by T. C. Edge
“I’m glad you got out, Jason,” he said. “We need good officers like you.”
The young lieutenant nodded appreciatively, smiled, and took Ragan’s hand.
“Apologies for all the misunderstandings,” he said. “It seems we’ve all been through the ringer of late.”
“Yes, well hopefully I have something that will turn the tide,” Ragan said. He turned to the entire group, who gathered around, Maddox included. The Panther captain looked on at them all, a suspicious cast to his expression, his eyes particularly narrow when passing by Chloe.
She took an immediate, and rather intense, dislike to him.
She was so used to dealing with looks like that, though had never completely learned to ignore them. All they did was put her immediately on the back foot, force her guard up. Her only true recourse was to return the look, which she did right now, offering the man her own practiced glare.
Ragan moved to Maddox’s side, and then nodded to him. The man held up his right arm, turning his wrist over so that its underside was facing up. A small, rectangular interface was embedded there, fused right into his flesh - Chloe knew Ragan had the same on his own right arm, an old relic of his time with the Panthers.
Captain Maddox reached with his left hand, tapping his fingers on the device. It glowed to life, then a hologram rose up out of it; schematics for a building of some kind, lit bright in the darkness. Over the previous few days, Chloe had seen several of these, though wasn’t particularly used to reading them. The others, however, appeared to understand the significance of the plans almost immediately.
“The facility,” Nadia said in a breathy whisper. She stepped forward to get a closer look, getting near enough to Maddox for him to lift a curious eyebrow. He didn’t appear to sneer so obviously at her. That was something he would probably reserve for Chloe above the others. “Underwater,” Nadia went on, murmuring. She looked up, right at Ragan. “It’s…under the water.”
Ragan smiled, and began explaining.
“These are schematics sent to Captain Maddox from the CID. Commander Wexley himself sent them just as the attack was in progress. We believe…” his voice trailed off, sombre. “We believe he died during the assault. This was his final act, to make sure we received these plans.”
He took a breath, glancing over the hologram.
“They are incomplete, unfinished, and from many years ago. However, they fit with what we know about the likely location of the MSA facility, though the area highlighted for its location remains quite large. It seems that this building was being built in secret somewhere inside that area, beyond the knowledge of any inspection teams from the NDSA or WSA. These plans are an early version, probably thought unimportant at the time and tucked away somewhere deep in the archives at the CID.”
“And how certain are you, Ragan, that this is the true location?” asked Slattery, pensive, fingers to chin. “They may well have ended up building their facility at another site.”
“It’s possible, sir,” said Ragan. “We have only just gotten our hands on this, so haven’t had time to analyse it properly, but it seems likely that the facility will be somewhere within the highlighted area. We’ll need to confirm its true position first. Once we’ve done that, we’ll organise an assault as soon as possible.”
“Tricky,” said Tanner, glancing to Slattery, then looking up to Ragan. “I don’t suppose you know what’s going on in the WSA?”
Ragan frowned, shook his head, but appeared to have guessed by the look on his face.
“Another attack?” he asked.
“At the government headquarters,” Tanner said, nodding.
Ragan sighed wearily, eyes falling for a moment.
“And the Southern Republic?” he asked, looking back up to Nadia.
“Nothing as yet,” she said. “It’s possible they’re planning to attack Houston next.”
Ragan turned thoughtful for a moment, eyes moving off to the plains. He fixed a random point, staring, and then seemed to have a thought.
“How many assailants were there in LA?” he asked, looking at Tanner.
“Hard to say exactly. A handful only according to reports, though those vary.”
“And do you know how many attacked the CID and the Black House?” asked Ragan. “We couldn’t be sure of numbers from the President’s compound.”
“Um…about the same,” said Tanner. “Perhaps half a dozen or so each.”
Ragan was nodding.
“So, a small number. That’s something, at least. If they had more, they’d be striking at other important locations right now, while they still have the element of surprise. You say there was only one unit in LA?”
“Yes.”
