Floor 21- Dark Angel

by Jason Luthor

  And that’s when, after all that silence, Dravic coughs. He leans forward, until he can be seen under the light streaming down from the ceiling. “I object to the motion.”

  That seems to catch Tasha off guard, and for the first time since she started talking, she hesitates. “Excuse me? Nikola, I was under the impression . . .”

  Dravic shakes his head. “The office of president is much more difficult to occupy and so much easier to criticize. Ask yourself, why did you volunteer me for the role and not someone else?”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Why not submit yourself for consideration, Tasha?”

  “I’m not right for the job, Nikola. I don’t have the experience.”

  “Few people do. We all know why I was asked to resign. People were going missing. The confidence of the colonies was shaken. Central Freedom was worried for its own security. You are correct that this is not a direct democracy, but we still must report to the people who elected us, and the truth is that all of Central’s belief in me had faded. Not so with the young president here. And why? Because he has served both the civilian arm and the military arm. He understands the consequence of being too geared toward war or being too lax in adopting a diplomatic approach.” He looks over at Branagh and nods. “I trust our president’s decision making. Another election right now would shatter our people’s confidence, especially since, may I remind you, this notion of a new election has not been previously discussed in our districts. Do we want our people to believe that they have no reason to trust our government?”

  Everything goes quiet for a long time, until Branagh breaks the silence. “Well, Nikola, I have to say that I’m a little surprised by the tremendous confidence you’ve shown in me, but I appreciate it. Tasha, if you’d at least give me a little time to work through this alliance, I am completely confident that a new approach will help everyone in the region. We have to try something different, or we’re going to be caught in the same cycle of violence over and over.”

  She shakes her head a few times. “If Nikola trusts your decision, then I will too. I withdraw my motion for a vote.” Tasha eyes him. “For now.”

  “Fantastic. Well, if there’s nothing else on the table, I need to meet with some of my planners and figure out the next step in this new alliance. Thank you everyone for stopping in. You have my word that as soon as we have concrete plans in place, which should be no later than mid-week, that you’ll get an update on our next steps. Meeting adjourned.”

  Everyone starts filtering out, and I can’t help but feel their eyes burning into me, especially Colonel Martin’s. Representative Tan lingers around while the president makes his way over. Soon, it’s just the three of us inside the council chambers, and Tan doesn’t hold back. “This is bad, Gabriel. You know that, right?”

  Branagh smiles. “What? Nikola giving me his support?”

  “You can joke, but let’s be clear. Nothing that man ever did while in power wasn’t calculated. I don’t trust him.”

  “And you think I do, Michael? You think that I’m suddenly going to start handing out favors to his district just because he had my back on this?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, but don’t think that just because you’re suspicious of him that you’ve somehow got an advantage. He knows you don’t trust him. He’s already accounted for it. Now, I don’t know what he’s planning, but I’ve never known Dravic to just step away from power when it was offered to him.” He leans in close to the president and practically has his finger in his face. “Don’t let your guard down. I’ll always back you over him, but Dravic’s not someone you want to underestimate.” After that, he practically explodes out of the room, like he’s tired of just being there with us.

  “Well, that went smoothly,” Branagh says as he looks over at me. “Thanks for having my back there.”

  “How dare you?” I say it before I even realize I want to say it, and I’m left with my jaw hanging open. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, sir, I . . .”

  “No. No, it’s fine. Spit it out. I deserve it.”

  “It’s just, I feel like you used me back there.”

  “I did.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry. I had a feeling this was coming, and you’re my trump card, Thomas. With your reputation and considering how much the troops like you, having you around’s an automatic boost to my popularity. I don’t know how else to put it.” He stops for a second and heaves out a sigh, his face flushing red when he does it. “I should have told you. Should have given you the opportunity to say no. I just . . . I didn’t want to risk it. It was a coward’s move.”

  “No, sir, I get it. I get that politics isn’t like working in the militia. You’ve got to worry about polls and the press.”

  “And you saw how they were ready to vote me out right now.”

  “Yeah, obviously. Just, I might not like what I hear about Fort Silence, but I don’t trust Erin or his men, either. Sir, I was already down on the floor when he put a bullet through my leg. It’s not like it was accidental or I got clipped during the fight. He shot me at close enough range that I could have died. Mike had to save me while I was down. Otherwise, I might not be here.”

  “Look, I’m not stupid. I don’t trust Erin either. Not completely. You were right about something though. People act in their own interests. Erin needs food, more than we need his weapons. But guess what though?”

  “What?”

  “I was right about something, too. We’ve been playing the same game with raiders for centuries. Now, they’re more organized and well-armed than ever. They’re stocked with more Furies and Suiciders than I ever saw as a part of the militia. You think that’s going to end with this new woman, the Tank, around?”

  I suck in a breath. “I get it.”

  “It’s not the Creep that’s going to kill off the last of mankind, not at this rate. It’s ourselves. Someone’s got to shift the gears around here.”

  “Mr. President, I get it. We can’t always go it alone. We’ve got to trust each other.”

