Copyright 2001, Zelda. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reposted in part or in full without written permission.
Disclaimer: Earth: Final Conflict and all its characters are the property of Tribune Entertainment and are used without permission. Jarod is the property of the Centre; The Pretender and its characters are the property of NBC Television, and are also used without permission. And I should include South Park in the list of things I've borrowed without permission. Guess my first-grade teacher was right. I do have no respect for other people's property.
Rating: PG-13
A Congenial Atmosphere
an Earth: Final Conflict story
By: Zelda
Note: No cameos this time around, thank heavens. But remember how Jarod said he could be anyone he wanted? He ain't kidding, friends. Unfortunately this fabulous talent does require a certain over-obsessive personality, which, I imagine, would get rather grating after long exposure … This chapter is freshly published, so please review! (And if anyone can help with the HTML spacing thing, I'd be grateful.)
Just outside Washington, D.C.
Dec. 18
Julia quickly scanned the crowded promenade, marking the access points, public comm terminals, and looking for the Resistance member the West Virginia cell had promised. Though there was no sign of her contact, he wasn't due to show up for another five minutes. Meaning she had just the time she needed to check in. Grabbing an empty booth at the comm unit, she dialed the number, tapping her foot impatiently until a bland, sexless voice answered. "Designation?"
"This is 765859642," she answered.
"Report."
"Lois Lane has rejoined Superman; the old fox isn't ready to come out of the den. Rebuilding continues in the Eastern regions; cells are active in Boston, New York, Charleston. West Virginia is being reactivated today. Weapons are still a problem as most sources have dried up. Mr. Blue has gone into hibernation and has been unavailable for up to four days at a time. End of report."
"Proceed as usual, 765859642. Report at the next opportunity." Julia hung up the phone and finally saw her contact moving towards her. "Mitch!"
***
Dusseldorf, Germany
Dec. 18
Stephanie Reidbrecht unlocked the door to her flat and began the long climb up the stairs. Carrying the marketing up two flights hadn't been her idea, but Katerina had begged for the apartment from the moment they had first gone through it. And she had to admit, the view from their windows was fantastic. "Katerina!" she called as she neared the top of the stairs. Oh, she could manage the door on her own. But it would be reassuring to know her daughter was home from school, instead of hanging around with David and his crowd. Kat would never understand her mother's fears. Or it's equally likely, Stephanie rephrased, she chooses not to understand them, but lately, with things so uncertain between the Companions and humanity, Kat's flirtation with Liberation sentiments could have very serious repercussions. Perhaps it's time to move again, she considered. Get her away from David's influence. She shoved the door open with her hip.
"Katerina!" she called again, more urgently. Placing the two paper bags on the kitchen table, she went into the living room. Her low expectations were not exceeded -- Katerina was not there. The bedroom door was open, and there was no music blaring. In short, none of the signs that a fifteen-year-old girl was present. Stephanie passed the answering machine, a late twentieth-century relic (And who'd have thought I'd live long enough to say that! she laughed at herself) and noticed that the message light was blinking. She pressed play.
"Mom?" Katerina's voice was hesitant. Probably going to miss curfew again. Stephanie sighed. "It's Kat. Ummm, I have something really important to tell you. I thought about going by the library, but I figured that you'd be pretty mad when you found out, so I'm just leaving you the message, okay?" A pause, while her daughter gathered the courage to confess. "I know you don't like me hanging out with David and those guys, but Mom, they're right. The Taelons are lying to humanity; I just know it. And I can help fight them, Mom. I'm joining the Volunteers to find out what I can. Don't be worried. You know I'm really smart and I blend in well -- they won't suspect a thing, I promise. So I won't see you for a while, cause they send you out right away. I love you, Mom, but this is just something I have to do. Please understand. Please? Bye." The tinny voice echoed in her head; very suddenly, it seemed that her knees would no longer support her, and she braced herself against the back of an armchair. This could not be happening. She would not lose Katerina, too. Grabbing her purse and keys from the table, she clattered rapidly down the stairs and turned in the direction of the coffee house where David's so-called Liberation group gathered. Maybe it wasn't too late to stop the whole thing.
Maybe.
***
Washington, D.C.
Several hundred feet underground
Dec. 15
"Chow's on!" called Augur as he carried in the candied yams. Cooking dinner for seven was not his idea of the perfect afternoon's entertainment. Of course, neither was playing host to eight guests, four of whom looked like they were settled in for the long haul. At least Jarod and Jerry have someplace else to go! I'm stuck with Doors until this whole thing blows over! He hadn't even let Liam, supposedly his friend, stay with him for longer than a few days, although the guy was a newborn and technically unable to fend for himself. And now it had been nearly a month. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.
Augur tweaked the cloth on the long table one last time and yelled again. "Dinner!" Damn, he sounded just like his mother! In the distance, he could make out the sound of Holo-Lili helpfully clanging the dinner bell. At last people starting coming down the hallway: first Emma, Jarod and Jerry in an animated discussion, with Julia eavesdropping hot on their heels. Doors hobbled in behind them, the injuries he'd received escaping from the Taelons nearly healed. Finally Liam stalked in, directed one resentful glare to Emma and the open seat beside her, and sat down next to Doors.
