by T. C. Edge
Mikel listened carefully, trying to maintain his concentration despite the enticing smell.
“We don’t know why Martha has taken this route,” went on Ragan, maintaining his controlled poise. “And, really, it doesn’t matter to us a great deal, at least not right now. What matters is the data disc. Mikel, we have your employer in custody. You will not get what you were promised from her. If money was part of the bargain, you won’t get it. If feasting on our nanites was, then let me tell you, you won’t be getting that either. You see, the game is up, Mikel. You will not gain anything from keeping the location of the data disc concealed from us. However, if you choose to cooperate, you will be freed and amply rewarded.” Ragan stopped, refocused on Mikel’s eyes, and completed his plea. “Please, Mikel,” he said, inserting a note of sincerity to his voice. “See sense. Tell us where the data is, and we can all move on with our lives.”
He stopped, his voice trailing off into silence. Mikel was almost impressed, almost convinced. He even took a moment to consider the man’s offer. Then he thought about leading him on, bargaining perhaps for a better deal.
He didn’t. Instead, he drew a smirk again, and then shook his head, without saying a word.
He inspected the reaction on Ragan’s face. There was a brief show of rage, his composed facade cracking like an eggshell before reshaping into its placid demeanour. He turned his eyes down, shook his head in disappointment, then stood and moved away. Mikel watched him go, smile lingering, and saw an unexpected replacement step forward.
It was Chloe Phantom.
His truest desire…
A sharp breath entered and fled his lungs. His nostrils drew in her smell.
Now, he couldn’t help but speak.
“Miss Phantom,” he said. “We must stop meeting like this.”
His eyes searched her neck. The little puncture wounds made by his teeth were all but gone, though slight red marks remained. A memory of her taste flooded his mind, then turning sour as it ventured towards completion.
Close. So close, he thought.
“Do you know what’s on the disc?” Chloe’s voice came suddenly, severing the memory. Probably a good thing, given how it ended in such abject failure. Mikel’s eyes regained their focus on her pale skin, almost as lightless as his own. “No, silly me…of course you don’t,” she added. “You told us that before, right?”
“I don’t care what’s on it,” croaked Mikel.
“You don’t care?” Chloe raised her eyes.
“No, why should I care? The work of your father has no interest for me, dear Chloe. Except, of course, the wonderful work he did on you. I have a great interest in that.”
“I’m quite aware of that, Mikel,” said Chloe, deadpan. She was being calm, measured like Hunt had been. It was easy enough when he was tied up to this chair, of course, and no doubt it was all part of some plan that they’d discussed outside. It didn’t matter to him what they said, though. Why on earth should it?
However, her manner was intriguing him. If nothing else, she was building his curiosity. A stretch of silence furthered his interest, luring the question out of him. Eventually, he bit.
“OK then, why not,” he said. “Go ahead and tell me just what this data is all about.”
Chloe leaned in.
“It’s about the future, Mikel,” she whispered. “A future in which your kind won’t exist.”
Mikel frowned.
“My kind,” he said. “You think I care about my kind?”
“I think you care more than you let on,” said Chloe. “I think you’ll care when all nano-vamps are hunted and terminated because the world no longer has use for them.”
The words struck a chord. The girl was teasing him, tricking him. What did she mean?
“And…why would that happen?” he asked.
Chloe pulled back a little.
“Because of the information stored on that disc you’ve hidden away,” she said. “It contains the secret to endless life, to transferring human consciousness into synthetic bodies. Something beyond super-soldiers. Something not even the likes of you could content with. And if that information gets out, well…people like you won’t be needed anymore. You and all your kind will be hunted into extinction.”
Mikel went quiet for a moment, and Chloe gave him a moment to process what he’d heard. His eyes worked away, looking at a blank space to the side. He portrayed a thoughtful visage, an almost frightened, worried one. But behind it all, within his mind, he was still smiling.
