by Patrick Wong
Soon he was at the door of the sleek executive office belonging to the man who would answer for his son’s death. He opened it.
Professor Anthony DuBois was standing by the window, admiring his view out onto the metro stations and the streets below.
Jennings heard the rushed steps of several armed security men behind him.
DuBois turned around and waved them down. He then turned what appeared to be an anguished gaze toward Jennings.
“Senator Jennings. Your son. My sincerest condolences. A horrific tragedy. Please, do sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Of course.”
Jennings stood for a moment, his blood boiling while DuBois observed him with a mixture of curiosity and pity.
“I can see you’re angry.”
“I could kill you. With my bare hands. Right now,” Jennings seethed. He gripped the back of the leather chair.
“And how would you explain that at the Capitol, given that we’re now your government’s highest-rated defense client? We’re your president’s darling. We’re the smart ones that do more with less. That would be a little awkward, wouldn’t it?”
Jennings exhaled loudly. Part of him didn’t care and wanted to take this bastard down right then and there.
“I know, I know,” DuBois continued. “It was so avoidable. How were we to know that Drake was traveling with Nicole to Florida?”
“Don’t … even speak his name.”
“You could have given us a heads-up, perhaps? Is that why you’re angry? Is it guilt?” DuBois leaned forward, an expression of concern furrowing his face. “Oh! You didn’t know, did you? You didn’t even know where your own son was these past few days. That’s not going to win you any Father of the Year awards, is it?”
Jennings slammed his hand down on the desk.
“Enough! We gave you a blank check to develop new technologies based on ancient paranormal myths, damn it. We did not give you license to kill innocent American children.”
“Ah, yes. The TSP Project. Well, if memory serves, you didn’t mind killing innocents when we told you we might have to kill Nicole. Rather different when you realize, after the fact, that it’s your own child in the battlefield, I imagine?”
“You bastard.”
“All those slimy words and rhetoric, and you end up pulling amateurish — nay, schoolyard — dirty words? Look, Senator, I am sorry. But you were in on this too. However you want to conceptualize that for yourself, that is a fact.”
“You were supposed to eliminate Nicole — not my son!”
“Well, I didn’t kill her friends, did I? Amy Madigan and Ben Owens are alive. Now,” DuBois began pacing around his room, “if there’s one thing about Nicole, it’s that she will save people. That’s why we shot her friends. When you force someone to fight one-handed, you have more of a chance of getting them. That’s all I did. Now, if you’re wanting to cast some blame around, perhaps you might look toward Nicole and the rather shoddy job she did of saving Drake.”
“I said don’t mention him again.”
“Turns out, she probably should have just left him alone with the gunshot wounds. At least then the paramedics would have had a chance at saving him. But without external wounds, the internal injuries your poor son sustained — phew! Horrible!”
Jennings shot forward and grabbed DuBois by the collar, ramming him into the wall.
“You are a madman.”
DuBois just laughed. “Madman, clinically insane, genius — whatever floats your boat, Senator. But that’s what it takes to change the course of history: madmen. And it just so happens that my ‘mad’ experiments will save thousands of our brave soldiers overseas. We’re going to revolutionize the business of war. Isn’t that a sacrifice worth making?”
“And I understand you have Nicole now, alive. What are you going to do with her?”
“She’ll live. But we won’t need her for much longer, anyway. We have someone far more powerful with us. And my genetics team at NOR has helped us match and even surpass Nicole’s powers. You rubber-stamped the paper yourself. Soldiers that can heal themselves — advances in technology will allow us to get as many of those as we need. Nicole Aaronson’s just a single girl, but I can’t have those PRESS idiots getting a hold of her, so we’re going to wipe her out of the history books.”
“Stop this. Stop this all right now. I’m in control, and I fund you. I make the decisions. Nicole lives. Don’t touch her.”
DuBois looked at the senator with something that amounted to pity. “See this?” He pushed forward a tablet showing a live video stream of Nicole. She was hardly recognizable — gaunt, bruised and afraid. “As long as she’s alive and roaming around, you can kiss your trillion-dollar military goodbye.”
“What have you done to her?”
“What should have been done at the outset three months ago when we first discovered her. You see, don’t you, how far she’s already come? It’s only going to get worse. Once her powers are fully realized, she’ll be able to crash one of your $2 billion stealth bombers just by looking at it. She could obliterate a nuclear missile facility by killing the staff from the inside out. She could kill you or me in a crowded shopping mall, and nobody would be able to prove it was her. She has the potential to be a weapon without limits. Right now, she’s still young, and we can still contain her. But next year? We may be defenseless. If you feel bad about it, we can release her. But you will regret that. Taking her out of the picture will buy us time to finish what we’ve started, and then we will be so far advanced by the time the next Balancer is of age that they will be of little concern.”
Senator Jennings, for all of his incredible fury, slumped down into the comfortable leather chair opposite DuBois. He was in a bind, and his head was too crowded with grief over his son.
He no longer knew right from wrong.
