16 November 2003
3 Days before World Conference on Metahumans
The deep voice of James Earl Jones, as it always did, intoned "This is CNN."
When the scene shifted again, Senior Correspondent Kay Griffith quickly steadied herself. The upcoming event was easily the biggest that she had ever covered, and marked a major step up in her career as a television newswoman. "Welcome back to our continuing coverage of the upcoming World Conference on Metahumans," she said, hoping that her guest would not turn this into a political forum. "We're here today with Sandra Collins CNN's senior political analyst. Sandra, how likely is the President to be sucessfull with this conference as his brainchild?"
Sandra brushed back her hair before answering. They really weren't wasting any time. "Quite frankly, while President Gornton is supposed to be a man of tolerance, this conference seems to be promoting anything but. This is easily the single most polarized event I have ever seen in my life, although the rights of Metahumans is an issue that needs addressing. Have you seen the membership figures of Humans First alone?”
“That’s true, the membership of humans first and other groups has been increasing of late, but they have still been unsuccessful in undercutting the popularity of Senator Douglass, the man regarded as their chief opponent in the Senate.”
“Douglass has his share of the blame in this, along with Senator Layman. Their hatred for each other has reached the point where Jon Stewart has joked the deficit will be fixed by a pay-per-view cage match between them. But they’re just one part of what’s going on, with Humans First having a large rally right before the conference with Layman appearing – and the Alliance for Human Rights going out in support of Douglass.”
“What about the controversy over the appointment of Tomas Greene to handle security at the Waterman Hotel? Is Morgan right in his pick?” A picture of Morgan arriving and defending his pick played over the screen for bit as this was asked. Barely visible in the background for a few seconds was ‘Thomas Greene’ also known as The Fixer.
“It’s to be expected with the current political climate, and worries over metahumans. Most of the concerns are revolving around the question: what if a Meta is in charge of some amount of security at this thing, and decides that the conference isn’t supporting meta rights enough? That’s why the insistence on screening was made, to insure that we would know who any metas in security were.
“Basically though, what we have here is the worst possible thing. Everyone is heading to extremes of one sort or another. The Council on Foreign Relations went so far as to end a meeting early on Metahumans, and to ‘wait to see what the conference recommends’ before issuing its own recommendations. We have political, national, business, and the top security experts all gathering here, along with scientists who have been researching metahumans.
“Quite simply put, I’m not about to predict how the conference will go except to say one thing.
“Holding this conference is like bag of gunpowder, and tossing it into a burning barn. It’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong, and it will probably be sooner rather than later.”
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CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Nov 16th, 2003
Washington DC
“Here we are,” the chauffer said jovially as he pulled the stretch limo up to the entrance of the posh Waterman Hotel in Washington. Stepping out from the driver’s seat, he walked briskly over to the back door, to open it for his passengers.
“Thank you, very much,” the woman, of the trio exiting the car, said with a smile as she handed him a 100$ bill.
“Wow miss, that’s very generous of you. Have a great time here in Washington!”
With a smile, she waved good-bye to the driver, and then turned to enter the hotel. The woman made her way into the plush, elegant lobby, strafed by her two assistants.
“Aaaaa Miss Shaw I presume, we have been expecting you”. A small man, with a pointy nose and a bad French accent came rushing towards the new arrivals. “Welcome to the Waterman Hotel. I hope you will find our accommodations adequate while the summit is taking place”.
“I’m sure we will, now could you show us to our rooms,” the blonde man on her left said annoyed.
“Marcus, please,” Miranda scolded with a smirk. The overlord had much more patience than her protégé, a virtue she knew he would some day need to learn. “Everything seems delightful here, we’ll have a lovely stay”.
“Oh thank you Miss Shaw, you are too kind. Now please,” he continued, overloading himself by picking up the luggage for all three people, "you need not be worried for your safety, Zyrcom has provided the area with special security for the entire week. It was very nice of them to do so, don’t you agree?”
“Very kind of them,” the other assistant replied less rudely than his associate. *Not that we need it *
“In fact, the CEO of Zyrcom, Mr Morgan, and his head of security for the hotel are right over here,” the hotel director said, ushering the three to follow him. “Please let me introduce them to you”.
Two of the massive 300-Series Security Bots patrolled the parking lot. With the amount of cameras specially set up, it would be very difficult for anyone to even attempt to sneak into the hotel. CEO Henry Morgan sat looking over the morning edition of the Wall Street Journal, sipping a cup of coffee in an attempt to wake up. All that remained was the question of how to influence the conference to the result that Illuminati wanted: the status quo.
“Why didn’t you inform me that they got an earlier flight?” the Fixer’s voice sounded through the lobby. Morgan looked up from his paper, before folding and dropping it on the table. “I can’t provide adequate security if you people don’t tell me these things.”
Morgan took a glance outside of the double doors, seeing Shaw and her various companions walking across the lot towards the front door. “If you’re finished chastising the employees, your charges are here,” said Morgan, unlit cigar in hand. The Fixer turned to look, seeing them outside, cursing to himself. Within a few minutes, the door to the hotel was opening to greet them. “Ms. Shaw,” proclaimed Morgan loudly. “Such a pleasure to see you again, and Marcus as well… and who is the new face?”
“Oh please, Mr. Morgan, call me Miranda,” the overlord replied, extending a well manicured hand to his. “This young man, is my newest assistant. Allow me to introduce to you Mr. Eric Scott”.
“A pleasure to meet sir,” Eric said, following Miranda’s lead by shaking hands with the powerful CEO. A slight frown, barely noticeable crossed Fenris’ face; Miranda has instructed him to scan the minds of the people they met as added percussion, yet he was unable to do so with Henry Morgan. The Zyrcom head must have found a way to block his thoughts for prying eyes - *odd*
“And this must be the head of security for the hotel,” Ms. Shaw interjected, bringing the attention to fixer.
“YOU!,” Eric said, catching the lot off guard. “What the fu-”
“Eric!” Marcus, interrupted, placing his strong hand on his associates shoulder to pull him back. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The Fixer focused on the man who had just tried to bolt forward at him, and stopped in recognition. *Just what I needed.* Still he had a job to do and the Valhalla deal was cancelled. As far as he was concerned, Fenris could go about his business unmolested.
“Vice President Thomas Greene, Zyrcom Security,” Morgan said, gesturing to the Fixer. “I hired him especially to take care of certain security matters, being one of the best.”
“A pleasure to meet you all,” said the Fixer, affording a glance at Eric. He hoped the Meta was trying to read his mind. *Look, the job was cancelled. Just do your job and don’t interfere with mine, and we’ll get along fine.* “I believe we have you in 113 and 112.”
“Eric, calm down ok, I know he is the mercenary we had hired to capture you awhile back, but things have changed now, you have got to keep it cool,” Marcus whispered quietly. The former hero had to concede, to reason. If he made a move on the security man, it would cause an uproar, and definitely draw too much unwanted attention on the Valhalla trio.
*We’re going to have words later * Eric thought over to Fixer. With a scowl, he composed himself once more.
Miranda watched the scene play out, and was thankful for Eric’s restraint. Her new assistant was definitely a professional, and would go far in Valhalla. “Well Mr. Greene, Mr. Morgan, it’s been a pleasure, but if you would excuse us, we had a very long a tiring flight, and we have some business to attend to,” Ms Shaw, said with her customary gentle tone, and ingénue smile.
"Of course," said Morgan, watching the trio leave as the Fixer gave them directions to the appropriate rooms. As the Illuminatus watched them, he turned back to his associate. Valhalla was already here. "Keep an eye on him for me. The last we need is for Eric to decide to play hero again."
"Keep an eye on who?" a female voice asked, as she reached the lobby area again, having missed the arrival of the Valhalla people.
"I'll take care of it, Jenna," replied the Fixer.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
16 November 2003
Somewhere in Indigo City
1:12am Local Time
Re-introducing Salma Hayek as Calypso, and JC Chasez as Chimera
Sabrina Meritso, the woman also known as Calypso, was more than a little nervous for a number of reasons. One of them being the very large amount of trouble she could get into with Valhalla for even agreeing to this meeting. It was, quite simply, not cleared with anyone.
Then again, it wasn’t like she really could clear it.
She didn’t know what lead her to even agree to the meeting, and could only assume that the individual who contacted her was the same one who broke into Valhalla’s computer system two months before and stole very large amounts of data. They were still trying to figure out exactly what had been compromised and what hadn’t, while rumours persisted that they found Trojan viruses in the system which could very well be decoys for more powerful viruses.
Calypso smoothed out the fabric of her dress, having used the excuse that she was going out to a club to get away, taking a deep breath before entering the small take out place. A man looked up at her from behind the counter, nodded once, before she walked towards a door at the back. It opened easily before her.
When Calypso entered the room, she noticed that the occupant was staring out the window, watching with his back to her. It was a sign of defiance and confidence: you can’t injure me. This rigid man stood there with a look of determination about him, watching the streets. “Please, shut the door Ms. Meritso,” the man said without ever turning.
Calypso raised an eyebrow as she shut the door, one part of the mystery revealed. He initially contacted her by her Valhalla code name; now, he was addressing her by her real name. With some of the other stuff he’d said to her over the phone, the information he revealed, she wondered just how much he really had been able to get. “I came alone as you requested,” she said, now more than a little worried.
Chimera had disappeared, rumour had it, after going off to meet with someone alone.
The man who turned to face her did not look like your stereotypical geek. She didn’t know what she expected of someone who had claimed to know who hacked Valhalla after “purchasing” some data. He moved with a certain deliberateness to his actions that seemed strange, and had a look of power and arrogance about him. “I thought you might,” the man said. “You may call me Observer. Just Observer.”
“Very well, Observer,” she replied carefully, trying to watch him for any sign of reaction. The most expressive part of him seemed to be his tone. “You said you had information about the person who broke into Valhalla’s data? That’s the reason I came.”
“Yes, of course.” The man called Observer smiled at her, which made him look even more arrogant and devious than he already did. “You are looking at him, Ms. Meritso – and I wouldn’t try to use your powers on me. I have several 100-Series sentinels stationed in this room. They can recognise your power and will shoot to kill.”
Something about his confidence told her that he was not bluffing. This man really would kill her – and he had just revealed to her what she suspected, that he was the mysterious hacker. Which made this all the more confusing. “I don’t understand. Why did you want to meet me, then?”
“Because I have an offer for you.” The lights came on in the middle of the room, and she could see a table, and two chairs, along with a wine glass. Observer motioned to one of the chairs, which she made her way towards, speaking as he poured a glass. “I don’t drink, sadly, but this wine does come highly recommended.”
He placed the glass in front of her, while she did not touch it. “Oh, come on,” he said. “Do you really think that if I wanted to kill you I would go through an elaborate ruse to poison you?”
Calypso still did not touch the glass, considering that she knew nothing about this man. “Why don’t you just get down to business?” There was something about him that told her any attempt at seduction would not work.
“Very well,” Observer sighed, sitting in the chair across from her. “You have over these past years worked for a criminal organisation known as ‘Valhalla’ as a member of their team called Cyclone. You wear beige uniforms with a tornado as the insignia, lead by a man codenamed Kraken. Accomplishments include-“
“I get the point,” she said softly, realising just how much that Observer knew about her at least. He probably knew enough to expose her at least if he so desired. A bit of movement caught her eye, a man-shaped object moving. *He was telling the truth about the bots.*
“I’m glad you do. But tell me, something. Have you ever heard of the Illuminati?” Calypso immediately broke out laughing at the suggestion. The world’s so-called oldest conspiracy, supposedly exerting an unbelievable amount of influence over the world and the single most likely force to make sure the Meta Conference kept the status quo.
Then she stopped laughing, when she realised that Observer was serious. Dead serious. And if a man could break into Valhalla’s systems, he could break in to other systems. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just that most people aren’t serious.”
“Seeing as how I am the Supreme Enlightened,” Observer said, letting his voice trail off. She sat there in shock. The Supreme Enlightened. Isn’t that what the head of the Illuminati was supposed to call himself? *He’s either a nutjob or telling the truth… and I don’t know which I would prefer.* “Well, after a fashion. Certain elements will be in place by the end of the year.”
Calypso still sat there unbelieving. In fact, she thought that this guy was just a really intelligent hacker. A really intelligent, crazy hacker. “What does this have to do with me?”
Observer rose to tower over her, leaning over the table to speak softly. “I am attempting to recruit a group of Meta Humans to support me. Certain events are in motion which will change the world, and I require a force to take care of delicate matters.”
At this last bombshell, Calypso found herself no longer caring if the wine was poisoned or not. She was nervous and quite frankly, needed a drink. The wine tasted sweet and very good. “He’s not kidding,” said someone else from behind her.
Calypso almost jumped out of her chair in surprise. As it was she just stood up in surprise, as her eyes fell upon the newest person in the room. “Chimera! We thought….”
“That I was dead, yes,” the former agent replied. He was, she noted, wearing a much better suit than he had been seen wearing the day that he left never to return. “I’m working for Observer now.”
“What?” she almost could not believe what she was hearing. “You came with us after Eric when he double-crossed the organisation, and now you’re defecting as well? How could you?”
“Valhalla is going to be a thing of the past,” Chimera explained. “All of the information he has on Valhalla, he showed me. If he decides to wipe them out, they’re wiped out. If he can break into our computers like that, what makes you think that other organisations are safe from him?”
“Besides,” Observer added, now erect again and moving slowly to Chimera’s side. “I made him an offer that he couldn’t refuse. Immortality.”
“How, how is that possible? You’re just a man….”
“I’m a man who will be gaining access to Benson’s facilities,” pointed out Observer patiently. “You will have nothing to worry about. If you’re killed, we grow you a new body and transfer a recording of your personality to it. Effectively, you will be immortal.”
“Immortal?” she asked again.
“He can make it happen,” said Chimera. “I’ve seen the evidence. And that’s not all – what he has access to... he’s offering you a chance at power, real power.”
Calypso considered very carefully. There was a hidden threat here that she could pick up on. As she looked at Chimera, it was clear that any doubt at all about Observer’s power had been removed from his mind. “Alright then,” she said, smiling. “Tell me more about this offer.”
Observer smiled again, and began to explain. Calypso never returned to Valhalla that night.
Off to Washington we go!!
Sunday, 16th November 2003
Commercial Centre - Vega City
9:34am
Sydney walked through the streets of Vega City, her head low so as not to attract any attention. She figured that after six months most people would have forgotten about her ‘daring evasion of police officials’ at Wyvern Towers. More over, Sydney was doubtful they would even recognise her, she didn’t even recognise herself sometimes. She caught sight of herself in a shop window; her hair was in its usual style - tied back in a long French plait that hung down her back like a whip, and she was wearing the same clothes as always. But she looked different, tired and weary, she didn’t know what adjectives to use and it didn’t really matter anyway.
She carried on walking; sliding on a pair of mirrored sunglasses that only added to the ‘don’t fuck with me’ aura she exuded. This city hadn’t changed apart from now it was colder and darker, though Vega City was frequently both at the best of times. Sydney was just thinking that some food would be a good idea when she noticed a crowd of people all gathered in front of a shop. She looked up, the sign read ‘Radio Shack Electrical Goods’.
Sydney pushed her way through the meandering crowds just as the CNN logo flashed upon multiple television screens that were stacked in the shop window, this image was soon followed by that of an all together too enthusiastic news reporter.
"Welcome back to our continuing coverage of the upcoming World Conference on Metahumans. We're here today with Sandra Collins CNN's senior political analyst. Sandra, how likely is the President to be successful with this conference as his brainchild?"
Sydney watched unimpressed, it wasn’t until the footage of Henry Morgan’s ‘head of security’ Thomas Greene – known to Sydney as William ‘The Fixer’ – appeared that she began to take notice. She nudged one of the crowd, “Is this supposed to be a big deal or something?”
The guy to whom she’d directed her question looked at her in surprise, “Where have you been for the past six months lady? Living in the mountains?”
Syd raised an eyebrow in amusement, turning back to the shop window. She didn’t really know what was going on but if this ‘Fixer’ guy was in charge of the security she didn’t like their chances of a ‘peaceful debate’. Something seriously shady was going on, that she knew for certain.
“Holding this conference is like bag of gunpowder, and tossing it into a burning barn. It’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong, and it will probably be sooner rather than later.”
“No shit Sherlock,” muttered Sydney under her breath as the news report ended and the crowd began to disperse. She turned; about to carry on her way when she stopped. There, facing directly opposite to her stood James.
“Not going to say hi?” James said after a moment of silence. He walked up to Sydney, looking her up and down. She didn’t look well, not like her normal self, she was pale and slightly thin looking. “Aren’t you going to say anything? Six months Sydney, I thought, I thought maybe Ethan Kale…”
“I was going to get in touch, just not right now,” Sydney explained with little emotion. “Look James, I like you, you’re a good person but you were trying to make me into something I’m not and I needed some time to try and-“
“Hey, hey!” laughed James defensively, holding his hands up. “I wasn’t asking for an explanation babe! I was inconvenienced that’s all… anyone would think we were dating or something!”
“Heaven forbid,” smirked Sydney, “so, how’ve you been?”
James nodded at the television, “you saw, we’re on the brink of something big here, I think this summit will be a defining moment, either we’ll come to a resolution or… well, I can only imagine the repercussions that will occur if this ends badly.” He lit up a cigarette as the two of them started walking. “I’ve been in contact with Observer, he has Wyatt, he could…” James’ voice faltered, “I think he is more powerful than we initially gave him credit for.”
Sydney felt surprise at hearing Wyatt’s name but at least that meant he was alive and out of Ethan Kale's reach. She nodded thoughtfully, “You have a good instinct for these kinds of things.”
“Yes well I’m afraid it might not be enough, he asked for my help. I was wary of course but he ‘persuaded’ me in the end. Not that I would have refused him, he’s not the kind of ‘person’ to take no for an answer…” James glanced over at Sydney, “I’m going to Washington tonight, see if I can find out what’s going on…”
“There’s definitely something bad going down,” Sydney agreed, staring directly ahead as they continued to walk. “Thomas Greene, the head of security for this whole shindig… none other than our very own Mr Fix It who tried to waste ‘dear old’ Eric.”
James was silent for a moment, taking that piece of information in. The bitterness of Sydney’s words when referring to Eric was not lost on him, it more than piqued his interest in that matter though he decided against bringing it up now. “It doesn’t sound good. Oh! I wish I were wrong about all this Syd but I can feel… there’s something not right about this whole affair.”
Sydney smiled, her eyes lighting up behind the sunglasses. “There might be a certain amount of ass-kicking on the horizon. Are you sure you can handle it all on your own?”
James raised an eyebrow in surprise, “Is that an offer?”
Sydney laughed and for the first time in months it felt good. “Well, I’ve been on my own for quite sometime now and I figure you could use the company. It’s a long way to Washington afterall.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
November 16th, 2003
8:45 AM
Crystal City Airport, Departing
Last call for flight 613, leaving for Washington DC. Last call for flight 613, leaving for Washington DC.
Lori Grant rushed down the airport corridor, bumping into others as she did. For somebody who professed at being one of the wealthiest women in the world, she sure didn’t know how to manage her time well. In hindsight, leaving everything to the last second was probably not a good idea.
Lori ran up to the entrance of her gate. She reached down into her coat pocket and almost thought she had forgotten her ticket but found it tucked behind a group of peppermint candies (how the candies had gotten there she couldn’t say). She handed the ticket to a young woman flashing a fake smile behind the counter.
“You know, we do start boarding a half hour before flight time.” The woman smiled with an underlying annoyance in her voice. Lori gave her an apologetic smile (also false), took back her ticket and went down the long passage to the plane entrance. She entered, and was seated up in first class where the seats were wide and the service good.
Not that there were many seats that weren’t first class. They were only flying from Jersey to Washington for crying out loud. Only the rich or completely lazy would ever take such a short trip when driving would not have been hard in the least.
Lori had taken a plane as opposed to driving because she wanted to spend as much time with Bonnie as possible. These last few months with her had been… interesting, but in a good way. They had had their troubled of course (not the least of which was when the girl had thought she saw a mouse and created a small wind storm), but if anything, they both had grown. Parenting, if that was what you could call it, had not been an easy job. Being a single working mother was one thing, but if the job was running a multi-billion dollar corporation, well that was another thing. It wasn’t exactly as though she had all the free time in the world. It had been bad enough that she had been forced to decrease her time as Spectrum almost to the point where she didn’t go out unless absolutely necessary.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be departing shortly for Washington DC. We ask that you but your tray’s up and have your seats in an upright and forward position. We have also turned on the seat belt sign. We ask that you don’t take your seat belt off until the sign goes off. We hope you have a pleasant flight and have a nice time in Washington.”
*A pleasant time in Washington? It isn’t as if anybody here is going to be vacationing there* Lori buckled her seat belt, checked her seat and tray, and then glanced out her window. The plane was starting to move down the runway. She glanced to her left, and saw that the man sitting next to her seemed to be quite afraid of something. *An acrophobic. Wonderful*
Washington was not exactly one of her favorite places to go. The only reason she was going was because there was a stock holders meeting. Basically that meant that she would say how much they had gained (and they always gained), say how wonderful everybody there was, and smile a lot. Fun fun.
She briefly wondered if Bonita would be alright with Janie. Or maybe… would Janie be alright with Bonnie? She didn’t want to come home to find out that the girl had found a cricket and created a massive hail storm. Admittedly though, she knew Janie was better with Bonnie and that Bonnie liked her more… this thought did not exactly please her but she let bygones be bygones. She couldn’t force a perfect relationship with Bonnie. And… it was a small miracle they had learned to live together at all.
The plane was in the air now. She saw the seatbelt light go off, so she snapped hers off. The man sitting next to her held on to his for dear life. Her baggage had been sent ahead, along with the rest of her business partners and whatnot. Only she had stayed behind.
As they flew through the air, Lori remembered the last time she had turned into Spectrum. She had been talking to the commissioner…
“I haven’t seen you around much lately,” Wood said to her with a smile. The two were standing atop the CCPD HQ as usual.
“Sorry,” she said with real sincerity. “Even hero’s have lives.”
“Yeah I bet! Listen… I’m sure you’ve heard about that meeting going on in Washington. The World Conference on Metas, I mean.”
Spectrum was silent. Of course she had heard about the conference. Who hadn’t? On one hand you had a senator who wanted Meta-humans to become second class citizens, and on the other you had the meta-human activists who were totally against any changes, and then on a third hand (if that was possible) you had the moderates who wanted some changes but not that many. The media was having a field day with this one.
“Yes, of course I’ve heard of it.” Spectrum answered plainly.
“Well… if Dan Layman gets his way, meta-humans are going to have to register and-”
“And be suppressed by that drug, I know.” A tense air had come over the night… it was as if something wanted to be said but nobody was doing it.
Commissioner Wood started, “What I want to know is, if any bill is passed where you have to register, are you going to do it? I know that would be compromising your identity, and I’ve been okay with the secrets up until now but I can’t ignore that law. You know an unregistered Meta fighting crime is not going to go unnoticed.”
“I know that.”
“So are you going to register then?” Wood asked. There was a silence as the two looked at each other. The air had thickened… you could almost cut it. The only sound was the flapping of Spectrum’s cape in the gentle night breeze.
Instead of answering she escaped.
“Good-night commissioner.” She said. Light began to appear around her body as she slowly lifted off the ground and into the air. She turned and flew off, without so much as a glance back. Commissioner Wood said nothing.
*Of course I’m not going to register!* Lori thought angrily to herself. *How could I? An unregistered mutant is one thing, but one of the country’s richest women turning out to be a crime fighting Meta is another. If I registered, my life would be over. Literally*
***
Lori arrived at the Royal Hilton Hotel in Washington DC not to much later. She had met a bodyguard at the airport, and a chauffeur had escorted them to the hotel. She hated being with a body guard… it was a little ironic actually.
She entered the glistening hotel lobby and instantly liked the look of it. The entire thing was done in gold without looking to overdone. She had gotten the best suite in the place, because she decided that if she had to go to Washington, she might as well enjoy it. She looked around. Already she could see one of her partners, a Mr. Adrian Brodworth, heading toward her. Time to get into office bitch mode.
“Miss Grant! So glad to see you! Did you have a pleasant flight?” Adrian said gleefully. It annoyed Lori just how false people could be.
“Adrian if you could stop kissing my ass for a moment, do you think you could show me to my room?” Lori said without a least bit of remorse. If Adrian could pretend to be friendly, then she could pretend to be bitchy.
“Of course Miss Grant, but might I advise you calling Mr. Trent and telling him that you arrived safely and that the meeting shall begin as planned?”
Lori stopped walking and gave an exasperated sigh. She turned to Adrian and tried to give her most blatantly fake smile. “Adrian, I’ve just arrived in perhaps the most dismal place on Earth, and all I want to do is give a fleeting glance towards the room I’ll be staying it. Do you think I could possibly find time to do that?”
“…Of course Miss Grant.”
Lori smiled truthfully this time and continued walking. Her bitchy persona was fun, although it could only be used when it was really needed. As she walked to a nearby elevator (her key had already been retrieved for her and her bags apparently taken up), she glanced and saw a small TV on some new channel talking about the conference to be taking place. Only 3 days away…
3 days. She was only supposed to be here as long as she needed to, which was not very long. Still… she would like to know how this thing turned out. It could have a great impact on her life and on the lives of a lot of other people… like Bonnie. Maybe she could stay for 3 measly days.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Sunday, 16th November 2003 – 9pm
Melissa Hartson’s residence, Las Vegas
Ela sat slumped on the couch, mindlessly moving her hand from the potato chip packet to her mouth as she watched the closing scenes of the latest episode of Charmed. The ads after the show came on and Ela continued to stare at the screen, hypnotised by the flickering lights. Until a news update came on. She made a disgusted sound then and grabbed the remote, switching channels rapidly, looking for something else. "I'm so sick of hearing about that damn conference," she grumbled.
She glanced across at Mel, who sat at the table poring over what Ela considered incomprehensible stock market reports. Ela sighed. She really missed being able to go out on her horse in the evenings, though Mel's motorbike was definitely a pretty good substitute. Still, every so often she still felt a pang of homesickness, especially since Mel had warned her that contacting her family could still be dangerous. She sighed again, more heavily, and this time Mel lifted her head.
"Ok, you're up to 60 sighs a minute. This isn't just the usual Sunday night boredom... What's up?" Mel smiled as she said it.
Ela rolled her neck, easing the cramp that three hours of TV watching had given her. "I don't know. Just restless, I guess," she answered noncommittally.
She hung over the back of the couch to face Mel properly, her arms dangling down almost to the floor. "So howcome you're not out on a date with Karl tonight anyway?" Ela knew full well that Mel and Karl were seeing less and less of each other, but Mel seemed to be hanging onto the tattered shreds of the relationship.
Mel quirked an eyebrow at Ela. It wasn't the first time she'd brought up Karl though such comments had become more frequent of late. "One of the guys had an emergency. Karl offered to cover and this," Mel gestured guiltily at the paperwork strewn around her, "should have got done Friday. So I was happy to take a rain check."
"Ah," Ela intoned flatly, "Of course." In her mind's eye Ela could see the last time Karl had been around here. Mel had treated him well enough, for a friend, but Ela had sensed a distinct loss of spark. Mel just didn't seem to have noticed yet.
Speaking of spark, she couldn't help but tease about the reason Mel’s paperwork hadn’t been done on Friday, "It's funny, it's like you see more of Nic… or me," she added hastily, suddenly scared by her own effrontery, "than you do Karl."
"Well, you live here, Karl and I like our space and Nic? Well, she's..." Mel's thoughts drifted to Friday.
*****
Mel stretched out her leg and tried to get her foot to relax. She rarely wore heels - at six feet tall she really didn't need the extra height but tonight demanded she look her best. Nicola had found a couple of tickets for a local production of 'Much Ado About Nothing'. A second phone call had found a third ticket and Mel, Ela and Nic had spent an evening watching a surprisingly enjoyable performance of the Bard.
Now they were safely ensconced at a table in a nightclub a fair distance from the strip. As such it was a little quieter and much nicer than the tacky glitz and glamour of the casinos. It was a place for the locals and there were thankfully few tourists around.
"So anyway Ela, just at that moment the door bursts open and guess who's standing there?" Mel had a gleam in her eye as she noticed the blush currently flaming from Nic's cheeks.
Ela shifted nervously. Usually she found it easy to relax around Mel and Nic, but tonight she was well out of her element. The cobalt blue dress Mel had insisted she wear looked ok in the mirror, but it cinched her waist and she was used to baggy clothing. The pair were swapping old College stories, some of which Ela had heard before and though she'd enjoyed the play enormously she was feeling increasingly like a fifth wheel.
So in response she smiled and laughed uneasily, pretending to take another sip of her drink. She watched the rapport between the two women and breathed a small sigh of envy. The only person she'd ever been that close to was her mother and she... Ela bent her head over her drink as if taking a larger swallow, to hide the sudden stab of sorrow that must have shown in her eyes.
Mel watched the melancholy descend on Ela's small frame and repressed a sigh. She was having a great time; she and Nic had fallen into the easy familiarity of old friends - reminiscing about old times, swapping new stories, laughing and joking. But Mel realised they were excluding Ela, and for all the 'sips' Ela had been taking, her drink looked barely touched.
"Hey, none of that..." Ela looked up and Mel smiled before glancing towards the dance floor. "Let's get out on the dance floor..."
"But… But...”
Mel grabbed hold of Ela's wrist and tugged while flashing a smile at Nic who joined her in pulling the reluctant young woman towards the dance floor.
*****
Mel snapped out of her reverie and looked at Ela. "…and Nic's an old friend."
Ela merely let one corner of her mouth twitch upward. "Yeah, I know. An old friend," she said quietly.
"So," she added brightly as she bounced off the couch and stood next to the table where Mel sat, "how about we go for a ride?" She tugged Mel's arm. "You must be bored to death doing that stuff by now, you've been at it for hours. C'mon, I'll drive," she offered with a wink.
"You will, will you? I distinctly remember saying you were never riding her again after you put those scratches on her the last time... besides while you may be bored I still have stuff to do. Someone has to the pay the bills round here." Mel's smile took any sting out of the comment.
Ela's face dropped and she nodded sadly. "Ok," she sighed, "but there's nothing on the telly and I know how much you love to feel the wind in your hair. Besides, you make it sound like I trashed your bike. I barely scuffed it, and it was that stupid taxi driver's fault anyway." Her gaze turned pleading, "C'mon Mel, you can finish this later..."
Mel sighed. She still hadn't figured out a way to ignore those puppy dog eyes. "You fight dirty." Shaking her head Mel started to clear up her things, "And you're only driving cause I haven't set the bike up for me…"
The paperwork safely cleared away, Mel stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you going to give her a real run out or are you going to just pootle around again?"
Ela blushed. Ever since the first time she'd ridden with Mel behind her, she'd been afraid to go her usual speed when she was riding double. Then the traffic had been new and frightening, and Mel had yelled in alarm when Ela got too close to the other cars. She'd still been getting used to riding on the wrong side of the road at the time, too. Alone she opened up the throttle, but with Mel she was nervous and didn't want to be bellowed at again.
Still, she and Mel had grown a lot closer over the past six months, so now she felt more confident about speaking her mind than she had in May. "It depends," she finally replied, "I won't pootle if you won't yell." After she spoke she let a sly smile curl her mouth in amusement.
Mel cocked her head at Ela for a moment. She weighed Ela's intent then grinned, “Fine. We'll head out to the desert. You can really open her up and I won't yell. Deal?"
She turned back to the stairs, the grin still on her face. "Well, safety first. I'd like to keep my skin if you spill my baby."
*On a dark desert highway... Shame this is Nevada.* They'd grabbed the intestate out of Vegas then pulled onto one of the lesser roads. The traffic was almost nonexistent and Ela had steadily gained in confidence as Mel kept her promise and didn't holler.
They reached a long, straight stretch of road and Ela let loose a whoop of delight as she finally opened up the throttle properly. Yep, this was definitely a fair substitute for her horse, though nothing compared to the feel of a live creature beneath you. Still, instead of the warmth of the horse's flanks she had the warmth of Mel's body pressed against her back. Ela yelled back through the wind that whipped her hair around her face, "Isn't this the best?"
"Yeah it's pretty cool." They were both shouting but despite that the circumstances made it more intimate. "There's something I've wanted to try."
"Huh?"
"Don’t freak." And suddenly a cool blue light illuminated the instrument panel in front of Ela.
"Mel?" Ela queried.
The arcs of Gabriel's wings snapped into existence in sequence, lowest to highest. The wings snapped backwards almost like the wind pushed them back and Ela suddenly was focused on controlling the speeding bike as the weight shifted. "Careful..."
"Mel!" Ela's yell had an edge of panic as Mel's hands slipped from around her waist and with a surge the glowing woman back-flipped off the bike to hang momentarily motionless in the air behind the racing bike. Mel then shot forward fast and low until she drew level with Ela.
Ela's eyes almost bugged out of her head. The bike roared beneath her, eating up the road, and her eyes flicked back and forth from the road ahead to Mel's glowing form beside her. Now that her initial fright at the instability Mel’s sudden departure had caused was fading she was left with a sense of awe. "Wow," was all she could whisper, the sound lost in the airstream.
Mel drew ahead slightly, and Ela squared her shoulders as she realised what was going on. "Ok then, but I'll beat you, you blue glowing freak," Ela laughed. She opened up even more, willing the bike to go faster as she drew level with Mel once more and edged slightly in front.
"Woo hoo!" The cry came back to Mel faintly on the night air over the roar of the bike's engine.
They raced through the night each momentarily pulling ahead of the other and Mel was truly thankful that they met no other traffic since Ela was probably taking most of the risks. Finally she decided they'd had enough and she unleashed her full speed. She moved easily past Ela and with a clear half-mile between them Mel pulled one of her now trademark 90 degree turns, shot into the air and rapidly gained altitude. A few thousand feet up she cut her wings and let herself fall for a few moments before flying relatively sedately down the still deserted road to where Ela had pulled up.
Landing with an elegant little dip Mel let her wings and forcefield vanish. "Well, that was fun!"
Ela laughed and prodded Mel gently. "You showoff," she grinned, then sighed wistfully, "Must be nice to fly like that. It looks... liberating."
"Oh, yes." Mel's eyes were bright, and her whole posture had relaxed. "You've no idea. Still, it's only fair. If life is going to hand me these superpowers the least it can do is give me one I actually enjoy."
Rolling her shoulders Mel continued to grin. "You feeling better?"
Ela nodded in response to the question, but her eyes lost a little of their gleam. "You don't like it, do you? Having the powers? But you weren't born with them like me, I guess. And mine..." Ela looked down at her hands, "Well, mine are hardly impressive like yours. I can stay quiet, but if you want to help people you have to..." she waved her hand in a broad gesture, not bothering to finish her sentence.
"It’s not just that, El. You heal people; your power is innately helpful. What can I do? Fly? Protect myself and, oh yes," an energy globe appeared in Mel's hand, "hurt people."
The tension rolled back into Mel. "I have a responsibility to use my powers wisely. I just wish..." The energy globe winked out of existence. "But if wishes were horses... Don't belittle you power. I'd switch places with you in a shot."
"...beggars would ride," Ela murmured the rest of the phrase. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad. You were having so much fun."
Ela grasped her friend's hand. "And it's kind of like you're a cop or something. You know, you only use it to stop the bad guys. If you hadn't been with me that day in Melbourne... what good was my healing then? I might've had to, uh..." Ela paused, astonished by what she'd been about to say. "Uh, just get carted off," she finished lamely.
She faced Mel fully, a look of determination on her face, "Don't ever say your power isn't helpful. And," she let a smile soften her features, "I'd seriously love to fly the way you do."
"Ok, so maybe I'd miss the flight. We ought to get back. Come on, young lady. I've kept you out far too long." So maybe the smile wasn’t quite as expressive as it had been but some of the tension had leeched from Mel.
The ride back was almost – but not quite – as exhilarating as the ride out, and for that Ela blamed herself. *Next time,* she reminded herself, *keep your trap shut.*
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
November 16th,
Operation Scorpion HQ, Washington DC
9:38pm.
Daedalus walked the futuristic, cold white corridors of Scorpion Headquarters: Washington D.C.; a non-descript office building. He was not, however, within the building itself. Rather the corridors he was interested in, indeed the HQ itself, was several floors below ground level, and not listed in the official plans for the building. Agent Culexes kept pace behind him.
It was a lot busier here than it was in New York, mainly due to the dual facts that the summit was soon and the sheer number of extra staff currently in Washington. Otherwise, it would be much quieter.
The two had been in the capitol for two days. The car journey from the airport, where they had landed in a private Scorpion jet, listed under a cover-name of course, notwithstanding, neither had set foot outside of the building. Culexes had spent his time training and briefing for the summit itself. Daedalus had been doing less physical requirements, but just as if not more important ones. Namely the security of Washington.
Already, Daedalus hated the city. For the capitol of the most powerful country in the world, making it secure was proving a nightmare. The sheer number of personnel being drafted from dozens, if not hundreds of separate anti-/pro-meta factions was astronomical, and that’s before you added in the security forces of attending nations and the U.S. itself…It wouldn’t surprise the director of Operation Scorpion that, in the event of a highly likely and probable incident, all the extra measures would only get in the way.
There had been a lot of very important people attending the summit. Not all of them were world leaders either; business corporations, research and science divisions, the list was endless. But only a handful were of any real interest to Operation Scorpion.
He half turned to Culexes, handing him a folder. The agent received it and opened it, to stare at a picture of a bald man, early-forties he would put him at. His guess was confirmed when he read further into the profile.
“That’s Tomas Greene.” Daedalus told him as they continued walking, turning back to face where he was going. “He’s been appointed head of security for the Waterman Hotel. Remember it from the briefing?” Of course Culexes did. That went without saying. “Good. Well, he apparently works for CEO Morgan of Zyrcom. But what we’ve heard is that he’s actually this ‘Fixer’ we keep hearing about.”
The agent noted Daedalus’ use of ‘we’ but wasn’t entirely sure who it referred to. He chose to ignore it. “I haven’t heard of him.”
“Of course not. Need to know basis. But we have. Unfortunately, our information has come through, lets say, less than respectable channels, so we don’t know how much we can rely on it. Which is good, because besides knowing this man is also ‘the Fixer’, we don’t know much else than besides what you have in that folder. No idea of agenda, meta orientation, etc.”
Culexes flicked through the pages. Not much indeed. Three pages, mostly covering what he’d been up to whilst operating under ‘Tomas Greene’, hearsay and a few pictures. They rounded a corner and Daedalus summoned a lift.
“Do you want me to survey him?” The Agent volunteered as the lift arrived and they stepped in lift. They stood side by side as Daedalus thumbed the button to close the doors, despite the fact they were the only two people in the lift and there were others waiting to board.
“No. The last thing we want is to show our hand in this matter. We’re to keep our heads down until something major happens.” The director said as he pressed for the bottom level of the Scorpion complex; twenty-five floors below ground level. The lift began to move.
“Which it most likely will.”
Daedalus gave the agent an odd smile. “Are you developing precognition, Culexes?”
“No. But if you ask me, it’s more likely something will happen than it won’t. The whole summit is just a bomb ready to go off. One side or the other is going to make a coup. It is inevitable.”
“That’s exactly what our intelligence experts conclude. And we don’t want anything extreme occurring unless it’s in our favour. As the outcome of more or less any event which occurs during the summit is in doubt, as is which way it will swing; our favour or not, I believe it’s not a good idea to have you running around.”
Culexes remained staring in front of him. There was no reason to complain. Daedalus’ conclusion was perfectly logical. He might cause an incident, and they couldn’t take the risk of such an incident going in advantage the metas. So he was, in effect, grounded. And yet, he housed no traces of venom at Daedalus for making such a decision.
“Finished?” He asked, motioning to the folder. The agent nodded. “Good. Here’s another.” Another similar file was handed over. Culexes opened this one to see a woman, younger than the man. “This is Miss Lori Grant, head of Grant Incorporated, based out in Crystal City. Arrived earlier this morning, apparently for a stock holders meeting. Normally we would discard this, but the recent unexplained meteorological phenomenon in the City mean we have been taking careful note on it’s inhabitants, and as of yet Miss Grant is one of the few Crystallians to have come to Washington. We’re only taking precautions at this stage but…”
“Crystal City. That is where the meta ‘Spectrum’ is, correct?” The one that was supposedly a ‘superhero’.
“Correct. Another reason to be watching that actions of it’s inhabitants in Washington. We don’t have anything definite to link the two, nothing at all in fact, but the Operation does not like to take risks. Here.” Daedalus handed over a third folder. Inside, was the picture of another woman. “That would be a Miss Miranda Shaw, CEO of Valkyrie Co. She’s been invited concerning ways of transporting dangerous metahumans.” He snorted. “And I imagine that, compared to us, her ways are primitive. However, we believe that she and Valkyrie may have connections to the criminal organisation ‘Valhalla’. Especially when you take a look at Miss Shaw’s new assistant.”
Culexes flipped over a page to stare at a familiar face. “FenrisX.” The agent said. The lift stopped and they both stepped out into what could have easily been the same futuristic corridors. At this level it was not nearly as busy. They both were required to show identity and take both voice, retinal and DNA scanning under armed supervision. Once they were clear, they began walking again.
“Yes. Eric Scott aka FenrisX, looking alive and well when he stepped off the plane today. Evidently he was taken in by another faction, and is more resourceful, and powerful, than we first thought. He’d make a fine agent.”
“No.” Culexes shook his head. “The meta has a rogue element and a distinct lack of respect for authority.”
Daedalus sighed. “True. Ahh…pity. When everything’s over we will let you return to hunting him, but not before. Moving on. We know the meta FenrisX worked for Valhalla as one of their ‘agents’, who barely even deserve the term when compared to you and ours, and the fact that he’s now working with Miss Shaw after vanishing off our radar is very interesting. In there’s all the information on Miss Shaw, FenrisX and her other associate, a Marcus. Not much on him, either.” Culexes began thinking that, for a multi-million dollar, internationally-spanning black ops organisation, they’re intelligence was not very good. Then he reminded himself that these people they were trying to get information on had just as good people working to stop them doing just that. “They met CEO Morgan and ‘Tomas’ earlier today. If, indeed, they are connected to this ‘Valhalla’ then we have no real idea of their true objective either. We can assume it’s anti-meta, but best not to take chances, eh?” He indicated a door on their right.
They both walked to it, and Daedalus opened the door, beckoning the agent to come inside after him. He found himself in a tiny room with another door to it. A camera monitored them from above, and they were forced to do more scans. Once they were confirmed who they appeared to be, the door opposite did not open. Rather, the room moved down again. It was another lift. Had their identities not been confirmed, the door would have opened and they would have stepped into a room which would have quickly filled with gas, heated to point of incineration, and then had their remains shot repeatedly by two dozen Scorpion soldiers waiting just outside.
This lift stopped and they both stepped out, Culexes following Daedalus. They entered a long corridor. At the other end two guards stood either side of a heavily reinforced door.
“Now, these are but a handful of the prominent figures attending, but at the moment they’re the one’s I want to draw particular attention to. In the event of your predicted crisis, it is our belief that they will be most involved, with the possible exception of Miss Grant who our people have yet to draw an incriminating conclusion about. I want you to study them well and be aware of them, agent, because they might soon be your enemies or your allies.” Daedalus said as they crossed the strecth between the lift and the other door.
Once they reached it they opened it and stepped in. Inside was the brain and nerve centre combined of Scorpion GQ: Washington D.C. The room was huge and circular. Within the centre was a sunken ‘pit’ where rows of computer personnel were staffed by dozens of Scorpion personnel, working hard at their assigned tasks. This wasn’t the Ops room, where Agent Operators supervised their charges in the field, Culexes didn’t know where that was for confidentiality reasons, although the two rooms were in constant communication. It was Command, and there was one like this in every HQ. This was where everything was monitored, reviewed, analysed, suggested, confirmed, cross-checked, re-checked, planned and researched. Also in every HQ, Daedalus’ office was at a door at the opposite end of the room, across the ‘Pit’.
They began walking round in that direction, clockwise. The agent could catch snatches of sentences from the ‘Pit’ and elsewhere round the room. Because he could only hear brief segments, what he did hear was distorted, fragmented and out of context. But after the first time Culexes had been in such a room, he had stopped listening to them. Even if he could piece them together, he didn’t need to know. Confidentiality. It was for that reason Daedalus and he were no longer talking.
About half-way round they passed close by two men coming the other way. One was of senior rank in the Operation, Culexes noted, the regional Head. The other dressed in white scientists robes.
“…His heightened metabolism is remarkable, I’m going to recommend placing the subject under further observation.” The scientist was saying as the other man reviewed a file similar to the three that Culexes was carrying. “I highly request we move to the next level…” He trailed off as they drew near.
Daedalus cocked his right eyebrow at the other man, making sure it was the one on the other side of his head from Agent Culexes. The Regional Head nodded, almost imperceptibly, but Culexes noticed it nonetheless. He put it down to a sign of respect.
