Phantom Legacy: The Phantom Chronicles, Book 3

by T. C. Edge

  Restless, she moved off again just as fast, Remus humming around her as she went, venturing towards the cockpit. She found Tanner lying back in the pilot’s seat, dozing, a glass clutched loosely between his fingers. He must have put the jet on autopilot.

  She leaned in and smelled the contents of the glass, though knew what it was before she did. Whisky. Now what was Tanner doing drinking whisky at a time like this!

  She crept towards the co-pilot’s seat, quiet enough not to wake him, and then sat down as loudly as she could. Tanner woke with a start, eyes flying open, glass nearly slipping from his fingers. He managed to catch it first, before looking straight ahead, as if alerted to some incoming threat. It really showed his priorities that his first thought went to not dropping his alcohol.

  As it dawned on him that things were, actually, just fine, he let out a breath of relief, and looked over at Chloe.

  “Goddamnit, Phantom,” she sighed. “You can’t creep up on me like that!”

  Chloe eyed the whisky glass, expression critical, shaking her head and tutting.

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “What, this?” said Tanner, raising the glass. He sunk its remaining contents, and smiled. “Great idea, thank you,” he said, before reaching to his left, opening a little drawer to the side, and pulling out a bottle. And another glass.

  He began filling it as Chloe protested.

  “No, not again!” she said. “We’re meant to be infiltrating a private, highly secure estate in…what…” she looked at her watch. “…In less than two hours! I’m not sure drinking is very sensible.”

  “Sensible?” asked Tanner. “Sorry, I don’t know the word?”

  He smirked, and thrust the glass forward into Chloe’s hand. Before she could protest again, she found herself taking it.

  He filled another, as Chloe wondered just how many he’d had, before plonking the bottle back down onto the floor with a loud clunk. He relaxed deeper into his chair, looking incredibly content, eyes shaping towards the windscreen.

  “There’s something just so…liberating,” he said quietly, “about sitting here above it all, where no one can see you, hear you, find you.” He smiled and took a sip of whisky. “And this makes the sensation all the more powerful. Go ahead, relax, take a sip. A little bit won’t kill you.”

  “No, but it’ll put me in a position where I’m more likely to get killed,” retorted Chloe. “Alcohol slows the senses, Cliff. I rely on my reflexes to stay safe.”

  “Ah, and here was me thinking Remus did all the work,” grinned the Californian.

  Chloe might once have taken that as offence. Now, she actually considered it a compliment, given Tanner’s first reaction to Remus was to dismiss him as ‘just another drone’. And, well, he had a fair point as well. Without Remus, Chloe really wasn’t much.

  “Drink,” whispered Tanner, glancing over again. “I won’t tell Ragan, promise.”

  Chloe’s will wilted, Tanner far too convincing for his own good. She could imagine him using the same persuasive tactics on his female conquests. That easy smile of his was, she had to admit, difficult to deny.

  She sipped, feeling the warm liquid smoothly glide down her throat. She didn’t even cough this time. It felt good, calming, soothing to her mind. She sighed and leaned back into her chair, and Remus, seemingly afflicted by a sudden relaxation too, stretched his wings and then dropped into her lap, curling into some strange amalgam of a bird and…was that a cat?

  Odd, thought Chloe, looking at him. Remus had never become a cat before. She suspected that he’d probably seen a few strays during their jaunt through LA, most likely curled up on doorsteps or down dim alleys, a posture he was trying to replicate. Cats were, after all, lazy creatures. Good to imitate, then, in his current frame of mind.

  Tanner had noticed his oddly shaped form too. He frowned, blinking, having only ever seen Remus as a bird when ‘off-duty’, and a drone when at work.

  “What’s wrong with him?” he asked, looking almost concerned.

  “Ah, nothing,” Chloe said lazily. “He’s just trying a new form. He never gets it right the first time.”

  “Um…OK. So what’s he trying to be exactly? He looks like…I don’t know, some sort of mythological creature.”

  Ah, of course, thought Chloe. That’s what he looks like - a Griffin. Lion’s body with an eagle’s head.

