Phantom Legacy

by T. C. Edge

  “So…you’re saying what exactly?” asked Tanner. Then it twigged, his mind clicking into gear, eyes widening. “You think this procedure is the transference, don’t you?” he asked, voice tensing. “You think the MSA have a secret facility somewhere out on the lake.”

  Ragan smiled, and nodded.

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” he said, a little more animated now. “The nurse wouldn’t have any idea about the science of transferring human consciousness into another body. She thinks the girl has incurable cancer, and she does. But it’s her body that’s terminal, not her mind. If her consciousness was transferred to a synthetic or cloned body, she could live on.”

  “So that’s why Martha did it,” whispered Chloe, her breathing growing shallow. “She stole the data to save her daughter?”

  “I think so,” said Ragan. “If the MSA were to build a facility capable of developing this science, then they’d make damn sure it’s hidden. I think Martha’s role was to retrieve the data, and her reward was to get her daughter back. That’s why they’ve taken Sarah away, to have this procedure done. Now we just need to find out where they’ve taken her.”

  “Well good luck with that one,” grunted Tanner. “Do you have any idea how big Lake Michigan is? And who knows, they might have flown straight across it, or changed course or something. There are about a million places this facility could be.”

  It was a dampener on the room, a cold, hard truth. A silence followed, and Chloe noticed Ragan looking back at the holographic map, eyes sharpening, narrowing, head beginning to shake. It was all negative body language, based off of the horrible realisation that Tanner was absolutely right. If the MSA had developed a secret facility under the noses of the inspection teams from the other nations, then how on earth would these four be able to track it down.

  And if they did, then what? You could bet your bottom dollar that a secret facility capable of highly advanced, cutting edge science, wouldn’t only be extremely well hidden, but extremely well protected too. No doubt they’d have an entire squad of nano-enhanced Ravens there, assuming this was a government led operation, as well as the likely possibility that they’d have a new breed of synthetic soldiers just waiting to be uploading with functioning, combat-experienced, human minds. If that happened, and they quickly decoded the data, then…

  The thought was too terrible for Chloe to imagine.

  They had no help, no support. All they had was Dax, back in LA. A great hacker, yes, but limited in what he could find. If top government agencies didn’t know about this facility, then surely no one would.

  It seemed to Chloe that things had spiralled beyond their control. They’d been trying so hard to contain it, and had been so close to ending it several times, but now everything was hurrying forward at a speed that they could hardly keep up with. If the girl was being rushed off in the dead of night, did that mean they’d already decoded the data? Were they ready, right now, to transfer her consciousness? Could they do the same with others, fit out a new army of super-synthetic soldiers?

  Chloe’s thoughts rushed on, hurrying into dark places, down gloomy, unpleasant alleys. It was still speculative, she knew - they didn’t have any actual proof of all this - but their conjectures were making far too much sense right now. Horrifying, nauseating sense.

  Eventually, the silence was broken by Ragan. He breathed out loudly, pulling back from the map, flicking his hand across the hologram and sending the image spinning off wildly.

  “You’re right, Cliff,” he grumbled, huffing. “We’re never going to work this out just looking at a damn map.” She shook his head, and drew a little comms unit from his pocket. “I’ll speak with Dax, see what I can find out.”

  “And if he doesn’t know anything?” asked Nadia.

  Ragan ran a hand through his short, dark hair, brows pinching.

  “Then I guess it’s onto plan B,” he said with a grimace.

  15

  Ragan marched back from the cockpit, shaking his head, to find the others around the briefing table. They were poring over maps and news articles, scanning for anything pertinent, any intel that might be some help. A clue, a hint; something, anything that might light their way.

  By their expressions, Ragan quickly concluded that they’d found nothing. That wasn’t overly surprising; his conversation with Dax hadn’t been particularly fruitful either.

