by T. C. Edge
Brian was forced back by the weight of Slattery’s words. From within the hanger, the engineers and technicians glanced over at the exchange.
“Um, yes Colonel, I spoke with her,” shivered Brian’s old voice. “I always speak with Councillor Mitchell. She’s so friendly…”
“I know how friendly she is. Get to the damn point.”
“Of course,” said Brian nervously. “Well, we shared only a few words.” He thought for a moment. “She said she was heading home. Yes, that’s it. Said there were some things she needed to see to.”
“That’s all?”
Brian nodded.
“Though,” he went on, frowning. “Come to think of it, it did seem odd. Very rushed. The call came from her quarters to prepare her hover-plane, and we’d barely got it out the hanger by the time she came hurrying towards us. She had her guards with her, those big brutes. Can’t remember their names.”
Kurt and Rick, Slattery thought. Two nano-enhanced from the Mid-States’ special forces.
“So you’re telling me she was acting strange?” Slattery said.
“Well, not her really. She was just, you know, herself. Smiling. Beautiful…” he trailed off. “I mean to say, sir, that she seemed like normal, just in a hurry is all.”
“A hurry indeed,” said Slattery.
He returned to his thoughts, glancing into the hanger, dim against the light of the sun outside. He perused the various aircraft inside. One was being hastily prepared - the second fastest military jet they had at their disposal.
The falcon was their quickest, donated by Benedict Oppenheimer and retrofitted to better comply with the needs of the Crimson Corps, and the missions they undertook. Their second fastest jet had been christened the ‘golden eagle’, or just ‘eagle’ for short. It wasn’t particularly inventive really; the golden eagle was the second quickest bird in the sky.
The jet, had, however, been given a golden sheen to better fit with its adopted name. It looked rather garish to Slattery’s eyes, though he allowed the indulgence.
Right now, the golden eagle was going through some hasty checks, ready for when Captain Quinn and his unit arrived. They’d be here soon, Slattery knew. Quinn was a man of extreme efficiency, and Slattery’s favoured unit leader. He didn’t have Hunt’s raw soldiering skill with weaponry and in combat, but was a better commander. And, most important of all, he offered the reverence Slattery desired from those beneath him. Rogues like Hunt and Tanner weren’t his cup of tea.
Unfortunately, Hunt’s participation in the capture of Chloe made him indispensable, as did his position - former, now - with the CID in New York. Perhaps Slattery had relied on him too much, given him too much slack. Right now, he was seriously regretting it all. Things had very much spiralled beyond his control.
He was committed to seizing the initiative back.
Noticing the Colonel’s glare, Brian’s voice crept forward. There had been a long enough period of silence to make the old technician uncomfortable.
“Is there some mission going down, Colonel?” he asked.
Slattery’s attention was drawn. He looked over, and slightly down, at the portly man.
Brian withered under his stare.
“Sorry, sir. I know it’s not my place to ask. It’s just intriguing is all. We sent the falcon out yesterday afternoon, and now the eagle’s going out too. We can’t help but be curious down here at the bay.”
“Understandable,” came Slattery’s gruff voice, eyes peering back to the jet, then to the courtyard. From the main barracks towards the northern edge of the base, he noted movement. It looked as though Captain Quinn was gathering his men.
Again, Brian was looking too.
“They look busy,” he said. “Must be something serious going on, I reckon,” eyes glancing at the Colonel.
He was fishing, and Slattery knew it. The men down here weren’t privy to the operations of the Crimson Corps, and the Colonel liked to keep it that way as much as he could. In fact, when it came to military matters, he didn’t enjoy interference from anyone without experience of such things. The members of the council, most notably Martha Mitchell, had been a particular thorn in his side on that front, ever trying to offer opinions and influence proceedings.
Slattery had no time for it. He was in charge of all military matters. When anything important required debate and discussion, the council would deliberate and make their joint decisions. If those decisions were military in nature, their execution would be handed to Slattery. Thankfully, most matters were military in nature, and that gave the Colonel great authority. Right now, he had no inclination in hearing what the council thought. They’d only slow him down, and cause unnecessary distraction.