Then he spoke again, his words smaller than normal, his whisper weak.
“And, what about your kind?” he asked. He looked up beyond her, to the other three hovering in the back. “What about all of you? You won’t be needed either. You’ll be extinct too.”
Chloe nodded.
“Certainly, this will change the face of war,” she said. “Nano-augmented soldiers won’t lead the charge anymore, they’ll be superseded by new designs, new forms of soldier. But that’s another problem, isn’t it, Mikel? If our nano-tech soldier programs are discontinued…how will you feed? Even if you survive, and manage to avoid the inevitable cull of your people, what will become of you? You’ll be destined to live on in hiding, tortured by your hunger. Oh, Mikel, I know what it’s like to live like that, always hunted, never safe. Trust me when I tell you. It isn’t a fate you want.”
She leaned in again, as if feeling she was winning him round. The shape of his eyes suggested…maybe she was.
“This data can never get out, Mikel,” she said, flattening her voice. “It needs to be destroyed for all our sakes. This is bigger than me, or you, or anyone here. This is bigger than us all.” She reached forward and gently lifted his chin. “Please,” she whispered, raising a faint smile. “You have to help us.”
Her words faded into the morning air. Outside, a bird chirped off in the woods, its call the only audible sound. All others were silent, still. All eyes were looking at Mikel, as he looked right at Chloe.
His lips drifted apart. Chloe waited for him to speak in hope.
He gave it to her.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
And then, he smiled again.
18
Colonel Slattery sat in his plush desk chair, having more trouble than ever maintaining good posture. His whisky had been put away for fear of draining his wits further. His cigar had been eroded to a stump, giving the room a smoky quality that the old air conditioning unit was having some trouble dealing with.
Ahead of him, Jason stood, fast becoming his chief attendant. Slattery liked the young man’s attentiveness and sharp mind. He didn’t miss a beat, that boy. And he clearly didn’t smoke either, going by the crinkling of his nose and little coughs creeping up his throat.
He’d just entered from the command centre and into the office, ready to pass on the latest updates. Slattery demanded them every half hour, whether there was something to say or not.
“OK, Jason, what do you have for me?” Slattery asked.
Jason coughed lightly.
“Sir, more news from Devil’s Pike,” he said. “We’ve intercepted some images from a high altitude surveillance drone operated by the WSA.”
The young man stepped forward, distributing a small batch of printed images onto Slattery’s desk.
“The first, as you can see, shows what appears to be the falcon parked several miles outside of town.”
Slattery perused the image. It was grainy, hard to make out, but just about clear enough. The dark shape of the falcon was set towards the south, some distance away from the town. It was likely where they’d first set it down before assessing the situation.
“The second,” went on Jason, causing the old man to flip to the next, “shows the aftermath of the firefight.” It was more of a closeup on Devil’s Pike. The central street was littered with bodies. “If you notice to the south, sir, you’ll also see the vehicles brought by the Marauders. And, to the north, those brought by the arms deal
ers.”
Slattery nodded. Nothing new so far.
He flipped to the next.
This one did show something new. It was marked roughly twenty minutes after the previous shot, the timestamp at the bottom indicating the passing of the hour. The scene remained the same - a close up of Devil’s Pike, enlarged by the looks of things from a wider drone shot. Generally, these drones were intended for sweeping views of the landscape to watch for larger enemy troop movements. Detail wasn’t their strong suit.
However, several details had changed from the previous shot. The street remained littered with the shapes of corpses, and the vehicles at either end of the town stayed in place. Yet, they’d been joined by another at the north end; parked just beyond the small convoy of cars, the dark shape of the falcon was clear as day.
It had been moved.
But there was more. Four figures, just outside the jet, appeared to be loading something on board. Two were jointly hauling what looked like a crate. Another had a large black bag slung on his, or her, back - at this range, gender was hard to tell.
The sight made Slattery grimace.