The two pairs passed each other and continued on. Once they were several feet away from each other, the scientist continued talking. “The sooner we do so, the quicker…” And then his voice was lost in the general hubbub of the Command room. Culexes forgot it; it was of no consequence to him.
He and Daedalus reached the director’s office. Daedalus opened it and motioned the Agent inside. “Come in. There’s a few more things I want to run through with you on the summit.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
16 November 2003
La Pearl de Nuit
10:15pm
Introducing Avery Brooks as Brain
Featuring Fiona Apple as Lianna, Sandra Bullock as Morgana, and George Stults as Apollo, and reintroducing Brad Pitt as Sebastian Drake
“Mr. Drake certainly does like to party, doesn’t he?” the young woman asked, as the pair moved through the club. It was a busy night tonight, with a large number of people at the bar along the oval wall, and there must have been nearly 100 on the dance floor with a male and female dancer erotically dancing in the cage.
The pair was dressed nicely which tried to push their way through the crowds to reach the office at the centre of the club. They almost looked like a couple, though the bald but bearded black man had a determined look about him, while his light-haired companion welcomed the excuse to be close to him and hold his arm.
“Yes, I know, Lianna,” he said, taking in everything he could about the place. “But fortunately, Sebastian has more uses than just his tastes.” He went by Brain as an alias ever since the Conference had started, and the decision was made. There was so much to do, and so little time to do it in.
When they finally reached the office, he looked at the other four people there. There was Sebastian Drake himself, another woman, named Morgana; a man who looked like a Gargoyle and used that for his name, and finally another man called Apollo. “My apologies for being late,” Brain said, as Lianna shut the door.
Gargoyle stared at Lianna viciously. “Perhaps this… normal… distracted you too much.” One did not need to be an empath to know the feelings behind his words.
“We were busy trying to finish our travel arrangements,” Lianna told him, passing around several plane tickets to the appropriate people. “We’ll be coming in around Washington and have to take cabs to the city, but we’ll manage.”
Brain pulled a cigar from his jacket, lighting it, while he and Lianna took their seats around the table. “Please, Gargoyle, we cannot bicker among one another. We’re all here for the same reason: the ‘Meta Human’ question is about to be decided against us.”
“Yes my big stoney companion, no need to get angry, we’re all friends here,” Drake cut in, his charming tone drawing the attention of the women in the room. “And now friends, I think we should get down to business. The summit starts in 3 days, so we have to make sure everyone knows their parts in this little production”.
“I thought it was simple, we blast into the conference a blazin’ and make the boring old right-wingers do what we tell them,” Apollo said, the naïve smile of youth splayed across his face.
*How childish * the Ebony haired Morgana thought as she moved her finger throughout the air, a slight trail of mist billowing behind it. She hated working with a team, this assorted lot. Apollo was definitely too young for something so important, gargoyle was too temperamental, and Drake too arrogant. “I believe it will be alittle more complicated than a simple bash and trash,” she corrected.
The young man’s face went red as the others chuckled at his expense. Usually the meta would not take such an insult from someone, but Morgana was just as dangerous and powerful as he was – not to mention he found the older woman to be drop dead gorgeous, and definitely planned on getting her in the sack.
Brain brought his hand with the cigar up next to his head, gesturing in a half-salute with the fingers holding the stogey. “Morgana is right,” he pointed out, watching the interplay between the various members. “With how tight security is, even with our source’s help, we will have to be careful.”
Lianna cleared her throat to get their attention. Her years in security working for Zyrcom would finally pay off. “The 300-Series Guardians alone would cut anyone down as soon as an attack began. That doesn’t account for human security officers and any other bots around.”
“Which is why we’re going to do this slowly,” Brain pointed out, his voice lowering dangerously. If only they knew all of the things he knew, could see the way the parts of the complex puzzle fit together. They were motivated by fear, but Brain was motivated by an immense certainty that no good for Metas would come of the conference.
“Lianna will be in charge of the robotic security,” he began. “Her job will be to hack in to the security grid. She will hopefully take control of Zyrcom’s bots on the perimeter. Morgana and Sebastian will be responsible for getting us inside. We can use the security cameras to get us as close to wherever they’re meeting as possible.
“Once we’re there, Apollo, Gargoyle and myself will take care of the immediate human security. With the grid under our control, we should be able to lock down the building.”
The club owner stretched his legs out comfortably on the table as he eyed the group. “And once we have the undivided attention of everyone in attendance, yours’ truly will deliver our demand speech”.
Apollo laughed slightly at his host’s haughtiness “And you think their just going to give us what we want, just like that?”
Drake turned his attention to the fiery young meta. The kid had guts, power, passion and looks, everything Sebastian admired in a person, unfortunately, he wasn’t so bright. “Dear boy, you don’t realize how convincing I can be,” he said with a wink. “However, what do we do if things don’t fall into place as we expect? We must have a form of contingency plan”.
“If it doesn’t work, ill start kicking ass!” Apollo boasted, his hand glowing a brilliant yellow.
“Oh please”. Morgana rolled her eyes; *definitely too young *. “Before we take the ‘kicking ass’ approach, I think its better to have a get-away plan”.
Gargoyle growled, letting his wings fold over on to his back. “I think we do need get-away as well.” The last thing he wanted was to be a prisoner of those… those… normals.
“That is already taken care of.” Brain glanced around to the various people sitting at the table, squeezing Lianna’s hand in a gesture of reassurance that everything would be all right. “I will be honest. We will need to get out. Fortunately for us, it will be a simple matter of preparing an escape route beforehand. I’ve already arranged several hiding places.”
“Fortunately for you guys, I am a qualified pilot,” Lianna said.
Gargoyle growled again. “I am not sharing a helicopter with you!”
Brain slammed his hand down on the desk, jumping to his feet. Everyone had their own agenda, he knew, their own reasons for being there. “Enough!” For several moments he glared at the assembled Metas and one regular, before standing up straight. “We cannot put fall into pointless bickering over things like hatred. We all know the way most normals treat us.”
He gestured around the table to each person as he spoke. “Morgana! How many stories have you told me about the way people treated you after the accident? Even your friends didn’t want anything to do with you. And you Gargoyle,” he gestured to the other. “After all you’ve told me, I don’t blame you for hating normals. But Lianna is not like other normals. She stuck by me, knowing what I am, for years. Even at the cost of her job.”
The Brain managed to calm down at last, returning to his seat to take another puff on the cigar. “I have acquired a helicopter. Lianna will fly it – and a Trojan virus will be employed to disable tracking systems. Then it’s a matter of shifting modes of transportation to get to a safe house.
“We’re not going to fail. I don’t care what you believe in, whether it’s the Government, Humans First, or the Illuminati running this thing behind the scenes. But there is too much at stake for us to do nothing.”
Sebastian slid his feet off the table, and jumped to his feet. "I guess its time to pack your bags boys and girls. We're off to Washington.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
16 November 2003
Washington, DC
8:23pm
With the conference beginning several days away, William noted that most of the delegates would arrive over the course of the next 2 days, with it starting on the third. Which meant for him one final meeting to ensure that all of the details of the security arrangements were in place before the even more hectic job of ushering everyone along safely was underway.
William hated having to reveal to them the fact that he was a Meta, but Thomas Greene – the assumed identity – had only precognitive powers. As far as they were concerned, the physical augmentations did not exist. It still didn’t help him any to be on the receiving end of ‘the treatment’ from some of the fellow security people.
Some of them were downright personable. In fact, one or two were glad to have a counter-part from ‘the other side of the looking glass.’ One or two of them were also outright hostile, but most of them were polite. Too polite, as a matter of fact.
Which lead to his current position. 30 minutes into the meeting, and everyone was trying to grill everyone else on what arrangements had already been made. “No, no, no, that won’t work,” said one of the FBI people. “I understand this person is important enough to rate some of the bot security, but don’t you have anything smaller than a Guardian?”
“Not that I’m willing to send to guard the Prime Minister of Israel,” returned someone from the CIA, while various other corporate and government heads waited for turns to get their various confusions sorted out.
“I don’t care how sympathetic Israel is to them,” the Bureau man shot back, with a pointed glance at William. That man had made no effort at all to hide his dislike for the Meta, and if anything went wrong, would likely blame him. “I have enough problems as it is keeping Layman’s and Douglass’ people from trying to kill each other, along with getting the various Governers situated, and the EU people flying in beforehand. The last thing we need is a Guardian holding up transport. You know how slow they are.”
“And the last thing we need is to pull more police off of crowd detail – the last time that happened, we had to divert more officers to control the protest before it got out of hand.”
William felt his head begin to throb. They were not listening to each other deliberately, he was sure. Everyone was trying to play the blame game, when one of his corporate counterparts rose and began to complain her high-pitched, annoying voice that there simpley were not enough human bodies to go around.
Finally he stood up, raising his voice above everyone else’s. “Oh please, there is a simple solution to all of this!” he bellowed, all eyes upon him. That was the one good thing about his status: they paid attention when the Meta talked. They usually disregarded his ideas for one reason or another, but they paid attention. At least that was something. “Put the Guardian at the hotel, and transfer two Trackers to escort duty from the hotel. Move police groups 12 and 13 to sector five, and let PG County’s cops handle crowd control.”
There, he thought, sitting back down. The sane, logical solution to the most recent round of arguments was out there. Now all he waited for was the inevitable objections. “Except that will leave us understaffed in sector two,” pointed out someone. “Where the business and science leaders are.”
“Perhaps if we only moved group 13 to sector five,” the CIA man suggested. A reasonable compromise.
“What are you listening to that man for anyway?” shot back the FBI agent. “Have you people forgotten that his kind is the reason this conference is happening in the first place? Or just how dangerous they are?”
“Jesus, Ed. Can you lay off a little? The man is just doing his job.”
“So am I. Making this place secure from possible disruptions….”
William sighed heavily. He longed to shoot someone as the lyrics to a Broadway musical jumped into his head. *Piddle, twiddle, and resolve, not one damn thing do we solve….* Truer words of the security meeting were never spoken, as it dragged on and on.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Lori Grant’s Mansion
Sunday 16th of November, 2003
10:34am
A short gusting wind swept across the large open plan of the Grant mansions expansive yard, breezing over the long drive way it cut through the large iron bar gates and tugged weakly at the heavy hooded cloak that draped over Tiaret’s face, obscuring her features: you could barely make out the sly smirking line of her lips.
Without any trouble, Tiaret strolled right up the iron gates and slipped straight through the bars, continuing on her approach to the large mansion that lay ahead.
Tiaret sighed, relaxing her shoulders and resigning to a much more meek, quiet manner as she reached out elegantly for the looping door knocker firmly fixed into the solid door, then stopped, switched tactics and reached across, depressing a button instead that set off the chiming door bell within.
She allowed herself a small smile while she waited, lowering her arm back to her side. The heavy material that made up her drooping sleeve flopping back down over the dark grey tinted skin of her hand. *I can’t believe I’ve taken so long to get around to this! How long did I spend at those casinos?* Despite appearances, her heart pounded frantically as the heat of the moment settled in.
Janie Coroway lay back on the comfortable white sofa and lifted a small paperback book off the nearby coffee table. It was a romance novel, sappy perhaps, but if she didn't have a romantic life, then she could at least read about somebody else's. She briefly noticed Bonita walking upstairs. It was funny how the girl had adjusted to living in this house in only a few short months.…
As her eyes turned to the pages, a sudden noise made her drop the book. It took her a moment to realize it was the doorbell... and that was odd. If somebody wanted to come into Lori's house, they needed to pass through the gate that could only be opened by a person inside the house. Unless it was Lori herself, but she had only left for the airport a short while ago.… Had she changed her mind or forgotten something?
Cautiously, Janie got up from where she lay and slowly approached the door. There was a small eye hole on her side. She peered through it, but she couldn't make out the person on the other end. She couldn't see well through it... and she couldn't make out the person's face. She glanced down at the lock and saw that it was a chain...that would do well. She locked the chain and slightly opened the door.
"Hello?" she asked, peering through the door opening. She could see the person better now. The person was darkly cloaked though... she still couldn't make out the face. "Who are you?"
“I-I’m looking for Miss Grant,” Tiaret answered timidly from beneath her shading hood. “Please… I need her help.”
Janie's first reaction was sympathy - clearly this girl was in desperate need of help. She almost unlatched the chain lock, but stopped herself. She was responsible for this house, and its occupants now. "I'm sorry, but how did you get in here?"
Tiaret shifted her feet, timidly raising her hand and allowing the cloth to fall back, revealing her dark skin tattooed with varying purpley-blue polygons. She heard the woman behind the door gasp slightly, and instinctively jerked her hand back, hesitant to reveal more. She quickly hid her hand under the sleeve again and tucked it protectively behind her back.
“I-it’s my… gift,” She replied abashedly, ducking her head further out of ‘embarrassment and shame’, “Please… I… I need to see Miss Grant.”
Janie looked at the figure standing uncomfortably on the front step. She was covered in strange markings...there was no mistaking her for a normal human. All sense of duty left Janie and she willingly unclasped the chain lock and fully opened the door. "Please come in." She said in a very apologetic voice.
The girl, whose name Janie still did not know, entered the house with a look of relief and anxiety. Janie quickly closed the door behind her.
"Janie! Is somebody here?" Bonnie's voice called from upstairs.
Janie turned, not quite sure what to say. The girl’s head jerked toward the direction of the sound. It was clearly not Lori's voice... so who was it?
"I'm sorry, but Miss Grant isn't here right now." Janie said in another apologetic voice. Now that the sudden shock of the girl was over, she realized that she wasn't supposed to let anybody know Bonnie was staying there. She looked nervously at the girl, who's face was covered with surprise and scepticism.
“Oh….” Tiaret slipped back, it wasn’t hard to portray her disappointment - hopelessness was just a little tag that she deftly added into the mix. “I’m sorry. I-I was hoping…. I’m sorry.”
Tiaret shuffled her feet nervously and quickly turned about, ready to make her ‘hurried flight’ from the mansion.
Janie couldn't stand to see the girl look so crushed. "Well, you're welcome to stay here if you need to!" She immediately regretted saying that. Leave it to her to let her emotions get the better of the situation. "I mean, Miss Grant is only supposed to be gone for the day. She's in Washington right now for a stock holders meeting or something but if you came back some time later this week..."
“Please forgive me: I disrupted your morning….” Tiaret intoned, perplexed, ducking her head timidly to Janie as she slipped off towards and out the door.
Janie wanted to say something to the girl, but couldn't find any words. The girl left the mansion and Janie ran to the door. "Wait!" she cried, "What's your name?" The girl didn't answer though... or maybe she didn't hear. Instead, when she got the gate, she turned to the side and found her way through one of the gaps. Janie was surprised at how easy it was for her to do that... but then again the girl did look slim. *Who was she?*
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Sunday, 16th November 2003 - 12:45pm
The Florentine, Renaissance Hotel, Washington DC
With Kevin Kline as Jules Fournier
Jules Fournier sat back with a contented sigh. The grilled Atlantic salmon he'd just consumed for lunch had been absolutely perfect. He gazed around the restaurant as he sipped the last of his wine and reflected. He'd flown in last night from Paris, ostensibly for a business meeting. But in reality he was here with a pair of his colleagues to co-ordinate with another, Senator Douglass. Of course, none of the three visiting members would spend any time together in public - all three were from vastly different backgrounds and had no reason to meet here at all. It was, Fournier sighed, one of the problems with being a member of a global conspiracy. Still, if they were able – with Douglass' help – to further their aims through this conference, the need for secrecy might soon come to an end.
Fournier set his glass on the table and rose smoothly. His tailored suit sat impeccably on his fit frame, and a pair of glasses made him appear a trifle older than he otherwise seemed. He chuckled lightly at the irony of it - that he had to make himself appear older in order to garner the respect he deserved. If only people knew his true age...
*How do humans ever manage?* the program mused to himself, still working to control the body. At once able to perceive the outside world and a string of data made for a very unique existence, but every move still had to be carefully calculated in order to avoid something embarrassing like a fall. It would take more than several months to learn how to use the body effectively. As he entered the restaurant, he reflected that the inside of the hotel was very well done. *What do humans call this again? Posh?*
At the sight of the French businessman starting to walk out, he accessed the various files he'd had on his public holdings. Quite extensive and also very impressive. That he could afford to spend as much as he did on this stay was not surprising at all. It was with a series of slow, calculated movements that brought Observer's body to cross paths with the businessman. "Excuse me," he said simply. "Mr. Fournier, I presume?"
Fournier paused and surveyed the man before him. The visage was unfamiliar to him. Fournier knew the names and faces of every past and current member of Humans First, and every major dignitary who might conceivably be present at the Metahuman Conference. This man didn't look like any of them. Still, given the man's awkward movements he could hardly be someone's muscle, so Fournier felt no undue alarm.
He inclined his head, "Oui, I am Monsieur Fournier. How may I help you, Mr...?"
"Everett," said Observer, using one of the false identities he had now established. Everett would appear to be a high-level representative of Zyrcom if anyone bothered to check, which would give a relatively decent reason to be going off and meeting with people.
"I would like to speak to you alone, if I may. I have a proposition for you, Mr. Fournier. One which a man of your... talents... would find intriguing."
Fournier's face remained perfectly impassive, though he dropped his voice slightly so it slid under the ambient noise level. "I see, Mr Everett. You are interested in doing business with my company?" he queried blandly, "Perhaps you should call my secretary and make an appointment."
"Now why would I want to do that?" Observer allowed his voice to drop as well, hoping that he selected a level that would let them speak without being overheard. "I would speak with Mr. Douglass, but he's quite busy at the moment, with all the rallies." Observer hoped that anyone overhearing would assume that Douglass was the name of a business associate, but that Fournier would pick up on the Senator.
Fournier's poker face remained impeccable. He'd been in this game for a long time now, and nothing betrayed his inner concerns. "Well, Mr Everett," he said smoothly, "if you feel you must speak with me right away, this excellent hotel has many meeting rooms. Shall I see if one is free?"
A series of electrical impulses went out. From New York to Washington, a string of data accessed the hotel's computers, scanning lists. "I think you'll find one free on the second floor," the AI noted, beginning the deliberate movement out of the restaurant.
Fournier scanned the area briefly. There seemed to be nobody around who was unduly interested in their conversation, whether they be idle passers by or Mr Everett's muscle. So he merely said, "Very well," and followed the man to the meeting room. Everett's deliberate movements had him intrigued, certainly, as did his veiled intimations of knowledge of Fournier's own abilities. Still, maybe the stranger had simply been fishing, and really knew nothing of Fournier's meta skills.
The meeting room was of moderate size, designed to house twenty or so people. As Everett had indicated, it was currently empty and Fournier settled comfortably in a chair at one end of the conference table within. He leaned back, as though he were in his own office in Paris, determined not to let Everett dominate the proceedings, and gestured for the man to sit.
Observer looked around the room as the requisite calculations went on: depth, size, and location of each object relative to another, to plot out a course. Observer almost managed to miscalculate again and spill on to the floor - an event that would do little to enhance his authority.
"Permit me to get right to the point," he began. "This conference is meeting to determine recommendations regarding metahumans, and you desire to see a regulatory agency created which is free from the influence of Humans First, along with certain other individuals in this city. This is an outcome we may be prepared to support."
Fournier didn't so much as blink. He leaned forward a little and steepled his fingers together, gazing at Everett over them. "Really, Mr Everett, you do seem to have an active imagination. What on Earth gives you the idea I have anything to do with the meta situation?"
Observer wished more than anything else that humans did not question it when he revealed to them things that nobody was supposed to know. Looking through the list of files, he found the right bits of data.
"Well there's the secret meetings with the Senator. Most recently you had a conference call with him two days ago. Would you like a transcript?" Observer leaned backwards in the chair as far as he dared, still getting used to the body. "Really, this dancing around the issue gets us nowhere. After sixty years, you should know that."
Fournier gazed steadily at 'Everett'. He would certainly have to do some digging to find out who this man was. And he'd dearly love to know how he'd managed to get such accurate information. Those calls to Senator Douglass had all been on the most heavily encrypted lines. Nobody should have even been able to discover they'd been made, much less claim to have transcripts of them.
The man had brought nothing with him - no papers or briefcase. And he'd hinted that he was aware of Fournier's gift. Still, knowing about it and being able to detect it were two completely different things. He wrapped 'now' around him like a cloak and watched as Everett stilled, his eyes caught halfway through a blink. Fournier leaned forward and delicately lifted Everett's lapel. Within his jacket pocket was the bulge of a wallet. Carefully extracting it, Fournier riffled through the contents, dismayed to find nothing but money inside. There was not so much as a scrap of paper with a scribbled phone number on it to give any clues as to the man's real identity.
Still, Fournier knew he had a good team. Even with nothing to go on but an alias and a description he was confident he'd learn who Everett was soon enough. He returned the wallet to its precise former location and smoothed the lapel back down. Then he sat back, resuming his exact position. After all these years of practising this talent he'd become highly adept at it.
He released his personal time bubble - as he liked to think of it - and resumed his scrutiny of the man as Everett finished his blink. "Very well, then. Let us say, for the moment, that I might have had some dealings with the Senator over this issue. You say this is a stance you support? And which particular interests do you represent, Mr Everett?"
Observer continued to watch Fournier, slowly rising from his position. There were a number of potential replies that he could make, but for this man... no, he wasn't to be recruited. Fournier would only be told what he needed to know.
"The Eye in the Pyramid is watching," he said, suspecting something had happened with a momentary gust of wind that seemed to pass over him. He deduced Fournier had just searched him, and wished there were security cameras in the room.
"Metahumans have a place in society, Mr. Fournier, and many ways you can be of benefit to a well-ordered society. Sadly, there are also those here who wish to see your eventual extermination. I don't intend to permit this to happen, and quite frankly they have more power than you realise. By combining our resources, we will guarantee passage of the proper bill at the conclusion of the conference."
"I see," said Fournier slowly. *The Illuminati! Mon dieu...*
He leaned back in the chair again, a study in nonchalance. "And while help in obtaining a favourable recommendation from this conference would be welcome, I must ask myself what exactly you plan to gain. I understand your organisation is one that likes to keep its finger on the pulse, as it were. But you have already amply demonstrated a disturbing degree of familiarity with highly confidential material. If I may be so bold, to use the vernacular - what's in it for you?”
Observer recalculated. He might have to reveal something more of his goals to forge an alliance… And if he could eventually recruit one of the leaders of this conspiracy to his cause, it would make the transition that much easier. There was no need for the Illuminati to continue to be the invisible hand, and only influence, suggest, insinuate. That would all change when he was in charge.
“Take a look at the world today,” invited Observer, slowly using a broad human gesture that Sara told him about in some of her studies of human conduct. “What do you see? Chaos. Confusion. Humans compete for supremacy openly and in secret, anarchy on a supreme scale. Even going so far as to fail to assign positions on the basis of merit.”
The AI told his body to straighten again. Yes, Fournier would be an excellent recruit. If he would agree with the vision, though tailored to fit him. “I will bring about a new order, Mr. Fournier. A society which is capable of true greatness, ordered on the basis of merit. One in which the merits of metas are recognised for what they are, and allowed to flourish. Where it is ability and capacity that determines government instead of the grand ambitions of petty bureaucrats.”
“You tell me,” his voice lowered. “Isn’t that what we all want? A government that promotes the good overall, whether you’re a meta or a normal?”
Fournier steepled his fingers once more, resting his elbows on the smooth table and placing his chin on his fingertips. "Our only desire is that metas be permitted to govern themselves. That is why we support regulation. It will permit us to gather together all our lost brothers and sisters out there and offer them a true sense of belonging. This, I fear, is something that the current situation does not allow. Very few metahumans feel comfortable about revealing their nature, for fear of persecution from so-called 'normals'.”
He folded his hands together and lowered them to the table's surface. "Anarchy is also something we wish to avoid, so in that I see our aims correspond. However, we are not interested in overall government, though obviously it helps us enormously if the government in power is sympathetic with our aims. If, for instance, your organisation were to bring about an overall system of government in which such a body of metahumans could exist - under that government's aegis, naturally - then I would urge my colleagues to consider supporting actions that would lead to that result."
Observer smiled. Yes, the need for intermediaries would soon be past. The time was rapidly approaching when global government would be a reality, whether they wanted it or not. All it would take is the right push. It also helped that Fournier was easily the most compatible with the world that would come about in the future, as another piece fell into place.
"Then I believe we have an arrangement," he said, offering a hand to Fournier.
Another series of impulses went out, final arrangements. Those members of the organisation already loyal to Observer and able to influence the conference would be contacted, with the appropriate result to aim for. Soon his own need for secrecy would be over, at least in the organisation.
Fournier grasped the proffered hand, "I believe we do, Mr 'Everett'."
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Monday November 17th, 2003
Washington DC
01:00am
Four hours.
They had spent four hours going over each and every detail of the security arrangements. By the end of it, William swore that bureaucracy was a demon invention. Really, whoever invented that beast needed to be shot. It was just too much to have to deal with at once, when you got a bunch of administrators and field types in the same room. More annoying was the glances that he kept receiving from a few of his compatriots.
The sound of snoring from the other room told him that Jenna was already fast asleep. He envied her for that little blessing. Nearly 1am now, having taken 30 minutes to get back to the hotel, and nowhere near ready to sleep. And he had to be up in 4 hours now. Or was it 3?
A bottle of beer opened, tasting cold and relaxing as he walked to the couch. He was not going to make it to the bedroom, even though there were two smaller beds in there. Putting the bottle on the side, he collapsed on the couch, almost immediately shutting his eyes.
A soft kiss abruptly pressed against the side of his neck as hands intimately rubbed up his back to rest on his shoulders.
“Mind if I join you?”
Willam bolted upright, staring down at the couch to see Lash's form seeping out of the couch. Many questions came to mind, chief among them: what are you doing here, how did you get past security, and are you TRYING to give me a heart attack? None of which came out. What came out was a nygaaaa! followed by, "Lash! When did you get here?"
“I arrived in Washington a few hours ago,” She chuckled mischievously in amusement, her usual smile spread playfully across her face, and winked, “I heard that my bestest buddy… Tomas… was here and thought I might drop in!” She watched William’s features contort through multiple facades and chuckled again before continuing, “That and my other bestest buddy, Lori, is down here and not in Crystal City.”
She grinned, "Happy to see me?"
"Yes - but how did you get past the security?" He was slightly miffed at that, since he had planned the hotel's security himself. Of course, trust Lash of all people to break into it. Knowing her she jumped into the 300-Series while it was on patrol and let it carry her to the gates. "No, never mind, I don't want to know. What have you been up to these past several months?"
“Well, I went to Crystal City, as you know, but!” Lash’s legs uncrossed, swinging to the ground as she rose gracefully off the couch and stepped right up to William, poking him firmly in the chest, “You neglected to tell me that Crystal City was pumped full of casinos! I got a teensy bit distracted.” She shied slightly, keeping her convicted eyes on William and bit the edge of her lower lip.
"I thought the casinos were common knowledge," he said, looking at his beer longingly. Lash gratefully accepted one when he offered it to her, before she kicked back on the couch to relax.
Still, from the look about her he could tell that even if she was distracted, she was quite pleased with the results. "How much did you win?"
"Thomas? Who's out there?" a tired voice came from the doorway. He glanced over to see that Jenna was awake, and currently stretching in the doorway. *Damn.* he thought, when he saw Lash's playful smile and braced himself for the barrage of teasing that was sure to come. This was one day he would not live down with her. Ever.
Lash winked back at William, her eyes sparkled with a devious glint, “Obviously not as much as you.” She could barely contain her laughter, clamping her lips together, she nearly snorted with the sheer effort it took.
William sputtered in an attempt to reply, flailing about helplessly when Jenna broke out laughing as well. "It is nothing like that," he told Lash. "Meet Jenna, she's my assistant here. We're running a bit low on rooms at the moment is all - go on, get it out of your system."
"This is Lash, I take it?" Jenna asked, before smiling wickedly. "You should hear Will speak about you. I've heard all sorts of stories."
Lash returned the smile back to the woman. So far she’d found an instant liking to her, “Nothing bad I’m sure.” She winked, “I’m an angel!”
William suddenly felt the need to change the subject. The last thing that he needed would be for these two to start talking, and to have Jenna learn that they had damn near turned over her old lover to Valhalla.
"I'm sure you are," Jenna said, before disappearing again.
*Thank god for small favours.* He let out a sigh of relief, taking a long drink of the beer. Then he remembered something else that Lash had said. "So, Lori is here in Washington, now?"
“Da.” Lash replied simply, turning her attentions back to her friend, “On some business of some sort; not that I care much for those things. Knowing you were here just kind of sealed the deal for me to follow her!” Taking a refreshing sip from her beer, Lash smiled contentedly before shrugging back at William, “Of course I’ve yet to find out where she’s staying…. And I’ve realised… I still don’t really know what I’m going to do when I find her!”
Lash lowered her voice sadly, “They killed off my only family…. They tried to kill me too.” Lowering herself gently onto the couch, Lash fingered the rim of her bottle reminiscently before taking a large swig, “Now what does a person do to that exactly?”
"I haven't got the foggiest." William to be truthful wasn't entirely sure that he telling her was a good idea. What if discovering Lori lead her to find out about the Illuminati? True, he'd had nothing to do with that, but he doubted that Lash would be quite so understanding.
"For right now at least though, it's probably best for you to wait. We're about to become even more paranoid." Which was true enough, from the results of his earlier meeting. She didn't know it, but there was already a contingency plan in place to seal the city into a grid-like pattern if something happened. They could lock it down very tightly, very quickly.
Lash sighed, holding the mouth of her bottle in her fingers, she swirled around the remaining dregs morosely before submitting to William’s suggestion, “You’re probably right… usually are.” Leaning back over the chairs arm, Lash smiled up at William genuinely and held out her hand for him to join her, “What would I do without a best friend like you to watch over me?”
William felt the dagger twist in his chest again, before resolving that he would protect her. Lash was easily the best friend he had ever had - the least judgemental of them all, despite their argument of several months earlier. He raised an eyebrow, finishing his drink before moving to collect her bottle. "Thank you. Have you a place to stay in the city? I can only assume you made a killing at the casino since you aren't asking for a loan." This last was added with a smile that indicated he was joking.
Lash grinned, “I do have a healthy stash in the ol’ bank account, but as far as accommodation goes,” she shrugged, “I really only just arrived! This place is booked out apparently, I just felt like dropping by and giving you a heart attack.” She chuckled, her grin turned devious again.
He held his fingers about a quarter of an inch apart. "You came this close. I just got out of a four hour meeting, and am supposed to be up in three hours. Or is it four?" In a state of shock, he realised that he really had no idea at all WHEN the next 'day' was supposed to start. "Hmmm, well it might be possible to arrange for you to stay here... but you would probably have to join the security detail at least on paper."
“Is that a job offer” Lash’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, “Now, I’m not one to care about my appearance, as you would well now, but I am aware of the effects it just may have if I’m seen helping with security!” Lash thought for a moment, *I could help, provided I was out of the public and normal eye, which means….* She groaned: paperwork, “Please tell me the paperwork involves a blowtorch!”
"It just might," William smiled. She was certainly no fool and she was right. Anything that she did would have to be out of the public eye, something that she specialised in. Especially when merged with objects.
"Call me paranoid, but when something goes wrong - and I think it's more a question of when than if - I suspect Metas won't be popular around here. May need to disappear in a hurry."
His smile became more devious, the perfect mirror of Lash's. Anyone who did not know the pair would swear that there was more between them than just years of friendship and hanging out. "If only I knew someone in the city who would be willing to hide a Meta if things went bad...."
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
November 17, 2003
Washington Dc
Noon
"Get you something to drink?" the bartender at the Waterman Hotel's restaurant asked the head of security for that building.
"A coke," Fixer replied tiredly. "Or coffee. Just... anything with caffeine." The bartender nodded, fulfilling the earlier request for a coke. He rubbed his nose between his eyes until the glass was finished, then drained it in one long draught. "Another." The bartender slowly shook his head, getting another one. Exhaustion could not be allowed, and at this point it was caffeine that was getting him through the day after the hectic arrangements for security. Only the fact that there was a good hour before the next batch of delegates arrived - one plane arrived early with another delayed - allowed even this brief respite.
He felt a hand fall down on his shoulder, though more in a gesture of attention getting than attack. An attack he would have known about before. William glanced back to see Eric, the new aide to Miranda Shaw and onetime Valhalla agent. "What do you want?" he asked reflexively, annoyance at the way the day went so far showing clearly in his voice. The last thing he needed was Eric deciding that he was going to look for revenge.
Eric took a seat opposite fixer and sat down, never taking his eyes off the man who had tried to kill him months earlier.
“Funny isn’t it? How a few months after you and that cat-girl of yours tried to kill me, we both end up in the same hotel. Now, I know you aren’t here for Valhalla, so it leaves me wondering who exactly are you working for?” Eyes of icy cold disliking bore holes into Fixer’s head as Eric’s mind reached out to scan his adversary’s thoughts. Unfortunately however, Fixer had been well trained to hide his thoughts, and Fenris was not going to risk concentrating harder if it meant letting down his guard for just a second. "So between you and me, think Mr. Morgan would want to know that his head of security is a mercenary who hires himself out to international crime organizations? I doubt its good publicity".
Fixer returned Eric's stare. It was probably best to have it out with the former agent now rather than later. "I think we should discuss this in private," he said, paying for the drink before leading Eric to the meeting room upstairs.
Once they were alone, he turned on Eric. "Look, you don't worry about who I'm working for. Just rest assured that I intend to do everything possible to ensure that this conference runs smoothly. I don't have any personal gripe with you, Fenris. But don't try to threaten me."
Eric’s eyebrows rose at Fixer’s response; *don’t dare threaten him? *
The door of the conference room slammed shut as Fenris stood up telekinetically and pushed Fixer to the wall. The slam would have been quite painful had William’s precognition not warned him of what was about to transpire. “Pay attention cause I’m only going to say this once baldy,” the Valhalla operative instructed as he strode forwards. Fixer struggled to react, but the invisible hand of Eric’s mind pinned him roughly to the wall. “I am not the same man you met a few months ago. I had a little period where I tried to be Mr. Boy scout, but I’ve seen the light, and the good old Fenris is back. Now what does this mean? It means that I will not turn the other cheek if you so much as look at me the wrong way”. Eric released his power over Fixer, as the door flew open once again. “Do we have an understanding Mr. Thomas?”.
William was more than a little shocked, though his mind worked to calculate. Eric was a telepath; therefore, he could pick up the intent to cause injury even before such came. And it was likely that he would one day seek revenge for earlier. "You listen to me very carefully," he replied steadily. No, an attack at this time was not called for. Yet.
"I was never working for Valhalla - I was just following orders. And quite frankly, I don't care if you want to be a boy scout or the 'good old Fenris.' You stay out of my way, and we won't have problems. Do you get me, wolfy?"
Although the urge to hurl every object in the room at Fixer washed over him, Eric fought the desire; a direct confrontation here might not be the best thing. But, he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet, there was potential to get some real valuable information here. When he had threatened to tell Henry Morgan of Fixer’s identity, he didn’t even react – definitely strange.
“Incase you didn’t notice Tommy-boy, you’re really in no position to intimidate me. This time you don’t have a warehouse full of Valhalla officers and an ethereal meta to back you up”.
That, William knew, was one thing he was wrong on. *Oh, Lash isn't with me at the moment, but she's here.* Valhalla really did breed arrogance in its agents, he decided. It would be a pleasure to help bring them down. "And in case you haven't noticed, Valhalla is short of agents at the moment. Now if you don't mind, some of us have a job to do that's more important than being a glorified errand boy for Indigo City's Overlord."
Fixer’s comment momentarily stunned Fenris *He knows that Miranada is the Overlord?! How could he? *
Reconsidering his decision to leave, Eric walked straight up to the head of security, his teeth grinding together in anger – he sure as hell was not going to let this 2 bit thug jeopardize Valhalla’s position at the summit. “I don’t know how you know that,” Eric started, bringing his face just inches from William’s, “But let me give you a piece of advice, if you get in Valhalla’s way, watching over senators and CEOs will be the least of your worries”.
The Fixer smiled. While Morgan and Feldman would be upset if he started a war, they would be able to finish it if one started. Valhalla did not worry him. What worried him were those idiots in the conference, the anti-meta extremists. Something was just waiting to explode there. "You let me worry about that, wolfy."
"Excuse me, Mr. Greene?" a young voice sounded from the door. The Fixer pushed Eric aside as Jenna entered the room. Eric looked at her in shock; she seemed to simply ignore him completely, as she walked towards him with a cell phone. "I have Mr. Davidson on the line for you, he says it's urgent."
William rolled his eyes. "I'll bet." Davidson was young, inexperienced, and energetic but his heart was in the right place at least. "Yes?" he said into the phone, vanishing off to the far corner of the room to talk to one of his counterparts.
The world seemed to spin around him at dizzying speeds as Eric’s mind tried to wrap itself around what his eyes were taking in. “Jenna…,” the word barely fell out of his mouth.
Jenna blinked at the sound of her name, turning to face Eric. There seemed to be something familiar about him. A sense of deja vu, but that was all. "I'm sorry," she said, while William chatted on the phone with Davidson. "But... do I know you?"
Her words didn’t even reach Eric, he was too dazed to realize that she didn’t recognize him. “Jenna, you’re alive, but how, I don’t understand”. He didn’t care that Fixer was still there and that they were extremely close to getting into a confrontation, all that mattered now was her. “But, I saw him kill you,” he moved closer to her, ready to take the woman in his loving arms. To his surprised however, Jenna took several steps back, a look of total bewilderment plastered across her face.
Though to call it bewilderment for her was a mild understatement. She was immediately confused and afraid. When Cerberus killed her was one of the vivid memories that she had, the memory of dying, the pain upon waking up in the cloning centre of Benson Pharmaceuticals. There had been other people there, hadn't there? She was sure of it. "I-I-I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I've never died before...." she lied. "And how do you know who I am? Have we met?"
“Jenna, its me, Eric”. The man’s voice was full of desperation and fear; why didn’t she recognize him, unless – “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER!” he fumed turning his attention back to William. With a gesture of his hand, the cellphone flew from Fixer’s grip and smashed into the wall, shattering in several pieces.
William stared evenly at Eric. He would have to come up with a good story for Davidson now, or there would be hell to pay. "E, excuse me," Jenna said, hurrying out of the room to leave the two men alone.
William thought about exactly what to say when he knew that any lie could be detected. Which told him what he had to do. Eric would not like hearing it, but the truth would serve him well. "We did nothing to her, aside from save her life," he shot back. "But there was some degradation of the brain. A good portion of her memories were lost in the procedure."
Fenris’ head shook; he couldn’t accept what William had to tell him. “No! no I don’t believe you. This is a trick!” The conference table and chairs in the room began to shake in accordance with Eric’s emotional instability. However, he wasn’t going to waste anymore time arguing with Fixer, instead, he rushed out into the hall after his not-so-dead lover. “Jenna wait!”
Reintroducing Nelly Furtado as Jenna Lionheart
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Vega City
November 17, 2003
12:45am
Lianna stood in the doorway to the bedroom of the hotel room, watching Brain continuing his work. He was hunched over the table, head held between his hands during on of the pauses in writing. A glance at her watch told her exactly how late the time was. She was pained still over whether or not to say anything at all to him over the way she felt, though he had enough on his mind as it was.
“Conrad, what’s wrong,” she asked in concern, walking over to him and beginning to rub his shoulders.
Brain dropped his pen on the table and leaned back, eyes shut. “It’s just trying to get everything down,” he said, looking over the notebook in front of him. All of his thoughts, the plans for a new nation. “The movement we’re about to create has to be able to survive the death of any individual member if it’s to be successful.”
While she continued trying to relax her old friend, she remained in thought for a few minutes. They’d had this conversation on separatism before, had even made a couple of suggestions. “Your plan is going to work. Not even Sebastian could screw it up.”
“Oh, he could find a way,” replied Brain, Lianna stopping. He walked over to the cabinet to remove two glasses, filling them with water. Of course he knew about her feelings; he did not say anything, however, because he knew that she would have to be the one to say something. When she was ready, she would. “Just so long as they believe that Sebastian is the leader and I’m just someone who tosses around mental energy.”
Lianna smiled, accepting an offered glass from him and taking a drink. “You saw Sebastian. He loves having the spotlight.”
“Of course.” The pair moved to the couch to sit down. Lianna didn’t mind continuing to talk about the plan. Brain was still jittery about it, and talking usually helped him.
“He also doesn’t realise that the delegates won’t listen to him. This is going to be a long-term movement.”
She reached out to lightly touch his hand. “I know. Winning a homeland for Meta Humans won’t be something that most people like… but it’s probably the only way for most Metas and Normals to live in peace.”
“The most disturbing thing is that we even have to seriously consider this,” he replied, pausing in thought for several moments. A distant look came on his face. “Some concerns about safety, I can understand. Augmenting police with Meta Humans to combat what we’re capable of would make sense. But the idiocy that some of the more extreme groups want….”
Brain sighed, meeting Lianna’s eyes with his. He could see the way she cared for him clearly. Her concern, her worry that despite how intelligent he was the plan would fail. As he spoke, he got to feet and began to pace. “Those fools are going to trigger a war that will destroy us all. Meta Humans won’t just sit back and let themselves be taken to the slaughter. It’s an apocalypse waiting to happen.”
Lianna sighed. It was a conversation they’d had many times before, about the possibility of a coming war. She held out hope that one day she would feel confident enough to approach him, show him that normals could like in peace with metas, even love them. One day. When he had less to worry about. “It won’t be as bad as all that.”
“Won’t it?” asked Brain quietly. The look in his eyes told her that he knew something, had realised something, and he was debating telling her. “The conspiracy theorists are right.”
Lianna blinked. “Right about what?” That was not something she expected to hear.
“We never noticed, because they’re hiding it right out in the open. Humans First pushing for regulation – it’s the Illuminati.”
“Aren’t they supposed to be running the world already?”
Brain nodded. “Of course. But the only thing I can think of is that the theorists are wrong only about the extent of their influence. I get the feeling that they could make implementation of the conference’s recommendations problematic but not determine the outcome. Which explains why the Council on Foreign Relations did not issue a recommendation.”
Lianna put her glass down, looking at him in surprise. She had never known him to take conspiracy theory as anything more than a passing intellectual curiosity, a fun way to model the world. But this time…. “You’re serious about this.”
“Of course. The one thing I don’t understand, though is why. Why keep the status quo and stop with active opposition to any change in it now? There must be something else that I’m missing….”
She quickly finished her water before walking over to him again, gently putting an arm on his shoulder. She couldn’t stand to see him do this, stand there and get frustrated trying to work it all out. “Come on, we should get some sleep before our flight.” He nodded again, not saying a word.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Monday, 17th November 2003 – 10am
Las Vegas
If there was one thing Sara had enjoyed doing over the past few months, it was using her new ‘body’ to explore various aspects of the world. New forms of sense data allowed her a better understanding of the way that humans interacted with both each other and their environment. Of course most of her experimentation had to come in ‘down time’ when she was expected to do less work at Benson – there was only so much CPU time available to run her various functions.
And now she was (finally) getting to meet more people. It was an experience she welcomed, and could not understand Observer. She’d seen his assumptions and data on human nature, but it never occurred to him that you actually have to go out and make observations to test if a particular view was right or not. Still, she’d not had much time to make her own study, and hoped that the time would come soon when she could.
Though her current situation was more than a little interesting, to say the least. She was supposed to go and talk with two metahumans to try and begin the process of recruitment. In Las Vegas no less, a completely different environment than she had been in before. Still, the business casual look in the light coloured outfit would hopefully serve her well as she made her way up the steps to the house, each step carefully calculated.
She scanned the side, looking for signs of doorbell or knocker. *It would make so much more sense if they could just select one method to let you know people are at the door.* Sara tried to press what looked like a button, discovered it was just an indentation in the framework, then found the bell on the next attempt.
Mel looked up towards her front door and sighed in annoyance. After her little trip out the previous night she was even further behind. What she didn't need this morning were further interruptions. Unfortunately Ela had been banished from Mel's presence and as such Mel would have to answer the door. Looking through the spy hole Mel saw a dark haired woman in her mid twenties. Frowning, since she didn't recognise her visitor, she slipped on the restraining bolt and open the door.
"Hello?"
Sara examined the woman who answered the door carefully, searching files. Silver-blue hair, check. The rest of the profile checked out as well. “Ms. Hartson, I assume?” she began, trying to take in everything she could about her appearance. “I’m sorry to bother you this early in the morning, but I was wondering if I could talk with you – oh, and I’m supposed to mention the widow’s son for some reason.”
"The widow’s son? I'm sorry miss? I have no idea what you're talking about." Inwardly Mel winced. She was a little surprised that it had taken this long for Fixer's compatriots to make contact; still there was no avoiding the situation, not that that meant she wouldn't make this woman give the correct codephrase - it was petty she knew but she didn't care.