“So, three units, three targets. They must only have access to a couple dozen synthetics at most at this point,” Ragan said, words spilling fast. Slattery nodded his agreement. It was the same conclusion he’d drawn. “Right now,” Ragan went on, “they’ll have no idea we’ve discovered these schematics. It may be us, now, who have the element of surprise. We must act fast if we want to use it.”
“They may know already,” Maddox grunted from the side. “Unless Commander Wexley covered his tracks on his console, they might see that he sent out the upload.”
“We have to hope that’s not the case,” Ragan said, refusing to give it any mind.
Chloe listened, eyes jumping from one person to the next as they hastened through the discussion. One thing stuck in her head, though. She looked at Ragan and spoke.
“You came here from the President’s compound,” she said, frowning. “Did you say that?”
Ragan nodded, and Chloe looked over to the odd, egg-shaped jet. It was flat on the underside, curved and sleek above. A bizarre shape indeed.
“I was thinking the same,” said Nadia. “That looks like an escape pod. What were you doing at the Black House?”
“It’s a long story,” Ragan sighed, glancing again at Maddox. “I’ll fill you in on the finer points later. Suffice it to say, Captain Maddox and I didn’t escape alone.”
Chloe’s blood seemed to stop moving in her veins for a moment, freezing over as she looked at the jet. Ragan took a step towards it, then called out over the silent, moonlit plains.
“It’s OK, sir,” he said. “It’s all secure out here. You can come out now.”
A long moment passed, before a third figure emerged from the rear of the jet, a suited frame creeping out and stepping onto the dirt. Chloe’s iced up blood got moving again, pumped through by a heart that thrashed, so filled with anger at the man who appeared from the shadows of the jet. With an almost timid gait, he approached the group, moonlight bathing him, revealing his features.
President Hogan Rashmore, the man responsible for her father’s death, stepped towards them.
A barely audible gasp came from behind Chloe, though she couldn’t be sure who made it. The entire group seemed to stiffen, like a herd of deer suddenly alerted to the presence of a predator in the grass. Chloe stared at the man, though found it hard to maintain the look for long, eyes falling away. Much as she despised him, this was the President of the NDSA. Her hatred was thus mingled with awe, shock, and a bout of nerves at coming face to face with someone so eminent.
“Everyone,” Ragan said, “we all know of President Rashmore. He is to be our guest here for now, until we can guarantee his safety.”
Ragan looked at Chloe as he spoke, a warning passing across his face. He knew full well how she felt about the man - hell, she’d spoken about assassinating him on several occasions now - and was keen to ensure she didn’t cause any problems.
She was fairly certain she wouldn’t. Talk was cheap, after all. She was hardly about to try to kill him with everything that was going on…
“Good evening, everyone,” Rashmore said, stepping closer. His voice shook a little, eyes skittish. No doubt the threat to his life had caused this reaction.
It was, to no surprise, perhaps, Colonel Slattery who stepped f
orwards first to make his own introduction. He was the senior man here, in both years, rank, and experience, and regardless as to his allegiance, would show the necessary respect for the leader of a foreign nation.
He moved respectfully forwards, expression equally reverent, and voice following along to the same script when he spoke.
“President Rashmore, sir, it is an honour to meet you,” he began. He held out a hand, taken gratefully. “My name is Colonel Jeremiah Slattery, formerly of the WSA army.” He didn’t, Chloe noticed, include ‘commander of the Crimson Corps’ in his title. That would probably be a point of some contention, and best side-stepped for now. “We will be more than happy to see to your security here,” Slattery finished.
“Thank you…Colonel,” Rashmore said. “I must say, it’s a relief to have a man of your stature here.” He smiled weakly. “Even one from the WSA.”
Amazingly, Slattery smiled as well. An odd meeting if ever Chloe had seen one.
The President’s eyes then worked elsewhere, hovering to Jason, who just happened to be closest to his commander. The young lieutenant, who - as far as Chloe had so far witnessed - tended to maintain a calm poise, looked decidedly more nervous than usual.
