by T. C. Edge
The President took her arm gently, and began coaxing her through the atrium. The two had been friends for many years, decades even, even though their lives had taken divergent paths in recent times. These last few years, however, they’d been forced back together by circumstance, two girls from rich families, destined to change the world.
Martha bit the thought away. She knew of Pamela’s intentions, and they weren’t hers. All of this - everything she’d done - had been for Sarah. The consequences of her actions, however, would spell doom for many. She hated the thought, but she had no choice. All she could do was play along.
They ventured towards a long corridor, stretching away into the depths of the facility. Martha always felt strange coming here. It wasn’t just the knowledge of the facility’s purpose, but its location too. Right now, they were beneath the waves of Lake Michigan, the facility’s entrance many miles from the shore. From the top, it appeared as little more than a tiny square structure, its head peeking out from the waves like the tip of an iceberg. The truth of its scale, however, was hard to fathom from the surface, and that was the entire point. It was secret, hidden, built in a place where no one would ever see it.
The journey down into the depths always made Martha queasy, and she envied Kurt and Rick for being able to wait up on the surface. She spent most of her life at her estate, or in the mountains in Colorado. She wasn’t a person for tight spaces and stuffy, filtered air. She only ever wanted to leave this place as soon as she arrived.
But today, her mind was being taken elsewhere; to the promise Pamela had given her. “Get us the data, and we’ll give you back your daughter,” her old friend had told her over a year ago. “We can make her whole again, Martha. We can save her, as we can this nation. That is your duty as a parent, and mine as a leader.”
It hadn’t taken much more to convince Martha to help, and even as she began to learn of Pamela’s true intentions, she never once looked back. Her doubts that niggled were forever dismissed, never allowed to settle. Any time she even got close to wavering, she only had to look upon her daughter’s face, see that expression of almost constant pain. It took a glance, only. That was enough. Enough to reset her resolve. Enough to block out the rest.
They continued down the long, grey corridor, reaching another elevator. Martha had already descended a dozen levels to reach the atrium on this floor. Now, she stepped in again, the elevator taking them further down, right into the most secret of places. A place of magic, of wondrous invention…of terrible innovation.
I’m a hypocrite, Martha thought. Just a foolish hypocrite. She had no right to question the things they were doing here. No right to condemn them when she was benefitting so much.
The elevator drew them down, opening on the level below. The facility was vast, a network of corridors, linking laboratories, of secret places and strange, unnatural science. All grey and white, all so sickly, and yet with the purpose of manipulating and creating life.
Life, Martha thought. Endless life…
Soon they came to a door, thick clear glass providing a view ahead. Martha could see scientists working within, a large space beyond filled with machines she didn’t know, work she couldn’t understand. They were geniuses these people, the real people who changed the world. Politicians, military leaders; they merely wielded the gun. These were the people who created it.
They stepped through, and a bustle of energy filled Martha’s ears. It wasn’t frenetic, or loud, just the sensation that the future was being crafted. People glanced over, nodding to their leader, and then got immediately back to work. Seeing President Pamela Chase here wasn’t rare. She came here often, as often as she could. Her work in public office was just a facade, where she put on the face she wanted the world to see. Here was her true purpose, and Martha could see her eyes shine.
A scientist in a lab coat came hurrying over to then, bowing as he arrived.
“Madam President, Madam Mitchell,” he said, nodding to the women.
Strange, Martha thought. I’ve never met this man.
But then, not strange at all. They’d been given a special job here, just for Martha. They hadn’t met her, but they knew her well.
“Doctor Cavendish,” said Pamela. “Is she ready?”
Cavendish nodded hurriedly, white hair out of place and slick with sweat at the sides. He looked exhausted, like he’d been working on little sleep. That would most certainly be the case.
He led them through the large lab, moving towards a quieter section at the rear. Martha’s heart began to pace with a renewed fury, her breathing growing abbreviated. Pamela took her arm, smiling.