Emma looked at Jarod beseechingly. He knew exactly what that glance was asking, too. Please help me, it said. I didn't mean to make him angry with what I said, and I just can't go to him and apologize. So you do it. You smooth things over, 'kay? Then everything will be just the way I want it, and I won't have to do anything to get it. Some days he really hated being a Pretender. And why was there never any spray cheese when he wanted it?
***
Dusseldorf, Germany
The Starbucks on Friedrichstrasse
Dec. 18
"I beg your pardon?"
David Schellenberger squirmed in his seat. Ice-blue eyes bored into his soul, hunting his insecurities and faults. "She volunteered," he offered lamely.
"She is only fifteen. There is no possibility of her volunteering. She isn't old enough." Stephanie spoke slowly, in the increasingly vain hope that this blustering idiot would understand her.
"Fifteen? She said she was seventeen!" Righteous indignation illuminated David's features. "We can't have people lying…"
"Shut up!" Her patience was exhausted. "Where did she go?"
"The Volunteer center on Neu-Taelon-Strasse," he admitted with reluctance. She stomped out of the café, and David slumped in his seat in relief. No wonder Kat had been so eager to go, with a mother like that!
***
Washington, D.C.
The hideout
Dec. 15 (after dinner)
Emma flinched as Julia cracked her gum yet again. How much longer is she going to be here? she huffed silently, trying to concentrate on her global screen. She scrolled rapidly through the recent headlines:
'BOONE WAS TAELON VICTIM' DA'AN ACCUSES
TAELONS DENY ALLEGATIONS OF COVER-UP
SHOULD NORTH AMERICAN PROTECTOR HAVE HAD PROTECTION?
NO SIGN OF DA'AN SINCE FRANKLIN INTERVIEW—WHERE IS OUR COMPANION?
WAS DA'AN INTERVIEW A HOAX?
'COMPANION INTERVIEW BROADCAST WAS TAMPERED WITH' SANDOVAL ANNOUNCES—ABBY FRANKLIN UNAVAILABLE FOR COMMENT
PRESIDENT PLEADS FOR DA'AN'S SAFE RETURN—ANNOUNCES EXTENSION OF STATE OF EMERGENCY
How Thompson could have ignored the interview tape Jarod had brought to him continued to baffle her. Emma sighed in frustration and switched to the plain text window she had going. Dear Joshua, it began, then nothing more. A burst of laughter from Augur's comfortably appointed lounge drew her attention away from the tormenting blinking of the cursor.
"What are they doing?" Julia demanded loudly. "We've got things to do, and he's sitting over there, watching TV?"
"You could watch with us," called Liam.
"Liam, don't invite her over," Augur pleaded. "Women don't get this stuff."
"Why?" asked an instantly fascinated Liam.
"One of the mysteries of the sexes, Liam." Jarod leaned back in his recliner. "Men love the Stooges. Women do not."
"Lili liked the Stooges," mourned Augur.
"Liam!" Julia's voice could have been used to chop wood.
"Five minutes, Julia!" Liam settled back into the sofa. "Why'd we let her out again?" he muttered under his breath.
Jerry chuckled. "Oh, she's not so bad. I bet right now, she's standing there, arms crossed, breasts heaving with indignation, her foot, at the end of her lovely long legs, tapping impatiently…" His voice drifted off. Liam edged slightly away from Jerry. "Sorry," he grinned in apology. "We've got a thing for brunettes with attitude -- runs in the family, right, old man?" Jarod rolled his eyes.
Julia uncrossed her arms from her chest and braced them on her hips as another round of snickering rolled out of the lounge. "Infants!" she snorted, and began pacing impatiently across the room. And that Weston chick was no help either, blonde head bowed over a stupid global. She seemed to believe that the revolution could be won with words alone. But I know the truth -- the Taelons won't be that easy to get rid of. God, she needed to get out of this place, which meant she needed Liam's okay before she set out to contact her old cell. See if any of them were left, after…for one brief moment, she was back in the Taelon prison, frozen with panic, steely with determination, biting her tongue to keep from babbling everything she knew. She stopped the recollection right there. Now was not the time -- she had work to do. She turned and continued her pacing. Her hip brushed against one of Augur's side tables, rocking it back and forth. Liam's abandoned glass wobbled in sympathy. Emma looked up just in time to see it fall, smashing into shards as it hit the floor.
"Oh, shit," Julia swore as she went for the dustpan. "I'm going to have to start charging for those," said Augur, only half-joking. That was the third glass she'd broken in the past week.
"Shoulda been four stooges, not three," muttered Julia as she began to sweep up the mess. "Will you get out of the way?" she snapped at Jerry, who was standing just at the edge of the debris. He grinned and took a half-step back. "You know, one of you could help me clean up." Her glare passed around the four men, each of whom carefully avoided meeting her eyes. "I thought as much." The last of the glass was swept into the pan, and she stalked off to dump it in the garbage.
The image of the glass falling, tumbling end over end, replayed itself in Emma's mind. She didn't hear a word that Julia spoke. And then it came to her, the fresh idea she needed, the new gimmick that would push her revolution further forward. "Augur," she rose out of her chair, ignoring the other three. "Could I have access to the computer for a half-hour or so?"
