by T. C. Edge
“I…I couldn’t,” Martha whispered, growing tearful. “I didn’t see the point…I thought I’d lose her.”
She sniffed, wiping burgeoning tears away, and straightened herself out.
“Right,” she said. “Let me see what I can do to calm them.”
She smiled to compose herself, and marched off, calling out for the residents of the facility to stay quiet and calm, telling them they were all safe. Ragan shifted, moving around, checking in with the teams as they hurried off to set the explosives. Several groups of residents - or, prisoners, because that’s really what they were - were already being escorted to the elevator, ready for extraction.
Things were moving efficiently so far, only a few minutes having passed since they got here. They were dealing with a tight window - how tight, Ragan wasn’t entirely sure - but he didn’t wish to outstay his welcome if he could avoid it.
A soldier came rushing up to him, one of the Panthers. Mikel remained by Ragan’s side, seeming rather eager for action. He eyed the coming Panther with a hunger for conflict, the man’s rushing step and closeted eyes suggesting trouble.
“Sir, a problem,” the Panther grunted.
“What is it, soldier?” asked Ragan firmly.
The man nodded his head down a passage to the south, urging him to follow. Ragan did so, Mikel going too, the three rushing at speed towards a room with a black door. A sign was fixed above it.
It was the control room for the facility.
The Panther pushed the door open, and they entered to find half a dozen technicians unconscious, hands tied, sat in seats in front of their stations. This must have been the doing of Kurt and Rick. Why would they bind them here? Were they just going to leave them behind and let them die in the explosion?
The Panther rushed towards one of the stations. A man was lying on it, head down, seemingly knocked out. Ragan took a closer look. No, his eyes were flickering, dulled but not fully asleep. He couldn’t spot the problem.
“What is it?” he asked the soldier. “I’m not seeing a…”
The Panther pointed to the man’s workstation.
Oh shit, Ragan thought.
A red light was blinking on the screen.
The man must have tripped an alarm somehow, the others thinking he was knocked out like his colleagues.
Ragan pulled back, eyes surging towards the large bank of screens that showed security footage from the floors below. He saw some, from the labs, showing scientists at work. They’d stopped, looking around in confusion. An alarm was probably blaring down there, though the screen only showed the visual.
Ragan didn’t care about the scientists, though. He knew there would have to be casualties here. He knew not everyone would get out. And, unfortunately, those most involved in this terrible science would have to be left behind.
No, what truly concerned him were the identical men rallying themselves from their rooms. Men who looked just like Mikel. Men who Ragan had desperately hoped to avoid.
They were throwing on clothing, hurrying from their rooms, seeking out the source of the alarm. Ragan knew it wouldn’t take them long to find it.
He looked to Mikel, who’s eyes were lit wide and bright, a hungry smile growing upon his lips.
“Don’t worry about them,” Mikel whispered. “I’ll handle it.”
Martha stood in the central atrium on the top floor of the facility, trying to explain to the residents what was going on. Some were being rushed straight for the elevator for extraction. Others were waiting their turn, eyes cast in terror, though their screams and shouts were beginning to fade under Martha’s explanations.
“We’re evacuating the facility,” Martha called out to them. “Follow these soldiers’ orders, and everything will be fine. There are jets above waiting to take you to safety. Have no fear, ladies and gentlemen. It’ll all be over soon.”
Around her, the Panthers and Spectres were hurrying about, gathering more residents from this top floor. The floor below was also utilised for accommodating staff. Did they know that? Were they aware that many other innocent people were just one level down, entirely unaware that the facility was about to be blown from the lake? She’d explained that to Ragan, hadn’t she?
Her questions were answered by the sight of some of the soldiers appearing from the stairwell, a flood of people following in their wake. They were brought forward to join the rest. Martha breathed a sigh of relief, and stepped forward, calling out once more to explain what was going on.
A flurry of bodies caught her attention, and she turned towards the southern wing to find Ragan and Mikel springing from the depths. They flooded in, Ragan calling out as he went.
“Expect company, men!” he shouted. “Get as many out as you can. Strike teams with me…”
He rushed right up to Martha, and skidded to a quick stop.
“You tied up the technicians in the control room!” he grunted harshly. “You were going to let them die?”
Martha drew back at the intensity of his voice, and those pulsing blue eyes.
“No…that was just temporary,” she said. “I was going to…”
“It doesn’t matter now. I’ve got a man who’ll get them out.”
Martha looked about as some of the Panthers and Spectres assembled. Others continued to gather up the residents. Some hurried back from distant wings, shouting to Ragan and their other commanders that their charges had been set.
“What’s all the commotion?” Martha asked.
Ragan’s eyes looked to the stairwell, narrow and intense.
“One of the technicians tripped an alarm,” he said. “We’ll have company soon. We’ve disabled the elevators below, so they’ll have to come up via the stairs. We’ll bottleneck them, hold them off a couple of levels down. Continue to get these people out, Martha.”
His words flowed like rushing water, aggressive, unstoppable. Martha had never seen Ragan like this. She’d only ever known him back at the relative safety of the Colorado base. Off-mission, he was calm and friendly. Here, in the thick of it, he’d transformed into a true leader, intense and quick of thought.
