by T. C. Edge
“Mr President…”
“Just…stop, Richard. I have made up my mind. I’m sure you can do without him here. You have plenty of fine operatives and intelligence officers, and ones who are far more trustworthy. Now enough pleas and bargains. I have things to be getting on with, as I’m sure you do.”
Ragan was in a whirlwind, his mind staggering forward. What could he do? Try to escape? Lunge for one of the President’s detail and take their weapon…maybe take Rashmore hostage in order to get to the roof? He could get into a jet and fly from there. Take the President too if necessary. They wouldn’t shoot him down if he had the President in tow…
His thoughts rushed along, but became quickly irrelevant. With a nod to his men, several of Rashmore’s guards surged forward, taking Ragan by the arms and dragging them behind his back to be shackled.
He had no time to act before he was in chains, Wexley looking on with stern eyes and a shaking head, an exasperated, disappointed sigh drifting from his lips.
What a change that was. Only hours ago the man was trying to determine Ragan’s guilt, as if desperate to confirm it. Now he appeared to be his only supporter.
But…not enough, not in the face of the President. No one would be, unfortunately.
“Keep searching, sir,” Ragan said, finally allowing himself to speak as his wrists were bound. “It’s out there, I’m certain of it. You must find it before it’s too late. You must…”
Ragan felt himself being drawn away, the President clipping his fingers for Captain Maddox and his men to come too. The chin-scarred Panther seemed more than eager to do so, a smile curving up on his face as Ragan was hauled from the command centre, under the watching eyes of all of its staff.
Wexley offered Ragan a final nod, a confirmation that he wasn’t about to abandon his task. It would have to be enough.
Down through the command centre they went, Ragan hastened along, flanked by a host of guards. An ignominious end for one of the CID’s shining stars. Ragan had once been so revered around here.
Now, it seemed, he was reviled.
91
Chloe felt about as nervous as she had in many a year, perhaps in her entire lifetime.
It wasn’t the sort of nerves that came when in conflict, or danger. No, that was different, a pulse of adrenaline that got the heart pumping, muscles warming, mind and senses sharpening.
This wasn’t that. It was…different. A vicarious anxiety, almost. A nervousness for someone else, for how they were feeling.
For how they might react.
Nadia appeared to be in a similar state. Her eyes were hooded, skin pale, forehead shimmering with sweat. She drew several long breaths as she stood at the briefing table, now used as a medical bed for Tanner, who remained unconscious and lying to its surface, though no longer shackled in place.
His white bandages were stained red in places, only his left eye - his remaining good eye - visible, though currently closed. It was twitching, though, suggesting that Tanner was close to waking naturally, his sedatives wearing off.
In her hand, Nadia held a short syringe. She’d given Tanner several ‘boosts’ over the course of the night and morning, intended to keep his nanites working at full capacity. That would speed the healing process while he remained unconscious. To administer the shots, Nadia had ended up staying up through the night.
Chloe, to be a good friend, had done the same.
It was afternoon now, the day a warm one, the sun bright and incongruously cheerful. That annoyed Chloe somewhat, as if the weather had seen fit to betray them these last few days. That storm that swept into Cincinnati had caused all sorts of problems. And now, upon these isolated plains, they were getting this fine weather.
Nadia reached forward with the syringe, moving it towards Tanner’s neck. She did so hesitantly, nervously, and very unlike before. The previous shots had been to speed his recovery, delivered hastily and at regular intervals.
This one, however, was different - its intention was to wake him up.
She drew the syringe back and shook her head.
“We should take a look ourselves first, right?” she said, looking up. She placed the syringe down on the table.
Chloe nodded, feeling a pulse of anxiety. So far, they’d been too cowardly to look upon Mikel’s terrible work, and their efforts in repairing it. It was foolish thinking. Better for them to prepare themselves before Tanner looked upon the damage himself. And, well, the bandaging could do with being replaced.