"Sure," he replied.
"Show me everything you can find on the Scottish Pretender…um, and seventeenth-century English and Scottish history, and the Jacobite uprising…"
***
Dusseldorf, Germany
Volunteer Recruitment Center
Dec. 18
"Frau Reidbrecht?" Stephanie stood as the young man entered the room. "I'm Gunther Medtner, Volunteer coordinator. You have some questions about the program?"
David Schellenberger wouldn't have recognized Katerina's mother as she answered softly, "Yes. My daughter, she joined today. I didn't agree, but I don't want her to leave without saying goodbye. Is there any way I might see her before she goes?" She made a conscious effort to continue her pleading with her eyes. If I can just get my hands on her, then maybe there's a chance she'll get out of this.
Medtner sighed. This poor woman; obviously her daughter was the only thing left in her faded, middle-aged life. "I'll see what I can do. Please, have a seat," he gestured, setting the example at his own desk. "Your daughter's name?"
"Katerina. Katerina Emily Reidbrecht."
He typed a few characters into the computer, then leaned in more closely. "Frau Reidbrecht, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."
"Excuse me?" Polite disbelief colored her tone.
"All Volunteers undergo an assessment process before heading to training camp. Frau Reidbrecht, you should be very proud. Your daughter scored exceptionally highly in all categories. She's been sent directly to the Mothership. Congratulations!" The coordinator smiled inanely.
"I see," swallowed Stephanie, her fingers itching with the desire to pound that smile off Medtner's face. "Well, thank you very much for trying." She left the office. Only on the street did she allow the reaction to set in, and then only for a moment. She had not yet exhausted all her options. She started in the direction of Saint Anne's Church.
***
Washington, D.C.
The hideout
Dec. 15 (even later)
Jarod sighed wearily as he trudged through the dimly lit and seemingly endless corridors of the former Resistance headquarters. Just this one favor for Emma, and then, sleep. He really was getting too old for this, he reflected, as he finally tracked Liam down in the gym.
Da'an's young protector was sparring with a punching bag in the corner. Jarod looked around the room and saw with satisfaction that there was a basketball hoop at the far end. He ducked into the equipment room on his right and soon emerged with a fully-inflated ball, which he dribbled a few times. When he judged he had Liam's attention, he called, "Hey! Up for a little one-on-one?" Liam paused, then came over. "You've played before?" Jarod inquired. The younger man shook his head. "But I've watched," he offered. "Good enough for me," the Pretender answered, then dribbled the ball in a fast break around Kincaid and sunk the first basket. They settled down to some serious play.
After several minutes of companionable silence, broken only by the issuing of commands necessary to the smooth exchange of the ball, Jarod broached the topic that had brought him to the gym. "So, want to tell me what's going on?"
"Going on?" Liam concentrated on the basket. He almost had his shot down; just a little adjustment and…
"Between you and Emma." The ball bounced off the rim again.
"Nothing," said Liam sullenly as Jarod hustled in. "Why, you interested?" he exhaled in Jarod's ear as he blocked the older man's path to the hoop.
"Me?" Been there, done that. "No. You two just seemed kind of…friendly, and now…"
"Friendly," Liam snorted scornfully, snatching the ball away from Jarod and finally executing a perfect lay-up shot. Jarod passed the ball out to the young hybrid and dropped into guard position.
"What exactly did she say to you?"
Liam stopped in his tracks, dribbling the ball with alternating hands. "Look, do you want to play, or do you want to talk?"
"Oh, play," Jarod assured him. Liam feinted right, then broke left. This time, the shot was a three-pointer, nothing but net. The boy was good, no doubt about that. Jarod dribbled the ball briefly before passing.
"She said she just wanted to be friends," Liam looked straight at Jarod. The green eyes flickered with hurt, puzzlement and anger. Ah, youth!
"Can I tell you something?" Shrugging a nonchalant shoulder, Liam stashed the ball under his arm.. "I've known Emma for a while, Liam. Her friendship is not something to be taken lightly. She doesn't love very often, but where she does, she loves forever. Ten to one, at this very moment, she's thinking of a way to redeem Joshua. She wouldn't even be here now, except that I asked her to help me. Three words, that's all it took. 'Emma. Help. Now.'" The sullen look was fading from the young Protector's face. "If Emma wants to be just friends, I would accept. At worst, you have Emma's friendship. At best, time passes, and who knows?"
Liam took a step toward Jarod. "Maybe you're right," he considered.
"Maybe," Jarod allowed, throwing a paternal arm over Liam's shoulders. "Can I tell you something else?" They took another step.
"Sure."
Jarod's arm dropped and knocked the ball out from the crook of Liam's arm. "That's travelling! The next three shots are mine!"
***
Dusseldorf, Germany
Saint Anne's Church
early Dec. 19
"Isn't this ironic." The light baritone voice preceded its owner out of the shadows. The man was in his early fifties, well-dressed, brown hair going slightly gray at the temples. "For the past decade, you have scrupulously avoided our help. And now, when one might suppose you have proven your point quite adequately, you return?"
Stephanie's mouth worked for a few moments before she could force any sound out. "It's Kat," she finally admitted. Her contact raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue. "She's joined the Volunteers. I need to get her out. I shouldn't have to tell you what will happen if she's discovered."
