by T. C. Edge
No, escape seemed an unlikely bet. His only real flicker of hope was with Commander Wexley, who seemed to be on his side, for now at least. He had the clout, perhaps, to persuade Rashmore and bring him around. The positive part of Ragan considered that a possible option. The negative part - currently the more dominant part - laughed in the face of that infantile, naive logic.
Ragan slumped back against the wall, all such things swirling around in his head. He was trying hard to not think of Chloe, though that was becoming increasingly difficult. The idea of not seeing her again was…agonising. He’d only just found her, and now he’d lost her again. He’d never get to discover all he wanted about her. He’d never get to experience the girl away from all this madness…
That was a thought that truly disabled him. It set a weight inside him, a cold, heavy stone in his gut. Thinking on it, dwelling on it, wouldn’t serve him right now. It would only drive him to the pits of despair. He couldn’t go there, or he may never get out.
The only real solace, at least, was that she was free. He didn’t know that for sure, but he believed it. He had to believe it. She was with Nadia, and Tanner, and they’d stick together, Ragan knew. Whatever happened from this point, she’d have them to rely on.
That was something, at least…
Chloe paced upon the barren earth, the heat beating down upon her. She walked alone, with only Remus for company, fluttering around her in his regular avian form. The falcon, still sat upon this lonely, desolate land, was a distance back now, Chloe’s idle wanderings taking her several miles or so away from it.
There was a horrible familiarity to all of this, tramping aimlessly over the tundra. An isolation that she’d lived with for three years that she’d thought - hoped - wasn’t going to envelop her again. She wasn’t alone, of course - she still had Nadia and Tanner with her - but she still felt alone. Without Ragan, this group didn’t function the same.
She wandered on, crunching over sand and dirt and outcrops of rock, the heat only now beginning to withdraw as night closed in. The place was beautiful in its own way - a rugged, barren beauty. The shimmering air, hot from the sun, danced upon the horizon ahead of her, only beginning to grow weary now as the sun fled, and the air cooled.
She took a seat upon a little bundle of rocks, watching the great ball of fire begin its majestic descent towards the horizon, the colour of the world changing as it abandoned them for the night.
A blazing red hue of sunset spread out along the surface of the earth, the sky above fading to a deep shade of blue. Chloe sat and watched for some time, Remus landing on her shoulder, gazing out too. A position they’d adopted a hundred times before across the expanse of the continent. There was so much beauty here, so much to see. People seemed to have forgotten that in this mad, endless scramble for power.
She stayed out there, alone, for as long as she could, before standing and beginning the return journey towards the falcon. It sat in the distance, a darkening silhouette upon the flat earth, its cloaking function now disabled to allow it time to charge.
Chloe had told Nadia that she wouldn’t be long, that she just needed some time alone. She’d ended up being gone several hours, losing herself to her thoughts, her aimless wanderings, her slow descent into melancholy.
There was a depression upon the trio out there in the desert right now. Tanner remained unconscious since his earlier revival, his face recovered, his wounds still healing. Nadia’s strength, such an asset for the Texan, had waned upon Tanner’s reaction to Mikel’s terrible work. That cold, detached manner in which he looked upon himself, saw what he now was. It was enough to break Nadia’s resolve for a time. She needed time alone, just as Chloe did.
But the slump could only be temporary. This lonely walk of Chloe’s was designed to show her that. To take her away from the others, make it clear to her that returning to her exile and seclusion wasn’t a palatable option.
She moved through the dying shades of day, the moon and stars lighting bright out here beyond the smog and artificial lights belched into the air by cities and settlements. That radiance from above was glorious, somehow helping to renew her, draw a smile upon her face. And the silence out there was detoxifying, purging her of the recent memories of screams, of chattering gunfire, of terrible, blood-curdling roars of pain. The sounds of battle they were, of death and suffering. What Chloe wouldn’t give to never endure such a soundtrack again.
She slowed her step as she neared the falcon, almost nervous to see what she might find within. Then she saw a frame, hardly lit by the moonlight, standing at the door of the jet, looking out upon the desert. The figure hopped down onto the earth as Chloe drew closer, rushing over towards her.
Nadia’s face came into view in the pale illumination. Her eyes were a mixture of worry and admonishment. The voice that followed included the same concoction.
“Where have you been!” she said, eyes drowned by a heavy frown. “I was getting worried!”
“Walking,” said Chloe. “I was never far…”
“Far enough that I couldn’t see you,” countered Nadia. “You said you’d be gone only half an hour or so. It’s been over three hours, Chloe.”
Chloe smiled at the look on Nadia’s face. That subdued ferocity, that no nonsense attitude. It spoke of a young woman who cared upon an outcome. A woman who cared for Chloe, and the dangers she may have run into, wandering alone in the desert.
That was a nice thought. It was rare for Chloe to have someone to care about her.
“What are you smiling at?” Nadia’s brows knitted tighter, fell lower.
Chloe shrugged.
“Just…I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t do it again.”