  They saw him coming, eyes lighting in hope, though probably not expectation. Outside, the blushing dawn was speeding towards completion, the sun clambering steadily up over the horizon. Light streamed in through the sparse allotment of windows, illuminating haggard expressions. For a group so young, it was testament to their stress.

  “So, anything?” asked Chloe hastily. She noted the shaking of Ragan’s head. “Oh…”

  Ragan reached them and drew a breath.

  “Nothing about a secret facility?” asked Tanner. “No hidden base out on Lake Michigan? Nothing at all?”

  “No location,” grumbled Ragan. “Nothing tangible for us to follow. According to Dax, there’s no record of any synthetic life development programme or consciousness-transference research on any MSA databases. Which isn’t altogether surprising. Anything like that would be kept off the books so it couldn’t be traced by the other nations. He did find some links between Martha and President Chase, however.”

  Chloe raised her eyebrows.

  “Martha knows the President of the MSA?” she asked.

  “Not unusual,” said Ragan, nodding. “The most esteemed councillors at Project Dawn have ties to all sorts of powerful people. As it turns out, Martha and Pamela Chase are childhood friends. They grew up together, both from powerful, influential families. Dax used the term, ‘like sisters’, according to a report he unearthed. Seems as though it’s likely that President Chase and her government are behind this.”

  “We could have figured that,” said Tanner. “Who else was Martha going to be working for?”

  Ragan didn’t answer. He took the question as rhetorical.

  “So, anything else?” asked Nadia. “This strengthens our theory of what’s actually going on, but we don’t have any proof.”

  “I’d call this proof enough,” said Ragan. “According to Dax, Martha and President Chase had lost touch a long time ago, and had barely seen each other in many years. At least, until more recently. They’ve been visiting with each other regularly over the last year or so, particularly for the past few months. That speaks of clear collaboration between the two.”

  “It is pretty clear-cut,” murmured Tanner, now pacing around the room. “But it doesn’t help, does it? We don’t have any location on this facility, which is still a presumption, rather than a fact, and, let’s be honest, we are only four people. Well, five if you count Remus. Which I do, I might add,” he said, looking at Chloe, Remus perched in bird form on her shoulder.

  “I should hope so,” she said, nodding to her little friend, who nodded back.

  “So even if we do, by some miracle, find out where this supposed facility is,” went on Tanner, “then we hardly have the manpower to do anything about it. Let’s face it, we’re out of our depth here.”

  Ragan frowned.

  “I’m a little surprised to hear that from you, Cliff,” he said. “You’re usually the guy who’s happy to face down armies alone.”

  “Well, I’m not in the mood for my own bullshit right now,” said Tanner, “and that’s saying something. Any facility built for this sort of purpose will be secure as hell.” He stopped his pacing, moved towards the table, and looked Ragan in the eye. “We can’t do this alone, Ragan,” he said with a rare sincerity. “We need help.”

  “But from who?” came Nadia’s voice, rolling into the room. “We try to contact Project Dawn and Quinn will probably come after us again. I don’t know if we can trust those guys anymore.”

  “I wasn’t speaking about them,” said Tanner. He looked at Ragan again. Pointedly.

  Ragan knew what he was suggesting
. He’d had the same thought himself. Plan B, as he called it, though Plan Z would be more appropriate. A last resort, but perhaps their only option now.

  “Soooo…what are we saying here, exactly?” asked Chloe, eyes scanning the two men.

  “He’s talking about the CID,” said Ragan. “They’re the only other ones who know the data’s been extracted and stolen by Mikel. They’d have much better intel than what Slattery and his team can dig up, and though I’m impressed by Dax’s hacking skills, there are some things he cannot do. Trust me, I worked with the CID for a long time, and I know their capabilities.”

  Chloe huffed, shaking her head, folding her arms.

  “You want help from the people who made this mess in the first place?” she growled, looking dangerous. “It’s all President Rashmore’s fault that this has happened. That bastard killed my dad…”

  “I’m not talking about Rashmore. I’m talking about the CID,” said Ragan. “I have people there who I can…trust.”

