Phantom Legacy

by T. C. Edge

  Martha nodded in reply, tipping her head slightly to one side, and offered a generous grin. Now that she was closer, Mikel could note the nerves in her, hidden beyond her make-up, behind her well-practiced smile. She looked anxious, if not afraid. Anxious to get things done.

  “And a pleasure to officially meet you too, Mikel,” said Martha calmly. “I must commend you on your excellent work.”

  “It was no trouble,” said Mikel. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your trust before. I see the light now, Mrs Mitchell. I must apologise for my actions to this point.”

  Martha nodded once more, appreciative of the contrition. They had covered the same ground not so long ago over their comms link, but the pleasantries seemed appropriate in this setting. Martha had also asked that Mikel make no trouble, and that he be as discreet as possible when discussing their transaction. He wondered now, looking at her bodyguards, if they knew who he was to her, and what he could be to them. Nano-augmented soldiers had a sense about them that could usually spot a man like Mikel from some way off.

  He inspected them briefly. Ah yes, they know, he thought.

  “Do you have the package, Mikel?” asked Martha. Her voice remained in control, but held a suppressive quality to it, as if she was holding down her desperation, smothering it violently. On this occasion, Mikel had no intention whatsoever of taking advantage of that.

  “I do,” he said, bowing respectfully.

  “You have it on your person?” she asked eagerly.

  Mikel fished into his pocket and withdrew the data disc. He could see Martha’s eyes bulging, though trying not to. He noted her chest heave with an intake of air. She must have been surprised that he’d hand it over so willingly.

  “I have your guarantees,” Mikel said. “You will see to your end of the bargain?”

  Martha nodded, trying not to eye the disc too lustfully.

  “My bosses will be only too happy to help you, Mikel,” she said. “We ask no service of you, only that you cause us no trouble once it is done.”

  “I have no interest in troubling you,” said Mikel. He drew a breath, the air filled with the smell of nanites. He blinked, clenching his jaw and trying not to look at the guards. “How long will it take before you’re ready?”

  Martha hesitated.

  “It’s…hard to say,” she said. “We have a team of scientists ready to decipher the data as soon as it’s in their hands. It may take hours, days, or more, to piece it together. We won’t know until we have taken a look.”

  Her eyes went to the data once more, twirling in Mikel’s fingers. He had a habit of toying with people that was hard to break, even though he knew it wasn’t appropriate now. He stopped his fiddling and held the disc firm.

  “The sooner, the better,” he whispered. He shut his eyes again and drew a breath. “I…I need a distraction until that time,” he said, turning his eyes back up to her. He washed them over the two men. It appeared to him that Martha got his meaning.

  “I see,” she said. “Are we speaking about Hunt again? I told you already, Mikel, that he and his team are beyond my influence now…”

  Mikel lifted a hand, shaking his head.

  “No, I didn’t mean Hunt. I will see to him in my own time.” His voice was weakening, growing to a raspy whisper. This proximity to these Ravens wasn’t what he needed.

  “Then…” said Martha, glancing to her men suspiciously.

  Mikel shook his head.

  “Not if you don’t accept it,” he whispered.

  “I do not,” Martha said. “I will, however, see what I can do. There is fighting not far from here. I believe some Panthers have been spotted in the ruins of Cincinnati. You prefer them, don’t you?”

  Mikel nodded hungrily.

  “Good. Then I shall pass on what intel I have to you. Now, hand over the disc, Mikel, and we can begin the process.”

  Mikel hesitated once more. He felt oddly reticent all of a sudden, as if the data had some hold over him. It was worthless to him in this state, of course, with its contents hidden. He needed to pass it on if he wished to get what he so wanted. And yet, still he held back a moment longer, finding it hard to give up. This small disc, encased in protective metal, that was so valuable to so many. So sought after. So very, very powerful.

  “Mikel,” repeated Martha once more, her voice firming a little. “The sooner you hand me that data, the sooner we can help you.”

