Floor 21- Dark Angel

by Jason Luthor

  “They have you hooked up to something pretty fancy there.”

  I’m just glad she smiles when she looks over at me. “What? This? Didn’t you know that all the cool kids are wearing these now?”

  “That a fact?” I ask as I pull up a chair next to her. “Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t be here after you got out of surgery. I had to be there when they talked to Erin, then after that, the president wanted me to stick around and talk . . .”

  “It’s really not a big deal. They’ve just had me watching old movies since I woke up.”

  “Anything good on?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think I ever realized just how old the movies were that we watched back in the Tower. I was just thinking about that before you got in here.”

  “Yeah, well, if we believe Jackie’s recordings, then most of the people who originally lived in there had to live off of old tech. All the good stuff went to the people with serious money.” I reach inside her bed and grab her hand. “Hey. So, everything went fine, right?”

  “As far as I know. I mean, let’s remember I’m not a doctor. But, yeah. They took the bullet out. The biofoam I had shot into my arm kept me from bleeding out. Apparently, they had to string a couple of things together in there, but once they had all that done, they hooked me up to the machine.”

  “Well, we’ve seen how well these machines work. Apeiron had good medical technology, you have to admit that. What’s it going to take for your cells to regenerate using this thing? A week maybe, tops?”

  “Tommy.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Are you stressing yourself out about me?”

  “My girlfriend did just get shot.”

  “I think you mean your lieutenant got shot. You just happened to be dating her.”

  “Well, I’d be worried either way.”

  “I’m going to be okay, Tommy.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” I lean in a little. “It’s just, you know, when we were evacing you out of the Deadlands, you were pretty . . . Well, you know.”

  “Stupid, Tommy. I was talking stupid.”

  “No. It’s a lot for anyone to handle when they lose a part of their team.”

  “I just . . . I’d just been talking to her, you know? It’d just been, like, one day since we’d had this whole talk about what it takes to lead and how I still get scared when I’m out there.” She looks away. “Do we really have to talk about it? I just . . . I think I need more time to process before I get into it.”

  “Hey. I can deal with that.”

  Her eyes go back to me. “So, what’s going on with Erin?”

  “Eh. President’s going to make a deal to supply the raiders with some food and water.”

  “What? Why?”

  “To get them into a truce with us. Erin claims the raiders who hit Proprietary Colony were working independently. They went in without orders. So, the Tank executed them.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And everyone believes Erin?”

  I chuckle. “Colonel Martin certainly doesn’t, and pretty soon, the president’s going to be getting into some fights with the councils about his decision.”

  Dodger’s eyes go to the roof as she digests the news. “Yeah, I’d bet. That sounds . . . absolutely insane for him to agree to a truce, but the president’s been pretty good to us.”

  “That’s what I said. That’s why I’m trusting him on this one.”

  Dodger shakes her head for a second, and I can feel her squeezing my hand back. “It’s a little . . . little hard to accept that Erin’s just getting to walk after what happened out there.”

  “I know. I didn’t think you’d like the news.”

  “I mean, after what he did . . .” Her eyes are intense, and I can see her eyebrows tightening as she grits her teeth. It takes her a second, but she finally sucks in a deep breath. “Sorry. I just . . . Would you hate me if I asked to be alone for a little bit?”

  “Of course not. I know things have been hard. But you know though, just give me the word, and I’ll string three chairs together in this room. Make myself a bed so I’m always here when you need me.”

  “That’s so sweet. I think I’ll be okay though.”

  “Just, need to make sure my girlfriend, and yes, my lieutenant, is doing okay.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Alright. Well, you call me if you need me to swing by. I’ll be up late getting stuff ready for tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “The president wants me with him when he meets with the Advisory Council. They want to hear more about the situation. Colonel Martin will be there representing the War Council, so it’s going to be a packed room. I’m absolutely sure that there won’t be any arguing at this meeting.”

  She laughs. “Good luck with that.”

  Tommy’s Recording 10

  When me and the president step into the council room, things are immediately uncomfortable. The whole council’s already seated around the table while Colonel Martin stalks around the shadows like a vampire. He’s looking at me like he wants to tear my head off for coming here with Branagh, but I’ve got a job to do. I get why the president likes having me around, I mean, it’s a spectacle. I’m the soldier who fought his way out of the Tower and now, conveniently, leads my own small part of the militia into battle. It’s a good headline for the press. That doesn’t mean Martin has to like it.

  The president gives me a tap on the elbow before he makes his way to the head of the table. I just hang back, leaning up against the wall and watching everything that’s going on. Sixteen districts from around the island are represented. The colonies don’t get representation since not enough people live out there, but I guess the assumption is that one day, once they get big enough, we’ll have to expand the meeting room. Anyway, there’s more than a few faces I recognize. The president recognizes them, too. I wouldn’t call them troublemakers, but they like to give the president a hard time. They were big supporters of the last president, Nikola Dravic, and only voted in Branagh because the public pressure was so intense.