Across the courtyard, Captain Quinn had now assembled his unit, a dozen strong cohort of experienced, grizzled warriors. They marched over in a hurried walk, draped in black combat dress. The regular military fatigues they wore around base were never worn on mission, not with the emblem of the Crimson Corps - red sun rising over the dark horizon - sewn on their arms. As a secret force, it didn’t serve to advertise just who they were when off-base.
At their head, their leader marched with eyes on Colonel Slattery. He was in his mid-thirties, with short, dark cropped hair, dull brown eyes, and a crooked nose that clearly his nanites had failed to heal properly after a break. He wasn’t a handsome man, though that minor disfigurement wasn’t the only cause. He had close eyes too, as if pulled together from frowning too much, and heavy wrinkles on his forehead for the same reason.
His looks were, however, irrelevant. Slattery would take a ugly dog that was loyal over a beautiful hound that never obeyed him. And Quinn was loyal indeed.
“Colonel Slattery, sir,” his voice roared as he drew near. “We’re here at your command, and eager for action. Isn’t that right, men?”
His team cheered in macho assent, bringing a smile to Quinn’s face. Unfortunately, that revealed another aesthetic issue - his lack of a full complement of teeth.
The men arrived, stopping still before the base commander. They stood to attention, feet together, in two lines of six. Quinn stalked ahead of them.
“I hear Hunt’s causing problems again,” he growled. “Him and his band of misfits.”
“Regrettably,” said Slattery. “I should never have entrusted this one to him.”
“You had no choice, sir. You obeyed your honour, and gave Hunt a chance at redemption. You weren’t to know he’d betray you in such fashion.”
“No, I wasn’t,” grunted Slattery. “But, I’m keeping an open mind.”
“You’re too trusting, Colonel,” said Quinn. “Hunt’s always thought himself better than us, same as that Tanner. I’m not surprised if they’ve gone dark…”
“Dark?”
The whisper came from Brian, forgotten to one side. Slattery glanced at him.
“Never you mind, Brian,” he said. “This isn’t your concern.”
Brian nodded, slinking back, but stayed close enough to listen. He was forgotten just as quickly as before.
“Orders then, sir?” asked Quinn. “I’m told we’re to head for Devil’s Pike and investigate. You…have no lead on Hunt’s current location?” he queried, narrow eyes bunching even closer.
“Not as yet,” said Slattery. “I’m hoping you can rectify that.”
“I’ll do my best, sir. And, if we’re to track him? Do we have leave to shoot on site?”
Slattery shook his head, though a large part of him wanted to turn its motion vertical.
“Not unless fired upon, Captain. We don’t yet have the full details. I don’t want to risk a firefight between my men if it can be avoided.”
Quinn looked disappointed.
“Of course, sir, whatever you command.”
Behind them, the eagle was now being wheeled out into the light, its checks complete. It took several technicians to lead it out safely through the other aircraft, and set it into position.
“Your carriage
awaits, Captain Quinn,” said Slattery, looking on. “Get to Devil’s Pike as soon as possible. I’ll update orders over the radio en route.”
Quinn offered a curt nod, said, “Yes, sir,” and began leading his men to the jet.
Slattery stood watching, a figure once more creeping to his side.
“Has the falcon gone missing then?” asked Brian tentatively.
Slattery looked down. The shorter, rounder man was still seeking gossip.
The Colonel shook his head. He had to commend the man’s determination, at least. So much, in fact, as to have him loosening his tongue. It didn’t really matter, of course, whether the technicians and engineers knew. The odd little tidbit wouldn’t hurt, and they did do a lot of excellent work at the base, keeping things running smoothly. The falcon, Slattery was quite aware, was also of some importance to them. Men who worked with aircraft often took on a strange bond with them, and the falcon was a truly lovely plane.