Chloe took a breath, Remus perched quietly on her shoulder. Both watched on in silence as Nadia reached forwards, picking up a pair of medical scissors and gently cutting through the bloodied dressing. She started on the right side of his face, drawing back a bandage from his jaw and across his chin.
Chloe cringed as she saw the tracks of stitches revealed, the flesh knitted together, still red, still inflamed.
Nadia stopped. She looked up.
“I should do it quickly, shouldn’t I? Just take it off, and get it over with.” She nodded to herself, and returned her hands to the task.
Chloe’s eyes fell half-closed, her pulse thumping as Nadia set about removing the bandages at a quickening pace. She peeled them off, unwrapping Tanner’s face, carefully but hastily removing all the dressings until his grim visage came into view.
She tossed the heap of white and red cloth to one side, and took a half step back. The two girls and Remus looked on in silence for a moment, giving themselves a few heartbeats to come to terms with what they were seeing.
“It’s…not as bad as I thought,” Chloe said, looking on, voice oddly positive.
It wasn’t. It was bad, yes - terrible even - but she’d braced herself for something much worse. The way Tanner had looked when they set him down on the table - flesh hanging off, blood pouring, the bones of his jaw and cheek all but visible - made her think he’d be more horribly disfigured than this.
Even their good work in patching him up - well, Nadia’s good work, mostly - presented a far worse image. That was, of course, before his nanites set to the task, working hour after hour to knit him together and limit the damage, when his flesh was more puffy and inflamed, the tears in his muscle and skin more ragged.
They’d done a tremendous job, those little bots in his blood.
His face remained a grisly patchwork, red lines and ridges of inflamed flesh criss-crossing here and there, but those reds would fade to white eventually, and the inflammation would quickly go down.
Yes, he’d be terribly scarred, but it wasn’t quite as bad as Chloe had once feared.
Worst of all, perhaps, was that right eye. Though his nanites had attempted to stitch it back together, there was only so much they could do. He would be blind in that eye, for certain. Only a bionic implant - and there might be options there - could see him regain full sight again.
Chloe took a moment to inspect him, before turning to Nadia. The Texan looked on with doleful eyes, though had a hopeful slant to her expression as well. She turned to Chloe.
“You’re right,” she whispered softly. “It’s…not so bad.”
She turned back to Tanner and smiled weakly at what she saw.
What a strange thing for them both to look at his face with such expressions. For them to consider how he looked ‘not so bad’. The stark truth was that he would never be as handsome as he was before. His looks had been badly tarnished, his face permanently and cruelly disfigured.
It was a terrible, awful thing that had happened. And yet, the girls were smiling. After what they’d seen, this was the best they were going to get. They could feel proud of the job they’d done.
Now they had a choice to make. Should they wake him, right now, with his face exposed? Should they leave it a little longer, give his nanites more time to work? Should they bandage him up again with fresh dressings, then wake him and inform him of what had been happening?
After all, Tanner needed to be updated, and ideally included in whatever might happen nex
t. They remained in danger, and if Ragan got into contact, they could well be called back into action. The sooner they had Tanner back, the better.
Leaving him there on the table for a few minutes, they discussed their options outside, heading out onto the dusty plains and into the beating sun. Remus fluttered along, wings beating contentedly. It seemed he was similarly relieved by the dreadful, but perhaps not-as-bad-as-it-might-have-been, state of Tanner’s face.
The girls drew long breaths, the air clean out here. They really were isolated, and this wouldn’t exactly be a good place to get trapped should the falcon decide to break down or stop working, for whatever reason. It had once been called Death Valley, and for good reason. Not much lived around here, and that was precisely why they’d settled here to hide, and wait for further news.
If, of course, it came.
“I think we should wrap him up again, and give him another dose of sedatives,” Chloe said. She leaned her back against the falcon’s exterior, before quickly moving immediately away again with a yelp. The thing was hot, its surface baked by the sun.
Nadia smiled.
