by T. C. Edge
“I can’t be certain. They seemed to have two targets - the command centre, and the barracks. It’s likely they moved onto the council chambers next.”
“And…they?” asked Tanner. “Who were they, Colonel?”
Chloe felt the question was redundant. They knew. They all knew already.
Slattery’s expression darkened further. Even under the bright sunlight, he appeared to be hidden in shadow.
“I…can’t say for sure, Clifton,” he said. “But they were like…nothing I’ve ever seen.”
Chloe’s insides iced over at his words, the manner in which he spoke them. This was a man who’d operated alongside, and commanded, hundreds of nano-augmented soldiers before. As head of the Crimson Corps, he oversaw the operations of nano-enhanced from the Spectres, Panthers, Ravens, and Southern Kings and Queens. Those were the most elite soldiers on the continent. The very best of the best.
And yet, what he saw, what he witnessed only hours ago, had chilled him to his bones.
She glanced over at the younger man, Jason, who looked at his commander with a tight, sympathetic expression. Slattery seemed to be having some trouble under the hot sun, his left hand - a rudimentary bionic one - clutched at his chest. He was sweating, though looked to be growing increasingly pale.
“Are you OK, Colonel?” the young lieutenant said quietly.
Slattery nodded, his breathing stunted.
Jason turned to the group.
“He had a heart attack several days ago, and collapsed from exhaustion,” he said. Slattery lifted his chin, straightening himself up, as if not wanting to be seen as weak. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but they ought to know,” Jason went on, reacting to Slattery’s rebuking glare.
“We should get into the shade then,” said Nadia, moving to Slattery’s side. “Come on, sir, we’ll take you to the falcon.”
She began leading him along, Jason staying at his other flank. Chloe and Tanner held back a moment, sharing a look as the others passed, crunching across the desert towards the jet ahead.
“You trust them now?” Tanner asked, arching an eyebrow.
Chloe nodded, a horror beginning to saturate her.
“Did you see that look on his face. Both of their faces,” she murmured. “This is bad, Cliff. Real bad.”
“It’ll get worse, believe me,” Tanner said as they began to follow. “I’m fairly sure this is just the beginning…”
A little while later, the group sat in the cool safety of the falcon, the jet now housing five human members, and one excitable drone.
Slattery had been seen to by Nadia, who gave him some drugs for the pain in his chest, and had now been set in a comfortable chair to take the weight off his legs. Jason, meanwhile, had set about updating them on what happened at the base, telling of the suddenness of the attack, the chase through the command centre, and their escape from the hanger.
It seemed, as they’d written in their original message, that the number of assailants had numbered only ten or so. While it was possible that others had entered from another part of the base, Jason had witnessed, via security footage, only a single unit scale the eastern wall, before it split into two groups, one heading for the command centre, the other moving to the barracks in the northern quadrant of the base.
The testimony, when hearing it firsthand, made it abundantly clear what they were dealing with. It can only have been a new force of synthetic super-soldiers from the MSA. It appeared that they must have decoded the data far more quickly than anyone had anticipated, and mastered the procedure of consciousness transference already.
It was far, far worse than Chloe, or anyone else, had feared.
“So, it’s confirmed then?” asked Jason sombrely, looking to the others. “It definitely is the MSA behind all of this? I thought that was the case.”
“Yeah,” said Nadia. “We think that Martha commissioned Mikel to steal the data in order to save her daughter. At least, that’s part of it, anyway.”
Both Jason and Slattery frowned. It was going to need more explanation than that.
“Oh, right,” said Nadia, seeing their faces. “Let me start from the top. So…”
For the next few minutes, she quickly, and concisely, explained just what the group had been up to over the last few days, and what they believed was going on. Slattery sat in silence, listening, nodding in places, frowning in others, before shaking his head as Nadia completed her recital.
He let out a sigh.
“What a damn screw up,” he said, dropping his head. “I should have trusted you, rather than sending Captain Quinn to take you in. Maybe Mikel wouldn’t have gotten away then.” He puffed out a breath. “I’m sorry. All of you, I’m sorry.”