Nadia studied her a moment. It seemed enough of an apology to ease her ire. She loosened up a bit, and then drew Chloe forward, hands on her shoulders. Nadia was several inches taller, so loomed a little over the smaller, younger girl.
“We have to stick together out here, Chloe. And we need to be strong for Tanner. And Ragan. And whatever else we face next.”
Chloe nodded, smiling small again.
“Sorry. You’re right. I just needed some time.”
Nadia sighed, and turned Chloe so her arm draped over her shoulder. She began leading her back towards the safety of the falcon, like a mother who’d been up all night, waiting for her daughter to return home.
“You feeling better then?” Nadia asked as they walked, crunching over sand and grit.
Chloe nodded.
“And you?”
Nadia drew a breath, and nodded as well.
“Yeah,” she said. “We’ll have another go with Cliff tomorrow morning, see how he reacts. We’ve got the worst of it out of the way now.”
It was quite endearing how Tanner’s mood affected Nadia so much. It said it all about how she felt about him, how she cared. Chloe could still see the cracks in her facade as she spoke of him, those little fissures opening up, before being drawn shut once more as she steeled herself against such contemplations.
They stepped up into the jet, and Nadia moved to the controls to shut the door tight. She offered Chloe a pointed look as she did so, making the suggestion clear - I’m not letting you out of my sight again.
They headed towards the rear to check on Tanner, who continued to lie still upon the briefing table, face covered in bandages and right eye hidden behind a patch. To ensure Tanner remained unconscious overnight, Nadia administered a heavy dose of sedatives to keep him under until morning. Both needed to get some sleep that night, having stayed up through the previous evening. They quickly determined that checking his scarring could also wait.
That done, they moved to the front of the jet and settled into their chairs, the very same ones both women had adopted on all of their flights thus far. Through the window nearby, the final vestiges of daylight finally gave way, the moon rising through the glass, big and brilliant as it began its nightly journey.
Sleep came shortly after for Chloe, her body sudden
ly showing its fatigue, her mind giving in to its pull. Such a wonderful feeling, to finally drift off when your mind seemed so intent on keeping you awake. Battering you with worries and unpleasant thoughts, refusing to let you settle.
But her concerns and fears had laboured enough, and her mind finally gave in. She fell away into a troubled sleep, and dreams of devastation flourished.
From waking thoughts of dread, to nightmares of the same, there was no respite for Chloe.
It had been like that for three long years.
95
Martha sat in President Chase’s office, alongside a rather excited Randolph, chief assessor for the synthetics. The short, toad-like man had been granted the time of his life over the last day or two, testing each new synthetic soldier, armed with a brand new and highly experienced consciousness, down in the training hall.
Now, with evening fast descending, and the waters of Lake Michigan dark beyond the glass walls of Pamela’s office, it was time for Randolph to deliver his final analysis. Pamela was seemingly extremely keen to fast-forward the process as much as possible, hence the rather expeditious calling of this meeting.
“So, Randolph, where are we on things?” the President asked, sat primly behind her large wooden desk, ornately patterned and designed. She wore a formal grey suit, black hair straight and hanging to her shoulders, narrow features inspecting Randolph with their usual severity. The hour was late, and she hadn’t slept much recently, though didn’t look too weary. This place had a way of keeping one lively, partly due to the filtered air and oxygen continually pumped around for that very purpose.
The others sat opposite, Randolph looking decidedly nervous amid the company of the President. Those nerves, accompanied by his excitement, made for a rather stunted, stuttering response.
“Um, well, Madam President,” he began, fidgeting in his seat. “I…I’ve confirmed at least ten soldiers fit for active duty. They are already highly proficient in their new forms, though could use more time…”
“There is no more time,” countered Pamela, cutting the short man off with a customary wave. “I want to strike immediately, before anyone gets wind of what we’re doing. The NDSA are snooping around and getting far too close for comfort. It’s even reached my attention that Ragan Hunt is back at the CID.”
She looked at Martha with that remark, eyes curling in displeasure, as if she was to blame. Martha had been informed of that fact earlier too, though couldn’t be sure if Ragan was working with the CID again now, or if he’d been captured in Cincinnati and was now their prisoner. Intel was lacking on that front.
“We need to strike hard, as soon as possible,” Pamela went on, eyes switching back to the assessor. “I will have the synthetics briefed on their mission once you’ve signed them off, Randolph. Now you say we have ten? What of the others?”
“They’re…not ready, Madam President,” said Randolph. “In a day or two, perhaps we may have more. It’s difficult to know just who will take to their new form quickly. It’s like throwing a child into a deep pool of water. Some will stay afloat on instinct, others take time to learn. It’s a new science, so the results are always going to be mixed at the start.”
“I see. Well, I suppose ten will have to do.”
“Well, actually there is another,” said Randolph, glancing to Martha. “One who I’m quite excited to have on board.”
Pamela frowned.
“Martha?” she queried. “Care to elaborate?”
Martha cleared her throat. She hadn’t expected to be present at this meeting - it wasn’t really her area of expertise - but for the piece of information she had been given a little earlier. It surprised her somewhat, given his previous stance. Then again, Mikel had proven himself rather capricious over the past week or two. His change of heart wasn’t entirely unexpected.