"That is…news," he admitted. "What do you want from us?"
Frustration continued to bind her tongue. "Where she is. Help getting her out. I won't ask for anything else."
"As little as possible?" Her discomfort with the entire situation was palpable. "We can provide what you ask. But there will be a price. As before."
Stephanie shook her head and began to back away. "No. No. I can't…"
"Consider carefully."
"No."
"What other resources do you have? You must have exhausted the official channels, to come to us." She continued to shake her head in denial. "We will succeed, you know that. But as long as the Taelons have her…"
"And I'm supposed to believe you're any better?"
"We have never meant any harm, to you or to Katerina. Our objective has always been the betterment of humanity. Your mother understood that." He paused, and looked her over. "You must have been prepared for this discussion, when you came here." She froze. "You knew the cost. Your daughter's future. Which will it be?"
The woman opposite him seemed to swell with tension, and then quietly deflate. Her age, the strain of the past days, fear, all told their tale on the pale face she raised to the light. "Very well," she whispered. "She is yours."
He quickly masked his elation. "Return home. We will contact you shortly." He faded back into the darkness, leaving Stephanie alone in the deserted church.
She pressed her hands together in despair. Oh my love, what have I done? But what else could I do to save our daughter?
***
Washington, D.C.
Augur's lair
Dec. 16
The others were already gathered in the meeting room when Emma arrived, slightly out of breath. She'd been polishing her idea until the last minute, and, well, it still wasn't close to perfect, but it would be a starting point. She pulled out a chair and luckily happened to look in it before sitting down. "Jarod," she began, in what she hoped was a pleasant tone of voice, "I thought we had discussed keeping your…fetishes…in your own personal area." She held the offending item out in the palm of her hand.
"Aw, Emma, come on. It's kinda cute."
"Have you taken a good look at it, Julia?" she asked. The dark-haired Resistance member leaned in, then quickly jerked her head back, eyes wide. "I didn't know they could do that!" she mumbled in shock.
"Jarod?" repeated Emma, thrusting her hand forward pointedly. The Pretender reclaimed his latest obsession. Liam called the meeting to order, and everyone took a carefully examined seat. Emma waited impatiently as they went over the old business, discussing the reforming and rearming of the various Resistance cells. Finally, Doors was satisfied with the arrangements, and they were able to move on.
"New business?"
Emma cleared her throat and began. "I've noticed that our websites have been taking fewer hits recently, and our media presence is diminishing. We need something to give new momentum to our campaign. I've been researching movements similar to ours, and I believe we can borrow some techniques from them. If we're going to successfully overthrow Zo'or and Thompson, we'll need the general public on our side. We need a gimmick that will capture their attention, their sentiments, their loyalty. During the Jacobite uprisings in seventeenth-century Britain—"
Doors interrupted her. "That revolution was a failure. The Battle of Culloden completely destroyed any hope the Jacobites had."
"I know that," replied Emma irritably, rising from her chair. "I'm not suggesting we adopt their military tactics. But did you know that, to this day, there are still people who call themselves Jacobite loyalists? This movement had longevity, and we need that. Take the Jacobite toast, for example. During their uprising, they'd toast their king, and then smash the glasses to smithereens. It was a very powerful gesture. One which is still performed today by true loyalists."
Jarod leaned forward. "So you're suggesting we substitute William Boone for Bonny Prince Charlie? And how, exactly, do you plan to get this movement started? We all just go out and smash some glassware?"
"Not in my bar, you don't!"
"More or less, yes. If we broke up into teams, of two or three, and hit the city's live spots, it shouldn't take more than one or two trips."
"You haven't really thought this through, have you?" said a disgusted Jonathan Doors. "It is far too dangerous, if any of us were caught, to even consider this kind of poorly conceived tripe."
"Emma, be reasonable," Liam added. "Jonathan is right; it's too dangerous."
"Well, I wasn't thinking we'd go as ourselves. We'd be disguised, of course."
"It's not like you could wear your own clothes anyway," added Julia resentfully, eyeing the neon lycra shirt Emma had been forced to borrow when she first arrived, and had never returned.
"Thank you, Julia, for reminding me that the designer wardrobe I spent the better part of six years accumulating is now in the hands of Sandoval and Zo'or," snapped Emma. Why did they always have to pick apart any idea she had?
"And I'm sure they look lovely in them," Jerry threw in from his end of the table. Emma tried to keep a straight face, but the twinkle in the young Pretender's eyes was hard to resist. And the image of Sandoval in her special red dress really was too much. She sat back down, laughing helplessly.
"Okay, fine, it's not that great an idea." She sighed, and confessed, "It's really just an excuse to get outside. C'mon, please, can't we go outside, just for a little bit?" She turned pleading blue eyes on Liam. He cleared his throat nervously.
"Actually, it is a good idea. It's just the execution that's lacking," Jarod reflected. "It is too dangerous for some of us to go out in public. But that doesn't mean we can't have the public come to us."
"I don't follow," said Emma.
"Augur, we still have access to that warehouse where we shot Abby's interview, don't we?"
The hacker looked up from the screen in front of him. "Sure."