  “Right. So, can I trust you, captain?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I feel like something’s about to happen. We’re about to have a shake up around here, to the status quo. Central Freedom can’t stay a buffer between Fort Silence and the Tank forever. We’ve got to make a play for a peaceful resolution, or we’ll get caught in the middle of something. This is the only place in the entire world that’s still trying to carve out a normal life for everyday people, where they don’t have to worry about being drafted into the military or having to raid innocents for their daily food. That’s what makes this such an important moment. Can I trust you to give peace a chance while we have that opportunity?”

  “Of course, sir. I might be able to fight but I’d rather find a way to keep the people I care about safe. If we can find a way to make everything work out . . . maybe even push back the Creep . . . then I’m all for it.”

  “Good.” He reaches out and grabs me by the shoulder. “Glad to hear it. Now, come on. I need someone to share a drink with.”

  Watson’s Recording 02

  Lead researcher’s log. A personal note, to start.

  This is utter rubbish.

  First, they demand I simply produce repulsion poles by the dozens, as if I can manufacture them whole cloth from thin air. Nonsense. Simply nonsense. Then, they want me to produce a full report on these Angels. Absolutely, entirely, completely divorced from reality, that’s what this . . . this . . . Advisory Council is. Still, ah, still, it is not without its merits. Hm, yes, it is fascinating to think upon, what these Angels might be.

  The reports they’ve compiled here in Central are scant. It seems most likely that I’ll have to fold in my own personal research with theirs, which is to say, I’ll have to discuss my observations from the Tower. That will be, ah, difficult, to say the least. Considering how spotty my memory is in almost all circumstances, it will be hard to discuss these creatures at any length. Although, I suppose I can try
.

  They are, of course, humanoid. Standing slightly taller than the average human, usually between six feet and seven feet tall, and always wearing white. Most curiously, they are all women. All eyewitness reports and every instance I can recall showed them to be female. At least, from a superficial glance. The specifics of their biological anatomy are obviously impossible to determine without a personal examination.

  Now, for their technology. The suits they wear are reminiscent of old Apeiron technology. The most advanced form of Security suits. If what they wear is indeed some evolution of those older suit models, then it is likely they are bullet resistant and self-repairing. That would make them Pocket Space powered, which would help to explain the ability of these Angels to teleport between locations the way I witnessed in the Tower. Of course, such things should be impossible. Human insertion into Pocket Space is fatal in nearly 99.99% of cases. Yes, there were isolated individuals who were capable of using Pocket Space to travel between locations . . . space skipping, that’s what they called it . . . but there is no precedent for using Pocket Space as a transportation medium at this scale. Though, I suppose in the five hundred years since the Fall, technology may have improved enough for them to perfect teleportation.

  As for their habits, of course, it is quite easy to understand what they are after. They plunder the world for suitable technology, or at least to assess how it functions. To what end? Heh. I only wish I could say. It is perhaps one of the greater mysteries left to us out here in the world. We have no means of tracking their energy signatures. They are, after all, using technology far beyond our capabilities. Which isn’t to say I don’t have my theories, of course. What reputable scientist would not venture a guess as to the origins of these impressive beings?

  They seem to be singularly obsessed with exploring the status of the world’s technology. They do so in the Towers, but also throughout the Deadlands. After all, the Tower from which I departed is nearly two hundred miles away. Quite obviously, they have access to all sections of the city. Still, they must have some central location from which they are conducting their operations. A home base from where they can coordinate their work. Therefore, I propose that wherever they come from must be a powerful source of Pocket Space energy. Much like the Tower contained an engine that drew upon Pocket Space, the home of these Angels must have something similar. Perhaps they even come from a Tower all their own. Regardless, if there is an active source of great Pocket Space energy out there, we should be able to find some way to track it. I will begin work on just such a device immediately, in my spare time, between manufacturing all these damnable poles.

  Ah, yes, before I forget. A comment about the Dark Angel, which the Advisory Council requested. I’m unsure what to think of her, but of course, the council believes I’m capable of assessing her technology without having so much as seen it. On the basis of such wild demands, I judge the council to be composed almost entirely of lunatics. However, I would be lying if I said I was not intrigued by the prospect of analyzing the Dark Angel’s suit. That will have to wait for another time, however.

  Personal Recording of the President, Gabriel Branagh 03

  When you get calls for you to step down for a position you’re voted into, it can really hit your confidence. I’m no different from any other person in that regard, so the meeting with the council has me on edge, and that’s before I get told that we have a convoy inbound to Central Primary from Fort Silence. The news is enough to make me want to have an early morning drink, but that wouldn’t be smart. So, I do the only thing I can do. I head out there, with Colonel Martin at my back, and greet them. I will say this for Fort Silence though. They do know how to impress. The convoy pulls up in a few repulsion powered personnel transports, hovering above the ground and stacked on top with the types of heavy guns and rocket launchers that could take out a few platoons of men.