“Yes, I’m afraid it has,” the Colonel admitted. “Hopefully it’s only temporary. I’m certain Councillor Oppenheimer will not be best pleased if his generous donation goes missing.”
That was a real concern. Oppenheimer was the organisation’s richest benefactor. Without his financial support, they wouldn’t be nearly the same.
“Well, what about the transponder?” asked Brian. “Can you not track it down?”
“It’s been…switched off,” said Slattery, watching now as Quinn’s unit boarded the plane.
“Switched off?” breathed Brian. “But…why?”
Slattery had little desire for further explanation. He’d given the man enough.
“Thank you for your help, Brian,” he said, preparing to move off.
His voice was half drowned as the eagle began to climb. The two men stayed in position as it lifted into the air, purring loudly, before rumbling louder and shooting off skyward at impossible speed. It was always a thrill, that sight.
The things men could build…
Slattery turned back towards the direction of the command centre. He was beginning to feel his fatigue again, and longed for his chair. Quinn’s journey and investigation would take a little time. He’d be able to snatch an hour or so, at least. He needed it.
He began moving off, but found Brian’s voice drifting back towards him. He didn’t quite process it at first. He had no further desire for conversation.
He continued on a few steps, and then the words settled in his head.
“Have you tried the GPS tracer?”
He stopped, and turned.
“What did you say?”
Brian looked slightly awkward. He didn’t answer immediately, looking away to his feet. Slattery marched right up to him.
“Brian, what did you just say?!” he demanded. “Are you saying there’s another way of tracking the falcon?”
Brian’s old, greying eyes lifted, their surrounded web of wrinkles deepening.
“I wasn’t meant to say anything,” he said. “I just thought, given the circumstances…”
“What do you mean? For goodness sake, man, this is important! Stop stumbling over your words and be clear!”
“I’m…I’m sure it’s fine. Probably,” he said, trying to convince himself. “It’s Councillor Oppenheimer, you see. He wanted a personal tracking device to be added to the falcon, so he could keep an eye on it. Only he can access it, using a special code. Guess he wants to protect his investment or something. Not my place to ask, sir. And wasn’t my place to tell you, either. I just thought, as I say, it might be important given what’s, you know, going on…”
Slattery’s lips were rising. That was odd. The man never smiled.
“Tell me, Brian,” he breathed, “that Councillor Oppenheimer hasn’t left the base as well.”
“Like Councillor Mitchell?” Brian shook his head. “Oh no, sir. No, Mr Oppenheimer’s personal jet’s still here,” he said, pointing over into the hanger. At the rear, a small, sleek hover-jet sat parked in the shadows.
“Thank you, Brian,” Slattery said. His smile felt awkward, unnatural, even to him. It must have looked doubly strange to others.
“I won’t get in trouble for telling you, will I?” asked the old technician. “I wasn’t meant to say anything. I don’t want to offend Councillor Oppenheimer.”
Slattery fixed the old man with a stare.
“Brian, if this trace works, you won’t be punished. I’ll make damn well sure you’re rewarded instead.”
Brian’s eyes lit up. Slattery’s turned across the courtyard in the direction of the council chambers. And without delay, he hurried on.
Pushing his exhaustion to the side one final time.
19
Chloe was feeling strangely happy, given what was going on. It didn’t seem quite right for her to feel, well, as happy as she had in three years. Not with something so important at stake. Not with a murderous, ravenous nano-vamp never more than thirty metres away.
But she did feel happy, because happiness was relative. Take someone out of a wonderful life and dump them into one like hers, and no, they wouldn’t be happy. But lift someone from the very depths, even if only a little way up the crevice, and they’d consider that progress.
For Chloe, this was progress.
So things hadn’t exactly gone as she’d hoped after the data had been extracted from her nanites. And yes, she did appear to be on the run again, in some regard at least. But, she wasn’t alone. She had people with her, people she liked. Human people, who she could interact with without feeling like she was going slightly mad.
