James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended (and would really be sorta whacked, given some of the events and persons depicted herein).
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Author's Note: Just a few words to explain the delay in getting the second chapter up. First and foremost, my muse is fickle and only appears when she wants. Thus, inspiration has been in short supply. Second, having a job really cuts into spare writing time. Third, I've actually been trying to get a novel started. Fourth (and finally), there are a few minor plot problems down the road (around Chapter 10) which have made me rethink some of the earlier set-up chapters. So, in short, updates won't be too quick, but I'll do my damnedest to make sure they're as high quality as possible.
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II – A House Divided"So?" Alec asked again, displaying, as usual, the patience of a five-year old on Christmas Eve. Max was beginning to find it irritating, despite the fact that she was fast becoming used to her lieutenant's idiosyncrasies.
"I'm not done yet," she told him once more.
"An ordinary could have read the whole thing by now," Alec replied with a gesture to the pages in Max's hands. "Twice."
"I'm reading it very carefully," she explained. "I want to make sure he says everything we need to have said; but he's got to do it calmly, rationally. Especially since the world is now facing the possibility of another nuclear war in the Middle East."
"I thought the speech was great."
"Yep," Max agreed, finally looking up. "So do I." She put the pages on the battered desk in front of her and thought through the words again. She knew McElroy's speech would be monumental, and its importance was evident in all of the preparation that had been put into it. Because of the fear of the Familiars finding out what they were up to, they had to limit exposure of McElroy's staff to the true topic of the speech. As far as McElroy's people were concerned, the senator planned to make public his intent to run for president. They also knew that McElroy was going to press for clemency for the transgenics, a potentially disastrous position that could end McElroy's career, or potentially his life, in a matter of seconds. No one other than McElroy and Max's inner circle knew that the senator would go public with most of their information regarding the Familiars.
"So is it time to celebrate?" Alec asked. "Am I at least allowed to smile again?"
"No celebrations until this is all over," Max muttered in reply.
"Have it your way," Alec retorted. "But I expect a smile from you." He looked at her with a mock stern face, and Max couldn't help but crack a small grin. "See, wasn't that easy? Didn't that make you feel better?"
"Maybe," Max answered. "But you'll never know." Despite the stress that continued to gnaw at her, Max's grin grew into a toothy smile that produced a small chuckle from Alec.
"Okay, that's enough," he reprimanded jokingly. "God forbid anyone walk in here and come to the erroneous conclusion that you're not developing an ulcer."
"Do you take anything seriously?" Max asked, her mirth vanishing in an instant.
"Of course I do," Alec assured her. "I just don't think they're most of the things you take seriously. That's what makes me the ideal person for you to talk to. I'm never going to panic you by pointing out all the things that could still go wrong, or burden you with new things you hadn't thought of, or --"
"-- Or run off in the middle of the night to have a few drinks and hook up with a stripper?" Max asked. The shocked look that appeared on Alec's face brought her grin back instantly.
"Okay, I might do that," he said cautiously, once he seemed relatively certain that she was only joking.
"I'd prefer you didn't," Max returned, once again serious. "But if you do, try to make sure you don't stay out too long."
"I have a curfew?"
"Yes, I expect you home by dawn," Max said. "And you'd better call in advance if you think you're gonna be late." Again the smile, despite the fact that in the back of her head she knew she was still completely overwhelmed by the situation.
"God, you're worse than having parents," Alec griped.
"And you're worse than most high school-aged boys," Max countered.
"How ever did we get ourselves into this?" Alec wondered aloud.
"Dunno," Max admitted. "But we're gonna get out of it. Somehow."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely," Max assured him, knowing that if she couldn't even convince her own right-hand man, she had no chance with anyone else. "All we need is a little time."
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"Sir?" Brin asked from the doorway to Zack's office. Zack looked up from the papers spread out on the desk before him. To most casual bystanders it would appear as if he'd simply strewn the information around haphazardly. This impression couldn't be farther from the truth. Zack's system of organization, as unintelligible as it was to anyone other than him, perfectly suited his needs.
"What is it?" Zack muttered, obviously displeased with the interruption. He once again started giving serious thought to changing the open-door policy he shared with his second-in-command.
"I just finished looking over the mission briefing."
"And?"
"And I'm not sure I understand," Brin admitted. "It seems like you want us to destroy the building."
"I do," Zack told her. He was disappointed with Brin's apparent unease with her orders. But then again, she spent half her life away from Manticore, he reminded himself. Lydecker and Renfro did a great job of brainwashing her back into the program, but the longer she spends back out here, the more she slowly begins to resemble the woman she was when her aging disorder forced her to go back. He fought to conceal his disappointment. Zack knew that being on the outside had allowed Brin to develop a certain inconvenient conscience. This was something from which his other soldiers – all raised within the completely amoral world of Manticore – were mercilessly free. He knew no one else would question his orders on their next target.