  “Trust! After what you did?” Chloe shook her head, spitting out a breath. “I don’t think so. They’d just try to take the data for themselves. They’d never destroy it, so why bring them in?”

  “Because Tanner’s right. We can’t do this alone. If I speak with Commander Wexley, I might be able to convince him.” He took a quick breath. “Look, I don’t have all the answers here, but this is an option we need to consider. The fact is, it seems as though the MSA government has your father’s research now, and they’re not going to wait around with it. They’ll immediately upload in onto secure servers, inaccessible from outside of whatever facility they’ve taken it to. That little disc we’ve been chasing around for days - it’s redundant now. The data will be at a secure location, so there’s no way for anyone else to get at it, without a proper military incursion…”

  He drew a long breath, shut his eyes slowly, and worked to calm his voice.

  “Look, what I’m saying is that things have changed,” he went on, being as clear as he could. “Before, this data was in your nanites, Chloe, up for grabs to whoever managed to catch you first. That’s not the case anymore. The game is over, and the MSA, of all people, have won it. They will have the data stored in a place where no one can get to it except via a direct strike. And it’s almost certain that they’ll have a failsafe in place as well.”

  “What sort of failsafe?” asked Nadia, stroking her chin.

  “The sort that prevents anyone else from getting their hands on it. Ever.”

  “Self-destruction,” said Tanner.

  “Exactly,” said Ragan eagerly, as if happy to have someone on his page. “A self-destruction sequence that will see the data wiped out for good if anyone tries to download it from their systems. That’s what the CID had in place. The plan was to extract the research from Chloe, take it to our purpose-built facility, and upload it into our closed-system. If anyone tried to get at it, it would trigger the system to erase all top secret files. It was our way of ensuring the likes of the WSA, or anyone else, couldn’t get the data if we were compromised. The MSA are sure to have the same sort to failsafe in place. It’s just prudent thinking.”

  “So,” said Chloe softly. “The NDSA…New York…they can’t get the data. Ever?”

  “I don’t think so, no,” said Ragan. “I don’t think anyone can. The MSA would sooner destroy it than let anyone else get their hands on it. Right now, I’m thinking we’re the only people in the world who know they have it.”

  Chloe began to nod slowly, eyes down, thinking. The others were doing the same, considering the implications of what Ragan had said. It was, in actual fact, good news. It meant, as Ragan saw it, that people could come together against a common threat. Find the facility, destroy it, and the data would be lost forever. To everyone.

  “OK,” Chloe finally whispered. “If that’s all true, then maybe we should contact them. I just hate the idea of President Rashmore getting his hands on it. I’m being too personal, I know I am. My opinion is…tainted.”

  “Your opinion is valid,” retorted Ragan softly, stepping towards her, laying strong fingers on her arm. “We all have a right to speak our minds, Chloe. And I won’t contact the CID unless we all agree to it. And even then, it’s a long shot. They might have no intel to help us. They might not even believe me. But personally, I think it’s worth a try. Otherwise, I’m out of ideas.” He looked to the others. “So, what do you think?”

  He was greeted by a round of nodding heads, a sight which brought a deep sigh of relief.

  “So how will you get in touch?” asked Nadia. “If we agree to it, that is.”

  “I still have my comms earpiece from the CID. I’ll be able to contact Commander Wexley directly.”

  “And will they be able to track it?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them. But we’re mobile in this thing, so even if they got a match on our location, we’d be gone before they got to us. If they’re smart, they’ll listen to what I have to say. We’re not their enemy. We’re all friends now in this fight.”

  Just as Ragan finished speaking, an alarm began to beep from the cockpit. Chloe looked up, eyes bulging, body tensing. Ragan instinctively reached out to her arm once more, pressing lightly to calm her.

  Tanner rushed off to the cockpit, Nadia in pursuit.

