2015-08-21
432
Logan is forced to face his family as old issues re-surface. Meanwhile Max and Clemente's efforts to bring the siege to a peaceful end appear doomed to failure. Violence continues to escalate and Seattle is about to go up in flames...
PROLOGUE
Seattle - near Terminal City
In the dim light of the predawn, four men wearing bomber jackets emblazoned with ‘Portland Freedom Fighters' stalked the alleys near Terminal City. They had the carriage of high school football stars: clean-cut, athletic, confident. They were young enough that their glory days were not far behind them, so they roamed the alleys looking like they owned the world.
"Man, we gotta get rid of these transgenics," one of the Freedom Fighters said as he turned to his companions. "They're a threat to everything this country stands for."
"Great idea coming up here to help the cause, Joe," one of the others piped up.
"I heard they only come out at night 'cause they're too ashamed to show their faces in the light of day."
"No surprise to me, Mike, given the faces some of them have to live with. We're doing them a favor, ending their miserable lives," the fourth Freedom Fighter added.
"Just keep your eyes open, all three of you," Joe said sharply. "It's almost dawn. They'll be heading back toward Terminal City now."
They turned a corner and saw a lone figure walking briskly down the alley. He had a baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead and the collar of his jacket turned up against the cold. The Freedom Fighters nudged each other and ran down the alley, pulling chains and lead pipes out of their jackets. They quickly surrounded the man, who stopped in his tracks, eyeing them warily.
"Morning." Joe looked at the man suspiciously. "Where you headed?" he demanded, shoving his face into the man's.
"Work..." the man replied, nodding down the alley. "I start at six." His eyes darted back and forth, looking for a means of escape.
"Not heading to Terminal City, are you? Maybe you're one of those transgenics," Joe accused with unmistakable menace.
"N-n-n-no," the man stammered tremulously.
"You sure?" Joe grabbed his target's arm and twisted it behind his back.
"I'm not a transgenic, man!" the man shouted in pain and terror.
"Check for a barcode," Mike offered.
Joe shoved the man's head forward and yanked down the collar of his jacket. Mike peered at the man's neck.
"No barcode," he said, his voice beginning to reveal some doubt.
"Doesn't prove a thing," Joe snarled, yanking the man's head up by the hair. "They can laser them off anytime. I say he's a transgenic," he insisted, shoving the man into the center of their group. The Freedom Fighters closed in once again, their eyes aflame with hatred.
Just as Joe was about to land the first blow, a figure dropped onto the dumpster beside them with a loud clang. Their prey momentarily forgotten, the four Freedom Fighters turned toward the dumpster to discover a young woman with long, dark hair staring down at them.
"He's no transgenic," she nodded at their intended victim, "but I am." She slowly turned her back to them and swept her long hair away, revealing a barcode at the nape of her neck.
"Hey, you're that gir..." Mike shouted in astonishment, but was cut off as Max jumped from the dumpster into the center of the circle.
"Go," she said to the man, who just stood there, staring at her in stunned silence.
"Go!" she repeated more emphatically. The man began to back away slowly, his eyes darting from his accusers to the woman. He backpedaled more rapidly, fear and momentum driving his legs out of control and sending him sprawling onto the pavement. He hurriedly scrambled to his feet and ran for his life down the alley.
Before the man had even turned the corner, Max attacked Joe with blinding speed. She wrenched the pipe out of his hand and shoved him into Mike, sending them both sprawling. Then, without skipping a beat, she launched herself into the air with a scissor kick that landed squarely in the faces of the other two Freedom Fighters. They both hit the ground, their noses bloody and broken.
"Portland Freedom Fighters," Max spat out with disgust. "You'd better head back where you came from, because if I catch wind of you ever being in Seattle again, you'll be nursing a lot more than a couple of broken noses."
ACT I
Terminal City
Max turned and blurred down the alley. A couple of minutes later, she appeared inside the gates of Terminal City. She walked the perimeter of the grounds, exchanging ‘all clear' signals with the sentries on the rooftops. In the gray morning light, their faces were undefined, blurring the line between transgenic and transhuman. But one thing was unmistakable about all of them: their posture was listless and their eyes were dull, lifeless.
It's been 212 days since we raised Joshua's flag, and things are going from bad to worse. I don't blame Zeri and her crew for wanting to get out. All they want is a life. This siege is killing them. It's killing all of us. The guys on the roof this morning are half-dead with the monotony. Seattle has become the Mecca of every freak-hater and vigilante in this country. It's only a matter of time before some innocent fool, like that guy this morning, gets killed and the whole situation spirals out of control. All I know is we need to end this now. Easier said than done, though. I doubt the governor is prepared to drop the charges against us. Someone has to pay to prove that no one can go against the government and win. Maybe if I offer myself to Clemente, he'll work something out for the others.
Max walked into the Command Center to see the usual crew congregated around the television, listening to the latest news update on the siege.
"As dawn breaks on this, the 214th day of the standoff, the situation remains unchanged in Terminal City. The transgenics appear to be unwilling to test the strength of the National Guard and the Seattle PD. In turn, the authorities appear to be content to allow the transgenics to remain in Terminal City. The citizens of Seattle and the whole nation know that the situation cannot be allowed to remain unresolved indefinitely. Does our government have the fortitude to act to bring an end to the siege? That question remains unanswered."
"Nothing new there," the transgenics mumbled, drifting away from the set as the announcer droned on.
"In other breaking news, a verdict in favor of the plaintiff was brought down today in the landmark police-brutality case of Johnson vs. The Tacoma Police Department. This is the first case in ten years in which a police department was found to have used excessive force. We have counselor Marianne Stuart of Blakeney, Stuart and Robinson, attorney for the plaintiff, to comment on the verdict."