"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Brin said.
"Why not?" Zack wondered.
"There're a lot of innocent people who'll be killed," Brin explained.
"There are no innocents," Zack countered, hoping he could get Brin to understand.
"You want us to blow up a residential high-rise," Brin said, a tinge of disgust in her voice. "There are over three-hundred people living there. Women. Children. Families."
"Along with three Familiar priestesses," Zack pointed out.
"So let's just assemble a strike team to go in and take out the priestesses," Brin suggested. "Why kill hundreds of people who are completely uninvolved?"
"Collateral damage," Zack muttered.
"Collateral damage?" Brin asked incredulously. "Are you serious? This is completely unnecessary."
"You're wrong," Zack stated evenly, locking his gaze onto his lieutenant's, searching for the slightest sign that Brin was considering betraying him because of his most recent decision. He knew morals were incredibly inconvenient and unpredictable, and that there would be a point beyond which Brin simply would not go. He hoped he'd not yet reached that point. There's still so much to be done, he knew, and I need Brin to be by my side.
"How am I wrong?" Brin asked, daring Zack to justify his orders. He eagerly rose to the challenge, knowing that explaining himself this time would likely lead Brin to give him the benefit of the doubt next time, when the stakes would almost certainly be even higher . . . and that much harder to rationalize.
"We know that a holding company owned by our enemies has a lease on the entire eleventh floor," Zack said. "Our intelligence also tells us that the Familiars are using the eleventh floor as a training facility. Just eliminating the three permanent residents isn't enough. We have to destroy this asset, cut away at their facilities."
"If we kill the priestesses we'll be sending a message that we know about this location," Brin countered. "They're not going to return to a compromised safe house."
"No, they probably won't," Zack agreed. "And if that were the end of the story I'd be tempted to agree with your analysis of the situation. Unfortunately, killing the priestesses will simply force our enemies to relocate somewhere else. Next time they might set up shop next to an orphanage. Or in a hospital. Or in an old hangar by the airport. Do you understand?"
"I think so," Brin muttered.
"An analysis of the strike you suggest could indicate that we're unwilling to involve 'innocents,' as you call them," Zack explained. "If that's the case, our enemies might begin to surround themselves with more 'innocents' as human shields. We have an opportunity to prevent that, right here, right now. Sure, a few hundred people will die. Women, children, families. But we'll send a message to our enemies that locating their facilities around neutral parties is not a deterrent. We have to convince the Familiars that we see anyone used as a human shield to be no better than a collaborator. A few hundred dead now might mean a few thousand spared later."
"I don't know if I can agree with that," Brin said in a whisper.
"You don't have to," Zack responded. "You only have to obey your orders. You only have to trust that I'm right, that in the long run this is for the best."
"And if I can't do that?"
"Then tell me now," Zack said simply. "If you can't do this, I'll take you off the team and find you something else to do, something less morally ambiguous."
"No, I can do it," Brin suddenly assured him. "I don't agree with your decision, sir, but like you said – it's not for me to agree, it's for me to do. All we have is discipline. You can trust me not to disobey your orders."
"Good," Zack replied, suppressing the urge to thank his lieutenant, reminding himself that it wasn't appropriate to thank her. She's a soldier, he told himself. She's required to follow her orders, whether she likes them or not.
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"General Kilroy," a woman's voice said from the other end of the line.
"It's just Kilroy," Logan corrected immediately. "Who is this?"
"My name's Tia," the woman answered. "Set asked me to call in with some relevant intel."
"Where exactly is he?" Logan asked. "Have you heard from him? Is he okay?" His lieutenant had been gone for days with no explanation. At first Logan had simply assumed that Set was temporarily out of reach as he got in touch with one of his mysterious contacts. As twenty-four hours grew into forty-eight, and then seventy-two, and finally ninety-six, Logan had permitted himself to grow concerned. Even Syl had been unable to imagine why Set would ever be so long overdue in reporting in without an excuse.
"Set is currently unable to communicate with you," Tia reported. "He expects to be out of touch for several more days, but he wanted me to say he's completely safe."
"I find that hard to believe," Logan muttered, suspecting that Set had gone on one of his little side missions. Logan knew that Set had undertaken several jobs that he never spoke about, and these covert activities made Logan suspicious of Set's motives. In the end, though, he found himself trusting Set by default. There was simply no one else with Set's contacts and experience. Not even Syl was able to fill the Slinger's crucial niche.
"Set asked me to tell you that Little Miss Muffet is still eating her curds and whey," Tia said hesitantly. "I hope that's some kind of prearranged code, because if it isn't, I think Set might have gone insane." That made Logan smile. No matter how much time they'd spent at Manticore, it seemed every single one of the transgenics had that same wry, sarcastic sense of humor.