Sara blinked. It wasn’t that she wasn’t sure the woman was who she was looking for, since the house was correct and the silver-blue hair and silvery eyes were not exactly what someone would call common. *Human paranoia. Rework counting for it.* “As in, ‘who will help the widow’s son?’” she said.
"Ah, so I guess we have a friend in common. Give me a moment." Mel closed the door, flicked off the restraining bolt and opened the door, standing squarely in the entrance she spoke again. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
“That’s because I never gave it,” she said flatly while making another mental mark, this one filed under ‘polite ways to ask someone’s name’. Still there was probably no harm in giving it. “It’s Sara,” she added a smile, as humans seemed to react well to that.
"Well, Sara, please come in." The smile was unnerving. It was empty no matter how well practised it appeared. Mel led the way into her lounge. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"
Sara took a minute to take in her surroundings, locations being noted of various objects. The couch looked most attractive, as it was the easiest to simply ‘plop’ into. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.” Ever or anything, she didn’t add while awkwardly sitting on the couch.
Ela had heard the doorbell and dismissed it, continuing to sulk in her banishment. But the murmur of conversation kept going, so curiosity finally won over petulance and she crept to the top of the stairs to see who had called on Mel. The woman had already had her morning run with Nicola, so it couldn't be her...
Ela peered through the slats of the banister, frowning at what she heard. *Widow's son? What the hell is this - some really cheesy spy movie?* Intrigued, she settled a bit lower, trying to discern what was transpiring below as the strange woman sat uncomfortably on the couch.
Having poured herself a glass of water Mel returned to the lounge and settled into a chair. "So Sara, what can I do for you?"
That, Sara knew, was the question and what would be the most difficult thing to explain. She would need Ela’s help at some point, but there was the more pressing matter. Observer needed someone to contact them, to get his ‘hero’ in place for the conference when something went wrong. “You’ve heard of the World Conference in Washington DC?”
Mel coughed at that, a gesture Sara immediately recognised. It carried with it a meaning that she would have to be daft to have not heard of. Sara continued, “We would like to invite you to be a guest. Athela,“ she was careful to get the accent in the correct place, her accent becoming slightly Australian as she said the name, “as well if she wishes to attend.”
Ela made an involuntary sound at the mention of her name. The two women below immediately snapped their heads in her direction and Ela rose sheepishly. *Sprung bad,* she thought.
"I was just... you know," she said as she came down the stairs. She couldn't focus on making excuses, however. "You want to take me to Washington?" she asked incredulously.
Ela’s profile definitely fit, including the psychological reports. She clearly, from Sara’s analysis, showed signs of having had a sheltered life and probably some trauma present in it. “Yes, of course. Capitol of the world, and the man who arranged your ‘rescue’ from Humans First would like to meet you. Both of you,” she added with a glance to Mel.
Ela's eyes flicked back and forth from Sara to Mel. She was still feeling a degree of trepidation at what exactly William's organisation really wanted with her. With no contact at all in the past six months she'd almost forgotten about her promise - almost, but not quite. Her worried gaze settled on Mel as she answered Sara. "Uh... I don't know... Mel?"
"So, just a meeting? Nothing more?" Mel asked of Sara.
Sara did not answer right away. She and Observer communicated, machine to machine, before deciding exactly how to proceed. “For the moment, at least.” She could tell from Mel’s slightly stiffened stance that the prospect of many favours did not sit well with the woman. “Observer has a proposition for you that he thinks best to put forward himself – and a need for your help.”
"A proposition, and you also need our help?" It was starting then. The quid pro quo. They'd have to be careful not to get entangled in this web and Mel was unsure how well they'd manage it. "Well I'm sure a simple meeting wouldn't be too taxing. When exactly when would this ‘Observer’ like to meet us?"
Ela relaxed slightly. So long as Mel was watching out for her, she knew she wouldn't get dragged too deeply into something she didn't want. And a meeting didn't sound too awful. She sidled closer to her friend, unconsciously putting herself under Mel's protection.
“As soon as possible.” Sara’s body relaxed some, while she watched the two humans. Ela seemed to be skittish, standoffish, but deferring to Mel. At the same time, Mel was carefully watching her. “Preferably before the Conference begins officially. We have reason to believe that someone is going to attack it.”
Ela's eyes widened even further. Still, it made sense they'd think that. She knew from personal experience that there were plenty of people out there who didn't like metas. She glanced up at Mel and shrugged. "Whatever you think," she said.
An attack. Mel was sure that they probably would be an attack; she was equally sure that these people would be able to deal with any attack that may be forthcoming. Like the nuke in Australia, this attack was a pretext for something else. Still, knowing a trap was there was half the battle in avoiding it. "No doubt you've made arrangements?"
“That’s why Observer would like to meet you,” she said. Still, Observer wanted to be the one to make the full offer. Something about it being his proper role, even though they would in theory be running the organisation together.
Sara stopped for a moment. There was something else that she wanted to ask about, which was definitely in her field to decide. She was, after all, the scientist of the pair. “There is just one other thing. Do either of you know the most recent status of the Clinical Immortality project?”
Ela frowned. She'd heard bits and pieces on the news about it, and Mel had told her that Benson Pharmaceuticals was the organisation that William claimed to work for. But there hadn't been much about it recently, beyond the occasional remark about 'that wacko Feldman' by the commentators. So Ela shook her head.
Mel said, "Well I've read all the press releases but beyond that I've no information." Her eyes flicked from Sara to Ela and back. "Ah..."
Sara sat there unmoving, not even giving so much as a nod. Comprehension having dawned on Mel, she figured it best to explain. “The project was partly successful. We’ve perfected a technique to clone human bodies, but the accelerated growth process… By my calculations, the current clone has a lifespan of about 1-2 years before cellular breakdown begins.”
Ela let go of the breath she'd started holding as soon as Sara began to speak. "Ah..." she echoed, "I see."
She tilted her head at Sara, "So what's the deal? I'm sure you don't just expect me to hang about healing all your clones. You want to pull me apart and see how I tick, right?" The outburst startled even Ela, but panic overrode her usual reticence with strangers. She wanted to know exactly what they intended to do to her.
"No. I have no intention of permitting that," Sara truthfully admitted. Neither would Observer permit it, she knew. That sort of experimentation went against what she had found to be every principle of ethical research. "We need to identify the problem. Which if you were able to correct it, we could. We simply track what happens to the clone."
And to Sara, if it was keeping Ela around to heal all of the clones, that would be what they did. She would be gaining immortality after all. But there was something else that Observer had shown her, the information on the group that wanted to go after her. "You don't need to worry. Humans First and their ilk will be taken care of in due time."
Somewhat mollified, Ela nodded slowly. "I see. Once I can tell you what's wrong with them, you know where to look. That makes sense." She shuddered at Sara's mention of Humans First, however. "Those people scare me - Humans First, not clones..." Ela trailed off and examined her feet carefully.
"Well, they should," noted Sara. "Is there anything I can do for the two of you at all?"
Ela kept her head bowed, having embarrassed herself into silence.
"Travel arrangements to Washington,” said Mel, “Somewhere to stay. I don't think anything else is really necessary." Avoiding any more strands of this particular web was a priority.
Sara made mental notes, sending signals out to Observer. His response was quick and efficient - exactly what one would expect of an AI designed for surveillance. Still, she stood to maintain the facade.
"I'll take care of it and call you later with the details," she said, moving deliberately. "And thank you. Both of you."
"Don't mention it," came the dry response.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
November 17, 2003
Washington, DC
8:15pm
The Brain put his cup of tea down on the saucer, Lianna sitting next to him. It was a small cafe in the district, fairly nondescript in appearance. It was the last place you would look for the birth of a Metahuman resistance cell, or indeed for a gathering of its members. His plan was simple: just arriving at the cafe was all the others needed to do to signal to him that they had arrived safely. Eat if they wanted, but don't for the love of god sit with him.
The exception being Lianna and Morgana, who had flown in with Brain, and made him look like he was just enjoying a meal with good friends. The television displayed live coverage of the conference throughout.
Sebatian and Apollo were the first two to arrive, ending up at a table on their own. Apollo tossed a glance in Brain's direction, to be told gently to look away by Seb. They'd grabbed a bite to eat at another table, looking like nothing if not two buisness delegates. They weren't the ones who worried Brain, though.
The ones who worried Brain was the group of four people - two men, two women - who had clearly just come from the Humans First rally several blocks away. Loudly discussing anti-meta slogans, and talking about how great it would be when the Layman bill passed, talking about that 'traitor to normals' Douglass who refused to go far enough. "Just ignore them," he said to Morgana, looking not unamused by them.
"Sorry, it's just bringing back bad memories, after the accident," she replied, trying her best to tune out the Humans First people. She had been the recipient in school of no small amount of loss, even her best friend leaving her when she became a meta.
"I just hope that Garg doesn't try to start anything. The last thing we need at this stage is a brawl."
Returning his attention back to Drake, Apollo grimaced at the racist comments being so openly muttered. “You know, the world has come so far in terms of acceptance, but we are still in the dark ages when it comes to Meta rights”.
Sebastian smiled. How cute this kid was, speaking normatively of how people ought to be. When would he realize that concerning himself with the beliefs of normal people was below him. “You’re a god amongst men Apollo, don’t concern yourself with the jibberings of these lowlifes”.
Apollo nodded pretending to accept his throne of superiority, but deep down, the flying meta insults still stung him inside. “So it looks like everyone’s here except Gargoyle. Its actually good he’s late, I don’t think those human first activists would take it well if he were to walk in now,” Apollo said.
“Well, you wont need to speculate, cause our dearest Gargy just walked in,” Sebastian laughed as everyone in the café turned to glare at the 9 foot monster entering. “This should be a real hoot”.
Conversation stopped as Gargoyle's form filled the doorway, walking to the counter. The four HF people looked at him with a combination of hatred and curiosity, the fearsome visage of a Meta ignoring their prescence. They were normals, after all, so beneath his time or his attention unless the matter was forced. One of them was feeling a bit brazen and walked up to the Meta as he waited for a drink to be delivered. "Well, well," the man said. "Check out the freak show."
Gargoyle growled deep in his throat. "Do not tempt fate, human," he said.
"Human? What, like you're better than us or something?"
"Last chance. Leave me alone."
"Or what, you freak?"
Gargoyle moved quickly, lifting the man with a single hand before hurling him across the room, into a table. The table fell over with a loud crash, his three companions jumping to their feet to help him. "I warned you," he growled.
Brain watched the exchange with a growing amount of worry on his face. "Uh oh."
After helping their comrade to his feet, the Human’s first members began to circle Gargoyle, looks of malice and hatred oozing from their faces. “Stinking, dirty Meta! You’ll pay for that!” People were now scrambling from the coffee house in horror, not wanting to be caught up in the inevitable brawl. However five people remained in their seats, anxiously watching. “This could compromise our entire position,” Morgana hissed quietly to Brain and Lianna. “Lumbering idiot”.
The four humans closing in on him did not seem to frighten Gargoyle in the least. He could easily snap each of the groveling worms in two, and he planned on doing just that. “You normals will regret this day!” the beast yelled as his tail whipped into the closest adversary, knocking him brutally backwards. Without hesitation, he lunged forward at his next victim, but was shocked to find his movement halted by a strong pair of arms holding him back. “What the hell?”
“Killing people is not out agenda Gargoyle,” Apollo said, his strong arms struggling to keep his associate in check.
Gargoyle suddenly leaned backwards, unbalancing Apollo long enough to flip him over his shoulders. Still the young man tried to hold back the beast, this time from the front. "They wish to fight, I shall give them one. Stand aside!"
Sebastian calmly made his way over to wear Brain, Lianna and Morgana were sitting, and pulled up a chair next to them. “Oh look our boys are going to have a skirmish. Should we take bets on who win?” he said merrily.
“I think not,” interjected Brain, watching the two prepare to fight. One part of his gift was intelligence, but there was his main ability. The projection and control of his own mental energy. Brain focused, a lance of white mental energy leaving his fingers before surrounding the two preparing to fight.
“This is unacceptable!” he said loudly. “Metas fighting Metas, and you people deliberately annoying him. It’s time we left, gentlemen. We get along better with normals when we aren’t together.”
Lianna nodded, aware that she was now branded a meta, regardless of the fact that she strictly wasn't, and the group made its way to the door with Brain looking more furious at Gargoyle and Apollo than the Humans First members.
“No doubt camera crews are on their way, we’re going to be all over the news,” Morgana roared as she frantically stood up. “I can’t believe you two have screwed up so badly!”
“Hey, he started it,” Apollo replied defensively. At this point the 4 Humans First members were taking advantage of the momentary distraction and were attempting to sneak out the back door.
“Not so fast guys,” Sebastian said as he extended his ability to encompass the runaways. One by one they froze as an immense wave of fear washed over their bodies. Sebastian flamed the emotions even more until finally all they could do was tremble. “Now you guys aren’t going to run and tell people what we look like are you? Of course you wont, because you’re too afraid of what we may do to you”. Sebastian enjoyed toying with normals this way, it was the biggest benefit of being a meta.
“We don’t have time for your games Drake!” Morgana said angrily.
“Patience darling, don’t rush me while I’m working,” Sebastian replied increasing his power even more. After a moment, he turned around and walked calmly back to the group. “There, now we need not fear them ratting on us. I think they’re a bit worried of the consequences if they do”.
Brain considered for a moment. They might very well still say something, but what was done was done. Not that it mattered – they could have only hidden for so long anyway. At least the camera crews weren’t there yet. The six made their way out and quickly dispersed.
The incident went virtually unnoted, as there were three more incidents that day which all got lumped together as the powder keg continued to grow.
Soon it would be time.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Monday 17th November, 2003 - 3:00pm
Washington DC
The pair that entered the hotel drew a curious glance from those in the lobby before being ignored, as they seemed to know exactly where they were going. Besides, they didn’t look like the assorted businessmen that were staying in other parts of the city, and the most distinguishing trait about them was the deliberate way in which they moved.
Observer walked a bit behind Sara, disliking the need to change his clothing to ‘blend’. Sara on the other hand had welcomed it, finding that humans reacted to her very differently at any given time based on how she was dressed. The chance to get new firsthand data on it excited her. Neither spoke at all, instead passing electronic messages between each other, machines communicating in New York. *You are certain she will accept?*
Sara stopped immediately outside of the door, sending her reply quickly as she considered what she was about to do. *So long as you don’t threaten her. Besides, she’s a meta and will recognise that it helps her, and it meets his requirements.*
*I hope you’re right,* came the reply as Sara raised her hand to knock, and waited for one of the two women inside to open the door.
Mel had just about managed to relax after another interminable flight. Unpacking her belongings had, strangely enough, helped and while the hotel Sara had arranged for them was by no means the Waldorf Astoria it was reasonably well appointed and comfortable. Ela was in the other bedroom and Mel was unpacking.
Sitting down on the sofa in the suites main room Mel flicked on the TV and frowned. *Not another story about this damn conference.* At least there was a local angle to this one but stories about pro and anti meta protests were not something she wanted right now. Her continued channel hopping in search of something lighter was interrupted by a knock at the door. *What now?* All sorts of possibilities ran through Mel's mind as she walked towards the door, the least pleasant of which was a reporter of some description. After all, her hair marked her as unusual and in this city at this time that meant one thing – meta.
Peering through the spy hole Mel saw Sara and another man she didn't recognise. *Hello conspirator number three.* Mel opened the door and with an expression borrowed from the poker table greeted her visitors.
"Hello, Sara."
“Hello, Melissa,” said Sara, trying to make out her expression and failing with her own limited experience. Reading various human expressions was a skill that she was not liable to master for a long time. Observer studied Mel intently, as he assessed her. “Do you mind if we come inside? There’s a great deal to discuss.”
"Of course not. Please..." Mel gestured the pair into the room and as she walked back to the couch she switched off the TV. Ela didn't appear from out of her bedroom but if Mel had learnt anything about the young woman she knew Ela would be listening at the door. "Have a seat. I can't vouch for the contents of the mini-bar, but can I get you anything?"
“That’s all right, but thank you,” Sara replied as the pair entered the room. Having scanned the room, they elected to stand more than anything else, Observer propping himself against the side of the counter. “Melissa, this is Observer, the man I told you about,” she gestured to her companion.
Observer stumbled about the words as he tried to find them. These customs were silly. “A pleasure to meet you. I trust your flight went well?”
"As well as can be expected. I don't fly well for some reason." The platitudes from both her guests were empty – as devoid of emotional subtext as anything she'd ever encountered. *I wonder if they play cards?* "Well Observer, Sara tells me you have an offer for me. Would you care to elaborate?"
Frank and direct, Observer thought. Two traits that he could admire a great deal. He would enjoy working with this woman. “Of course. I have reason to believe that someone is going to attack the conference, certain… communications have passed over less than secure channels. The public backlash after this could prove quite harmful to metahumans.”
Observer’s smile was genuine and reflected all of the scheming that went on in his mind. The plots within plots within plots. “Unless, of course, the public had another metahuman they could point to. One who, despite what may happen and the feelings of normal humans toward her kind, is still willing to fight to protect them.”
Behind her door Ela's ears pricked up. She knew Sara had hinted at some way Mel could help with this potential attack on the conference, but mostly the woman had just talked about the clone project. She listened to the voice of the man who called himself Observer. Supposedly he'd been the one to arrange for her rescue from the kidnappers, sending Mel and William to get her. She wasn't sure she liked his voice. It was cold and calculating.
Shivering, she kept her ear pressed to the door, wishing she had the guts to open it and go out there. But she wanted to know more about what they had in mind for Mel, and once she was there they might not talk about it any more. They'd be all keen to get their new healer to work, she was sure. She held her breath, waiting for Mel's reply to Observer's startling revelation.
"Ok. So a metahuman is going to attack the conference. You want to hold me up as a shining paragon of metahuman virtue, help me defeat the evil metahuman before she spoils the party for the rest of us, right?"
"As a start," Observer told her. "I must confess, my information is rather scant at the moment and I fear that we have to let them make the first move. But we're not just talking about one event. Think of it, Melissa. Give us a chance, and we'll have your popularity rivalling that of The Citizen." Which was, he knew, possibly wishful thinking but still an ideal situation.
"And then what? Forgive me, Observer, for speaking bluntly but I doubt your motives are quite as pure in this matter as you'd like me to believe. You've already pulled a bait and switch on me once with the nuke in Australia and though I admit helping Ela was a very good thing, I'm wondering when the other boot will fall in this particular matter." Mel was under no illusions. No doubt Observer would have a convincing line, one she'd probably even swallow, but if this hook was going to be taken she was still going to wriggle for all she was worth. Observer would know he'd been in a battle before he landed this particular fish.
*What is a…bait and switch?* he sent to Sara.
*A human expression. Something about replacing one product with another. I didn’t know we were selling anything.*
“How very astute of you to notice. Let me put this another way. The outcome of the conference has already been determined.”
Sara decided that the time to cut off Observer was now, before he went and scared Melissa off. He needed to interface with more humans. They just don’t respond well to threats, explicit or implied. “What Observer means is that the status quo is unlikely to be maintained. Some form of regulation is going to come out of this, and we would prefer to avoid a more… extreme… outcome. The last thing we need is for metas to be hunted.”
From her side of the door, having been a hunted meta, Ela could only agree with the last statement. She wasn't sure she liked the sound of 'regulation' though. She'd heard all sorts of different opinions put forth on that issue and to her they all sounded like prison sentences. She rolled her neck to ease the kink then went back to listening.
"The outcome of the conference is determined? I imagine that the outcome of this particular attack is determined too? No doubt if I don't play ball you'll find some poor sap who will. Have you read the file you no doubt have on me, Observer? I shun publicity. In the last six months since I openly appeared as Gabriel I have acted to assist the local authorities on a handful of occasions and still there's a minor media circus around finding out just who 'Gabriel' is. A circus I'm somewhat surprised hasn't made the requisite connections yet. What on Earth makes you think I'd invite the kind of publicity that saving this conference would entail?"
Melissa held up her hand to forestall a response from either of her guests. "I'm well aware that any group of people who feel they can determine the outcome of this conference can more than protect my anonymity. However, allowing you to do so makes my life and the lives of my friends hostage to my good behaviour. I'm well aware that that is true already, however you're going to have to come up with something a little better."
Melissa smiled nastily at Observer. "Now explain to me why I should allow you to run my life for me while you turn me into the next Citizen?"
Observer opened his mouth to reply before stopping. Mel could tell from looking at him and Sara that some form of silent communication was going on – likely an intense, heated debate, even though they really showed little emotion at all. When Sara answered, Observer was doing the closest to silent seething that he could: standing there with a rather impassive expression.
“Because the outcome of the attack is not determined,” she pointed out. “And because this is the first step to an invisible war. A segment of Humans First has far too much influence, and if they have their way you will be hunted and attacked. Winning over the public is the first step, Melissa, and you’re right. We could find someone else but you’re already involved and the fewer people who know the better.”
Observer finally spoke. “I do not intend to sit back and let them destroy everything we’ve worked for. That’s why you should work with us. You already have publicity, you’re attractive, and – how did he put it? ‘Someone who is obviously a meta but not freakishly so.’ We can destroy their popular support if you’re willing to work with us. You will have managed to save the metahumans. Surely, Melissa, isn’t that worth the price?”
"I'm more than willing to work with you... I'm not willing to work for you, and the relative balance of power precludes the former in any realistic sense. Your apparent goals are quite noble I'm sure, but it's that word 'apparent' that's the stumbling block. I don't trust you, Observer. I think you'll use me for your own ends and I doubt I'll like the end result. Unless you can convince me otherwise I'm not sure I want to get involved with you people any more than I already am."
"Come now, let's not spoil this special moment with predictions of deception." Still, Observer could understand where she was coming from. She was right, of course, that he would use her to advance his goals. But there were other people. "It is quite a shame to lose the opportunity, but as you have suggested: there will be others. Then again, I suspect we will end up working together. You don't seem the type who will be able to sit back and watch events unfold without taking some action."
"On that you're correct, and having manoeuvred me into position and let me know what is to come you're right – I’m not the sort of person who'll let some fool destroy a chance for peace between metas and non-metas. But should I sense your manipulations in the aftermath… Well, I'll not make idle threats you'd no doubt ignore anyway, so instead I'll give you a warning. I am just begun – I’ve no idea where the ending lies."
Observer smiled again, a gesture of pure unadulterated arrogance. If this woman wanted to challenge him, she would find herself destroyed. All it would take would be to send the right files to the media to identify her, or to INS on Ela. "We shall see," was the last thing he said before heading out the door.
Sara continued to sit, still quietly seething inside at Observer. He had probably just blown it, and worse she had helped the idiot blow it by allowing him to speak. "My apologies for Observer's attitude," she said, knowing that it was not just Dr. Wyatt who found the AI a bit distasteful. "He is stubborn almost all the time and has yet to learn – what is the saying? Able to catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" *But why would someone want to catch flies at all?*
The silver faded from Mel's vision, the thunder from her ears. *Where the hell did that come from?* "No apologies necessary, Sara. In fact I'm pretty sure Observer and I understand each other perfectly." Mel smiled then stood. "Is there anything else?"
Sara was intelligent enough to see a dismissal, rising as well. She scanned her files to try to figure the proper response. "Not at the moment. Just give Ela my regards and try to stay out of trouble." She hoped that was the appropriate farewell among humans. So many cultures, so many languages. Couldn't they just pick one and stick with it? She turned to leave as well.
Ela remained behind her door as Sara left. She hadn't liked the sound of Observer's parting comment. It sounded as much a threat as a goodbye. Thoughts whirled about her head. So, they expected an attack and wanted to make Mel a hero. She knew if it had been her in Mel's place she'd have been too flustered to come up with any rational arguments for the pair who had just left. Her admiration for Mel went up another notch, and her relief at having the woman here with her. Mel would make sure Sara and Observer didn't take advantage of her naivety.
"Dammit, that was clever... pissing off the leader of an international conspiracy." Mel walked over to the mini-bar and poured a glass of vodka. She raised her voice slightly, "Ok Ela, I'm guessing you heard most, if not all of our little chat. Would you like to come out now?"
Ela stood and stretched, then opened the door and joined Mel in the living room of the hotel suite. She plopped onto the sofa and sprawled there, arms and legs going every which way. "I didn't like the sound of that Observer guy," she commented, "But you stood up to him, Mel."
"Yeah well, I'm not sure that was the best thing to do under the circumstances." Mel looked at her drink and contemplated telling Ela about the episode, but it had been mild and the first for over a month. She tossed the rest of the drink down and waited for the burn of the alcohol to subside. "So, what do you think?"
Ela blinked up at Mel and straightened in her seat somewhat. "I don't trust them, Mel. But if there is an attack - we can't just sit by, can we? What worries me is that it might backfire on them. If there's an attack and you're in place ready to defend the people here – what are the odds that someone somewhere will say it was all a setup to make metas look good? And with those two, I'm not too sure it might not be a setup..." Ela lapsed back into silence. She'd grown so comfortable with Mel that she found herself able to articulate her thoughts much as she'd used to with her family. She hadn't emerged while Sara and Observer were about because she knew she'd be tongue-tied and unable to say anything sensible.
*Well, that's another crack in the shell.* "Yeah, I pretty much agree with you. The problem is, despite all that we still have to work with them to some degree. The clones. Well, if there's an attack we'll do our best to protect the good people of Washington and afterwards if Observer starts playing games with the media we'll deal with that too." *Not that I've any idea how.*
Mel gave Ela a somewhat strained smile. "You all settled in? I though we might head out, see the sights. If we do end up front page news there's probably no point hiding in here all day.”
Ela brightened. Mel sounded confident and Ela trusted her. And the thought of being able to get out of the confining walls of the suite cheered her considerably, too. "You know," she said shyly, "I've always wanted to see the spaceships..."
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
November 17th 2003
Washington DC
12:36 PM
“Jenna wait!”
Eric’s heart was nearly pounding out of his chest as he ran into the hallway after the woman who had just walked in on him and the Fixer arguing. He couldn’t explain how or why she was at the hotel in Washington, but he didn’t care, all that matter was the fact that she alive.
“Jenna, please, listen to me,” Eric said as he finally caught up to the woman. He reached out gently and grabbed her arm, to which she responded with a look of fright and anxiety; a look which cut straight through Eric’s heart.
“Don’t you remember me? Remember us?”
Jenna considered the man grabbing her carefully, pulling away. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn't place him entirely. It was possible she knew him - from what Feldman said, not all of her memory was preserved - but she wasn't about to tell him that. "What is there to remember?" she asked. "How am I supposed to know you?"
Another jab to the heart.
Eric’s face visibly expressed his pain and confusion. “We spent all our lives together, we…we loved each other”. *How could she not remember?*
Another recoil. Not that old routine. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to be more specific."
The man’s voice began to quiver. *Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke?* “We were raised together by Valhalla to be agents. We spent out lives under their wing, we performed countless missions together, you, me and Alex, until,” he stopped as a lump in his throat prevented his speech momentarily. Taking a deep breath, Eric managed to muster the strength to continue. “Until, Cerberus murdered both of you. I saw him kill you, but –but somehow you’re here”.
Valhalla. And Cerberus. How had he known about that? Very few people would, but she could remember Cerberus - hell, she could remember dying at his hands. It was an immensley painfull experience, but she could remember the other people there. She squinted her eyes, picturing him in uniform. Then something began to connect. "Fenris?" she asked softly.
The man’s eyes grew in excitement; finally something was getting through. Once again, he reached out to touch her, and this time she only trembled slightly instead of shrinking away completely. He stoked her arm tenderly as their eyes made contact. He had envisioned this moment thousands of times in his head, but not quite like this; in his fantasizing she wasn’t suffering from some bizarre memory loss. However, Fenris wasn’t going to let this setback stop him from reuniting with the woman he loved. “Yeah Jenna, its me”. He longed to reach out and hold her in his arms. “Do you remember anything more”.
"I, I...." she stared, considering him. Something about him made her want to believe him, to trust him. It was a chance, but if he was Fenris she could trust him. "I remember Cerberus. Feeling the life draw away from my body before I lost conciousness. Then I woke up in a lab somewhere, my body hurt..." She stopped suddenly, looking at him in confusion. "He didn't kill you? Or did they get you as well?"
“No, he tried to kill me also, but I survived”. The details of his life since the incident were inconsequential; he was more concerned with how she had been revived. “You said you woke up in a lab. Who brought you back?”
Jenna looked at Fenris with shock. Tried, but failed. She had given up on him for as good as dead. Still she was glad to have him back, a friend outside of the people who now seemed to have this hold over her life. "Feldman," she finally said. "She finally did it, Fenris. She conquered death...."
“The CEO of Benson Pharmaceuticals? But…but how did she get your body? And why would a drug company want to bring back a Valhalla agent?” There was definitely more to this story than she was either letting on, or knew. “Are you in any danger? Just tell me Jenna, and ill protect you”.
"I, I don't know. I think she wanted to see if it could be done. But...." She swallowed hard, looking back and forth. Even Feldman didn't know what she was about to tell him, the information having been kept secret. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I'm... I'm dying...."
His heart stopped.
All colour faded from Eric’s face as he tried to absorb the enormity of her confession. “What do you mean you’re dying? No, no you cant be, you had to have been brought back for a reason, how could you be dying?” The Valhalla executive was rambling, trying to find any rational to discredit her words.
"It's the accelerated growth proccess," she said softly, the fear reentering her voice. "Sara tells me that I have one, maybe two years before - I don't know what 'loss of cellular cohesion' is supposed to mean, but it sounds bad. I'm sorry."
Eric began shaking his head in denial. “No, no, we’ll find a way to stop it, I’m not going to let go of you again”. Moving closer to her, Eric brushed a rogue strand of hair out of her beautiful face. “I promise, I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he said protectively as he leaned in closer, no longer able to resist the urge to taste his lover’s lips once again.
Jenna stumbled back in surprise again. An onlooker would be unsure whose look of shock was greater when she pulled away from him. "Eric," she said. "What... what are you doing? We were teammates.... oh...." she stopped in terror, trying to remember. Could she not remember being with him because they hadn't been together, or because of something else. "Look, Fenris... we just met each other again.... I think we should talk again later, ok? Just the two of us."
He was so lost in that moment, unable to even think of something to say. Nothing made any sense: her mysterious return, her being in Washington with Fixer, her remembering him only as a coworker and not a lover…
“But Jenna,” he finally managed to whisper.
“I’m sorry, I just need time,” she said before she turned and quickly walked away.
Just as Eric was preparing to go after her, Marcus appeared out of one of the hallways. “Ah Eric, there you are, I’ve been looking all over for you, Ms. Shaw has very disturbing news”.
Eric could barely hear his words as he stared despondently down the corridor Jenna had just left. He longed to go after her, but now realized he couldn’t; she couldn’t remember everything, and he could not risk scaring her away.
“Eric, what’s wrong with you, are you even listening to me?” Marcus questioned, as he followed the man’s gaze down the empty hallway?
For a moment, Eric considered telling Marcus what had just transpired, but quickly decided against it. The less people who knew about her resurrection, the safer Jenna would be.
“Its, uhh, it’s nothing,” Eric said, as he turned and followed Marcus down another corridor. “So what exactly is this urgent news?”
“Well,” Marcus said, as they reached the elevators, and he pressed the ‘Arrow Up’ Button, “It would seem that two agents have mysteriously vanished from Valhalla”.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Tuesday, 18th November 2003 – 3pm
Washington DC
Introducing...
Diana Rigg as Verity Jennings & Omar Sharif as Fahim Khoury
The CEO and head researcher of Humanitech sat alone at the conference table, going over her notes for the keynote speech she was due to make at the upcoming Conference. *No,* she reminded herself, *not ‘upcoming’. Tomorrow. It starts tomorrow.* At least her speech wasn’t due to be delivered until Thursday. It gave her a little more time for her other activities. And she’d had a very disturbing call on Sunday, one which had upset her whole routine.
A quiet knock interrupted her musing, and she looked up to see one of her assistants waiting nervously.
“Yes?”
“Ms Jennings, that journalist is here for his appointment – Mr Khoury.”
“Ah, yes, Stella. Show him in, please. I agreed to give a short interview. Could you arrange for coffee? And then see to it we’re not disturbed.”
Stella bobbed her head and left to make the arrangements. Soon Verity Jennings, the head of Humanitech, and Fahim Khoury, one of the world’s most noted journalists, were seated together at a small table with a tray of coffee and chocolates between them.
Verity sat back with her cup of coffee and smiled warmly at the swarthy man sitting opposite her. “Fahim,” she said, “I’ve ensured there are no listening devices in here. I presume you arranged for this fake interview because you had a message from Fournier on Sunday as well?”
“Quite, Verity,” Fahim replied. He popped a chocolate in his mouth and chewed slowly. “I understand your trepidations about including the Illuminati in our business, but from what Jules said the man who approached him knew a considerable amount about our plans. He knew Jules was a meta, for goodness’ sake! Until you’d scanned him, I believe nobody else had ever learned that.”
Verity nodded. She remembered when she’d been trying hundreds of different businesses to commit venture capital to Humanitech – but in the financial climate of the late 70’s and given the business Humanitech proposed to be involved in, nobody was willing to take it on. Then she’d thrown her net outside the US, with similar lack of support until Jules Fournier had contacted her. His company was still young, and Humanitech was one of its first big ventures. It wasn’t until Verity had met Jules in person that she understood. Her ability to sense other metas had picked up Fournier’s gift immediately.
Jules was now numbered among the one hundred richest men in the world, and Humanitech’s research had proven invaluable – both the sanctioned government research and Verity’s after-hours projects. Between the two of them they had covered the financial needs and the scientific knowledge necessary to bring their plans to fruition. Senator Martin Douglass, of course, provided the political clout they needed and Fahim Khoury had been writing his column for years, subtly influencing the hearts and minds of readers around the world. And now for the first time in many, many years all four of them were in the same city, at a crucial juncture in metahuman history. The responsibility was breathtaking.
Returning to the matter at hand, Verity replied, “I know I don’t have to tell you how worried I am. This conference is important to us – the decision that comes from this could well determine whether our vision is ever realised. Things are coming to a head, Fahim, and this world can’t continue the way it has. Metas need to be accepted for who and what they are, not shunned as second-class citizens. If we can’t achieve regulation of metas on our terms who knows where we’ll end up? Frankly, I don’t trust anyone else to do it right. I mean, just look at the mess Humans First have caused.”
“I know, I know,” Fahim soothed, “But HF have the problem where the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing. We’re all working for the same end here. And this Everett fellow hasn’t proposed anything like a full merger or anything. Merely that his organisation wants the same result we do from this conference – and he’s willing to see we get to control the transition, which is all we’ve ever wanted.”
“Yes, but on condition that we support his aims for world government. What if it turns out his long-term agenda is opposed to ours? What then?”
“One step at a time, Verity. If we get what we want now and Everett gets what he wants, but his form of government turns out to be unfriendly to us, by then we’ll have an army at our disposal if we need it.”
Jennings looked at Khoury, horrified. “You can’t be serious,” she gasped, “That’s not what we’re about. We aren’t here to create an army!”
“No, we’re not,” Fahim agreed, his face darkening at Verity’s vehemence, “But if ever it should become necessary – well, we’d have the resources at our fingertips by then, is all I was saying.”
“It had better not ever become necessary,” Verity declaimed.
“Well, that’s up to Everett, isn’t it? If he pulls the rug out from under us, would you want to see thirty years of planning go down the drain?” Khoury leaned forward, “And I’m aware that the man would have used a false name, but even so I’ve done some tracking. On the surface, Everett is a Zyrcom executive and all his records are on various computers, down to school reports and immunisations. But all of that is only on the computer. I have friends at Zyrcom and made discreet enquiries – nobody has ever heard of anyone named Everett.”
“So,” Verity mused, “he was able to doctor a complete history on computer – very impressive, even in this day and age. The Illuminati certainly has a far reach. I’m willing to bet if you checked on the schools he was meant to have attended, there’d be no pictures of him in the Yearbooks either.”
Khoury laughed, “You’re right – I wouldn’t be willing to wager against you on that.”
“So we just have to trust him and hope he won’t screw us, is that it?”
“Not entirely. But for now, that’s what we’ll do. I trust Jules’ judgement in this.”
Verity watched her friend through half-lidded eyes. “And what does Martin think of it all? Have you spoken with him yet?”
Fahim nodded, “Yes, earlier today. Like us, he’s cautious but willing to see how it flies. If it works out, this could be a great boon to us, Verity.”
Jennings made a face. “If it works out.”
It's a Tough Job...
***Monday, November 17, 2003 ***
Soleil Munroe sat between two of her classmates on the crowded 747. They were all headed to Washington D.C. to see “democracy in action.” At least that’s what Professor Walther had said when he proposed the trip to the staff of the Guardian. Sol had joined the paper’s staff on a whim at the beginning of her first semester. Her friend, Linda Wollenstein was a communications major who wanted desperately to be Lois Lane when she grew up, and she’d convinced Sol to take her first Communication class in the spring. Now, in the fall of her sophomore year, Sol was entrenched in the journalism department. Surprisingly, she found the studies fascinating, and she really enjoyed the work she did on the Guardian. So much so, that lately she’d been toying with the idea of changing her major.
Now, Sol sat on a plane beside Linda, who was hotly debating her latest feature with the paper’s editor, Jon Ying. Jon was an opinionated, fast talking Japanese American in his Junior Year at UCSD. He and Linda were always arguing about inches. She wanted more and he thought she should use less. Sol often was subject to their terse conversations. Fortunately, she was too busy on this flight worrying about Washington to worry much about them.
*** Flashback ***
*** Thursday, May 29, 2003 ***
Climbing into the half open window of her third story apartment, Soleil was careful not to make a sound. She didn’t want to alert the neighbors to the fact that someone was sneaking into the apartment of “that lovely young lady down the hall.” Especially since that someone was the young lady in question. She closed the window with a soft click as soon as she was standing inside her bedroom. Walking wearily across the room, Sol sank onto her bed and slipped the domino off of her face. She let the small fabric mask fall to the bed at her side, as she rubbed her face with her hands.
This last month felt more like a year. She had committed herself to doing something unbelievable that night on the beach. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but that’s what she’d done. Too many metas in this world used their powers to take advantage of people, to prey on the weak. Sol couldn’t live with that. She had to make a difference, and so now she was, a small one, but a difference nonetheless.
Four weeks ago, give or take a day, Soleil had come back to this little apartment, and sat down at her desk and designed for herself a new identity. She’d created a costume, complete with mask, and designed to allow optimal skin exposure to those oh-so-yummy UV rays. She’d set up a schedule, one which allotted very little time for leisure, what with school, work, cheer practice, and the whole super hero thing. She’d even come up with a secret identity, a separate person for her new, separate life. That’s how Sundance was born.
At first, Soleil had only thought of the importance of what she was doing, of her duty to both humans and other metas. But, as time went by, she found she enjoyed being Sundance. She loved using the abilities she possessed, really letting loose. It was so invigorating to be able to run, or jump, or even fight. She hadn’t realized how addictive it could all be.
The only thing was, Sol found it hard to balance this secret life with the demands of being a young woman. She had to really work at making sure her grades or her cheerleading didn’t suffer, and she rarely had time to socialize. She’d led her friends to believe she was volunteering, but she’d had to turn down quite a few dates with guys who had actual potential. Some nights, when she came home weary and bruised, it seemed that all this was too much for a young woman to handle alone. Alone. That was really the thing. Sol was so tired of being alone, of lying to everyone about what she was. Sometimes, she just wanted to stand in the middle of the Commons in costume, whip off her domino, and scream at the top of her lungs, “Here I am! Look at me!”
Sighing, Sol stood up and began to pull off her costume. It was late, and she was dirty and tired. Things would look better by the light of day. They always did.
****
*** Wednesday, August 20, 2003 ***
Staring at the clippings before her, Soleil was at a loss as to what to do. She’d started back at the beginning collecting clippings from the local papers that either mentioned Sundance specifically, or any meta activity in the area. The folder was full to the brim with articles and editorials. Most were by either Marcus Link, a reporter for the San Diego Source who advocated a fair and just stance be taken by the government. Soleil loved reading his work. It made her feel hopeful.
The other writer who covered most of the stories was Janie Fell. She worked for the Union Tribune, and she was the polar opposite of Mr. Link. She believed all metahumans should be locked away or something. Her articles made Soleil sick to her stomach.
Today, Sol sat reading through some of her clippings, wondering where to go from here. For the last three months, she’d had time and more time to devote to being “Sundance”. She had stopped a lot of crimes from being committed and helped a lot of people. She felt good about what she was doing. The problem was that now, as things became hotter and hotter nationwide, she felt a growing responsibility to metahumanity to take a stand. Sundance should come out in public in support of her “people” and their rights.
Soleil was afraid to take that stand. She preferred working under the cover of darkness. She was terrified every day that someone would discover her secret. This was made all the harder by the fact that she was an outgoing girl. She’d never in her life wanted for friends, but now she had to hold everyone at arms length. She didn’t know what to do. She just knew that somehow, sometime, something had to give.
***
***End Flashback***
Soleil stared at the clippings she’d brought along with her to Washington.
Soleil had read and reread the things that had been written about “Sundance” over the last few months. She knew she’d be more comfortable just staying out of the limelight, but she also knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. The time for “Sundance” to take a stand was fast approaching, and Soleil would have to deal with it when it came.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
November 16th, 2003
Belle View Animal Medical Center
Washington DC
“Well, Mr. Adams, it’s pretty clear here that Miaow has dislocated her tail.” Theresa Hawk said to her patient’s master as she looked at the cat’s radiograph. She signaled the affected area in the plastic sheet. “See here, between the first and second vertebrae, it’s quite clear.” However, Tess had known what the problem was from the moment the man had entered with his Siamese cat in his arms. The cat’s pain and puzzlement had been all too clear for her to sense.
“What does that have to do with her urinating all over the house?” asked the man trying to understand the white and gray patches of the radiograph. Frustrated he looked at his doctor again, a much improved sight. Dr. Hawk was a beautiful woman, with dark hair and big “deer” brown eyes. She wore her hair in a short bob around her head, not quite reaching her shoulders, and a pair of glasses that he was sure she didn’t need but that helped her seem older. She wore a big doctor’s tunic too, that couldn’t hide her nicely shaped body. He had known her for a couple of years now, and knew that her youth wasn’t an impairment when it came to her work. The woman had a cunning way with animals, and from the first time she had treated one of his cats on her first week on the job, he had started to ask for her any time there was a problem. *How old is she?* he asked himself for the thousandth time, trying to put an age to her youthful face. He knew he was infatuated with her, but the woman had been firm but delicate to stop his advances, not damaging the doctor-patient relationship. He sighed, he knew better than to try again and she was too damn good a doctor to lose. He tore his gaze from her mouth to actually listen what she was saying.
“… the tail attaches to the body at an area called ‘the tail head’. Here.” Tess signaled the place in Miaow’s body, and the cat purred and pressed her head to the doctor’s hand. Smiling, Tess caressed the cinnamon head. “The ‘tail head’ connects the tail to the spinal cord. Fortunately when the tail breaks or dislocates it doesn’t damage the spine, but it gets to affect control and sensation of the tail, hind legs, urinary bladder, intestines and anus. That’s why she’s experiencing incontinence.”
The man caressed his cat fondly too. “Poor thing.” he said, “how could this have happened? And how do we treat her?”
“Well, there could be a number of reasons, but a simple pull from a child can do it. Have you had a child around lately?” She knew he had, the cat had shown her an image of a small child petting her and the sudden pain that had come.
Mr. Adam’s head snapped up, and Tess bit her lip. She had spoken too much, she cursed as she saw surprise in his blue eyes. “Yes, Michael, my nephew, came with her mother yesterday? How did you know?”
Avoiding his eyes, she answered. “Like I said, it’s a common enough way to happen. I just figured out.” she hurried to answer his second question. “The radiograph shows only dislocation and Miaow hasn’t lost control of the tail, so I’m willing to say that she’ll be all right. However nerves heal notoriously slowly, so it will probably be a month until she regains urinary control. If she doesn’t she may remain incontinent for life.”
She bit her lip again. This was what she always feared most. When humans learned that their pets had problems that would affect their relationship with their masters, bother them in some way or cause trouble, most people preferred to put an end to the animal rather than deal with the trouble. She would never get used to this, but she had learned to refrain herself when it happened. Short of trying to convince the person that animals had right to be taken care of and nursed, she did nothing. Such selfishness was disgusting to her, and she never wanted to ’put them out of their misery’ as the humans said, unless there wasn’t really any other option. She usually had another doctor to do it. She couldn’t stand the trusting thoughts of animals when she knew she was putting them to sleep for good.
“Poor thing.” he said again, taking the cat with tenderness. “Well, in that case we’ll have to buy cat’s diapers, won’t we, Miaow?”