A woman in her late twenties appeared before the camera. Her light brown hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in a conservative business suit.
"Hang on a sec," Max said to Dix as he reached out to turn off the set. She cocked her head to the side, watching the interview with intense concentration.
"I am very gratified at the results of this case," Counselor Stuart said to the camera. "It concerns me, though, that the justice system in this country can no longer be relied upon to protect the rights of its most vulnerable citizens."
"You know her?" Dix asked with curiosity.
"Just some dilettante doing her good deed for the year," Max shrugged and turned off the set.
Governor's Office, Olympia, Washington
Governor Jane Savidge sat behind the broad expanse of her desk. Her face was a study in ambivalence, her features intense from years of fighting political battles. She smoothed back a stray strand of hair, then picked up the phone. "Alice, show him in," she said.
"Commander Clemente, how may I help you?" Governor Savidge walked around the desk and held out her hand. "You have been doing a great job of keeping the transgenic problem from getting out of hand down there in Seattle," she said with a false bonhomie.
Clemente shook the governor's hand warily. "Thank you, Governor. It's the transgenic situation I've come to talk to you about."
"Oh, in what way?" Governor Savidge arched an eyebrow, walked back around the desk and sat down. She indicated to Clemente to take a seat.
Clemente remained standing and said, "We need to end the siege. The people of Seattle are getting tired of seeing their resources used up on something this futile. It's bankrupting the city, but that's not the main reason. I..."
Savidge interrupted, "That is totally out of the question, Commander Clemente. These transgenics have committed crimes! They shot at the police; they held hostages, for God's sake! They could have killed those people at any time. One of them did kill a young girl in the sewers, and you are asking me to authorize an end to the siege?" She stood up, glaring at Clemente.
"Governor! If you will let me speak, I can make my case," Clemente replied.
"Fine, make your case," replied Savidge, clearly irritated.
"Thank you, Governor," Clemente replied dryly. "The transgenics have not committed any major crime. The charge of shooting at officers will be dropped. They were acting in self-defense. The NSA fired the first shots. I have a sworn affidavit from one Otto Gottlieb stating that his then-boss, Ames White, ordered the shooting of the transgenics." At the mention of White, the governor's eyes showed a flash of recognition.
"For some unknown reason, White bore a personal hatred for transgenic X5-452, known as Max. He wanted her dead and didn't care who died in the crossfire." Clemente stared at Savidge, his face a study in intensity.
"I've had dealings with Max. She's been trustworthy and helpful in diffusing any situation that has come up. I respect her and what she's done.
"This whole situation was started by road rage and compounded by some overzealous sector cops. If you want proof, I will get you more proof. But I will tell you that if you allow this to continue, blood will be shed and it won't be the transgenics that spill it. I do not want that to happen."
Governor Savidge looked up at Clemente. "Well, you certainly are passionate about this, Commander. Do you have any understanding of the situation on a larger scale?" Savidge replied sarcastically. "You think I have perfect control over this state? I may command the military now, but the National Government can supercede us anytime. The Feds went into Oklahoma City. That state is now under federal control. There are rumors going around that California is thinking about seceding. The Feds will be there next. That is not going to happen in Washington. Do you understand me? I want Washington to stay out of federal hands. I am not ending the siege until I see some arrests. Period."
"But ma'am..." Clemente sputtered.
"I think this meeting is done," Savidge replied.
She pushed the intercom button. "Alice, will you escort the Commander out? What is my next meeting?" She dismissed Clemente with a wave of her hand.
Clemente turned on his heel and walked brusquely from the room, his fury barely contained.
Savidge looked at the retreating form of Clemente. She picked up a photograph of her daughter and sighed.
Logan's Quarters, Terminal City
Logan paced, lost in thought. He turned to go into the panic room when the pain hit him. Crumpling to his knees, he frantically tried to turn off the exoskeleton as the spasms in his back hit him hard. He managed to get the exo turned off and fell completely to the ground, groaning as the spasms came in waves.
He looked back at the door in fear, but hearing no one, he sat for a moment, then tentatively turned the exo on and braced himself for another spasm. When it didn't come, he sighed deeply and got up. He grabbed the bottle of pain pills that he kept with him, swallowed a couple and walked painfully into the panic room.
Logan sat down at his computer, grabbed a pencil and began tapping impatiently. A face appeared on the screen. "Logan, what can I help you with?" Sebastian's synthesized voice came over the speakers.
"Hey, Sebastian, I was...ah...wondering if you had found anything for me yet?" Logan asked.
"I am sorry, Logan. It looks like your best option is in New Mexico. There are two other places doing this work: one in Berlin, the other in Tokyo."
Logan put his hand on his head. "Okay, thanks for checking into it." His disappointment was palpable.
"Logan, I will continue looking. There has to be a treatment closer."
"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Sebastian..." Logan reached out to break the connection.
"One more thing – I've heard a rumor that there's been stemcell-enriched blood showing up in the blood banks. There have been a couple of miraculous recoveries similar to yours. No indication of the source, though."
"Interesting...I'll check into it," Logan replied, furrowing his brow.
"I'll keep you posted," Sebastian's mechanical voice responded. "And, Logan..."
"Yeah?"
"Take care of yourself."
Logan picked up his cell phone and dialed Beverly Shankar's number. He began pacing again, impatient at how long it took her to answer the phone. "Bev, hey, it's Logan...no, I'm fine...I need to ask you a question. Have you had any cases of people with weird symptoms...like amazing cures...like mine? Have there been any problems with blood or blood transfusions?"
"No, I haven't heard anything, Logan. Is something happening?" asked Beverly.
"Just a rumor so far, but I thought I'd better check into it. Will you check the hospital records for similar cases and look into the blood bank records to see where the blood is coming from?"