“Oh, Martha, be calm my dear,” she whispered. “Now take a deep breath, OK? Yes, now breathe it out, nice and slowly…”
Martha followed the instruction, blowing slowly out, calming herself for what was to come. Doctor Cavendish stood by, next to a terminal with dials and buttons. Ahead of them, a dark grey tube sat, large as a coffin, its surface metal and smooth, shining under the lights.
“When you’re ready, Martha,” said Pamela softly. “Take your time.”
Pamela stepped away to give her some space. Martha hesitated, before drifting nervously towards the grey tube. She shut her eyes, and drew another breath, her heart still thrashing wildly. She looked up after a few long moments, and turned her eyes on the doctor.
She nodded.
Doctor Cavendish pressed down upon a button, and the casing of the tube began to slide to the left, revealing a white medical mattress beneath…and a form lying on top of it.
Martha gasped quietly, lifting a hand to her mouth.
She saw feet first, small feet; the feet of a child, only ten years old. The metal tube continued to slide, whirring lightly, and more was revealed: knees that had never bent; hips that had never turned; a chest that had never breathed; a neck that had never swallowed; a face…that had never smiled.
Tears began to build in Martha’s eyes, warm to her skin as they fell. She took a sharp intake of air as she looked upon the face of her daughter, at the perfect clone they’d made. She was as she’d been before the cancer struck, before it took away her colour, her glow, her smile. Before it forced her into bed, clinging to life. Before it send Martha down this dark, dreadful path.
She reached forward tentatively, her fingers trembling.
“It’s OK,” whispered Pamela. “You can touch her.”
Her hand halted, hesitating. Then it drifted forwards once more, gently touching the clone’s arm, the clone of her beloved daughter. The skin was cool, but soft, her tissue alive. She was a vessel, empty of a soul, of consciousness.
But ready to receive it.
She drew her hand back, feeling so torn by what she saw. It was so odd to see her daughter here, created in this lab by these scientists, just waiting to be filled, waiting to be completed.
She stood for a few moments longer, just looking at the body, contemplating so much. Would she be the same when it happened? When they performed the procedure, would it be Sarah in this body, the real Sarah? Would her mind, her consciousness, truly transfer? Was the data really complete…was…
She shut her eyes once again, her mind spiralling off in directions she didn’t want to consider. Her thoughts were selfish, she new. Centred only on Sarah, only on her daughter. She looked again at the clone, and the wider implications flourished in her head. This was a perfect remake, a genetically identical match for her beautiful daughter, the same in every way. But here, in this building, other forms were being manufactured, other experiments were being run. This was Martha’s reward, payment for her work; her daughter, renewed, made whole again. But at what price?
Martha turned away, refusing to give heed to her doubts, and looked at the doctor. She nodded again, and the tube began to slide shut once more. She stepped back, and felt Pamela drawing to her side, gently stepping in.
“I know it’s strange,” Pamela whispered. “But just think…soon she’ll be Sarah again. No cancer, no healt
h issues, nothing to ever worry about. A perfect version of Sarah, with her mind and consciousness implanted.”
She took Martha’s arm, and turned her around until they were face to face.
“Because of you, dear friend, Sarah will live again,” she said, face lit like a bright blue morning. “Because of you,” she went on, face now shading darker, “our nation will get its revenge.”
Martha tried to draw a smile. It came up weak, unsure. She couldn’t reconcile what she’d done, not fully. Her love for Sarah had set her upon this path, knowing that Professor Phantom’s research was the only way to save her.
Yet the cost, she knew, would be dear. Her old friend, once so shy and sweet and quietly spoken, now had a lust for vengeance in her eyes. A desire to see nations toppled, armies fall, the weak rise up against the strong. For so long the MSA had been trodden to the floor. For so long their leaders had put on a brave face, fallen into the background, grown weak as the others jostled for power.
But no longer. President Pamela Chase now held the key to the future.
And all she had to do, was twist.