  “What’s going on?” asked Chloe, looking up at Ragan. “Is it another jet? Are we being shot at again?”

  She seemed terrified by the prospect of Tanner’s turbulent flying. Ragan assured her that wouldn’t be necessary.

  “It’s just the power alarm,” he said. “It means we’re running low and need to find somewhere to stop and recharge.”

  Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, as Tanner poked his nose back around from the passage ahead.

  “We’re running on fumes here, Ragan,” he said. “It’s this constant cloaking, it’s draining us. We need to set her down somewhere pretty quickly and give her a few hours rest.”

  Ragan grimaced. This was the last thing they needed right now, another damn delay.

  “Right, get heading south,” Ragan said. “I’ll come up there in a minute, and we can discuss the best place to land.”

  Tanner moved off without question. Always a sign that he had his mind on the job.

  “So you gonna make the call then?” Chloe asked.

  Ragan turned to her, shaking his head.

  “Can’t, not yet,” he said. “Too risky contacting anyone with our batteries drained. No good if we needed to make a getaway.” He sighed again. “We’ve got no option but to rest a few hours, wait until we’ve recharged enough juice to make us combat effective again. Not ideal, but you know, this just seems to be the way of things right now.”

  Chloe huffed.

  “Not much going our way, is there?”

  Ragan made to speak, but bit his lip. He was about to say something cheesy again, unleash one of his pathetic lines. He stumbled over a word or two, before settling on a nod and smile and simple, “Yeah, not much.”

  Chloe smiled back, a look in her eyes that suggested she wanted to hear something cheesy. Or, was that just Ragan’s imagination? He truly couldn’t tell.

  “Well, I’d better get to the cockpit,” said Ragan. He made to move off, but felt his hand held, slender fingers taking a firm grip. He spun around, and Chloe drew him right towards her into a kiss.

  It wasn’t the same as the previous one they’d shared. Not as passionate, not as fiery. It wasn’t such a release, a culmination of all those little looks and quiet words. No, this was just normal, natural. A kiss that felt right, that fitted so well. Soft, warm, and brief.

  He pulled back, some of that stress in him draining smoothly away.

  “At least one thing’s going right,” Chloe said, grinning. “If nothing else, that’s enough for me.”

  Then, with hands still held, they moved up the plane. Together.

  16

  The higher floors - though still subaquatic - of the Lake Michigan research facil
ity spoke of a place that never stopped. Up here, not far beneath the surface of the tranquil waters, were long corridors flanked by rooms for living, eating, washing, and even relaxing.

  The staff here weren’t permitted to go off-site, and thus it was as much a prison as a secret centre for advanced science and weapons development. Some who came here did so willingly, paid handsomely for their service and promised that, one day soon, they’d be released.

  Others, however, were brought here against their will, forced to work, to serve, to innovate. Not all of the brightest minds that Pamela Chase required to fulfil her demands wished to leave their homes and families. Those were taken regardless, snatched away in the dead of night, leaving behind broken families, grief-stricken and confused. Many had fallen foul of that treatment.

  Only a small few were authorised to come and go from the facility - paranoid as the President was over its discovery - and that very much depended upon their standing, influence, and importance elsewhere. Martha, of course, was one who needed to be given that freedom, though now that she’d fulfilled her purpose, she couldn’t quite help but think that such allowances might be revoked, temporarily at least.

  Right now, she was within one of the offices on the upper floors, the most finely decorated of them all. This one was President Chase’s personal workspace, fitted with a thick glass wall behind her ostentatious desk that allowed for an unhindered view out into the lake. Right now, light was streaming down from the rising sun, giving the waters a glimmering, dancing quality. It was quite beautiful, really, but a little disconcerting too.

  “Oh Martha, would you stop staring at the wall with that frown. I’ve told you several times now, it’s not going to cave in. The glass is far too thick and the pressure this close to the surface is hardly an issue. Now, take a seat, and tell me what’s troubling you.”