  But can I truly trust you? Mikel wondered. And do I have a choice?

  No, he didn’t. He’d made this decision. This was what he wanted. He stepped forward, taking a pace towards the attractive woman with the pleasant face and keen brown eyes, a facade that clearly got her far, and duped so many. Would she dupe him? Would she dare?

  He needed to make sure.

  He reached her, barely a step away, and held the data out. Her fingers came forward, nails neatly cut, styled, and painted, trembling ever-so-slightly as they came.

  Mikel held off.

  “If you betray me like you did Hunt and the others,” he said, his voice darkening suddenly, cold as a long winter’s night. “Then I will find you, Martha. I trust you know just what I’m capable of.”

  Martha smiled, her simmering nerves cast off.

  “Mikel, I will not betray you,” she said, confident. “When we excavate this disc’s secrets, we shall both benefit. That is both of our reward for capturing it, and I will gladly lay down my life to you should I fail to honour my word.”

  “Your word, Martha, will soon be tested.” He dipped his head again, refusing to look at the brutish figures to her left and right, standing at her flanks like totems. “I shall put my faith in you.”

  He reached forwards a little further, and Martha finally took up the data. She drew it towards her chest, almost protectively, letting out a puff of air. Her smile worked high upon her lips, and she nodded her appreciation.

  “I look forward to seeing you again, Mikel,” she said. “I relish seeing what becomes of you.”

  “As do I, Martha.”

  “I shall send you the intel we have on the conflict going on in Cincinnati. I hear it’s a ferocious battleground there. Don’t go getting yourself killed now.”

  She smiled. Was that genuine?

  “Oh, I won’t,” whispered Mikel. “Desolated cities are one of my favourite hunting grounds.”

  She laughed lightly, displaying a sheen of perfect teeth.

  “Good luck, Mikel. We’ll get to work immediately.”

  She turned, her bodyguards following after a moment’s delay. They left Mikel with a snarl, faces shaped in disgust. And then they joined their mistress.

  Martha was finally able to break free of her facade as she entered into her home, passing through the wooden double doors and into a spacious hallway. She stopped, held up her palm, and looked inside. A smile broke free, bringing tears with it. They streamed from her eyes, a chuckle of relief-induced laughter gurgling up her throat and echoing around the house.

  A cleaning maid watched on, curious. Martha Mitchell was prone to smiling, perhaps even laughing on occasion, but nothing like this. She was weeping with a mixture of relief and joy, her rampant emotions no doubt helped along by the generous helpings of brandy she’d consumed that morning on the jet.

  To her sides, Kurt and Rick gathered, looking on with similar interest. Martha had explained to them just how sensitive the ‘package’ was that her courier was to deliver, though hadn’t told them precisely what it was. Few knew the true secrets of what the data held, and Martha had no intention of bringing her bodyguards in on the finer details, unless sanctioned to do so.

  She had, however, warned them that the courier would be a nano-vamp, and one they may well have heard of before. Mikel was known to many nano-enhanced soldiers, one of the worst of a bad bunch. She thought it prudent to prepare her men for his arrival for want of inciting some unnecessary violence. Kurt and Rick were loyal and skilled, but the rivalry and animosity between soldiers like th
emselves, and nano-vamps, often exploded into drama with little prompting.

  She glanced at them now, controlling her flooding tears, her smile larger, more genuine than ever. She found their eyes confused, but sweetly happy too. They were honest, good men. Seeing their mistress so elated after a morning so fraught was a pleasing sight indeed.

  She drew a breath, a beautiful, long breath, and looked up to Kurt. His black beard, fierce eyes, and towering frame gave him such an intimidating appearance. But to Martha he was a sweetheart, always attentive, always there to protect her. And Rick was just the same.

  “Kurt, head back to the hover-jet,” she said, sniffing and wiping away her tears. “We have a visit to make.”

  Kurt nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

  He turned to move away, marching off through the house.

  She then looked to Rick, similarly tall, and requiring a good arch of the neck to meet his gaze head on.