"Yes, it's a code," Logan assured his caller. So he's probably okay, Logan concluded. "Is that all?"
"Yes, sir," Tia answered, immediately hanging up. Logan was left alone to ponder the situation.
It's all starting to spin out of control, he thought, knowing the situation would only get worse. McElroy's about to make his damned speech, bio-genetic and nuclear warfare has erupted in the Middle East, and the Familiars are likely still on the warpath. And of course, the transgenics are unable to do much of anything, since they're all divided. Zack's off on his own, waging a bloody, destructive war against the Familiars; I'm out here with Syl, one minute depicting the transgenics as peaceful, and the next minute sending out strike teams of them; and Max has a huge number of her people under siege in Terminal City, counting on a politician with undetermined motivations to get her out of the jam. Logan's reverie was suddenly interrupted by a new thought.
And what the hell am I doing with Syl, anyway? he wondered for the umpteenth time. His jaw literally dropped when he realized he was preoccupied with his personal life when he should have been concentrating on the serious problems that confronted him as Kilroy and Eyes Only.
This is crazy, he told himself. I can't keep doing this. I have to get my head screwed on straight if I'm gonna solve any of these problems. At that moment, he heard the front door close, letting him know that Syl had returned from her quick trip to the corner grocery store.
"They were out of buttermilk," she called out. "Not that that should be surprising, given the fact that we're living through an economic depression and all. I guess we can't have any biscuits with the sausage gravy tomorrow morning."
Logan strode out to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to watch Syl as she methodically placed the groceries into their proper places in the refrigerator and cabinets. It seemed to him that she was completely at home in his penthouse, that she'd been there for years. But it's only been about a month, he reminded himself. And don't you start falling for her, Logan Cale.
"Hey," she said with a smile. "Did ya hear me?"
"Yeah, I heard you," he muttered. "No buttermilk."
"They had everything else, though," she told him. "Even the cardamom seeds, as much sense as that makes. Don't know what you need them for."
"Chicken tika masala," Logan told her, though he guessed she'd have no idea what he was saying.
"Huh?"
"It's an Indian dish," he explained. "I think you'll like it."
"If you say so," she replied. "So any word from Set?"
"He had someone check in for him," Logan told her. "A woman named Tia."
"Tiamet?" Syl asked, her face suddenly going pale.
"Dunno," Logan admitted. "She just said her name was Tia. Is there a problem?"
"Umm . . . no." Logan could tell that Syl was incredibly upset just at the mention of Tia's name, though he couldn't guess why. Part of him wanted to ask, but he felt reasonably certain that it was a personal matter, and a voice in the back of his head screamed at him to make sure he didn't have any personal conversations with Syl. You have no business going there, he told himself. She's your lieutenant. She's not a friend . . . or a girlfriend . . . or even a lover. She's one of your soldiers. Don't ever forget it. You can't let yourself develop any relationships that will make it harder for you to do what you have to. And the time has almost come . . .
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"You're all done," Dix told Joshua as he stepped back to appraise his work.
"You sure?"
"Check it out," Dix answered, holding up a mirror which he used to show Joshua the tattoo that had just been inked onto the back of his neck. "What do you think?" Dix asked. "It's all zeros, just like you asked for. Means you're the first of us."
"Cool," Joshua muttered. He was suddenly struck by the fear that Max wouldn't approve of his decision to get a tattoo like all the others. But what difference does it make? he wondered silently. Like there's any chance I would be able to go unnoticed as a transgenic but for the tattoo? He almost chuckled at the thought as he stood up. "I'm more like the rest of you," he said, gazing at his fellow 'freaks.' That's what everyone thought of the more bestial transgenics; he knew that. But the same animalistic traits that had once made him feel like a freakish outcast now made him feel like he was a part of something. The tattoo only helped in that area. Now he was branded, just like the others.
"So you wanna go scare up some grub?" Dix asked merrily.
"Not now, have to take care of something," Joshua answered reluctantly, wishing he could actually go kill some time with his new friends. Unfortunately, he had a job to do, and though he wanted to keep putting it off, he knew it was something that needed to be done sooner rather than later.
"Need help?" Mole asked.
"No," Joshua said, noticing his tone was far more curt than he'd intended. "I'll see you guys later." He turned on his heel and stalked off, hoping that the man he was looking for would be alone inside the complex. He checked all of the usual places, only to come up empty. Finally, in an act born more of desperation than of inspiration, he went up to the tower and thanked his lucky stars that he finally found Alec. Alone.
Joshua took a deep breath before he started to speak, steeling his will for what he was certain would be an uncomfortable conversation. Just say it, he ordered himself.