On the other hand, Rashmore appeared to relax a bit at seeing the edgy intelligence officer, falling into a routine that he’d probably been through a thousand times before. Any head of state was continually involved in these sorts of meet-and-greets. Though, admittedly, the circumstances were currently…unusual.
“And what’s your name, son?” Rashmore asked.
Jason hovered forwards.
“Jason…Winters, Mr President,” he stammered.
“And you’re a citizen of?”
“No nation, sir,” Jason said. Chloe’s ears perked up at that. “I was born in the neutral zones.”
“I see,” nodded Rashmore. He turned to Nadia, Tanner by her side, and perused them both. They looked at him with angled eyes. Not angry, per se, but standoffish. They knew of Rashmore’s involvement, of his behaviour towards Chloe’s father. It warmed her that they had her back.
Before the President could continue his ponderous introductions, Ragan stepped in, keen to hurry proceedings along.
“Here we have Nadia and Clifton, Mr President,” he said, not uttering their surnames or previous allegiances. Was he protecting their identities? Well, Slattery and Jason had given theirs up happily. It seemed as if there were more important things to worry about than that. “And you know…Chloe Phantom,” Ragan finished, looking to Chloe.
The President hadn’t yet looked at her, aside from the odd glance. He seemed reluctant to do so, almost, though forced his eyes over. Chloe felt obliged to meet his look, flattening out her gaze as best she could. Her awe and shock had faded by now, and that anger of hers had become more prominent. She attempted to withdraw all of that from her expression and meet him as a stranger, no history or strings attached.
“Mr President,” she said, nodding.
“Miss Phantom,” Rashmore returned, regarding her. “You’ve changed much since I saw you last.”
Chloe’s brows knitted tight. She couldn’t remember ever meeting him, not officially.
“Ah, you were very young,” Rashmore explained, seeing the look on her face. “Alas, I was a younger man too. It was before I became President, during my father’s final term.” He smiled, almost wistful, and then drew up a sorrowful look. “What happened to your father was a tragedy,” he said. “And you…” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry for what he put you through.”
Chloe felt a burning deep within her, an inferno spreading from her core. She shut her eyes to try to calm herself, legs fixing to the earth, body going rigid.
How dare he? How dare he speak of her father like that.
What he put me through?
No, Mr President…what you put me through!
A light sound of sparking electricity filled the silence, and Chloe opened her eyes to see her fingers fizzing, zapping silver and blue. Ragan stepped quickly in, set to usher Rashmore away.
“Sir, let’s get you settled inside the falcon, shall we,” he said hastily. “We have much work to do…”
He began moving Rashmore off, though the President’s eyes appeared to stay fixed on Chloe’s fingers, entranced by the show of lights. Remus, who’d been staying quiet in her pocket, also appeared, lifting as an orb, transforming into a bird, landing on Chloe’s shoulder and posing dramatically, wings flaring.
“My my…” Rashmore muttered, neck craning backwards. “…Magnificent.”
Chloe’s framing, posture, expression had turned hostile. She could hardly help that, and didn’t much care to try to hide it. Standing there, hands sparking, with Remus upon her shoulder, she must have looked quite the sight. If nothing else, Rashmore would be unequivocally aware of her thoughts about the man, and what he’d done to her father three years back.
“Jeez, gorgeous,” whispered Tanner, moving to her flank. Nadia came too, moving to her opposite side, protective, supportive. “You really don’t like him, huh?”
“After what he did to my dad,” Chloe growled, looking on. “No, I don’t.”
Tanner laughed.
“You do realise he’s about the second most powerful man on the continent, after President Arnold. Actually,” he said, thinking. “Arnold might be dead now. So…”
“I don’t care if he’s the most powerful man in the world,” said Chloe, voice dark. “He killed my dad, Cliff.”
“And we’re on your side, honey,” said Nadia, grabbing her arm. “Just…try to keep from electrocuting him, if you can. We’re going to need him now.”
“Need him?” Chloe asked. “For what?”