She loved Remus, of course, and that would never, ever change. But this was different. This was more. Within this little group, she was beginning to feel like she belonged, and part of that was owing to her most recent contribution.
So far, she’d done little to help, but her conversation with Mikel had gone down well. She’d spoken plainly with the nano-vamp, treating him like a person. She imagined that he wasn’t treated like that very often, and it would, perhaps, help break through his shell.
She’d been right. He’d softened before her eyes, and had since turned pensive. After their conversation, the group moved back out of earshot and took position by the campfire outside. Chloe was greeted with a load of backslapping, smiling faces, and compliments over how she had performed.
The plan had worked, it seemed, and better than they’d anticipated. The idea had been formed outside: Ragan would speak to Mikel first, lie to him that his employer was in their custody, and that they were now his only hope of getting paid. They knew it was a long shot, but it was merely the warm up act.
Then, Chloe would step in, and appeal to another part of Mikel: his logic. She told him the true purpose of the data, and what it might mean for a man like him, altering his place in the world and rendering his kind militarily redundant. She hoped, though didn’t expect, to persuade him to see sense. It was to her great surprise that he had.
After that, neither Nadia nor Tanner were needed. Though in that regard, Tanner appeared disappointed; his role would have been to beat the location of the data out of him. He knew as well as anyone that it wouldn’t have worked. But still, he would have had fun trying.
The end result was a breakthrough, a small crack that they hoped would become a fissure. Mikel had said he’d think about it, and though they harboured some fear that he was just toying with them, it was something to cling to at least.
Now, they just had to give him time, and had thus left him alone.
They stood together as the sun warmed the skies, now fully risen and casting its light down upon the woods. Given they had a little time to wait, Tanner began to set about making some breakfast. Nadia assisted him, dropping a little wink to Chloe as she left her alone with Ragan. It was a suggestive wink, as if she knew there was something brewing between the two. Had Chloe been that obvious in her longing stares? She didn’t feel she had, but then no one ever did, did they?
The two stood looking out into the
trees, alone now as Tanner and Nadia busied themselves off by the fire. Birds were chirping gleefully, as if mimicking Chloe’s mood, their morning song so pleasing to her ears. She knew so many calls, spending such time in the wilds as she had. Most she liked. Some she loved. None had ever truly annoyed her.
Remus perched on her shoulder, looking out too, head cocked slightly as if jealous he couldn’t join in. He couldn’t make such sounds, his only form of communication his ability to relay information into Chloe’s nanites. In that regard, he could ‘speak’ to her, though not in a way anyone else could understand.
Ragan, as always, found himself smiling at the drone. He nodded towards the trees.
“Why don’t you go say ‘hi’,” he said, blue eyes twinkling, like a father giving consent to a child to go join some impromptu fun in the park.
Remus glanced at him, then at Chloe, as if requiring confirmation from his mother.
She smiled.
“Go ahead, you go play.”
Remus spun, wings spreading, and shot off into the air. He could move and fly like no other bird, nor any other creation of gods or men. His creator was mixture, almost, of the two. A man wielding the power of god. A man who’d discovered how to defeat death, to make life eternal.
“I wonder how your father would feel about all this,” Ragan pondered, looking at Remus as he fled off into the trees.
“What?” asked Chloe.
“This desire to destroy his life’s work, his crowning achievement.”
“I thought that was me?” said Chloe, still buoyant. She wasn’t prone to making remarks like that.
Ragan laughed.
“Well, aside from you, of course,” he said. “You’d be anyone’s crowning achievement.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head at his own words. “I don’t know why I say such cheesy things.”
Chloe took his arm, huddling close to his side.
“No, I liked it,” she said, gazing up at him with one of those longing looks she clearly didn’t realise she made. She then did something unexpected, rising to her tiptoes and brushing his stubbled cheek with her lips. It was as coy as a kiss could get, yet these two were hardly experts in matters of romance.