  “Stay here,” she said to him. “I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

  He nodded and stayed put, standing in parade rest with his large hands clasped together behind his back, feet splayed apart. He was an imposing figure; tall, dashing, and a gentlemen to boot.

  She left him with a smile, her mind rushing. Only hours ago she’d been in the pits of despair, her failure profound, her betrayal a waste. Now, she’d been given a second chance. A chance that had become something so much more.

  It was…a reality.

  She could hardly believe it, hardly imagine this was true. She looked again at the little disc clutched in her shivering fingers, shaking her head in disbelief. She suppressed the wide smile from splitting her face once more, and held back the renewed flow of tears. With her luscious blue coat trailing behind her, she hurried up the grand staircase and headed down the hall.

  She rushed, breath panting, along a long corridor, carpeted red. A woman came into view, dressed in white, stepping from a room. Martha hurried up to her, her step slowing.

  “She’s sleeping, ma’am. Best not disturb her,” said the young lady. She noticed the streaks of disturbed make-up on Martha’s cheeks, the redness of her eyes. “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

  “I’m fine, Cynthia,” Martha said. “I’m just fine.”

  She smiled wide again, the type of smile that forced others to follow. The young woman called Cynthia obliged, smiling, yet bemused.

  “OK…but I really don’t think you should disturb her, ma’am,” she said. “She’s very weak today.”

  “I won’t,” said Martha, her voice becoming a whisper. “I’m heading out momentary. I just want to see her before I go.”

  Martha had a healthy respect for the work Cynthia, and others, did. Too healthy, perhaps. This was her house, and Cynthia was under her employ. The nurses could be too pushy sometimes.

  “I’m going in,” said Martha, moving past her.

  Cynthia lifted a hand to call her back, but the door was open. The nurse went quiet, and Martha slipped into the bedroom. She walked carefully through the dimly lit room, doused lamps glowing in the corners, and headed for the large, four-poster bed. She moved around the side, hearing the sound of light, raspy breathing. Her eyes fell upon the blankets, wrapped up tight over a small figure, a mop of straw-blonde hair sprouting from the top.

  Martha felt tears building again as she reached forward, stroking the girl’s hair carefully so as not to wake her. She glanced at the machines either side of the bed, positioned where bedside tables would usually be. Not in this room. This bedroom that had become a room of care and medicine. A room where her darling girl could spend her last days with her mother, in the home she grew up in, surrounded by the people she loved.

  Martha stroked her hair gently, moving errant curls from the girl’s face. She’d been so bright once, so bright she almost glowed. Now her face was pale, thinner than ever, dark circles around her youthful blue eyes. It had been torture to look at her these last months and years. Torture watching her degenerate before her eyes.

  She’d cried so many times at this bedside, sitting here with her daughter as she slept, unaware of her mother’s presence. She’d spent nights here, too many nights to count, praying, hoping, believing for a time. And now that belief, that prayer, had been rewarded. Now her tears were of joy, not grief. Now she smiled, and she rearranged that hair as she so often did, and she looked at her daughter’s face as it once was.

  As it would be again.

  “I did it, Sarah,” she whispered. “I kept to my promise.”

  She leaned in and kissed the girl’s forehead.

  “Soon, darling,” Martha went on. “Soon we’ll be back together. Properly. Forever.”

  She kissed her again, drew back, and left the room in silence.

  6

  “For the record, I still think this move is completely mad,” said Tanner, standing hidden beside a rocky outcrop in the craggy hills above LA.

  Below, the city was a mess of smog and towering skyscrapers, lights sparkling in the mist. A sprawling, endless jungle of gigantic structures both above and below the ground, of multi-coloured neon hues and non-stop bustle. Whether night or day, the city never slept, and never stopped. Here, protected by the world’s natural geology and the WSA’s vast military power, the citizens lived on as if there was no war beyond their borders, propped up and even encouraged by a government that gave them the illusion of safety.