“Sir, think nothing of it,” Tanner said, moving forward, laying a hand on Slattery’s shoulder. “Looks like there’s been a lot of wires crossed over this mess, and we’re just as much to blame as you. You thought we’d betrayed you. You acted as any commander would. The only one at fault here is Martha.”
Slattery looked up from his seat into Tanner’s face, nodding. Then his eyes curled up, as though he hadn’t properly noticed the very obvious scarring yet, the mangled latticework of uneven lines and twisted ruts that now permanently marked him.
“Mikel,” he whispered, looking horrified. “Mikel did that, didn’t he?”
Tanner’s lips coiled into a grimace. He’d probably rather his face wasn’t mentioned, nor Mikel at this point. Best not to draw attention to either.
“I’ll get him for it, sir,” growled Tanner, eyes glancing away.
“I’m sure,” said Slattery, eyes oddly soft, setting his hand to Tanner’s arm. “I’m sorry, soldier.”
“Don’t be,” Tanner returned. “I’ll live. You’re the one with the cranky ticker.” He smiled, and even managed to draw a grin onto Slattery’s face.
For two men who didn’t really get along, it was a nice moment. Petty differences would need to be put aside; they’d all suffered enough. And what had gone on between them, all this chasing and hunting, needed to be swiftly swept away.
“So, Ragan’s back at the CID then,” said Slattery, “trying to convince them to help?”
“We believe so,” nodded Nadia. “We haven’t really heard anything over the last two days, though. All we know is that he gave himself up to a Panther unit that was chasing us.”
“Well, we heard he was there,” said Slattery. “We intercepted chatter back at the CID.”
“Working with them?” asked Chloe eagerly. “He’s safe?”
Colonel Slattery hesitated.
“As…far as we know,” he said. “It seems as though they’re too late now, in any case. These synthetics have been unleashed, and who knows what else they’re planning. You can be certain that Project Dawn wasn’t their primary target. It’s quite possible that they’ve already struck elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere,” said Chloe, voice fearful.
“Yes. If it were me, my first thought would be to destabilise my enemies, incapacitate their ability to track and hunt me down. Aside from Project Dawn, who else even knows that the data has been stolen?”
“The NDSA,” said Nadia. “As far as we know, only them.”
“Then that’s where they’ll strike next. If we were able to intercept chatter about Ragan being taken in by the CID, then the MSA will have too. They’ll be keen to eliminate the threat as soon as possible, if they haven’t already. That means disabling the CID, just as they did us. They may also look to take out high profile targets to cause confusion and chaos, anything that will disrupt the search for the location of their facility…”
Chloe was already moving as Slattery spoke.
She hurried towards the briefing table, now returned to its former setting after being used as a medical bed for Tanner over the last few days, and powered it up. The table lit like a screen, windows opening up. Chloe began searching for live news, tapping her fingers, bringing up holographic images and sifting quickly through them.
The others drifted over, realising what she was doing. Nadia rounded the table and began searching herself. Tanner and Jason did the same.
“Anything?” asked Slattery, back on his feet and standing to one side.
“Nothing,” said Chloe, breathless. “Anyone else?”
The others said the same as they searched, all of them scanning for any news that might point towards trouble in New York or elsewhere. If the CID was attacked, just as the base in Colorado was, then it would spread immediately across the entire continent.
“Doesn’t look like anything’s happened just yet,” said Nadia. “But I think the Colonel’s right. An attack may be imminent at the CID, and probably elsewhere too. We can’t possibly know what the MSA’s capabilities are, or just how many synthetics they have at their disposal.”
“They tore through our base like it was wet paper,” Jason said, his voice intense. “And it was only ten or so men. An army like that would be unstoppable.”
“They won’t have an army yet,” said Tanner. “And an attack on New York will be very different to the base in Colorado.”
