Thursday Midnight

by Zachry Wheeler

  “Let’s go find out,” Korovin said with a somber tone.

  Jonas exhaled his remaining fury, then nodded.

  Korovin guided him through a hushed lobby. The crowd parted as they pushed towards an opposing hallway. Jonas stared at the floor and counted the passing tiles, searching for anything to distract from the anguish. Jemison followed them from a reasonable distance, gauging the reactions of everyone present. A dull rumble returned to the lobby once they disappeared.

  * * *

  Jonas overlooked the clamor of downtown Seattle from the quietude of Korovin’s office. His body slumped forward against the glass, languishing under the weight of his own misery. Residents darted through a tangle of traffic, fleeing from a faceless enemy. Many had abandoned their vehicles, leaving them to idle as permanent roadblocks. One caught fire and served as a beacon of unrest. A rioter hurled a brick through the glass of a showroom, but the soundproof office blocked the shatter from reaching his ears. The deprivation created a harrowing disconnect, as if failing to witness what the eyes were seeing.

  Korovin loomed over his desk with palms pressed to the edges. Jemison lingered nearby with her arms crossed. They stared at a mobile device resting on the surface, waiting for an answer they already knew.

  “The Raven disappeared shortly before the attack,” an officer said through the device. “It’s either been disabled or doesn’t want to be found.”

  Jonas closed his eyes.

  “And AG4?”

  “Offline. No trace.”

  Jemison frowned and glanced at Jonas, who had rested his forehead on the window.

  “Anything from satellite?”

  “Nothing. They cloaked the site before departure. When the feed came back online, the vessel was gone. We haven’t observed any movement since.”

  Korovin sighed and rapped his fingers on the desk. “Can you spare a drone for a flyby?”

  “Unlikely, given the current predicament.”

  “Doesn’t need to be an interceptor. A surveyor will do, just need an eye on the site.”

  “Hmm, yes, I can probably find one.”

  “Good. Deploy the nearest and send me the port.”

  “Yes sir.”

  A hollow ping ended the call.

  Korovin and Jemison exchanged a solemn glance before turning to Jonas, who remained pressed to the glass. Muted whimpers floated through the air as he struggled to temper his mounting sorrow. Jemison clutched her chest with pity and stepped over to the windows, settling beside him. She pushed a hand through her own reservation and rested it on his shoulder.

  Jonas wept immediately.

  He peeled away from the glass and wrapped his arms around her back. Jemison cradled his head and stroked his hair like a loving mother. Her eyes closed as she whispered comforts into his ear. Jonas released a torrent of regret that stained her blouse with tears. Images of home flashed into his mind. Anna gripped his hand and smiled, only to blink into the ether. Leaves and ash coiled inside an empty room. The image receded through the front door, leaving a rotten husk of wood and stone. Jonas lifted his eyes to Mae, who stroked his cheek and smiled.

  “I have to keep reminding myself that you are 24 years old,” she said with a soft tone. “When I was your age, I was chasing boys and limping through grad school.”

  Jonas managed a thin smile.

  “I cannot begin to imagine what you are going through, and I must apologize for my reaction in the hallway. It was very small of me.”

  He nodded his thanks, then pulled away and returned his gaze to the streets.

  Jemison did the same, allowing a calm to settle between them. She recalled her own plights from a woeful past, the agonizing decision on whether to embrace the night. They shared a bond through grief, one that had taken centuries to comprehend. Korovin watched from a distance as Jemison reached into the darkness and pulled Jonas back.

  “I was a pathologist back before the war. Had a family, kids and house, even a few cats. It was a good life, never struggled or wanted for anything. My husband and I would vacation in Hawaii just to visit the coffee plantations.” She snickered into a heavy sigh. “My oldest had just gone off to college when it started. I never saw her again. I tried to find her, but she just ... disappeared. I can’t remember her voice or feel her in my arms. But to this day, I am haunted by the anguish of not knowing what happened.”