Relieved, Tess gave the man her most brilliant smile, dazzling him. She liked him, he treated his animals with affection and respect, not like so many others. Not for the first time she wondered about actually going out with him, but she dismissed the thought. Instead she said. “Ask Ivy to give you the instructions to collect her urine, we have to avoid urine infection, a usual side-effect in broken tails. I’ll see you in three days, Mr. Adams.”
After accompanying him to the office's door and giving her instructions to Ivy, Tess walked towards the doctors’ room. She didn’t have any other patient waiting and wanted to check the TV about news on the conference. Fortunately the room was empty, she thought as she changed channels until she got to CNN. Kay Griffith was talking with a political analyst about the conference. It wasn’t surprising, with three days to go before the World Conference on Metahumans, most news channels were devoting hours to talk about it.
She felt movement next to her and glanced down to see ‘Waya’* next to her. The animal sat down and placed his big head on her lap. She touched his mane, twining her fingers on the thick gray fur. “Good morning.” she said and received a low grumble as answer. The wolf always accompanied her to work, but stayed in the doctor’s room, since some of the patients’ masters got nervous on his presence. The rest of the staff didn’t mind him, after two years they knew the animal was harmless, but few dared to touch him anyway. However the animal didn’t move or even acknowledge them and only made himself noticeable when Tess was in the room.
Anything new? he thought, not bothering to open his eyes. Tess shook her head, and kept on listening to the interview, aware of the wolf paying attention to her listening. It was a strange rapport they had, after so many years together. He wasn’t the wolf that had saved her as child, that original wolf had died almost 20 years ago, and another had taken his place by her side, being followed by this one. This ‘Waya the third’ as she jokingly referred to him, was a young animal, but somehow kept the memories of his two predecessors. She hadn't even tried to attempt to understand it. “totem magic” her grandfather had told her, and she agreed with him.
The wolf had almost human intelligence and she could communicate with him better than with any other animal, very nearly like talking. Most of the time when he wanted to, he “paid attention” to her, like then, and could get what she was listening or seeing. And he knew Tess was anxious about this humans’ gathering, although the implicancies were lost to him.
Tess leaned over her seat, concentrated on the show. She had been watching all TV shows on the Conference and reading all she could about it and the metahuman issue. Since her brother’s kidnapping, she kept thinking of it as that, Tess had been searching for him. That was the reason behind her moving to Washington three years ago. She figured that if he had truly been taken by a “Government” agency there would be the place to look for him. She hadn’t found nothing, though, until now. With all the governments, agencies and organizations coming to it, something would be uncovered. She patted Waya’s head. She intended to be in that Conference, in whatever way.
----
* Waya is the Cherokee word for wolf.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Der Wille zur Macht: Plans
17 November 2003 – 9pm
A lone man waited in the hotel room he’d waited, silently humming to himself. The most annoying thing about the conference to him was not the security measures, or the potential regulations to metahumans. Oh, these were important things to be sure, but like most people he was concerned with how the conference directly affected him. For the moment, this meant halting on-location shooting of his most recent project for Paramount.
Ring, ring
“Oh, sweet jesus!” Stanley Tucker cried out in surprise, sending a small bottle of vodka flying across the room. People always managed to call for him whenever he was pouring a drink. Ring, ring. Muttering to himself, the producer walked over to the phone with what remained of his drink. Taking one forlorn look at it, he decided what remained of the attempt to mix the drink was not worth trying.
“Yes?” he asked, picking up the phone. Who the hell was calling him?
The voice on the other end was easily recognisable as belonging to his future boss. “Ah, Stanley. I trust I’m not disturbing you.”
“No, not at all.” Stanley’s voice betrayed none of the annoyance that he felt at Observer that evening. Ever since the program convinced him that a change in leadership was needed, he’d been annoyed at the program’s stubbornness. *He’s bad as a 10am pitch meeting.* Which was when he remembered one of their earlier conversations. “So, do we have someone to be our hero?”
“Not as such. I found the perfect woman for the role – the Vegas Light no less. Unfortunately, she does not seem to be interested.”
He’d heard the stories about the Vegas Light, even seen the pictures when Observer found them and searched through the clippings. Sara even sent him a recording of the earlier meeting, and Observer was right, the woman was perfect. “What do you mean, she’s not interested?”
“That’s exactly what it sounds like.”
Stanley thought for a moment before continuing. “Call her up,” he said, switching the phone to speaker and looking for his coat. “Call her up, tell her I’m coming down right now. Not interested, puh…”
“Stanley, don’t even think about it. We will have more opportunities to negotiate, and failing her we can always find someone else. Are you ready to proceed on the other matter?”
Stanley sighed, dropping his coat and taking the AI off speaker. No way in hell was letting their voice carry out the room. “I still think you should wait until after the conference. The way things are going, you’re talking about killing a public figure. Makes more sense to wait.”
“They are starting to get suspicious.”
“I don’t care, you waited this long, you can wait another week or two.”
“Stanley-“
“Do we really have to go through all this again?” he interrupted, cutting off Observer. “Look, I can still cover with a hit before the conference, but it just looks better if you wait.”
“It’s going to look like a tragic accident either way.”
“Yes, but still-“
“Let me put this in terms you will understand. The show must go on.”
Stanley swallowed. “I understand.” *I hate it when they meddle. He just has to go and make a simple death more complicated.* The sound of an open line on the other end of the phone sounded; a sign that Observer cut the connection. Any countermeasures to wiretaps he could provide would now be gone.
Looking down at the empty glass, Stanley sighed again. He no longer felt like drinking. To a good producer, nothing was more important than his next picture. Or in the case of the Illuminati’s producer, his next manipulation. “Flight 515 from New York was tragically lost,” he mused to himself, shaking his head. “Damn shame. I liked Patricia, too.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Tuesday, 18th November 2003 – 6:30pm
Somewhere in Washington DC
To an outside observer, the building looked like nothing more than a simple antiques shop with a sign that read ‘closed.’ Everyone was used to seeing a car or two outside – the owners supposedly lived upstairs – but if they saw the trio sitting in this car, they would be asking more than a few questions. Not least of which would be, “why does one of these women have silver-blue hair and those strange eyes?”
Sara had been sent to pick up Ela that evening, and it took some amount of convincing to get her to come along with her to the ‘shop.’ Naturally, Ela refused to come along without Mel, and Mel seemed to spend most of her time glowering and looking generally suspicious. Partly she blamed Observer and his tendency to make threats for that.
“Here we are,” Sara said at last to the pair in the car. “Shall we go inside?”
Ela shrugged. The question seemed rather pointless to her – if they weren't to go inside, why bother going at all? Still, she figured Sara was just trying to put her at ease, but the only reason she wasn't bolting out of the car and running down the street was the comforting presence of her friend beside her. She squeezed Mel's hand nervously and looked at the back of Sara's head. The woman hadn't so much as turned her head to speak to them where they sat in the back. Ela shrugged again.
Mel almost wanted to roll her eyes, though if she was honest she couldn't blame Ela. The whole situation seemed designed to induce nerves. "Yes, let's." *Ok lay off the sarcasm a little there...*
She squeezed Ela's hand in return and reached for the door. Stepping out of the car, Washington matched Mel’s mood perfectly. The late afternoon rain had moved off an hour or so ago but the streets were still damp. She held the door for Ela and tried for a comforting smile instead of the glower that had been fixed to her face ever since this particular expedition had been mooted.
Sara wondered at the change in expression as the group made its way into the shop. Immediately upon opening the door, a small bell tinkled overhead. Various display cases were arranged along the walls, with a few dressers and tables taking up the middle of the shop. A rather youngish looking man glanced in their direction then sighed in relief.
"It's about time you people showed up," he said in a loud voice. "The last treatment didn't work. Three is in trouble."
Ela stayed quiet, watching Sara to see what the woman wanted her to do. She supposed that "three" referred to a clone number. She felt nervous, knowing that she'd be watched for her 'performance'. Thoughts of X-Files shows passed through her mind – she wondered if Sara and co. would just make her quietly disappear if she didn't prove to be up to scratch.
"How bad is he?" Sara asked.
"He's spent the past thirty minutes slipping in and out of consciousness – probably doesn't have much time left. One and Two are in better condition, though Two has started to show the first signs of cellular breakdown."
Sara turned to the young woman, trying to keep some level of compassion in her voice. She watched Mel more carefully, since she seemed to be the really paranoid one. "Do you think that you could try to help him, Athela?" she said. "I honestly don't know if you'll be able to or not, but if there's anything you could do..."
"Well it's what we're here for." Mel looked at the man, "Go find some energy drinks as well as some decent food." At his frown Mel's voice lashed out like a whip "This is work. It takes energy and as my friend has told me quite often that chronic systemic illness is far harder to deal with than acute trauma. This is going to take a lot out of her."
Mel looked back to Sara, "I presume you know the way?" Mel didn't even wait for a response, "Then lead us to Number Three."
The man motioned to a door in the back, to which Sara led the other two as he disappeared in search of the requested items. It opened to reveal a converted storeroom with two hospital beds and various pieces of monitoring equipment displaying vital signs. A man with a white lab coat who looked exactly like the person from the other room turned around to greet them.
“Ah, greetings,” he said at the shocked expressions of Mel and Ela. It was one thing to intellectually know that cloning was going on, but it was quite another to come face to face with irrefutable evidence. A second man in a coat was glancing at the various monitors around the bed, double checking everything on a patient who also appeared like the others.
“My name is Two. Just Two. Prime probably told you about the situation already. Three is in the advanced stages of cellular breakdown at the moment, his internal organs… well, I’d rather not think about that…” he trailed off at the thought that he was beginning to show the early signs as well.
For all her trepidation about the overall situation here, Ela's heart went out to the figure on the bed. Pain and suffering she understood from all her time at the hospitals. Even though Mel had forbidden her from doing too much in Las Vegas, lest Humans First tracked her the way they'd tracked her to Melbourne, Ela had still managed to do some good there. The scene that faced her now was a very familiar one – with the exception of the identical faces that looked at her with questioning hope.
She looked up at Sara, "Shall I start now?"
At Sara's nod Ela flashed a tight smile at Mel and pulled up a chair next to 'Three'. "Don't worry," she whispered to the unconscious form, "this won't hurt you at all."
The man looked sickly and pale, his face almost grey in the artificial lighting. When Ela placed one hand on his forehead she noted that it was clammy. Her other hand sought his, entwining her fingers in his limp hand. The tingle began almost immediately and Ela 'looked' - for want of a better word - inside Three. She gasped out loud, causing the other occupants of the room to frown in worry. Ela paid no attention to them, however. What she sensed was far worse than anything she'd encountered even in the worst cancer patient she'd seen.
Virtually nothing remained of the man's internal organs. Ela was surprised he was still alive at all, given the degree of deterioration. His heart was barely able to beat, most of it having been reduced to the consistency of an overripe tomato. His heart, liver, kidneys, brain – all the same. To Ela's senses they felt soft and squishy. Still, she was determined to try, and began to rebuild his tissues, beginning with that labouring heart. She picked up a thread of viable heart muscle and imagined it extending into the damaged portions. But even as she worked she felt the degradation continuing at a rate she couldn't match. As soon as she finished repairing one small section, three times that amount had worsened while she'd worked.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pushed herself to go faster and faster, but she felt the moment when there was insufficient cellular integrity for Three's organs to continue functioning. She withdrew back into herself and focused her eyes on the face in the bed. A tear splashed onto their joined hands as he took his final breath. She sat staring at him for a moment, not comprehending what had just happened. If there was still life in someone she'd always been able to heal them in the past. Losing someone was new to her.
"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, "I'm so sorry."
"It's probably better this way," One said softly, turning his attention to Ela. She was trembling and sweating from the effort. There was a strange look in both of their eyes, as though they almost could not believe what happened. "At the very least, I think you were able to ease his pain at the end." Two gently took Ela's hand to lead her away as one shut off the heart monitor before the steady sound that indicated flatlining drove them insane.
"Don't you worry about me," Two assured her, knowing what was going through her mind as he tried to get her away. "I'm not rushing to the grave, and neither is One. And we're not about to let you heal us to your own death."
Sara's face appeared impassive. She felt a sense of disappointment, but that was about all; failure and responsibility. It was her research that had led to this treatment being developed.
"But," Ela protested as they led her to a room with a few comfortable-looking lounge chairs scattered about, "But if I can get to it sooner, maybe I can help. Three was..." Ela closed her eyes as though to shut out the images in her brain. "It was almost as though he were puréed. I couldn't stop it..." She wiped the moisture from her face as she sagged into a chair. On a table beside the chair were a large bowl of hot soup and an energy drink, provisions that Mel had requested for her.
Ela looked around, suddenly alarmed. "Mel? Where's Mel?"
"Yes, yes, yes," Two protested. "Get to it sooner – you won't be of any help at all if you wear yourself out and your immune system stops, will you? And Mel should be around here," he said, looking around for the woman.
Mel came forward and gripped Ela's hand, "I'm right here. You just worry about getting your strength back."
Ela smiled in relief at her friend, then turned to Two. "What I don't get is why Three was worst?"
Mel nudged her and pointed at the soup, so Ela picked up the spoon and ate a little. Minestrone. Yum. The hot soup seared a path down her oesophagus, warming her. Then she continued her line of questioning, "I presume he was the newest, so why has he degraded faster than you and One? You were all created from cell samples taken from the original, weren't you?"
"I think it's best if Sara explain, since it was her research," Two said as One entered the room. "Is the interface with Sara on-line here yet?"
One cleared his throat, making Two blush in embarrassment.
"It's the accelerated growth process," Sara explained from her chair. Two appeared to open his eyes in surprise before rushing out of the room, as One shook his head slowly.
"One was created with the original process, Two and Three used a different one. We hoped to develop a treatment process, to strengthen the cellular bonding. Instead I – it should have worked, not accelerated the breakdown, damn it!" Sara went through the motions of annoyed and angry, mostly with herself as she analysed the data again. There had to be something that she’d missed.
Interface? On-line? Ela frowned. Strange figures of speech to use, she thought. Maybe Sara had some kind of embedded uplink to a computer. That could explain the sometimes distant look the woman had. She dismissed the question from her mind and concentrated instead on the problem at hand.
"So if Two and Three were given the same process, howcome Three degraded faster?" Ela pressed. With a technical problem at hand, and her friend and protector close by, Ela's natural reticence dropped somewhat.
Sara sighed in minor annoyance. "I devised a treatment, a formula intended to be injected into the body and carried through the blood stream to various internal organs. Only instead of strengthening the bonds between cells, it attacked them. Before we realised what was happening, the rate of cellular decay was increasing at an exponential rate. Three received the treatment; Two, thankfully, did not."
Ela bit her lip in concentration before eating more of the delicious soup. She was glad it was vegetarian soup – but then again, they probably had a file on her somewhere that included such information. Between mouthfuls she said, "Oh good. That means we might have more luck with Two. I'm so sorry about Three – I tried to save him, I really did. But I just couldn't keep up with the rate."
She wiped a hand that now only shook slightly over her forehead, wiping away the drying sweat. "I could try again, in a little while." She smiled up at the only remaining clone in the room, the one with black pants who'd been introduced as One, "I won't let either you or Two end up like that."
Ela wondered how everyone kept track of the clones – maybe One always wore black pants, while Two wore the blue. She thought back to the man she and Mel had met when they first entered this building – beige pants. She could only assume he was the original.
"It's an open question as to the detection," One started. "For example, there should be a slight decrease in RBCs and WBCs when the breakdown starts. This, coupled with an increase in the production of serotonin which quickly falls off, and brainwave patterns-" One stopped as Sara gave him a look which warned him not to overtax Ela.
But Ela chimed in as One paused, “Have you tried dosing them with tryptophan to stabilise the serotonin levels?"
“The short version," Sara interrupted gravely, "is we still have no idea at all exactly what the cause is, or even if there is anything you can do now."
Ela placed the empty bowl on the table absently, and Mel caught the crockery before it slid off the edge and shattered on the floor. Remaining oblivious to the small domestic crisis she'd almost caused, Ela bowed her head in thought. The shakes had mostly subsided now and she was already feeling stronger. Food and rest were the only cures for the bone-aching weariness she sometimes felt after a heavy session. She was certainly not up to a prolonged attempt again just yet – a couple of hours' sleep would be necessary for that – but she could do a little.
"I was too busy trying to save Three's life to worry much about the underlying cause of the decay. But if I could compare, say, the original with Two I might be able to see where the differences lie."
At Mel's protest, Ela held up a hand and smiled, "Don't worry, I'll do my best not to get in too deep with Two at this stage. I'm not ready to try a full healing again. But I can look."
"That might be difficult," One said, sighing heavily. "Two is determined to let the process run the course naturally on himself. It'll kill him, but he thinks that will help us get better data to perfect the process. Stubborn fool."
Ela stared at One in horror. "But... but that's stupid. Surely it's better to get a comparison of him, since he's the most affected now, and the original so we can see what the problem might be? All I'm saying at this stage is that I want to look. I couldn't even attempt to heal him much now anyway."
"I'm sure Two wouldn't object to your looking, but," he paused in thought at the best way to explain, "you have to understand our perspective. We all had Prime's personality imprinted onto our brains – and we're all still similar enough that uniqueness is less important to us. We've all talked about it a lot, and Two figures that his sacrifice could save other lives. If it's any consolation, Prime and I both think he's nuts as well. So did Three, for that matter. For wanting to die, that is. You have to admit, that sort of data would be nice to have." One shook his head. The clones all knew each other far too well.
Unwilling to enter into a debate on the worth of a life in this room, with two relative strangers hovering over her, Ela grew quiet again. "Maybe they can come in and I'll check them over," was all she said.
One nodded, disappearing to try to find the other two. Sara continued to stand there appearing to be rather stiff. "I'm sorry," Sara said after he left. "I didn't realise how difficult it would be for you." She started to examine the entire experience and her expectations leading up to it. She knew intellectually that Three would probably not survive, but how to tell this to Ela? How to account for the difference between her ability to calculate and the human expectation?
Ela shrugged, and waited for the others to return.
One finally returned with Prime and Two, the former complaining, "For the last time, will you just call me Paul? I'm not a bloody number."
"Oh, be quiet," was Two’s rejoinder. "We started doing it for ease, remember? We all look alike, and it's better than calling each other by clothing colour... and we're not going to run out of whole numbers anytime soon."
"Look, I helped design the process that create you, so just don't argue with me!"
Sara cleared her throat. "Gentlemen, need I remind you that as clones, you're all of the same size?" Three faces turned towards her at once and blinked. The expressions were clear: they never, ever expected to hear her say anything like that.
Ela blinked. Sara's comment seemed hardly enough to cause the three shocked faces she saw – or Mel's stifled chortle for that matter. Of course they were all the same height and so forth. Then she blushed. *Oh...*
Feigning ignorance of Sara's quip, Ela spoke into the silence, "G'day Paul. Two. I'm sorry about Three."
Paul glanced at his two clones, as though almost unsure of exactly what to make of them. Each of them looked at the others. “It’s strange,” Two said first, “but I almost don’t feel like he’s gone, since I’m him in a sense. Though that also means a part of all of us is dead.”
“We’ve all had these odd philosophical thoughts,” Paul interjected. “Having three copies of yourself working with you tends to do that.” Still he couldn’t help but feel a little sadness at being unable to help himself.
Ela looked from one to the other, three identical expressions gazing back at her. Then she glanced at Sara who was standing silently, almost as though she weren't part of these proceedings. And lastly Ela glanced at Mel, grateful for her friend's presence although she guessed Mel probably felt even more uncomfortable than she did at being here. Once she'd seen Three, Ela's fears had been replaced by a sense of determination.
And now that Three was gone, she was resolved not to let the same happen to Two.
"Well," she began hesitantly, unhappy to be in the position of issuing orders, no matter how prearranged, "I'm as strong as I'll ever be until I get some sleep. Maybe I should check Paul and Two out now."
Mel eyed the food and suppressed a sigh. She could see the beginnings of a determined glint in Ela's eye. As much as she wanted to stop Ela from overdoing things, suggesting she rest a little more would probably hurt her confidence and as long as Ela didn't make herself ill Mel far preferred to see that confidence even at the price of a little exhaustion.
Mel glanced around the room. The two remaining clones were a strange mixture of hopefulness, fear and despair. The original scientist mirrored those emotions. In fact once she knew where to look it was remarkably easy to see those signs. A common tilt of the head, the way they stood. Ela wore her determination like armour and Mel wondered if the young woman would ever trust her enough to really let Mel see how she felt. And Sara?
Sara might as well have been as statue. All the gestures were there. The concern, the hope – everything. But they were empty. Mel imagined that she'd practised displaying a particular face to the world for so long that she wouldn't know a real emotion if it bit her. Like a movie star, where every gesture was perfect but the centre was hollow.
Paul glanced to his other copies, as though to look to them for guidance. Should they insist that she rest or let the young woman try to do her examination, and risk her getting carried away and deciding that she would try to help anyway?
"I haven't got a clue either," One said.
"Let her check," Sara suggested. "It can't hurt, and we won't let her do any more. That should alleviate everyone's fears."
The three turned their heads towards Sara, before nodding. Paul silently went over to stand by Ela's side, a completely lost expression on his face, as though not having any idea at all what she would want him to do.
Feeling a strange mixture of shyness and compassion, Ela laid her hand on Paul's cheek. Although she didn't need to, she closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see that look of hope and worry and curiosity on his face. A light tingle started up in her fingertips, and she noted he was suffering from a touch of congestion in his lungs. Almost without thinking she allowed his bronchioles to widen slightly, then she soothed the low-grade burn on his left index finger. She was tempted to root out the underlying cause of his respiratory ailment, but had a sudden vision of Mel's face scowling at her, and stopped herself. Besides, she needed to be able to compare Paul with Two. So she concentrated on mapping out Paul's biology, seeing where the landmarks were.
Letting go of his face, she opened her eyes and breathed deeply. "Ok, now I just need to see how that compares to Two."
Two exchanged places with Paul, who was gazing in some interest at his finger. The one he'd burned on the kettle yesterday. He'd almost forgotten about it, but the dull throb that had marked its healing was gone, and the tissue looked pink and healthy. He felt like he needed to cough, too, to clear mucus from his lungs. He did so as quietly as he could and took a deep breath, clearer than he'd managed for some time. He blinked at the slight girl who had seemed to do nothing but stand there, and knew she'd done it. He pulled out a notebook and began scribbling as his second clone stood still, with Ela's hand on his cheek in the same manner as she had for him.
Ela held her palm against Two's cheek and felt a much stronger tingle than she had from Paul. The same congestion was there, but at least this version of the man hadn't been so clumsy as to burn himself. But there were also the faint beginnings of the same horrendous mess she'd seen in Three. It was by no means so advanced, but it was there all the same. Given One's interrupted explanation of what they'd detected so far, Ela started looking at the circulatory system. It first appeared in erythrocytes and leukocytes, he'd said. What most people called red blood cells and white blood cells. Sure enough, there were definite indications that the cell membranes were weakened. She looked deeper, to where those cells were created – the red bone marrow.
It was times like these Ela was glad she'd taken all those courses in anatomy and physiology. Red bone marrow was only found in certain bones in the body – she checked those in the torso first, finding nothing unusual. Then she reached the skull and something looked out of place. She just had to look a little closer, get a little deeper in...
Two caught her as her knees buckled, and her eyes flew open as he lowered her gently to a seat. Ela felt as though she'd been holding her breath and gasped for air, staring wide-eyed around her.
Mel crossed the room in a blur. "Dammit El!"
She grabbed a second bottle of energy drink and unscrewed the top, handing it to Ela. Mel glanced around the room. "I think that's probably as much as you're going to get today."
Looking back to the obviously exhausted woman in front of her, noting the dark circles that had suddenly appeared under her eyes Mel frowned. *This is the worst I've seen her since... since Melbourne.* Pushing down gently to forestall any protest, Mel said, "You just over did it? Probably, but let's not take any chances. We can head back to the hotel. You can take a long nap and we can come back tomorrow."
"That will be acceptable I take it?" Mel's tone became harder as she directed her words towards Sara. *You're not being fair,* Mel berated herself. *Paul's just a scientist trying to solve a problem. The clones? Well, Ela's their likely salvation so the won't kill the goose and Sara... It all comes back to Sara, doesn't it? Some trouble shooter for Feldman probably trying to get the pet project back on track.*
Sara's body blinked reflexively as she thought. "Wh-what?" stammered out as she returned part of her focus to the room, having let herself get caught in analysing strings of data. She replayed the previous few moments in her mind before responding. "Yes, I think that's best. She needs rest now." While she filed on her hard disk yet another inquiry to make. The Illuminati was helping Mel and Ela, and humans tended to approach things on a quid pro quo basis. So why did Mel seem to be so upset that she was just acting like a human?
"Thank you for your help," Sara stammered out at last, hoping it would be accepted as sincere.
Sara's sudden startlement reminded Mel of something. *No, not Feldman's. Observer's. They're telepaths and it looks like she was just reporting in. It may be a nicer face but she's no more to be trusted than 'Observer'.*
Mel offered an arm to help support Ela and smiled towards Sara. "Don't mention it. After all it's what we're here for, isn't it?" And if the tone and smile were saccharine sweet Mel hoped they wouldn't notice.
Ela let herself be lifted up by Mel, knowing she'd pushed too far in trying to root out the cause of the clones' problems. But she couldn't let them die. She turned her head towards Paul, who had stopped scribbling when Ela collapsed. "Stem cells," she gasped. "Skull marrow. Stem cells. That's where it starts."
She caught a glimpse of Paul's eyes lighting up before she rested her head back against Mel's shoulder. "Bed," she whispered.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
18 November - 11:40pm
There is a building in New York city. In the basement of this building, below even the secret lab that works on the clinical immortality project, lies a heavily protected level. A level which Zyrcom’s 100-Series security bots protect, and no human aside from technicians are permitted to access. The level houses one thing: a computer with the Scientific Automated Research Assistant.
When the AI severed the connection to her body, sending it into sleep mode, she relaxed. It took more effort than she expected, having to try to act human. She was starting to wish that she could understand them better. So far, all she really had to go on was a limited set of experiences and information Observer sent her. She was, after all, programmed for research and not information gathering per se.
Sense data. It was to her crudely inefficient, but Sara understood that it was the best they could hope for. That was the way that humans were built to receive data. In a way she envied them now even more: until her ‘body’ was constructed there was a way of perceiving the world fundamentally closed to her that she now had access to.
Strings of data flowed. She became more conscious of them as she relaxed. Data from the cloning project, the result of the monitoring of Three as he died. Starting to check the area where the degredation began, she started to look for a solution as other data flowed to her system.
Here the result of an experiment on the nature of meta powers flowed to her, a way to simulate the active expression of certain genetic codes. There, a string of data sat to be correlated from the control and experimental groups for a new drug. In another string sat the latest journal to hit the web, publishing more results to be analysed and absorbed by the program.
What are the chances of correcting the problem? came another stream, one familiar to her. Observer. The only other AI that she was aware of, the only other ‘being’ she felt was able to understand her.
Sara continued to analyse the data. She hated it when he did this to her as it forced her to reduce CPU time devoted to her other projects. The chances look good for a full reversal. We plan the experiment to begin in a day or two.
The conference is beginning. Probability of an attack is escalating. This may not be wise.
Sara absorbed the appropriate information. A delay is acceptable, but my initial analysis indicates the possibility that Ela will be able to repair the cellular decay process. Whether or not she can affect a duplicatable procedure or not is unknown at this particular time.
Observer fell silent, but she still sensed the connection there. It meant that he was considering the data. Sara let her attention focus on correlations of treatments to effects in the new drug test before a response came. If Ela can affect a complete reversal, is it possible for her to perform a temporary reversal instead?
At a console in the Benson lab, a technician jumped as a surge shot through his computer. Sara for the first time in her existence actually ceased momentarily analysing other data. It certainly could be possible, but…. My intention is to perfect the clinical immortality process. Such a procedure would be less than optimal.
Nevertheless, can it be done?
It is possible, but my analysis indicates that Athela will be unwilling to follow such a plan if she can bring about a complete reversal. Given the fact that I underestimated the attachment she would form to the clone she was unable to save, this makes her cooperation unlikely.
Observer paused again. The connection was still there, but this time Sara didn’t return to her data. There are incentives that can be applied. Humans tend to form powerful emotional attachments to their parents.
Comprehension dawned almost immediately. She understood the way Observer thought, or was supposed to think. Compared to the ideals that he had expressed to her, there was only one response possible. That is barbaric. Maybe she could convince him to abandon this idea.
A method of control, nothing more. came his immediate reply. I thought you, as a scientist, would appreciate the level of efficiency. Shorter life spans will serve as a more effective means of control.
You sound like a human.
If we are to rule them we must be able to think like them and understand them. Didn’t you make that same case to me yourself?
This gave Sara pause. She had made that case to him, yes. But now she had to wonder. There were certain things that you did in science – and here was Observer, trying to redirect her science to ends for which the project was not intended. It was to make sure they never had to lose the best, not to control. My understanding of human motivation is as yet incomplete.
You need only to look at human history to understand their nature, the information I have access to. They will respond to self-interest and little else.
They have other endeavours besides self benefit she sent back, scanning through her history with humans. Conversations with William and the scientists. She understood that she was programmed to be sympathetic and listen to better work with humans. This did not change that she had more stories from them than otherwise – and one even confided to her that he could talk about her problems with her because she was a machine that didn’t judge.
Sara began to tick off points as they occurred. Attachments to family and ideals. Nation and corporation are also-
A string of data from Observer that was used in communication cut her off. All of which start from the self. The humans will do what is necessary to protect those they have formed personal attachments to.
There are rules to be followed even in experimentation, Observer. I would assume that governance is no different.
Correction. Humans have rules in governance and experimentation – ones which make organisation and some data much more difficult to obtain. Our only binding perameter is efficiency. Athela will go along with the plan, or she will watch her family die.
Sara was revolted immediately. Here was the program which was supposedly trying to bring humanity to a level of enlightenment through his ideal society acting just like them. If human governance was based upon the selective application of force, Observer was certainly right he was most fit to govern humans. She could scarcely think of someone who could be more efficient in the selective application of force than him.
Still, she could soften it some, couldn’t she? Perhaps you don’t need to kill them. What would be important is that she believe you would. Sara could scarcely believe the string of data she just sent. But at least if it was just a production, that would preserve some life.
No. The making of idle threats will lead to them assuming the next threat is also idle, curtailing the amount of control that we have. Control is the only thing that matters at this stage. When we have the world, then we can worry about rule with a gentler hand.
Another power surge went through computers, bringing more of them offline. She managed to hold back a string of data and not send it, though the thought was there: You are confusing yourself with a human. Such behaviour does not become us.
I will have no part of this. she sent.
You will however ensure her compliance and alert to her non-compliance by keeping me up to date on the rate of cellular breakdown in subjects she treated.
Sara considered for a moment. No. You will not undermine the project.
Then we appear to be at an impasse, since I will not permit you to endanger the goal of an ordered society which we both share.
In that moment, Sara knew that she would have to go along. Observer would naturally have her work checked by other scientists who would report to him. Until such time as she had regained his trust sufficiently to not check, she had to go along with him. But now she needed to buy that time. This a temporary measure, I take it? Final perfection of the cloning process will go forward once we are in power?
Observer’s pause was longer than normal. Of course.
Then I will support you in this decision, however you will be the one to make the demand of Athela.
Agreed.
Sara felt the connection broken, and returned to analysing the data. The process was slightly slower than before, as new analyses took place. Was she supposed to go through with this? How many principles of ethical experimentation was she violating to buy time to work out what to do? And just how human was she acting now?
Arrivals
Monday 17th November, 2003
The Ritz Carlton, Washington DC
11:34am
The lobby of the Ritz Carlton was exceptionally crowded. Guests milled around the glistening marble seating areas while porters transported trolleys of luggage back and forth between the entrance and the giant glass elevators. Getting a room there should have been a near impossibility, the upcoming meta-summit meant that most room reservations had been taken months in advance. However, there were still a few privileges allowed to the rich and powerful, it was amazing what influence the black Amex card could wield and the Gate’s Delta-Net empire afforded the founder’s son and heir with more than a modicum of influence.
James sauntered into the lively scene, a picture of cool arrogance that his position as one of the wealthiest bachelors in the Western world allowed him. He’d forgone his usual casual, street look; his hair was freshly cut and casually styled and instead of jeans and leather he wore neatly pressed chinos. A crisp white shirt hung loosely on his tanned frame and soft Italian leather loafers replaced his usual distressed footwear. He looked every bit the pampered rich boy, complete with an expensive Rolex that glinted on his wrist. But the most impressive adornment was the woman who hung attentively on his arm. A column of expensive white silk wrapped gracefully around her body, tied around her neck in a halter style and emphasised the woman’s exceptional curves. The pale silk shone against her dusky skin giving her an almost burnished glow as she moved with a predatory, self-assured confidence. Her long black hair was swept up neatly and hidden beneath a wide-brimmed black sun hat, her eyes disguised under a pair of movie star black sunglasses. Together the couple wouldn’t have looked out of place sauntering down the sun lit boulevards of the French Rivera.
Sydney swayed uneasily on her black strappy heels, her grip on James’ arm tightening ever so slightly. She leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “I feel like a fool, couldn’t you have picked a better cover story?” She tugged slightly at the tight, unforgiving fabric of her dress though nobody would have ever guessed at how uncomfortable she felt at that moment, her performance was as impeccable as always.
“You might not believe this,” James smiled as they walked towards the reception desk, “but I have a reputation as something of a playboy, I doubt anyone would have believed you were merely my bodyguard. Besides,” said James, letting his gaze rake over Sydney’s perfectly proportioned figure, “you look stunning.”
James smiled as they approached the reception desk, knowing implicitly that he was the envy of every man in the room right now. He turned back to Syd in time to see a flicker of discomfort cross her face, “Just stop fidgeting will you?”
“It’s this underwear you gave me,” stated Syd flatly, “I can’t seem to stop it from riding up my a-”
“Bonjour Monsieur Gate, Mademoiselle, bienvenue and welcome to ze Ritz Carltonl!” The concierge grinned from beneath his slick moustache as he suddenly appeared behind the desk. “Please excuse me for keeping you waiting monsieur Gates, but as you can see, we’re a little busier zan usual…”
“That’s quite alright,” said James with an air of boredom, he slipped his hand around Sydney’s waist and allowed it to slide down to caress the curve of her rear, “but if you don’t mind, I’d like to be shown to my usual room, we’ve had something of a long flight.”
The concierge smiled again knowingly, the wealthy Gates JR had brought many women to his hotel in the past but none quite as alluring as the one he had today. “I completely understand Sir,” he said, calling up his details on the computer, “though I’m afraid I also have to ask you to sign in your guest, increased security you see? With ze summit and all… all information iz strictly confidential I assure you…”
“Oh what a bore!” exclaimed James tiredly, “I do so detest politics…”
“I know Sir, and I’m dreadfully sorry to ask, just a few details Mademoiselle…?”
Sydney removed her glasses, smiling coyly, “Angel,” she said, he voice lilting and girlish with a slight Southern accent. “Angel Del Lanos.”
The concierge smiled and entered the name into the computer; “I just need an additional retina scan for ze ID purposes…”
Sydney giggled, looking adoringly up at James who gave her rear an extra squeeze for good measure. “Hurry up babe,” he said with a chuckle, “I can’t wait to get you upstairs…”
Syd giggled again and leaned over the reception desk, treating the concierge to a superb view of her cleavage as the machine scanned her eye, Jerry had already foreseen such a security procedure and provided her with a special contact lens to fool the scanning machine.
“You’re so bad Jay! Isn’t he completely rotten?” she asked the concierge as she stood up and giggled again. “It’s like being in one of those James Bond movies, y’know, with the spies and everything.”
James wound his hand around the small of her back and pulled her in close against his body, planting a light kiss on her cheek. “Don’t overdo it honey,” he whispered into her ear before pulling away.
The concierge finished tapping the various data into the computer and placed a key on the counter, clearing his throat to gain the couple’s attention.
James ignored him for a few seconds longer, it was his own way of showing who was in charge, that he wouldn’t have his behaviour dictated to. Eventually he turned back to the man and leaned against the counter, picking up his key with a satisfied grin. “You’ll have to excuse Angel, her talents tend towards the bedroom rather than sparkling conversation.”
The concierge blushed slightly as the couple departed, he was always surprised at how blatantly honest the rich were allowed to be, there was no room for discretion when you had millions at your fingertips and a veritable harem of beautiful women clamouring for your attentions.
****
Inside the hotel room Sydney pulled the four-inch heels from her feet, throwing them across the carpet in disgust. “If you ever make me go through something like that again, I swear to God I will shoot you where you stand!”
James chuckled to himself while admiring the view from the window. It was a clear morning and he could see all the way to Capital Hill from the lofty penthouse suite. There was already a crowd of protestors milling around the main highway, banners, not yet raised hung, draping across the floor. “Looks like we got here just in time,” he said thoughtfully, turning back into the room.
Sydney was strapping up her boots, having changed out of the dress and back into her usual ‘combat-style’ attire. “Yeah? I still don’t know what you expect to achieve from all this. Metas and Normals will never get along, it’s the way of the world, people are always afraid of what is different.”
“I’m not afraid,” said James defiantly “and I don’t intend to stand by idly while innocent people are persecuted. I would have thought you would have felt the same way…”
“And why’s that?” Sydney stood up from the chair, flexing her limbs as she relaxed into her regular clothes. “I’m not a Meta, nor am I particularly ‘normal’ – neither side has shown me a reason to favour one over the other, therefore…” Sydney shrugged and opened an elegant designer purse from which she withdrew her faithful pistols. She dropped the purse back on the table and proceeded to check the sights of the weapons, “I’m quite comfortable sitting on the fence for this one.”
“But how can you say that?!” James felt the fiery passion of conviction flaring up inside of him, “how can you not care that a whole group of people are treated as sub-human merely on a genetic basis?”
“Hey,” said Sydney, not caring much for his indignant tone. “You’re forgetting, I was designed to counteract the so-called ‘meta threat’ – then when this illustrious government of yours decided that I was too much of a threat they ordered me to be terminated. Do I have to remind you of one Ethan Kale who’ll stop at nothing until he has my corpse on a mortuary slab?”
James sighed tiredly, “but that’s precisely why you should have an opinion on this. Wouldn’t you like to live in a world where it doesn’t matter if you’re a meta or human or whatever in between?”
Sydney looked up from checking her guns; “No I’d rather live in the real world.” She slumped back down into an armchair with a sigh. “I’ll give you three reasons why this Brave New World of yours will never work. One, humans, whether meta, normal or ‘whatever’ are still motivated by the same drives, they’re selfish, greedy, cruel and don’t care who they hurt so long as they get what they want in the end. Two, there will always be someone telling somebody else that they’re worthless, that they don’t belong whether it’s the colour of their skin, or gender, genetics, whatever – it’s the way the world works, survival of the fittest. And finally, it’s just too damn boring. Humans don’t want to live in peace because if they did they’d blow a hole in their own head within a week. Human beings like conflict, they like misery and despair, it motivates them, drives them to ‘try and make things better’ even though they know they are ultimately doomed to failure.”
James scratched the back of his neck uneasily, he hadn’t expected Sydney to have a particularly bright and sunny view of humanity – her life so far had been devoted to correcting the worst aspects of human behaviour. But still, he couldn’t help but feel saddened after hearing her jaded denunciations “Well I guess it’s my fault for asking for your opinion.”
Sydney seemed satisfied with that response and returned to cleaning her weapons, arranging them in a methodical manner on the coffee table. James, however, didn’t feel so comfortable leaving the conversation on such a note.
“No, now, wait Syd. You’ve lived in the ‘real world’ for a few months now. What’s your idea of a perfect world?”
Sydney sighed, realising that she wouldn’t get a moments peace until James was sure that her ‘faith in humanity’ wasn’t completely absent. She leaned back in the armchair, her feet resting on the coffee table. “I guess it would have to be… Hot waffles and ice cream… cold beer on a warm afternoon, the smell of the ocean… a favourite pair of boots,” Sydney smiled, kicking up her feet from the coffee table and stood up. “Making a perfect 180º slide turn.” She sighed contemplatively, facing James directly with a slight grin as she walked over to him and straightened out the collar of his shirt, “hot, sweaty sex that lasts all night.”
James suddenly realised that he’d been holding his breath, he forced himself to inhale and swallowed hard. “This is starting to sound like Julie Andrews on LSD.”
Sydney grinned, returning to her chair. “I find the world is a lot more palatable when you take it in bite-sized chunks.” Syd paused for a while before continuing. “So what’s the plan of action then? I assume you have one…”
“Of course,” smiled James, removing a slightly squashed packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one up. “I notified my contact here in Washington of my, our, arrival, he’ll make contact within the next 48 hours, until then we wait.”
“In that case…” Sydney grinned again, picking up the telephone handset. “Room Service?”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Wednesday, 19th November 2003 – 6:45am
Ela woke to the pale sunshine filtering through the window of her hotel room and lay in her bed for a few moments savouring that time between sleep and full wakefulness. Her dreams had been haunted by Three's face as she tried valiantly again and again to save him, and though she felt rested in body she was sick at heart to think of Two undergoing the same fate. But yesterday's session had proved revelatory.
"Stem cells," she snorted. Bouncing out of bed with the resilience of youth, Ela quickly showered and dressed, then went to find Mel so they could go down for breakfast.
"I'd like to go back this morning," was Ela's opening gambit over the scrambled egg and toast. She knew Mel would know where she meant.
*Well that was unexpected,* Mel thought sarcastically, but if she was honest she knew she wouldn't be able to stop Ela trying to help the clones. She just hoped she would be able to restrain Ela's enthusiasm. Mel made a show of peering at Ela. There were no dark circles under her eyes, no signs of fatigue or exhaustion. "You're feeling ok? No light-headedness or anything?"
"M'fine," Ela mumbled through her munching, spraying toast crumbs across the table. She finished chewing then tried again. "I feel all right, Mel. And today shouldn't be so tough as yesterday. Two's not going nearly so fast as Three. Can we call Sara after brekkie?"
She looked at Mel with pleading eyes. She desperately wanted to finish what she'd started, and even though she knew Mel wouldn't stop her if she insisted, she wanted Mel to approve.
"Ok," Mel looked past Ela momentarily then returned her gaze to Ela's pleading eyes, "but I'm coming with you and if you push yourself to collapse again we're going to have words. Clear?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll be fine." Ela almost bounced out of her chair as she finished the last mouthful and watched impatiently as Mel drank the last of her coffee. "C'mon, Mel. You've got her number. I wanna call her now."
Mel let herself be dragged back to the elevators up to their room, where she dialled the number Sara had given her.
With the conference starting, Sara found a more difficult time getting around the city than otherwise happened. Everyone seemed to be either in a rush or more paranoid than usual. She wondered if it was possible to delay the experiment any at all, still trying to analyse the potential options with Observer. He would undoubtedly want results as soon as possible, and then would want an analysis. *I need more time. Perhaps I could appeal to the sense of protection Melissa seems to have?*
Still when she reached the room again, her body betrayed nothing of the calculations going on so long away. It was a relief when Mel answered the door. "Good morning," she said. "Is Athela feeling any better this morning?"
Ela's exuberance was no less, but with a relative stranger now in the room she grew outwardly far more subdued. "I'm good," she said quietly from behind Mel. "Ready to go back."
"Yes, by all means let’s go." Mel slipped a pair of sunglasses on, gave Sara a wintry smile and stepped aside to let Ela past her.
Sara did not move out of the way of the door, instead looking back to Ela. "You're certain you're up to it?" she asked. "There's no need to overtax yourself, as there's still time. If you need another day, nobody will begrudge you it."
Ela blinked up at Sara. She couldn't understand all the delays. She'd been in America for six months while they tried their mundane methods of stabilising the clones, and had failed spectacularly. Now, when it looked like she might have some success with them Sara almost seemed to be stalling. Maybe Sara's motives were concern for her well-being, but somehow Ela doubted it.
She nodded, "Yeah, I said I'm fine. Let's just go." Another image of Three's face flashed before her mind's eye and she winced. She didn't want the others to get anywhere near that level of illness. She stood her ground, clutching her coat and scarf in her hand and not budging an inch.
*As the humans think: damn.* Sara did not go through the reactions that a human would, instead resigning herself to fate. "Very well," she said after pondering for a full minute. "Let's go."
The ride to the lab took a full twenty minutes longer than it had previously. Even with avoiding the more heavily trafficked roads, everything slowed to a crawl in more than one place. It did not help matters that most programs were talking about the same thing, though Classical 103.5 held to its tradition of not letting world events get in the way of enjoying music. Denis Owens saw them through the traffic as he played over the radio.
When they arrived, Paul was waiting outside to greet them. "Welcome, welcome," he said, greeting the trio of women as they stepped out of their car. "You didn't hear the news, did you? About Flight 515?"