“Cliff, you didn’t see. You weren’t there,” said Jason. His eyes lowered, memories taking him off again. He began shaking his head. “This is what we feared, what we fought against.” His hazel eyes lifted to Chloe, an almost rebuking stare, as though this were her fault.
She recoiled from it and looked away. Perhaps this was her fault, at least in part. She could have done the noble thing and killed herself, stopped all this from getting out. She could have stopped Ragan from taking her to the CID for extraction. Damnit that felt so stupid now. After everything that had happened, she felt the selfish fool.
She held the weight of it all on her shoulders, saw the shadow of death wherever she looked.
“So what do we do, that’s the question?” came Nadia’s voice, breaking her thoughts. Chloe looked up, and found that Nadia had drawn near to her. She had a small smile on her face, a comforting smile, as if she knew what Chloe was thinking.
“What can we do?” asked Jason. “Other than warn the CID of what might be coming.”
“Then we do that,” said Nadia. She looked to Slattery, who was nodding lightly, his face still quite pallid, skin still sweaty.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I don’t think we have a choice in that now. In the face of what we saw, in the face of this…evil, enmities need to be cast aside.” He nodded more forcefully. “We have to warn them of what might be coming their way.”
“That’s if they’ll listen,” grunted Tanner.
“They have Ragan with them,” said Slattery. “They’re aware of the threat. They just may not be expecting it so soon.”
Tanner nodded, and turned his eyes to the cockpit.
“I can send a transmission from here, but I have no way of getting directly through to anyone of importance. We have no direct line to Commander Wexley, or anyone on the inside. Unless…anyone knows any codes that will get us through?”
He looked specifically at Jason, clearly aware that Nadia and Chloe had no such knowledge. The young man shook his head.
“If we were back at the command centre, we’d be able to. But not here.”
“Welcome to our world,” huffed Tanner. “We’ve been doing the best we can with the little we have these last few days.”
“And a good job you’ve done too,” remarked Slattery, pursing his lips in approval. “Out of interest, how have you managed to acquire your intel? Like Martha’s address? And Mikel being in Cincinnati?”
“Well, that was…” began Tanner.
Chloe stepped forward and cut him off.
“That’s…classified, Colonel,” she said, eyes narrowing with a measure of continued distrust.
Slattery managed a small smile at that. It seemed his weakened heart had softened him.
“Fair enough,” the old man said. “I was just interested is all.”
Chloe nodded and looked to Tanner.
“Right, I’ll go send a message,” he said, turning to the cockpit again. “Jason, you come along with me.”
He grabbed the young man - well, they were all young, barring Slattery - and marched him towards the cockpit. Chloe glanced awkwardly at Nadia, the two left alone with the ageing colonel, who still looked so drawn out and haggard.
She hesitated a second, and then drifted off to find herself a seat, out of sight and away from those cold, thoughtful eyes of his.
Yes, Chloe had yearned for bonds of friendship and human contact over the years. Ragan, Nadia, Tanner…they suited her well.
She hadn’t quite reckoned on Colonel Slattery - the man who’d argued for her demise - joining their little crew.
100
How long, Ragan wondered idly, will it take me to go mad in here?
It was the latest in a long line of deep, thought-provoking questions that he’d posed to himself over the previous twenty four hours locked in this cage. A way of keeping himself sane; which was quite ironic, really, given the latest query he was considering.
A week? he wondered. A month? No, longer than that. How long was a piece of string?
There was no answer, of course, without actually going through it, and he hoped he wouldn’t get the chance to find out. He hadn’t heard anything yet of what President Rashmore’s specific intentions for him were, but still felt quite certain that death was on the cards. If not that, then a long lengthy stay in prison - a proper prison, not this cushy basement cell - most likely lasting decades, if not his entire life.
And, with his nanotech augmentations, that life would be a long one.
Given the two options, he knew just which one he’d choose. Ragan wasn’t built for the cage. If they didn’t drag him to the gallows, then he’d probably be killed in an escape attempt anyway. They’d have to keep him comatose to keep him caged.