"And the equipment?"
"Safe in storage." Augur paused. "I see what you're doing. Bring the mountain to Mohammed. I like it. I like it a lot."
"What?" Doors leaned back in his chair, prepared to shoot down another cockamamie scheme.
"We, no, you tell it, Jarod, it's your idea."
"No, please, Augur, go ahead."
"Well, instead of sending everyone out to hot night-spots, we create one. Fill it up with our own people, and maybe a few talkative outsiders. Then we stage the memorial glass-smashing and wait for nature to take its course. Am I correct, Jarod?"
"On the money, my friend."
"I don't like the idea of outsiders being present. They could represent a significant security risk." The old man's tone was geared to prevent any opposition.
Emma turned the idea around in her head. It was better than her original, but still not galactic. "I don't like the idea of relying on so few individuals to spread the word. If this is going to work, it needs to be a phenomenon. It's got to spread like wildfire, get out of control before Zo'or and Sandoval can get a grip on it."
"Instant pop culture?" Liam said skeptically. Emma nodded agreement.
"Ooh, I know!" Julia exclaimed. "That show…that show….on channel six….'What's up, Washington?'"
Emma turned an admiring glance at her. "That is good," she commended. "Perfect, in fact. All we need to do is get Damien a tape of the event. I know he'll push it for all it's worth."
"Okay, let's recap. We're going to start an international glass-smashing movement in honor of William Boone-" "It's a memorial, thank you," Emma interjected. "Memorial," Liam corrected himself, "by creating a bar, filming the first memorial glass-smashing, and sending the tape to this Damien from 'What's up, Washington?'" The other six nodded their agreement. "And who gets the honor of smashing the first glass?"
Six pairs of eyes remained fixed on him. Liam groaned and put his head in his hands. I had to ask?
***
Washington, D.C.
International Airport
Dec. 20
Stephanie stopped in the airport, and took a good look around her. It was hard to believe that, after so many years, she was finally home. Back in the dear old U.S. of A. She had honestly thought that she'd never come back, that there was nothing left here for her. Parents dead, Kat's father dead. Europe had seemed like the answer to all her prayers. A Volunteer came up to her. "May I see your papers please?" The soft Southern accent was like music, and just as difficult to form into words. She forced her brain from German into English.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"
"Your papers, ma'am?"
"Of course," and she dug the forged documents out of her purse. She had a momentary qualm as she passed them over, but the truth was, she knew they would pass any inspection. The young man studied them briefly, and passed them back.
"Thank you, Y'all enjoy your stay," he said courteously.
"Danke," she murmured, and smiled. "Bitte, where might I find a taxi, to take me to the hotel?"
"Right over there, ma'am," he pointed.
"Thank you." She picked up her overnight bag and set out. First to the hotel, and then, tomorrow, the contact they had given her. Please, let me find her soon…
***
Washington, D.C.
Augur's lair
Dec, 19
Checking her reflection one more time in the mirror, Emma packed up the last of her toiletries and left the washroom she and Julia shared. In many ways, Julia wasn't a bad roommate; for starters, since the rebuilding of the Resistance had begun, she was hardly ever there. And even when she was in residence, she wasn't the talkative type. But she did have a bad habit of using up the last of the toilet paper and not replacing the roll. Emma dropped off the bag in her room and proceeded down the hall.
She caught herself counting her footsteps are she came to the elevator. 31, 32 … and avoid! As the doors slid closed behind her and she began her descent, Emma took a deep breath and allowed the memories come to the surface.
"We've just had our one-millionth hit on the website!" She'd barely registered the whoops of excitement around her. She was tired, so bitterly tired. "Emma?" Da'an inquired gently, a hand coming forward to support her elbow. "What Zo'or did to you—I can only ask pardon for my race." The Companion led her slightly away from the celebration. "If there is anything I can do to aid you, you need only ask."
It wasn't until the next day that Emma summoned the strength to ask him. Da'an had announced his plan to go into a protective trance, to prevent Zo'or and the other Taelons from discovering Augur's hiding place. She followed him to the edge of the room, waiting for Jarod and Jerry to pass on their way to "acquire" the Taelon technology Da'an needed.
"Da'an?" she gathered herself. "Thank you, Liam," he said in dismissal, turning to her. "Yesterday … you said … if there was anything …" Unearthly blue eyes held hers in a level gaze. Trying to wipe her damp palms discretely on her thighs, she continued. "Show me how to stop that from happening again Show me how to defend myself." The Companion tilted his head to one side, a gentle smile warming his features. "Come in two days, at eleven. We will begin then." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of motion as Liam finally moved out of eavesdrop range. Since then there had been six sessions in the little chamber stuffed full of Companion marvels, each more grueling than the last. But it doesn't matter: I can stand hard work. I just can't stand the thought of that ever happening to me again. One last turn, and she was in front of Da'an's door.
She was just raising her hand to knock when the door swung inward, and Liam barged out, attention focused behind him as he said goodbye. "Hey!" she exclaimed, jumping out of the way just in time. Liam's head snapped around. "Emma!" he responded. She smiled back. It was nice to hear him say her name without any of the negative feelings that had dominated their relationship after she'd given him the "Let's be friends" speech. I wonder what Jarod said to him?