"Of course, Logan, anything to help," she said quickly, then continued hesitantly, "Logan...is this personal or for Eyes Only?"
Logan stopped pacing, took the phone from his ear and looked at it as if it were going to bite him. He put the phone back to his ear and replied coolly, "This is for Eyes Only. I'll get back with you later." He abruptly cut the connection.
Sitting down at his computer, he grimaced with pain again. Then, in a cold fury, he kicked the trashcan across the room.
Command Trailer, Outside the Gates of Terminal City
Clemente stormed into the Command Trailer, slamming the door behind him and causing the precariously balanced files on the desk beside the door to tumble to the floor.
"Commander?" Matt Sung looked up from his paperwork in surprise.
Clemente walked past Sung, completely ignoring him. He paused for a moment at the door of the tiny cubicle that masqueraded as his office. "Of all the intractable..." he said softly to himself, then opened the door and walked in, slamming it behind him and sending another flurry of documents to the floor. A minute later he opened the door and turned to Matt Sung.
"I don't care what you have to do, I want Max on the phone in five minutes," he commanded.
"Regarding?" Matt Sung asked.
"Just do it, Detective!" Clemente shouted, before sighing with resignation. "Five minutes," he added quietly, then disappeared into his office.
Command Center, Terminal City
"We need to establish external patrols." Max paced back and forth in the Command Center, then turned to address Luke, Mole and Logan, who were seated at the command console. "If this trend continues, innocent people are going to get hurt."
"So let them," Mole drawled, chomping on his ever-present stogie.
"Not on my watch," Max challenged. "I'm not letting anyone get killed because of mistaken identity."
"Mistaken identity, my ass," Mole scoffed. "The chimps can't tell the difference between one of their own and one of us. What's it to us if those idiot ordinaries want to kill each other? One less ordinary will make my world a better place."
"That's just great, Mole..." Logan eyed him angrily.
Suddenly Luke, who had been monitoring communications, rolled over to Max and handed her a headset, mouthing one word. "Clemente."
Max gave Logan a worried look as she slipped on the headset, turning her back to the others.
"Commander, you'd better be calling to tell me you've worked something out with the governor, because you're not gonna like what some of your concerned citizens have been up to..." Max began, but suddenly fell silent. She listened intensely for a few minutes, then voiced a soft "I'm sorry, too." She ripped off the headset and stormed out of the Command Center without looking at the others.
"What was that about?" Logan followed her out of the Command Center. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him.
"The governor wants arrests. That's the only way the siege will end," Max said quietly, suddenly completely deflated. She brushed Logan's arm aside and continued down the corridor.
Logan took a step to follow her, then suddenly stopped, his whole body tensing up.
He placed a hand against the wall for support and reached the other around to massage his back.
"Not now, not now," he mouthed silently to himself, closing his eyes. A moment later his body visibly relaxed, the spasm passing as quickly as it had appeared. He breathed a sigh of relief, then quickly headed down the hallway after Max.
"We'll explore other options, Max," Logan said, catching up to her. "Whatever it takes."
"Well, I'm just not seeing a lot of options right now," Max replied in frustration. "What's Eyes Only's brilliant plan?"
"Give me a couple of hours. Let me see what I come up with." Logan met her gaze.
"I am curious about one thing," Max asked. "Where did Bennett meet his wife?"
Logan looked up, startled. "Some charity fundraiser, I think." His eyes searched Max's questioningly.
"What does she do for a living?"
"Accountant? Lawyer?" Logan shrugged.
"Don't you make it your business to know?" Max challenged him.
"It didn't come up."
"What if I told you she's the Stuart in the legal firm Blakeney, Stuart and Robinson? Would that ring a bell?" Max asked, irritated.
"Where are you going with this, Max?" Logan asked, mirroring her irritation as a grimace of pain momentarily flashed across his face. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"What if I also told you she does some civil-rights work on the side?"
"So?" Logan asked impatiently, his eyes darting down the hallway.
"She just won a landmark case. It was all over the news."
"Ah..." Logan nodded in understanding.
"I think you should go talk to your cousin," Max said sharply.
"You're not my CO, Max. Don't give me orders."
Max glared at Logan. She opened her mouth to reply, then paused to look at him more closely. "You look tired. You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You should get some sleep. You look like hell," Max said, concern replacing the irritation in her voice.
"Sure thing, Mom."
"Think you can give Bennett a call?" Max asked again.
"Max...you know I can't just..." Logan began to protest.
"Whatever it takes, Logan," Max softly challenged.
"Yeah," Logan sighed. "I've got your back."
"Sometimes I'm not too sure about that." Max stared at Logan sadly. "I thought you'd be coming to me with this information. You have a civil-rights lawyer in your family and you don't even bother to know it. I'm not sure where your head's at lately."
"I've had a lot on my mind," Logan answered, his eyes darting down the hallway again.
"Do you need to be somewhere?" Max asked.
"I've got something to take care of," Logan answered, distracted.
"Look, you don't have to do this. Maybe you've had enough of me and my transgenic drama."
"You know I'm with you on this, Max," Logan said, instantly serious. "Why would you say that?"
Max shrugged. "Since you got set up in that room of yours, it seems like you'd rather spend your time doing your own thing."
Logan reached out a hand and caressed Max's cheek. "I'd rather spend time with you."
Max closed her eyes, her face softening at Logan's touch. She smiled softly.
"How about we..." She opened her eyes, only to see the harried look return to Logan's face.
"I'm sorry. I've got to go do this thing," Logan said, pulling his hand away. He turned and walked away, striding rapidly down the corridor.
Max stared after him, her face a mask of disappointment and confusion.
