by T. C. Edge
Chloe listened, and felt the weight of the world begin to fall down upon her. This was far greater than she ever imagined, far more serious. Of all her conjectures and theories, she hadn’t considered that things were this perilous. Her blood held the secret to everlasting life, the secret to the complete merging of man and machine. The secret to the war, the continent, even the world beyond.
It was a lot to take on board.
She sat back on the sofa, staring at nothing in particular. She thought again of her past, of her father’s warnings and words. Of his promise that the truth would be revealed in time. Her eyes glanced down at Remus, still recharging in her pocket. Did he know? Had he been programmed to reveal the truth one day? One day, perhaps, when she was safe, and ready?
As her mind tumbled down the rabbit hole, she felt Ragan come closer again, and drop beside her on the sofa. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing lightly, as if thinking she needed the comfort.
His touch brought her mind out of the abyss, set a fresh melancholy to her words.
“I wish he’d never done this to me,” Chloe whispered, her chin to her neck. “My father, my own father…has cursed me.”
“It may…seem like that.” Ragan’s voice was soft, thoughtful. “But you only saw one side of things back then. Your father’s only priority was you. He killed himself to save you. He thought that would be the end of it, that they’d forget about you. He had no idea anyone would know about the nanites he put in you, or the information they stored. He wanted to give you the keys, to let you decide, one day, what to do with the information. It may seem like a curse, and perhaps it is. But that was never what he wanted. Don’t believe that, Chloe. It won’t do you any good.”
“Good,” murmured Chloe sarcastically, shaking her head. “There’s little good in this world anymore, Ragan.” Her eyes switched to his suddenly, intense and alert. “You still haven’t told me,” she demanded. “Who are you, really? What do you want with this information? If you’re a spy inside the CID, who are you really working for? Another nation? A tech company? A private military? What is it? I’m just dying to know…”
Ragan calmed her rushing words with a slight squeeze of her hand. He waited a moment to confirm she was done, then spoke quietly and carefully, and with a calm authority.
“None of the above,” he said, shaking his head. “I work for an organisation in opposition to this unnatural advancement, this betrayal of what it truly means to be human. Certain sciences have gotten out of control, marching forward without oversight. This new arms race is going to destroy us, Chloe. We are the antidote, the resistance. This data you carry in your blood, this final piece of the puzzle, will be nothing but a virus in the wrong hands. We are the cure to that virus, and we wish only to destroy it, to never let it see the light of day.”
Chloe’s chest tightened at the growing passion in his words. She glanced up at him and then away, sinking deeper into the sofa.
He noticed her reaction, and his body eased, the shadow around him fading back to the light. He shook his head and took a breath.
“You have nothing to fear,” he assured her. “I promise you won’t be harmed. I won’t let them, Chloe. I…”
He stopped, looked away. His eyes dipped to the floor.
Taking a breath, he looked back into her deep blue irises. So mesmerising. So alluring. So beautiful.
He couldn’t help but smile.
“I…I can still hardly believe you’re here,” he whispered. “It’s not just the data, not for me. It never was, Chloe. My interest goes beyond that.”
His eyes darted away, abashed. He seemed to hesitate, as if speaking forbidden words. Then, smiling with a rare hint of shyness, he looked back up at her.
“My interest isn’t just in the data,” he repeated slowly. “My interest…is in you.”
23
Nice work, Ragan, very smooth.
Ragan was marching out of the cell room and up through the facility, shaking his head in self rebuke. The conversation he’d just shared with Chloe was about as fraught and tense as he’d anticipated, the girl struggling to take on board all the myriad revelations. She’d held herself together pretty well, considering.
Except, of course, when she nearly destroyed the wall…
Still, she’d done well enough, and probably better than him. With all that was going on, it probably wasn’t the time to hit on the girl. Telling her he was there ‘for her’…jeez, how embarrassing.
It hadn’t been intended, but he just couldn’t help it. For a long time now, Ragan’s mind had been taken by this girl, by finding her, saving her, helping her. It was no wonder, when you added all that to her beauty and odd mix of ferocity and innocence, that he’d taken a rather hefty shine to the girl who everyone wanted.
In his line of work, romance was hard to come by, an ironic thing given his rugged, tall dark and handsome aesthetic, and employment as a spy. Unfortunately, the world didn’t cater to James Bond types anymore. The reality of his undercover work was far different.
Grumbling to himself, he swept up through the building, passing a couple of sub-level floors of the grand facility, and speeding out into the bright sunshine above. The place was ‘off grid’, as much as it could be, a hidden fortress a long way from any semblance of life right at the heart of the continent, and secluded away in the forested hills.
Once, a long time ago, it was a military base and nuclear missile silo. Now, it had been taken as the centre of operations for Project Dawn, the anti-technologist and anti-futurist organisation that Ragan worked for, operating as a spy and soldier within their military arm, known among its members as the Crimson Corps.