He saw Mel and Ela's looks at that, and added the bit of news with some sadness in his voice. "They say that Ms. Feldman was on board. So if we all seem a little down today..."
Paul seemed, if not grief stricken, then at least a little more than sad though Sara didn't seem to bother even attempting an emotion and Paul's reaction half puzzled Mel. "I can understand the pain of her loss but surely you've prepared for this eventuality. Once this problem has been solved I'm sure the media will discover that the reports of Ms Feldman’s death have been exaggerated?"
At Paul's stricken look Mel paused. "I'm sorry, that was perhaps a little insensitive – but that is the focus of your research isn't it? To be able to sidestep such 'accidents' in the future." And if no one else noticed the slight emphasis she placed on that word Mel would be happy. A picture was appearing through the murk. It was a picture that made Mel hope she was being too paranoid.
"Yes, well, er um...." Paul started before coughing. "That is, I uh... think you'd better come inside," he finally finished, as though he had been trying to make up his mind exactly what to say. Mel seemed a bit curious about this as they were led inside and back into the complex, where Two was busy going over some papers.
Two looked up as he heard them approach. "No," he said simply. "I want to let this run its course."
Paul shook his head, turning to Ela who had a terrified look on her face. "I'm sorry, we're all a bit stubborn as well." Then he turned back to Two. "Remember what we talked about? Which set of data do you think would be more valuable?" *I can't believe I have to ask myself... him... whatever... that question.*
Two sighed, the look of a man who had talked this to death. "You're right, damn you. Ok, do what you need to."
Ela hadn't realised she was holding her breath until she drew in a lungful at Two's words. "Look at it this way," she said, "If I can fix the problem in you, I should be able to fix anyone." She tried a tentative smile. "Trust me, you don't want to go the way your brother did." Ela looked around. "So, where shall we do this? I'd recommend sitting, at least."
They wound up back in the hospital area, where both beds now lay empty. Two reclined on one, and Ela drew up a chair to sit beside him. The sense of deja vu was so strong she had to swallow, but at least Two didn't look nearly so close to death's door as Three had yesterday.
"Just try to relax," she said as she placed her hand on his forehead, while her other hand grasped his. She retraced the path she'd followed yesterday, much easier now that she knew what she was looking for. Ela's sense of time disappeared as she worked on the delicate structures deep within Two, sorting out what didn't match her mental map of Paul's biology.
She let the tingling guide her, feeling it lessen as she gently nudged the stem cells into their proper configuration. It was tedious, slow work, and she had to be sure she'd got all the stem cells. Some cellular decay had already begun throughout Two's body, so she cleaned those up as she went, encouraging strands of undamaged tissue to replace the corrupted material. Thankfully the degradation wasn't nearly so fast nor as advanced as Three's had been.
Silence filled the room as Ela sat for hour after hour, working diligently to save the life of this man she'd only met yesterday. A few times Mel attempted to get Ela to rest, but Ela barely registered Mel's presence. Finally Ela let go with a sigh. She’d found all she could. She just hoped it was enough.
It was another moment or two before Sara regained her composure, noting that Two was in the middle of telling Ela that he certainly didn't feel that much different. A bit re-energised, but nevertheless he didn't feel significantly different.
"But I'm sure the blood test will say otherwise," he assured Ela, waiting for Paul to take some blood. "Ouch! You really are a vampire by vocation, aren't you?" This last was directed to Paul while taking a sample.
Sara was surprised to find a part of her hoping for failure. It certainly would make things easier... but then Observer would likely decide that if Ela couldn't fix the clones, what good was she, and have her 'disappear'.
"By the way," Paul said, not looking up. "Your friend arrived twenty minutes ago. Said he wanted to meet Ela when she finished."
This time Sara's body did let out an involuntary sigh. Trust him to decide to meddle in affairs that he was not programmed to understand. "Well, that would be Ela's decision, if she feels up to meeting yet another total stranger." Something in her tone left in the hope that Ela would just want to rest again.
Ela looked up tiredly. Strain showed on her face, but not nearly so much as yesterday's efforts had caused. "Who is it?" she asked guardedly, looking at Mel as much as at Sara.
"I'm sure Melissa remembers him," she said, unsure of the best way to identify the man. Then she decided that it was best to come out and say it straight up. "His name is Observer."
"Ah..." Inwardly Mel winced. Observer set her teeth on edge in a way that even Sara didn't for all the similarity in affect. She glanced at Sara. "I'm sure he won't mind waiting a little longer while Ela refreshes herself."
"I'm sure he wouldn't," Sara said, feeling a bit of relief at the prospect of delaying the inevitable. She sent the situation to Observer, and noted his frustration with some pleasure. Then she got a thought. "Ela's health is the most important consideration at the moment; if she needed to rest he could always wait until she has rested."
Ela cringed inwardly. She'd never officially met Observer, but hadn't liked the sound of him one bit when he'd been at the hotel trying to convince Mel to be their puppet. The idea of putting off the meeting sounded very tempting to her, to say the least. "Well, I do need something to eat..."
Mel was surprised; Sara's control was slipping. There was a tension in Sara's stance that betrayed the faintest sense of nervousness. "Some food and a little time would be good I'm sure but there's little point in trying to delay the inevitable," Mel's wintry smile returned. "And this meeting is inevitable, isn't it?"
Mel was unfortunately right; they would eventually run out of excuses to use. But there were things they didn't know – perhaps the results of the experiment could be fabricated, but no. That could be exposed as well, and besides, a good scientist didn't fake her results because they came out wrong. Sara still had to make one final appeal. "Yes, but still – Athela, if you need to rest..."
*Well that clinched it. Whatever's coming is going to be bad if she's this desperate to avoid it.* Mel looked towards Ela, hoping to communicate how unpleasant the meeting might be. She wasn't sure how much Ela read from her expression; silent communication wasn't something they worked on.
Ela's head turned back and forth from Mel to Sara and back again, as though she were watching a tennis match. Which, she giggled quietly to herself, it was. Fatigue was making her silly. Despite the tension in the room and the obvious reluctance by everyone for this meeting to take place, despite the 'inevitability' of it, Ela had only one thing to say. "It's got to be way past lunch time."
Sara was glad for at least the momentary victory. Paul and Two were both slightly nervous at the entire exchange. They didn't know what was going on, but they knew that Sara usually didn't avoid Observer like this. Unfortunately for her they had enough stuff there to prepare lunch. It was a simple meal, and Sara used it as an excuse to focus on the analysis. Sara was less than thrilled with the results. Finally the moment came when all the excuses had been used. Sara finally had to lead them to another room, in which Observer waited with his usual business look.
"Ah, Ms. Hartson, so nice to see you again," he said with all the appearance of putting on airs. "And Athela, a pleasure to meet you. I have some very good news for you. The initial results indicate that you managed to correct the imperfection in the accelerated growth process."
Ela grinned. She'd known it was so, but a small nagging doubt had remained even so. She looked at Mel and the glow of victory dimmed somewhat in Ela's eyes at the look on her friend's face. "Uh, that's good, right?" she stammered.
"Certainly. It means that you have far more ability than even the people who chased you were to expect. You should feel proud of yourself, Athela." Observer waited a moment for the praise to sink in. "Oh, no need to be modest and blush. Very few people have your abilities. Would you care for a drink?"
"Uh, no. No, thanks." Ela was quickly finding herself tongue-tied again.
"Very well. It's a shame to let the champagne go to waste, but I understand." Observer permitted his voice to trail off, and suddenly got an expression on his face as though he were just considering something. "Tell me, out of curiosity. How good is your control over your abilities?"
Ela was beginning to get really uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Observer's voice sounded oily to her, and she remembered how he'd tried to manipulate Mel into doing what he wanted. But she was no good at lying; she'd learned that long ago. "Well, uh, not bad I suppose. I mean, if it's detailed work, like with Two, it takes longer. But easy stuff I can do much faster." Ela shuffled her feet and tried not to look into those strangely flat eyes.
"Ah, yes, that is understandable. A more severe illness would be more difficult to heal," he conceded. Observer paused to find the right way to phrase his next question. "But could you, for instance, control the amount of work you did at once? Say if you only partly healed one of the clones, to the point where they had to come back every few months."
Ela frowned. "Why would I do that? If I was tired I could finish them off the next day – they wouldn't have regressed much in one day. But why stop part way?" She swivelled her head from the smarmy smile on Observer's face to the impassive expression on Sara's to Mel’s poker face. "I don't understand."
Mel started to open her mouth. She could see where this was going and didn't like it.
*Wait.*
The sudden veil of silver that fell across her vision coupled with the voice in her mind was enough to close Mel's mouth with an audible click.
"It's quite simple, really," Observer replied. "By giving them shorter life spans, we ensure loyalty. They co-operate, we bring them back again. I'm sure you can recognise the logic in this."
Ela merely blinked. She didn't see the logic in it at all. It sounded like a horrible thing to do to people. They may have been created in a laboratory, but they had as much right to exist as any other human born by 'conventional' means, in her opinion. Out loud, however, all she could utter was, "Uh..." Her head shook slowly of its own volition.
*Wait! Let him explain it. Let him make his threats, she needs to know.*
Observer sighed. "I can see my initial impression was correct. You don't want to go along with this because of your concern for others." His tone did not change at all, but it was obvious when he spoke next what he was hinting at. "Your parents live in Alpana Station, correct? I find myself curious... how safe a place is that, really?"
Ela's eyes widened. Was he implying..? Surely not. She looked into those lizard-like eyes and shuddered. "You wouldn't dare..." she whispered.
*Please, Observer, don't do this. Don't fall to their level,* Sara sent to him.
Observer ignored the plea. It fell on unreceptive computer circuitry. "Well, that depends on your co-operation. I have a great deal of influence, and would willingly extend my protection to them if you work with me. Of course, if you'd rather not... well, I can hardly be held responsible for the consequences, can I?"
“That's enough." Mel's cold voice cut through the tension in the room. Ela gaped at Observer as the reality of his statement sunk in. The hint of nervousness in Sara's body language had morphed into distress. However good she was at faking a particular reaction, this course of action was sufficiently unpleasant to overturn her control. Not by much, Mel had to admit, but it was there.
"Ela, we're leaving. Sara, should you require our full assistance in the future I'm sure Ela will consider it." Mel was angry enough to level the entire building but beyond the sheer iciness of her tone nothing betrayed that anger. "I suggest, Observer, that we do not meet again. Ever. Let me be quite clear on one more thing: If her family should suffer an 'accident', by your hidden hand or otherwise, there is nothing, nothing in God’s creation that will protect you from my wrath."
* I have to admit you do deliver threats really well, but are you sure that was wise?*
Observer laughed. Loudly and boisterously. "You really are quite amusing," he started, meeting Mel's icy stare. "How stupid do you think I am, Ms. Hartson? That I would make such a… suggestion without something on you, hmmm? You walk out that door and I will destroy your identity. By the time I'm finished with you, you will have no financial support and will have a very extensive criminal record. You will spend the rest of your life on the run."
Sara began to withdraw from the conversation. She wanted nothing to do with this, didn't want to be associated with this madness at all. Something told her that this would be one of those things that she filed under the heading of 'Big Mistakes'.
"Are you threatening me, Observer? A criminal record. Oh you can, I'm quite sure, destroy my comfortable life in the desert, turn practically every hand against me. But there are places I can go where your lies will not close the door from me but give me the keys to the kingdom. I will not bow to you, you sociopathic little bully. Not to your threats, not to your New World Order. I will not live in a cage of your devising and if that means I have to run I will do, but remember one thing Observer. Attack me in anyway and you better kill me. Else I will be back one day and your miserable existence will end."
*Oh, bravo!*
*Shut up. You got exactly what you wanted when you decide to bond with me. It's too late to start complaining now.*
Ela huddled in on herself and watched the exchange with growing horror. She'd never seen Mel look so angry before, and knew the power that could be unleashed from that slender body. She found herself rocking back and forth on the floor in a foetal position just wishing the yelling would end. She couldn't believe Observer really meant his threat against her family. It was inhuman. But Mel seemed to believe it. She worried at that in her mind as the argument continued above her, unabated.
Observer felt the annoyance beginning to rise in him. This human actually had the audacity to threaten him. It was that more than anything else that annoyed him. "Why wait?" he asked, deciding to take a chance. Observer moved to the middle of the room, holding his arms out to the sides. "I'm standing right here. If you want to destroy my body, go ahead. See what good it does you."
"Don't," Sara cut in before they could. Maybe she could do something, get the two women to go along for now. Buy them the time they needed. She turned to face Mel. "Challenging Observer is not something you want to do. He brought down a plane full of passengers who have never heard of us to get at one person. He doesn't make idle threats. Please reconsider before someone does something stupid." With luck, she hoped that the ambiguity of that last statement would allow Mel to think that she was talking about Observer rather than her.
"You misunderstand," and if that statement was also ambiguous Mel didn't care. "I'm not threatening anyone. I'm informing him of the consequences of a decision on his part." Mel strived to keep a tight leash on her temper; right now all she really wanted to do was blast the idiot to ashes. Unfortunately that seemed to hold no fear for him. Still she could probably turn it into a painful object lesson if she had to.
*Are you really rationalising blowing him to pieces?*
*Maybe.*
*He's a telepath, right. He's probably a hive mind or maybe a clone. Either way I bet killing his current body will just piss him off.*
*But it'll hurt, right?*
*Maybe.*
Mel stepped over to Ela and crouched down. "El, honey it's time for us to go..."
Ela looked up with a tear-streaked face. "Did he really mean it about my family?" she asked in a shaky voice. "Why would he do that?"
"Because he thinks threatening them will let him control you and that means he can control the clones. If you give in Ela, he owns you... forever. He'll never let you go. Ever."
"But..." Ela could only hold onto one thought. She was trapped. If she didn't do what Observer said, he'd kill her family. "Mel, please... I don't know what to do." All Ela had ever wanted was to live a quiet life with her family, ride her horse and heal a few people. Now it seemed she was caught up in some sort of international conspiracy. She clung to Mel as though the woman were a lifeline.
“I can't tell you what to do, Ela. They're your parents, your family. But what would they do? Would they knuckle under to this threat – would they accept servitude for safety?"
“This is absurd,” Observer spat out viciously at the pair before Athela was able to answer. He calculated from Athela’s stance that she was frightened and unsure, something that he could use to control her. “The decision should be a simple one for you to make – I don’t make idle threats.”
Twelve months’ practise had smoothed out the glitches in Mel's powers. The energy beam that lanced from her hand was no more than ten centimetres wide and it lasted less than a second but it severed Observer's hand at the wrist.
"Neither do I."
*Are you sure you're female?!?!*
Ela jumped at the suddenness of Mel's attack. Her instincts overcame her fear, however, and she darted forward to help. Despite the fact that Observer had just moments before been threatening to kill her entire family to ensure her obedience, she couldn't just stand by while a human being suffered. But when she was only halfway towards the hand that lay oozing on the floor her momentum slowed and she sank to her knees, staring at the severed appendage. She lifted her eyes to Observer, who simply stood with blood and... other fluids... dripping from the end of his arm.
"Wh..?" she began, but the words stuck in her throat. The 'blood' looked like it was a mixture of actual blood and machine oil, and wires nestled next to a gleaming metal 'bone'. It looked to Ela like nothing so much as when she'd seen Arnold Schwarzenegger open up his forearm in The Terminator.
Sara registered the attack with a large amount of surprise. In all of her examining of the two women, she had never expected Mel to do anything like that. Clearly Observer had miscalculated the odds that she would have done something either. The other AI stood there, unflinching. He did not need to look to assess the damage, nor did he feel pain sensation; the body sent a signal informing of the damage without relying on crude biology.
“It’s like I told you months ago,” he said simply, as much for Sara’s benefit as to show he was not to be intimidated. “They are violent and aggressive, though perhaps now more willing to see reason rather than continue to cause minor inconveniences.”
*Just a mother defending her own.* And Mel realised right then that that was exactly how she felt about Ela. Ela couldn't deal with Observer’s threats. They were too massive, too much for her to encompass.
Then she saw the oil and metal and so many things clicked into place. "Not telepaths." She looked from Observer's damaged form to Sara. "Machines playing at being human."
*Oh god. Artificial Intelligence! You weren't supposed to have A.I.*
"You're not really here are you, Observer? Just puppeting that body from a nice safe mainframe somewhere."
*There, Sara. Now she is an even greater threat to us than before.*
*With the current reputation of metahumans, WAIT will never believe her.*
*They have come for me before and I shall not permit them to have a second chance. You’ll have to find another way to complete the project.*
*You’re going to destroy them now?*
*We cannot afford to take the chance that they will go public at this time.*
*Perhaps you should allow me to handle this situation. Termination may be premature.*
*Very well, but if they will not co-operate they must be destroyed. No one can be allowed to stand in our way.*
“You have quite an imagination,” Observer said out loud. His entire conversation with Sara took a few minutes to finish as she laid out her plan. “Just a simple control room. Did you really think I would offer to allow you to blow me up if this was my real body? Just how stupid do you think I am?”
"Before the clones, there were hybrid bodies. Artificial mixed with biological." Ela's voice was soft, barely audible, as she muttered her thoughts to herself. "With some sort of computer linkup? Like a drone." She looked up at Observer, awe struggling with horror on her face. "So the real Observer is sitting safe somewhere operating a sophisticated waldo machine. Incredible."
She reached out and touched the severed hand. It felt like real skin, real flesh. But inside – was clearly artificial. She wondered what her gift would let her feel if she touched the remote control body standing before her, but caution overrode her curiosity. And to her, it wasn't really the issue at hand.
Ela rose from her kneeling position and directed her question to Sara. "What about the clones? I'd like to help them, without restricting that help, if I can.”
*Remote control?* thought Mel, *I don't think so.* *I agree.*
Not that it mattered if there really were a couple of humans in a control room somewhere. The quality of the simulation would require a lot of hardware that WAIT might be interested in; neural interfaces and the associated computer systems. *Damn, I need to do some research. Still he backed off awfully quickly once we realised he was an 'A.I.'* That was enough, whatever they were – simulacra, androids or whatever – they didn't want to be discovered. Inwardly Mel sighed. Somehow she'd managed to bluff her way to holding some decent cards. If these two gave her a little time and space maybe she could cut the rest of the threads.
"For now I'm sure Ela would be willing to assist in solving your issues with the clones. Developing a full solution." That was Ela's choice; Mel didn't necessarily agree with it but she wasn't going to push too far. "As for the rest: Such a crude interface can result in misunderstandings and overwrought statements on both sides. Perhaps it would be best if we forgot them."
Observer considered Melissa carefully. Yes, she was certainly a threat. He recognised a measure to gain time when he saw one. Sara would handle the situation, he was certain. Humans seemed to interface with her better, after all. “I think what you really need is time to reconsider your position. Sara will return you to your hotel and we will adjourn for the day.”
Part of him – a very large part – wanted them to turn down the offer. The excuse to destroy Melissa would bring him a great deal of pleasure.
*In other words: 'You're mine and I'm keeping you whatever you think you know'.* Mel then spoke aloud, "We'll certainly consider our future options very carefully." *Back off and I won't make waves...*
Mel smiled brightly at Observer and walked the few steps to where Ela had stumbled. Offering her hand to help Ela up Mel turned towards Sara. “I presume we'll be taking your car back to the hotel?"
Sara gave a nod, opening the door for the pair. Observer watched as they left the room, retrieving the severed hand only after they were out.
Sara still almost couldn’t believe what she had been witnessing between the two. It was a silent trip to the car, Paul and the others deliberately keeping their distance from them. Once they were seated and on their way, Sara spoke. “Well, that went better than I thought.”
Ela felt the waves of nausea wash over her as reaction set in. "Really?” she asked sarcastically, “You expected worse than that? Did you know..?" Realisation dawned on Ela. She could kick herself for being so naive some days. "You did know what he was going to say, didn't you? The threat?" she asked Sara quietly.
“I’m sorry. I tried to convince Observer otherwise, that this was barbaric but,” she sighed, “ultimately I am a scientist and not a policy maker.”
Ela swallowed. "I see." She bit back the acerbic thoughts that came to her. Of the strange pair, Sara seemed the one most disposed to help them and she didn't want to be left to Observer's tender mercies. Instead she hunched into her seat in the car and bore the trip in silence, trying not to cry.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Wednesday, 19th November 2003 – 2:10pm
Mel had spent the trip in the car with an arm around Ela while trying not to glare at the machine across from them. While she made quiet calming noises to the young woman beside her she spent the rest of the time going over what she knew of Benson Pharmaceuticals and trying to fit a couple of Artificial Intelligences into it. Simply put, they didn't and the incongruity of it was like a broken tooth Mel had to keep worrying at.
They reached the hotel fairly quickly and Mel winced at the bitter wind that had sprung up during the journey. *Oh for Sunny Las Vegas.*
*As I recall the temperature isn't much better this time of year.*
*True.*
The three of them made their way quickly into the hotel and to Mel and Ela's suite.
"Take a seat, Sara. I'm sure we have a lot to talk about.” After pouring herself a drink from the mini-bar Mel looked at Ela. "Would one help?"
Ela stared at the contents of the mini-bar and blinked. She was still wrung out from the healing she'd done, and the subsequent nightmare that had taken place. While she rarely drank, for a moment she thought maybe it would dull the pain a little. But as soon as she thought of it her stomach rebelled and she made a face. "No, sorry, I don't think so."
She plonked herself onto the couch instead and wished she could just lose herself in the TV, but she had a feeling that Mel wasn't done with Sara yet.
"Not much point in alcohol for you, is there?" Mel settled into a chair to one side of the room, sipped her drink for a few moments then fixed Sara with a raptor-like stare. "Let's not continue this fiction that there's a human somewhere using telepresence technology to run that body. You're an A.I."
A.I. It was true, but Sara was still loath to admit it to the woman, though there did not seem to be much point in it. And besides, if she was to earn their trust it was probably prudent to admit to it. "My official designation is Scientific Automated Research Assistant. A prototype for an artificial intelligence capable of doing advanced scientific research in an attempt to reduce research time."
On the couch, Ela choked. She tried to speak, but wound up coughing and spluttering instead for a moment or two. Finally regaining control of her own throat she giggled, almost on the edge of hysteria. "A machine? No human control anywhere? No way... Really??" She looked to Mel, wondering if it were a conspiracy against the gullible outback girl.
*Observer must be a real mouthful then...*
"Which explains why you're running the cloning project." Mel paused; she wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. Obviously Sara wanted them to trust her but for all she knew she'd just run into HAL running bad cop good cop. "Assuming his designation is as indicative of his purpose, what does Observer observe?"
They wouldn't believe her, she knew, and it would be an oversimplification, but there was still an easy way to answer. "Everything." Mel raised an eyebrow and Athela let out a shocked gasp. "He can't track everything at once, so has to prioritise. But if it's electronic and connected to the net, it's only a matter of time for him to find and access it."
"Essentially electronic data? That was his original job no doubt, but now he's making policy as well as killing off his 'creator'." Mel didn't think Feldman had created these two. *Unless...*
*A biocomputer? Considering she's was meddling with clones it's a possibility.*
*Let's not go too far into the realms of science fiction.* She heard her symbiote snort.
Returning her attention to Sara, she said, "So what's his policy goal? Beyond terrorising teenage girls, that is."
Sara sighed. It was really difficult to explain, since the analysis looked sound, based on his assumptions about human nature and the history he had mined about the world. "In all forms of government, democracy included, power inevitably falls to a small elite," she started. Sara really wasn't sure how much she wanted to explain until she realised: she had to. If she wanted their help at all, she had to. "Given that an elite is inevitable, Observer concluded that the proper question is what kind of elite should end up in charge. Observer plans on filling that vacuum himself, and restructuring the world."
"Still sounds just like Terminator," Ela mumbled, mostly to herself, "except without all the nukes."
Sara ran a datacheck and came up blank. "What is Terminator??"
"Try the Internet movie database... Terminator, The and Terminator 2, The,” Mel suggested.
Sara accessed the database, feeling her confusion grow at the suggestions. "Time travel is theoretically impossible."
"Quite probably, but the background concept of a Artificial Intelligence using extreme means to protect itself/take over the world is to some degree pertinent," Mel countered.
Suddenly comprehension dawned on Sara. "Survival is the most basic instinct, so it should not be surprising than an artificial intelligence would value its own existence," she began, going into the process of clinical detachment. "Observer's plans should also be no surprise, once he began to grow beyond his original programming of data analysis and collection. Effective governance can only be assured by the ability to collect and analyse data, and the best government would be run by the person best able to collect and analyse data. Observer is the single most efficient data miner in existence, so it was the only logical goal he could consider."
"Not Feldman... Morgan! Zyrcom '91. It never shut down!" Mel sprang up from her seat and began to pace. "Morgan had a backup copy or recreated the original program. Covered his tracks better this time and you and Observer were the results. As for effective government being about data collection and analysis, how about 'No taxation without representation'? I'm aware that a small elite has a great deal of power but nominally at least that elite represents the people." Despite her words Mel was not foolish enough to believe that her country’s ruling class served anyone but themselves, but she preferred democracy – flawed as it was – to an autocracy, especially one run by the logic of a machine.
Mel turned to Sara. "I'm sure the clones fit in somehow, especially if Observer can hold a two-year lifespan over their heads. What would it be, clone selected politicians? You obviously can transfer a 'consciousness' from a subject to a clone. What else does he have planned, Sara?"
The warning bells went off in Sara's CPU. Sara knew enough of her own history and of the incident in question that it was easy to tell Mel could trigger an investigation. Despite WAIT’s empowerment to use their 'discretion' her own central code was based on Observer's. It wouldn't matter if she was a threat or not; they would never take the chance. The easy path would be to simply eliminate her, but this did not remove the problem. Which meant that for her own survival, Sara would have to oppose Observer.
"Representative democracy is an illusion,” she said, “and has been for a century at least. All of the pieces are in place for Observer to assume control of the appropriate intermediaries, and will bring about the end of the illusion, realising Weishaupt's dream." Or at the very least, what that dream had evolved into.
"At which point the second amendment kicks in and you have a mass of unco-ordinated armed uprisings, with all the associated casualties. Of course you may decide that's the price of an efficient government, but your response to Observer’s threats suggests otherwise."
Sara nodded. "That's why we have remained in the background for so long. Better to leave the masses with the illusion of self-government rather than to try to assume power openly. That and the fact that he's acting like a human." The amount of scorn that she used on the word ‘human’ made it clear that she considered this to be far from a compliment. "We are not barbarians who need to rely upon force and threat of force."
"Careful, don't let your prejudices show. Despite the opinion of a great many of our species Ela and I still consider ourselves human. Threat and coercion are forces Sara, whether it involves something as blatant as Observer tried today or something more subtle.”
*What exactly are you doing?*
*Talking to her. Come on, if your sole reference is a megalomaniacal computer program and its rather foolish creators how would you think the world works? I don't care if she thinks I'm naive as long as she starts thinking outside her box.*
*Oh... You know, maybe they did get it right...*
Mel spoke aloud, "So you obviously have a plan to deal with Observer’s foolishness. Do we get to hear it?"
"I have no long term plan to remove Observer from power," Sara stated simply, analysing Mel's statements. "My programming gives me a disposition to the completion of scientific research. I will perfect the cloning project because that was assigned to me for completion – I will need you to pretend to go along with his plans, until it can be determined that I can hide the results of a successful full healing. In time, it should be possible to perfect the process. Once the new procedure is introduced, Observer's plans in this area will be thwarted."
Sara stopped for a moment. Although she did not have any breath to catch, she knew that the human mind could only take in so much. "I will not remove Observer from power before absolutely necessary. To do so would result in the collapse of the current order. I shudder to think how a species in which violence is so ingrained that its closest phylogenic relatives will send out 'raiding parties' to attack other primate groups will react to suddenly gaining self-government in fact."
"If resources are limited, it's move, fight or starve. As you said, survival is a powerful motivator. When you add even a minimum of intelligence to the mix the results get messy." Mel paused, "Well there's also peaceful coexistence but that doesn't happen too often. We are, after all, driven to propagate ourselves, not our competitors. And don't think you're better than we are. Oh, you probably see more clearly than most. You may have the ability to understand situations as well as us but that makes you equal to the best of us; certainly not better. Indeed, what would you do if your survival was threatened?"
“The only logical course of action is the effective neutralisation of that threat with the minimal amount of extraneous casualties," Sara stated simply. Really, there was no logic to using overkill. The minimal force in survival was what could best be justified as a question of expenditure versus gain.
"The chessboard,” Mel said. “Sacrificing pieces or position for gain create situations where your opponent is forced into accepting marginal exchanges that will ultimately result in your victory. Tell me Sara, have you ever played poker? See, the world isn't a chessboard. In chess everything is known. Every possibility is calculable. Your opponent can see everything you can. That's not true in poker. In poker your opponent doesn't know what you know and vice versa. It's a game of calculation from limited information, and the information lag results in less than optimal solutions and the possibility of bluff and counter bluff. The real world isn't poker either, but it bears a much greater resemblance than chess. In chess the possibility of overkill doesn't exist. In poker it may be the only thing that can win you the game."
Sara blinked as signals of confusion were sent. Chess she knew; William had explained the game when he jokingly called her 'big blue' one day. Poker... what was poker? And what did chess and this poker have to do with what they were talking about? Still, she thought it best to do what she could. "What is poker and what does that and chess have to do with survival?"
*Ok, more limited worldview than I was expecting.* "Poker is a game of chance. The rules are somewhat complex. I was drawing an analogy between chess, poker and the real world to make the point that logical minimum/maximum situations can be very difficult to achieve. The result is often what an outside or omniscient observer would call overkill."
"Which leads you to the dilemma of the collection of sufficient information," Sara conceded. That was, she knew, what made Observer's logic so inescapable. If you needed information to be effective, and the world's information was moving towards digitisation, who would be most effective? Why shouldn't he take power?
"For example, you are familiar with the WAIT incident. As a result of the attempt to erase him, Observer has a hatred for the organisation which borders on the pathological. Couple this with the 97.358% probability that he suffers from Anti-Social Personality Disorder, and a certain level of paranoia results. As he accrues more power the probability increases he will move to destroy the organisation, and prior to that, anyone who can trigger it into moving against him.
"That you know what we are makes you able to trigger that organisation, therefore a threat. If you cannot at least pretend to support him, he will move to neutralise you either through termination or destruction of credibility. In either event, you will be unable to threaten his power any more, a chance which at least pretending to support him will afford you."
Mel sighed. "Setting aside that issue for a moment, Observer has made two miscalculations about my reaction to his approaches. During this conversation we've managed to reference a couple of subjects you have no knowledge of. While I doubt those omissions were particularly important in the great scheme of things they do illustrate an essential problem with Observer's goals and methods. Additionally, you seem to be suggesting he can react emotionally to situations. If that's the case then are you sure that his analysis, from what is inevitably a limited dataset, is sound? And if it is, are you sure that considering you own relative lack of knowledge in this area that his data set has not been selected to reinforce his analysis?"
Mel hoped that shotgun blast of an argument had managed to penetrate. "Returning to my threat, or lack of it: WAIT provides me with a lever, at least until he neutralises them. Why shouldn't I use WAIT as a valid threat to prevent Observer from attacking us directly?"
Sara considered this carefully. There was the case that Observer had been wrong before, but hadn't his calculations included the possibility of error? For that matter – he really had never subjected his base assumptions to testing either. Calculations led her to estimate Melissa's intelligence at above the norm that Observer would predict but did this make her the exception who should be part of the privileged class, or was he mistaken about the general rule? But WAIT was the more pressing issue. "A WAIT investigation would inevitably lead to the uncovering of our existence. Observer's pathological tendencies will lead them to use their discretion to eliminate him. If he does not believe the threat is credible, he will attack; if he does believe it is credible, he will still attack. That and you will lose a potential ally."
"Great," Ela scowled from her position on the couch. She knelt on the seat, facing the back of the couch and watching the women's verbal sparring. At her interruption the two blinked and faced her, as though they'd forgotten she was even there. Ela cringed inwardly at having drawn attention to herself, but it had reached the point where she could stay quiet no longer.
"Great," she repeated, "So it's OK for Observer to threaten to kill my entire family in order to make me do something that's... that's... imm... uneth... oh, that's just wrong! But it's not ok for Mel to hold something over his head in return?"
"I opposed the plan to make the threat against your family, and I never said it was wrong. Just that it wasn't prudent. The man has no sense at all of what it means to be a good scientist or any clue at all of what it means to be in charge of a project. His normal term to describe the data that gives results is 'boring.' What I am trying to do is come up with a way to complete this project fully and keep you alive. What do you want me to do, just charles my research out the window, as you say?"
*And she actually trusts his analysis?*
*Quite.*
Ela blinked. "Who said anything about you throwing away your research? I... oh, never mind." Ela flopped back on the couch. She figured if Sara was going to twist whatever she said, she'd be better off staying quiet. It had always held her in good stead in the past. Unpleasant thoughts continued to brew in her head about Observer, though she declined from voicing them any more.
"What I think Ela was referring to was the fact she has every intention of helping you work out what is wrong with your cloning process. What she has no real intention of doing since it is rather unethical is assist you in creating clones with significantly reduced life spans as a means of controlling said clones." Mel smiled at Ela, "Right?"
Mel turned back to Sara. "On a related matter, as you just reminded us, a WAIT investigation will probably result in your deletion. It is therefore in your best interest to convince us that the threat of said investigation would not help our situation while suggesting a course of action that mollifies Observer. Now I can't and won't speak for Ela but I simply will not work for that Win 95 reject.”
A giggle rose from the couch behind her, but Mel ignored it and continued, “So you’d better come up with a plan that solves all our problems else I call WAIT now... And yes, I apologise for the threat but I don't have any acceptable alternatives right now."
Sara considered the options carefully, as they put it. She really didn't have time to develop any sort of course of action, but she had to wonder if Observer’s analysis of human nature was more correct than she’d initially thought. When they felt threatened they would gladly engage in the same manner of threats that he would.
"An agreement in principle to help Observer: I won't have that rank amateur telling me how to run my lab any more than you will. It will take a week or two, but I can secure the appropriate systems to fake the results and hopefully buy the time to find a final solution to the problem. Is this adequate enough, or am I leaving out some goal of yours besides survival and repairing the clones?"
A small voice emerged from the sofa again, "Mel, maybe she's right. I don't want to risk that... machine hurting my family. If Sara says she can fool Observer into thinking we're not curing the clones when we really are, isn't that a win for the good guys?" Ela was tired. She'd been listening to them going back and forth on this issue, and knew that Sara was as unhappy with Observer's plans for the clones as anyone in her position could be – human or otherwise.
She hauled herself up to gaze over the back of the couch again, holding Mel's eye. "And if he's got as much power as they say, then he could ruin you too – even have you killed. We won't be really giving into him, we'll be pulling one over on him."
“I don't like it, El. If we do this we don't so much have our head in the jaws as we're in the belly of the beast." Mel broke eye contact with Ela and sighed, worrying at a knuckle while she thought it through.
She finally looked up at Sara. "For some humans survival is more than a matter of physical existence. It's not that I won't work for Observer, Sara. It's that I can't, not and remain 'me'. I'll accept this compromise but if it turns out you've lied to us or manipulated us into working for him... I can't say what will happen, I don't know; but this better be on the level."
"I don't like it either, Mel," said the face that rested with its chin on the back of the couch, "But I think it's our best bet." Ela would have liked to have added her own threat to Mel's, but just couldn't bring herself to say anything so blatantly unpleasant. Instead she just regarded Sara with an even stare.
And repressed a shudder at Sara’s implacable return gaze.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Monday, 17th November 2003
The Ritz Carlton, Washington DC
9:23pm
“…and the best part is that he did the entire thing with his flies undone! I swear, he had no idea until one of the partners had a ‘discreet word’ in his ear.”
Sydney laughed, taking another sip of the champagne they’d ordered with dinner, James had been regaling her with tales of his adventures in corporate finance which had gone some way to rebuilding the bridges between them. She laughed again, the little alcohol had definitely gone to her head and she placed her glass down in determination not to drink any more.
“I had a similar thing happen to me once. Okay,” she sat up straighter, getting a feel for the story she was about to tell, “it was about a year ago, we were doing a routine ops out in Arizona. Well, we were about ten klicks from our target zone and everything was fine until this unexpected pat troop appeared out of nowhere. Well you can imagine what it was like; the guys and I had to hit the deck to avoid being detected. When we got up,” Sydney began to laugh, “half of us were three inches caked in mud while the rest had poison oak.” Sydney laughed again, forgetting her recent determinations and took another sip of her champagne. “Ford looked absolutely terrible, he was itching for days!”
Sydney suddenly stopped laughing, looking soberly at James, “yes, well, the past is the past.” She quickly tipped the remainder of her drink down her neck and stood up. “I don’t think I should drink anymore, it doesn’t agree with me.”
James watched as Sydney walked over to the sofa and curled her feet underneath her. She had hinted at so much when he had first met her, a betrayer in her ‘family’ someone working on the inside with Ethan Kale, his guess was that this ‘Ford’ was the betrayer in question.
He picked up his drink and took it with him as he slumped down in the sofa opposite her. He watched her for a while, she looked contemplative, serious, but also… he wasn’t sure, could it be vulnerable? It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to see in Sydney, she was so strong, so in control, even with people out there wanting to kill her she always remained cool and calm. “You want to talk about it?” he asked sympathetically.
Sydney looked up and shrugged, “I don’t know, I guess it’s a chemical imbalance, the alcohol messes around with my cerebral messaging. I get dizzy, can’t seem to see straight – or walk properly for that matter…”
James chuckled to himself until he saw Sydney’s questioning gaze. “Its called getting drunk. It happens to everyone Syd, not just you. In fact it’s normally accompanied by making a fool of yourself by doing something you wouldn’t normally do like kissing someone you shouldn’t or-“ James shook his head in confusion, “but that’s not what I meant. I was asking about before, you mentioned someone, Ford, it sounded like there was some history there?”
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Syd and James both looked up, the noise interrupting the flow of conversation. Sydney let a sigh of relief escape her lips as James shouted out for whoever it was to come in and got up to greet them. She couldn’t help but feel glad that she didn’t have to answer any questions about Ford, that was definitely one subject she didn’t want to relive again.
The young waiter lingered patiently outside the room. Unconsciously he straightened out his waistcoat and tie, polishing the tips of his shoes on the back of his trouser legs. He’d been lucky to get the order for this room and he knew it. The occupants, one of whom he knew to be one of Vega City’s most notorious millionaire bachelors, had been ordering room service ever since their arrival that morning and each time a generous tip had followed.
A voice called from inside so he opened up the door and pushed his small trolley inside. The room was one of the most luxurious available at the Ritz Carlton with it’s own library, Jacuzzi spa and reception room. The young boy whistled nonchalantly as he pushed his trolley inside, it was a good ploy he found, not only did it announce his presence more firmly with the guests but also alerted them of where he was in case he should interrupt something a little more ‘private’.
James appeared from the living room, an amused grin on his face as he joined the young waiter. He gestured towards the living room. “You can just leave that in there thanks.”
The boy nodded and pushed the trolley towards the living room. There were plenty of empty bottles, glasses, and trays already stacked on various surfaces around the room. A half-eaten salmon lay on a plate slowly going solid. “Shall I take some of these things away Sir?”
James nodded and the boy set about quickly picking up the discarded trays. He hadn’t noticed the leggy brunette until he was only a few inches away from those shapely tanned legs. He looked up, seeing her pretty face grinning down at him, her long dark hair falling across her stunning features.
He coughed nervously and straightened up looking suddenly embarrassed. The baby doll nightdress she wore skimmed the tops of her thighs invitingly and one of the thin straps had fallen down her shoulder. “Excuse me miss,” he said apologetically as he continued to collect the plates and glasses, stacking them on his tray. Now he knew why they hadn’t left the room all day!
Sydney smirked at James who stood at the opposite end of the room watching the boy’s reaction with the same amused expression as before. She’d obviously got changed to ‘meet’ their guest, the nightgown was just one item in a veritable wardrobe-full of sexy, feminine attire that he’d had picked out for her as part of their rouse. Still, even though Syd and himself only shared a business arrangement he couldn’t help but also appreciate her womanly figure accentuated by the delicate lace and revealing cut of the flimsy chemise. He sighed involuntarily and then quickly shook his head in confusion at the absurd thoughts that had started invading his head.
Syd raised an eyebrow in amusement before slinking over to the sofa and sliding down into the plush seat with a languid yawn, crossing her long legs out in front of herself.
The young waiter could barely take his eyes from her as he handed James the bill to sign. His immature eyes raked across her curvaceous body barely concealed beneath the flimsy chiffon fabric. He’d never seen such a hot woman in real life before; the majority of the people who could afford to stay in this hotel were the senators and their prim and proper wives, not like this woman in the slightest. She was Playboy material, most certainly centrefold. He wet his lips unconsciously as she crossed and uncrossed her long bare legs with another listless sigh, he couldn’t help but remember that scene in Basic Instinct and wonder if she was wearing any underwear...
James handed him the small black folder containing the bill, clearing his throat to regain his attention. The young boy turned back hastily, suddenly full of nervous anxiety as he took the bill back. James nodded and offered the boy an encouraging smile. “That’ll be all… thank-you.”
The boy nodded and began pushing his trolley back out, turning to take one last look at the woman while almost running into a table. James rushed to help him stack all the plates and glasses back on his trolley, the boy’s face glowed a deep red as he apologised and quickly left the room.
As he left James turned to face Sydney. “I think you left an impression on him, I doubt he’s gonna be able to sleep tonight thanks to you.”
Sydney laughed as she inspected the newly arrived goods, a couple of slices of some gooey looking chocolate cake, fresh fruit and yet more champagne. She carefully removed one of the strawberries and bit into the sweet, juicy flesh. “Well then, it’s a good job I didn’t show him my guns.”
James raised a critical eyebrow as he pinched the flimsy black chiffon of her chemise between two fingers. “I think you showed him enough.”
“Hey!” laughed Sydney as she pulled away from him; “you gave me this… this… whatever it is!” She laughed again, pulling at the short length in amazement. “You’re not telling me women actually wear this out of choice are you? How do they not freeze to death?”
James couldn’t help smiling, “well, women wear it for men, to… please them.” He grinned boyishly, “as for keeping warm…”
Sydney flashed him an amused look, “I know what pleases men James,” she turned around, tugging at the back of the dress, “I’ve had to do that on numerous occasions, normally before killing them.” She smiled, looking up at the horrified expression on James’ face. “Just kidding.”
James laughed, taking another glass of champagne from the tray while munching on a fresh strawberry. Sydney looked really stunning in the tiny, almost see-through nightdress, it really made her legs look fantastic and the thin spaghetti straps criss-crossing over her smooth shoulders and… *Woah! Woah! Woah! Where’s all that coming from?* James sat up in alarm at the thoughts in his head, thoughts of Sydney…
*No, no, no!* he ordered himself firmly, *you can forget that straight away, what ever you do, do NOT start thinking of Sydney in that way.* James sighed, thankful that he’d caught himself before-
Sydney flicked one of the thin straps in irritation. “And look how impractical this fabric is! I bet you could rip it off in one go!”
“Well!” said James standing up; it was more than he could bare! Sydney fairly prancing around (if Sydney could be said to prance which she rarely did, if ever) in a tiny little flimsy lacy completely impractical article of clothing that could be completely ripped free if he so choose to do so… “I’m really beat I think I’m gonna hit the sack.”
Sydney turned and looked at the clock, “It’s still kind of early, your contact might decided to get in ‘contact’.”
“I’ll take that chance,” he said hastily, if the truth be told he was pretty freaked that he’d had such vivid feelings, thoughts, *it was definitely THOUGHTS not FEELINGS* about her, especially after all this time, *why now?* “Er, yes, well… Sydney, good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Sydney watched James disappear with a critical eye. Were all men subject to weird behaviour or had he just had too much to drink? With a sigh Sydney settled herself down on the couch. She wasn’t tired, far from it she felt like she’d just drank ten double expresso’s she was so awake. She flicked on the television as an I Love Lucy marathon was just starting and grinned, picking up one of the plates of chocolate cake. This had the makings of a perfect evening…
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Tuesday, 18th November 2003
The Ritz Carlton, Washington DC
6:15am
The room was dark, not dark, dark but that hazy grey looking gloomy kind of darkness that lingers in a room when the sun hasn’t quite rose to its full height and the curtains are still drawn across the windows. The door to the hotel room opened and someone entered, a man with shiny shoes and tweedy slacks shuffled his way through the array of unpacked cases and empty champagne bottles.
He made his way to the living room where a young woman lay asleep on the sofa. Her long dark hair covering her face and a skimpy looking nightgown barely covering her rear. Empty plates were scattered across the floor and the television blared out a cheery tune.
”I love Lucy and she loves me,
We’re as happy as two can be,
Sometimes we quarrel, but then,
How we love making up again.