“For getting the NDSA on board to help,” Nadia said. “And to bring the WSA into the conversation too, and maybe even the SRA. Probably best for you to stay on whichever jet he isn’t.”
Chloe huffed, the insecure part of her - the part that still felt like an outsider in this team occasionally - thinking that her voice in the coming conversation wasn’t really needed. After all, what could she contribute? She couldn’t do anything to analyse those plans, nor could she help to organise a strike once the facility was located. The might of nations would need to be brought to bear, and really, what was Chloe compared to that?
Then another part of her chimed in, telling her that, actually, things were…kinda good right now. This latest news was brilliant, wasn’t it? They’d possibly located the site of the MSA facility, and now just needed to form a plan of attack. Ragan was back, healthy, safe. Even Tanner, aside from the occasional low moment, appeared to have returned to his usual safe very quickly after the attack by Mikel.
If things went well from here, they might be able to deal with this threat after all. Only hours ago, minutes even, things were looking decidedly worse. She thought Ragan would probably be dead, the synthetics running rampant, the various nations across the continent falling into chaos and disarray.
And if she didn’t need to contribute anything from here…well, that was a good thing. All she wanted was to draw a line under this entire mess and skulk back off into the shadows, preferably with Ragan by her side. And Nadia and Tanner for company too…
So, not much to ask, really.
She drew a long breath, purging her of the fury drawn up by Rashmore’s words, and general presence here. Her buzzing fingers stopped their flickering, nanites inside her starting to calm. Remus, still standing defiant on her shoulder, also loosened up. He stretched his wings, then set them to his sides, mimicking his master’s renewed composure.
“So I guess I’m travelling on the sparrow then,” Chloe murmured. She rather liked the idea of not travelling with Rashmore, and Slattery as well, assuming he’d help in analysing the plans. But…Ragan would be with them. She dearly wanted to catch up with him.
“I’ll come with you,” Nadia said, clutching her arm tighter.
“No, you don’t need to do that. You might be useful�
�”
Nadia waved her hand, dismissing the notion.
“Too many cooks, Chloe,” she said. “And honestly, I’m just…exhausted. I could use a bit of a rest away from all this endless debate. Come on.”
Before Chloe could object, Nadia grabbed her arm and began leading her towards the sparrow. Tanner followed, looking as though he didn’t much like the idea of Nadia abandoning him. Then again, were they even going anywhere? They appeared to be perfectly safe here, and given that they had the actual President of these lands with them, an attack - unless the MSA tracked them down somehow - was hardly likely.
As they crossed towards the second jet, however, Ragan reappeared, hopping down from the falcon and kicking up a bit of dirt on landing.
“Where are you lot going?” he asked. He hurried over to join them. “We need to get working.”
“Go for it,” Nadia said. “Chloe and I need to rest. We haven’t had much sleep over the last few days.”
“Oh…OK.” He sounded disappointed. “Um…Cliff?”
“I’ll come help,” Tanner said. “I’m well rested. Anyway, I want to hear all about what happened with you in New York. Seems you’ve got a story to tell.”
“Not much to say, to be honest,” Ragan admitted. “Wexley brought me into the CID to help with the search, but Rashmore didn’t take kindly to that. He put me into a cell in the Black House. That’s why I was there when the attack happened.”
Tanner frowned, scars deepening.
“So, he let you out then?” he asked.
“Well, technically…no,” Ragan said. “It was Captain Maddox, actually, though he seems pretty intent on making me pay for my crimes once this is all done.”
Chloe huffed loudly, angrily.
“Crimes,” she grunted. “They’re not punishing you for anything, Ragan. They’ll have to go through me first.”
Ragan smiled at that, a twinkle of moonlight dancing in his deep blue eyes.
“Well, we’ll see,” is all he said. “I did sort of betray my country.”
“Yeah, and then saved its president by the looks of things,” Chloe said passionately.
Ragan’s eyes darkened a little, falling away, turning distant. He nodded lightly, voice quiet when he spoke.