by T. C. Edge
No, she had to be smart. She had to fight only battles that she had a chance of winning. This one, she knew, was already lost. There was no sense in fighting Pamela’s decision.
Pamela must have seen her resolve weaken. She looked at her for a long, hard moment, before nodding, victorious. Her eyes turned to Randolph.
“Now, how has Colonel Heston been performing?” she asked.
Randolph looked down at his notes.
“Very well, as expected, Madam President. He’s exhibited proficiency in all tests, second only to Mikel in overall performance.”
Pamela nodded appreciatively.
“Yes, I thought as much. He’s got a fine military mind, only let down by his ailing body in recent years. He’ll be perfect for command of this mission.” She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking. “Best to take all combat-ready synthetics along, give them all a taste of the action,” she said. “We will monitor performance from here, and then craft teams based upon what we find. This is nothing but a testing ground. What follows will be far more important.”
“Yes, Madam President,” said Randolph, looking buoyant at being included in this discussion.
Pamela sat for a few more moments, contemplating things, before waving her hand to dismiss the others. Martha rose from her seat, happy to be set free from this room. She headed towards the door, though found herself held back by Pamela’s voice.
“Martha…”
Martha turned, as Randolph hurried along through the exit, keen to get back to work.
“Yes, Pamela?”
Pamela inspected her for a time, that scrutinising look of hers morphing into something that resembled sympathy. She shook her head.
“I’m not sure you have the stomach for all of this,” she said. “I know that you did this for Sarah, beyond any true dedication to this cause.” She raised her hands to hold off Martha’s retort. “Now now, I’m not blaming you,” she went on. “Nor am I angry. I know we’re moving into dark territory here, and it’s not for everyone. But what we’re doing is important. Perhaps it would be best for you to remove yourself from these sorts of discussions.”
Martha shook her head hurriedly.
“I…no, Pamela…I am committed.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Yes, I admit, the concept of mass death is…unsavoury to me. But I agree with you; it must be done. We have a duty to not only this nation, but this continent, and even this world. If anyone else had gotten their hands on this science, the results would be far more…cataclysmic…”
“Yes!” Pamela said, eyes widening. “Precisely! I know I speak of revenge, and yes that is a strong factor for me, but there’s a bigger picture being painted here. We will safeguard this knowledge, and bring peace to the continent. That is all I’ve ever wanted.”
There was an earnestness to Pamela’s words, her expression, that half convinced Martha that she really believed what she was saying. Unfortunately, those words were typical of tyrants. Despotic rulers ever preached for peace, using mass murder as a way to achieve it.
“However,” Pamela went on, taking a breath to steady herself. She’d stood up as she spoke, her passion forcing her to her feet. She planted her hands down on her desk, and looked Martha dead in the eye. “I feel I’m being unfair on you, Martha. You have only just got your daughter back, and should be spending time with her. There’s no need for you to include yourself in this, if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“It doesn’t,” said Martha, quick to overturn the President’s concern. “Yes, some elements of this are unpleasant. But, I would prefer to be included where possible.” She dipped her head, and offered an easy smile. “However, that is your decision, of course, Pamela. I know there’s no leaving this facility for now, and will spend all the time I can with Sarah. But if you have need for me, and wish for my advice, I am always here for you.”
Martha lowered her head yet further in a reverential bow. Pamela enjoyed that. She swept around her desk, arms spreading as she went, and planted her hands on Martha’s sides. A large grin worked across her hawkish face, narrow features widening and straining with the effort.
“Martha, my dear, you are my oldest friend. I will always be thankful for your advice. As I will always be grateful for what you’ve done for this nation.”
“And I too, Pamela, for what you’ve done for Sarah.”
Pamela nodded, grin holding, and lifted her hands to Martha’s face; a far more attractive one, plumper of feature. Pamela’s palms held her cheeks a moment, before drawing her forward into an embrace.