Infirmary, Terminal City
Logan made his way toward the infirmary, occasionally looking around to see if anyone was watching. His gait seemed normal except for the whining of the exoskeleton. No one noticed the slight sheen of sweat on his face. Fortunately, the residents of Terminal City were preoccupied with their own thoughts and they mostly ignored him. As he turned the corner to the building that held the infirmary, he looked around one more time. Satisfied he hadn't been followed, he walked to the infirmary door and went in after a moment's hesitation.
"Hey, Aveta," Logan said tiredly.
"Logan, you look like hell. Here, let me help you." Aveta gently guided Logan to a treatment room. Logan turned off the exo and gratefully collapsed onto the examination table.
"I'll give you a minute to get that thing off," Aveta said, heading back out the door.
Logan nodded. He undressed, took off the exo and sat painfully down on the table.
"Is it the pain or the returning paralysis?" Aveta asked quietly as she walked back in the room.
Logan looked up at Aveta, surprised. "How did you know?"
"Logan, I've been aware of the paralysis returning for a long time. I know things...I was bred to know things, and trained since birth to recognize the slightest change in an individual. How could I not know?" Aveta replied softly.
"Beverly Shankar gave me Sam Carr's phone number and I have spoken to him several times about medical issues here. He knew you would eventually need my help and clued me in to what I was in for with you as a patient. You are even more stubborn than he said. I expected you to come to me several weeks ago." Aveta smiled slightly.
"Sam had no right! It wasn't his information to share." Logan struggled to stand.
"Listen to me. Sam gave me the information because he was worried about you! He knew you wouldn't be able to get to him regularly, so when I offered to surrogate for him, he agreed. So just sit there and don't get pissy on me. Okay?" Aveta pushed Logan back down on the table. "Now tell me what is happening."
Logan glared at Aveta for a moment, then began to talk. "Lately, every time I turn on the exoskeleton I get intense spasms and burning pain in my legs." Logan looked away from Aveta.
"Logan," Aveta said gently. "The spasms are because you are using the exoskeleton."
"Why?" began Logan.
"Let me explain. As your spinal nerves are disintegrating, the nerve impulses are becoming erratic. The exoskeleton is picking up the erratic signals from your spinal cord. That is why you are having increased muscle spasms and pain. Why are you doing this, Logan?"
"Without it I'd be pretty ineffectual. Terminal City isn't exactly the most accessible environment. Can you help me or am I wasting my time?" he retorted in frustration.
"I'll help you," Aveta looked at him intensely.
"You won't tell Max. This is between you and me, no one else," Logan said with determination.
"I won't," Aveta said simply. "Take off your shirt and roll over onto your stomach. What I'm going to do is some acupuncture to reduce your pain."
"Doesn't acupuncture require needles?" Logan said, his voice muffled by the pillow."
"It won't hurt, Logan, trust me." Aveta quickly and efficiently placed the acupuncture needles, then began moving her hands gently across Logan's back. He visibly began to relax under her touch. In about five minutes he was asleep. Aveta smiled. She removed the needles, covered him with a blanket and left the room.
Aveta walked back into the infirmary to find Max sitting on a gurney.
"Max, how may I help you? Is there something wrong?" Aveta asked cautiously.
"No, nothing with me. Listen, I just saw Logan come in here. What's he doing still in there?" Max nodded toward the treatment room. "He sick or something?"
"That's practitioner-patient privilege," Aveta replied, blocking Max's probe.
"You weren't too concerned about practitioner-patient privilege when he nearly died. So wassup now?" Max countered.
"You were directly involved in his illness then. I needed to know and so did you." Aveta sat at her desk and folded her arms in front of her.
"Look, let's stop playing games here," Max replied intensely. She walked over, put her hands on Aveta's desk and stared down at the other woman. "I want to know what Logan came here for."
Aveta pushed herself back from the desk and stood up, facing Max. "Commander, I don't intimidate easily. I do what is best for my patient, regardless of what anyone else thinks or does. If you really want to know what is wrong with Logan, look at him. He's exhausted. He's been in Terminal City for over six months and it's catching up to him. He was so tired when he came here that he fell asleep on my examination table. And you are not going to wake him up..." Aveta eyed Max threateningly.
"I won't...I never...thought," Max said.
"Correct, Commander. You didn't think. You have to remember Logan is a human. He may have had some transgenic blood transfusions, but he is totally human. He has been trying to keep up with all the transgenics here. He gets very little sleep. He's been working day and night trying to get the siege lifted...He's tired, Max...dog-tired. He never gives himself a break.
"He came to me to see if I could give him something to help him keep going. He's trying to keep up because of you, Commander, and he can't. He's not made that way."
"I'm sorry...we've all been so busy. I haven't paid enough attention." Max sat in a chair, her shoulders slumped.
"Max...Logan didn't want you to know...He wants to help end the siege and then sleep for about three days...Don't push him...He's pretty strung out right now." Aveta looked at Max, her eyes hiding the pain of the lie she was helping to preserve.
Max looked up at Aveta. "Okay, I won't push him, but I'll see that he gets some rest. Sorry about the intimidation thing," she smiled.
"No problem, Max. I've been intimidated by the best. You don't hold a candle to them."
"Wow, must have been some hard-asses. Who were they?" Max asked curiously.
"Doctors," Aveta said and winked at Max.
Max grinned and left the infirmary.
Aveta sat heavily in her chair and held her head in her hands. An hour later she walked back into the treatment room.
"Logan, wake up," Aveta said, gently touching his shoulder.
He awakened with a start, looked around confusedly, then remembered where he was. He turned over and sat up. "Thanks, Aveta, that helped...a lot."
"One more thing, Logan. Sam Carr sent this over to me to use on you when the pain became bad. I think you need it."