"Hey Big Fella," Alec muttered as he looked at Joshua. In some strange way he seemed friendly, but Joshua had no idea what it was that gave him that impression. Alec looked exhausted, miserable, and pissed off. Still, though, there was something behind his eyes – far behind his eyes – that actually seemed warm. Joshua wished he couldn't see it. It would have made his task easier.
"Don't call me that," Joshua said evenly. Alec's expression reshaped into a combination of shock, confusion, and offense, and Joshua knew he had to keep talking or risk losing control of the conversation. "Only Max gets to call me that."
"Sure . . . fine," Alec muttered, turning his back on the large transgenic, seeming to find something riveting in Seattle's skyline.
"I know what you did," Joshua stated. He waited for a response, but there was nothing. No explanations. No denials. Not even the all-too-predictable question of what he had done. There was only silence. "You did something to White, didn't you?"
"How'd you know?" The question itself was simple, but Joshua was uncertain of how to answer.
"Max got that phone call," he explained. "She only told you and me where White was. She sent out a team to verify the information, but he wasn't there. There were clothes, a cell phone, a pistol, and White's wallet, but no White." Joshua stopped momentarily, knowing that this was the point where Alec would point out that the obvious conclusion was that White had gotten wind of their knowing where he was, and that he left in a hurry. Or that maybe the Familiars were toying with them, making them waste resources chasing a shadow. But Alec pointed out neither of those possibilities, nor any other. He simply continued to gaze at the sun setting along the horizon.
"What did you do?" Again, no response. Joshua began to grow irritated, and took a half-step toward the X5 he had thought he'd known so well. "I said, what did you do?" he snarled, grabbing Alec by the shoulder and whirling him around to face him, half-lifting the X5's feet off the floor with the strength of his grip. Alec didn't fight back, he didn't level his characteristic challenging stare; he simply looked at Joshua for a moment, and then shifted his gaze downward. Joshua had no idea what to make of all this. He actually found himself wishing that the conversation had devolved into an argument, or a fight. He couldn't figure how to proceed. Finally, in little more than a whisper, Alec finally spoke.
"What's she gonna do?"
"Who?" Joshua asked, not having expected that particular question.
"Max," Alec explained. "What's she gonna do?"
"Dunno," Joshua answered. "Probably nothing. I don't think she figured it out."
"Huh?"
"She thinks the Familiars were playing games, or that White got warning and eluded us at the last second," Joshua explained. "The last thing she'd think of is that one of us went out there and took care of it on our own."
"You figured it out," Alec pointed out.
"I know," Joshua admitted, "but I know what to expect from you. I was there at Manticore all those years. Not Max. She doesn't know. She doesn't want to know." Silence again. Joshua lost track of time as he and Alec just looked at each other. All he knew for certain was that by the time Alec spoke again, night had fallen.
"He's dead," Alec said. "I wouldn't have let him live, Joshua. Not after what he did. Especially to --"
"No," Joshua interrupted immediately. "Don't say her name." Annie, he thought, an ache descending upon his chest, suddenly causing him to struggle for every breath.
"I did it for her," Alec said. "And for all of our people that White killed. The son of a bitch deserved to die."
"Yeah," Joshua agreed. Again Alec seemed surprised. "Don't look at me like that," Joshua warned him. "I know I don't talk well, that I sound like a dullard, but I'm not an idiot," he warned. He'd known since Max found him that he had been seen as innocent, naïve, and maybe even a little simple. All because of the way he talked and his staggering lack of experience in social interaction. He'd accepted it for a long while, but after having spent time around his fellow freaks he'd decided the time had come to set the record straight. He'd start with Alec.
"You can't do anything like that again," Joshua warned the X5. It's not right to make those kinds of decisions on your own. Only Max should do that."
"I know," Alec assured him. "But --"
"But you thought you'd spare her the tough call?" Joshua guessed. "Or was it that you wanted to kill White, and took it upon yourself to do it, in secret, because you knew she'd never okay the decision if she was consulted?"
"Maybe both," Alec admitted. "And maybe it was just because I didn't like the son of a bitch."
"Never again," Joshua warned.
"Never again," Alec agreed. Minutes passed silently again. "You're not gonna tell her?"
"No reason to," Joshua muttered. "I'm glad he's dead. I would have done it myself if I had the chance. Why would I get you in trouble for something I would have done at the drop of a hat?"
"Thanks," Alec replied.
"Don't thank me," Joshua grumbled. "We're both wrong, you know."
"I know."
"Just promise me we'll never have to have this discussion again."
"I promise," Alec said, though for just the slightest instant Joshua was certain that he'd caught sight of something in Alec's eyes. What was it? he wondered, trying to place the look. His inexperience in the world prevented him from recognizing the expression of a condemned man headed toward the gallows.
To be continued………………………………