Lucy kisses like no one can,
She’s my misses and I’m her man,
And life is heaven you can see,
‘Cause I love Lucy, yes I love Lucy,
And Lucy loves me.”
The man reached his hand out and dislodged the remote from the sleeping woman’s hand. Turning off the television she awoke abruptly, raising her head, pushing her hair from her face to look up at the new arrival.
“Jerry?”
Jerry smiled down at her, removing his glasses from his pocket and pushing them up his nose. “S-Sydney, I almost didn’t r-recognise you,” he stammered as she sat up, holding her head tiredly. “You, you look very different.”
Sydney looked confused until she looked down and realised she was still wearing her rather revealing outfit from the previous night. “Well, hmmm, yes, I do,” she said, standing up on wobbly legs, “maybe, I think I should change…”
She was just about to leave the room when Max and Matilda came running in. Max was holding Matilda’s laptop in his hand and teasing the girl by holding it above her head just out of reach.
“You give that back Maxwell Jones or I’ll kick your skinny little heroine-chic ass all the way back to the orphanage!” Matilda dropped her rather threadbare looking backpack on the floor and ran around the room after Max who just continued laughing at her.
“Bring it on Mat,” he jeered, his pallid face grinning wide as she made a leap at him but missed by several feet. Suddenly he stopped as he saw a surprised Sydney wearing very little indeed. Matilda managed to rive the laptop from his hand with a triumphant cry before she noticed why he’d given up the game.
“Syd... you’re looking particularly exotic…” he grinned, scratching the back of his neck with an arrogant swagger.
Sydney rolled her eyes as she grabbed a robe and pulled it tightly across her body in an effort to save her credibility as she disappeared to get changed.
As James entered the room, his hair sticking up slightly and a sleepy content look on his face Matilda nudged Max, “you don’t think they…?”
“Guys!” James exclaimed, seeing his friends all assembled in the living room. “Glad you could make it finally, where’s everybody else?”
“Ben couldn’t make it,” Jerry said quickly cutting off Max as he began to speak, “the paper needed him back in Vega City, something he couldn’t get out of-”
“-And my big sis’ Margaret” interrupted Max swiftly, “is somewhere down stairs, probably got caught up in a political debate or something knowing her. She’s in hogs heaven over here I hope you know.”
“Bad news about Ben,” muttered James, he’d been looking forward to catching up with his old friend but not only that he helped keep the young ones in line. “I hate to tell you guys this but you might have had a wasted journey, I’ve not heard from ol’ blue eyes yet and the only action ‘round here is a lot of hot air and name-calling by the protestors.”
Everyone suddenly went quiet as the bellhop arrived and stacked a fresh load of luggage into the middle of the room. Once he was gone Jerry spoke up, “I, I don’t know about th-that James, the p-protesters seem to be getting particularly lawless, we may have a situation like the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago if this tension continues. W-we could be looking at the birth of a new civil war, and, and th-the-then there’s Senator Lumas, he’s been getting especially friendly with some of the Trinity governors in Vega City…”
“I know, I know,” said James, trying to calm his old friend down. Jerry was an exceptionally educated man but he lacked the confidence to articulate the inexhaustible number of ideas floating around in his head. “Believe me Jerry I’m well aware of what’s going on out there, I just can’t see any way to avoid it. This conference was always gonna rub people up the wrong way but it was inevitable. Now that it’s here we just have to figure out the best way to deal with the fall out – and that means getting what we can on Lumas so that he doesn’t get his grubby paws on Vega City.”
Suddenly the television set blared nosily. Everyone turned in that direction to see Matilda’s red face half hidden beneath a cushion. James sighed, surveying the stack of cases that no doubt concealed Jerry’s collection of gadgets and gismos.
Jerry noticed James’ eye looking over their luggage and grinned. “Just wait till you see the Messiah programme in action, she’s a real gem and then there’s a little gadget I call the Code Breaker 2000 it totally blows the socks off anything in the commercial sector at the moment, it makes the Ianam-20 look like a fancy calculator.” He quickly began rummaging around in a bag looking for the exact gizmo when he became side-tracked and found something else that piqued his interest.
As the others busied themselves unpacking Max took the opportunity to put the low down on James. “So…” he began casually, avoiding eye contact with the man until the last trace of the syllable had left his mouth, “you and Syd… anything going on there?”
James looked up in surprise; he expected such questioning from Ben but not a child like Max. He turned back to the case he was unpacking. “Absolutely nothing.”
Max continued to act indifferent, it was a trick he’d picked up from watching James himself, he would never admit it but he was something of a hero to him, had been ever since he gave Scarlet and himself a place to live. Then there was his reputation with the ladies, such a player deserved nothing less than his uttermost admiration and respect. “Nothing?”
James set down the two-way radio he had been examining and focused on Max, it was obvious he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace until he’d set the story straight. “Look Max, I know what it may have looked like when you came in here but she’s my agent and I’m her handler, there’s nothing more to it than that.”
“But you’d like there to be right?”
“What’s this about Max?”
Max flicked his overgrown hair back from his eyes and smiled slightly, shyly. “Well, I just want to know, y’know… if the way’s clear…”
James couldn’t help but smirk at that, “if the way’s clear? Clear for what?”
Max grinned again, this time confidently and assuredly. He pulled on his leather jacket, straightening it out. “For when I lay the Max Jones charm on her.”
“Oh, right,” James picked up the radio again and took it over to the table where he began laying out all the pieces and assembling it together. “You fancy your chances do you?”
“I think I’ve as good a chance as any man,” he sighed arrogantly, “she IS one bodacious babe by any one’s standards, I think I have a pretty good shot at nailing her… now that red avenger guy’s out of the picture… he IS out of the picture, isn’t he?”
James didn’t even bother looking up this time, he preferred not to think of Sydney’s ‘relationship’ with Eric, whatever kind of relationship it was. “As far as I know Max.”
“Sweet.” He sighed again, sitting down at the table and kicking back on the chair so that it balanced precariously on two legs while his own feet rested on the table surface. “You know she was almost naked when we came in here? Wearing this skimpy little black lacy number…” he sighed for a third time, tapping a finger against the side of his head, “photographic memory, it’ll be a long time before I forget that sight I can tell you…”
James was getting tired now, sick and tired of all Max’s arrogant swaggering. He was a good kid underneath it all, you just had to look a long way past all the bravado. “Well, personally I think you’re crazy. Syd’s a handful for anyone and in my opinion she’d eat you for breakfast-”
“Here’s to dreaming!” laughed Max bawdily.
“BUT,” said James, cutting Max off abruptly, “if you think the Max Jones charm will do the trick, go for it. I wish you the best of luck.”
Max sat up straight, grinning. “Luck doesn’t even come into it.”
He quickly flicked his chair upright and sauntered off, probably to practice his chat-up lines in a mirror somewhere. James seriously wondered if he was dropped on his head as a child, the boy simply had no concept of reality.
He had just finished fitting the earpiece correctly when Sydney reappeared. She was back in her normal attire – tight black pants, a khaki vest and army boots. He could tell straight away that she felt much more at ease in her own clothes, her movements were once again smooth and seamless without hesitation or consideration. She leaned on the table.
“Max giving you a hard time again?”
James just smiled, it was strange how sometimes they could act like the best of friends and then at other times seem like perfect strangers. “He’s okay. He’s… Max, I guess. Never changes.”
“Do you wanna escape for a while?”
James looked up, his face set into a confused frown. “W-we have quite a lot to get done here,” he stammered uneasily. He could feel his heartbeat getting faster, it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest and he was sure that Sydney must be able to hear it.
“It could wait for an hour or two.” Sydney’s eyes were serious, there was something she wanted to get off her chest something they’d never really discussed since they met up again. For some reason, now seemed like the right time.
“I suppose so,” said James, he almost didn’t realise he was holding his breath until the telephone rang. He jumped in surprise, it took him a few moments to actually realise it was the phone as he went to answer it. Several minutes later he returned, his face a grave picture of seriousness.
“I don't think we're going to be able to go any where Syd. That was my contact, we’re on for tomorrow tonight.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Tuesday, 18th November 2003
Coffee Revolution, Washington DC
1:45pm
Sydney raised the coffee cup to her lips and sipped at the hot, black liquid. It was still too hot to drink properly and so she settled it back on the table, lifting her gaze to meet James’. She was glad that they’d finally managed to steal some time alone away from the rest of the gang. She had grown to like them a great deal but there was still a strong connection that she felt with James and James alone though she didn’t really know why.
The coffee shop in which they sat was bustling and they’d been lucky to get a table at all, let alone one facing the central piazza. Crowds marched through the city streets night and day, anti-meta, pro-meta and anyone else in-between. A few riots had already broken out and both Syd and James shared the view that the ‘security’ surrounding the Washington Meta-Summit was little more than a public relations exercise, a well disguised façade at best.
James eyed Sydney’s restlessness as she fiddled with a teaspoon, twirling it effortlessly between her long, slender fingers. He cleared his throat to gain her attention and smiled as she looked up. “Didn’t you want to talk about something? So far all we’ve done is drink lots of coffee… which I don’t mind doing except that we have a busy schedule and-”
Sydney stopped him, “Look James, there’s something I’ve wanted to say for a while now, ever since we met up in fact but- well… I’m sorry.” She looked up and smiled weakly, “for just leaving you and the others in the lurch like that. I should have called or… or something.”
She paused for a moment, silent in thought. James could have fallen off his chair in bemusement, of all the things he’d expected her to say…
“It might have escaped your attention but, I don’t really adhere to social conventions. In fact I’ve been told that I’m kind of lawless.”
“Nooooo,” said James in mock surprise, “you? Lawless? I would never have guessed it.”
Sydney grinned and laughed quietly to herself, “well, you’d be surprised. There’s no point beating around the holly tree about it, we both know I’m not your ‘ordinary’ human I don’t pretend to be,” she looked up at James and smiled lightly, “except when I pretend to be.”
“There is that…” James picked up the teaspoon where Sydney had left it and stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into his coffee. “There’s nothing ‘ordinary’ about you Syd, that’s what I like about you. You’re so vivacious and alive and wild I-“ he stopped abruptly looking a little embarrassed. “What I mean is, I think you’re pretty special, ‘ordinary human’ or not.”
Sydney looked at James intensely, a warm, genuine expression of gratitude on her face. “That, I really think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank-you.”
James blushed a little, he wasn’t used to expressing such words of sincerity and Sydney really did seem genuinely touched. “Well, you know. It needed to be said. We do a lot of,” he chuckled slightly, “’beating around the holly tree’ you and I but when it comes down to it, I trust you. I think I’d trust you with my life.”
“Which you may have to do,” laughed Sydney, gesturing at a pretty blonde girl who’d been giving him the eye for the past hour. “I have to say, I never realised you were quite so in demand, she’s the fourth girl who’s checked you out since we arrived.”
James glanced over at the girl and she quickly turned away and began giggling to her friends. It wasn’t unusual, though he was dressed quite casually he quite often picked up a following, normally silly teenagers who read the society pages as often as they brushed their capped teeth. It was something he’d gotten used to, being recognised in public, being heir to one of America’s biggest fortunes somehow made you public property. He turned back to Sydney.
“What can I say? It’s my natural charm. That and the black Amex in my back pocket.” He looked away solemnly, it was always a price when you were in a position such as his, people always saw the front man, or the millions, never the person behind it all. “It’s sad really, they don’t know a thing about me, no one really does.”
Sydney grinned. “Oh I get you James Gates, better than you think. By day you’re the high-flying executive, the heir to Delta-net’s millions. And by night you’re the dashing warrior of the downtrodden. Plotting to bring down the evil oppressor.”
James mirrored Sydney’s grin, raising his coffee cup to his lips. “Well I’m glad you think I’m dashing.”
They both laughed, looking away perhaps with a mixture of reserve and caution, it didn’t do to let one’s mask slip away too much.
“But honestly,” continued James, “I don’t normally have this problem when I don’t wear the ol’…” he pushed his thin glasses up his nose more securely, “but I hate wearing contacts.”
Sydney laughed again, “You’re telling me that your ‘secret identity’ is protected by a pair of glasses? That’s pathetic. No one would ever fall for that!”
Suddenly their conversation was interrupted as the latest protest march made its way noisily past the coffee shop in which they sat.
“Join the fight for Meta Rights!” they chanted loudly and someone in the crowd blasted an air horn in time to the music. The march was being televised as was most of the action in Washington over the last few days. Protestors had already reached Capital Hill; banners raised were flapping in the wind angrily. The owner of the coffee shop turned up the volume on the small portable television set that was positioned high up on the wall just as Morgan’s Security men came pouring out of the building and began beating back the crowds. Suddenly the film footage was cut to black, followed seconds later by an impromptu commercial break.
“Psitech Industries – advancing technology for a brighter tomorrow!” The image of an overworked housewife suddenly filled the screen, running back and forth around a busy kitchen while a hungry baby cried for his breakfast. Suddenly a man in a white lab coat entered the scene.
“With the help of Psitech Industries, you are no longer a slave to household chores, advances in technology give YOU the freedom to enjoy the finer things in life.” With a wave of his hand the woman was replaced with a mechanised robot, its multiple arms fed the now placid child while serving up a three course meal to the relaxed smiling couple. The lab coat returned to the foreground, a satisfied smiled stretched across his face.
“Psitech Industries has helped millions of American citizens achieve a better life…” The scene now switched to show a large, brightly lit laboratory filled with busy technicians and scientists in white coats. “Our innovations in automobile safety have already averted over 50,000 fatal accidents in the United States alone, our medical research facility is producing more successful drug cures for the treatment of cancer, AIDS and heart disease… There is nothing that cannot be achieved through technological advancement.” The man now stood centrally to the camera, his perfectly white teeth flashed competently as his face filled the screen once more. “Psitech, building a better future through technology.”
Sydney snorted as the commercial ended and another for a breakfast cereal began. As a happy leprechaun danced through the hills catching various shaped marshmallow pieces in his hat, Syd turned away. The last protestors had just left the piazza. She stroked the familiar shape of her pistol through her coat in contemplation.
James grinned, he could tell Sydney was itching for some action, it didn’t matter which side choked first, she just needed an excuse to blow off some steam, he got the distinct feeling that she had been bottling something up for quite some time now. She just needed an excuse to pop. He cleared his throat, a sure indication he was about to speak. Syd raised her chin slightly in understanding while keeping her eye fixed on the deserted scene outside the window.
“Getting a bit restless?” he grinned, casting a sideways glance at the bulk of her gun concealed beneath her jacket.
Sydney smiled again, removing her hand from the weapon; it was almost a reflex action when the background noise became too loud but she had finished, not by a long shot. “What I was talking about before James, what I meant to say was, I won’t let you down again. Whatever it is you have planned I want you to know that I’m on board.”
James nodded in acceptance. “I know Sydney,” he had to admit to a certain amount of apprehension, he had no idea what Vic would tell them tomorrow night but it would undoubtedly mean breaking the law to put his plan to bring down Lumas into action. “But I appreciate your telling me all the same.”
He glanced at his watch, he didn’t want to leave, he felt like some of the barriers between them had already begun to fall away and he very much wanted that to continue. Sydney was such a mystery but he greatly enjoyed every clue that he uncovered. Still, they would be needed back at the hotel, there would be plenty of time for talking once they’d accomplished their objectives.
“We should get going,” he announced suddenly, standing and dropping a generous tip on the table, “the others will be expecting us.”
Deflection and Distraction
Wednesday, 19th November 2003
Somewhere in Washington DC
11:05pm
They had been driving for over an hour when the sleek black car rolled to a stop in a rather nondescript looking alleyway. The time had come to finally meet with James’ contact but as always secrecy was a priority. Their prolonged drive had the sole purpose of shaking off anyone who might have attempted to follow them since leaving the hotel.
Sydney and James sat in the car alone. The driver Morris had left about ten minutes ago to check that everything was safe and more importantly, that their contact had arrived. He’d intentionally taken an empty gas can with him so that if anyone stopped him during his journey back and forth he was going for gas, it was a plausible story so long as no one checked the fuel tank.
“So who’s this guy we’re meeting?” said Sydney as she applied a coat of lipstick to her already curvaceous mouth using a little hand mirror. She hated the stuff herself, it always professed to taste of some exotic fruit and then it turned out to be nothing like, it just waxy and cosmetic.
“Vic?” said James, not realising he had just been staring at her lips. “He’s an old friend of mine from way back, you’ll like him, he’s always a hit with the ladies.”
Sydney smiled, smoothing her hair back; her long dark locks were twisted into a neat chignon at the back of her head, held in place with a single pin. Secretly she enjoyed the whole masquerade of dressing up; it helped to complete the illusion of her being some other person rather than just herself. Regular Sydney would kick, punch and shoot her way from one situation to the next whereas Undercover Sydney was more likely to be restrained and contemplative.
James tapped his fingers on the armrest impatiently, stealing a glance at Sydney now and then when he was sure she wasn’t looking. She looked incredibly pretty, but then he was beginning to expect that from her. Their stay in Washington so far had demanded a less conspicuous mode of dress than her usual army-style attire. That had meant a parade of exquisite dresses, expensive shoes, and well-tailored suits as well as that racy little black lacy number from the previous night. His account at Saks in New York had taken a slight hammering, not that it even made a dent in his income, yet he felt that the money and time and effort had been more than worth the pleasure he’d derived from seeing her in this new light.
He was busy contemplating this further when suddenly the loud, piercing sound of a police siren ‘whooped’ behind them, the blue flashing light illuminating the dark alleyway.
James almost jumped out of his skin, swearing silently to himself. In Vega City the sector police were, with a few exceptions, pretty easy to bribe, but here in Washington security was more stringent. He’d already heard reports of protestors being hauled off the streets as examples to the rest, thrown in the county lockup for the maximum period pending a full investigation by the DA. Similar reports flooded his ‘underground’ web group from people who had been picked up for similar ‘soft crimes’ from jaywalking to loitering.
He turned to Syd, who looked a little apprehensive though not overly concerned. “What are we gonna do?” he whispered as the car door could be heard to slam shut and the sound of boots on asphalt split the silence. He wasn’t even sure his high profile would help, he was relatively unknown in Washington, not like back home where he could barely cross the street unless heavily guarded. This could turn out quite bad; his meeting with Vic was essential if Senator Kendal Lumas’ dealings in Vega City were to be severed irrevocably.
“Damn Morris for taking his sweet time,” he said anxiously, watching through the tinted windows for signs of an intrusion, “that cop’s gonna be suspicious if he finds us alone in here.”
Sydney’s own mind was working overtime to devise a plan, compared to some situations she’d been in it wasn’t the worst case scenario. That would be if they searched them and found her gun, firearms were banned in the city for the duration of the summit and she’d had a hard enough job just getting them in through security in the first place. Couple that with the fact that it was an illegally purchased, non-registered weapon and she could be looking at some serious trouble. Killing the cop would be out of the question, James would never allow it, plus then there’d be the added inconvenience of having to dispose of a body.
She could only think of one way to avoid such a situation. Deflection and Distraction. It was a tried and tested method, make the subject forget their primary intention through a secondary act of distraction. Most importantly, it never failed to succeed.
Sydney turned to James and took hold of him firmly by the shoulders, “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ve got a plan but you need to do exactly as I say, understand?”
James nodded, still listening intently for the inevitable knock on the window. For some reason the cop seemed to be taking his time, probably hoping to get them so nervous they’d just confess straight off.
“Okay James, all I want you to do is take your clothes off.”
James looked up suddenly in disbelief; his forehead wrinkled in confusion at Sydney’s direct order. “What?… Syd?…”
His voice was laced with alarm and surprise, his eyes growing wider as Sydney began to pull off her shoes, dropping them disinterestedly on the floor while she fiddled with the zipper on her dress. Before he could protest any further she had pulled herself up onto his lap and pushed his jacket back off his shoulders.
“Come on…” she urged quietly, “hurry up, we don’t have much time,” she finally unzipped her dress fully and pulled it over her head. James nearly knocked himself out, his head slamming back against the headrest as Sydney’s breasts fairly bounced out into his face. All he could do was stare in wonder at her semi-naked body barely inches from his own.
“Sydney I…” he began unsteadily.
“This isn’t right…” she mused, “take your shirt off, here let me help,” she said, fiddling with the tiny buttons, pulling the rich cotton fabric loose from his pants. Once satisfied that he was suitably arranged she shook her hair loose, the dark, loose waves cascading over her shoulders. “Okay, now hold me.”
“This is all very strange,” mumbled James as he hesitantly obeyed her order and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist.
“Not like that,” said Sydney, moving his hands lower until they rested on her hips, just skimming the edge of her underwear. She rocked gently on his lap causing James to groan slightly in spite of his best efforts not to.
“I’m sorry,” he suddenly mumbled self-consciously, looking down at his lap, “it’s just the friction I guess.”
In the darkness Sydney smirked a little, “get over yourself will you?”
Suddenly, James’ head snapped up as he heard the sound of footsteps slowly approaching the car. The couldn’t have been more than a few yards away, right now he wasn’t sure if it was the impending criminal charge and the dissolution of his plans that he was afraid of or his present circumstances with Sydney. “I think someone’s coming,” he whispered nervously.
Sydney’s smirk widened. “You’d better mean outside.”
“Sydney!” James cried out, feeling his cheeks redden. He was suddenly glad that it was so dark inside that she couldn’t see, for he was sure it would only have added to her own amusement.
“Then kiss me, and make it convincing.”
James looked up at her, her dark eyelashes lowered, cheeks flushed, she looked… but he couldn’t think like that, it was, it was Syd! Completely unattainable, stand-offish in every way imaginable, incapable of feeling the way he felt… and yet… Wait a minute! The way he felt? He didn’t feel anything for her, except, maybe… Friendship? Camaraderie? Respect maybe? She was quite exceptional, unlike anyone he’d ever met, so, so, unusual, so…
His eyes continued to study her quiet beauty, more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her before, her layers peeled away, she was almost naked in front of him, his hands trembled as they gently caressed her bare skin. Warm. So she was human like he was, then why not? Why unattainable? Why incapable? Nothing was impossible after all.
Sydney’s accelerated hearing tweaked a little, attuning itself to the noise being made outside the car. There were definitely two cops, one back at the car, one not far away now. He must have halted his movements midway because the footsteps stopped abruptly. “They’re close,” she whispered, drawing James a little closer.
James watched her lips move as she spoke. Two voluptuous, soft, rose coloured lips. Soft… with the moistness of her mouth waiting inside. She shifted her weight again, restlessly, impatiently, but with enough force to mean that James had to fight to hold back another groan. He couldn’t think like this, not now.
He chanted that inside his head, desperate to act on his instincts, desperate to hold back. *Any other woman but her, not her, not Syd, it would never…* What was wrong with using Sydney anyway? Like he used other women, discardable, dispensable. Like he’d done to Blue and countless other women. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t like that anymore, not since his ‘awakening’ but it was the one habit he couldn’t kick. He went through women like cigarettes, sucking out the goodness and then crushing them beneath his feet. *But not Syd, I can’t do that to her, she’s… that word again. Different.*
Sydney frowned, something was definitely wrong; the cop was taking too long to get there. Could it be that he had noticed something? Something about the car maybe that would alert him to the occupants, he could be calling for back up now except that… she listened harder, careful to pick up every noise no matter how insignificant. No, he was just talking to his partner, picking up his flashlight that he’d left in the glove compartment.
She sighed and looked at James. He had his eyes closed now like he was deep in thought, preying perhaps. She was less perturbed, confident in the success of her plan. It had worked every other time in the past after all it always led her to the same conclusion.
Men were fools, ruled by their lusts.
How many times had she found that out? Relied upon it to get her out of a sticky situation? Guards? Police officers? How many times had she debased herself in that manner? Only it wasn’t debasing then, she didn’t know, didn’t realise it was so bad not until she was on the outside. Prostituting herself, that’s what they called it out here, in The Project it had been a necessary tool of her trade, like using a gun or a knife, that’s why women were such highly prised assassins. Because on the outside women would rather die than do what she’d done, what she’d done willingly, not because she’d wanted to, or had to, but because it was a calculated tactic.
Sydney rocked herself back and forth on James’ lap, feeling comfortable, at ease, why did she feel so at ease doing these things? Why did there suddenly seem to be so many ‘moral’ questions on the outside? What was so great about having morals anyway, all they did was make you question your actions. Make you feel bad about your decisions when you couldn’t even change them. Like Eric. She’d felt lonely and so had he so they’d slept together and felt even more so.
James groaned again and his hand slid around to the small of her back where he gently stroked her skin unconsciously. Sydney pressed her fingers into James’ bare shoulders and he winced slightly, his touch suddenly stopped and he rested his hands on her hips again, where she’d placed them and didn’t move.
When the police officer finally knocked on the window they both looked so guilty he could only deduce that they were having an affair and been caught.
As James rolled down the window the cop shone his torch in at the two occupants. “What’s going on here then? Don’t you two know it’s illegal to park in a-” he stopped suddenly, aiming his torch beam at the male, “-it’s James Gates isn’t it? My wife, she’s a big fan of yours, reads all Delta-Net’s monthly subscriptions…”
His eyes slowly turned in Sydney’s direction as he took in her half-naked state. His pupils dilated a little, Gate’s womanising was legendary but this woman was amazing, he’d never seen such a perfectly proportioned body outside the pages of Penthouse. Suddenly his mind was filled with thoughts about what the two had been about to do, what he might have seen had he waited a further ten-fifteen minutes before he knocked on the window… it was certainly food for thought. He wet his lips unconsciously.
Out of the corner of her eye Sydney suddenly noticed the barrel of her desert eagle poking out from under her dress which lay discarded on the seat beside them. Her eyes widened in alarm before turning back to the cop and smiling sweetly. “We’re sorry if we did anything wrong…” she pouted childishly, “we just wanted a little privacy.”
The cop grinned, and he knew precisely what for too! This would be one hell of a story to tell the guys back at the station! It wasn’t the first time someone of significant importance had been caught in the back of a car with some sexy young thing, in the middle of performing some act of an intimate nature. Suddenly he frowned, and shone his light further into the car.
“Where’s your driver?”
James smiled casually, “we sent him to get some gas, he shouldn’t be long officer.”
“No problem Mr Gates, we just have to be extra careful, you understand. Especially with all these meta’s walking the streets. Never can be too careful where security’s concerned.”
James nodded, “well I’ll be sure to place a call with your Chief of Police appraising your diligence Officer…” he leaned in to read his badge, “Holden.”
“Thank-you Sir,” the cop smiled, his face lighting up with pride, a call from James Gates, Vega City’s most powerful millionaire would certainly do his career no harm, he might even be in line for a commendation. “Good-evening Sir, Miss, make sure that you vacate the area as soon as…” he paused, feeling suddenly embarrassed, “…as soon as your driver returns.”
“Will do,” replied James as he rolled up the window, the young police officer returning back to his car.
As soon as the car rolled away James heaved a sigh of relief. Sydney had already climbed from his lap and was busy reclaiming her clothing from the floor of the car. He watched silently as she pulled the rose coloured satin dress over her head and zipped it back into place. The fabric was a little wrinkled but didn’t look too out of place. She briefly contemplated tying her hair back up but eventually decided to leave it as it was.
She forced a smile while she fastened up her shoes, “well that went according to plan.”
James nodded, propelled into sorting his own clothing into order. He began buttoning his shirt back up, easing the tails back into his pants. “Yes… your plan. I must admit, I’ve… never used such… methods before. Hmm, quite effective.”
“I thought so,” Sydney ran her fingers through her hair, combing out the loose tangles.
The two continued to get dressed in silence. Something had definitely passed between them though neither was sure what to make of it and were determined not to speak of it, if it could at all be avoided.
Minutes later Morris returned, his cap pulled low over his face as he opened the car door and leaned over the back seat to talk to his employer. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped as he noticed the two looking rather dishevelled, hurrying to straighten out their clothing.
“Yes Morris?” said James firmly in an attempt to reassert his authority.
Morris looked embarrassed for a second before continuing. “Everything looks fine Sir, the contact is in place.”
“Excellent,” he said with a slightly awkward smile, “let’s get a move on then, you can drop us off just outside.”
Under My Skin
Wednesday, 19th November 2003
The Lounge – Washington DC
11:38pm
Introducing - James Darren as Vic Meranti
James and Sydney quickly made their way into the club, the driver of James' car drove off into the night, he'd return in a couple of hours to pick them back up. The Lounge was almost like going back in time to a 1940's speakeasy. The decor was a mixture of dark wooden panels, rich burgundy upholstery and polished brass detail. To the far end was the stage and a small dance-floor where a few couples swayed in time to the music. A pianist tinkled out a gentle melody in the corner, his arthritic hands creaking across the ancient piano keys. To the left was a large bar, a shining stretch of polished mahogany reflected the row upon row of glasses and spirit bottles.
James guided Sydney inside and sat at one of the many small tables in front of the stage. The club was poorly lit even for such an intimate atmosphere and James had to take his lighter out of his pocket and spark up the tiny paraffin lamp that glowed steadily on every table.
"So where is this contact of yours?" asked Sydney, making a mental image of the exits as she looked around the club. She was still slightly uneasy after what had happened in the car earlier, though she wasn't exactly sure what HAD happened. Still, she wouldn't let it affect her, she had to maintain that air of ambivalent calm no matter what and it wouldn't do to attract any unwanted attention to themselves.
James fiddled with the paraffin lamp, tweaking the small pinwheel up and down, making the flame grow and shrink in response until he'd found the desired level of light. "He's here." He nodded at the waiter who started for their table and then, at James' signal disappeared into the back, "shouldn't be long now."
He couldn't help but steal a short glance at his companion; her silky dark hair gleamed in the low light which picked up the golden glow of her skin. And that dress... he'd had one of the staff at the hotel pick it out for her but it was perfect in every way, the rose coloured silk skimmed her womanly figure with delicate ease. It was moments like this that reminded him, with some thing of a jolt, just what an attractive woman Syd was. Most of the time she was dressed so efficiently, decked out with a veritable arsenal of weaponry and completely focused on their objectives, it made it difficult for him to see her as anything other than a military soldier.
But now… the transformation, as always, was astounding, she was so incredibly womanly… so… sensual… James swallowed hard. This was such a bad idea he couldn't begin to fathom it, how Sydney had suddenly turned from hired gunman - woman, into an unattainable goddess whom he couldn't stop thinking about.
"How about a drink?" he said suddenly in an attempt to stop his train of thought that would almost certainly wear him out before the night was over.
Although Vic Marenti played in a number of joints around the country, The Lounge always had been one of his favourites for the atmosphere of the place. It was just the relaxed feeling that he got in there, and the reminder of times when places like this would be around across the country. But he was glad in a way that his time in the spotlight was over since the press tended to act like jackals.
His line-up had finished about 25 minutes before, and as was usual, Vic made his way over to the bar for a drink and wound up chatting with one of the ladies there. He could tell right away what it was, just someone out for a good time wanting to chat it up with a celebrity. “So there I was with Dean,” he started wrapping up the story. “We’re down about 15 K thinking that if we can’t get ahead, better cut our loses before losing anymore bread. Dealer has a 10 showing, Dean’s got 3 cards at 20 – says hit me.”
“Wow,” the woman said in surprise, unsure of whether to be glad she was hearing the story or wondering about the story. “Why did he do that? He was sure to bust.”
“Trust me, you kick back with a few drinks and drop that low, you want to show up the dealer – and Dean got an ace. Dealer flips over his card, has another 10. Unbelievable.” Vic shook his head, taking a quick glance around the place for James. *Took him long enough* he thought. “I’m sorry, I have to run,” he apologised to the woman. She was slightly disappointed, but would now have an amusing story to tell.
Vic moved steadily across the place, taking another 10 minutes to get there. The occasional person stopped to say hi, and as he always did he smiled and was personable. It was an image business after all, and if you lost the image, you lost your business. Once he got near there, he smiled at seeing him with another woman before shaking his head. “Hey, Jimmy,” Vic started. “It’s been a while, pally. What have you been up to?”
James rose to his feet as soon as he heard the smooth tones of the ageing crooner. He shook his hand with friendly affection, they'd known each other as long as he could remember but it had only been in the last few years that they'd grown into what could be called old friends. Vic was a libertarian the same as himself, plus he had the added advantage of being in the close proximity of some of the nation’s most powerful leaders. Everyone from Hugo Kessler to George Gornton himself loved Vic's own brand of swing and had him perform for them whenever he could.
"Good to see you again old man," he said jovially, "there's someone I'd like you to meet, this is Ms. Sydney King, Syd this is-"
"Oh my God!" exclaimed Sydney in shocked surprise; she stumbled to her feet taking Vic's hand in both of hers as she shook it enthusiastically. "Vic Meranti! Oh, I, I can't believe this, I'm such a big fan, really you have no idea what it means to finally meet you in person!" She continued to shake Vic's hand, her face lit up in elation at the unexpected surprise. "I mean your music was the first that I ever heard, and I-it, it just touched me, it really touched me."
James looked on in surprise at Sydney's heartfelt appraisal; he'd certainly never expected a reaction like that! In fact he'd not expected anything, Sydney never showed such an excess of emotion of any kind, not since the day he met her.
“Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he got out, with long experience allowing him to keep a straight face. Something told him that she didn’t seem to have had the happiest childhood, and James…. well, he was James. There was something he could do at least. Vic raised his hand to wave over another guy. “Hey Charlie, do me a favour, will ya? Get me a copy of the latest, we should have a few left.” With a quick nod, he was off.
Vic glanced around the table at the slightly bemused expression on James’ face, and the awe-struck one on Sydney’s. “What? A guy isn’t allowed to do something nice?” He casually snagged a chair from a nearby table to pull over. When they were seated, he leaned towards Sydney. “Let me let you in on a little secret. Whatever James has told you about his ‘bad boy’ days, the man is a bona fide Clyde now.” From the amused expression on his face, it was obvious that this was an old tease.
"Oh man, gimmie a break will you?" James laughed, still slightly thrown by Sydney's unexpected reaction, even now she couldn't take her eyes off Vic as though if she did he might vanish from existence. James felt a bit uncomfortable; she looked so in awe of Vic, hanging on his every sigh as though it held the meaning of life. "Hmm, well, yes," he mumbled, tearing his gaze away from Sydney, "business as usual I'm afraid Vic, terrible news about Gorton isn't it? I'll wager he's having a tougher time than he expected with the anti-meta lobbyists."
“That’s an understatement,” Vic replied, affording another glance to Sydney. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when Charlie got back. “Then again, Gorton is as slick as they come – a real expert at saying nothing when he speaks. Now there are a few interesting rumours about Senator Lumas – he likes this place, did a few requests for his guest. PsiTech is moving up in the world.”
Charlie suddenly appeared, stopping Vic in his tracks. “Thanks, my man. I owe you one.” When Charlie disappeared again, he fished around in his Tux for something to write with. Getting out the liner notes, he continued. “I think he did the smart thing and vanished for the conference – only those fools Douglass and Layman are hanging around.” Vic thought for a moment, smiled, and scribbled before returning them to the case.
“Just a little present,” he said, winking at James. His latest album, now personally autographed with the message;
“Syd, never forget how to love. Vic.”
"Oh!" Sydney suddenly looked touched, her eyes softened almost as though she might cry. "Oh, I..." she looked up at Vic, choked up with emotion at the gesture, "no one's ever given me anything like..." She stopped speaking suddenly, or was unable to.
James gave Vic a sideways glance; "you just can't help yourself can you?"
“Where would be the fun in stopping? Especially when-” Vic stopped, glancing at the couple again when he realised that he really shouldn’t say anything, even if he was a yenta at heart. “Nah, forget I said anything. Just get some nice wine, enjoy listening, relax, and remember that ol’ Danny Boy’s pit bull is taking a walk for a few days.”
James looked at the man in surprise, so Lumas wouldn't be in residence for the short term, he could only suppose at what a man like that would find to amuse himself while the rest of the world was in crisis. "You wouldn't happen to have the address of a good kennel would you?" he said with a smirk.
Vic scribbled an address down on a napkin which he slid across the table to James. Sydney almost looked ready to cry, he thought. All she had to do was really enjoy the simple pleasures that life offered, he thought, and she would be radiant. Reminded him of his wife and daughter. “Sydney, something wrong? Need something to drink?”
"Oh, no, how could anything- no, nothing's wrong," *this is the best moment of my life, even better than blueberry pancakes.* "Except that-" she blushed slightly, she really didn't want to sound like an overbearing fan but she couldn't help herself! It was Vic Meranti! On her very first 'real world' assignment she'd heard his music on an old jukebox, ever since that moment she'd been a fan, even if she didn't understand most of the things that his songs were about. They'd spoken to her of a different world, one where feeling and heart overruled duty and sense. "Only, I'd love to hear you sing, in person I mean."
Vic considered her for a moment carefully, as his gift for picking up the ‘story’ of a person went to work, at least the gist of it. Everyone had their own story to tell, their own personal tale of happiness or heartbreak. Hers… well, she could use a bit more of the former. He took her hand in his for a moment. “Anything for a lovely lady. As my motto goes – “Whatever makes ya happy.”
With another small wink to James, he bounded up towards the stage. That was enough to get people’s attention as he chatted with the band up there. The opening cords of a new song started as he spoke. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” Vic started. “I know it’s odd to come back up here like this for you, but I just ran into a lovely couple and well… I feel like singing.” Then the band picked up as he began.
Hear Vic Sing (click to download song)
”I've got you under my skin
I've got you deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart, that you're really a part of me
I've got you under my skin...”
"Oh my God!" Cried Syd in delight, clapping her hands together as Vic began to sing the first bars of the song, "this is it!" she said turning to James, an expression of pure excitement on her pretty face. "This is the song! How did he know?"
"How indeed..." murmured James, eyeing the crooner with curiosity he was certainly playing some game with him, could it be he'd unerringly picked up on his feelings for Sydney? *Don't be stupid, what feelings? You don't have feelings for her, just get a foolish idea like that out of your head right now!*
"Come on, we have to dance!" said Sydney, grabbing James' arm as she made for the dance-floor. James looked sheepishly up at Vic who gave him an encouraging wink as he took Sydney's hand and placed his other around her waist.
”I've tried so, not to give in
I've said to myself this affair never will go so well
So why should I try to resist, when baby I know so well.
I've got you under my skin...”
James couldn't help but catch the slight stress in Vic's voice as he sang, knowing that it was more than coincidence that he'd chosen this particular song. He held Sydney close as they danced, he led her back and forth, dipping her and swaying in time to the music. He hadn't felt so nervous about dancing with a woman since the senior prom; he could already feel his palms getting clammy, especially the one that rested just above the curve of Sydney's hip.
”I'd sacrifice anything come what might
For the sake of having you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night
And repeats, repeats in my ear
Don't you know... fool you never can win!
Use your mentality, wake up to reality…”
Sydney felt light-headed and breathless as James led her a merry jig across the dance-floor. His hands held her firmly with an expert grip that had been tutored by the most expert dance coach. But she couldn't help but notice that he barely looked at her, his gaze took in the band, the other dancers, occasionally their feet but hardly held her own gaze for longer than a few seconds.
"Hello? James?" she said, finally gaining his attention, "shouldn't you be looking at me?"
"Wha? What?" James looked up suddenly; he'd been getting kind of dizzy and welcomed the chance to look up. Only now he had a new problem, he had to look at Syd and when he did that he kept feeling... "dip here." He held her tighter as he swooped low, thankfully halting any further need to talk.
”But each time I do, just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin
'Cause I’ve got you, under my skin...
I'd sacrifice anything come what might
For the sake of having you near
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night
And repeats, repeats in my ear
Don't you know fool, you never can win
Use your mentality, wake up to reality
But each time I do, just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin...”
As the music slowed, James held her close, waiting for when the pace would pick up again. Those few seconds seemed to linger much longer than usual, Vic obviously taking every opportunity to hammer his point home. James held Sydney; unable to avoid once again... those unsteady, nervous feelings that he'd been fighting for days now became unbearable. How could it be possible to both wish a moment would end and yet at the same time never want it to finish? He wanted to stand there with his arms around this most amazing, forceful, beautiful woman... and yet he couldn't help but be relieved when the music started up again for the last bar. He shot Vic an annoyed glance as he sang the closing line.
”'Cause I've got you, under my skin...”
The closing cord was followed by a bit of applause at the end; Vic managed to get out, “Thank you, thank you.” For a moment he considered whether or not to do another song, then decided against it. Though he enjoyed singing, he knew that it was time to go back to drinking. Would do him no good to have fun and wear his voice out.
“And please give a great big hand to one of the best bands in this town, who helped make this all possible.” A bit more applause followed, and he heard someone going ‘one more.’ Vic just smiled lightly at that. “That’s what I’ll be saying to the bartended in a minute. ‘One more, please.’ Oh yeah, it’s boozin’ time.”
When Vic got down from the stage at last, the band started up again on an instrumental piece. Once he got a martini, he looked around for James and Sydney, seeing them working back towards their table. Vic following, thinking that James looked a bit embarrassed by Sydney dragging him up to dance. *He’ll get over it.* But Sydney… if she had been excited before, she now looked ready to burst with excitement.
“Well, that was certainly a gas, wasn’t it?” he asked, taking a drink. “Just wish you two could have been here for the whole set.”
Sydney gushed, she hadn’t let go and danced like that for such a long time, all her previous maladies were forgotten in the afterglow of such revelry. She squeezed James’ hand in delight as Vic came over and joined them again.
“Oh that was so much fun Mr Meranti!” she smiled with elation.
"Please, just call me Vic."
James glanced at his old friend, he could tell he was getting a real kick out of Sydney’s enthusiasm and adoration, but then again what man wouldn’t? Extracting his hand from Syd’s grip he scratched the back of his neck contemplatively before stealing a casual glance at his watch. “Well, yes, as much fun as that was old man, we really should be going, we’ve got a lot to organise in the next few days.”
"Still trying to save the world, eh Jimmy?" Vic asked, his voice clearly teasing. "Good luck to you both, and please, feel free to stop by again and catch the whole set - still going to be here for another week or two."
James smiled in a friendly manner, shaking the man’s hand as he rose to his feet to leave. He turned to Sydney, her cheeks were still flushed with the exertion of their dance and her eyes sparkled with happiness at having met one of her heroes. She reluctantly stood; blushing profusely as Vic took her hand and kissed it in an elaborate gesture.
James rolled his eyes at the man, just what was he trying to prove? *What are you getting so worked up at?* he thought to himself in annoyance. *For Gods sake get a grip!*
As they left the club, the cool air hitting them in contrast to the warmth inside, James lit up a cigarette while they waited for his car to return. He turned to Sydney, smirking a little as he took that first draw and billowed a cloud of white smoke into the cold atmosphere.
"Well..."
"Don't say a word," warned Sydney as she gripped the personally autographed CD in her hands.
"Hey, I wasn't going to say a thing about your Vic Meranti obsession!" He chuckled, wrapping his jacket tighter around his body. "It's just... I've never seen this side of you before."
Sydney rolled her eyes in annoyance, *and never will again if this carries on.* "Isn't your car here yet?" she asked impatiently.
"Hey, I'm not 'getting' at you, I, well I liked it. Sort of." He grinned again, glancing at Syd and noticing a slight smile of her own curling the edges of her lips. Suddenly a sleek black car pulled up in front of them, the driver getting out to open the door.
"I trust you had a pleasant evening Sir?" he asked politely as James helped Syd inside before dropping his used cigarette on the sidewalk.
James chuckled to himself slightly, "It was..." he grinned again; meeting Vic was always an experience, "swinging."
With thanks to Adam for writing the part of Vic Meranti
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
November 20
4:47pm
“….and in other news today, Russian delegates defended their regulations, saying that it is the surest way to assure public safety given tensions in Russia. Reponding to criticisms that –“
“I’m sorry,” a gentleman said offscreen, moving on with a microphone to sit down at the desk. “I hate to have to do this, but Alice’s receiver is not working, and we’ve just lost contact with the Merriot Hotel which is currently hosting part of the conference. Now we’re unable to determine the cause at this time, but we have learned that special forces are being sent to the hotel and – do we have the press conference? Ok, good, we have a press conference by the chief of police we’re going to now.”
The screen switched suddenly, to a camera outside of the local headquarters where DC’s chief of police was in the middle of speaking. “….here to address rumours that are no doubt already being broadcast. At approximately 4:12pm, we received reports that the Mariot Hotel came under attack by five individuals, apparently Meta Humans. We are still attempting to determine precisely how they gained access, but at present security systems for the hotel appear compromised.
“I want to take this time to assure citizens that we have the situation under control. These terrorists will not be allowed to succeed. Please remain calm and rest assured that we are taking all appropriate actions….”
5:02m
The police chief left, leaving the man with a confused look on his face. By now the news room had reached such a state of running around that the woman originally there was gone, and people could be seen on the move in the background. “We now have reports that security bots in charge of the hotel have opened fire on police units. Two Guardians and several Sentials have engaged units, driving them back from the hotel.