"What is it?" he asked, slightly suspicious.
"It's a Fentanyl patch. It's about 100 times stronger than morphine. It delivers a very small dose of medication constantly for three days. I'm going to put one on your shoulder right now. In three days, you come back to me and I'll change it for you."
"Why can't I just take them with me?" Logan asked, knowing the answer.
"Because this way I get to see you at least every three days, whether you want to come or not. If you don't come back to see me, I'll send out Dix or Luke after you, got it?"
"I got it...I'll be baaaack," he said ruefully.
"One last thing, Logan...try to stay out of the exoskeleton as much as possible."
Logan frowned. "I'll think about it." He put the exo back on, bracing himself for pain that didn't come. Then he dressed and walked out the door, heading back to his room. He never saw Max, who was waiting around the other corner.
Jam Pony X-Press, Seattle
Sketchy rolled into Jam Pony, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, people, check it out! You are looking at a paid writer for The New World Weekly." He held out the paper with his byline, "Interview With a Transgenic." Sky, Original Cindy and Pam came crowding around Sketchy.
"Let me see that." Original Cindy grabbed the paper out of Sketchy's hand. "Sugah, you are in some deep doo-doo when Max sees this. She is going to put a smackdown on your ass."
"It wasn't Max, for your information," replied Sketchy smugly. "It was another transgenic."
"It wasn't pretty boy, was it?" Original Cindy guessed.
"No, it wasn't Alec. I have more integrity than to use my friends for mere profit."
"Since when?" snorted Sky.
"Anyway, who is this transgenic you interviewed? Spill or I'll put a smackdown on your sorry ass myself." Original Cindy crossed her arms, shifted her weight onto one leg and looked hard at Sketchy.
Sketchy began to squirm under Cindy's gaze. "Well, It wasn't exactly a single person...it was more like a group. And I did talk to Tony; I got a lot from Tony."
"You were eavesdropping! This ain't no interview, it's a peep show for your ears. Sugah, that is low. Tony is eight years old. Like he's got a lot of information about the world for you." Cindy rolled her eyes in amazement. "I thought you were supposed to be doing investigative journalism."
"I am, but I really needed new tires for my bike. You have to have wheels to investigate. I am merely providing a means for my further forays into journalism," Sketchy intoned.
"Whatevah," Original Cindy replied.
"Hey, I heard about some new juice out on the street. Heard it's supposed to rev you up big time. Going to check it out tonight. Probably bogus, but could make some good copy."
"Whatever you gotta do, Wigga. You're buying tonight at Crash, got that?"
"Ah, excuse me, is this the 9 A.M. breakfast break or the mid-morning coffee klatch? There are so many of them, they all run together. If you haven't noticed, packages need to be delivered. Bip bip, move." Normal began tossing packages to his riders and shooing them out of the building.
Cale Industries Head Office, Seattle
The vast expanse of the Cale Industries Executive Suite stood barren, except for a utilitarian desk and a few chairs placed in one corner of the room. The rich mahogany walls were the only sign of the company's former wealth. Bennett Cale sat at the desk, his head buried in a file.
"Nancy, can you get me the Microcorp contracts?" he asked, not bothering to look up when his office door opened quietly.
"Hello, Bennett."
He looked up in surprise when Logan's voice greeted him.
"Logan."
"How've you been?" Logan asked tentatively.
"Trying to keep our heads above water. I managed to convince the Feds to let me run the company. Took months to get it back, though. In the meantime, we lost half our clients and staff."
"I'm sorry," Logan said softly.
"Life in post-Pulse America. The Cales aren't immune," Bennett replied matter-of-factly. "How about you?"
"I..." Logan began, only to be cut off.
"Let me guess. You're doing great." A note of cynicism entered Bennett's voice. "I didn't hear from you for months. Then I had to find out from your neighbor that your place had been shot up. I thought you were dead, only to see you on TV, shooting it out with the cops like some kind of superhero. Didn't you trust me enough to make a phone call and let me know you were alive?"
Logan winced. "The circumstances weren't conducive..."
"Well, you're here now," Bennett said. "So what's with the superhero tricks?"
"I picked up a government-surplus exoskeleton a while back," Logan said. "It helps me get around."
"I'd say it does a lot more than that!" Bennett added with an admiring laugh.
"It's not everything it's cracked up to be," Logan said quietly, wincing again. "Mind if I sit down?"
"What does that mean?" Bennett asked, waving him to a chair.
"Everything has its price," Logan said, looking away.
"I still don't understand why you couldn't afford the price of a phone call to let your family know you were okay."
"I'm sorry. I thought it would be better if you didn't know anything. I was just trying to protect..."
"Who? Yourself?" Bennett challenged. He looked at Logan sadly. "We're all adults, Logan. We don't need that kind of protection."
Logan just looked at him.
"So why are you here?" Bennett asked.
"I need your help," Logan said softly.
"Are you sure you trust me?" Bennett stared at Logan.
"Yes," Logan answered, meeting his gaze.
"What can I do?"
"We've been trying to negotiate an end to the standoff at Terminal City. Perhaps Marianne could help us develop a civil-rights approach and come up with some legal arguments."
"Okay. I'll talk to Marianne. We'll get back to you." Bennett picked up a file from his desk. "If you don't mind, I've got a lot of work to do..."
Logan nodded and walked to the door.
"Logan." Bennett's voice caused him to look back.
"I'm glad you came by." Bennett smiled softly.
"I am, too." Logan returned the smile and walked out the door.
ACT II
Atrium Courtyard, Terminal City
Max stood on the roof of the Command Center, watching as Logan paced back and forth in the atrium courtyard with his cell phone to his ear.