66
The group’s escape from LA came without great incident. Given their experiences so far, it was a blessing, and unexpected.
With the aid of Remus, guiding their path in typically efficient fashion, they were able to work eastwards once more, avoiding patrols of peacekeepers, checkpoints, and any unruly groups of local trouble-makers who might cause them delay. Of course, having to work with such care - often stopping, waiting, diverting their course - was delay enough. What might have been achieved within the space of an hour or so, ended up taking several.
By the time they edged into the eastern districts in the shadow of the hills above, night was falling quickly, faint celestial lights glowing in the smog-blotted sky. Those lights grew clearer as they climbed, scrambling up through the hills and making their way back to the falcon. Here, patrols weren’t a problem, and nor were checkpoints; peacekeepers didn’t venture this far. Yet drones stood guard instead, hovering silently, occasionally visible but often going unseen.
Not to Remus, of course, nor Ragan with his scanning lens. Both could spot them a way off, thus giving the group time to escape their sight if they hummed and buzzed their way. Inching up the craggy slopes, they made slow but steady progress, eventually reaching the falcon as the night began to hurry on. They breathed, finally relaxing within the cloaked jet, slumping into chairs and letting out weary sighs.
Only Ragan remained standing, despite his growing exhaustion. Unlike the others, he’d gone nights without sleep now. As they drank the night away several evenings back, Ragan was on point in the command centre, searching for signs of Mikel. When they caught Mikel after the battle in Devil’s Pike, and escaped to the woods, the others had slept soundly by the fire as Ragan kept watch. His nanotech augmentations allowed him to function at full capacity for much longer than a regular person, of course, but now he was reaching his limits.
I’ll sleep a few hours on the way, he thought. A couple should be enough.
But not yet. First, he needed to rouse his troops. He began issuing orders.
“Tanner, go check on how much power we’ve got left, and set the coordinates for Chicago.”
“You want to head straight for Chicago?” queried Tanner, frowning. “You don’t want to rest a little first?”
“We can rest on the way. It’s a fair distance,” said Ragan. “I’d prefer to get there when it’s till dark if we can. If we need to infiltrate, it’ll be easier at night.”
To do that, they had no time to delay. The journey itself would take several hours at cruising speed, and they also had to account for the time difference when heading east. Then they’d need to navigate through unfriendly airspace without detection, land near the estate, and get close enough to perform surveillance and reconnaissance. And that wasn’t even taking into account unforeseen issues they might face, as well as time spent planning incursions, analysing intel, and scrutinising threats. Usually, missions of this nature took time to plan and execute. Unfortunately, they had none to spare.
“Right,” nodded Tanner, noting the urgency in Ragan’s voice, his eyes. He seemed to have given up questioning Ragan’s authority, despite Ragan saying himself that this was a group effort now, and all decisions needed to be mutually agreed upon. Perhaps Tanner just didn’t have the energy for it. Perhaps he’d realised that infighting was only going to cause further delays, delays they couldn’t afford. Whatever it was, it pleased Ragan to see his instructions taken on without dissent.
Tanner continued. “I’ll get to it,” he said. “But the jet’s been in cloaking mode for hours now, so I’d expect power to be low. Hopefully the solar charges have given us a boost, but I wouldn’t count on it with all the smog. It gets worse every year this place. It’s like living under a blanket.”
“I thought you liked it here?” asked Nadia, slumped in a chair, referencing their previous conversation.
“I do…partly. The smog’s not the city’s best feature.”
“Not the worse either,” mumbled Nadia, bitter and clearly keen to get clear of this place.
Tanner ignored the comment, and headed off towards the cockpit to get the falcon started up. Ragan then roused the others from their perches, asking them to join him at the briefing table. He drew up a holographic satellite image of the continent, closing in on the area around Chicago. Inputting the address they’d been given for Martha’s primary estate, they began analysing the area, studying the structure itself, the grounds, the possible entry points should they wish to infiltrate.