“Ragan’s strike team,” he grunted. “So, it’s confirmed. They took the weapons and money from the exchange.”
“It looks to be the case, sir. There’s one more image, however, that you need to see.”
Slattery didn’t like the ominous tone of Jason’s voice. He flipped the image and revealed a final one. A quick glance at the time stamp showed that this one was marginally earlier than the one he’d just looked at, about five minutes before the previous shot. It was a wide angle, just like the first, showing the falcon parked several miles to the south before being flown to the northern edge of town.
Slattery’s eyes weren’t what they used to be. It appeared to be no different from the first image.
“OK, what am I looking at here, Jason?” he asked, confused, arching his thick brows up towards the young officer.
Jason stepped forward, finger inching towards the image. It traced its way towards the south first, to where the falcon was set down upon the desert floor. It stopped just outside of its left flank, where the entrance ramp was now slightly extended.
Slattery peered in closer. He could just about make out the shapes of three figures approaching the jet.
“There are three of them,” he said, squinting at the sight. “Three of Ragan’s team, I assume. Where’s the fourth? Preparing the haul for loading would be my guess.”
His eyes were moving before Jason’s finger did. He began scanning the image once more, Jason’s digit quick to catch up and point to the correct mark. It stopped, this time, just outside the southern edge of town where the Marauders’ vehicles were parked.
Slattery peered in again, stared close, and then looked up at the young officer.
“Two more figures,” he said, frowning.
There were two distinct shapes at the rear of one of the vehicles. The trunk appeared to be open.
Jason nodded.
“Two fetching the cash to be brought to the northern edge of town to be loaded, sir,” he said.
“And…three entering the jet,” murmured Slattery. “That makes five. Who’s the fifth…”
Then it dawned on him, perhaps later than it otherwise would were he not so deliriously exhausted.
“Mikel,” he whispered, largely to himself. “It’s got to be him. But…that makes no sense.”
“Not much of this makes sense, Colonel,” said Jason more firmly. Clearly he’d had some time to ponder this turn of events. “Far as I can figure, they’ve either taken him in as captive or…” he trailed off.
“Or?” asked Slattery, awaiting the punchline.
“Or…who’s to say they’re not working with the nano- vamp? Perhaps they’ve struck a deal. That’s a lot of money and weaponry there, sir. Enough to disappear forever if you want to.”
Slattery waved a hand to dismiss the notion.
“Hunt is a difficult fellow sometimes,” he said, “and tends to operate as an authority unto himself on occasion. But, the idea of him working with Mikel is absurd.”
“But…he did free Miss Phantom without the rule of the council, sir,” countered Jason. “He did take her to New York to have the data extracted. And…well, it was Mikel who stole it, wasn’t it? How do we know that they weren’t working together? All we know is what Agent Hunt has been telling us. Isn’t it possible that they’ve made this plan all along? I’m just thinking out loud here, sir, but perhaps the main goal was the data, and retrieving this cash and weapons haul is merely a bonus, or another part of their bargain. I don’t know.”
Slattery went silent for a time, not interrupting Jason, and not speaking after he’d stopped. The young man’s concerns were valid, he had to admit. But, it didn’t truly add up either.
“Nano-augmented soldiers never collaborate with nano-vamps,” he said eventually. “They’re mortal enemies. And what of the others? Cliff Tanner and Nadia Grey are respectable soldiers. Well, Grey is at least. I can’t imagine she’d go along with such a plan. And the Phantom girl?”
“Sir, I’m not going to pretend to know what’s going on here. I’m just suggesting that we need to take very seriously the idea that Agent Hunt and his team have betrayed us, and have stolen the data from under our noses. Can you really trust them, sir? Why else would they have gone dark? It’s all rather suspicious.”
Jason had never spoken so much, nor with such freedom. Mostly, he reported updates and little more. His opinion wasn’t typically sought or given.