In a sense, Ragan was a double-agent. His true employer was Project Dawn, yet he spent much of his time within the CID, often operating undercover for them in order to maintain the ruse. His primacy remit on both fronts had been Chloe - find her, extract her, bring her in.
Only, for the CID, that meant bringing her to New York. For Project Dawn, that meant bringing her here, to their secret base in the mountains.
His cover, however, needed to be maintained in the capital of the Northern Democratic States. As he’d told Chloe, his work with the CID had given him a bit of slack, and thus his current disappearance from their systems wouldn’t be thought suspicious quite yet. Just before he’d spoken with her, he’d been on the line with Commander Wexley, informing him that his tracking interface was damaged, and that the search was ongoing.
It was important, now, that he played his part to completion. He knew full well that the council for Project Dawn were somewhat divided on the fate Chloe would face if, and when, they found her. Though they weren’t some macabre organisation, taking innocent life without cause, this was a special case.
And a hell of a lot was riding on it.
If Chloe was killed, the information in her nanites would be lost. Ragan knew that the nanites themselves were synced to her heartbeat. If her heart stopped beating for a certain period of time, the nanites would self-destruct, and the key to Professor Phantom’s greatest, and most terrible, discovery would cease to exist.
Given the stakes, Ragan was nervous. As of right now, the councillors were heading here from their various posts, many of them, like Ragan, operating secretly within the four nations of the Disunited States. They all worked in positions of prominence, and all lived lies like he did.
It was an organisation built on secrets and lies, a cult that stood up against the advancement of certain sciences, of the ever-increasing melding of man and machine. Truly, Project Dawn was all about maintaining what it really meant to be human, their name speaking of a new ‘dawn for humanity’, opposed to the reckless strides taken towards a future that had sped towards them all with an ever increasing velocity.
Ragan always considered it somewhat ironic that he was himself so technologically augmented. It was the same for many within the Crimson Corps, so named for the theme of the coming red dawn. They were a rag-tag group of s
oldiers, spies, trackers, and hunters from all over the continent, set with the single purpose of seeing out the wishes of Project Dawn, of sabotaging and destabilising the advancement of certain technologies and sciences. Though they went against the doctrine of the organisation, whose purpose was to draw people back from the abyss, separate man and machine, the members of the Crimson Corps remained a necessary evil.
Project Dawn was quite willing to fight fire with fire. And they went to often extreme lengths to serve their cause and interests.
And so, as Ragan stepped out into the cool morning air, and sent his eyes over the base and forested mountains beyond, he couldn’t help but be worried. The secret in Chloe’s blood was the most important one of all. And in order to get rid of it, the easiest solution would be simple…
Kill Chloe Phantom. End the hunt right there and then.
Ragan felt a spike of adrenaline flow through his veins at the thought. He was among a smaller group entirely opposed to that option, thinking that there were other solutions available that they could at least consider. Yet, the reality was that his power here was limited. He was a soldier, not a leader, and had little scope to make the decisions himself. Truly, it was the council that wielded the sword, and right now, they were gathering to discuss just which path they’d choose to take.
Spreading from over the hills, Ragan could hear a humming advancing from the north. He turned it eyes up to see a hover-plane appear from over the trees, lit silver against the bright blue sky.
He recognised its markings as belonging to Councillor Martha Mitchell, a citizen of the Mid-States of America and a wealthy benefactor of Project Dawn. She was one of the few whose thoughts were aligned with Ragan’s in what to do with Chloe, and was an outspoken voice in making sure the girl was kept safe, one way or another.
It wasn’t overly surprising, given her dove-like stance to war, which was very much in keeping with that of her nation. The Mid-States were mostly peaceful these days, bystanders in the conflict ripping the continent apart.
Seeing the hover-jet float in, Ragan let out a sigh. He’d hoped to see her before the deliberations began, and it was clear that they’d do so quickly. With Chloe locked down below, and the hunt for her once more spreading across the continent, everyone was quite aware that time was of the essence.
Landing upon a large, open space at the centre of the compound, Ragan stepped forward as the jet’s propulsion system shut down, and the humming ended. Around the old base, still in a state of dilapidation upon the surface to maintain the image of abandonment, several armed men of the Crimson Corps stood, ever watchful when a new aircraft or vehicle arrived.
Their vigilance was ever-appreciated, if unnecessary. Any incoming transports, whether airborne or not, will have been scanned and surveyed before arrival to determine whether it was friend or foe. This one was a friend, particularly to Ragan’s cause.
He stepped forward now as the doors slid open, and a couple of personal bodyguards appeared. They reached in and helped Martha Mitchell out, dressed up in a fine pant-suit as always and looking extremely good for a woman of her age. She must have been into her late sixties by this point, though had clearly undergone some anti-ageing treatments to keep her looking no more than forty. Aside from nanobot augmentations that would serve to prolong the lives of people like Ragan and Chloe, the same tech could be used in various treatments in the private sector, keeping the wealthy young.
Such treatments were expensive, and available to only a few. Thus those with money and power would live longer, accumulating more wealth and influence as a result. The dividing line between the haves and have-nots seemed to be ever extending.