  She laughed, and nodded, looking over at Remus as he continued to shift his shape, trying to replicate the cats he’d seen. He was clearly having some trouble.

  “Best stick to being a bird, little guy,” Tanner joked. Remus lifted his tiny head angrily, and then went straight back to modifying his form, with limited success.

  Chloe looked back through the windscreen, at the endless black of the night sky, dotted with its shining stars. Ahead, the moon was idly rolling along on its path, always moving, never stopping. Chloe wasn’t much different, she mused, never stopping anywhere for long. Life didn’t allow for it; it just seemed the natural order for her. Just like the moon, driven by forces beyond its control, so Chloe’s existence had forced her to keep going, on and on, endlessly.

  She took another sip of whisky, a tonic that she kind of wished she’d discovered before. She’d never allowed herself to drink, of course, during her years on the run. Even if she found somewhere to settle for a few days, or even a few weeks, she’d always work on the assumption that she’d be moving on the very next day. It was easier to think like that, really - if her body was static for a time, her mind was ever seeking the next destination.

  But how delightful it was to sit here with a friend, drinking whisky, looking out over the stars. To feel safe, despite everything, ignoring the dangers she was sure to face soon. None of that seemed to matter right now. With everything she’d been through, there was no darker place for her to venture. Nothing could match what had gone before. Nothing could beat the impenetrable blackness of the solitude and loneliness she’d faced.

  The thoughts came to her unbidden, but didn’t pull away her good mood. She looked them in the face and smiled. And in her mind she said, you can’t hurt me anymore.

  Other thoughts came instead. Those of her new companions, those of Ragan. She found herself smiling like a little girl, a foolish grin on her face, as she replayed the kiss in her mind once more. More sips of whisky fuelled her amorous thoughts, taking her to new places that roused her heart into a quickening beat. She glanced over, almost embarrassed, as if Tanner could see what she was thinking. She found him looking at her with a sly grin.

  Yeah, she thought. He probably can.

  “So, who made the move then, gorgeous?” he asked offhandedly.

  Chloe shrugged coyly, that dumb girlish grin still on her face.

  “Ragan, huh,” nodded Tanner appreciatively, working it out. “He took my advice then.”

  “What advice? You told him to kiss me?”

  “I told him you spend half your time looking at him with eyes as big as that moon out there,” he said, glancing to the dark skies.

  Chloe looked aghast.

  “You didn’t! I…I don’t. Do I?”

  Tanner laughed pleasantly, like a master of a craft dealing with amateurs.

  “To be fair, he does the same with you. You’re as pathetically lovestruck as each other. It sickens me, it really does…”

  Chloe didn’t quite hear the rest of what Tanner had to say. She got stuck on one word. Or, the first half of one word.

  Love.

  She shook her head to herself.

  “He doesn’t love me,” she found herself whispering. “He…can’t.”

  “Why?”

  She looked up suddenly. It was almost like she didn’t realise she’d spoken the words out loud.

  “Why…what?”

  “Why can’t he love you?” asked Tanner, quite serious. He stared at her a moment, as if expecting an answer. “He’s spent God knows how long trying to find you. His entire life these last months and y
ears has been in tracking you down to help you. Chloe, you’re a beautiful girl. I don’t know how it started, if he wanted to help you from the start, or maybe that just grew on him, but it became a big deal later on. That much I do know. He’s thought about you every day for a long, long time. So yeah, when he finally meets you, and sees that you’re this sweet, good natured girl, despite all you’ve been through…then I can kinda see how something like love might just come about quickly.”

  He stopped, then blinked, as if he was coming out of a dream.

  “Whoa, I don’t know what happened to me there,” he said. “It was like I was possessed by someone with a good heart.” He grinned. “Please, never tell Nadia I said such soppy things. And don’t pass it onto Ragan either. He won’t want me stealing his thunder. He’s the king of the cheesy lines, right?”

  “Right,” chuckled Chloe, mind swirling.

  Love. No, she still didn’t believe it. Nice try, Tanner…but no.