"You on your way in?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself. Of course she was on her way in.
"Yeah," she answered, still smiling. "And you?' Embarrassment coloured his features. "What?"
"Well," he began sheepishly, "since we're filming tomorrow, Jarod suggested that it would be a good idea for me to know what it felt like to be drunk, so…"
Emma's smile extended into a wicked grin. "That sounds like Jarod. Well, good luck."
"Thanks, I think. And good luck with your…" Liam gestured in the direction of Da'an's chamber. Emma's grin vanished, replaced by a pensive expression. He balled his hands into fists as she said goodbye and went in. Just one more thing to add to the list of Zo'or's crimes. Mental rape. He could only admire Emma's reaction to it; she'd sought Da'an out from the first and asked for his help. If only there were someone to help him understand the shaqarava…but there was no one. He was the last of the Kimera. And in any case, he had other, more important responsibilities. Human ones.
***
Washington, D.C.
Outside Saint Michael's Church
Dec. 20
Stephanie stopped on the sidewalk to admire the ornate neo-Gothic stonework of the cathedral before she went inside. The setting sun turned the light stone to buttery gold, so that the whole building glowed like a lamp in its snow-covered setting. For a moment she fancied that the light was reflecting gold on her face, just like in the movies, where people opening crates of buried treasure were always illuminated by the light reflected off the gold inside. St. Michael's was a fine example of the cathedral building art, and she'd seen a few, over the years. For some reason, these people always wanted to meet in churches. Her mouth twisted bitterly. As if the sanctity of the building could mitigate the evil of their intent. She shook her head and went in to wait for the contact they had arranged for her.
Washington, D.C.
The warehouse district
Dec. 20
"No, no, no, no, no! Cut! Cut!" exclaimed Jarod, as he surged onto the set. "You, turn left. You, face the back, man, the back! And Liam…"
Liam turned slowly to face their self-appointed director. Small, square-framed black glasses with yellow lenses perched on the bridge of the Pretender's nose, providing the one splash of colour on the man. Everything else, turtleneck to pointy-toed shoes, was black. "Yes, Jarod?"
"Liam, friend, I'm just not getting a sense of commitment to the cause." He strode to the bar they'd built in place of the podium where Abby had interviewed Da'an. "Before you speak, I don't feel like you're really here. And the toast…it's just not working. You need to be more dashing, more …" Jarod reached forward. "What is this? This isn't the shirt I picked out for you!"
Liam folded his arms across his acrylic-sweatered chest defiantly, the new black leather jacket creaking slightly. "I'm not wearing that," he pointed his chin in the direction of the wardrobe rack, where a mesh tee-shirt hung in forlorn isolation.
Jarod looked him over, and gave up the battle as lost. "Fine, fine, whatever. But listen, Liam, this is more than just a few minutes in a bar. This is the first move in the battle to reclaim Earth for ourselves. People need to feel motivated by you; they need to feel that everything you do is leading them closer to victory; they need to feel the Resistance is the one continuing human factor in their lives…do you understand?"
"Though you die, la Resistance lives on!" caroled Jerry quietly from the sidelines. Beside him, Emma stifled a snort of laughter. Jarod looked over in disgust. "Did you two have something you wanted to share?"
"Actually, yes," Emma smiled. "God has smiled upon you this day,/The fate of a nation in your hands," Jerry continued singing softly. She suppressed another fit of laughter.
"First of all," she said, opening her script and crossing the stage to join them, "the whole toast thing is too wordy."
"It's what we all agreed on," reminded Jarod.
"I know, but now that I see the location, it doesn't fit. This is supposed to be a bar, not the Arts and Letters club."
"And when you all get shot, and cannot carry on,/Though you die, la Resistance lives on!" Jerry's voice was getting louder.
"What do you suggest?" Jarod asked, a little snidely. It had taken the seven of them two days to agree on the text of the toast.
Emma closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, they were focused on the far distance. "To those who have gone before. To William Boone."
Jarod looked at Liam. He nodded. "I can say that. That is better."
"Good. Now, as for the image problem…" Emma looked Liam over thoroughly and thoughtfully. "The sweater can stay." A triumphant grin played around the edges of Liam's mouth. "But the hair has got to go. Liam, do this." She ruffled her hair with her fingers. He copied her action. "Again. See, the image we're going for is outlaw; Zorro, Robin Hood. Liam, that's still not exactly it. Here, let me," and she stood up on tiptoe to reach the top of his head. "What do you have in here? Rubber cement?" she grumbled. "Don't you know a little dab'll do ya?" She met his eyes in exasperation as she stepped back to evaluate her efforts. "Just a bit more," she said, reaching up to arrange a lock of hair over his forehead.
"Are you quite satisfied?" Liam asked her, sarcasm edging into his tone to compensate for the turmoil aroused by her actions. Her hand stopped moving, and she slowly drew it back. A bright red spot appeared in each cheek as she realized how near she was to him.
"Very," she pronounced, retreating a step. "See, mussy hair. Makes all the difference, don't you think?"
"Though you die, la Resistance lives o-o-o-o-o-n!"