  Tasha Bouley represents the Eastern Green District. It’s actually one of the most beautiful districts in the city and gets the benefit of being right next to the Green Zone. She’s always liked busting the president’s chops for every mistake he makes. Tasha’s family made it big centuries ago doing independent scavenging in the Deadlands for tech that was hard to find. Since then, they’ve managed to hold onto that wealth by restoring local manufacturing plants to produce electronics people around the city want. Then there’s Benjamin Katzman, from the Folly District. If there’s one place in all of Central to go, it’s Folly, so Katzman’s district soaks up a lot of the spare credits that pass for money in our era. Not surprisingly, there are some absolutely filthy rich people that live it up in Folly, and Katzman’s never struck me as the kind of guy to pass up on the more ‘explicit’ entertainment his district has to offer.

  There are a couple of others I’m pretty familiar with there, too. Rosy Quintana comes from the Reprieve District. Once upon a time, it was the last line of defense against a particularly aggressive strain of Creep infesting the other side of the river. That’s how it got its name, from soldiers passing back into Central and getting their first rest there. The district’s not rich, and it’s definitely not pretty, so maybe that’s why Rosy’s become such a petty person over the years. She wasn’t a huge supporter of Dravic, but she absolutely hates Branagh. If it sounds like the council’s made of terrible people, well, it’s not. At least one person I’m close with, Michael Tan, is a pretty standup guy. He represents the Shoreline District. There’s not a lot to say about the place except it lives up to its reputation, bordering the west side of the island and across the river from the mainland. Nothing fancy, and Tan’s pretty down to earth. His family had it pretty decent operating the boating operations out there, until we lost our ports on the other side of the river. Tan’s a good guy though, and I like him. He can be
as loud mouthed as the rest of them, but he actually backs the president on a lot of what he does. So, at least I wish him well in trying to get those ports reestablished at some point.

  Of course, I can’t forget that Dravic’s there, representing the Western Green District. The wealthiest, least useful district on the island. It’s more than a little weird having the former president now sitting on the Advisory Council to the new president, when it used to be the other way around. Branagh started his career in the militia then moved to Civil Development before getting voted in as a representative for the Port District. The way I hear it, Dravic did not take it well when he was replaced by a guy twenty years younger than him.

  Anyway, Branagh gets up in front of everyone and just gives them a wave. He’s never liked having a lot of formality with his presidency. Dravic used to come in with full military guard, if I hear right. Anyway, Branagh takes a seat and acts as if everything’s okay. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you all got a good night’s rest.”

  Bouley’s the first to pipe up. “How could we when the president of Central Freedom released a known terrorist back into the Deadlands?”

  “Well, that didn’t take long, now did it?” Branagh asks while forcing a laugh. “Okay, I’ll bite. How can I ease your mind, Tasha?”

  “Perhaps by explaining why you decided to do this in the first place.”

  “Well, that’s easy enough, and it’s a fair question. Because we’ve been going at it with the raiders ever since I can remember. Look, all of us know history’s fuzzy. Good records weren’t kept right after the Following Fall, and the best history we have of the postwar period only starts up about three hundred years ago. A lucky few people got settled here, on the island. The Green Zone helped us get a strong foothold, and ever since then, we’ve been able to prosper. Maybe we haven’t been able to expand as much as we’d hoped, but we haven’t gone extinct, and we’ve been able to put functioning colonies out there in the Deadlands.

  Now, what about the raiders? We’re talking about the descendants of people who weren’t so lucky, who’ve spent the past five centuries looking for water stations and food stores across the city where they could scratch out a life for themselves. Now, what do we do? Hoard everything we have. Hell, I’m not surprised they resent us. I would too if I’d grown up across the river, wondering where my next meal was going to come from and knowing that there was enough food to go around just a few miles away.”

  “But there isn’t enough food to go around, Mr. President, and that’s exactly my point. You act as if we can just afford to give away what we have for free.”

  “I said no such thing. I never said I’d be willing to just let go of our food supply.”

  “Yet you did exactly that when you let Erin Donoghue drive out of here with enough food to feed fifty of our soldiers, men and women who need that food if we expect them to be strong enough to defend our bridges.”

  Branagh nods to her and holds a hand out. “Listen, I know how it looks. You don’t think I knew it would look bad? But someone’s got to reduce the tension between them and us. We’ve been in a holding pattern around Central Freedom for centuries. We’re not going to make significant expansion past our current colonies as long as we have the raiders sniping our supply lines, and us giving some food to Erin and his forces is a good start to making peace between our people. He’s even guaranteed to commit some of his forces to helping us track down this, uh . . .” He waves his hand around and actually looks embarrassed to say it. “This Dark Angel that’s making everyone nervous on the frontier.”

  “Dark Angel.” She rolls her eyes and practically slams back in her chair. “If she even exists.” I see her lean further back and turn toward Colonel Martin. “Do we even have any intel on this Angel, colonel?”