  Jonas refocused onto his blurry reflection in the window. The image blended with Anna, who gave him permission to grieve when the time was right. He closed his eyes, gave her a final embrace, then turned to Jemison.

  “What was your specialty?” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “You said you were a pathologist.”

  “Oh, yes. Transfusion medicine.”

  Jonas snorted. “You were a blood banker?”

  Jemison smirked and nodded.

  “That’s kind of on the nose, don’t you think?”

  “Little bit.”

  They shared a muted chuckle.

  Jonas held his breath as a peculiar sense of camaraderie cradled his mind. The great fissure had begun to mend, and the triumph was bittersweet. He savored the acceptance in Jemison’s eyes, a sedate conclusion to centuries of deceit and bloodshed. A lie remained, but it would find resolve within a lasting peace. Jonas released the campaign with a labored exhale, marking the birth of a new era.

  CHAPTER 17

  A rare volatility gripped the blackout room as the outside world slipped further and further into anarchy. The major players of a new and untested union sat around the central table. Korovin, Jemison, and Jonas stared at the port device through a haze of distress. Cheryl reflected it back to them, despite being an ocean away. Their collective resolve would determine the future of the Eternal Age.

  “How is that even possible?” Cheryl said with obvious fluster. “You can’t just walk out of a NExUS station without anyone noticing.”

  “They did notice,” Korovin said. “The prisoner was still in orange when Razin guided him to the elevators. None of it raised any suspicion. Once they were inside, she pressed up instead of down. They went to the roof and disappeared with the Raven.”

  “This is a shit show, Victor.”

  Korovin eyed Jemison and vented some optic frustration before continuing. “Put yourself in our position. They locked us inside interrogation when the attacks hit. Reports were flooding the station, which they used as cover. Bear in mind that Yulia Razin is a veteran agent who dates back to the Cold War. This was not a bash and run. This was a highly coordinated escape with help from the highest levels.”

  “I saw the footage, ma’am,” Jemison said. “They didn’t run, hurry, or even walk fast. They were in full control of the situation.”

  An audible sigh poured from the speaker. “Do we have a bead on their whereabouts?”

  “Nothing,” Korovin said.

  “The craft departed south off the roofline,” Jemison said. “They cloaked shortly after. That’s all we know.”

  A laden silence blanketed the room as they digested the predicament.

  “We need to get out in front of this,” Cheryl said with a demoralized tone. “We need to inform the public before this maniac posts another video.”

  “Agreed,” Korovin said.

  “Agent Jemison, if you would prepare a statement.”

  “If I may,” Jemison said. “I do not believe that will do us any good.”

  Korovin eyed her with confusion.

  “And why is that?” Cheryl said.

  Jemison paused to collect the right words. “I have been addressing the public from a position of strength. We have met every reveal head-on, despite having no credible leads. As it stands, we are enduring the worst terrorist attack since the Rogue Revolts. This campaign is pitting eternals against eternals, and we can provide no answer as to how it started or where it’s going. We are currently at its mercy, and if we tell the world that its commander escaped our custody, then it could destroy our credibil
ity on a global scale and crumble the foundation of the NExUS Empire.”

  Korovin slacked his jaw and bowed his head, donning a rare moment of fright.

  Jonas stared at the table with hands tucked in his lap.

  “So what do you propose?” Cheryl said.

  “It’s actually quite simple.” Jemison turned to Jonas and smiled. “I think Jonas should give the statement.”

  Jonas whipped a wide-eyed gaze to the agent.

  Korovin stammered, which Jemison cut off with a subtle gesture.

  “I’m listening,” Cheryl said.

  “Consider the established narrative,” Jemison said. “We have shown that the organization is willing to evolve. Jonas represents a former faction that we eradicated as enemies of the state. And yet, he is sitting in this room, at our request, helping to resolve something greater. That is what we show the world. The public needs to know that the structure they depend on is willing to admit fault in order to progress. That is the new narrative.” She turned to Jonas. “And it needs to come from those we have wronged.”