“You’re probably right,” she said. “It’s been less than twenty four hours. More time might help.”
Of course, a single day would be woefully insufficient for a normal person. Wounds like that would take weeks, months, to heal and begin to scar. With the likes of Tanner, that process was far more expeditious.
Another few hours, a day even, would help the inflammation recede fully, and the sharp redness of his wounds begin to fade. Tanner would be better suited seeing his face for the first time in that state, perhaps. Then again, seeng it now, and then seeing it later when better healed, might present a better contrast.
Still, the girls agreed that more time would be beneficial, if only to banish their own nerves for the time being.
As they stood there, soaking in a few warming rays before returning to the cool of the falcon’s interior, Chloe noted Remus fluttering about in an unusual manner. He flew right past her, zipping into the jet, before looking down towards the rear. Nadia noticed it too, frowning.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Remus quickly updated Chloe on what he was seeing. She look to Nadia, eyes creased in concern. It seemed, as always, their best laid plans had been thwarted.
“It’s Cliff…” she said. “He’s awake.”
Nadia’s eyes widened, then narrowed. She stepped immediately towards the jet, climbing on board. Chloe followed right behind. They stopped beyond the entrance, turning their eyes down towards the briefing table.
Tanner sat up, his back to them, hands lifted to his face. He was breathing deeply, arms shaking, fingers gently touching his ragged, swollen flesh.
“Cliff…” whispered Nadia gently.
He didn’t turn. He didn’t react. He just sat there, facing away, hands trembling.
Nadia hurried towards him, rushing right to his side. Chloe moved behind, more tentative, feeling that heavy rumble of nerves spread through her again. She reached the opposite side of the briefing table, eyes crafted in concern, though held back a few steps.
Nadia didn’t. She was right next to him, whispering quietly.
“Cliff, I know it seems bad…but it’s…” She trailed off, as if not knowing what to say. “It…it will all be OK. I promise you. It’ll be fine.”
Tanner’s left eye was closed, head sunken, hands trembling as they hovered over his face. Fingers gently moved towards his right eye, covered in its patch. They drew back quickly, a wince of pain washing over his face. The change of his expression, the contortion of his features, brought his scarring into more stark focus.
Seeing him awake, seeing those scars move as his features did, made them appear all the more horrifying.
“I…” he whispered, voice cold, empty. “I need to see.”
Nadia looked over at Chloe, distressed.
“I…are you sure?” she whispered, turning to Tanner again, whose left eye remained closed. “It’s only been a day, sweetheart. Give it more time.”
Tanner shook his head. His fingers continued to probe, gently feeling across the ridges, the swollen gashes, the tracks that worked left and right, up and down his face; forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, chin all affected.
His lips quivered, and his fingers drew away.
“Now,” he whispered.
Nadia hesitated.
“NOW!” he bellowed.
Nadia looked up at Chloe again, and Chloe hurried to the side, grabbing a mirror. She reached over and handed it to Nadia, then took a cowardly step back into the corner.
She could hardly watch as Nadia brought the mirror in front of Tanner’s face.
“OK,” she said softly. “Please, Cliff, don’t freak out. Please…”
Tanner opened his left eye.
He stared, unblinking, blank, emotionless.
For what seemed like an age, he just stared, as though looking at nothing but empty space. His lips hung slightly open, breathing slow and measured. That eye of his didn’t flicker, or look away, or seem to move around at all, inspecting the various part of his face, now so badly disfigured. He just stared. Dull. Empty.
Lost.
Nadia drew the mirror away, placing it to one side. And still, he stared.
“Honey, say something,” Nadia whispered. Her hand moved forward, as though wishing to press against his cheek, turn him to look at her. She stopped, unable to touch his skin, his flesh, unable to cause him pain. Her hand dropped. “Cliff…”
Slowly, he began shaking his head. His staring eye fell, staring now a little lower than before. But staring, still just staring. Vacant and blank.