Jarod turned to Jerry with a grim expression. "You will respect my au-thor-i-tie!" he cried in a booming voice. The entire cast, with the exception of a bewildered Liam, collapsed in a fit of laughter.
***
Washington, D.C.
Saint Michael's Church
Dec. 20, late evening
"They may cut your dick in half," hummed Jerry to himself as he crossed the snow-covered grass in front of Saint Michael's. All in together, it had been a very successful evening. Their staged event, filmed with great panache by Jarod, was now in the hands of the very ambitious Damien Taylor, a young man who obviously felt that this segment had national distribution written all over it. He slipped in the side door by the baptismal chapel, and cursed his sudden bad luck. The church was nearly deserted; there was only one person, a woman, praying, in one of the pews at the front of the church. But nearly wasn't good enough if he was going to get to the Resistance entrance.
Jerry checked his watch. He was due back in only a few minutes, and while he could call Jarod and tell him he was coming back through the tunnels, he really didn't want to. I'd just rather be on time, that's all. I'm not afraid of the tunnels. I'm not. Okay, well, the truth was, he didn't like traveling underground. And if I don't have to do it, why should I? He ran the probabilities as the Centre and Jarod had trained him. The woman seemed quite involved in her prayer, and it was only a few dozen feet to the entrance. It was likely that he could cross the lighted area of the church without her even noticing. And if she did, he could always say he was on his way to confession. Or just looking for the priest. The decision made, he started across the nave of the church.
Stephanie was torn: ready to leave yet afraid to go. She'd waited in the church for an hour until the appointed meeting time, and another three hours after that. But how could she leave when this was her only hope for getting Kat back? It seemed impossible to credit, that her final solution wasn't all she had thought. Paradoxically, she was relieved. If they couldn't help her, she wouldn't have to give them Kat as she'd finally promised. But if Kat's masquerade was discovered…Fear drove her into prayer more fervent than any she'd made since before Kat's birth. Please, whoever listens, help me! Help my daughter, my child. She's in terrible danger and there's nowhere else to turn. I don't know what else to do, except ask for your help!
Jerry was three-quarters of the way to his goal when his sneaker, wet with melted snow, squeaked on the stone floor. The noise surprised him as much as it did the praying woman. Before he could help it, he turned to see if she had heard the noise. She had, and was rising out of her pew. "Hi!" he covered frantically. "Just on my way to see the father." He smiled disarmingly. The woman said nothing, though her mouth twitched as though she were trying to speak. "So I'll just be-" The colour fled completely from her already-pale face, and she collapsed with a loud thunk on the floor. On my way, Jerry finished. Or not. That had been an awfully loud bang. Had she hit her head? Or had some kind of attack? He couldn't call for paramedics; they'd need to know his business in the church at that hour. Especially with Thompson's martial law still in effect. No, he'd have to bring her down to Augur's, and check her out down there. He picked her up and carried her to the elevator.
***
"Okay, so it's a cartoon, about four kids, only one of them gets killed in every episode, and then they made a musical movie?" Augur kept his head bent over the console to hide his snickering. Liam had been playing Emma for close to half an hour now, making her explain, over and over, why a late nineties television show was still so relevant and funny today. She'd even tried to sing one of the songs, but had lost the tune in hopeless laughter.
"Augur," Holo-Lili appeared, wearing shorts and a Mickey Mouse tee-shirt. "Jerry is bringing in someone without clearance." Liam and Emma were beside him in a heartbeat.
"Visual?" The hologram's data stream shifted images to show Jerry carrying a woman's body. "Anybody recognize her?" Augur asked. The other two shook their heads.
"Is she…?" Emma questioned.
"I'm monitoring vital signs; she's unconscious, dear," Holo-Lili reassured.
Any further discussion was curtailed by the opening of the elevator doors. Jerry hurried out, turning in the direction of Augur's medical equipment. "Sorry, Liam," he called. "She was in the church when I got there. Fainted when she saw me. Still unconscious. Need to check her out." Liam, Augur and Emma trailed behind like a bemused string of ducklings.
"I didn't realize you were that good looking," commented Emma sharply as Jerry laid the unconscious woman on the bed where Jarod had laid Doors just six weeks ago.
"Huh?" grunted the young Pretender as he activated the bed's monitoring system. "Okay, let's run the basic scans first…looks good." His fingers gently examined her skull. "She made quite a thunk when she went down, but I don't think she'll have anything worse that a bruise." He tapped the controls a second time. "And the more in-depth scan is showing … also nothing." Jerry sighed with relief.
"What happened?" asked Liam.
"Like I said, she was in the church when I got there. I was trying to sneak across, she saw me, she fainted."
"Why bring her here?" demanded Augur.
"Couldn't call the authorities. 'S the wrong kind of attention for us." Jerry looked down at the woman's face. She was no longer young, though her hair was still blonde. From the feel it was natural, rather than colouring. She looked like, well, like somebody's mom. Somebody's mom who'd been praying so hard she was willing to ignore the curfew. Which meant…"And I think she needs help," he continued. Under his hand, she stirred. "Well, gotta go," he said.
"You're not staying?" Liam couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.
"Gotta meet Julia. Plus, the less she knows about the rest of us, the better. You're supposed to be the big man of the Resistance. Better that you handle it." Jerry continued backing out of the room. "Bye!"