Slattery, however, was too weary to follow normal procedure. If time allowed for it, he’d discuss this with the council, and get their feedback. It didn’t. He needed to act, and goddamned did he need to sleep.
Eventually, after taking a moment to consider things, he spoke again. Jason stood still and silent, awaiting his next orders.
“I need you to send word to Captain Quinn,” he said. “Tell him to gather a unit and head for Devil’s Pike as quickly as he can. We need a team on the ground, investigating.”
“But, the Marauders, sir? What if they’re still in the area?”
“I’m hoping they are,” grunted Slattery. “Perhaps someone can shed some light on this debacle. We can at least ascertain whether Mikel was known to them, if nothing else. Don’t worry, soldier. They won’t attack our men if we come bearing a white flag. And if they do, Captain Quinn will see to them.”
“Of course, sir, I’ll inform him immediately,” said Jason.
He made to leave, turning before stopping, as if remembering something.
“Yes, Jason?” asked Slattery.
The young officer turned.
“There was one more thing, probably of little note,” he said. “I got word a little while ago that Councillor Mitchell has left the base.”
Slattery’s body firmed up a little, casting away some of his fatigue. The mention of Martha’s name had that effect.
“She’s left the base?” he said, back straightening.
“Yes, sir. A technician down at the aircraft hanger called it in. Said she headed off with her two bodyguards in something of a rush.”
“Did she give a reason?” growled Slattery.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have that information. I merely got the report of her departure.”
Slattery was on his feet in a moment. He began moving around his desk, heading right past Jason as the young man looked on in some surprise.
“Sir,” he asked. “Is everything OK?”
Slattery stopped at the door, and turned.
“Tell me, Jason…who was it that aided Hunt and Chloe in their departure from this base several mornings back?”
“It was…Councillor Mitchell, sir.”
“Precisely. Seems awfully convenient that she’s gone awol just as Hunt and his team have gone dark. I need to see this technician immediately. What was his name?”
Jason thought for a moment.
“Um, Brian, sir. I
think.”
“Ah yes, I know him,” said Slattery. He narrowed his eyes on his young attendant, weariness fleeing from his eyes. They were sharp, suddenly alert. “See to Captain Quinn,” he grunted, “and tell him to meet me at the hanger with his unit. I need to speak with this Brian.”
He turned, marching through the glass door, the sound of the bustling command centre coming to life in his ears.
The cold winds of the mountains swept past Colonel Slattery as he stormed through the military base, heading straight for the hanger. Ahead, he noted that the bay doors were open, several men at work inside as they saw to the various aircrafts’ upkeep. He scanned them as he went, all appearing indistinct from one another at a distance in their blue overalls and burnt-orange gloves.
Only when he got near did the craggy face of Brian come into view, taking a break just outside of the hanger. He seemed to be enjoying the early morning sun, gulping on a hot mug of fresh coffee, reading some sort of book in his spare hand.
He didn’t appear to notice Slattery’s storming presence at first, crafting a direct path towards him from across the wide courtyard. Only when the Colonel loomed above him, cutting off the light of the morning sun and drenching him in shadow, did he lose interest in the book he was reading and take notice.
His eyes worked up, squinting. Webs of wrinkles spread off from each, adding ten years to his already advanced age.
“Um…Colonel Slattery,” he spluttered, rushing to his feet. His coffee spilled, wetting his sleeve. “What can I do for you, sir.”
The old technician furtively slid the book behind his back. It seemed he was embarrassed by the contents. An old romance novel, perhaps?
“I was told Councillor Mitchell left not so long ago,” Slattery said, voice firm and demanding. “Tell me what happened.”
Brian blinked as the sun appeared from behind the Colonel’s head.
“She, erm, left, sir.”
“Yes, Brian, I know she left,” seethed Slattery impatiently. “I’m asking what else happened. Did you speak with her about why she was leaving so suddenly, and without informating anyone? Did she seem stressed or in a hurry? Did she say where she was going? Come man, tell me what you know!”