  Korovin allowed himself a subtle grin.

  Jemison reached across the table and opened her palm to Jonas.

  He smiled and grasped her hand, cementing a union he never thought possible.

  “Mister Jonas?” Cheryl said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Would you do us the honor of addressing our nation?”

  His mind conjured Anna across the table, standing with a wide smile. She wore a yellow sundress, her favorite color. Her long auburn hair shimmered as it teased her shoulders. She pressed a fist to her heart and covered it with the other hand, signaling her rooted devotion to him and the cause.

  I wish you were here, he thought.

  I know, she replied. But this is yours.

  It’s ours. I wouldn’t be here if not for you.

  She smirked. Then thank me by saving the world.

  “I will.”

  * * *

  A surveyor drone sped through the canopy of a Yukon forest, having departed a Juneau air base shortly before. It flew in near silence, using an ionic drive designed to leave wildlife undisturbed as it studied the landscape. A pillar of blue thrust spilled from the rear, propelling the tiny craft at subsonic speeds. Its charcoal hull was the size of a suitcase, strong enough to withstand a curious bear while retaining the ability to explore small caverns.

  The drone slowed to a hover as it neared its destination, a remote homestead north of Carcross. It summited a final treetop to reveal a grassy opening in front of a ranch-style home. Four independent legs emerged from the hull as the drone lowered itself onto the lawn. Soft rubbery balls served as feet, allowing it to grip a multitude of surfaces. Its wings retracted and melded into the body, creating the image of a robotic hound. A dome of black plastic housed an array of cameras and sensors. The engine powered down and faded into nothing, leaving the machine to the cold silence of the surrounding forest.

  The device panned in a slow circle, hunting for signs of the departed Raven. It found nothing of consequence, but a creaking sound hooked its focus. It turned to the house and proceeded towards the entrance. The front door was open and swaying in a breeze, allowing puffs of snow to wander the interior. The drone halted at the sill and peeked through the crack, pausing to listen for anything abnormal. Nothing responded. It nudged the door open with a metal shoulder and stepped into the foyer.

  The door creaked to a rest, extending a ghostly welcome. Most of the lights were off, save for the kitchen and a living room lamp. The drone stepped through the foyer and into a tidied kitchen. A few beer bottles rested on the counter, one empty and the other nearly so. The frigid air had frozen the condensation, giving the glass a frosted sheen. The drone rotated around the interior with its dome elevated, prodding the silence with the gentle pats of rubber on tile. After a final scan, it lowered its gaze and proceeded to the living room.

  The machine stepped around the couch and came to an abrupt stop. Shards of glass cluttered the wooden floor, the remnants of a shattered picture frame. The coffee table lay on its side, having spilled coasters and a bowl of decorative pine cones. Boot prints stained a central rug, completing the portrait of a violent struggle. The drone scanned the scene, then refocused on a far corner where the hatch to the lower level remained open.

  The shaft was dark and hollow, like an empty well long forgotten. The drone powered a bright spotlight and leaned over the ledge. The banister of a spiral staircase painted hard shadows along the interior walls. The device lowered a foot to the first step and proceeded down the stairs at a slow and steady pace.

  Motion sensors cued LED panels along the spire, filling the shaft with warm light. The visitor continued its descent without hesitation. A gleam caught its attention as it neared the base. It came to a rest at the sub-level foyer and studied an empty helmet dusted with ash. A pile of raid gear rested nearby. The machine examined the mound, but uncovered little more than ash and leather.

  It continued down a hallway towards the computer den, cutting through the corridor with a bright beam. Computer monitors reflected the glow from afar. The drone entered the room and surveyed the interior with a slow pan. Shattered screens twisted light around the lair. Charred servers with melted faces lingered beneath the desks, as if baked inside an oven. An empty mug rested on the floor near a toppled chair, bound to a splatter of dried coffee. The drone logged the space and turned to leave.

