is do you see Lucius as an imminent threat to the United Northern States?”
Cora pursed her lips and mulled over the question. The stark truth was the Lucius was already a threat to any country that stood in his way, and not a single one of them knew it yet. That kind of fear-mongering would undoubtedly bring the trigger-happy UNS to bear in covert operations. Like a flea on a dog’s backside, Lucius would ignore them until they struck a nerve, but by then it’d be war.
“General, I don’t feel that Lucius is an imminent threat to the UNS,” Cora replied. “He’s a threat to the entire world. What he’s planning on doing with these magical items is unknown. We don’t even understand how they work or what they do.”
The bald man nodded. “Thank you, Agent Blake,” he looked at each of the fellow Joint Chiefs, all of them nodding a consensus. “That is all, Agent Blake. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Thank you, General,” Cora said. She stood up and wobbled, immediately reminded why she hated high heels. She couldn’t wait to get out of the ridiculous monkey suit Director Thompson had her wear to ‘look professional.’
The gathering of older soldiers got up en masse and paired up, talking to each other in hushed tones as they made their way out of the room. Director Brent David, head of the NSA, stepped around the table and walked
over to Cora as she gathered herself. He was older than Richard, but just as tall, towering over her with a shining head of silver hair.
“Agent Blake,” he said. As she’d grown accustomed to since earlier in the morning, his tone was direct and curt. “In light of the current situation, I would ask you to strongly reconsider your resignation.”
“Director, I-”
He raised a hand, cutting her off. “Please, hear me out. If Lucius sees you as an adversary, he may come after you again. Being an active agent affords you some insulation and protection.”
Cora stared him in the eye hard. He had no clue what the past 72 hours was like for her.
“After the events in Berlin, I’m even less inclined to agree with you then when I first agreed to my leave,” she said. “Being an NSA agent in Berlin only put another faction against me while I was sorting out the truth. The agency was compromised and vulnerable. I won’t be relying on anyone like that ever again.”
“We can protect you,” he insisted.
“No, you can’t,” she replied. “You couldn’t protect yourselves from the breach. If he’s coming for me, you, or anyone else, he can’t be stopped. Not by anything traditional.”
Director David sighed and shook his head. “I understand he spooked you. Listen, I’m only asking you give it some thought. Put some distance from this and get it in perspective. You’re leaving the country again later today, I understand?”
Cora’s skin crawled. She hadn’t told him or anyone else about her plans, but updating her passport and buying a new motorcycle were monitored. The thought of some intelligence clerk sifting through surveillance of her and writing a report about where he speculated she was going unnerved her. Maybe it was all her years in the EU, but going back to the UNS always felt like the state was watching everything. In Berlin, the holograms collected your interactions so they could sell you something. Here, it was more like mind-reading.
“Yes, Director,” she said through a grimace. “I’ll be heading to Wyoming, in the Native Lands.”
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