“We’ll get him, sweetheart,” Nadia said, reassuring him. “We’ll make him pay. I promise you that. We’ll get him for what he did.”
A single tear began to gather in the corner of Tanner’s eye. It built, and fell, dropping into one of the terrible ruts upon his face. Following the tracks to his lips, past his chin, regathering at the bottom of his jaw, glistening under the light. And finally, falling into his lap.
One tear. One single tear.
“Cliff,” Nadia said again. Her own eyes were welling up at the sight. Chloe’s were too. It was heartbreaking, seeing the man like this.
Broken, so utterly lost.
He continued to shake his head, lips moving slightly, though no words came. Then his eyes moved, only slightly, to his side. He saw the syringe. He can’t have known what drug was in it.
“Put me out,” he said, so quietly he could barely be heard.
“What?” asked Nadia, leaning in, tears trailing down her cheeks.
He began to fall back, lying down again.
“Put me out,” he whispered. He shut his eye again, and lay his arms down by his sides. “Put…me out.”
What was he asking? To be sedated again? To give himself more time? Or…was this something more, something worse. Was he requesting something more…permanent?
A great swell of grief spread through Chloe as she watched. This was perhaps the worst reaction of all. Better for him to thrash and rave, curse the world, curse Mikel, swear vengeance against him and roar to the heavens.
This silent, slow depression was so distressing to witness. It wasn’t who Tanner was. He was a man of passion, of great anger and humour combined. A man of extremes, who should be bellowing loudly now, only put under because Nadia and Chloe were forced to for what he might do.
But no. He lay down, shut his eye, and whispered to be put to sleep. It was the calm reaction of a stoic man, a man who prided himself on his composure. A man who wasn’t Clifton Tanner.
Nadia obliged, gathering a sedative and pressing the needle into his neck, tears falling as she worked. When she was done, she set about wrapping his face once more in bandages, Chloe moving in to help.
“He’ll come around,” Chloe assured her. “It’s just shock, that’s all. Maybe it was better like this? Now, when he sees himself again, it won’t look so
bad. He’ll be fine…just fine.”
Nadia nodded, but didn’t speak. They completed the job in silence, and she headed to the cockpit to be alone.
Chloe stood, in the quiet desolation, listening to Nadia weep.
92
Mikel looked at a young man who was not himself.
Well, it was himself, but it also…wasn’t. What an odd thought that was. How completely bizarre.
The man in the mirror had a square jaw, cleanly shaved - he liked that part, at least - with perfectly symmetrical features, dark blue eyes, and a soft and full head of neatly trimmed brown hair. He was young, only about twenty years old or so by appearance…
Of course, this body wasn’t twenty years old, but…what, only several? Maybe less. Months only? How long did it take them to build - to grow - these semi-synthetic forms?
They were comprised of human parts, heavy augmented with robotics, a marvel of biotechnology. Those human parts must have growth acceleration capabilities. Strange, then, that the completed form was meant to age so slowly.
Strange…yes, all of this was strange.
Mikel leaned in closer to the mirror. He’d been brought here immediately after his procedure, into this private room a couple of levels up from the labs down below. Apparently, all subjects liked to have a few moments to themselves afterwards, to inspect their new form, get used to their new skin. It would take longer than moments, Mikel knew.
This was…oh so strange…
He peered at himself - at this new form - playing with his expression, seeing the face change. He scrunched his eyes, flared his nostrils, pursed his lips, smiled. He raised his eyebrows, widened his eyes, narrowed them sinisterly, and then set about contorting his face into a range of odd shapes.
Bizarre.
He had control of this form, this young man, but it just didn’t feel like him. He opened his mouth, taking a good look inside, reaching a brand new index finger in to stroke his perfectly formed, perfectly white, canines. He tried to extend them - something he’d done a thousand times before - and they didn’t come. He pressed at them, pulled at them, as if expecting them to budge. Nope. They didn’t move.