"Do you ever get the feeling he's not one hundred per cent reliable?" Augur asked of no one in particular. The woman on the bed groaned softly.
"He's right about one thing, though. Augur, you might as well go, you too, Emma." Neither one moved. "She doesn't need to see all of us." Their uninvited guest lifted her hand to her head. Emma was beside her in an instant.
"Where am I?" she asked. Emma smiled at the pure predictability of human behavior.
"Don't worry," she soothed. "You're safe." The woman had a slight accent – European, perhaps.
"Is this … are you the Resistance?" She struggled to sit up.
"We are," Liam answered.
"Thank God," she replied. "Please, you have to help me. I, I don't have anywhere else to turn; there's no one else to help me. My daughter…she's been taken by the Taelons…we have to save her…"
"We'll do what we can," promised Liam.
"But please, let's start at the beginning. Who are you and who is your daughter?" Emma asked with gentle concern.
"My name is Stephanie, Stephanie Reidbrecht. My daughter is Katerina. Please, she's only fifteen!" Stephanie looked from Emma to Liam to Augur, and began to hope.
***
Taelon Mothership
Dec. 21, early morning
The screen blurred in front of Sandoval's weary eyes. He forced himself to focus on the latest group of transcriptions. Lois Lane has rejoined Superman; the old fox isn't ready to come out of the den. He didn't need to check the designation to know whose it was; he'd had a strong feeling about this one from the moment she'd been arrested. His hands poised over the control panel, he was ready to enter a string of commands when his CVI-enhanced hearing separated out the sound of approaching footsteps from the general background noise of the ship. He hit the delete key instead as Zo'or entered, a young woman beside him.
"Agent Sandoval, permit me to introduce you to your new colleague, Katerina Reidbrecht. Kat, Ronald Sandoval, my attaché." Zo'or made an expansive gesture from one to the other. "Kat will be assisting you in your investigations into the Resistance."
Sandoval looked over the new arrival. She was young, probably no more than eighteen, with wavy auburn hair worn loose around her shoulders and deep brown eyes. "Zo'or, I do not require assistance at this time. And I shouldn't need to remind you of the security risks inherent in trusting this work to a non-Implant."
"You are wrong on both points, Sandoval," the Synod Leader retorted. "You have had six weeks in which to apprehend the leaders of the Resistance, and instead those members we had captured were liberated by, as you suppose, Kincaid and his allies. Furthermore, Ms. Reidbrecht is not a security risk. She is a full Implant, like yourself. Therefore you may explain yourself to her without fear. She has, naturally, my complete trust."
"May I ask how your work is proceeding, Agent Sandoval?"
"I have been reviewing transcripts from Project Coyote." Kat's expression remained bland. "In the initial weeks of the state of emergency, certain individuals, suspected of being in the Resistance, were involuntarily implanted with a lesser form of CVI. The main function of the implant was to enhance the subject's memory; a secondary motivational imperative requires the subject to report to us when the opportunity presents itself."
"How many people are involved?"
Sandoval closed his eyes briefly as he visualized the numbers. "Nine hundred and eighty-three individuals were implanted, although less than half have made their reports."
"And the results?"
"As yet, there has been no information which would lead us to the core of the Resistance. Several cells have been eliminated, however, and their moles released to reintegrate themselves with new cells." A quiet alarm sounded from the console. Sandoval pulled out his pocket watch, confirming the time. "If you will excuse me, Zo'or, we have tracked another cell; the raid will begin shortly. I should be there."
"By all means, Agent Sandoval. Perhaps Katerina can take over here where you have left off?"
Sandoval blinked, a blank expression asserting itself on his face. "As you wish, Zo'or," he answered. "Ms. Reidbrecht."
Kat observed the departing Sandoval with scorn. "You know that he's lying to you, don't you?" she said once the Implant was out of earshot.
Zo'or directed an amused glance at his new implant. "I had suspected as much," he stated dryly. "But your confirmation does reassure me. How do you know?"
The young woman looked confused for a brief moment. "I don't know," she finally answered. "It's not really one thing. It's more of a feeling, a sensation, almost … a taste?"
"A taste," repeated Zo'or. These humans were a constant bundle of surprises. "Agent Sandoval should not be able to lie to me, should he?"
"No. The motivational imperative prevents such behavior." Kat's eyes went wide with shock. "His MI is failing! Zo'or, this represents a significant security risk!"
"Or an opportunity for research. Agent Sandoval has been implanted the longest of any human currently serving us. That is why I have assigned you to work with him, Kat. I would like to know exactly what it is that Agent Sandoval is keeping from me."
"He deleted something just as we entered, Zo'or," Kat's demeanor was back to proper implant behavior.
"Then I suggest, Ms. Reidbrecht, that you recover whatever it was." Zo'or allowed himself a smile as the young woman seated herself at Sandoval's desk and began to reconstruct the destroyed data. Kincaid might have released his prisoners, Da'an might have escaped assassination, Weston might have prevented his forced sharing, but in the end, it wouldn't matter. He would reign over Terrans and Taelons, would defeat the Jaridians, and return his people to their rightful place in the galaxy. It was all just a matter of time.
TO BE CONTINUED