Apocalypse's Prelude

by Carl Damen

  Edarus swallowed and held his breath; outside scrutiny had arrived in the White House and the time for strategy had passed.

  The president chewed on his lip for a moment, then straightened. "While we of course take no responsibility for Mr. Lanlin's actions, we are looking seriously into what he had to say."

  Edarus released his breath.

  Ahmad nodded, disappointment clear in his expression. "Yes, I thought that's what you would say. I suppose you'll be clarifying your position in due course?"

  "Certainly."

  Ahmad nodded again. "Well, before you do, I'd like you to consider some things. These are not official positions. Just… think on them." He gestured back at his entourage. "India, Pakistan, Kenya, Korea, Indonesia, and of course Iran, have all been in discussion, with others as well, and we've come up with some provisional resolutions. If the United States was responsible for the creation of the Defenders, as Lanlin alleges, we will consider it an unconscionable crime against humanity. However, we will judge it no more harshly than what many of our own countries have done in times past. We are willing to work with the United States, to help in any way we can to put this unpleasantness behind us and move on as a species.

  "But…" here he paused and glared at Isaac, until the president averted his eyes. "But if we find that the United States has intentions, any intentions of using the Defenders as weapons, in any way, we will respond in kind. If what Mr. Lanlin says is true, then the Defenders are on the same order of magnitude as nuclear devices. We have no Defenders, so we will have to respond in kind any way we can."

  The room was deathly silent.

  "Did you just threaten nuclear retaliation?" the president whispered.

  Ahmad laughed, the sound seeming terribly inappropriate under the circumstances. "Threaten nuclear retaliation? I did no such thing! Unless of course this conversation is being recorded, in which case I would love to hear what else is in the recording."

  "I'll take what you've said under advisement. Good day."

  Ahmad inclined his head once more. "Thank you for giving us some of your time. We hope this situation will be resolved in short order."

  Without another word, Ahmad and his little group turned and left the room.

  Edarus closed his eyes. That had gone about as bad as could be expected.

  "Did Lob put you up to this?" Isaac asked. "Did Lob think the Defenders would be so much better off on their own? It would have worked, Ed. We would have had our own goddamn invincible army, volunteering itself on its own term, the rest of the world none the wiser. But Lob just had to put them out in the open, didn't he?"

  "Not sure I follow..."

  Isaac sneered and leaned back on his desk, the rest of his cabinet forgotten. "Doesn't tell you everything, does he? Back when all this started, he wanted to use the Defenders as rogues to start World War III, let us take out anyone we didn't like, come out as a superpower again. I was the one who talked the president into wiping them and getting them to volunteer for the military. Who would argue with us if we just found super-soldiers?"

  "I'm fairly certain Lob isn't picking a war."

  Either Isaac didn't hear, or he didn't listen. "You tell him he's won, alright? He gets his goddamn war. We have rogue nations making super-soldiers. We'll retaliate."

  Julia and Rosencrantz both groaned aloud. Several others looked uncomfortable.

  "Eli! Get ready, we're going live in twenty."

  Edarus shook his head and left. He saw now why the General wouldn't work with the president any longer. It would have to be Edarus who fulfilled the plan...

  But he had no intention of letting Mistaren pull his strings.

  Melana Ruiz sat in the ready room at the AmeriNews D.C. studio, rubbing her head and sipping slowly from a cup of coffee that didn't contain alcohol, if the producer happened to ask. The entire news office had been going at a frantic state since last night, with Melana pulled in to cover the various riots, in addition to her role as a political reporter. She hadn't slept since two nights ago.

  The screen on the wall across from her was now showing two political "experts," actually an intern and a producer, contrasting Defense Secretary Latterndale and Retired Major Wendelferce. Latterndale was the underdog, standing up to someone who was clearly more dangerous than he. Wendelferce, by contrast, was the more dangerous one, and the underdog protestors were right to fight back.

  Melana closed her eyes and took a pull from her cup. Maybe there would be time for a nap...

  Commotion at the door caught her attention. An intern stood there, tablet in hand. "Excuse me, everyone," she said, and all of the haggard reporters swung their eyes her way. "Just told the Eagle will speak in less than five minutes. Watch, pick a position, and be ready for on-air."

  Melana groaned, then turned away from the television and to the small makeup table she had been assigned. She absently began unscrewing jars, ignoring the flurry of activity starting behind her. Forty five minutes ago, she had been on forty-five minutes ago, for a two-hour block, and was now going back up. She needed a nap...

  Too soon, the sound of AmeriNews' "Breaking Report" music interrupted her thoughts. She could see a reflection of the screen changing from a cat-food commercial to a series of blood-red stripes swirling behind the crisp white letters of "Breaking Report."