  It was far too soon to even consider such things, from a logical standpoint at least. Unfortunately, her stupid emotions had other ideas. Inside, she bloomed with a hope that Tanner’s instincts were right.

  She smiled to herself, and looked down the passage. She could see Ragan through the gap in the chairs, head fallen to his shoulder, chin growing darker with stubble by the day. Can he really love me, she thought, after so short a time? Had he really begun to fall for me before we’d even met?

  The thought made her swoon even more, and that in turn made her feel increasingly foolish. There was just something so incredibly…romantic about it. Something chivalrous and heroic. Chloe never, ever thought she needed saving. She never thought she wanted saving either. But that was all theory. Now that it had actually happened, she’d morphed into some besotted teenager, her mind fluttering along with thoughts of ‘does he, doesn’t he’, the sort of nonsense girls at school used to discuss when she was young.

  Chloe had hardened her shell over the years, but somehow it had been cracked right open, releasing this ridiculous side of her. A side that needed to be ushered away again for now, like a drunken girl at a party. She’d only ruin things, mess things up, make her do or say something stupid. She zipped her lips, and stifled her thoughts. It was time to refocus on the mission.

  Thankfully, Tanner seemed to be of the same mind.

  “Anyway…” he breathed, finishing the last of his glass. “Guess we’d better get our work hats on.” He reached towards the controls, deactivating the auto-pilot. “We’ll be into MSA airspace in a few minutes. Unfortunately, it’s time to concentrate.”

  Chloe took his meaning, and passed him her empty glass. She felt a twinge of inebriation, but only a little. Her nanites would quickly work to dispel it, so no harm done. Hopefully.

  “Thanks for the drink, Cliff,” she said. “And…the chat. Nice to see you’re not such a cold-hearted bastard as you seem.”

  His eyes lit up.

  “Chloe Phantom! The mouth on you. I…I like it!”

  “Well, my mouth is just for speaking when it comes to you,” she said.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, gorgeous. Your words are all I want.” He glanced around, down the passage. “Plus, I’ll give this one to Hunt. He needs a win,” he grinned.

  “Talk about flattering yourself,” said Chloe. “A word of advice, though, Cliff,” she added, leaning in. “Use some of that soppy stuff on Nadia. You might just win her round.”

  Tanner stared at her a moment, as if trying to figure out a riposte. Then he just smiled softly, and turned back to the controls, as Chloe returned to her seat.

  12

  “Right then,” said Ragan, looking out through the windshield. “Let’s take it slow, nice and easy…”

  He seemed to be talking to himself more than anything, a bid, perhaps, to keep himself calm. Tanner looked over from the controls, frowning.

  “You sure you got enough sleep there, buddy?” he asked. “We’re safe. It’s cool. You hear that?”

  “What?” asked Ragan sharply.

  Tanner lifted his brows.

  “Silence,” he whispered. “No detection alarm. No threats. No one knows we’re here, so chill out and let me do my job.”

  Ragan nodded.

  “Fair enough.”

  The jet had ventured easily enough through MSA airspace so far, its advanced systems ever aware of any air-defence and detections stations littered across the Mid-States’ borders. High as they were, and with the falcon’s cloaking function, they’d have to get much closer to the ground than this to be spotted.

  Still, Ragan had been on edge ever since he’d awoken. Tanner might well have been right in his assertion. He probably needed a few more hours to fully replenish his energy stores, and his lingering fatigue was likely making him more tense and paranoid than normal.

  He drew a long breath, and looked out through the windshield. A long way below, and far towards the east, a condensed mass of silvery, yellow light indicated the city of Chicago. Capital of the MSA, it was nothing like the city they’d left several hours before. LA was a smog-ridden cesspool at its core, a slum of a city obscured by the towering skyscrapers and great wealth of its powerful leaders, and the mighty military that guarded it. It was like a postcard picture of a beautiful beach, seen from way off shore. From a distance, you’d only see the shimmering seas, the golden sands. Get closer, however, and you’d begin to realise that the beach was infested with trash, and the seas swimming with sharks.