“My dearest friend,” whispered the President, holding her a moment and then pulling back. She looked to the door. “Now go see that gorgeous daughter of yours.”
Pamela stepped back towards her desk. Martha waited a moment longer.
“Yes, was there something else?” asked the President, rounding her desk and finding Martha still in place.
“Just…this mission against Project Dawn. When will it go ahead?”
Pamela sat down, and swivelled in her chair to look through the large glass wall behind her. She gazed out into the dark blue waters of the lake, the surface just about visible, shimmering with moonlight, reflected from above.
“When those waters lighten up,” Pamela said, still looking out. She spun back around. “Tomorrow morning, Project Dawn will be no more.”
Martha left with those words hanging over her like a storm. Why had she even asked? To get a message out somehow? To find a way to warn them? No, she wouldn’t do such a thing, even if she could. She’d risk nothing here that would put Sarah in danger.
After all, she’d doomed countless people to their deaths for the sake of her darling daughter. If she betrayed that now, then it would have all been for nothing.
She returned to Sarah’s room, slipping inside in the darkness. She found her baby girl sleeping soundly, a little bundle beneath the covers, wrapped up tight with a book to one side. Martha sat down upon the bed, and stroked her soft blonde hair, as she had a thousand times before. Hair that so recently had grown thin and discoloured, now fully restored.
She sat there, stroking the soft, vibrant locks, and knew she’d take no risks that would see her little girl harmed. Here, in this facility, they were little more than prisoners, kept under lock and key. And so long as that was the case, Martha’s loyalty couldn’t waver.
When morning dawned, the shadow of death would fall upon the base of Project Dawn. And stroking Sarah’s head, a tear fell down Martha’s face.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For what I’ve done.”
96
Colonel Jeremiah Slattery woke gently, eyes creaking open as they tended to do after an hour or two’s rest. He’d never been one for sleeping through the night, not as a younger man, and certainly not now he was older. Sleep came in fits and starts, always had and always would. Not until he finally keeled over and died would he sleep a full night through.
He’d been close to that happening - dying, that is - only a few days back, when he’d collapsed from exhaustion and suffered a minor heart attack in the process. ‘Minor’ was his own diagnosis, seeing as it didn’t kill him. The pain in his chest, however, suggested that it was still working on it, though Doctor Lawrence Jenkins, chief medic on site, had assured him he was mostly in the clear.
Of course, his stress levels hadn’t been helped by recent events. How exactly was he supposed to follow Jenkins’ advice and, ‘take it easy’, when everything was falling apart out there? The news had gone from bad to worse, and then taken a tumble towards utterly dreadful. Most recently, he’d been informed by Jason, his chief attendant, that Captain Quinn’s entire squad had been killed in Cincinnati, that Mikel had escaped again, and that Hunt’s team had done the same.
Though Doctor Jenkins tried to prevent it, Jason had even brought footage from the helmet cameras of Quinn’s team, showing their pursuit of Hunt’s group through the streets. The chase only ended when the Phantom girl unleashed that d
evastating lightning of hers, electrocuting Quinn and his entire squad. It was a frightening display, as one by one the mens’ heart-rate monitors went flat, and their cameras went dark.
There was one anomaly - Captain Quinn’s own heart-rate monitor had shown a couple of weak beats before it went dead, suggesting that the squad leader himself may have survived. Either way, he’d surely be dead by now. That or captured by an enemy force, which was tantamount to the same thing.
That news had come in yesterday. Now, as Slattery woke from a brief sleep, it was nearing dawn the following morning, a couple of hours having passed since his previous waking. This time, he felt refreshed enough to stay up. And by God, he needed to get up too. Several days in this damned hospital bed, stuck down here in sickbay, was plenty.
He needed to get back to his feet, back to his office, back to the command centre. He was quite certain that the role of Project Dawn in securing the data was now long gone. However, that didn’t mean the organisation wouldn’t have more battles to fight. And the same went for Slattery himself. He was a man of war. Without a fight, he might as well be dead already. And if this fight was done, then he’d just have to find another one.
