by T. C. Edge
But, of course, this cloned form wasn’t exactly ‘normal’. It had been designed as a perfect version of Sarah, and wouldn’t be susceptible to disease or illness. With Martha’s wealth, Sarah should want for nothing. A long and prosperous life should lie in wait for her. A normal life. As it should be.
She sat a little longer with her daughter, watching her as she returned to her book. She’d always liked to read, preferring older paper-books if she could find them. Martha always loved seeing the wonder on her little girl’s face as she got lost in a story, some grand adventure.
Watching her turn those pages, those actual physical pages of paper, made the sight more tangible for Martha. Each turn was eager, Sarah’s eyes flicking to the next page with a sparkle, a yearning for more.
She watched her now, as Sarah picked up her book and settled against some pillows at the top of the bed. Her worries seemed to have been forgotten as she sought the safety of the novel, disappearing into some fantasy world. A tear threatened to build in Martha’s eye at the sight - how she’d longed to see this again. That wonder, that amazement, that purity of youth,
“You’re doing it again, mom.”
Martha blinked, and found Sarah glancing over the top of her book.
“You’re watching me read. You always used to do that.”
“You…remember that?” asked Martha.
“Yeah. I remember you reading to me too, when I couldn’t myself. When I was sick. I remember your voice.” She frowned. “It’s weird. I don’t remember much of the last few months.”
Martha swept over and brushed fingers through her soft blonde hair.
“I could read to you again. If you want?”
Sarah grinned, but shook her head.
“No, it’s OK. I want to read. Maybe later.”
Her eyes fled back to her book, eager as they used to be.
“But stop watching,” she said, without looking up. “It’s distracting.”
Martha laughed and stood, finding it difficult to tear her eyes from her girl.
“I’m so happy to have you back, sweetheart,” she whispered.
“Same,” smiled Sarah, eyes glancing up, then straight back to the page.
So innocent, Martha thought. If only she knew the truth…
“I’ve got a few things to do, though,” Martha added, checking her watch and noting the time. “Will you be OK on you own?”
Sarah tore her eyes from her book, reluctant. Martha knew full well that interrupting her while reading was always likely to draw her ire.
“You ask that every time. I’m OK,” she nodded. The book drew her gaze again.
“OK, sweetheart.” Martha kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
She moved for the door, stepping across the soft carpet, reaching for the handle. As she did, turning it down, she heard Sarah’s voice behind her.
“Mom.”
Martha turned. Sarah’s book had lowered, settled onto her lap. She stared at her mother, body tightly bound up on her bed, snuggly fitted between cushions.
“Yes, darling?”
“I love you,” said Sarah softly, with a small grin.
Martha let out a slow exhale of air, her body warming with an untold joy, brimming, melting at the words.
“And I love you,” she said, tears gathering. “I always will, no matter what.”
“No matter what,” Sarah repeated.
Before her tears could fall, Martha left the room, stepping into the quiet corridor, joy flooding through her. She drew a breath, shaping up, and then began walking for the elevators. Such a weird dichotomy, this place. That room, and the girl who occupied it, made her feel more alive than ever. But everywhere else served only to suck that life away. Her good mood faded, replaced by apprehension.
It was time to see to Mikel.
Martha reached Mikel’s holding room in the depths of the facility and looked through the glass into the chamber. The nano-vamp was sitting on the bed, body stiff and unmoving, almost in a trance. He was a frightening sight, enough to send shivers down one’s spine, and yet Martha had, though she was loathe to admit it, a certain respect for him, warped though that may be.
He had, after all, chosen to forgo having his consciousness stored here. He didn’t seem to be interested in eternal living, his mind clearly having changed in that regard.
He didn’t appear to fear death at all, in fact. All he wanted was to be free of his suffering and endless torment, to start his life afresh.
Perhaps, she wondered, he wanted to find some sort of redemption?
There was something in that that drew her sympathy. He had never chosen to be created, made as he was. His violence, his need to feed and kill, was programmed into him, forced upon him.
Did you blame the lion when it attacked and ate the antelope? Did you curse the spider for snaring a fly in its web? Mikel was designed to fulfil a purpose, only following his engineered instincts.
He was a beast, yes, and a cruel, savage man, but Martha could hardly blame him for that. It was only how he was intended.
Instead, she felt some pity for him. He was trying to change, and seeking a way out. And though Pamela still wished to use him, Martha continued to advise against it. Mikel would be better off out of their hair, drugged after the procedure and sent on his way without knowing the location of this place.
He could be made an asset, it was true, but an asset was often a short step away from becoming a liability. Martha got the sense that Mikel might take that step himself if his desires weren’t fully met.
Instead, they’d reached a compromise - Mikel’s new synthetic form, like all the others, had been fitted with a failsafe to ensure he couldn’t do them any harm, should he choose to. He wouldn’t be told about that, of course. It wasn’t for him to know, and Martha happened to agree on that particular point.
She reached up now as she looked through the glass, rapping her knuckles upon the window to get the vamp’s attention. The thud was dull, but audible in the silence. Mikel’s body uncurled, standing immediately, eyes forward.