  Chicago was vastly different. It was positively tiny by comparison, having hardly grown in size over the years while LA expanded with such abandon. For a time, it suffered greatly in places, many suburbs all but destroyed, its beating heart growing strained by war. The Second Civil War wasn’t kind to the city, and the power-grab that followed many years later left it scrapping for crumbs from the table.

  With the smallest population, weakest military, and most vulnerable economy, it could never compete for power, choosing instead to ally with the NDSA in order to ensure its protection. The alliance lasted a time, but soon it dissolved, leaving the MSA with little to do but abstain entirely, step back from the conflict and declare themselves neutral bystanders.

  Of course, the threat of subjugation remained, with the WSA the primary concern. The MSA’s old alliance with the NDSA made them a less dangerous adversary, and they couldn’t fight on two fronts with the Western States so powerful. The Western States, on the other hand, remained the pre-eminent nation on the continent, and unlike their neighbours over in New York, an assault against Chicago remained an option; they had the military power and financial clout to war on two fronts if they wished.

  So the Mid-States turned to diplomacy, bowing to the rest and paying taxes in exchange for their sovereignty. They began preaching peace, rebuilding as much as they could, even forging weapons and arms for the others to use in the fighting, forced to submit under the threat of invasion.

  Chicago, once a great city, grew weaker still, falling into the shadow of its grander cousins. Ignored by the great powers to the east and west, they were forced down a new path, pressed into the dirt and mocked. But now, perhaps, they were fighting back.

  Ragan mused on it all as the jet continued north, banking quickly and steadily approaching the northern suburbs of the city. His time with the CID had made it clear that no one cared for the MSA. No one feared a reprisal, or plans for revenge. It was to them akin to a toddler, kicked down by a burly adult, and then wishing to gain vengeance upon him. It just didn’t seem possible, or worthy of any considered debate. Their attention was elsewhere, and so was all their funding.

  Of course, the occasional inspection did occur, just to make sure. Teams from both New York and LA, Ragan knew, would go there to ensure their defence systems were within the terms agreed upon, and that their military power didn’t exceed a certain level with regards to both armaments and soldiers, the Ravens - their nano-enhanced special forces - included. But over the years, these inspections grew mo
re uncommon and less thorough. As far Ragan knew, New York hadn’t conducted one in some time.

  And now a question was on his mind - had they managed to build a synthetics program behind the other nations’ backs? Had they secretly developed a new breed of super soldier, just waiting to be imbued with human consciousness to function?

  It seemed unlikely, but perhaps that was merely Ragan’s ignorance speaking, ignorance that was well entrenched. Yet the evidence was starting to make him nervous, and the logic was making too much sense. Martha Mitchell and her family had been loyal citizens of the MSA since its inception, generation after generation firmly embedded within Chicago society, where they’d always played an influential role. If Martha now had the data, would she take it to her nation’s enemies in the west, or the east, or even towards the south? Would she sell it to LA or New York for profit, rich as she already was?

  Or was she truly working for her own country, the lands she’d always loved? The country that had been mocked and ignored, dismissed and forgotten as the fight for power raged on and on?

  Looking over at the city now, Ragan felt a terrible chill. He hadn’t seen it for a long time, but suddenly it seemed brighter than before, bigger. It looked like it was rebuilding, growing, expanding once more.

  Preparing, he thought, with a jolt of trepidation, for something grand.

  “OK, final descent, I’m taking her down.”

  Tanner’s voice forced Ragan from his thoughts. He blinked and felt a slight change in motion, the jet slowing and falling gently. His heart was thudding wildly all of a sudden. He sucked in a long breath, grimacing.

  “You OK?” asked Tanner, glancing over.

  “Fine,” grunted Ragan. “Just…it’s nothing.”

  He stood from the co-pilot’s chair, turning to the passage into the main jet, and walked right down it. The girls were already changed back into their combat gear, black and perfect for nighttime infiltrations. He smiled at Chloe as he passed. Damn she looks good in that, he thought. Hugs her in all the right places…