  When the transports settle to the ground and the back doors open, a stream of soldiers come filing out and forming a path toward our building. Their discipline is impressive, and in-between them walks a thin man, short and not what I’d consider fighting material. Not superficially, I mean, if you can do the job then you can do the job. But no, he comes up, shoves a hand my way and gives me the most two-timing smile I’ve ever seen outside of the Advisory Council. “President Branagh. My name is Edward Malloy, special envoy from Fort Silence.”

  I give him a firm grip and put just enough sauce in it to make sure he knows not to play games with me. “Good to see you, Mr. Malloy. How can Central Freedom be of service?”

  “May we take a seat somewhere? I have a few matters I’d like to discuss.”

  “Of course,” I say as I wave him into Central Primary. Even as we’re going up the stairs, I can’t help but admire the place. Primary’s been with us since the Following Fall, and it’s where humanity started rebuilding its government. Carved out of an old library, it became our source of knowledge about humanity’s past, its literature and beliefs. And that Old World architecture. Nothing quite like it. The paintings staring down from the ceiling and the chandeliers dangling from the roof . . . You can tell the place is old, much older than the rest of Central. We eventually added the garrison onto Central Primary, reclaiming some of the surrounding buildings and repurposing them for troop housing, weapons and vehicle storage, that sort of thing. After that, we connected them with surrounding walls to defend against any potential invasion. But, all of that’s military stuff. When you’re in Primary, you get a feel for the sort of ambitions mankind used to have, what it dreamed of being. Something greater than the sum of its parts. This library once represented mankind’s pursuit of knowledge, something no other creature does.

  At any rate, we get Mr. Malloy into one of our conference rooms and settle in as soon as we can. “I hope this will do, Mr. Malloy.”

  His eyes go to the screen along the back. “Your screen isn’t connected to any critical systems, is it? I’d like to plug in a data chip so you can review some information.”

  “No, nothing critical. Thanks for asking.” I look over at Martin, who looks as impatient as ever. “Let’s take a seat so the good man can make his presentation. What do you say, colonel?”

  Martin gives me a side eye that’s always common with him. It’s not that he doesn’t like me. It’s more that Martin is deeply suspicious of everyone. I can appreciate that, at the same time that it annoys the hell out of me. Still, he takes a seat near me before I motion to our guest. “I look forward to hearing what you have to say, Mr. Malloy.”

  “I look forward to presenting it,” he says with half a bow. “As you well know, relations between Central Freedom and Fort Silence have been rather chilly since your administration came into power.”

  “Well, that tends to happen when someone’s trying to persuade us to give up our democratic republic. I promise you, I already have enough people in my own government trying to get us to do that.”

  “Yes, well, I am here on behalf of Supreme General Yousef Suliman to extend an olive branch, a sign of peace between you and us.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Let’s not lie to one another, Mr. President. This deal would be mutually beneficial. Central Freedom is the leading producer of food in the entire region. As it currently stands, our closest supply of sustainable food is an hour north of Fort Silence, through heavily infested parts of the city. Although we have the firepower to keep our convoys secure, it’s still a danger traversing the area for a food supply that is, how to put it? Meager, at best. The farmlands we’ve been able to cultivate are barely enough to keep our forces fed. This deal could rectify that and, in addition, provide you the necessary military force you need to deal with this so-called Tank.”

  “I have a deal in place with the Tank already, actually. One that could help us put some peace between us and the raiders.”

  “You mean to say you’ve met her?”

  I stumble a bit when he asks that. “Well, the Tank herself, no. I’ve dealt
with the leader of Erin’s Army acting as one of her head military minds.”

  “Oh, I see. I see, I see.” That ratty smile of his splits open, and I can see his mind going to work. “Well, that’s just the thing, then. You talked to Erin. Erin is a recent arrival in the south. The Tank has been marshalling her forces for far longer than he’s been in the area, finding and opening both Carthage weapons stockpiles and Apeiron military reserves.”

  “We can handle some Furies and Suiciders.”

  “Perhaps. But can you handle tanks? Or suits of powered armor?”

  That does get my attention, and my eyes pop open when he says those words. “Come again?”

  “Tanks and power armor, Mr. President.” He turns around and flips on the screen. He’s right. The first few images are of tanks rolling through the Deadlands. The next few are of giant suits of armor, maybe around eight feet tall, pulling up the rear. Immediately, I shoot a look over at Martin.

  “Is this something you forgot to brief us on, too?”

  But here’s the thing. Even the colonel looks dumbfounded. He looks just as shocked as I do to see what’s on the screen. “Err, no, nothing like this. But, let’s be clear, the intelligence and surveillance systems we have in place here are not up to the standards of those employed at Fort Silence.”

  Malloy nods. “Of course not. That was a part of our split, after all. We took the lion’s share of the superior weapons and surveillance technology.”

  When those words come out of his mouth, I just want to wring him by his scrawny neck. “This sounds a lot more like blackmail than a negotiation, if I’m going to be perfectly honest. You come in here and threaten us with these images of war machines at the same time that I’ve just started trying to make peace with the Tank.”

  “Ah, yes. That brings me to my next point. You’ve been so enthused by this idea of making peace with her.” He flips a button on his remote, and the images switch. “Do you truly think this woman will make peace with you?”