“It’s Mikel,” said Martha, looking Pamela dead in the eye. “He wants in.”
Pamela raised her eyes and drew back in her chair.
“He does, does he?”
Randolph was struggling to contain his smile. Martha merely nodded, rather less energetic.
“He told me after his testing in the hall that he wishes to be part of your plans,” said Martha. “At least temporarily. The man has lived his life with strong urges. In this case, he has a yearning to show his strength and test himself on the battlefield. He has a real passion for death, that one.”
Pamela pursed her lips, contemplative. She looked to Randolph, still brimming with a desire to speak. She nodded, allowing him the opportunity.
“Mikel has shown the most proficiency of all the synthetics so far,” Randolph said hurriedly. “He’s outdone the others in all tests, Madam President. He’d be a terror out there, a tremendous asset.”
“And a danger,” murmured Pamela cautiously. “He’s still got the mind of a nano-vamp in there. He won’t be fond of taking orders.”
“He may not need to,” said Randolph. “A man like that merely needs to be unleashed.”
Pamela pondered it further, turning to Martha again.
“What do you think about this?” she asked.
Martha’s true feelings were, honestly, mixed. Part of her wanted to see Mikel gone from this place for good, hopefully never to be heard of again. Yet if he wasn’t given some direction, what would he do first? No doubt go testing his abilities on some poor, innocent folk. It might be better to keep some grip of his leash, as Randolph had previously suggested. If Pamela was going to sanction these strikes anyway, Mikel might as well be involved.
Still, it wasn’t an easy answer to give. There were no easy answers anymore.
“I’m torn,” she admitted eventually. “He may be untrustworthy, but we have the means of stopping him should he stray off track. It may be better directing him, rather than allowing him free reign out there alone.”
“Hmmmm,” said Pamela. “Yes, that may be true. If we set him free, he may expose us, whether intentionally or not. He may no longer have a taste for nanites, but he may still hunger for death and destruction. It’s written into his thinking. A massacre won’t serve our cause unless it’s intentional.”
Randolph nodded along, smiling.
“I completely agree, Madam President,” he said. “Perhaps, in time, Mikel would come to join our cause.”
Martha huffed at the notion.
“Oh, I doubt that, Randolph. He’s a rogue. Not one for playing with others.”
“Well, maybe that will change. Without his urges, his mental processes may adapt.”
“I suppose time will tell on that front,” said Martha. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
Pamela waved a hand, drawing both of their eyes.
“I’d like to test Mikel out first,” she said, surveying them. “As well as some of the others. We will need to strike to the east and west simultaneously, or as near to that as possible, but there’s another target that can be dealt with before then.”
She looked to Martha specifically.
“Your friends at Project Dawn know too much, Martha,” the President said. “We know the CID are looking into us, and we’ll deal with them shortly. However, Project Dawn may also be investigating you, and your links to me and this nation could prove indicting. We need that entire organisation destroyed. It will provide a suitable testing ground for some of our synthetics. And, thankfully, you know the location of their secret base.”
Martha attempted to stay in control as she listened, though the horror must have been clear enough on her face. Pamela regarded her with a single raised eyebrow, so callous as she discussed the death of so many.
“Pamela, are you sure that’s…necessary?” asked Martha, voice careful. “Project Dawn is run by good people. They do good work…” She cut herself off, not wanting to give too much away.
Pamela’s frown deepened.
“Good work?” she said with a growl. “Their good work would have seen the destruction of the greatest scientific breakthrough in a century, Martha. All
they do is hold back the future, and commit to living in the past. That is the work of cowards.” She glared at Martha for a moment, then her expression slowly eased up. “I…understand you have developed relationships there, but I’m afraid that’s your own fault. You knew what my intentions were, and always have. All threats must be eliminated, and chaos must follow. Project Dawn, and the Crimson Corps, unfortunately, know too much.”
Martha dropped her eyes, unable to find a reply. What point would there be in giving one, anyway? She had determined what her course here would be - to try to advise her old friend as best she could, to make sure that this new power she wielded didn’t go completely to her head.
A strike against Project Dawn, however much Martha disliked it, was always likely to happen. She knew that deep down, as Pamela said she did. And yes, there were good people there, but there were good people everywhere who were sure to get caught up in all of this.
The only difference, really, was that Martha knew those at Project Dawn personally. She wasn’t close to many of them, intentionally keeping her emotional distance, but still she didn’t want them dead. As with Ragan and Chloe and the others, hunted by Mikel, she wished none of them harm, not even Colonel Slattery. Well…maybe she’d make an exception for him.
She’d done this for Sarah, and had sold her soul to the devil. Now, all she could do was try to limit the damage.
But here, right now, was direct proof that she had little power, little sway. She could merely sit, mute, unable to divert the President from this path for fear of exposing herself. If she rallied too hard in their favour, Pamela might begin to lose trust in her, and then Martha’s place at the President’s side would be taken by someone else. She may find her freedoms further suppressed, and Sarah…what of Sarah?