He found Martha smiling at him through the window. She nodded for Kurt to unlock the door, and the burly, bearded bodyguard did as ordered. He opened it up for her, and she stepped over the threshold.
“Hello again, Mikel,” she said. “It’s time. Are you ready?”
Mikel nodded, silent. Were those nerves in his eyes? Did nano-vamps even feel nerves?
“Well, come this way,” continued Martha, opening an arm to the door. Mikel stepped forward, ushered out into the corridor.
His eyes perused the space, though there wasn’t much to see. This entire facility was dull, coloured in shades of grey and white for the most part, entirely functional in design. Only the laboratories were of interest, really. The places were men played God, where the key to the future was being turned.
Martha led Mikel on, moving down the corridor to the right. Behind them, Kurt and Rick fell into step a few paces back. Martha didn’t need to turn around to know that they’d have their hands on their weapons, ready to use them should Mikel make any move at all.
They’d be good candidates for the transference, she mused. Loyal, experienced, extremely capable. Put their minds into two powerful synthetics, and they’d cause a world of destruction.
That might well occur, if they - or Pamela Chase - wished for it. Not on this first round, of course, but perhaps later, when more powerful designs were brought to bear. Soon enough, the likes of the Ravens would become second-rate soldiers here, vastly outdone by these brand new evolutions. If the President willed it, many Ravens might be brought here for an upgrade.
Martha hoped that wouldn’t be the case with her two bodyguards. Nano-augmented soldiers were still just normal men and women, merely enhanced with nanotechnology to make them more capable in the field. They were born, raised, and then augmented when they reached a suitable age, often after having spent time in the military and setting themselves apart from the o
ther soldiers. Only then would they be assigned for special nanobot infusion, giving them additional abilities, but otherwise keeping them human at their core.
These synthetics weren’t that. They were created in a lab, purpose built for war. A melding of biological flesh and organs with internal robotics. They were androids, really, not human.
Of course, they were ‘run’ on human consciousness, which made the area rather more grey. Without a human mind to power them, they wouldn’t perform effectively. Over the years many tests had been done on precisely that, attempts to create artificial intelligence to run the bodies, or even using ‘remote consciousness’ - a sort of remote-controlling of the synthetics - in order to make them function. Nothing had worked properly. Only an actual human consciousness, duplicated and transferred, would work.
Their bodies, therefore, were engineered, but their minds were not. These were soldiers who had decades of stored memory, who had experienced the world from childhood onwards, now upgraded into a new form.
Did that make them human still, if their minds were as such? Or were they something else, something beyond that? It was a philosophical debate that Martha continually had with herself.
She escaped it now, however, as they reached the end of the corridor, and entered into an elevator. The process of transference was performed down on the lowest subaquatic level, deep enough into the depths of Lake Michigan that any unusual power signature, any surge, wouldn’t be detectable by even the most advanced of scanning technology used by the other nations. The mind-vault, where the soldiers’ consciousnesses were stored, was on the same level, down another wing of the facility.
They reached it now, continuing down a corridor and entering into the main laboratory. As before, the place was humming and vibrant, scientists scurrying around like ants.
Doctor Lang was here, and Doctor Cavendish too - when were they not here? Martha wondered - running the show. They’d been doing so ever since Sarah’s procedure was successfully completed, a good two dozen synthetics having been ‘completed’ since then, and sent elsewhere for testing.
Now, it was Mikel’s turn.
Martha noted the deepest frown upon his face as they moved through the laboratory, the nano-vamp drawing plenty of gazes as he went. Even here, where scientists barely stopped to use the bathroom unless entirely necessary, Mikel’s presence caused a sudden, albeit brief, lull.
People stopped at their stations, staring for a moment, before getting straight back to work. Mikel just seemed to have that effect on people. Martha had noted the very same at her estate, when her staff had gazed upon him as he arrived to hand over the data.
She led him quickly through, however, towards the rear.
Here, Doctor Cavendish was waiting, eyes positively blackened by lack of sleep, skin sweaty and hair greasy owing to constant work. He looked at Mikel awkwardly as they arrived, nodding them through into the circular chamber in which the procedure would occur - the very same one in which Sarah had been saved.
There were others being built on this level, though none were ready for use quite yet. Right now, this was the only one they had, and thus only a single soldier at a time could be seen to.
Martha quaked at the idea of several more of these chambers being completed. Once they were, armies of synthetics could be fitted out and prepared for combat.
Mikel continued to eye the room silently, nervously. His step seemed to slow as Doctor Cavendish led them towards the two pods at the centre of the room. The place was dim, as it was before, with stations set around its border, scientists and technicians at work. One pod lay empty, ready for Mikel. The other was already set with the man he was set to become.
Young, perfect, powerful. How strange it would be to imagine Mikel’s head in that body.
At least, as he was, you knew what you were getting when you looked at him. Mikel had a danger about him, a sinister cast. These synthetics were quite the opposite. They were designed to be pleasing on the eye, and vocally appealing too.