She nodded her assent, and he moved off, Mikel alongside him. Martha noted the grin on Mikel’s face, those deep blue eyes of his flashing with an eager desire for combat. His chest was heaving, expression manic. He was almost frightening to look at, despite that youthful, handsome visage of his.
The two disappeared into the stairwell, a couple dozen soldiers rushing along with them. Martha turned back to her own task, calling for calm, helping the residents over towards the industrial lift for extraction.
She noted the technicians wearily being led her way, hands still bound, eyes groggy. Yes, she’d ordered for them to be knocked unconscious, but she hadn’t planned on leaving them there. Or…had she? Everything was happening in such a rush that she really didn’t know.
Either way, not everyone could be extracted. This was primarily an exercise in damage limitation. Up here, on these top two floors, the majority of the facility’s staff lived, and getting their families out, the children in particular, was the priority.
Below was where the soldiers dwelled, and by the sounds of it, they’d all now be stirring. There were nano-augmented guards on patrol too, of course, but very few of them operated up here. If there were any, Martha hadn’t encountered them yet. If the Panthers or Spectres had spotted them, they’d likely already be dead.
But it was the synthetics that were of most concern. No, they weren’t the best of them; those were still out on mission, preparing new assaults across the continent. But those that remained here were highly proficient still, and beyond the capabilities of these Panthers and Spectres. Only Mikel would be a match for them.
More than a match, I suspect, Martha thought.
She drew a deep breath, and continued in her taken role. The evacuees were a motley crew, many of them children, hands clasped tight to their parents, a large proportion of whom were here against their will. Even those who wor
ked here at the facility were often doing so under coercion.
Regrettably, a lot of those would be down below now, not knowing their deaths were imminent. Some of the scientists here had volunteered, yes. Many, however, hadn’t. And even those who’d come here willingly, surely, didn’t deserve to die. They weren’t soldiers. This wasn’t war. They were people performing a function, civilians who hadn’t signed up for any of this.
They’d be collateral damage, unfortunately. Such was the price of seeing this dreadful place destroyed.
But what of Pamela? Martha thought, stopping amid the rush.
The President was down in the command centre, she knew, alongside the likes of General Mulchrone and the other senior military figures here at the facility. Clearly, she was willing to go without much sleep for now, keen to watch as her strike teams continued their assaults over on the east and west coasts.
Was she aware of the trouble by now? Surely she was. If so, would she stay, hope her soldiers dealt with the threat? Or would she abandon the facility, flee to the hanger, try to escape in a jet via one of the underwater escape shoots?
Martha found herself wondering, though not caring. Pamela had been her friend once, but no more. She’d grown cold, callous, her soul twisted by a desire for revenge. Yes, she’d helped Martha get her daughter back, but only to get her hands on that data. She didn’t really care about Martha, or Sarah. All she cared about was seeing her enemies burn.
And now, that hubris was coming back to bite her.
Martha drew a cold snarl to her lips, imagining them all down there, so self-satisfied, watching their synthetics wreaking havoc, murdering, maiming, causing such chaos.
She could imagine their sudden confusion hearing the alarm start to blare. Their fear as the updates of an attack hurried to their ears. Their disbelief that this location had been found, that someone had betrayed them from the inside.
Would they work out it was her? Would Pamela realise, at the last moment, that Martha had betrayed them?
A part of Martha smiled at that thought. A part of her - a cruel part of her - wanted Pamela to know.
Yes, Pamela, it was me, she thought. I know you’ll say I’m betraying this nation. But really…I’m saving it.
She told herself that, and the burden on her shoulders lifted. She was helping save as many people as possible, but Pamela wouldn’t be one of them. Maybe she’d escape, maybe she wouldn’t.
But Martha found, in that moment, that she didn’t really care.
She looked again to the rush around her, and went right back to work.
117
Chloe sipped her whisky as she sat in the falcon, intent on keeping her mind busy.
There was no sense, she knew, in overthinking something that she had no control over. Everything would be fine. Ragan would do his job, as he always did, and be back here in no time at all.
There really was no need to worry.
She drew a breath and sipped her whisky again. Any time a nasty thought tried to wiggle its way into her brain, that was her reaction. It wasn’t a sensible strategy, really. She’d be drunk in no time at all.
Mercifully, she had Nadia and Tanner with her to keep herself distracted. They’d moved into the main body of the falcon, reclining in a set of seats, choosing to stick it out here rather than return to the staging area to keep tabs on the action over at Lake Michigan.
Chloe didn’t much fancy joining the likes of President Rashmore, Colonel Slattery, and General Linklater right now. Nor did she imagine her nerves could handle listening to the mission play out in realtime.
Instead, she lounged around, drinking, talking with her friends, and watching Remus attempt to change into different forms and creatures - probably in an attempt to distract her. All of them were clearly anxious, though none were drawing attention to it. Occasionally, one would begin pacing nervously, looking at the door of the jet, trying to repel the temptation to find out just what was going on.
They’d have to be talked down off the ledge each time, one or another of them saying that if there was anything serious to report, someone would update them.