  In a moment a tired-looking anchor appeared. "We have just received word that the White House will be issuing a statement addressing the attack upon President Latterndale and the accusations leveled against him by one Mervin Lanlin." He paused for a moment. "We now go live to the White House."

  The scene changed to the White House press room, the blue curtain bright behind the dull-grey podium. It all looked normal… But there were little things missing. There were no flashes of cameras, no general hubbub of a crowded room being picked up by the podium's microphones.

  It took Melana a few moments to realize that the room was deserted, save possibly for the camera operator.

  A moment later the heavy-set form of Eli Rosencrantz came into the shot and slid in behind the podium.

  "Members of the American public… hello." His voice sounded strangely hollow, as if he were speaking from memory without really understanding what he said. "It is with great sadness that I come to you today to speak of the events that transpired last night. As you are all no doubt aware, at eight seventeen on the evening of September eleventh an unknown assailant, claiming to be deceased Private First Class Mervin Lanlin, infiltrated the White House and proceeded to assault the president, as well as guests and security staff through inexplicable means. Immediately prior to the assault, allegations were made against the United States military and the nation in general, that we were responsible for the creation of so-called Defender super-soldiers, such as the assailant himself."

  Rosencrantz paused, clearly shaken. Melana turned in her seat, seeing that the others in the room had also turned to the television.

  "While we are taking these allegations very seriously, and cannot at this time completely rule out the possibility of some faction within the government being responsible for the illegal and unethical creation of the Defenders, the president, his administration, and the United States as a sovereign whole deny any involvement in these heinous acts."

  The room erupted in yells of disagreement and anger. Melana tried to ignore the shouts and listen to Rosencrantz.

  "We also condemn the actions taken by the assailant and anyone who supported him in his assault upon this nation. It is our firm belief that the assailant, as well as other Defenders, if indeed they truly exist, to be the wok of foreign agents, intent on destabilizing this government.

  "It is with this belief that we will attempt to come to the truth about this incident, and bring to justice those behind it." He paused again, his eyes suddenly widening. He looked as if he had just realized he was giving a speech on live TV. "Um… as to the nature of the assault itself: We are, at this time, unable to fully understand just how exactly Lanlin was a
ble to perform his actions, or indeed to infiltrate the White House, but it is the opinion of the President and his advisers that what was witnessed actually did occur, and that Lanlin was able to perform acts that can only be described as supernatural." Rosencrantz closed his eyes, nodded, opened his eyes. "Thank you, and goodnight."

  As Rosencrantz abandoned the podium, the scene shifted back to the AmeriNews anchor, who stared dumbly at the camera for several seconds before thinking of something to say.

  The situation was different in the ready room.

  "No, that is total bullshit-"

  "Do they really think we're that stupid—"

  "What the hell were they thinking—"

  Melana slumped forward, her head resting on the mirror. She let out a soft laugh, which turned momentarily into a sob; no chance of a nap now...

  8

  Chapter 9

  Part II: Entropy

  Chapter 9

  Cold November wind whistled through the chain link fence surrounding the school yard, pushing the milling students further into the wind-shadow of the building, trying to stay out of the cold.

  "Can't believe they're keeping us outside like this..." Amanda muttered.

  "Shh, its starting." Beside her, her friend Tara waved her arm, then brought the mobile closer to her face.

  Amanda pushed away from where she was crouched next to the building and looked at the little screen. Tara offered her an earbud, and Amanda pushed it in. A small droning voice was calling the Senate back to order after a brief recess for lunch, and the camera showed Isaac Latterndale walking to the table at the front of the chamber and sitting down. There were a few more procedural statements, and a general shuffling as the assembly settled in, then the manager for the prosecution stood and began to place papers down on the table in front of Latterndale.

  "Do you recognize these documents, Mr. Latterndale?"

  A short pause. "Appears to be my handwriting, but I don't recall these documents exactly, no."

  "We received them a month ago from an anonymous source, and have kept them private until their veracity could be ascertained, but we are now certain beyond a shadow of doubt that they are authentic." She collected the papers and returned to her desk. "Copies have been made available to all interested parties, and arrangements may be made to examine the originals. To sum up, however..."

  She returned to the small space between Latterndale's table and the first row of senators. "These documents, written in then Secretary of the Interior Latterndale's own hand, list the broad goals of the Enhanced Human Ultimate Defenders program. One hundred non-volunteers would be collected and detained indefinitely, exposed to inhuman conditions and psychological torture until only fifty of the best candidates remained. These survivors would then be exposed to to a mutantagenic virus, which would give them what have been called 'paranormal abilities.' From there, they would be trained in the use of these abilities by the program's two military test-subjects. Upon the completion of their training, there memories of the program and of their abilities would be erased via psychic conditioning, and they would be reintroduced into the populace. Sometime within five years of their reintroduction, they would feel compelled to volunteer for some form of government service, whereupon they would 'discover' their abilities, and offer them for public use."