"I'll get back to you," he said with a concerned frown, then walked over to one of the benches and sat down.
Max scaled down a drainpipe and walked up behind Logan.
"Couldn't be two ‘world is coming to an end' phone calls in one day," Max called out, causing Logan to jump.
"That was Bennett," Logan said pensively. "Marianne thinks she can develop a strong case for us..."
"And?" Max prompted.
"Bennett asked me to come by the house tonight," Logan said with obvious discomfort. "Margo wants to see me."
"So do it," Max said with a shrug.
"I don't exactly fit in there," Logan argued, standing up awkwardly.
"Why? Don't you have anything appropriate to wear?" Max grinned mischievously. "Because I know this store downtown..."
Logan gave her a small smile. "You know my family, Max," he sighed with exasperation.
Max looked at him sadly. "Logan, if I had an opportunity to spend time with my family, I would take it."
"Yeah," Logan answered, pacing uncomfortably. He stopped and placed his hands on the small of his back, stretching awkwardly.
"You okay?" Max asked, instantly concerned.
"Tired," Logan admitted. "Look, Max. They want you to come too."
"What?" Max asked, startled. "Is it ‘invite your local freak' night? Maybe have a little transgenic show-and-tell?"
"As in, ‘This is my girlfriend, Max, the genetically-enhanced killing machine'?" Logan grinned.
"Wouldn't it be better if I just met with Marianne in some office?" Max answered, still reluctant.
"I'd like you to come with me, Max," Logan said softly, meeting her eyes.
"Whatever," Max shrugged.
"Whatever it takes. Right, Max?" Logan prodded, a smile on his face.
"Yeah, whatever it takes," Max answered, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I'll be there."
"Thanks," Logan said sincerely, then turned away. "I'd better go get myself together."
Max climbed back up the drainpipe to the roof, then stood there watching Logan walk away.
Command Center, Terminal City
"Hey, Luke, check this out!" shouted Dix.
"What is it? Someone trying to break in?" asked Luke as he hurried over to the monitors. What he saw astonished him. The National Guard seemed to be packing up and moving. "What the hell? Better notify Max."
Command Trailer Outside Terminal City
Detective Sung was looking at the monitors. He stopped with his coffee cup raised halfway to his mouth. "Commander Clemente, you need to see this, sir! Now!"
"What is it, Sung? This had better be good." Clemente looked at the monitors in amazement. "What the hell? Get me a phone! Now!" he said to his startled aides.
Outside the Gates of Terminal City
Lieutenant Jefferson Carter was directing the packing of his command. "I want things to be ready to move within the hour."
"Sir, are we being re-deployed? What is going on?" a confused private asked.
"Private, we've received orders to break camp and move out. You know as much as I do. Now move out." The Lieutenant waved his arm above his head, signaling the continuing dismantling of the National Guard's barricades.
Rooftop, Terminal City
Max stood on the rooftop of the Command Center, watching incredulously as the National Guard systematically dismantled the barriers and began packing up. Joshua's flag whipped in the wind, heralding the events outside the gates.
Dalton ran up to Max. He was out of breath. "Is it true, Max? Are they leaving? That's what everyone is saying. The news is all over TC like wildfire."
Max shrugged, a confused look on her face. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out. Let's go." Max turned and hurried toward the Command Center.
She and Dalton got to Command in time to see the Governor start her announcement. All eyes were glued to the screen.
Good afternoon, citizens of Washington State. For many years, the United States Army has been conducting experiments to create a genetically-engineered perfect soldier. When news of these covert experiments escaped, the Army decided to destroy all evidence of their existence. Some of the subjects survived and made their way to Seattle. Seattle became a Mecca of sorts for the transgenics. They congregated and lived quietly, by most accounts.
The situation became volatile this spring when the murder of a girl, Annie Fisher, was blamed on a dog-like transgenic. Since then, the city of Seattle has been under an unprecedented siege. Recent evidence has shown that the girl was murdered by a human.
Since I have received this evidence, I have thought long and hard about the situation. In honor of Veteran's Day tomorrow and in a humanitarian gesture, I am ordering a pardon for all transgenics residing in Terminal City.
Thank you and good day.
Governor's Office, Olympia, Washington
Governor Savidge left the podium to the noise of clicking cameras and shouted questions.
She went back to her office and sat down heavily in her chair, sighing deeply. The phone rang and she answered, "Yes."
"The Committee would like to thank you for all your help, Governor. You have been very useful," said the voice on the phone.
"My daughter?" said Savidge.
"Is enjoying her junior year at UCLA. She was never aware of our interest. We keep our word, Governor. You will be hearing from us again." The phone clicked in Savidge's ear. She leaned back in her chair and looked at the ceiling, tears pooling in her eyes.
Command Center, Terminal City
Max looked around, stunned after the press conference ended. She saw Logan standing in the back of the murmuring crowd and walked to him.
"What do you think?"
"Not sure, but I don't trust it. I'll get on the horn to Matt and see what I can scare up." Logan left quickly, heading back to his room.
Max's eyes followed his retreating back, then she turned to the crowd that had gathered.
"I want double shifts on patrol, starting now. With the barricades down, every freak-hater, freak-lover and curious tourist is gonna want in here. No unauthorized entrance into Terminal City. You got that?"
Everyone in the crowd nodded in the affirmative.
She turned to Mole and Alec, who had worked their way to the front of the group. "I want those patrols in place in five minutes," she directed, then left the Command Center, following Logan.
Command Trailer, Outside the Gates of Terminal City
"I want at least twelve patrol cars here in the next ten minutes," Clemente shouted into the phone. "I don't care about shortages elsewhere. We need them here now." He slammed the phone down and looked up at Matt Sung.
"I want three patrol cars on each perimeter. No one goes in or out until we've established a secure perimeter."
