by T. C. Edge
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 themselves, 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.
62
“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 w
ith 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 recognisable, 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.
“If you’re sure,” she said firmly. “Then I’ll do what I can to help.”
“He’s sure,” said Tanner, moving over to them in a crouched position. A drone whipped by a little ahead, carefully watched by Remus. “This team would be nothing with you, gorgeous. Now chin up, all right.” He grinned.
“Um, didn’t you just say you thought this mission was…madness?” asked Chloe, curving up an eyebrow.
Tanner shrugged.
“Most missions are,” he said. “You’ve got to be a little mad doing what we do.”
“Case in point,” said Nadia, raising her eyes in Tanner’s direction It was very much for Chloe’s benefit. She smiled, thinking it sweet that her new friends were so keen on making her feel welcome, included, even indispensable. Nadia moved to the edge of the outcrop, looking down pointedly as the nearest drone disappeared into the mist. “So, we doing this or what?” she asked.
The group exchanged glances.
“Chloe,” said Ragan, looking out towards Remus. “Lead the way.”
About an hour later, the little crew slid up an alleyway, stopping at the lip, turning their eyes into the bustling street beyond. They’d reached the populous central districts in downtown LA, the city’s floor now brimming with that familiar energy that spoke of the thousands upon thousands sheltered beneath their feet; living, working, sometimes just existing within the vast, unseen, earthscrapers.
Here, too, the mighty skyscrapers launched skyward, many of their summits invisible in the smog. It was daytime still, only mid-afternoon, and yet the streets held a dim illumination, shadowed as they were from the sky by the monstrous structures above. To combat the lack of natural light, the streets were ever lit by artificial lighting, hues of various colour glowing in the mist, mingling and merging together to form beautiful multi-coloured patterns.
It was, Chloe thought, one of the few attractive things about this place, even though it was probably unintentional.
Ahead, the tide of people was almost constant, a rushing river that couldn’t decide which direction to flow. From left to right, and right to left, people surged, dressed in all manner of colourful and oddly fashioned garments that spoke of the area’s somewhat bohemian attitude towards life. The modern trend of sporting living tattoos was very much in evidence here, many men and women dressing scantily in order to show off their art. The group’s destination, of course, was a parlour that dealt in such things, though the business up top was all a facade. The true purpose of Dax’s tattoo parlour, Ink Alive, was to hide his criminal dealings beneath.
So far, the journey to this spot had been tense, if not troubled. The pastures east of here - mostly residential blocks and abandoned buildings - were familiar to Chloe; she’d fled through the region only days ago, Mikel in hot pursuit, and Ragan coming to her rescue. Now they were part of a team, and heading the other way together. It was hard for Chloe to consider just how quickly things had changed. If I ever get a chance to breathe, she thought, maybe it’ll all sink in.
They’d encountered peacekeepers and soldiers, though never directly, managing to avoid a couple of checkpoints as they ventured down from the hills. Remus, cloaked and fastidious as always, hovered above and provided a route. Any time anyone of suspicion came their way, they hid or rushed on, not wanting to garner any unwanted attention.
Bit by bit, they’d journeyed west, the towers growing taller, the streets busier. Ironically, it was only now that they’d reached the manic downtown regions that they could begin to relax. Here, peacekeepers roamed, though not so frequently or in such large groups.
Chloe couldn’t be sure whether that was simply because they melted into the unceasing sea of people, or because their masters in government chose to leave these streets to fend for themselves. After all, crime was rife here, and hardly hampered. The authorities did little to stem the tide of violence that was becoming so prolific in these parts. Perhaps they had better things to do. Perhaps they just didn’t care.
Whatever it was, it worked for the team. They stepped from the alleyway now, entering into the churning masses, Chloe carefully placed at the centre of the group to provide her with some cover. Tanner and Nadia flanked her, with Ragan at the head. They moved as a tight unit, though were careful not to look overly unnatural or shady. To that effect, Tanner and Nadia chatted loudly, smiling and joking as they went - the two in conversation was, as Chloe had come to see, one of the most natural things she’d ever witnessed.
Her place, meanwhile, was to stay between them and keep quiet, hood over her head to shield her recognisable complexion, eyes down for the same purpose. Thankfully, Ragan was a near foot taller than her, and Tanner almost the same; two walls to her front and left, with Nadia - also with a several inch advantage - blocking her right.
They moved on, working through the network of alleys and wide streets, squares and markets. The place was suffocating and claustrophobic, the air heavy and dense. A thousand scents lingered in the air, jostling for dominance and attention, some pleasant, others rather the opposite. Street vendors worked to entice people to their food stalls, fans blowing from behind. Perfumers did the same, their fragrances occasionally sweet and appealing, but often overpowering if you got too close. Then there was the general mustiness that came with such a density of sweating flesh, and the stink of trash, piled up in alleys and overflowing from receptacles, waiting for collection that would probably take some time to come.
The open squares gave respite from all this, though the swarm of people only eased up a little. Many of these squares weren’t just intended to provide some more ventilated spots to combat the overwhelm
ing excess, but acted as entry points to the deep earthscrapers below. Often they had a single storey building at their centre, little more than a reception and security desk providing access to the dozens of levels dug beneath the ground. They wouldn’t be industrial earthscrapers, not like Sub-Tower 12 where Chloe hid for several months. There might be work to be had down there, but they were predominantly intended for habitation, Chloe knew, and likely came with a higher quality of living at that.
Her early days living beneath the earth had been a struggle, not least for the horrible feeling of being beneath the earth! Chloe never truly felt comfortable with that, yet it wasn’t much better up here. So high were the buildings, so tight the streets and alleys, so endless the population, that she felt equally claustrophobic right now as she had down there. It wasn’t nice being back.
They hurried on, directed by Ragan, Tanner and Nadia continuing to chat as they went. Tanner was talking about when he used to live here, seeming partially bitter and partially nostalgic, which was something Chloe could understand. Nadia, meanwhile, wasn’t afraid of stating her lack of fondness for the place, talking up Texas and the Southern Republic as being a far nicer place to live. Chloe would have to take her word for that one - she’d never ventured towards Texas in her years on the run.
It was strange, still, to hear the two of them do battle over their homelands. Everyone seemed to have that soft spot for where they came from, sometimes large, sometimes small, but always seemingly there. It was like defending the family that you didn’t much like when confronted by offensive words about them; you just tended to stand behind them, no matter what. The same, perhaps, was true of your place of origin, to some degree or another.
Chloe kept an eye on Remus as she went, often slipping into his perception when she lost sight of him with her real eyes. Given his cloaking function, that happened fairly often, though the link between their nanites gave Chloe a preternatural ability to sense roughly where he was at all times. Mostly he hovered several metres above the heads of the crowd, his form sometimes visible from the clear line he made in the mist. It was enough to draw a few curious eyes as people saw the mist clear without cause, before filling in again a moment later.