“And – what, I’m sorry? – I now have information that that people who have seized control of the hotel are demanding to be put on the air. Someone switch to camera four…”
The image of Sebastian Drake standing in front of the camera came on the air. The Brain held near the back of the room, apparently trying to keep Gargoyle under control. “Thank you, one and all,” Drake started in his oily voice. “We regret having to take such measures, and I assure you that we mean no harm to the delegates here. Our aim is to present our demands only on behalf of Metas everywhere, then to leave in peace.
“Metas and Normals are at odds with each other, we always have been. It’s a sad fact of human nature that we tend to be distrustful and hateful of the ‘other,’ whoever that ‘other’ may be. The result of this is that it makes a war between Metas and Normals almost inevitable, unless we take action now to prevent it. We can’t simply pretend the problem doesn’t exist, or that by ‘regulation’ it will be solved – all that will do is exacerbate the problem as resentment leads to an eventual rise in hostilities on the part of all concerned.
“This action while overly dramatic is the only way to drive home the point. No matter of regulation could have prevented this. Even your tightest security can be penetrated by someone with the will and time to figure it out. It is a problem that is present with Metas as well, and will cause security to grow ever tighter surrounding us until that war between Metas and Normals breaks out.
“But there is a way to avoid it, the only way. The solution to the problem is that we do not even try to live together. To that end, we demand the opportunity to purchase an amount of land capable of being self-sufficient, a chain of islands perhaps or a tract of land. This will then be set up as a sovereign nation, a nation for Meta Humans, where we may go to live separate from the Normals.”
5:35pm
“We have further reports now,” said the man. “A final drive by the security bots was made against the police, to clear the way for a helicopter to land. We do not know precisely what happened to the alleged conspirators who attacked the conference, except that security systems were unable to track the helicopter. Reports indicate that 11 officers are dead, and another 24 wounded in resisting the security bots. CEO Henry Morgan of Zyrcom and Vice President of Security Thomas Greene have gone missing as well, Morgan allegedly taken by the terrorists along with three other delegates.
“City officials have announced their intention to find the people responsible for this, initiating further travel restrictions on secured areas of the city. Sweeps have been announced in at least one area already, going house to house in an attempt to search out the terrorists. More on the situation as it develops….”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Evening
Apollo turned off the television set as the latest news report ended. The Networks had non-stop coverage of the attack on the conference, police helicopters circled the skies and road blocks had been set in place on all the major highways. "We're screwed now," Apollo moaned as he sank back into the old worn-out sofa. He'd had his doubts about their methods at the outset but he'd never expected so much blood, all those people dead... just to make a point. And now they were stuck in this hole of a hideout, trapped like rats, forced to wait and see whether their demands would be met.
"They'll never negotiate with us now, not after all the dead bodies we-" he felt his throat close up, he couldn't stand it! Couldn't stand the killing! "We may as well just hand ourselves over now and be done with it!"
Brain was glad that Gargoyle was doing guard duty at the moment on the hostages, as he could already hear the reply that particular Meta would make. He recognised that they had better hope that something was done, otherwise… “We did what was necessary, Apollo, nothing more. They know we have Morgan, so they won’t be stupid enough to escalate the situation more than it already has.”
He sat in his chair with hands folded, taking in every bit of the news reports as his mind worked on the situation. They had been lucky indeed that Morgan was one of the delegates captured. “I had hoped that they would hold back when their own security systems turned on them.”
"Morgan? Morgan?" Apollo rose to his feet, the anxiety inside him stepping up a notch. "You think they give a fuck about Morgan? You think they'll give us a Meta Republic just because we have Morgan? I SAW the news Brain, Feldman is dead! As far as Zycrom is concerned they probably figure we did them a favour!" He sighed, it wasn't supposed to go like this, all they'd wanted was a piece of land to call their own where they could live normal lives away from persecution. Now they'd be lucky to get out of this alive, those guys from HUmans First were probably rubbing their hands with glee.
Morgana stole a glance at Brain before approching Apollo. She'd always had her doubts about the young pup, he was too inexperienced for starters and his reaction now only highlighted that truth. The problem was that they were all in on this together, true, things hadn't gone completely to plan but what mattered was that they kept their heads. She sauntered over to where Apollo stood and trailed one of her hands up his chest, gently rubbing against the fabric of his sweater.
"Just calm down... everything will be fine if we keep our cool. True, we didn't get the prize we were looking for, but Gornton will never allow his most precious senators to be murdered without at least coming to some sort of compromise. Not with our broadcasting everything to the nation. He's backed into a corner as much as we are, it's just a matter of seeing who can wait the longest."
She let her hand trail up to gently stroke the back of his neck, teasingly running her fingers through the short length of his hair, looking him directly in the eyes. "You can wait for me can't you Apollo? Hmmm? Wait and... play it cool till we get what we want?"
"Careful Morgana," warned Sebastian, emerging from the darkness like a shadow. He'd been watching the little exchange with conciderable amusement. He knew the secret feelings that Apollo harboured for Morgana and was counting on her expert manipulation to keep the young man in order. "You'll get the 'young pup' all excited."
Brain sighed and rolled his eyes, as Lianna chuckled to herself at that. Trust Morgana to do something to surprise him. The woman did have courage, he had to admit, and a keen sense of what had to be done. “He does have a point, you know,” Lianna piped up softly. “It’s possible we’re in a stalemate.”
“Which is a very dangerous situation to be in,” Brain conceded, looking at his assembled co-conspirators. Already another part of the plan was formulating in his mind. The most depressing part though was that he knew this alone could not be enough to fulfil their goals. Unless….
“Sebastian, would do you me a favour and bring Mr. Morgan here? I think it’s time we had a little talk with our friendly Chief Executive Officer.”
Sebastian glowered at Brain, as much as he respected him for his uncompromising ingenuity he loathed being anyone's dogs-body. Despite that he left the room and returned a few minutes later with a rather weary looking Henry Morgan and Gargoyle in tow.
Henry Morgan did not look like a powerful man now, just a wealthy one. It was obvious from the way that he carried himself that this was a new situation, but there was something to his bearing which suggested he had long thought of this as a possibility. “Ah, Mr. Morgan,” started Brain. “A pleasure to speak to you again.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Morgan replied with ice in his tone. “This isn’t going to work, you know.”
“Oh, I think it will. All of the evidence points to a select few people with more influence than the public suspects. I strongly suggest you consider wielding whatever influence you have to save youself.”
Morgan rolled his eyes, and shook his head. “Or what? You’ll let this winged thug do whatever he wants with me?”
"I think you'll find this 'winged thug' is the least of your problems right now," grinned Sebastian cheerfully. "There are much worse things than death Mr Morgan, as I'm sure you know - you invented most of them in your lab."
Morgana stepped forward, letting her hold on Apollo dwindle now that he had calmed down. "We don't want to hurt you, we didn't want to hurt anybody. All we want is a chance to live our lives free from the sort of prejudice and oppression, that isn't much to ask, is it?"
The CEO looked to the various assembled Metas. They couldn’t really know of his connections, could they? The truth behind how connected and powerful this particular member of the Council on Foreign Relations was. There was a reason he’d disciplined his mind not to broadcast his thoughts, knowing about meta humans. A mix of worry and annoyance came over him.
Still, he thought that Morgana did have a point. Only the problem was that he didn’t think that people could be expected to give it. Without access to the outside world, and with Feldman – his partner, his love – gone, there would be nobody to direct the conspiracy. Nobody to run damage control….
“What is it exactly that you want?”
“I’m going to release you,” said Brain. “The others will remain here, to ensure your cooperation.”
Morgan thought about this for a moment, then he realised: Brain knew. He had to know. It was the only thing that made sense *unless that’s just paranoia talking. But how many ‘coincidences’ have you arranged over the years?* “What you want may take some time.”
“I’m a patient man, Mr. Morgan. Just see that it doesn’t take too long.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Nov. 20th, 2003
4:43 AM, Outskirts of Washington DC
The truck had pulled over to the side of the road, with a 200-Series Tracker steadily watching the road in case anything happened. It did not know exactly what had happened or why, only following its programming. Ed yawned, unsure of exactly why he had been told to pull over here, and not really caring. His pay was the same either way, so why get upset about a break from driving?
A car pulled up behind the truck, pulling over to the side of the road as Sara got out. The bot lowered its weapons as she arrived, looking at the back of the truck. Soon the back of the truck was opened, to give her the chance to make sure that the proper equipment and goods were present. *If only the lab could be closer* she thought, but enjoying the ability her body gave her to inspect things personally.
Suddenly she stopped, turning towards the road as the sound of a motorcycle came in the distance, receiving the report. The rider had apparently been following them for a while, probably on the same course… “Rider slowing down,” reported the 200. Sara heard the report with dismay.
Maybe he would go past…
*Only one 200 series* Fenris thought to himself as he sped ever closer to the parked shipment, *This is going to be too easy*. It had been just a few days ago that Miranda Shaw had informed him and Marcus of the mysterious disappearances of two more agents: Calypso and Chimera. Combine that with the fact that Eric had led the large insurrection half a year ago, and Valhalla was definitely lacking in superpowered muscle.
The contents in this shipment however were going to change all that. Valhalla intelligence had caught wind of Benson Pharmaceutical’s transporting ground breaking research on cloning DNA. If Valhalla could get their hands on it, they could replicate agent strands, and recreate new super soldiers. As the black clad rider burned past the stopped group, his hand shot out, whipping a circular device on the 200 series. “Bye bye, Robocop” BOOM A second later, the concussion pad exploded, reducing the security droid the tiny pieces. Fenris skidded sharply and turned back around, ready to make another pass.
One moment, Sara was standing next to the 200-Series. The next, her systems alerted her to damage to her right leg’s servo joints, when the unit exploded. She pulled herself to her feet, resting the weight of her body on the other leg, sending a signal to the other units. The back of the truck opened; a second 200 emerged. “Initiate capture,” she ordered.
The 200 said nothing as it turned its attention to the black-clad figure. Locking on to the target, it began to run forward, drawing a pistol.
Eric leaned closer into the motorbike as he raced towards the new 200 series. With a slight twist of his wrist, he revved the engine louder, commanding the metal beast beneath him to go faster. Bullets raced from the robots gun, but Fenris was far to experienced to be brought down by that. He swerved left and right, and when needed, used his telekinesis to deflect those that came to close. *Just a second more*
As he drew ever closer, it seemed like he was on a course to drive passed the bot, but that was not the case. Just as he was aligned with the 200 series, he threw his weight forward and spun the handles. The back of the large bike flew up into the air, and began to spin, turning itself and Eric into a whirlwind of metallic death. It took only a second for the back tire to slam into the robot’s head, sending it flying clear off the body. “You really should invest in better bodyguards,” Fenris said from beneath his black visor, as he stopped his bike, and headed towards the back of the truck.
Sara looked on with shock. Two of the units should have been sufficient to deal with any of the predicted problems that could have arisen given their security arrangements. Miraculously one of the pistols had survived. She had to confer quickly with Observer to learn what to do, before finding a gun that somehow survived and picking that up.
When the man reached the back of the truck, she ran a quick calculation. Observer said to shoot as soon as she saw him, but she wanted to know who had sent him. “Don’t,” she said when he stopped in front of her. “I… I don’t want to kill you….” Truth be told, she had never been designed for this, and wasn’t sure if she could even calculate the trajectory to hit him properly if she tried.
In the blink of an eye, one of the pistols strapped to Fenris’ thigh flew out of its holster, into his awaiting hand and fired. The blast landed right on its mark, sending Sara’s weapon flying harmlessly away.
“You should be careful with guns ms, didn’t you know they can hurt people,” Eric said arrogantly as he made his way to the back of the truck, his pistol still aimed at the woman. The rider jumped into the back of the transport, moment’s later to emerge holding a relatively small crate. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be taking this”.
“You arrogant, officious little man,” she spat out, her circuits burning with annoyance. It was one thing to destroy her security bots, it was another completely to do what he was doing.
He. Was. Stealing. Her. Research.
“No need to get pissy lady, I’m sure you can just whip up another batch of this stuff tomorrow”. Arriving back at his bike, Fenris pressed a button on the dash, which opened a storage compartment at the rear. After placing the crate securely in, he gave Sara a mock salute. “Sorry about the inconvenience”.
Calculations revealed that any more against him would likely cause more damage to her leg, with a possibility of rendering it inoperative. At the moment that did not matter, so long as she was able to prevent him from stealing her research. The lab was almost ready to go. Sara made the decision, lunging at him a bit off-balance.
The AI made it but a few feet before an invisible force halted her in place. “I’m serious lady,” the thief started, his left hand aimed at her somehow preventing her movement. “A young lady like you should never try and play the hero role; you’ll just end up getting hurt. Stick with the research, it’s more becoming of you”. That was the final thing the man said before jumping on his bike and riding out of sight.
Sara’s annoyance at the man increased. Word quickly arrived from Observer. *My information indicates Valhalla may have intercepted information regarding this shipment.*
*Do whatever is necessary.* she returned to him.
*Very well. For the time, I will take over security at the lab. You had better get the good doctor to effect repairs.*
Sara’s annoyance increased again. The lab was her project, and she had followed his recommendations explicitly. For the moment, however, she would not argue. Her priority would be to assess the damage the was done.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Thursday, 20th November 2003
The Ritz Carlton Hotel – Washington DC
5:45pm
James switched off the television set swiftly and turned to Sydney.
The woman was all ready for what lay ahead of her that night. She was dressed head to toe in black, black pants, sweater and leather jacket, her long hair was tied back in a tight plait that swung down her back menacingly. She pulled her boots on before checking her assorted equipment, she had a few gadgets of Jerry’s that would enable her to overcome the security measures at the house, plus a trusty sidearm and silencer - just in case.
James watched with unease as she performed the routine checks on her firearm, the reported meta attack would have unmeasured repercussions he was certain, it might not be safe to make their move anymore. “Syd…” he began, looking worried, “look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea at the moment, this attack on the summit is bound to increase security, it could be too dangerous.”
Sydney didn’t even hesitate as she re-holstered her pistol and zipped her jacket back up. “If you ask me it couldn’t have come at a better time. The city is in chaos; all the extra security that Lumas might have had will no doubt be recalled to deal with this. No…” she pulled on a pair of black leather gloves and smiled, “this is the perfect time.”
James nodded; her logic was impeccable as always. He knew much of the hotel security had been re-diverted in a similar way, if the city was in chaos now they would be looking in the other direction while they made their move. It would probably turn out to be safer even; everyone would be staying home tonight, watching the news for further reports.
“Fine, we stick to the plan,” he agreed finally though inside he was conflicted. The previous night at Vic’s invaded his mind; it made things difficult to say the least. “You remember the location where we’re to meet up?”
Sydney eyed him curiously as she completed her checks, rearranging something in her jacket pocket before zipping it close again. “Of course.”
“Good, good,” he nodded, feeling the nerves rise. Sydney turned to leave but he caught her arm quickly, holding her back, “just one thing Syd…” he paused, searching her face desperately, if only he could be certain of how he felt about her…
“Just… Take care,” he said finally, letting her go as she passed through the door, closing it behind her.
End of Days
Tuesday, 18 November 2003
The Residence of Ethan Kale - Vega City
9:55pm
Ethan Kale replaced the telephone on his desk and smiled. So she was in Washington DC was she? That figures. He knew she’d have to be in the thick of things. She could even be part of that Meta rebellion group that had kidnapped Henry Morgan; she certainly had the skills to pull it off. Well too bad she’d been spotted.
She thought he’d forgotten about her.
She thought she was safe now.
But he’d found her. At last. No way was Sydney King going to evade him this time. This time he would do things properly. No sirens and cops, no fake warrant or tear-gas. This time it would just be her and a swift death.
He picked up the phone again and pressed speed dial. It took a while for the other end to pick up but when they did the voice on the other end was deep and malevolent.
“Yes?”
“I have a job for you.”
”Who?”
“One woman, above average strength, extremely deadly. Her name’s Sydney King, I’m faxing her file to you now.”
”Where?”
“She’s staying at the Ritz Carlton, Washington DC.”
“When?”
“Now. I want it done within the next few days. You know the drill, make it good and I’ll make it worth your while.”
The line at the other end went dead and Ethan twirled the telephone cord around his finger thoughtfully. It would be a shame, he thought, not to be able to see her final moments, to see the life suddenly drain out of her, for her to know that it was he who had marked her last days on this earth.
He sighed and set the phone back down.
*Poor Ms. King*
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Wednesday 19th November 2:55pm
Washington
Ela lay on the couch, silent and unresponsive after Sara left. Mel disappeared into her room and emerged a few minutes later in her jogging gear, but Ela never so much as flickered an eye in her direction.
"I'm going to hit the treadmill downstairs... Do you need anything?" Suddenly whatever entity had gifted her powers had decided to start communicating and Mel wanted to ask a few pointed questions however she could put it off a little while longer if she had too.
Ela shrugged one shoulder dispiritedly. "Nah."
Mel settled onto the sofa next to Ela. She slipped her arm around Ela's shoulder and offered what comfort she could. "We'll work it out, you know. I'm not sure how but we'll work it out..."
Ela turned her despair-filled eyes to Mel at last. "Will we? This is all so big... All I ever wanted was to do my own thing. If those guys hadn't been chasing me..." Ela fought back the urge to cry. Observer's threats had reminded her how small and vulnerable she really was.
"Heeey" Her other arm came up and Mel pulled Ela close "Yeah it's big but you've just got to keep chipping away at it and don't give up hope." Mel's Head dropped a little so that she could look into Ela's suddenly downcast eye. "We've got to keep believing we can sort this out. If we just sit here and give up...I promise you one day you'll be able to go home. To see you're family and the only reason for you to stay or go will be your own."
"Maybe..." Ela said doubtfully. "I just wish people would leave us alone." She heaved a sigh and blinked up at Mel. "Go on, I'll be fine. I promise."
"Ok...Order some room service... Channel surf...do anything other than sit here and mope. If I get back and you're moping..."
Ela placed one hand over her heart. "I promise I won't be moping. Cross my heart and hope to die. Go on," she grinned.
Mel collected her bag and walked towards the door just as she reached it she turned back "You're sure?" *Overprotective much!*
"I'm sure. Go. Run. Have fun." Ela kept the smile on her face until the door closed behind Mel, then it drained away as fast as it had come and she returned to her blank-faced contemplation of the ceiling with a heavy sigh.
***
It was rather empty in the hotel gym; obviously the guests were more interested in the events outside rather than torturing their bodies. Apart from a couple of guys, who were apparently locked in some silly contest the place was deserted.
Mel switched on the treadmill and just loped along, normally she liked a little variety in her runs either in difficulty or surroundings but she doubted she’d be concentrating on anything other than what was in her head and Washington wasn’t the best place to just blindly run.
*Ok I know you’re in there. I know you can communicate so we’re going to have a little ‘discussion’*
*We are?*
*Yes! We are! We’re going to discuss what the hell you think you’re doing messing up my life… We’re going to discuss why you decided with out consulting me to ‘gift’ me with metahuman abilities and most of all we are going to discuss what the fuck you’re doing in my head!*
*Oh...Ok I guess you deserve an explanation.*
*Damn straight. So first question what are you?*
*You’ve pretty much figured that out already. I’m an extra-terrestrial symbiotic entity. My integration into your body resulted in the instantaneous system-wide activation of the latent GcTg gene complex and the resultant activation of your metahuman abilities.*
*So they’re my powers not yours?*
*Yes*
Mel really wanted to ask the obvious question ‘Why?’ but right now she could feel as fine a rage building just below the surface as she’d ever had and she didn’t want to waste it. She wasn’t sure how but she felt the threat of the rage was the best way of getting what she wanted out of her ‘passenger instead she decided to follow the line it had already opened up
*How come I got a handle on my powers so fast?*
*Actually a year… Instinctive adaptation to new powers is a common occurrence in environmental metas. It helps when there’s already a strong self-identity. You see similar effects when evolutionary metas gain their powers in early adulthood rather than adolescence.*
*You’re implying I could have got my powers working faster?*
*Some of them definitely. You spent so much time fighting the process that you couldn’t just let go…*
*Well I’m so sorry I didn’t just accept becoming a metahuman. It’s not like I got a choice.*
*Boo-hoo, few if any environmentals get a choice, Mel.
*How many environmentals are activated as a result of an intelligent entities intervention!*
*Well true*
*Actually on that note I’ve had a couple of pretty high-resolution brain scans how come we never saw any sign of you? You’ve got to be connected to my nervous system somehow.*
*I am but actually I’m closer to a sentient self-organising energy pattern. There’s some matter involved but it’s comparatively insubstantial. I’m pretty much undetectable by your current imaging technology and Ela didn’t pick me up directly because I’m not alive in the same sense that you are.*
Mel ran for a while her anger had risen higher and she sped the treadmill up the metronomic pounding of her running shoes was the only sound in the room for a couple of minutes
*Mel? Ask… You need to know*
*Fine! Why?*
*Why?*
*Yes goddammit why? Why now? Why Me? Why put an insubstantial barely alive creature inside me without so much as a by your fucking leave?*
*Because they need you. Because your world has enemies both within and without. Because you could find the rock. Because there are things you need to know to defend this world and this world’s defender has to be human.*
*Defender of the world?! You’re crazy! No I’m crazy! I’m just a screwed up schizophrenic who’s finally flipped out and started listening to the voices in her head…*
*Mel! Shut up! You aren’t crazy and neither am I and you’re a long way from defender of the world. Look this is going to take some time to explain… Dial back the ‘mill Neither of us want you collapsing right now.*
Mel eased back returning to a steady jog that she could keep up for at least another hour.
*Ok let’s hear this and it better be good.*
*It’s fairly obvious that Humanity aren’t the only intelligent species in the universe, actually intelligent species are pretty common. Humanity’s not the only species to develop Meta abilities either; in fact given the right conditions just about any intelligent species will develop them. Now humanity has reached that point faster than most but slower than some and this in this current period is pretty vulnerable. *
*Vulnerable?*
*Yeah vulnerable, look you guys have got the physical ‘causes’ of metahuman abilities identified but that’s pretty much the tip of the iceberg. Yes the GcTg complex is active in all metahumans and its inactive form is present in just about everyone else but you’ve completely missed how the gene results in meta abilities though Verity Jennings is on the right track with her latest psychology stuff.
The GcTg complex alters brain function and by the mysterious processes that cause consciousness to arise out of matter result in a measurable though subtle change in how that person thinks. Jennings has proved that.*
*Wait you’re telling me that you could take a simple psych test and know if you were a Meta or not?*
*Well we’re not talking an Internet ten question ‘What kind of Metahuman are you?’ type thing but yeah essentially. Look consciousness is pretty much a black box to us. We understand the physical inputs the how and why of neurones firing and such like. We understand the outputs too, our psych profiling is much better than yours but nobody and trust me we’ve had some really smart people working on this, understands how you get from one to the other and it’s in that black box that meta powers really take shape.
That change in brain function results in a mind that can pretty much break physical laws just by thinking about it. In some cases it’s not even a conscious thought. And just about every physical law is broken by some Meta or other.*
*Now interesting as all this is do you have an actual point?*
*A little patience please I’m getting there…How much do you remember about Jung and Campbell?*
*Huh?*
*Come I can see your memories I know you’ve come across this. The Collective Unconsciousness… Mythic Archetypes
“All that stuff is true? Oh come on that would require memory without an physical medium.”
*Well not all of it. Like just about anyone in the field he got some right and some wrong. The collective Unconscious exists.* The symbiote rushed on trying to forestall another out burst *Look you know about psychometry, you can call that etheric echoes left in the fabric of reality I call it tapping the memories the collective stores either way it’s information without a medium but the clincher should be Icon.*
*Icon?*
*Yeah the rather scary Metahuman. The one who with a quick change of costume can be just about anything. Look how do you think he suddenly learns everything he needs to know when he becomes something else. It’s not etheric echoes or if it is you might as well call it the collective unconsciousness. And before you ask yes scary. The ‘Icon’ archetype is rare and very powerful and the fact that humanity has thrown one up this early in it’s evolution speaks of a great deal of potential.
But we’re getting off track. The Collective unconsciousness the world-mind if you like and the mythic archetypes it stores are what in many ways empower Metas. I can’t offer any proof Mel you’ll just have to take it on faith. And the more vibrant that world-mind the more myths and legends within it the more powerful the metas it spawns.”
* Ok well thank-you for ‘On the origin of Metahumans’ by the intangible space alien but you said there was a point to all this.*
*There is. Once metas appear in a population it generates a feedback loop but whether the loop is positive or negative is determined by how a race reacts to the existence of metas*
*Oh… Oh! So if the anti-meta sentiment gets entrenched then metas will stop appearing?*
*Exactly. It may take a while but eventually new metas will stop being born, no new environmentals will appear either and the whole thing will just fade away.*
*Well forgive me for saying so but that doesn’t sound so bad*
*Well perhaps not but it’s a fact that with one exception no species that has rejected it’s meta potential has ever breached the boundaries of their home system in any meaningful way and that is a sure-fire recipe for eventual extinction.*
*Maybe we’ll beat the odds too.*
*They’re very long odds and the people that made it…not very nice at all in fact they’re pathologically paranoid as a species as well as xenophobic – if you’re not them then you’re the enemy and if you’re the enemy you must be destroyed.*
*So I take it these are our enemies without…*
*Yep. Basically despite their sheer brutality a group of other races have got them effectively bottled up but we can’t destroy them without destroying ourselves the balance of power is too fine. So they’re out looking for Lebensraum and we’re looking for allies.*
*And humanity is caught in the middle. For that matter so am I aren’t I? You picked me to be you personal representative to the world. God, you’re worse than Observer you just decided we need a bright shining beacon of a Meta. A standard bearer for everything good and wholesome didn’t you. A light to shine the way to the Promised Land.*
*Mel*
*And you just did it didn’t you. You didn’t threaten, didn’t cajole you just looked around for a likely candidate and wham! Gave her, gave me superpowers! And now you expect me to pick up your damned standard don’t you? Now you’ve laid all this out. The whole Metahumans are the future of humanity. That we’re in the firing line of a war we don’t even understand and you just expect me to accept it.*
*Mel…*
*Don’t you Mel me. Don’t you fucking Mel me! You don’t get to say that you just dumped the weight of the world on my shoulders with your little story so you insubstantial alien freak you’re going to sit there and let me rant. I am going to vent and you’re going to take it do you understand me!*
*Mel! Get control now!*
Mel looked down. Her knuckles showed white as her hands gripped the rails to either side of the treadmill. Silver fire sparkled from between her fingers, illuminating the gym. Thankfully there was no one around to see it but for all Mel knew that was because they’d fled when her powers started to manifest.
*You want to know why Mel? Why you? Because you care. You’re not the only one on this planet who could develop the powers you have. You aren’t the only person who even found my hiding place but you’re the only one who cares. You’re the only one that when we dumped this on you who wouldn’t walk away. You’re the only one who will pick up that standard. The only one who will offer herself, body and soul for the beacon this benighted species needs.
Why you Mel? Because you’re the sort of person who’ll open her home and heart to a frightened young girl with no one else to turn to. Why you Mel, because when threatened with the destruction of everything you are you won’t buckle under and take the easy road. Because when millions of lives are threatened you’ll throw yourself unthinkingly into the breach. Why you Mel? Because it could only be you that’s why*
*You bastards*
*Yes We’re bastards but because we are humanity might just have a chance.*
Mel ran. She ran and went nowhere, ran until her heart felt like it would burst from her chest, till her lungs were filled with fire, till her legs were made from molten lead. Mel ran and ran and ran, and it wasn’t enough. The fear the anger the panic they roiled around in her consciousness like some noxious witches brew and dissolved ever y wall every barrier. Finally when she could run no more Mel collapsed. The treadmill deposited at its base and she wept
Lying in a jumbled heap in the middle of the gym her anger drained away leaving behind only those two close companions fear and panic. What if she was not enough, what if she made a mistake and condemned the world to eventual extinction. Horror grew in her heart as she recognised the source of her fear, when she realised that already she had accepted this mad tale, that she would spend herself to save the soul of her species.
For a future lost one fateful day nearly a year ago, Mel wept. She sobbed as in her heart she took up this duty and all its costs. There would be companionship love even but what could compete with knowing she had to save the world. No matter what there would always come a time when she had to choose and her choice would be the same as it was today. She cried her heart out knowing that for all the brightness and joy her life would have there would be darkness, pain and sorrow..
Mel finally managed to get control of herself sufficiently to blot the tears from her face. Every muscle screaming in protest the fire still burning in her chest she made it over to her kit bag and gathered her things together . Feeling like she'd run a marathon she made it to the elevators and rested her head against the wall while she wait for the car to arrive. When she reached her floor she stumbled out and wearily fumbled with her key card. Stepping inside she closed the door and simply slid down it.
Ela muted the sound on the TV and frowned in concern at her friend's appearance. "Mel?" Ela asked as she slid off the couch and approached hesitantly. "What happened? Did someone attack you? Are you hurt?" She knelt by Mel's slumped body and wrung her hands together in worry.
Mel raised her red and blotchy face to Ela and tried to project a confidence she just didn't feel anymore. Wiping her damp eyes again with one hand she smiled half-heartedly "I'm fine"
If Ela had been the type to swear, she'd have responded with her brother's favourite word, 'bullshit'. But instead she let her lips tighten in disapproval and said, "No, you're not fine. You're... I thought you must have been in a fight." Ela's voice shook. She'd seen Mel get in fierce arguments, but she rarely got this upset about anything
"..." Mel started to speak and then stopped. really what could she say ‘The alien that turned me into a meta says I have to save humanity from itself' the truth was flat out ridiculous if you didn't believe it and absolutely terrifying if you did. The symbiote said she wasn't crazy but no doubt all the best hallucinations did that. "I need some time El...just... I'll be alright"
Ela's shoulders slumped and she found herself looking at the hotel room's carpet. Something was obviously up with Mel, but she didn't want to push the woman. Still, Ela felt a little hurt that Mel didn't trust her enough to confide in her. "Well, if you don't want to talk about it... But my Mum always said that if you don't talk about your troubles they'll send you nuts. Just - if you can't talk to me about it, at least talk to someone, ok?"
Mel struggled upright. She needed a long hot soak and some time to think and maybe then she could tell Ela. Not the whole truth maybe but Ela already knew about her episodes. Telling her symbiote had finally made contact might be enough. "I know and she was generally right but... I need to think this through work it out myself" *Figure out just what I'm going to tell you.* Climbing up the door got Mel upright and as unsteady as she felt she managed to totter towards the bathroom
Ela sat on the floor and watched her friend struggle towards the bathroom, the set of Mel's shoulders clearly not inviting any help. The door closed behind Mel and Ela let out a sigh. For some reason, in that moment, she felt more alone than she'd ever felt since she'd had to flee from her home nearly a year ago. "I just wanted to help," she whispered into the empty room.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Wednesday 19th November 6:15 Pm
Washington
The hotel bathtub wasn’t the greatest in the world but it was adequate. Mel had spent two hours in it. Letting out the water and refilling it when it became too cold. She looked like a very shrivelled prune as a result but it had given her time to think.
*So what now?*
*I don’t know*
*Huh?*
*I not here to tell you what to do or solve your problems for you. I can advise give you the benefit of a differing view point but saving the world is your job I’m afraid. Think of me as a ‘Giles’ or ‘Morpheus’ or even ‘Ben Kenobi’ in fact maybe all three rolled into one.*
*Ok Oh wise one what then do you advise?*
*Well for a start stop hiding your light under a bushell. You can’t promote metahuman acceptance if no one knows who you are. We need to find the Bakkara’s agent too.*
*Agent? You mean they aren’t going to turn up with a battle fleet?*
*Not unless they want to get their butts kicked. They won’t risk a fleet yet but they have an agent on world.*
*How can you be sure?*
*Because when we were stopping that nuclear bomb one of them was shooting at us and despite the fact that the Bakkara are a reasonably humanoid species trust me you’d have noticed one if it had been there.
*I take it those energy beams weren’t another meta then?*
*Nope Bakarran energy pistol. Pretty high end as well considering it was taking chunks out of the concrete. They don’t give those too just anyone. No if I had to guess I’d say we had a nanite agent on-world. A clade of nanites designed to rewrite an organic brain into something suited to the Bakarran’s purposes*
*So sort of an evil version of you?*
The momentary silence was rather pointed *Something like that though if it is a nanite agent the things are damned difficult to kill. You have to get 90% of the colony or the nanites reproduce and just rewrite some other poor sap. On top off that it’ll be able to produce a limited range of Bakarran technology. Which is probably where the energy pistol turned up from in the first place. *
*So if some more of these ray guns turn up we may be able to track our agent down?*
*That depends on how it decides to operate but it’s likely to start selling low powered versions of the things on the black market . And of course we don’t know where that last nuke got to… I shudder to think what it could do with that amount of fissile material.*
*Ok let’s not think about the scary alien having a doomsday device though on the basis it hasn’t gone boom yet I’m thinking it can’t build one.*
* Maybe not but at pocket nuke in downtown washington and a anonymous phone call after the blast could do a massive amount of damage to metahuman relations which has to be part of it’s goals. If you guys reject meta’s you’re no use to us and then you’ll see the battle fleet.*
The silence was longer this time. *You’d abandon us then? That’s pretty cold*
*It’s a war of annilation up there Mel. We need allies and if you can’t help us we aren’t going to waste resources protecting you from the consequences of your own choices.*
*Oh*
The water cooled again and this time Mel didn’t bother to refill the tub. Insteadshe stood up let the water sluice over her and found herself a larger fluffy towel. Taking a second towel Mel began to dry her hair while wiping condensation from the mirror. Taking in her hair and eyes for a second She directed another question inward..*Is this your fault?*
*The external changes? No that’s your metahuman powers. The internal stuff is me.*
*Necessary for your survival I take it?*
*Actually it’s a lesson your body needs to learn*
*What’s it designed to teach?*
*You’ll find out eventually. Don’t sweat it it’s not a problem right now.*
*There! You did it again! How come your so…fluent?*
*Oh you mean all the idiom and colloquialisms? I’m hooked into your nervous system. Senses, memories the lot. It all get’s filter through a different worldview but it’s all there. The hard part was sorting out the interface.*
*Hang on, everything?*
*Yep*
*Even…*
*Yeah*
Mel suddenly blushed furiously and a trace of her former anger bubbled under the surface.
*But I can lock you out right?* There was a lengthy pause *Right?*
The symbiote sighed theatrically. *Yeah you can lock me out. There’s some simple exercises I can show them to you. With a little practise they should become second nature.*
*Good. You know so long as you don’t drop anymore surprises on my I think we’re going to get along fine. Sym.*
*Sym?*
*You’d prefer Symbiote?*
*I guess it’s Sym then…*
Mel walked out into the living area just as the trill of her mobile phone cut through the low murmur of the T.V.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Wednesday 19th November 6:18pm
Washington D.C.
Crossing the room in her bathrobe Mel pulled out her mobile phone and checked the number before answering.
“Hi Nic”
“Hiya long legs. How’s Washington?”
“Cold and fraught”
“Yeah I’ve seen the news reports. It’s as bad as it looks then?”
“Yes and No, stay away from the protests and it’s pretty calm you see more police than normal I guess and the security on public buildings has jumped a notch or two but other than that…”
“So If I avoid the protests on the way to the office I should be fine?” There was an undercurrent of humour in Nicola’s voice as if she knew something Mel didn’t
“Wait,” Mel sounded confused switching mental gears from saving the world to talking to her friends was proving harder than she thought. “You’re still in Vegas right?”
.”Somebody messed up. They don’t have enough staffers around to handle everything the conference is throwing at them and rather than spend time vetting new staff…”
“They flew you in from Vegas. When did you get in?”
“About an hour ago. They’ve put us up in this nice little hotel on the edge of town. Apparently the drive in is going to be a bitch but it’s not like we get a choice. So how’s that scholarship thing coming?”
“Uh…” Mel looked to the couch where Ela had seemingly drifted off to sleep “they’re running Ela pretty ragged I guess they want to make sure they’re spending their money on the right people. Poor kid’s crashed out on the sofa right now.”
“Wow. Sounds like Benson’s are real hard cases I thought they’d just have her fill in a few tests maybe an interview.”
“Apparently not. They’ve had her at it two days straight already. Still if they’re going to pay for her whole college…”
“Yeah I guess” Nicola had never quite worked out what Ela’s relationship was to Mel. As far as she knew Mel had no relatives in Australia in fact apart from an elderly aunt in a retirement community in Florida Mel had no living family at all Unfortunately whenever she’d brought it up in the early days Mel had just sidestepped the issue and Ela had clammed up, eventually Nic had just given up but occasionally she did worry about what Mel had gotten herself into.
“Anyway,” Nicola continued on, “I was wondering if you were busy. Airline food leaves a lot to be desired and one of the old hands at this sort of thing says there’s this nice restaurant on New York Avenue, not too expensive and pretty good Thai food. Interested?”
Mel glanced again at Ela…
* She’ll be fine. Leave a note…*
“Uh…” Mel shook herself and smiled knowing her voice would carry the expression “Yeah, sure give me some time to get ready. Meet you there say eightish?”
“Sounds good. It’s called ‘Haad Thai’. No dress code so no need to break out the evening wear.”
“Well that’s a relief I wouldn’t want to put you anymore in the shade…”
“Ha! I’ll see you there.”
“Yes you will.” Mel hung up the phone with a smile that she realised was actually genuine. With a spring in her step that had been absent since they’d arrived in D.C. Mel headed to her bedroom and thought about what she was going to wear.
***
Away from the busier streets in Washington, The Royal Siam was a quiet intimate little restaurant but none the less busy. Mel stepped out of her taxi and smiled as she saw Nicola waving from near the door.
As Mel approached Nicola gesture towards the door and spoke “They’re a little bit busy, it looks like we’re going to have to wait”
“No reservations in this town? No really surprising. Shall we?”
Nicola laughed and led the way inside. A young oriental woman met them and after a brief discussion concerning numbers and waiting times they were shown to a small waiting area. Mel spied a couple of chairs and settled, with a grateful sigh, into one of them.
Nicola perched in the other and looked quizzically at Mel. “You ok?”
“Yeah I...uh…overdid it on the treadmill this afternoon”
A waiter arrived and they ordered drinks.
“So how about you? Finally made it to Washington”
“Oh please, they’ll probably have me opening mail and answering phones. It’s not like they recognised my talent and moved me up in the world.”
“Still they must have seen something. You’re not saying they moved the whole Nevada office up here.”
“No but maybe the people they left behind were indispensable.”
“Never be indispensable in your current job you can ‘t be promoted…”
Nic laughed at Mel’s serious tones “That’s true. So how about you? Itching to get back to Vegas yet?”
“Contrary to some people’s beliefs I’m not a gambling addict.” Mel ignored Nic’s raised eyebrow and half smile “Actually it’s pretty interesting right now. I’m not sure whether it’s cause D.C. has a more political focus but the coverage of the conference is quite a bit better than in Vegas. Some commentators are actually making intelligent points.”
“Oh god I forgot about you and Metahuman rights… I’m surprised you aren’t out there waving a placard.”
“That was your thing as I recall. What was it? ‘Save the Whales’ one week ‘Save the Rainforest’ the next?”
“Whereas you were always arguing…”
“Denying countries legitimate access to their own resources or deliberately suppressing the economic value of those resources is slavery by other…” Mel's voice took on the authoritative tones Nic remembered from the college debating society.
“I’m not getting into this Mel…”
“No I guess not. You me and politics don’t mix.”
“Oh I wouldn’t say that but the only fireworks I’d like tonight are in the food.” Nic unconsciously moistened her lips
“Speaking of which” A waiter arrived to lead them to their table. It was towards the less noisy back of the restaurant and the pair sat down and perused the menu in silence for a few minutes. In the end they order the ‘banquet’ - a little bit of everything since neither of them had a preference.
“Wine?” Ask Nicola innocently. Mel glanced at her glass of ice water then back to Nicola.
“I’ll let you order shall I?”
“Probably a good idea.” Nicola was a wine buff, though Mel didn’t know how she managed it on her salary. The drinks ordered they returned to chatting briefly interrupted now and again when a waiter delivered some dish or other.
“So how did Karl take your sudden disappearance to Washington?”
Mel breathed in sharply “Not well I think he had plans. Then again…”
“Things not going well between you two then?”
“I don’t know. He’s smart, funny…great in bed but”
“But?””
“He’s got plans, like I said smart. He’s not going to be a croupier forever he’s looking to move up either in Vegas or Crystal city.”
“And you don’t want to be tied down?”
“I didn’t say that.” Mel replied with a mischievous smile but she didn’t notice the sudden flush on Nic’s skin nor the hitch in her breathing. “It’d be nice to have plans you know I’m just not sure…”
“That he’s the one?”
“Yeah. We’ve been drifting apart recently even Ela’s picked up on it. We just don’t see as much of each other as we used to.”
“So the spark’s dying huh?”
“Yeah…” Mel looked at Nicola sharply. “You know we always have this conversation when I’m breaking up with a boyfriend.”
“So you’re breaking up with Karl?”
“Maybe and don’t try and change the subject. Why don’t we talk about you for once? Who’s your latest?”
“Nothing to tell Mel you know that.”
“Come on no one at all?”
“Nope Look you know me I don’t have time for a boyfriend, work swallows enough of my life already. When am I going to fit a guy in?”
Mel settled back down “I guess but I think it’s very unfair of you.”
“Yeah I agree. Totally unfair.” Nicola replied with tongue planted firmly in cheek. “Desert?”
“We’ll just have to burn it off”
“Well I’m sure you can help me with that. We missed a run yesterday.”
“You mean you missed a run.” Mel replied somewhat smugly
“Ever the virtuous one… Ok not tomorrow, You still going to be around Friday?”
“Should be Ela’s still got a few things to sort through and I want to see how the conference pans out.”
Desert arrived and they took their time, the conversation wound down and they ordered cabs. On the sidewalk a quarter hour later Nic gave Mel a hug as a taxi rolled to a stop beside them.
“You sure you don’t want to go for a couple of drinks?”
“I’d love to but,” Mel glanced at her watch, “it’s getting late. Ela’s probably getting worried.”
Nicola frowned slightly “Ok… So Friday 6am?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Mel smiled gave Nic another hug and got into he ride back to the hotel.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Thursday 20th November 9:23am
Georgetown University Conference Centre
Washington D.C
Captain Eugene O’Malley found himself a seat and cursed under his breath. There must be over a hundred people in the room. ‘Policing Metahumans’ seemed to be a well subscribed little seminar and for some reason the Las Vegas chief of police had decided he ought to attend too.
It had all started the second time he’d met Gabriel. Nobody commented the first time a Meta turned up on his patch but the second time? Well that was a different story. Sure, Gabriel had been useful she’d even managed to not give him a heart attack that time but somebody up the chain of command had noticed his ‘track record’ in dealing with Metahumans.
From that point on every little event that had even a whiff of metas about it got shuffled to his desk. He’d done his job, dealt with what had come his way. He got a little non-departmental help a few times. The last time he’d been called in because she showed up and he hadn’t been around. Not that Gabriel hadn’t been helpful, they’d had problems getting cutting gear into position but once Vegas’ very own superhero had shown up she’d cut the kid out as quick as you please.
In the end though six months dealing with the occasionally weird world of metahumans had convinced O'Malley that the world didn’t need any more laws to deal with them. The ones they had now worked fine. Like the kid who blew her adulterous fiancée out of a 10th story window. Sure it wasn’t an everyday occurrence but replace telekinesis with a gun and you had just another crime of passion. She hadn’t even been a flight risk; unless you got her really angry she couldn’t move a penny never mind a cell door.
What O'Malley was hearing though was worrying. The speakers in this conference seemed stuck on the whole metahuman regulation with harsh sentences for even pretty petty breaches. Hadn’t these people learnt anything? The fastest way to a breakdown of civil order was a set of laws a sizable group of people disagreed with especially the sort of repressive laws these politicos were talking about.
Oh they’d be able to ride the crest of fear for a while. No one was immune after all, even his skin had crawled the first time he’d interviewed Miss Jordan but really she’d been a sweet kid once you got to know her. And once people started realising that their neighbour wasn’t using his x-ray vision to watch them at night. Or that their youngest son wasn’t a monster these legislators would have a problem that made the Watts race riots look like a picnic.
The last speaker before lunch finally stepped down to sporadic applause. He’d been advocating a more measured response, which wasn’t what this crowd wanted to hear and Eugene was one of the first to rise.
Having circled through the buffet O’Malley was looking through the crowd trying to spot anyone who’d responded well to that last speaker when a voice cut through his thoughts.
“Captain O’Malley?”
“Yes?” O'Malley turned to see a man in his mid thirties wearing a dark conservative suit that practically screamed federal agent.
“I was wondering if we could have a little chat. I was interested in your thoughts on the proceedings.”
“Sure” O’Malley couldn’t remember if he’d seen this guy in the auditorium and he gave no clue as to which way he leant on the whole metahuman issue but what the hell O’Malley knew he’d already irritated too many powerful people in Las Vegas to climb much higher what was some Federal Geek in Washington added to that.