  Martin sighs like he’s tired and walks up to the table. “We forwarded a collection of all the information we currently have on the threat in question. If everyone would like to take a look at their tablets, you should have a file on hand in your mail. You can review it in further detail later, but in brief, we do have evidence of a uniquely powerful individual out there that is neither with us nor the raiders. We have testimony about Angels from both the terrorist leader, Erin Donoghue, and our own Captain Jones.” When he says my name, he looks my way, and it’s almost like he’s disgusted that he has to refer to me. “In addition, you’ll find testimony from our colonists in the Deadlands testifying about a black creature with wings of fire that’s been terrorizing people. Our own soldiers got a view of something in the skies during the recent expedition into the Deadlands. It wasn’t a Suicider or any kind of aircraft we can identify, and it left a trail of fire behind it. All the raiders seemed to have thought it was the creature we’re talking about. For now, we’ve gone ahead and labelled it the Dark Angel for use inside the militia, at least until we have a better handle on what we’re dealing with.”

  “And this is all the information we have on the creature?”

  “Ah, not exactly. Although the War Council’s been keeping it pretty close to the chest, we’ve received word of similar creatures around Central and in the colonies. The ones we’ve noticed are a little different, usually dressed in white armor and focused on investigating high tech areas of the island.”

  Branagh raises a finger. “I just learned about this myself.”

  That doesn’t seem to comfort Tasha, who looks ready to throw the table over. “And why the hell are we just being informed about this now?”

  The colonel bows his head. “My apologies, madam representative. Militia intelligence was hoping to gather more information before making a presentation to the Advisory Council, but considering the current threat, I was authorized by the War Council to present what we currently had.”

  “And that’s supposed to comfort me?” She turns back to Branagh as Martin vanishes back into the shadows. “So, now we’ve got raiders to worry about, and some new group of people that can apparently come and go off the island whenever they want. This is when you thought it was fine to ship our food out to the Deadlands?”

  “In fairness, I didn’t really know about these creatures until halfway into my talks with Erin. Our deal came out the same way. We help him with some food, they help us track the creature down, and maybe we’re able to have peace out here for once.”

  That’s when Representative Katzman bursts in from the back of the table. “You keep saying he’s going to help us. This man is a terrorist. How can you trust him?”

  “Because at some point, we have to start trusting in each other, as human beings, if we’re ever going to fight back the Creep. Don’t take my word for it.” He motions toward me, and suddenly I get a sick feeling in my stomach. “Captain Jones here was shot in the leg by this man, but he’s still willing to give his full support to our alliance.” His eyes shoot to mine, and he just stares at me for this long, drawn out moment before asking, “Isn’t that right, captain?”

  I see every head in the room look my way, including Colonel Martin’s. His eyes are practically burning through the shadows, but he’s not the only one who looks like he wants my head. Tasha Bouley looks ready to jump over the table and assault me. Well, her and half the council. I’m just stuck there for a second, looking from the president, to the colonel, and then to the council. Finally, Bouley flat out asks, “Well, Captain Jones? Can Erin Donoghue be trusted or not?”

  I’m practically cursing up a storm in my head. I should’ve known better than to think Branagh just wanted me around for appearances. “Well, Representative Bouley, to answer your question . . .” I cough as I try to find some way to explain where I stand, except I don’t even know how to feel about the whole thing. “I, uh, I would say that we’ve all done a lot to hurt each other, on both sides. I don’t . . . I can’t say how trustworthy Erin is, but I think that people act in ways that will help themselves. If it seems like this alliance is going to help them, then I think the raiders will keep the peace.”

  “You think?�
�� She looks back at Branagh. “Frankly, Mr. President, I find this unacceptable. It’s a misuse of our resources, and it exposes our men and women to a terrorist who could turn his back on us at any time.” She turns to the council and looks ready to explode. “In the past forty-eight hours, we’ve had multiple casualties during a badly planned mission into the Deadlands, our food given away during an alliance with a known killer, and learned that we have some sort of spies traveling around Central threatening our technology. If this isn’t ground for a new vote for president, then I don’t know what is.”

  That sends Branagh shooting forward. “Wait a minute. Be real clear about what you’re asking here, Bouley.”

  “This isn’t a direct democracy, if I might remind you. We’re elected to represent our districts as best we can, and there’s no limit on our ability to recall a sitting president outlined in the city charter.”

  “So this is what you want to do. Just because I made a decision you’re not happy with?”

  “Because you’re playing with our lives!” She flips a hand toward Nikola, who until now’s been dead quiet. “We’re all aware that Representative Dravic’s administration was working just fine. We had the military support of Fort Silence, the raiders were kept at bay . . . If it weren’t for a few missing people . . .”

  “A few missing people? For God’s sakes, Tasha, would you listen to yourself?”

  “All I’m saying is I think it’s time we reconsidered your administration, and reconsider installing Nikola Dravic to the position,” she says as she looks back to the rest of the council. “Do I have a second on the motion?”

  Rosy Quintana raises her hand. “The job of the president is to make sure our borders stay safe. I don’t believe you’ve been able to successfully show you can do that, President Branagh. I would support a move to reestablish the Dravic administration.”

  “Thank you, Rosy,” Tasha gloats. “Is there reason not to proceed with a vote?”