My Friends Are Alive
The prison was a large, rectangular room made of thick glass that was encasing liquid. It was like an industrial aquarium. White, shiny floors and ceiling. Polished. Clinical. Nicole had a bed, sink, shower and toilet. There was no access to natural light or even a switch for artificial light. That was controlled from outside. Nicole wasn’t sure how long she’d been captive in this room. It may have been hours. It may have been days. The one noticeable difference from the last time she’d been conscious was that her leg had completely healed.
She had searched every length of the walls for an imperfection, but there was none. Between the two layers of glass, Nicole could see the cloudy liquid spiraling around and around, and it made it all look like a filthy pond. Sometimes the overhead floodlights would change from dim to super-bright, presumably to disorient her.
There was also something familiar in here, and she could sense a powerful presence all around her. Then, with no warning, the room went dark, and she felt alone — apart from that feeling of something else there.
She had recalled the treehouse room countless times. It made her sick thinking about it — about Amy, Ben and Drake. Barnard was on his own. She couldn’t be sure whether she had Balanced enough. Before, she had always been able to watch the consequences of her Balancing. The effects of the injection had now worn off on her, but she understood that the drugs in the needle coupled with whatever had been in the gas canister would have affected her Balancing.
She had to stay strong and believe that it had worked, even if, like the skeleton girl in the well, she would be doomed to stay here forever. She would feel sad for her parents, but at least her friends would be OK. It felt so strange not knowing where or how they were.
When the isolation became too much, she would count. Just keep counting. The time would slip away then. She had no frame of reference for time or location, and when she became bored of the counting game, she would do what Katniss from The Hunger Games did when feeling afraid: repeat the things she knew to be true.
“My name is Nicole Aaronson.”
“My home is Virginia.
”
“I am a Balancer.”
“I killed Agent Carter in self-defense.”
“My best friends are Amy Madigan, Ben Owens and Drake Jennings.”
“My friends are alive.”
Nicole paused after the last sentence, and a tear started to roll down her cheek. She knew she was lying. There was no way she could be sure that statement was true.
But she also knew she had to keep control of her feelings. Whatever the government wanted her for, she would need all of her energy — and courage — to fight her way out of this prison.
She heard the latch turn on the door to an outer room that surrounded her glass prison. Nicole didn’t move. She’d heard this before and had gotten her hopes up, only to find that someone was just looking through a crack in the doorway. No one ever came in the room.
But to her surprise, this time the door opened and people were entering.
Through the dirty, swirling liquid, she could make out their white lab coats. Scientists? Doctors? They were in some kind of conversation, but the glass barrier muffled their words.
Standing up, Nicole banged her fists on the glass.
“Help me! I’m thirsty. Please! Just give me some water.”
For a moment, the silhouette of one of the talkers turned toward her, but then turned back to the group again, and they continued to chatter as though they couldn’t see or hear Nicole.
“Let me out of here! Please!” she screamed, pounding again and again.
They had tried to murder her friends and then kidnapped and imprisoned her. Now, they could see how afraid she was, how much she craved freedom — and they just ignored her.
Fine. Then maybe she should show these people exactly why they should be afraid of her. She had to connect with something living to Balance against.
The answer quickly revealed itself. It was all around her — the cloudy water. She touched her hand against the glass, and she could feel it. The tank was thriving like a primordial soup. There was an abundance of life in there.
Clenching her fists, she concentrated on the microscopic life flowing in the murky water, and then she focused on the person who had turned around and ignored her. With her eyes clamped shut, she raised her open palms and began summoning the life force of the swirling water against the scientists in white coats.
The first thing she noticed was a gurgling, bubbling sound. Opening her eyes, she found that the walls around her were turning blood red, as though the liquid inside them was boiling. The harder she concentrated, the more it bubbled. Nicole concentrated harder than ever before, and her anger grew. She was meaning to kill again.
The figures outside the tank all suddenly turned toward Nicole and froze in place. She could hear their voices outside her prison growing louder. Each of them was pointing and looking at each other as if they were arguing, but Nicole could see no evidence of any effect on them from her Balancing. Only the intense red.
“Ahhhhh!” Nicole screamed out, the tension in her mind from concentrating so hard beginning to push her to the limit. For a few more minutes, she kept going, but soon she noticed that the scientists’ chatter had stopped and that they were all just staring at her. Finally, she fell down and collapsed on the floor, exhausted. She had failed.
She opened one eye a crack and could see the figures patting each other on the back. Nicole realized then that she’d just proved that their prison worked. It was a Balancer prison.
She heard a click and then the whirring of an electronic motor. A flat-panel TV appeared on one wall of the glass.
The TV displayed an image of a distorted digital face. Its voice was obscured.
“Very nice, Nicole. Feel better now?”
Nicole started to form words, but her mouth was too dry to get them out.
“What was that? I can’t hear you,” the voice continued.
Finally Nicole summoned her strength and screamed at the image. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I have rights!”