Faces you wanted to look at. Voices you wanted to listen to. Of course, when filled by a warped mind like Mikel’s, no doubt he’d shape his new form to his own way of thinking. But still, the concept was bizarre, and imminent…
“Um, right this way…soldier,” said Doctor Cavendish nervously, ushering Mikel towards the empty pod. Did he think he was just another soldier to be added to Pamela’s forces?
Martha shook her head and followed, watching as Mikel was awkwardly set into the contraption. He had this heavy frown over his eyes, irises of cold blue glancing, glaring at anyone who got near. Mostly, that was poor Cavendish, who clearly wanted to get this done.
With Mikel’s strapping completed, and the mesh helmet set to his head, the doctor stepped back and over to his station. The pod closed, sliding shut, locking Mikel away. His eyes showed a hint of panic, before slowly drawing shut as the gas, pumped into the pod, did its work.
Martha watched, breath baited, eyes unblinking.
The room darkened, the wires flashing with light, the cables connecting the two pods glowing brighter and brighter as the rest of the room dulled, falling into deep shadow.
An odd feeling of nerves spread through Martha’s body, heart pumping and breathing stunted. Watching this process occur set a primal fear in her, mixed with a sense of utter awe.
The things these men had achieved. The things they could do…
The process didn’t last long. It wasn’t like with Sarah, which seemed to last an age. This time, time fled, as though not wishing to be here, to witness such a thing. The humming crackled and built, and the transference reached its climax. Within a minute or so, the cables and wires were dulling, the room was brightening, and the pod on the left was sliding open.
Martha stayed back. Everyone stayed back. The pod on the right remained locked tight, Mikel’s old form, the form of the deadly nano-vamp, now empty. Empty of a terrible mind, a useless vessel ready for the scrapheap. Now the other held his memory, his experience, his cold and heartless character.
The room fell silent for several long moments. Everyone stared at the open pod, at the figure lying upon it. Perhaps some hoped that the process had failed. That this creature, this nano-vamp, had been destroyed forever.
No, that hadn’t happened. That hope was not to be realised.
Mikel - this new Mikel - opened his eyes. Young, blue, brand new.
And a smile, a beautiful smile, curved up on his face.
90
The command centre at the CID was always busy.
Ever since Ragan started working here several years ago, he’d never known it to be quiet, or even close to empty, even in the dead of night. The CID monitored all threats, particularly coming from the WSA, though also anything else that might be considered a danger to the nation.
As the NDSA’s foremost intelligence service, it was their job to protect the country’s borders and interests. Much of the intelligence they gathered was used by the military to help safeguard the nation, and they ran many of their own mission too with agents - ex-agents - like Ragan himself, and the various units of Panthers they had under their command.
Unfortunately, however, the war on the continent had had the dual effect of narrowing the CID’s vision - turning their eyes to the WSA almost exclusively - and limiting their funding. Wars were expensive, and though as much money as possible was being siphoned into defence, espionage, and reconnaissance, there was only so much to go around.
Naturally, things needed to be cut to make the budget work, and proper surveillance of the MSA was high on that list. They kept a lazy eye on them only, glancing over occasionally.
When you were fighting a raging beast of a man, did you spare much thought for the toddler poking at your leg with a stick? No, you didn’t. You kept your attention on the brute trying to kill you, and the WSA military was precisely that.
It was some irony, then, that the toddler had grown into something else entirely. Ignored, forgotten, the Mid-States
hadn’t ever been more than a mild annoyance. Latterly, they’d been almost totally discounted, what with the fighting growing ever more furious between New York and LA.
Slinking away into the shadows of these mighty nations, the MSA had operated in secret, ignoring their treaties, subverting their mandates of peace and non-violence. The doves who’d long spoken out against the war had played a very smart game indeed.
And now, to Ragan’s great relief, Commander Richard Wexley was beginning to wake up to it.
The two men stood together at Wexley’s station at the rear of the command centre, going over a number of files that had been compiled over the previous few hours.
In the shadows, Ragan’s escort of Panthers skulked, ever watching him as they’d been commanded to go. The third of their number - the rather malicious Captain Maddox - hovered about, snarl on his face as he paced from side to side behind them, sliding his finger up and down that nasty scar that split his chin.
Ragan had learned to ignore the lot of them. They were grunts and little more. If a strike was to be organised, then they’d be of some use. Right now, any contributions they might make were irrelevant.
The files were in holographic form, the images and data rising from Wexley’s station before them. They could be manipulated with a swish of a finger; moved about, enlarged, zoomed in, zoomed out. Of most interest to Ragan were the maps, showing the area of and around Lake Michigan, which had been updated by several intelligence officers to include all known military bases, weapons factories, and science and research labs that they were aware of.
The two, with the aid of several other staff members in the command centre, had spent the last couple of hours going through many of these sites. Wexley had assigned half a dozen men and women to the task of finding the location of this supposed facility, feeding them whatever they discovered.
Ragan would prefer for more people to be added to the search, but understood that any request in that regard would be pushing it. Wexley was already growing frustrated by their lack of substantial evidence, and couldn’t afford to take any more men off their other tasks.