He slipped from his bed, wearing an entirely unflattering hospital gown, and moved over to a small wardrobe to one side. Mercifully, his uniform had been stored there. He dressed, though with some discomfort, and headed for the door.
He felt like he was a child again, sneaking out of class at school, as he peeked through the opening to make sure the coast was clear. How different a time that was, all those decades ago. Oh yes, Colonel Slattery remembered the old United States, before it was torn apart and repackaged into something so very different. He’d lived in a world ravaged by war, and one bereft of war too. He had to admit, macabre though it was - he rather preferred the former.
A nurse slipped down the corridor, forcing Slattery to withdraw. He watched through the little gap in the door until she disappeared, whistling mirthfully as she sauntered down the hall. Then, narrow eyes swerving left and right, he slipped from his medical prison and stumbled away, heading quickly for the nearest elevator.
He felt an odd thrill sneaking away like this, despite the fact that he was only going up a few floors of this very building. Perhaps it was all those infiltration missions he’d once been part of and commanded. As a younger man, he’d served during a time before the nano-augmented soldiers became the elites. Back then, men had to rely on their own skills and bravery, nothing more. All of this new tech was a betrayal of true soldiery. Now, the world might well greet something even more advanced.
He gulped down bitterness at that thought. To think, only a week or so ago, Chloe had been right here with them, data locked up tight in her nanites. If only they’d killed the girl right there and then, none of this would be happening. How many people would die for her? How many countless more would suffer?
I should have killed her myself, Slattery thought bitterly.
He had no particular dislike towards Chloe, nor any personal desire to see her harmed. But hell if it wouldn’t have been easier to sacrifice her for the greater good. If only Hunt and Martha Mitchell hadn’t contrived to screw it all up…
He drew a breath as he entered the elevator, drawing back his frustration. His heart pulsed forcefully, sending chills of pain through him. He sucked in a few long, calming gulps, and forced his thoughts elsewhere. They didn’t seem to obey him properly. Unfortunately, his mind was refusing to move too far beyond this particular topic right now.
The elevator rose up, clanking through the old building, Slattery’s chest clenched tight. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened with the data, and that was perhaps the most exasperating thing of all. A rumour had even swirled around, picked up by one of his technicians, that Hunt was at the CID again. That seemed fanciful at best, though Slattery wasn’t about to ignore it. Truly, everything had become so damn muddled he could hardly tell up from down right now.
The elevator ground to a halt at the floor of the command centre, its doors opening after a short delay. Apart from this particular part of the building, much of the structures around the base remained quite old and run down. They had their updated tech, of course, such as a cloaking field that rendered the base invisible from sight, but the actual health of the base itself wasn’t anything to be particularly proud of. Only here, at this central hub of operations, did the place resemble anything you might term ‘state of the art’.
Slattery sucked in another breath, steadying himself as he stepped out of the lift, eyes pointed forward towards the command centre before him. He drew a smile at what he saw - even after everything that had happened, all their failures and setbacks, the men and women here were still working hard. Even now, so early in the morning, they weren’t stopping in their task. They weren’t willing to give in.
Slattery felt a surge of pride at that thought.
He stepped on, the din of the room filling his ears. Oh how he loved that din. It was a comfort blanket around him, the melody of a mother singing her child to sleep. He moved deeper into the room, standing as tall as his weakened body would allow, and eyes began to spot him. People stopped in their tasks as they saw him coming, lifting smiles, nodding, saluting as he passed. Then an impromptu applause began, the several dozen people in the room clapping as one as he ventured forward.
He stopped in their centre, seeing their eyes, their resolution. He bowed his head, appreciative of their support, though hardly felt he’d earned it. As far as he saw it, he’d failed in his task; he’d failed them all. The primary function of this organisation was to hold back the storm; that storm was now raging, unquenchable, unstoppable.