The figure on the screen laughed. “Rights? Oh, you actually think I’m government? No, I’m not with the government. My name is Anthony DuBois. You might have heard of me.”
Nicole cast her mind back to where she’d heard that familiar name. She recalled a YouTube clip that Ben had sent her so long ago in an email. Was he the professor who was arguing with Barnard?
“I can see you’re trying to work it out, so let me tell you a little more. I work with the government, but I’m not one of them. Which means I don’t share their ethics — shady or otherwise. And I make my own rules.”
“What do you want with me?”
“All in good time, Nicole. By the way, no need to thank me for the work we did on your leg. Nasty little wound, that one. I mean, it’s no match for what you did to Agent Carter, but still.”
Nicole felt for the wound that was no longer there. She could scream over the irony of it all — no limp now but nowhere to run.
“But before we get going, let me explain something. I really don’t care about you or your friends. There is, however, something I do care about. And I need you to do something for me.”
“You must be stupid to think I’ll ever help you. After they’ve found out you tried to kill Senator Jennings’ son, you’re going to have a lot more problems than I can give you.”
DuBois laughed. “Tried to kill? Correction — killed.”
Nicole felt a thump of horror impact her chest.
“No,” she whimpered.
“I did kill Drake. And your friends Amy and Ben. And my old friend Professor Barnard. You and I did all that.”
The words tore through Nicole’s heart. So it was true — her Balancing had failed.
“Remember Agent Carter? He worked for me. You killed him, too. Oh, and Senator Jennings? He pays for me. He actually paid for all of this, including this ingenious prison that was custom-built just for you. We had no way of testing it ourselves, but I think you’ve just certified its quality for us.”
Nicole felt the wrench of despair hit her.
“Oh dear, Nicole. You’re simply out of friends, aren’t you? I think the only people you have left are mommy and daddy. It’d be a shame if something happened to them, too.”
“No!” she shouted, pressing her hands up to the screen. “Not them. Please!”
The screen then changed to an aerial view of a house. Nicole could recognize it as hers. The image continued to pan around the garden and yard. “That image you are seeing is a live video feed from one of my attack drones. And yes, it carries a missile. It would be a shame if I had to destroy your house and leave a crater in the middle of such a beautiful neighborhood. But don’t worry. We’ll make sure not to harm Mrs. Truman’s prized azaleas. Beautiful, aren’t they? They really have grown back nicely since the last time you destroyed them.”
Nicole began banging against the screen with her fist. It was too strong, though; she wasn’t making any marks.
“Let me know when you’re ready to help. I’ll give you 24 hours to decide.”
The screen clicked off, and, almost immediately, the room plunged into darkness. Nicole was alone again.
Ever Heard of Tazhbekistan?
Nicole was dreaming. She was back in the forest, fleeing the wildfire, the thick, acrid smoke choking her lungs. Amy was in front, and together they had their T-shirts held up to their faces. Amy’s hair was long again, just as it … Nicole suddenly felt sadness. Even in this dream world, the terrible reality hit home.
As it used to be.
The dog whined to get their attention, and, after hesitating for second, Nicole and Amy turned to investigate.
She had dreamed this before, but this time, instead of finding a child, they discovered Drake lying hidden in the undergrowth, blood seeping through his clothes.
“Help him.” Amy turned to Nicole.
“Maybe we can lift him together?”
“He’s too heavy.”
Amy then revealed bullet holes in her own clothes. “H
eal him first. Please.”
“I can’t!” Nicole screamed.
She awakened.
The room was dim now. Food had been placed on the desk next to her bed. There was a plastic plate of unidentifiable fare, plastic cutlery and a cup of juice. They must have come in while she was sleeping, but Nicole still couldn’t figure out where the door was.
First things first — she was ravenous, and she scarfed down the food not caring what was on the plate.
She heard the electronic whirring of the television up on the wall, and DuBois appeared again. Nicole put down the bread she was eating and took a sip of juice.
DuBois pondered Nicole’s state for a moment. “I see all that senseless death hasn’t curbed your appetite.”
Nicole finished chewing and then slammed down her plate with the remaining food.
“Ready to listen now?”
Nicole shrugged.
“Good. What I want is quite simple. I just need you to pass along a message to someone.”
“That’s it? Just pass along a message?”
“Ever heard of the country of Tazhbekistan?”
“Sure. It’s been in the news. It’s been harboring terrorists, and our country has been trying to destroy their camps.”
“Yes, you’ve heard the usual thing. Disorganized, dangerous rebels have been training to destroy the western governments for years. However, what you might not know is that those rebels want just what you want. They want to live. They’ve been fighting for so long that today’s generation is just seeking revenge for the previous generation. And that generation is seeking revenge for their previous generation. It’s a never-ending cycle. My mother’s family comes from there, and people in her village keep dying. We have to find a way to stop this killing. Countries like mine cannot stop the violence; they are all in too deep. We have no one to turn to.”
“That’s a sad story. But how does it relate to me?”