  Yet the truth was different. Though shielded from the conflict that continued to rage elsewhere, the city itself was a nest of snakes, a mecca for organised crime, vice, and debauchery, to which the ruling parties paid a blind eye at best, and actively contributed at worst. Beyond its postcard image as the safest, most powerful city on the continent, the truth was very different. Living here, you might be protected from the war, but you weren’t from the suffocating density of life, the crime and corruption, the destitution that thrived.

  And right now, it was a criminal they were here to see.

  The others looked on beside Tanner, crouching, watching the skies. They appeared to all be of a similar mind to the native to these lands, eyes narrow, nervous, showing their doubts. Above them, little lights hovered occasionally, owned by the drones that watched the city’s borders. Progress from here would be slow and stunted, a careful creep down from the craggy hills. It had been careful already to this point, the falcon parked a mile or so back, its cloaking tech active and, hopefully, sufficient to keep it hidden until they returned.

  Chloe was feeling particularly anxious, and for good reason too. The others were unknowns, little more than ghosts, but she was about as famous as one could get - though notorious would be a better word. Here in particular she was feared, and currently on the tips of so many tongues. The press in LA was especially flagrant in their reporting of Chloe, ever damning her and blaming her for things she hadn’t even done, building this image of her as a sorceress, a callous murderer, a killer ever searching for her next victim.

  Days ago, her escape from Sub-Tower 12, affectionately known as ‘the Pit’, had garnered plenty of attention, and the murders of the security guards at the earthscraper had been attributed by many outlets to her, along with that of a motorist towards the eastern suburbs. Those killings, of course, had actually been committed by Mikel, but the LA press didn’t appear to care about that. Some of the more discerning members of the public might see through their inflammatory methods, but many would be seduced. She wondered now, looking on, just how many other murders and heinous crimes committed in the city had been added to her ledger.

  “Do you really think I should be coming with you?” she asked Ragan as he surveyed the scene, scanning lens activated. Remus, too, was a little way ahead, determining the best way down and analysing the flightpaths of the hovering drones.

  Ragan looked to her, and nodded immediately.

  “Of course,” he said, frowning. “We’re a team.” He smiled softly, supportively. “You’re worried that you’re too rec
ognisable, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, glancing back down to the sprawling city.

  “If someone recognises me…”

  “They won’t. We’ll stay tight, keep you hidden. Your hood will cover your face.”

  In order to blend in, they were all now dressed in regular civilian clothing - mostly dark jeans, leather jackets, moody garments that wouldn’t draw attention. Thankfully, the falcon had a stash of them, kept there for missions requiring public interaction.

  “And patrols? If we run into a bunch of peacekeepers, then what?” asked Chloe.

  “We’ll work it out,” said Ragan. “Dax is your associate, Chloe. He’ll be much more amenable to helping us if you’re there. And Remus will help us avoid patrols, right?”

  Chloe nodded. For some reason, she was feeling suddenly negative, a burden to the team despite her value. It was probably coming back here, to this sickly, smog-ridden urban jungle. She felt queasy just looking down upon the twinkling lights amid the fumes, knowing how many enemies lurked within.

  It wasn’t the same for the others. They could never understand how it felt to be so alienated from the world like she was. She sighed, looking on, almost wishing that Ragan would agree, tell her to go and wait things out in the falcon until they got back. And what was this mission going to accomplish anyway? Even if they found out where Martha lived, they didn’t know for sure whether Mikel was dealing with her. If he was, and they’d made the exchange, she wasn’t likely to keep the data herself. It would be passed on to…who? Surely, by now, it was beyond their reach?

  Her doubts were consuming her, wearing her down. Only hours ago she’d been trying to rouse the group, telling them that destroying the data was her responsibility. Now here she was, thinking that she just wanted to turn around and walk away. She clenched her jaw against her own capriciousness, refusing to let her negativity settle. Blowing hot and cold was not what the group needed. It wasn’t what she needed either. She looked up at Ragan and nodded.