Well…maybe. Their importance, really, had dwindled now. The responsibility of dealing with this threat had been handed over to entire nations. Generals and even Presidents were now at the centre of it all.
Against that, these three outcasts probably didn’t even register.
They did, however, hear some news from over in LA, which popped up from the briefing table - which was still set to scan for any news of new attacks - as the morning dragged on.
They migrated over to find that LA was, once again, under siege. Just as Martha had informed them, it was one of the city’s intelligence agencies that had drawn the MSA’s interest this time. Their campaign to rid the continent of anyone capable of either tracking, or challenging them, was ongoing, spreading further chaos throughout the WSA capital.
The news led to further nerves, the group settling into a discussion about just what might be next. Not long after they did so, a fresh report spoke of more fighting over on the east coast, at a military base not far from New York. Aerial footage, taken by a news drone, showed a group of black-clad soldiers scaling the walls and surging through the base, causing utter mayhem as they went.
“We might have warned them,” Nadia whispered, shaking her head. “We knew these attacks were coming…”
“It wouldn’t have helped. Not unless they’d been evacuated,” suggested Tanner. “Anyway, maybe some of the synthetics will be killed in that base. It’s heavily defended. They might take a few out.”
“Maybe,” murmured Nadia.
“It’s mad, though, isn’t it?” said Chloe. “To attack a large military base with such a small force. Even with soldiers that powerful, it seems a little, I don’t know…a little reckless.”
“You can afford to be reckless with immortal soldiers,” shrugged Tanner. “Just load up their consciousness into a new body…and away you go. Though, that won’t be possible after today.”
“Hey! Don’t jinx it,” said Chloe, frowning. “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Well, no…I’m just saying that these synthetics attacking a base that large isn’t the worst thing. Assuming things go well today, of course. If a few of them die, we’ll have less to hunt down later.”
“We?” said Nadia, doubtful.
“I don’t mean us specifically,” Tanner said. “I mean, the collective ‘we’ - as in, every other person on this continent who wants these weirdos dead and gone. At least they’ve got us working together for once.”
Chloe nodded at that. She grew enthused by the thought of the nations coming together. Perhaps this might all become a catalyst for a longer term ceasefire, even peace. Maybe…maybe even a rejoining of the new nations into the old United States?
OK, so that last one was a bit fanciful. But…you never know, right?
A light sound of distant gunfire began to chatter, far off towards the eastern edge of the city. It drew a curious frown onto Chloe’s face as she moved towards the window, looking out.
“Did you hear that?” she asked, glancing back at the others. Remus swept down, landing on her shoulder, suddenly serious.
“Hear what?” asked Tanner lazily.
“I thought I heard…gunfire. Nadia?”
Nadia shook her head.
“Nothing,” she said. “Maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks.”
“Or maybe,” Tanner said, “this ceasefire hasn’t lasted as long as we’d hoped.”
He moved from the table at that thought, heading for the cockpit, before returning a moment later.
“I can’t see any commotion or anything over by the staging tent,” he said. “It’s probably just some bored grunt doing target practice or something.”
“Yeah…” said Chloe.
Then it came again. More gunfire. Definitely gunfire. She looked at the others and widened her eyes.
“OK, I heard that,” ad
mitted Tanner. “Just target practice,” he nodded.
Chloe turned to Nadia, who had a frown on her face. She was scanning the news articles on the briefing table, a thoughtful, slightly concerned, cast to her eyes.
“Martha said there would be three targets this morning, didn’t she?” She looked up. That gunfire sounded again, growing more continual now. More guns seemed to be joining in. “The military base, the agency…and she didn’t know where the last one was.”
Chloe got her meaning immediately, thrusting her eyes back to the window. She gazed towards the source of the noise. Yes, it was definitely coming from the east. She gulped.
“The main NDSA basecamp is in the east, isn’t it?” she said, looking back. “And, there are lots of soldiers here, lots of Panthers. Lots… of targets.”
“Shit,” whispered Tanner, suddenly growing tense. “You think…they’re here?”
They shared a worried look. The chattering of gunfire was growing clearer now. This wasn’t target practice. Well, not the sort they were thinking of…
“Stay here,” said Tanner, moving for the door. “I’ll go check it out.”
He opened the jet up and headed into the morning sunshine, Chloe and Nadia rushing for the cockpit to watch him go. Through the windshield, the rush of people was now conspicuous. Something was definitely going on.
“It’s them,” Chloe whispered, voice cloaked. “It has to be them.”
She moved back to the door, left open by Tanner, and commanded Remus to flutter out into the breeze. The drone swept from her shoulder, gunfire still singing in the far distance, and formed into a drone.
You know what to do, Chloe said to him.
He buzzed off, activating his cloaking function, speeding high into the air and heading east. Nadia came down the passage, moving towards the rifles stacked at the back, and began checking them over, and laying them out on the briefing table. She pulled on her combat suit, hauling it over her underclothes, and urged Chloe to do the same.
Chloe did so, dressing quickly, feeling the spike of adrenaline rush through her blood. She shut her eyes, taking in Remus’ vantage. He’d gone a long way already, maxing out his speed, zipping over towards the NDSA basecamp.