"Yes, sir." Sung looked from Clemente to the phone that began ringing on his desk. "Weren't you telling Max this morning that the Governor wasn't prepared to negotiate?"
Ignoring Sung's question, Clemente continued to issue orders. "Once the cars are in place, get me Max on the line." He looked at the ringing phone with irritation. "Get your phone, Detective."
"Yes, sir." Matt finally reached over and picked up the phone. "Sung here." He listened for a moment, then held out the phone to Clemente.
"Put it on speaker," Clemente barked, then was quickly silenced by the rant that blared through the receiver.
"Clemente, you better not be screwing with me!" Max's irate voice was unmistakable.
"Look, Max. I don't know what our dear governor's up to, but I'm not going to let this situation disintegrate into a blood bath. We both know that opening up the floodgates won't work," Clemente replied.
"You got that right, Commander," Max answered. "I don't want any unauthorized field trips inside the perimeter fence."
"I'm setting up additional patrols along the perimeter. Max, I think you should do the same."
"Done," Max said. "I'll be in touch." Then the line went dead.
Terminal City
Mickey, Peter, Lynn and Colin stood at the west perimeter fence, talking. "You think it's on the level? Are we getting out of here?" asked Peter.
"No way. It's a trick. They wouldn't just let us out. They must be up to something," said Mickey. "Colin and I are volunteering for extra patrols, just to make sure no one gets in here," he said emphatically, then walked away, followed quickly by Colin.
Command Center
"So, you think there will be a transgenic drill team at the Seahawks game next season?" drawled Dix.
Luke snorted. "Yeah, about as much as I believe there is a place for us freaks out there. Doesn't matter...to us...we're not going anywhere..."
Last Stop Bar
"Hey, Ginger, you think it's on the up-and-up?" said Glory.
Ginger passed Glory a bottle of beer. "Who knows? They might be on the level. It's too early to tell. But here's to freedom if it is true." Ginger grabbed a bottle of beer to toast Glory.
ACT III
Crash - evening
Crash was busy, more crowded than usual. The Jam Pony riders commandeered a table near the pool table. Sky and Original Cindy were gathered around, listening to Sketchy's latest exploits.
"I'm telling you, man, it was weird. They blindfolded me and took me into a little room, I think." Sketchy belched, then continued. "Then they scrubbed off my arm and stuck a needle in it, like they do when I sell plasma at the Mission Street Blood Bank, except they gave me something. Said it was just a taste."
"Wigga, if I didn't know you were crazy, I'd say you were crazy," drawled Original Cindy. "You letting people fill you up with weird stuff when you don't know what it is. That is totally whack."
"Looks like it's time for another pitcher of beer." Sky stared owlishly at the bottom of the empty pitcher.
"Anyway," Sketchy continued, "it didn't do anything. I don't feel any different. I knew it was too good to be true. Cost me fifty bucks, too."
"Ain't everything, honey? You're buying, remember." Original Cindy handed Sketchy the empty pitcher.
"Okay, okay, I'm going," Sketchy groused. He turned toward the bar and accidentally bumped into another person just as he was about to make a shot at the pool table.
"Hey, scumbag, watch where you're going," growled the man.
"Sorry, man, I was just going to get beer. I didn't see you," Sketchy said, trying to placate him.
"Come on, Clay, not worth your time. Take your shot...forget it," said one of the other players as he pulled him away.
Sketchy quickly brushed past Clay and headed toward the bar. When he got there, he was surprised to see Alec walk in. Alec saw Sketchy and came over to him. "Hey, Sketch my man, what's up?" he said.
"Uh, aren't you like supposed to be in hiding or something?" Sketchy replied.
"Hiding in plain sight, staying under the radar, you know," Alec replied. "Hum...you didn't happen to see Asha come in, did you?"
"No, haven't seen her. Why, you got a date?" Sketchy raised his eyebrows and looked at Alec speculatively.
"Nah...nothing like that...you know...just thought if she was here..." Alec looked at Sketchy and grinned. He handed Sketchy some money and said, "Tell you what, I'll buy. Grab the beer and I'll meet you at the table, okay?"
"I'm not a man to turn down a free beer. I'll be right there," Sketchy replied with a grin. He grabbed the pitcher of beer and started toward the table. He didn't see Clay bent over the pool table. Clay backed into Sketchy, causing Sketchy to spill the beer all over Clay.
"My beer!" Sketchy whined.
Clay grabbed Sketchy by his shirtfront. "I told you to watch where you're going. Now you're going to pay." He pushed Sketchy away from him and grabbed a pool cue, intending to use it as a club.
Sketchy grabbed the cue, broke it across his knee and tossed it down. "You know, I'm tired of muscle-brained jerks like you jacking with me just because you think you can. Maybe you'll beat my ass, but I'll give you the best I've got. Outside, now." Sketchy turned and walked out the door, leaving a stunned crowd in his wake.
Clay followed, and then the crowd came pouring out, forming a circle around the two men. Alec looked as if he was going to intervene, but Original Cindy grabbed his arm and gave him a look. "Let him do this, Alec. For his own self."
Clay and Sketchy circled each other as the bets began to go down. Clay launched himself at Sketchy, who quickly sidestepped out of the way. Infuriated, Clay came back and threw a punch at Sketchy's head. Sketchy blocked the punch and countered with a quick jab to the face, knocking Clay back and causing his nose to bleed. Sketchy looked at his hand in amazement. Off guard, Clay tackled him and landed several punches to Sketchy's face. Sketchy nonchalantly threw Clay off, jumped up, grabbed Clay, pulled him upright and began hitting him, his hands a blur of motion, until Clay collapsed in a heap in front of him. Sketchy turned and stared at his hands, stunned by what he'd just done. Then he jumped in the air jubilantly. "Yes!" he yelled. "It worked."