Now that thought was particularly unpleasant; not just being locked away physically, but mentally too, drugged out to the point where you were a prisoner in your own mind. Ragan knew of certain therapies that created such conditions, used on especially dangerous and detestable criminals. Above any other punishment, that would be the worst.
He shuddered and turned away from the thought, and looked out through the bars of his cell. Outside, in the little adjoining room, the three Panthers assigned to watch him lazed about. One sat at the table, arms formed into a nest, head resting there like a mothering bird. Another idly flicked a knife about, twirling it through his fingers, tossing it from hand to hand.
The third - Captain Maddox - paced from side to side right outside of the cell, occasionally throwing Ragan his own personal brand of contemptible glances. Quite what Ragan had done to Maddox was beyond him. Could he really hate him that much, just for helping Chloe escape the CID?
He shook his head, and looked up at Maddox as he made a pass.
“Any news?” he asked. No answer. “What’s your name anyway?”
“You know my name,” grunted the captain. At least that got him talking.
“I know your rank and surname. What’s your first name?”
Maddox halted his step in front of the bars, glancing back at the other two Panthers. Both continued to do what they’d been doing - tossing blades and sleeping - and took no notice of the conversation. Still, the manner in which Maddox looked at them, all furtive and embarrassed, suggested he was ashamed of his first name.
Ragan smiled at the thought. He wasn’t one for teasing like Tanner, but what else was there to do around here? There were only so many of those rabbit-hole questions he could ponder, and he’d rather not let his mind dwell on Chloe or the others either.
So, he leaned forward from his slouched position on his bed, and smirked.
“Go on, what is it?” he asked, in a manner Tanner would be proud of. “It’s a girl’s name isn’t it? Yeah, that would suit you. You probably cut that scar across your chin yourself just to balance things out.”
He laughed to himself, and the expe
cted deepening of the glare followed on Captain Maddox’s face. The man stared at him through the bars, positively seething.
Ragan sighed and shook his head.
“So, no news then?” he said.
Maddox continued to stare.
“It’s like trying to get blood from a stone with you, Maddox. Look, I don’t care what happens to me. At least tell me that Commander Wexley’s made some progress?”
Maddox’s seething glare gradually reshaped into a sneer. It was a subtle change, but a noticeable one.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. What does it matter to you?”
“It matters to us all, Maddox,” said Ragan earnestly. He wasn’t great at the Tanner school of teasing. Honestly, he just found it exhausting. “You’re a captain in the Panther Force, and that means you’re a patriot. Surely you want to protect this country from all threats.”
“Pfft, you speak of being a patriot?” grunted Maddox. “You! You’re a disgrace, Hunt, a stain on the force. You might be able to fool Commander Wexley, but you can’t fool me. I reckon you always wanted to destroy that data. This isn’t just about the Phantom girl. You’ve been a spy all along, a double agent.” He spat to the side, spittle spraying against the wall. “You sicken me, and believe me, I’m just praying for a public execution. Show the people of this nation how we deal with traitors like you.”
Ragan looked on blankly. It was an expression he adopted to stop from giving anything away; a well practiced poker face.
“A public execution,” he murmured. “That’s a little…barbaric, don’t you think?”
“Yeah…” said Maddox, eyes lighting up. “Just the idea. Deter scum like you from betraying us.”
“Well, as popular a spectacle as I’m sure that would be,” said Ragan, refusing to rise to the man, “I’m thinking it’s…unlikely. Something of a step backwards for society.”
“Not what I’ve heard. Rashmore’s considering it.”
“So you do know something then?” asked Ragan.
He still thought it was quite ridiculous that a president could wield such power anyway. Where was the due process? Wasn’t Ragan entitled to some defence, a fair hearing? In most cases, he would be. This one, however, wasn’t quite ‘official’ in the normal sense. After all, Ragan was being kept here in the basement of the Black House, rather than being shoved into a regular prison. If Rashmore willed it, Maddox would step right in and end him right now.