  She turned to look at Latterndale. "Does that sound about right?"

  "That sounds awfully convoluted. Sound's like you're making me out to some kind of super-villain."

  There was a short round of laughter from those present.

  "Do you deny that you wrote these documents?"

  "I do."

  Tara groaned. "Really? He's really going to deny?"

  "What choice does he have, man?" a male voice asked.

  Tara and Amanda looked up to see a pudgy young man sporting what he probably hoped was a goatee.

  "What's up, Raulito?" Amanda asked.

  "You guy's watching the trial?"

  Amanda blinked.

  "Sorry, yeah, dumb question. Listen, Terstein's about to give a speech. Way more interesting than an impeachment. You gonna watch?"

  Amanda looked at Tara and shrugged. "You good?"

  Tara returned the shrug. "What the hell?"

  Melana Ruiz wanted a slow news day. She would come into work, look over the daily rundown, and see that she was doing public interest, or covering a small personal scandal, and had two, three hours on air, tops. Be home by nine, maybe go see a movie.

  But no, every day since September eleventh had been a hard-hitting news spectacular. Melana—and the rest of the AmeriNews crew—had been working nonstop for nearly two months, rushing from the Capitol to the White House to the Pentagon and back again.

  Now Melana was back at the steps of the Capitol for the fifth—sixth?—major speech given by Senator Mitchell Terstein. The first two or three had been personally interesting, and the rest had certainly been newsworthy, but they had become painfully repetitive for her. She knew Terstein's main points by heart, knew the rhetorical tricks he would use to rally the crowd to his side. Yet here she was again, back to get another story.

  She was almost willing to cover the impeachment, just to get out of doing something as repetitive as this.

  "You almost ready to go?" Steig, her cameraman, was busy fiddling with cables and flipping switches on his gear. "We need to do a sound check."

  Melana sighed and began to recite a short poem she used whenever Steig set her mic levels. While she spoke, she felt her mind drifting away, lighting briefly on the irony that Terstein, once President Latterndale's strongest supporter, was now his most vocal opponent. Had his support for the president only ever been an act? Had Terstein always planned on trading in Latterndale for public support when the time was right? Or did he sincerely believe in what he preached; that the Defenders needed to be defended, that a fundamental shift in government was needed?

  "Okay, you're good."

  Her mind snapped back to the here and now. "Great job, Steig."

  "Eh."

  There was a low buzz in Melana's ear, followed by a bored voice. "Five minutes to live."

  Melana quirked a smile. Say what you will about Terstein's motivations, at least the man was punctual.

  She smoothed her hair and went over a few last minute opening lines before she just decided to wing it and play off the studio anchor. Then:

  "Live in five... four... three..."

  There was a moment of silence in her head, then she heard the voice of the anchor, even as the crowd behind her burst into wild cheering.

  "—now go live to Melana Ruiz."

  Melana held back a frown; he wasn't giving her much to work with. The tally light on Steig's camera flashed on, and she arranged her face into a look of professional interest. "The crowd is certainly excited today as Senator Terstein makes his way onto the steps of the Capitol to give what will surely be a momentous speech." Terrible intro, but it would have to do.

  "And what do you think will be the subject of the Senator's speech?"

  For the second time in a minute, Melana had to fight back showing emotion. Why should she bother to speculate when the entire thing was about to be shown live?

  "Well, Jim, I'd prefer not to speculate at this time. Why don't we go ahead and see for ourselves?"

  She turned and trained her attention on the bulky form of Terstein. He was pacing back and forth on the top step of the staircase that fronted the Capitol, working the crowd and verbally responding to the many shouts of encouragement and excitement the crowd sent his way.

  After a moment he waved his arms and the audience quieted. Opening remarks were made, with nearly every sentence punctuated by cheers and occasional jeers.

  "Why are we here?" Terstein gestured to himself and the small group of guests gathered around him. "Why are you here?" He gestured to the crowd.

  "I know. It's not to see a show, its not because you had nothing better to do, its not even so that you can say to your grandk
ids 'I was there! I was there during the bad times, there when we were angry!' No! You're here because you're America! You're here because you are the government, you are the decision makers! And let me tell you, there are decisions to be made!"

  The last few words were drowned out by cheering, but Melana could have recited them in spirit, if not word for word. This was the same sentiment Terstein always started out with, convincing the people that they actually had a say in the matter.

  "Some decisions have been made without you!" A round of booing, jeering, vocal displeasure. "Our once beloved president decided that it was perfectly alright for him to bypass you, to make decisions that placed fifty people in a position were every right they had as Americans were thoroughly violated."