Alec grabbed Sketchy's arm as the crowd milled around him. "What worked?" Alec yelled over the increasing din.
"The juice, man...the juice!" Sketchy said excitedly, high-fiving everyone around him as they began to pour back into Crash.
Asha arrived just as the crowd began to move. She sidestepped the action and headed to a quiet corner of the bar.
Alec walked in. "Hi, Asha," he said, quickly brushing past her, much to her annoyance. He walked to the table where Original Cindy held court. "OC, tell me what's going on. It's important."
"Sketchy got himself some super juice and seems like it kicked in," Cindy replied, pointing to Sketchy at the bar as everyone bought him drinks.
Alec listened as Original Cindy gave him the scoop, a frown growing on his face. "Thanks, Cindy. I've gotta check this out."
He walked back to Asha. "I'm heading out. You want me to give you a lift?"
"Whatever, Alec," Asha sighed. She grabbed her bag and stalked out the door, followed closely by Alec.
Cale Mansion
A beat-up Aztek pulled into a wide, circular driveway hidden behind a broad hedge. The driveway was bordered by well-manicured lawns and an elaborately landscaped garden featuring a lighted fountain. The driveway led past the gardens to a traditional colonial mansion that stood majestically at the top of the hill. Strategically placed floodlights accentuated the building's grandeur.
The Aztek made its way up the hill and pulled over at the marble staircase that led to the entrance of the mansion. The car appeared out of place in that environment, its dirty and damaged exterior an affront to the pristine perfection of the place.
The doors of the car opened and Max and Logan stepped out. They paused for a moment, staring at the mansion.
"Wow," Max said, letting out a low whistle of appreciation. "I forgot about this place."
Logan shrugged uncomfortably and walked up the stairs to the door. He raised his hand to knock, then stopped and turned to Max.
"Thanks for coming tonight." Logan smiled softly, catching Max's eyes.
"No big dealio," Max grinned. "I'm up for a dose of Cale lifestyle."
"The siege has been lifted, so remind me again why we're doing this..." Logan asked, with obvious nervousness.
In answer, the door swung open and Margo appeared, flashing a thousand-watt smile.
"Logan!" she beamed, taking his hand and leading him into the hallway. Max followed them, eyeing the architecture with appreciation.
"Aunt Margo..." Logan smiled cautiously.
"Look at you. Walking again. It's a miracle!" Margo gushed.
"There's no such thing as miracles," Logan said matter-of-factly, drawing a concerned look from Max.
"Aunt Margo, you remember Max," Logan said, ignoring Max's look.
"Why certainly." Aunt Margo turned to Max, but didn't reach out her hand. "You are so lovely, my dear. I would never have known you were one of those..."
Max fixed a toothy smile on her own face. "It's a pleasure meeting you again." Turning her back on Margo, she flashed Logan an exasperated look. "I had forgotten how lovely your home is," she said to the open room.
"Why, thank you, dear," Margo beamed. "Let me take you to the others."
She led them to the dining room, where Bennett and Marianne stood at the fireplace, drinking glasses of wine.
"Dinner shall be served shortly," Margo said. "May I offer you a glass of wine?"
"Just water for me," Logan replied, garnering another curious look from Max.
Margo handed a glass of water to Logan and a glass of wine to Max.
"You don't know how happy I am to have you here, Logan," Margo smiled. "You are so difficult to pin down.
"Jonas and I tried for years to get these two to settle down." Margo looked at Logan and Bennett. As she turned to look at Marianne and Max, she smiled with exasperated amusement.
"At least we were able to see Bennett happily married before I lost Jonas," she added with a hint of sadness.
Logan looked at Max for a moment, then his eyes drifted to his water glass.
"Logan, I'm afraid," Margo continued, regaining her cheeriness, "is much less likely to settle down. And now that he has you, my dear," she said as she turned to Max, "I doubt he ever will."
"That's such a shame," Max said as she tossed Margo a beaming smile, "because when I grow up I hope to be just like you."
"That's so sweet, dear." Margo cast a benevolent glance on Max.
"Excuse me for a moment," Max said sweetly. "I need to go powder my nose."
Margo quickly turned her attention back to Logan and Bennett. "It's so nice to see you two back together."
"Mom, it's not like this is the last time you'll ever see Logan," Bennett interjected with embarrassment.
"I haven't seen him since the day your father died," Margo chided. "So let me appreciate him while I can."
Bennett looked from his mother to Logan, frowning in confusion.
Upstairs bathroom, Cale Mansion
"...snap her perfectly-coifed neck," Max snarled at her own reflection in the mirror, then yanked open the bathroom door to find Marianne standing in the doorway.
"As your legal counsel, I don't recommend jeopardizing your new-found amnesty by committing murder," Marianne said with a deadpan look.
Both women broke into a raucous laugh.
Sector 9
Alec gunned his bike through Sector 9 with Asha holding on tightly behind him. He turned down a deserted side street and pulled over near a trash-filled alley.
"Wait here. I'll be back in five," he directed Asha, then disappeared down the alley before she could protest.
Asha gave the already-empty alley a poisonous glare, then looked at her watch, which read 9:17, and began to drum her fingers impatiently on the bike's handlebars.
Alec turned a corner down the alley and arrived at a hidden courtyard that was as full of garbage as the alley had been. At his arrival, four men wearing street colors appeared from behind an overflowing dumpster. They stood in a pool of light that shone down from a window a couple of stories above.
"Heard I could score some pretty powerful juice here," Alec called out from the shadows.
"You come to the right place, man," the largest of the four gang members called back. "It'll cost you some scri