  It ambled to a stop at the end of the hallway and shined its spotlight around the bedroom. Motes of dust wandered through the beam, like snow suspended in time. A bedside table rested on its face near a shattered lamp and crumpled shade. Blankets spilled over the bed and onto the floor, as if yanked by a hasty retreat.

  The drone stepped around the bed frame and surveyed the space. Another gleam caught its attention. It proceeded towards a strange shimmer along the far wall. After a short trek, it uncovered a polished dress shoe. The machine turned to find the other shoe resting beneath a mound of ash. A silk shirt and dress pants protruded from the pile.

  * * *

  A mob of reporters and citizens raged inside the briefing room of Zenit Tower. Shouts of duress consumed the space as everyone elbowed for spots. The discord spilled into the main lobby and carried into the streets. Officers struggled to restrain the restless crowd. Stun batons crackled with charge as they mulled the use of violence. Fear had taken root and governed their actions accordingly.

  Korovin, Jemison, and Jonas stood in the hall next to the briefing room. Several officers guarded the entry, serving as a barrier between angst and intel. The racket badgered the corridor, creating a hollow rumble that amplified anxieties. Jemison poked her head into the chamber for a quick scan, then returned with a clenched expression. She met eyes with Korovin, who mirrored the concern. Jonas leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, opting to count his breaths while waiting for his reckoning.

  Jemison clapped. “Okay, time to shine.”

  Jonas awoke from his trance and focused on Mae.

  “I will give a brief introduction before turning the stage over to you. There are no formalities here. All you need to do is walk up to the podium, introduce yourself, and you’re off to the races. Understand?”

  Jonas nodded.

  “This is an emergency broadcast, a direct feed to every screen on the planet. You will address the world in real time, so mind your tone and choose your words carefully. Your composure will determine theirs.”

  Jonas gulped, then nodded.

  She smiled and gripped his shoulder. “The world wants to meet you, Jonas. So let them.”

  He returned the smile, oddly comforted.

  Jemison eyed Korovin, who gestured his support before she turned away to make her entrance. She motioned to a technician before slipping between the guards and into the chaotic room. A red light powered above the door, signaling the imminent broadcast.

  Jonas stepped over to the doorway and gazed between the guards. A
small staircase led up to a platform bathed in bright light. And there it was, the podium that he had seen so many times before. This angle, however, was much more unnerving. Guards and techs, consoles and cables, the four faction flags merged as one. The crowd remained obscured, but he could smell the sweat and taste the tension.

  Korovin settled beside him and surveyed the immediate area before leaning into a whisper. “Remember why you are here. This is no time for declarations.”

  Jonas retained a forward stare, opting not to respond.

  Jemison stepped onto the stage and passed into the light, reducing shouts to murmurs. She gripped the podium with both hands and pulled her eyes across the gathered flock. Every seat taken, every wall filled, a sea of frightened faces pleading for relief. Jemison refocused onto the main camera as a red icon began its countdown. She exhaled her residual doubt as the icon turned green.

  “Attention all citizens,” she said.

  “Over the last several days, we have suffered a torment like no other. We bore witness to a level of depravity that we did not think possible. I have visited you many times from behind this podium, offering my insight, my sympathy, and most importantly, my intent.

  “But given the horror of these atrocities, my words have become hollow. We have failed to protect you. I cannot offer the relief you deserve, nor can I provide the hope you crave. I can only grieve beside you and beg your forgiveness.” She bowed her head, then turned to Jonas offstage. “However, I do believe there is someone who can help.”

  Jemison smiled before returning her gaze to the camera. “I yield the rest of the broadcast to him.” She backed away, enough to surrender the space but stay on camera.

  Jonas steadied his mind and took a wary step forward, revealing himself to the anxious room. His feet tackled the stairs one cautious step at a time, as if to summit a mighty peak. A grumble wandered the chamber as the harsh lights unveiled him to the world. He slowed to a stop behind the podium, then nodded to Jemison before turning his gaze to the waiting crowd. His mind shrieked as his eyes read the room with a slow pan.