They didn’t, unfortunately, have access to live imagery - this was more of a static map, pictures of the area taken from some time ago - and so couldn’t gauge possible security, sentries, and so on. Without the clout of the CID in particular, and to a lesser extent the command centre of the Crimson Corps, they’d have to make do. It wasn’t how Ragan had typically operated during his time amidst special forces troops and government agencies with limitless funding, and the same would be true for Tanner and Nadia during their operations with the Spectres and Southern Queens.
Still, it was the best they had, and would have to do. They were winging it, Ragan knew, and just trying to stay positive. This excursion to LA had taken the entire day, and their reward was an address that may or may not yield any result at all. Hopefully, Dax would discover something more meaningful as they journeyed to the east, but Ragan couldn’t count on that. He had to maintain a single focus, and not let his resolution wilt. He’d made this decision - no, they’d made it as a team - and now they all had to stand behind it.
The falcon whirred into motion as they worked, lifting off into the air. That was the call for them to quickly take their seats before it shot skyward at a less leisurely pace. They strapped in, waited for the jet’s motion to even out, and returned to the briefing table right after, Tanner staying in the cockpit in order to pilot the craft - here, within WSA territory and so close to the capital, turning to autopilot wasn’t a good idea. He had to stay vigilant until they got clear.
The rest continued to study the satellite map, working out just where the falcon might land, and where the best place for reconnaissance would be. Mostly, the lands were flat, providing little scope for surveilling the estate, and its security, from any raised portion of earth. As if to remind them of his capabilities, Remus buzzed about, still in drone form, before changing into a bird and flapping his metal wings violently.
“Right, sure,” said Nadia, grinning. “Remus can go in and check for us.” She reached out and extended a finger, a perch on which Remus could land. He did so, clawed metal feet wrapping around her digit. Nadia drew him closer, beguiled by the little drone. She’d be like that for a while.
The group worked on, mostly quiet, occasionally pointing out something they thought the others should see. Ragan studied the map and accompanying images, though studied Chloe in equal proportion. His wandering eyes made i
t clear to him that his attention was wavering; that his mind was split between her and his purpose, his task, his final mission.
Final.
The word came to his mind, unexpected. Was that really how he thought? Was this really it for him now, his last hurrah as a soldier, a spy, a man who’d spent his life following orders, working, he believed, for the greater good. So much had happened over the last few days that had made him question his place in the world, wonder whether everything he did was worth it. Until this point, it had been. It had led him to Chloe, to the data he strived to destroy. But now, what else was there?
He’d betrayed the CID, though how much they knew of his true intentions, he still couldn’t be sure. The opposite was true of Project Dawn - they’d betrayed him. They’d tried to kill them, gun them down outside the farm, shoot them from the sky. Yes, Ragan had gone dark, but that didn’t warrant the way they’d behaved. They were given no quarter, no chance to explain. He knew, now, that he could never go back to the mountains. His place in the Crimson Corps was dead.
So now he stood, with three companions, all outcasts, all clinging to the same lifeboat as he. Where they’d go from here, he didn’t rightly know, but he did know one thing - he could trust these three with his life. He could count on them forever.
And right now, that would have to be enough.
As the journey progressed - the falcon adopting a high altitude and cruising speed to conserve power - the group separated and took some time to themselves. Tanner stayed in the cockpit, giving the likes of Nadia some respite from his torment. She herself chose to take some rest, seeking solitude at the front of the plane. The briefing table at the rear was left with Ragan and Chloe in attendance, Remus fluttering about occasionally as he spun and zipped through the air. Ragan watched him for a moment, his thoughts still drifting.
“What will you do after this?” he asked absentmindedly. He looked to Chloe, who continued to study the maps and images. She turned her eyes up to him, strikingly blue in the low lights of the plane. “Whether we succeed or fail, things have changed for you,” Ragan continued. “No one’s going to be chasing you anymore.”