Spotting Ragan, standing to the side, Martha’s attractive face burgeoned into a smile that forced Ragan to adopt the same expression. The lady was a charmer of men and women alike, about the most likeable Ragan had ever met. She had a way with people that appeared to be cast down to her from generations prior, her family one of great influence and esteem over the years.
“Ah, Ragan,” she said, pouring forwards with her guards in tow. “Who better to greet my arrival than the man of the hour himself!”
She reached Ragan and gobbled him up into a hug, her beaming smile and pure white teeth never receding behind red lips that nicely matched her auburn hair.
“Good morning, Councillor Mitchell,” responded Ragan. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you, young man,” came Martha’s swift and energetic reply. “I’ll never tire of that handsome face.”
Her eyes settled on Ragan’s rugged visage, his jaw and chin even more unshaven than normal, before lifting and peering behind him to the main compound.
“So, where is she then? I’m still pinching myself that you found her.”
“I know the feeling,” said Ragan. “She’s just down a couple of levels in an old office. She’s under watch, don’t worry.”
“Well I do worry, my boy, and cannot help that. She’s slipped away so many times that, even now, I feel a little on edge.”
A plentiful laugh escaped her lips, her head tilted back. She knew quite well that Chloe was quite secure here, as did Ragan. The compound had enough guards to satisfy a small army, and sufficient tech to keep watch on all those coming in or out, or getting anywhere near, for at least a hundred miles. Not only was it hidden here in the mountains, but it had additional cloaking technology that guaranteed any unwanted eyes remained blind to its presence. Should a craft or recon drone belonging to any of the nations pass overhead, it would come back with nothing to report.
“She’s going nowhere, Councillor, I assure you,” said Ragan. “Knowing what she does now, I suspect she’ll be seeking our help.”
“Ah, so you’ve told her?” queried Martha, turning serious. “You went against the ruling of the council?”
Ragan nodded.
“I did, and I never hid the fact that I was going to. You know my feelings on this. I’m not about to keep her in the dark. She above all others deserves to know the truth.”
“And I agree, Ragan, as you well know. If only there were more of us who had such compassion. I fear for the girl when the council assembles.”
“But you’ll do your best, won’t you, to persuade them? You have a great deal of influence here, Councillor Mitchell.”
“Please, Ragan, it’s Martha. You know I don’t like official terms.”
“Of course. Apologies. It’s a habit of being a military man, I suppose.”
“And a gentleman to boot,” smiled Martha. “I hope Miss Phantom knows how fortunate it is that you were the one to finally catch her. I hear you had some unwanted attention on the road?”
Ragan’s brows pinched, his voice dropping into a lower pitch.
“A nano-vamp,” he nodded. “And a particularly sinister one at that, which is saying something.”
“But you got the better of him,” smiled Martha, drawing the subject back into the light. “Never for one moment did I doubt you, my boy. You’ve done this organisation a great service.”
“Yes indeed, I couldn’t put it better myself…”
Ragan and Martha’s eyes swept to the side, where a man was striding forward across the cement. Dressed in a sharp, dark green military suit decorated with medals, with short grey hair and a tanned, grizzled face, he was another of the senior members of the project, a former colonel within the WSA army who’d long since abandoned his nation and taken up position here on a permanent basis.
It was, in fact, he who ran the base and oversaw operations of the Crimson Corps. He’d served with great distinction in the Second Civil War many years ago, as so many senior military figures had, and yet had grown disillusioned with the constant state of conflict.
It didn’t help that he’d lost his left arm in service, and had subsequently fallen into a state of depression for a time, thus losing his position within the WSA military.
He was a colonel once, and had taken to adopting the same rank here. It had been proposed that
his role befitted the rank of general, but he always denied it. So colonel he remained, another of the most influential voices for Project Dawn.
As he came striding forward, Ragan was quick to salute, stiffening his pose.
“Colonel Slattery, sir,” he said, clipping his heels together.
Martha, meanwhile, lifted one side of her mouth at the sight.
“You boys and your military customs,” she smiled. “How are you, Jeremiah?”
Colonel Jeremiah Slattery arrived before the two of them, and reached out to take Martha’s hand. He did so with his left, a set of bionic metal fingers protruding from his sleeve. He might have chosen to fit a more lifelike prosthetic - certainly, replacement limbs were now more or less indistinguishable from their biological counterparts, and could perform the same range of motion and functions - yet he never chose to. Though Ragan hadn’t asked just why, he assumed it was simply as a reminder, perhaps Colonel Slattery’s way of showing his personal aversion to the unstoppable advancements in robotics, science, and artificial intelligence.
As such, he always seemed to shake hands using his rudimentary bionic arm, rather than his flesh and blood alternative.
“Martha, good to see you,” he said, no smile forming. Unlike her, he wasn’t the sort. “I trust your journey went without issue?”
“Yes, it was quite pleasant, actually.”
“Good to hear it.” He looked to Ragan. “How’s the prisoner? Has she awoken yet?”