From the midst of the gathering, Jason came surging forwards, his own smile as broad as anyone’s.
“Colonel, sir, should you be out of bed?”
Slattery responded with an indignant stare.
“Sorry. Foolish question,” said Jason.
“So how are the troops?” Slattery asked, the applause starting to fade, people returning to their stations.
“Doing what they can,” said Jason, looking around. “We did find something of interest regarding Captain Quinn, actually. I was going to come and inform you at first light.”
“Well, I’m here now. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”
The two men began moving towards Slattery’s office as Jason spoke, slipping through the glass door and into the sound-proofed space.
“Satellite footage confirms that Quinn was taken in by the NDSA,” Jason informed him. “It appears he is alive, sir. We’ve been scrambling to find something further, but so far haven’t discovered anything. I’m…concerned that Quinn may give away our location, Colonel.”
Slattery reached his desk, and settled into his large leather chair. It felt great to get off his feet, even after so short a journey.
He shook his head.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Lieutenant,” Slattery grunted as he set himself down. “Captain Quinn wouldn’t give us up. He’s been trained to handle interrogations.”
“And Hunt?” asked Jason.
The word - the name - sent a shudder of anger through Slattery. His heart reacted with a tight clench, and a few hurried beats.
He grimaced, both from hearing the name and feeling the resulting pain.
“Who can say,” Slattery said, eyes turning down to a drawer to the right of his desk. His whisky drawer. Tempting. “Everything Hunt’s been doing to this point has been impossible to predict. He could just as well be working for the CID still as trying to subvert them. Either way, I don’t think it serves his purpose to give up the location of this base.” He grumbled and shook his head. “Honestly, I still have no idea just what his purpose is…”
“Well, if I may proffer an opinion, sir?”
Slattery nodded.
“Go ahead, Jason.”
Jason drew a breath.
“I’m beginning to think that Hunt may never have wavered, sir, in his d
esire to destroy the data.”
Slattery leaned back, raising an eye.
“I’ve had plenty of time to ponder it by now, sir,” Jason went on, “and it appears to me that we got our wires crossed early, and things only got further tangled from there. It’s this sudden departure of Councillor Mitchell, sir, that gets me, and that she hasn’t been back in contact since. I think it’s fairly obvious that she’s involved…”
“Yes, we covered this before, Jason. It’s patently clear that she’s the one who hired Mikel to procure the data.”
“Precisely,” nodded Jason. “She hired the nano-vamp, but that had nothing to do with Hunt. Hunt and his team took Mikel in, after all, and only then did Councillor Mitchell disappear from the base. I’m thinking Hunt got wind of her part in hiring Mikel, and thus she fled. Now, if that’s the case, it makes perfect sense for Hunt to go dark and sever comms with us. He clearly didn’t know who to trust back here. And our response…”
“Was to send Quinn after him,” nodded Slattery.
“Exactly. I’ve looked over the surveillance and helmet cam footage several times, and each engagement between Hunt’s team and Quinn’s unit makes it clear that Hunt was on the defensive, and trying not to actively kill Quinn and his men. Now, if he’s out there, wondering who he can trust back here, and then suddenly another unit of Crimson Corps soldiers comes and tries to take him out…well, what would you do? I think Hunt and his team have been trying to recover the data this entire time.”
“And him now being back at the CID?” queried Slattery.
“I don’t think he had a choice. It’s clear from the footage that Clifton Tanner was injured, and the team were struggling to escape from the city. The Phantom girl had no choice but to hold Quinn back with that lightning storm. Perhaps it wasn’t enough? Perhaps Hunt had to give himself up to let the others get free?”
“Perhaps,” murmured Slattery. “It’s a word I don’t much like, Lieutenant. Your theory is sound, that much I agree with. But I’m not entirely sure it matters anymore.”