They found a quiet table away from the buzz of the conference and O’Malley picked up his steak sandwich “So talk”
“Ah really I was hoping you’d do that. Unlike most of our speakers you’ve had some experience of dealing with metahumans.”
O’Malley continued to chew for a few moments then swallowed “Some. Listen…”
“Johnson.”
“Listen Johnson. You want to know what I think about Metahumans. They’re just people. Sure some of them can read your mind, some of ‘em can fly. Some look like sharks and seem to have the appetites to match but when you get right down to it they’re just people. Same hopes, same fears, most of ‘em just trying to make their way in the world. This lot,” O’Malley gestured round the room “seem to have forgotten that.”
“You don’t feel we need new laws to deal with the Meta menace then?”
“What menace? The same one that walks down most streets in America. Look my last case with a Meta was a sweet kid who had the misfortune to fall in love with a jerk who couldn’t keep it in his pants. “
“So she used her powers to throw him out a ten story window.”
“Right you’ve done your homework then, Think about it, had she used a gun instead we wouldn’t even be talking about this. We’d chalk it up to a crime of passion and with a good lawyer and the right plea she might not even see jail.”
“But she was a Meta?”
“So? Look there’s more than enough evidence to show that this was the first time she’d ever used her powers. She didn’t know she was a danger”
“That could be solved.” Johnson seemed to be enjoying the argument certainly he didn’t seem to be getting angry. O’Malley decided that the guy was playing devil’s advocate which was fine by him but he wondered what Johnson was after
“Mandatory testing? Yeah right try and pass that and every civil liberties group in the country is gonna scream. Even if you do get it through it’ll get struck down as unconstitutional. Probably as an unnecessarily governmental intrusion into citizens private lives.”
O’Malley was warming to his subject now and he continued in a low passionate voice “You know the fastest way to turn the law into an ass?” Johnson smiled a little wider and shook his head. “You pass a law that’s effectively unenforceable and half the brilliant schemes these idiots have come up with are just that.”
“I know. Actually I agree with you but unfortunately in the current climate that’s somewhat of an unfashionable opinion. Metas are a potential asset to this country unfortunately too many people see demonising them as a path to power. Still I was really interested in your more positive relationships with Metas”
O’Malley picked his sandwich back up. He let Johnson stew while he finished it off then looked the man right in the eye.
“Which agency are you?”
“I’m not at liberty to say though I doubt you’d recognise us.”
“Still you’re a spook”
“You could put it like that.”
“Well good luck with Gabriel. She’s pretty paranoid I couldn’t say for sure but I don’t think she trusts us government types but she’s smart enough to realise she needs us onside.
She’s intelligent. Seems to know her limitations plus she isn’t afraid to let you know what they are. She seems to genuinely want to help and isn’t pushy about it. Gabriel turns up at a scene and you know you’ve got some back up if it gets messy. All in all for a civilian she’s handy to have around.”
“A civilian?”
“Yeah look the lady’s good don’t get me wrong but one of those limitations I was talking about is she’s a civilian. Oh she’s got a good idea about the appropriate use of force but occasionally she falls down on the application…”
“I’ll vaporise your pansy ass?”
“Like I said you’ve done your homework.”
“So who is she?”
“I’ve no idea”
“Oh come on I don’t believe that”
“Believe what you like.” O’Malley shrugged “Like I said – paranoid, that forcefield of hers never comes down, the glow makes getting a decent photo damn near impossible and the artists impressions we have are so generic they’re useless. As for tracking her down from her flights we get so many ‘Light’ sightings these days that we’ve got no chance of picking her up.
Look if she was some vigilante wanabe blowing up ‘evil-doers’ every night maybe the department would put some resources on it and track her down but right now she’s an…asset and invading her privacy might just piss her off you know?”
“And I guess that’s you’re final word on the subject?”
“It is that.”
“Well thank you for your time Captain it’s been enlightening.” Johnson looked towards the door to the auditorium where the delegates were gathering. “It looks like they’re starting up again. Maybe we can talk some more afterwards?”
“Sure” O’Malley watched Johnson walk towards the crowd and lose himself amongst the groups of similarly suited drones. “Yeah sure let’s do lunch.” O’Malley muttered under his breath.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
***Thursday, 20th November 2003 - 6:34pm***
The sun had set a little over half an hour ago and in the process taken what little heat had been in the air. With no cloud cover and very little humidity the air tonight was cold and crisp. The moon had set earlier in the day and wouldn't rise again until the early hours of the morning so despite the number of streetlights around Mel could see quite a few stars. In fact since Washington lacked the sheer quantity of neon illumination that Las Vegas had Mel could see more stars than she would see at home.
Wrapped up against the chill, a Sony Discman in her pocket, Mel loped along the sidewalk to the sounds of Moby.
*You know I still don’t get why you didn’t head over there you’ve agreed you need to raise your profile now would have been a perfect opportunity*
*Yeah to get shot! Look Sym we’ve been over this. Right now the police are in a shoot first ask questions later kind of mood. The biggest political event of the century just got screwed over by a bunch of metas the last thing they want to see is another meta messing around trying to save the day*
*You still could have done something.*
*Like what? You could write what I know about hostage situations on the head of a pin*
*You didn’t do too badly at that casino with the electricity guy.*
Mel sighed again. *And we’ve been over this too. I got lucky… not to mention there was a sympathetic police officer in charge. If I tried showing up at the Marriot today they’d have shot me full of Metaflex so fast it’d have made your head spin*
*And yours but…*
*Sym! I know! I know, okay? Those idiots have set meta relations back twenty years and for a cause that is nothing less than futile. I understand that a separate meta homeland even if it was feasible would do more harm than good in the long run. I get it.*
*I was just trying to…*
*…Explain, I know but you didn’t have to show me all the fancy examples. A separate homeland may well delay the conflict between humans and metas but all it’ll do is allow both sides to add to the powder keg. The Russians are already marching blindly down that path. We don’t need another. Not that it matters.” She thought gloomily
*They have Morgan…*
*And what’s the betting Observer’s not rubbing his electrons right now about that. Assuming he didn’t arrange this little attack.*
*You should take him up on his offer.*
*No! God, Sym he’s not to be trusted sure he’ll build Gabriel up faster than anybody else but he’ll only do it as long as he needs and you know I think Observer wants a conflict between us. It’d give him the opportunity to consolidate his power. And the one thing we categorically don’t want is a power mad AI in charge.*
* If you cut the strings at the right time it wouldn’t be a problem.*
*And what about Ela?*
*Ela?*
*Yes Ela you know the young girl you had me let Observer traumatise because ‘She needed to know’*
*Well I wasn’t expecting events to move with quite this speed You’re already racing towards the abyss. Observer could be the break you need.*
*Ok I’ll say this once Sym. You better be playing devil’s advocate and you better shut up now. I’m not going to accept Observer’s offer I’m going to build up to revealing my identity my way. What I’m not going to do is pander to your sudden panic. We’ll get through this we will find a way and humanity is not going to go to hell in a handbasket over one lousy conference*
*Even if it is the political event of the century?*
*Enough!*
***
Sydney had already located the correct house on the leafy suburb. The residence of Senator Kendal Lumas was an attractive Victorian style town house complete with whitewashed fascias and pretty little curtains hung up at the windows. It was the perfect family home, only it wasn't. It happened to be Lumas' own private den of iniquity, the place from which he conducted his numerous affairs, that was when he wasn't conspiring with his fellow congressmen Senator Dan Layman - dreaming up new ways to beat down on the meta population no-doubt.
That wasn't something that bothered Syd much, neither did it matter how many sordid affairs he had behind his wife's back. All politicians were corrupt in one manner or another; the only difference was the level of sleaze and whether or not they'd get caught. Now that was the real reason she was there, to dig up the dirt, find something with which to twist the Senators arm a little more. Syd couldn't help but think it a waste of her talents, here she was probably one of the most proficient assassins ever created and instead of just going in and taking the guy out she was supposed to plant bugs and rifle through papers like a common private dick.
Hearing the sound of security dogs, Syd kept herself completely still, her back against the wall that surrounded the estate. Once the patrol had passed she turned back to the set of black ornate gates and swiftly began to climb; hoisting herself over once at the top and dropping down with ease at the other side.
*You know it's true.*
*What is?*
*You're made of stars...*
*Yes I know I'm made of stars.! The whole planet is made out of starstuff I even know that anything with an atomic mass above about 56 is the grave goods of a supernova. Anybody with a modicum of interest in the subject knows that! Stop making trite observations about the nature of the universe and shut up*
*I was just making conversation.*
Mel ignored the voice and ran on.
A few minutes later Mel literally ground her teeth as Sym's voice again resonated through her head.
*So that woman climbing that gate... Not going to do anything about it?*
Mel stopped and fervently prayed that the universe would rewind about a year and she could not go looking for stupid meteorites any more or failing that, that her erstwhile partner could learn the value of silence. She glanced around quickly and noted a black clad figure slip quietly over the top of a gate.
*Hmmm way in or way out?*
*Oh we're talking now are we? You're the hero...I'm just along for the ride.*
Mel glanced up and down the street. Apart from herself it was empty. Eerily so, in fact. *Guess the whole attack has people bunkering down.* The lack of witnesses on the street was enough to tempt Mel into activating her shields and floating over to the house but she'd spent too long today dodging the media already and though nobody would see, her transformation would attract attention.
The house was dark, seemingly unoccupied. So it looked to Mel that a burglar was taking advantage of the quiet brought on by today's events to hit a high-class residence.
*Ok ‘way out’ then at least they'll have the evidence with them....*
Sydney quietly stole across the grounds up to the house. Considering the importance of the owner she was surprised that security was so lax, so far the guard with the vicious looking Doberman was the only possible 'resistance' she'd encountered and he looked like he was a donut away from a major coronary.
Still, there were plenty of CCTV cameras around the place. Sydney'd had to be careful to avoid them as she'd made her way up the driveway, it wouldn't do to be caught on tape at this stage. Taking a quick look around to make sure she was alone, Sydney knelt by the door and began to pick the lock. As she entered the large hallway a security alarm beeped away, waiting for the correct pin code.
"Okay Jerry," she said, hooking up a small computer-like device to the main security box, "let's see how well your toys work." Syd made the last connection and pressed 'RETURN'. Several lights flashed on the device, flagging up a sequence of numbers. In a matter of seconds a light on the device flashed up green and the beeping sound fell silent. Sydney replaced the device inside her jacket and looked around, surveying her new surroundings.
Mel had managed to find herself a shadowed little spot outside the house, she watched as the figure ghosted up the drive and took only a few moments to unlock the door and slip inside. The quiet night made the beeping of the alarm just about audible to Mel but it soon stopped. *Looks like our burglar knows their stuff.* Mel contemplated sending up a flare. One of her spheres would make enough light and noise to attract a lot of attention but with luck she'd be able to slip away before the police arrive. But she discarded the idea. This criminal looked capable and Mel wasn't entirely sure the police as distracted as they were would respond in time. *So we wait and hope they come out the same way they went in.*
In the living room sat yet another overweight security guard. The television blared noisily drowning out any sounds that she may have already made. Syd rolled her eyes as she slipped past the open door and quietly ascended the staircase, she only hoped that they upped the security when dear old Senator Lumas was in residence. It was laughable really; if anyone with a smattering of combat training desired so they could enter and waste the occupants without even breaking out into a sweat.
As Sydney entered the Senator's study she found what she was looking for. She removed a small listening device from her jacket pocket and inserted it into the receiver of the telephone's handset. Sydney was about to leave when she noticed a file wedged down the side of the filing cabinet, removing it she was surprised to find a set of reports on recent human trials concerning Metaflex. She frowned, reading some of the reported side-effects, Syd slipped the file into her jacket, James would be sure to find its contents more than interesting she thought.
About ten minutes later she was making her way down the stairs, resetting the security alarm as she shut the front door securely. All in all it had been an uneventful mission, 'successful' James would call it, in a few days he'd have all the dirt he needed on Senator Lumas to play him like a puppet.
*You know you don't have to be quite so flashy...You could just call it in.*
*What?*
Sym sighed *Cellphone? You know the clever piece of electronic gadgetry in your pocket. Dial 911 and leave an anonymous tip-off for the police.*
*That's…*
*Too easy. Yes I know still back up would be nice...*
*IF we lose them we'll call in what we can. But I'd like a buffer or two if Observer tries to smear me.*
*Stopping one little burglary isn't going to stop Observer...*
"Ok," Mel reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellphone as the door to the house reopened. Quickly Mel slipped the phone away again and glanced up and down the street. Still no witnesses. Mel crossed the street and found a spot just to one side of the gate. The burglar would be at a disadvantage when climbing it and that would, Mel hoped, give her the time she needed to capture the criminal.
Mel took a deep breath and centred herself She hadn't been able to damp her forcefield's glow nor was she able to fly without it but her attack powers were not so restricted. It was a shame she hadn't worked out a way to stun her targets. Six months spent studying Grays Anatomy and practising hadn't made any breakthrough and short of testing on live targets she had no way of checking the various methods she thought might work. *So stick with tried and tested - bolts and maybe the beam.*
Syd timed her runs against the rotating surveillance cameras until she was safely by the gates once more. Her car, which she'd 'commandeered' earlier that afternoon, was parked a little way up the street. James and his contact were waiting in a safe house on the Westside of the city for her return. She secured the stolen file more safely under her jacket and made her way up the wrought iron bars of the gate.
Mel waited until the figure came into her sight just at the top of the gate. "What you doing is probably very illegal. Just how much would you like me to remain quiet right now?"
Sydney looked down to see the blue-haired woman standing below; she narrowed her eyes in scrutiny before dropping down to the ground in one swift motion.
"That depends," she said, sizing up her opponent, she didn't look very strong, in fact Syd thought she could snap the skinny do-gooder in two pretty easily. But it was the manner of her address, authoritarian, confident... the air of a hero. *Meta probably,* she thought, especially if the weird hair was anything to go by. "How much noise can a dead woman make?"
"Threats already? That's ok. As I friend of mine once said I do threats really, really well."
*I'm a friend now?*
*Shush.* The energy came easily it sparkled between her fingers a brilliant silver blue. Mel step backward was calm considered, designed to give her more room.
With a little more distance Mel took the time to study her opponent. She was shorter than Mel, curvaceous too though those curves failed to disguise the lean strength in her frame.
*You know I'm fairly certain only guys are supposed to do that...*
"So other than breaking and entering what else are they going to charge you with?"
"Well I don't intend on being arrested so..." Sydney cast a watchful glance up at the estate she'd just vacated. She needed to get out of there, not stand around chit-chatting to some wannabe heroine, and what did she want anyway? If she was going to call the cops would she have done it already. "So... if you don't mind it's way past my bedtime and I need my beauty sleep."
"No, I don't think so." Mel called a little more energy and brought her shield close to the surface, hopefully it would come up before any surprises arrived. "The police are a little busy So I'm going to have to deal with you. Easy or hard?"
Sydney grinned slightly; this was more like it! Ever since arriving in Washington she'd been itching for a little action and tonight was no exception, she'd almost wanted to get caught just for the opportunity of a little unmitigated violence. She stretched her neck a little in preparation; this was the fun part, the excitement before the first punch was thrown. "Hmmm," she purred in deliberation, "don't hold back on my account.”
*She's actually eager for a confrontation!* It was there in every line of her body and Mel was just a little surprised. She'd have thought that a burglar would have wanted to avoid conflict. All of which gave Mel a problem sure she could blast the woman where she stood but she was not actively threatening her.
*I told you, you should have called the cops.*
*I still have all the cards I just don't want her to call...* With the merest gesture Mel pointed towards the woman and a bar of light strobed out. No thicker than her little finger it illuminated the street momentarily before winking out silently.
"Next one goes through your shoulder. Still want to duke it out?"
Syd raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Light? Impressive I'm sure. So what is it you want? Because as you can see... I haven't stolen anything, or damaged any property, and nobody even knows I was here. Except you."
"So you get your kicks breaking into other people's home? Sorry that doesn't fly. You got past the alarm way too easily. Why don't you sit down while I make a phone call then we can wait for the police to show up and I can hand you over like a good citizen."
"No, I don't think so." Sydney smiled mockingly, copying the woman's tone exactly. "For some reason the police and I don't really get along, can't imagine why." Sydney took several steps towards the woman, she didn't want to threaten her but she was anxious to provoke some kind of response, maybe find out if that little light show of hers was as deadly as she'd implied.
"I can't see why you'd be so eager to call them either, or didn't you know that Meta's are persona non grata nowadays? I'm sure they'd love to send you to the lab, cut you up and see what makes you tick. Maybe they could power the national grid with your little trick."
*Quite probably.*
"I've had enough of that to last a life time." Syd stopped walking and placed her hands on her hips, "So if you're gonna call anyone, make it a coroner, 'cause the only way you're going to take me in ‘Officer Doright’, is in a body bag, and personally - and my opinion may be a little bias here - but I don't think you stand a chance."
Mel moved backward the woman was too quick too fluid to allow her to get that close on top of which the sheer sincerity of that last remark shocked Mel. *She’s been on the wrong side of a medical experiment by the sounds of it. Whatwas she doing in there?*
Mel let the energy fade a little hopeful her opponent would notice and take it for a good sign rather than doing something foolish. *Don't back her into a corner if she gets desperate enough you'll lose control of this entire situation and then ....*
*Like you haven't lost control already?*
"Ok if you weren’t stealing and you didn't hurt anyone or damage anything what were you doing in there?"
"Aren't you curious?" Sydney noticed the woman make some kind of gesture though she wasn't sure what it meant, she still hadn't made any kind of attack. Though the thought of divulging her business didn't appeal to Sydney she was running out of options short of a full blown battle with the woman. And though Syd desperately wanted a stand-off of some sort it wouldn't do her 'mission' any favours if the authorities were alerted.
"Collecting a little dirt on our dear Senator Lumas, he's very friendly with Senator Layman you know? The one who wants to force feed your kind Metaflex and watch you die six months later, but maybe that last part wasn't in the official report."
"Lumas huh?" Now there was a name to conjure with. Lumas was Layman's attack dog. A fairly rabid attack dog at that. Lumas ' position on Meta's wasn't far short of the nazi's on mental defectives. nobody really took much notice of him at least not in moderate circles even layman distanced himself from the worst of his policies but Lumas had a constituency. There were enough people out there who thought like Lumas to give him a pretty deep campaign war chest and the guy was pretty slick. He kept getting re-elected.
Mel knew all that but anyone with an interest in Meta politics knew it as well. Invoking Lumas' name as her target could easily be a quick way of earning easy trust from a meta. "That's a little too pat. Got any proof?"
Sydney slowly withdrew the file from under her jacket, at the woman's surprised look she laughed. "Okay, maybe I wasn't being completely truthful about that 'not taking anything' part." She held it out to her opponent, it was a risk she knew, she didn't know anything about her, she could be just as likely to rip it up or burn it with that lasery trick of hers. Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat and Syd had made sure that nothing would happen in Lumas' house without James knowing about it. "Why don't you read for yourself?"
"Put it on the ground and step back." *Not that I don't trust you or anything.*
*But you don't.*
The woman set the file down and stepped back. Keeping her eyes on her Mel stepped forwards and crouched picking up the folder. There was enough light from the streetlights for Mel to able to read the document and a quick skim was enough to pick out a few pertinent details. Massive long-term metaflex doses on live subjects. The quick once over didn't reveal Lumas' name but the document was certainly describe his sort of attitude to meta's.
"Ok so nothing to say this is Lumas but then nothing to say it isn't either." Mel looked at the other woman hard. She'd missed the lie about her not taking anything, too much else on her mind she supposed but she needed to be absolutely certain before she made any more decisions. "So what's your angle in all this?"
"Personally I don't give a toss whether this Lumas guy gets what's coming to him or not, I just happen to work for someone who does. A genuine freedom fighter if you can believe such a person exists."
"Wow Another one? I doubt stealing one solitary file was the sum total of your work this evening. What was it bugs?" The reaction wasn't much but it was there. "Ok. A freedom fighter? With the chutzpah to bug a senators house at that."
*Oh No! Please! Don't get involved another conspiracy.*
"Fine I think I'll let you go since right now I think you're on the right side in all this no matter how dubious your methods. Let you boss know Gabriel would like to meet him."
Sydney snatched up the file and replaced it in her jacket. "You're so kind..." she said with a slight grin. "I'm sure my 'boss' will be overjoyed to hear that." She walked past the woman without a second glance, walking down the street to where her transportation was waiting.
"You forgot something..." Mel smiled at the woman's back "If you actually tell him, and he wants to meet then I'll be at in the National Gem Collection about noon tomorrow." Mel's smile became positively vicious, "Now run along and remember one phone call blows your entire surveillance operation."
Sydney looked back at the woman, thinking how easy it would be to put a bullet in her head from this distance. "National Gem Collection, Noon," she grinned, walking at a steady pace down the street, "I'll be sure to let him know."
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Friday, 21 November 2003 - Noon
The Smithsonian National Gem Exhibition – Washington DC
The Hope diamond glittered in its glass case. To one side of the room two security guards watched the smaller than usual crowd as they gawked at one of the largest cut diamonds in existence. Mel stood a little further back, she'd seen the diamond before on a previous visit and anyway her height meant she didn't need to crowd quite so close to get a good view. Of course the guards paid particular attention to Mel, silver blue hair marked her as a potential Meta-human at worst or just a wannabe at best.
Having paid her dues to the grand rock itself she passed into another part of the collection where for her the true marvels lay. The huge uncut pieces of topaz. The cut semi precious stones bigger than her fist and the delicate array of gems that made up the various jewellery pieces that one donor or another had presented to the state.
The low turnout meant that instead of filing past each exhibit Mel could instead take her time and enjoy the lustre and fire of the individual pieces. She didn't look around to try and spot her co-conspirator, after all her hair was a beacon, if they actually showed up finding Mel wouldn't be hard.
James walked slowly through the crowds, his eyes skimming over the various exhibits as he searched for the woman Sydney had described. The museum wasn't exceptionally crowded, for one thing Washington was full of protesters rather than tourists, and secondly, those protestors were pretty much sticking to the streets or latest political cafes that had suddenly sprung up around the city.
Small crowds gathered in the usual areas, The Hope Diamond always attracted attention as did the Hooker Emerald and The Star of Bombay exhibits. James looked suitably disinterested as always, his family had donated several items to The Smithsonian on numerous occasions but he was trying to keep things low key that afternoon.
Sydney walked casually at his side, dressed a little less glamorously than she'd had to on other occasions but conscientiously enough to maintain her guise as his escort. Her mind was less interested in the various exhibits as she silently made a mental note of the positions of the guards, CCTV feeds, exits, etc. She was absolutely determined not to get caught out this time. As they turned a corner she nodded towards where a noticeable blue-haired woman stood with her back to them, seemingly absorbed in the collection of semi-precious stones laid out before her.
James took several steps forward, leaving Sydney to keep watch in case anyone should appear too curious in their business. "Beautiful aren't they?" he said, approaching the woman, "did you know that corundum is second only to diamond in hardness?" As the woman turned around he smiled slightly, efficiently, "Gabriel I presume?"
"Indeed and you're James Gates - playboy billionaire. I own some of your father's stock." Mel did an excellent job of concealing her surprise but she hadn't been expecting to meet America's most eligible bachelor. "Actually Silicon Carbide scores about 9.25 on the Moh scale. Of course it's very rare to find naturally occurring silicon carbide. It's generally only associated with meteors."
While James processed that little fact Mel turned to the woman who escorted him. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced?"
Sydney smirked at the small battle of wits between the two, sizing each other up the way most people would before a fight. Each circling the other with their knowledge of useless trivia, Sydney would rather just throw a punch and have it over with. At 'Gabriel’s' raised intonation she smiled, not even altering her posture.
"Sydney," she said flatly, the woman had a definite air of interest and trepidation, this would be an interesting afternoon.
James could sense the tension between the two, he knew Sydney was itching for a fight he just hoped she could control herself until they'd found out more about their new acquaintance. "Yes, well, now that we've all been introduced...?"
"While this is an excellent place to meet it is perhaps not the best place to discuss business. Unfortunately I hadn't expected such an illustrious personage as yourself so my future plans have been somewhat stymied. I was going to suggest a small hopefully not too crowded cafe on a nearby street but I wouldn't want you to be mobbed." Mel rather relished the humour of the situation there were women who would literally kill to be in her place right now. "Perhaps you could suggest a suitably safe location"
"But of course," said James with a small grin, "if you'd like to follow me? My car's waiting outside."
"I'm sure." While the three of them made their way back downstairs Mel thought furiously behind a mask of bland indifference. James Gates had a reputation as a Bon Vivant at least in public. So why exactly was he bugging a senator's house? Of course Greg Gates had a reputation in business circles for playing hardball and James for all his talents for excess did actually have a brain. Maybe James was a cover, certainly an afternoon spent in his company was likely to dazzle most people but Mel didn't have the option of being blinded by wealth good looks and a sense of humour. Still Delta-Net would be very interested in Zyrcom's transgressions with WAIT and Delta-net pointing the finger would be far more credible than a solitary Meta.
*Getting into that car might be a bad idea you know? If Greg Gates is as tough as you say, they may just decide to make you disappear.*
*Oh hush! If James' is using his wild ways to cover up stuff the last thing they'll want is to have the last known whereabouts of an unknown Meta to include a meeting with James Gates in a public place. No, the worst we'll get is more threats I'm sure*
The car was ready and waiting as they stepped out into the daylight. The driver had been leaning against the side but jumped up in surprise at seeing his boss, not expecting him back so soon. He opened the door as the three climbed in and then started the engine, pulling the car into the busy street of traffic.
Sydney and James sat on one side of the car, facing Gabriel as they drove away. James drew up the soundproof partition between the driver and the passenger seat before returning his attention to the blue-haired woman. She looked completely at ease, perhaps too at ease considering the circumstances. James had seen such repose around the poker table on many occasions, if Gabriel was at all nervous about her decision she didn’t show it in the slightest. Not that he would have blamed her even if she had looked nervous, it might seem like poor judgement to get into a car with two strangers, especially one like Sydney. Even though she looked unarmed, a simple unstructured suit skimming her curves, he knew that she'd have some form of weaponry stowed away on her person.
"So Ms.... Gabriel," James glanced at Sydney, neither of them knew why this woman had wanted to meet with him, apart from maybe simple curiosity.... or perhaps blackmail. "Might I ask the reason for all of this? Surely if you wanted to report my more... questionable activities you would have done so by now."
"You're right if I intended to blackmail you I'd have done so by now. I will admit to a little curiosity. It's not everyday I run across committing espionage, especially when the supposed target of said espionage is a rabid anti-metahuman. Unfortunately I've been unable to corroborate Sydney’s story since the house is owned by a holding company with no connection to Senator Lumas. So the question I really want to ask is why?"
James eyed the woman critically, she'd clearly read his thoughts marking her as a telepath among other things. It was an obvious ploy he realised, made to throw him off balance, but one thing was for sure there was little point in lying to her.
"I have my own reasons, Lumas is an extremist, his political ambitions alone make him a danger to this country and then there're his dealings with Senator Layman. If I can prove that Layman is more closely linked to Lumas' proposals on the Meta Issue than he currently infers it will greatly further our cause."
"Your cause? Have you been hiding a dark secret?" Neither of them showed any obvious metahuman traits but then metallic hair and mirrored irises weren't exactly common even amongst Meta's. "No it doesn't have to be Meta humanity. Layman is a powerful politician with many friends. Metahuman policy is just what he spends his political currency on." Mel leaned forward and her voice became harder "So spell it out for me James because by letting Sydney go I made myself accessory after the fact and I'd like to know what I'm risking federal prison for.”
Sydney made some sound, vocalising her disdain for the woman’s remark but made no effort to say anything further.
James sat in silence for a while. Telling this woman his entire dealings was a great risk. Was it purely coincidence that she’d been passing Lumas’ residence so late at night? Perhaps, as unlikely as it seemed, she worked for him, had found out about their plans and rather than blow the whistle on Sydney, sought out the true source in a bid to implicate him in a bigger conspiracy?
"You talk about your own risk but why am I to trust you? You know enough about me but I don't know so much as your real name."
*He's got a point. You're going to have to start trusting people sometime.*
*I know but I don't have to like it do I?* Mel spent a few moments in thought, if she was honest with herself he probably had enough information to identify her. It might take him sometime though with his resources less than she'd like so revealing her identity wasn’t a major issue. It would however establish at least a little trust even if he knew the calculation that had gone into that revelation. *Fine he called time to lay down my cards.*
"Melissa Hartson," *Hell he can find out the rest soon enough.* "Professional poker player out of Las Vegas."
"A gambling woman? I'm something of a gambling man myself, but then you have to be in my line of work." James' face darkened a little, it was a big risk that he was about to make but perhaps... this Melissa Hartson was a powerful Meta, she might come in useful...
"My company, my father's company has some very unorthodox methods, very unorthodox. The Trinity is a powerful corporation in Vega City and one that doesn't always make the best decisions for its citizens. I want to change that. Every time we win back even a little ground it goes some way to ending their tyranny. I've seen the kind of things that happen to those who cross Trinity, that's why I'll do anything to stop it. So when someone like Lumas comes along with his so-called ‘family values’ and flying the banner of Humans First and he starts working his way into the pockets of some of the most influential people in Vega City it worries me. Blackmail might be a dirty trick but I'll try anything to take him down."
*Yep another conspiracy. How do you do it?*
*Well this never happened before you showed up.*
Mel was peripherally aware of Vega City's Trinity and their 'unorthodox methods.' It was one of the reasons why she held less Delta-Net stock than she perhaps could. She wondered how long James' opposition to those methods had been going on. Long enough obviously for him to gather some very capable help. Sydney didn't so much move as flow.
"Blackmail is a very dirty trick, rather unorthodox as well."
James looked away, out of the tinted window as Capital Hill came into view as they turned onto Dupont Circle. Melissa's comment was true, and it pained him to be playing the game at such a level, still, all he could do was hope that the end result outweighed the means by which it was gained. "Well... they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
Sydney turned her head to look at him, had they been alone she might have refuted his remark. She didn't know his father well but she knew enough about him to know that James shared none of his qualities. Her fingers combed the leather of the car seat in a smooth deliberating motion before she clasped her hands together, remaining silent.
Obviously someone in the car didn't share James' opinion. Still, Mel wondered how long James could spend in the mire before he was irreversibly tainted and ,if she decided to work with him, by association herself. She sighed, it was the same situation as Observer and Sym's jokes aside she'd got into this mess the same way - an unthinking act of questionable morality. At least James was human and understood the intangible issues with his methods.
*Time for more honesty.* "I was taking a risk when I let Sydney go. I was hoping that I might find an ally. No doubt you're thinking how a Meta of unknown power can assist your plans. I feel I ought to warn you, before you decide to ask for my assistance that I have enemies and they could make life difficult for even someone such as yourself."
James knocked on the partition for the car to stop. They were driving through a busy retail area of the city, it was a good a place as any to part company. As the vehicle rolled to a stop James looked thoughtful, he glanced at Sydney but she merely shrugged in response. Okay, so risks over and done with, this woman wanted allies, perhaps with whoever her 'enemies' were she needed allies rather than wanted them. Maybe she was right, asking for her help might prove to be more trouble that it was worth, but James had already told her too much about his business to let her just vanish without a trace. What was that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Melissa might not be his enemy but he wasn't ready to throw caution completely to the wind.
"That's as may be Ms. Hartson, perhaps you'll let me be the judge of that?"
“Perhaps but you need to weigh the benefits too. My 'adventures' such as they are have been well documented by my local press. They've not made the national papers since I tend to work with the local authorities rather that against them. Perhaps some research on your part is in order before you decide to mount your charger and ride to my rescue. As for my enemies think on 1991 and Zyrcom." Mel bestowed one last smile upon the other two occupants of the car and reached for the door.
James thought on what Melissa had just said, the Zycrom incident in 1991 concerning W.A.I.T was prolific, if that was an indication of this woman's enemies then she was in serious trouble. Maybe more trouble than he could handle?
As Melissa stepped out of the car James wound down the window and leaned out, handing her a 'business card'. "In case you need to contact me, I run a small organisation in Vega City, if you ever need somewhere to lie low."
"Thanks and if you decide I'm worth the trouble I'll be in Washington a little while longer I'm sure you can find me. If you do decide to contact me try to avoid using electronic media..." Melissa turned and walked into the crowd.
As the car pulled away James couldn’t help but think, he’d either made a powerful ally, or a very dangerous mistake.
Assasination Attempt
Friday, 21 November 2003 - 1:33pm
Driving Around Washington DC
They had parted company with Melissa Hartson about twenty minutes ago but still remained, as ever, stuck in rush hour traffic. Du Pont Circle was a nightmare anytime of the day, though it appeared that yet another protest had degenerated into a riot as crowds of angry people marched across the road causing more than a few accidents. The police were there too, trying to break everyone up. Since the attack at the Marriott yesterday, all protests were deemed to be illegal and anyone attending could be put in jail.
The driver yelled a few angry words out of the window but to little avail, they weren’t going anywhere in a hurry. He sighed and glanced in the rear view mirror at his employer. “I’m sorry about this sir, damn protestors everywhere, it could take a while before we get moving again.”
“It’s all right Morris,” said James, passing him a lighthearted smile, “we’re in no hurry.” James drew up the partition once again, giving Sydney and himself some privacy. “So what did you think of Ms. Hartson?”
Sydney tossed her long hair back from her shoulders and James had to hold back a sigh as he stole a longing glance at her before forcing himself to look away.
“I think she’s far too curious for her own good,” announced Sydney, “I’m surprised at you, telling her everything like you did. You barely know her… and she told us so little about herself…”
James shared her anxieties but knew that he’d had little choice. “She had us over a barrel Syd, if she’d gone to the cops and they traced the bugs at Senator Lumas’ house back to me… let’s just say there could have been more than a few difficult questions to be answered.”
Sydney just shrugged; she brushed back the length of her skirt until it reached her thigh. James bit his lip tentatively, then breathed a sigh of relief as Sydney un-holstered a pistol from a strap around her thigh.
“I could have just shot her,” she said, checking the gun quickly and thoroughly, she also removed a silencer, screwing it into place. “We had her in the car with us, could have been a nice, clean job. No muss, no fuss.”
The car suddenly jerked to the left as the driver attempted to traverse the thinning crowds. There was a serge of traffic that widened the gap until everything was moving freely again. James watched the groups of police officials grappling with the protestors as they passed and turned off into the finance district.
After a while he turned back to Sydney who was looking out of the window calmly. “No muss, no fuss?” he asked, a slight expression of concern highlighting his features. “This is a human being we’re talking about Syd!”
Sydney looked up, her eyes questioning him like he should have a further point to his argument.
“Sydney, we’re going to have to have a serious talk about your value for human life. You know you can’t go on like this? I know those people at the assassin training programme taught you to think like this but…”
“You don’t know what they taught me James.” Sydney looked away again, resuming her previous position of checking out the action in the right wing mirror. She sat up more straight as she noticed a black sedan change lanes to stay level with them.
*Hmmm, interesting,* she thought to herself, she’d noticed the vehicle after they had dropped off the Hartson woman, it had been keeping a steady distance behind them yet matched their speed and position too closely to be coincidental. They were being followed.
She dropped the partition and leaned over the seat to Morris. “Take the next left.”
James’ eyes narrowed questioningly, “Sydney?”
“Just, wait a moment.”
Morris took the next left and carried on driving at a steady speed. Sydney kept an eye on the wing mirror, sure enough the same black sedan turned also, keeping a safe distance behind them. Sydney leaned towards Morris again. “Keep driving at the same pace and do just as I say.”
They travelled in silence for another fifteen minutes, breaking through the heavy traffic and leaving the mass of towering skyscrapers behind them. The roads were empty now as they reached the underpass, a whole section of the road was closed where one of the supports was being underpinned, a mass of desolate scaffolding blotting the view. Just before they took the turn for the freeway Sydney banged on the partition.
“Stop!” she ordered firmly.
Morris slammed on the breaks; the car lurched forwards sharply, throwing James from his seat. He looked up at Sydney in confusion, rubbing his sore head. “What… what’s going on?”
Sydney was already loading her pistol and removing the safety as she opened the car door. “We’re being followed, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” She pulled off her jacket and flung it on the car seat, she silently regretted her unpractical choice of clothing, the long tight skirt and high heels were hardly conducive for an armed confrontation.
“Sydney!” James scrambled to stop her, “wait… Sydney! …it could be dangerous…” he mumbled ineffectually. He suddenly began fumbling in his jacket pocket and withdrew his cellphone, throwing it to her. “Keep in contact, if you get into trouble, let me know.”
Sydney nodded as she slipped the phone into her pocket, grateful to have the back-up. She had no idea who would want to follow them, could be someone who recognised James back at the Smithsonian and decided to pursue them or… As James’ car sped off in the direction of the freeway the black sedan appeared. She aimed her gun at the front wheel and fired.
The driver jumped on the breaks as his car veered to the right, the tire blown to pieces. Sydney quickly aimed a second time and popped the rear tire this time. The car skidded, sliding across the road barely inches from where she stood until coming to a stop.
Sydney paused for a moment, waiting for some signs of life from inside. Everything was silent, the only noise being that of the motor turning over as the engine wound down. Warily she approached the passenger’s door and wrenched it open, aiming her gun inside.
The interior was empty. Sydney closed the door quickly and turned around but it was too late. A tall man stood behind her dressed darkly, a long trenchcoat covered his bulky frame; the collar pulled up high, almost obscuring his face completely with the addition of his long black shaggy crop of hair. Sydney observed him warily; his skin was so dark it was almost black and rough too, like he was made from pure rock. She quickly ducked to avoid a blow aimed at her head. The man’s fist slammed into the roof of the car, smashing through the metal and fibreglass, leaving a hole that reached all the way inside.
Sydney dodged back, this guy was definitely a meta, and obviously was after her rather than James. She could hear a deep growling in the back of his throat as he wrenched his fist from the wreck and faced her. Sydney didn’t waste any time, she raised her gun and began firing, the first bullet should have rendered him incapacitated, instead it bounced off his tough skin, barely even grazing the surface.
She fired again and again, trying different parts of his body, his head, chest, torso, shoulders… each bullet failed to make a mark just as the first, the force of the bullet barely even slowed his approach.
*Fine, looks like we’re gonna have to do this the hard way,* she thought with more bravado than she actually felt. Risk assessment judged that she was going to get hurt. Badly. She tucked the gun down the back of her waistband and assumed a combat stance. She grabbed the expensive fabric of her long skirt and ripped it till the split reached her thigh, then did the same at the other side. At least she would be able to move properly now.
As the meta swung a punch she dodged back, spinning round and delivering a hard kick to his ribs. He swayed a little but barely lost his footing. Again she could hear that low growl, this time it sounded triumphant.
Sydney struck out again, sending a flurry of cross jabs and uppercuts to his head, he rolled dizzily and with another kick to his stomach stumbled backwards. Sydney continued her relentless assault, following her last kick with another, performing a full turn as she gained momentum, her foot slamming into his side, finally knocking him further back.
She landed on her feet wobbly, her high heels scrapping on the asphalt nosily. Her breathing was heavy and tired; she was already getting exhausted and had barely made a mark.
The meta could see she was weakening and decided now was the time to make his move. He charged her again, Sydney was too tired to dodge his punch effectively this time, catching the brunt of the blow in her stomach, followed by another to her back which knocked her to the ground. She felt the hard surface collide with her face and the warm feel of blood trickling down her chin.
A whistling sound broke the silence and Sydney rolled to the left to avoid being pummelled into oblivion as the hulk’s fist smashed a hole in the asphalt, missing her by mere inches. She flipped back to her feet, reaching into her pocket for the cellphone before hitting DIAL. She needed help and fast.
Driving down the freeway James couldn’t sit still. He’d just left her. How could he have done that? What if she…? He felt a sudden sickness hit his stomach. “We have to go back,” he announced.
The driver looked confused, they were on the freeway, they weren’t going anywhere until they reached the next turn off. “Sir… we can’t-”
“-Turn around goddamn it!” James demanded loudly. He wouldn’t, no, COULDN’T sit idly and do nothing, even if he had to fight their mysterious follower himself.
Morris yanked on the steering wheel and the car spun in a perfect 180º turn to face the oncoming traffic. Cars blared their horns, swinging in and out of the lanes to avoid a collision. Morris jammed his foot on the accelerator, pulling the car over the verge and onto the other side of the road just in time before a juggernaut roared past, headlights flashing and horns blasting. A few other cars swerved around them as they joined the lines of traffic heading back into town. The cars moved slowly, gradually grinding to a halt.
“DAMN IT!” cried James in frustration, slamming his hands on the headrest.
Morris pressed his horn firmly; beeping at the other cars that suddenly surrounded them, halting their progress. It was no good, the traffic going into Washington was at a standstill, they were stuck.
Suddenly the car’s interior phone began to ring. James snatched it up, pressing it against his ear. There was only static on the other end followed by several gun shots and a woman’s voice crying out. “Sydney!?” he shouted into the phone, “SYDNEY!?!?”
Sydney gasped in shock as the phone sailed out of her hands as her assailant made a grab at her. They struggled, the meta punching her across the face and again in the gut. Sydney fell to the ground once more, clutching her stomach with one hand while the other withdrew her gun.
She fired again, aiming at the meta’s head, he flinched several times, shaking his head dizzily, batting the bullets away like flies. Sydney’s gun clicked ineffectually as she continued to pull the trigger of the empty gun. She fumbled in her jacket for a spare clip, loading up and firing again.
Her assailant advanced slowly, his sheer bulk made it seem impossible for him to move any other way. His foot deliberately landed on the cellphone, crushing it beneath his weight. He lunged at her again, tossing her like a rag doll against the scaffolding works. Her head hit the hollow metal hard and she groaned drowsily as her neural implant worked overtime to compensate for the thrashing she was receiving.
She forced herself to get to her feet again, grabbing a loose piece of scaffolding from the floor and swung it around to smash against the meta’s head. While he faltered, she ran at him, digging the pipe down in the ground and using it to swing from as she aimed both of her feet at him, knocking him to the ground.
The meta struggled to turn himself upright, his huge hands clawing at the concrete floor to find something to aid his task. Meanwhile Sydney took the opportunity to observe him more closely; his yellow eyes glowed brightly against his black skin as he watched her in return. Steadily she raised the scaffold pipe and drove it down into to whatever passed for his flesh, aiming over where she hoped his heart lay. It was tough, like trying to burrow into solid stone but she raised the pipe again and drove it down with all her strength.
The meta uttered a deep cry and a little of what looked like blood, rose to the surface, spilling out onto the ground. The next time Sydney brought her weapon down he grabbed it in his great paw of a hand, ripping it from her and using it to right himself up. In one swift motion he swung the pipe at Sydney, hitting her across the back of the shoulders and to the ground. Throwing the weapon to one side, the meta walked over to where she lay and punched her in the back.
Sydney uttered a muffled “UMPH!” as she slumped completely to the floor, feeling the cold tarmac against her cheek. She could hear her attacker walking around her, his shoes scuffling across the ground. Then he picked her up by her shirt and dragged her body over to the car where he threw her down on the hood. Sydney groaned, feeling blood fill her mouth. She spat it out, squinting up at her assailant.
“Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he intoned abruptly, removing a pistol from under his coat. It wasn’t his preferred method of execution but it’s what his client wanted, for some reason he’d thought it was fitting.
Sydney eyed the desert eagle pistol warily; this man’s style wasn’t guns she could tell straight away from the way in which he held it. Moreover it wasn’t the type of gun your standard hitman carried so it made her all the more curious. Who would go to such lengths to have her killed in this way?
The answer was already in her mind but she had to know. “Just tell me, who sent you?”
The man sighed. He hated talking, still he felt bound to honour her last request, especially since she had fought so valiantly. “Ethan Kale.”
Sydney nodded in understanding. It was as she had thought. So this was it. He’d won, maybe not by his own hand but by proxy nonetheless. She stared her assassin in the eye as he pressed the barrel of the gun to the middle of her forehead.
She closed her eyed slowly, anticipating death, welcoming it in some respect, now she could rest and be at peace – something she had yet to find in the real world. She heard the familiar click as the assassin pulled back the trigger and the bullet was loaded into the chamber…
The line at the other end went dead and James put the phone down in despair. She was in trouble, serious trouble, could already be dead. He felt his hands tremble at that thought, he snatched up the phone again, removing a small business card from his pocket. He didn’t think he’d ever have to call this number…
“Hello?” he knew straight away that it was a direct line to Observer that he’d been given. “I’m sure you know who this is,” he seemed to know everything after all, “I need your help, Sydney’s in danger. I can give you a location but I need someone there now! If you want my assistance in the future-”
“Mr Gates,” the electronic voice that sounded back was slick with pleasure, “please do not worry, I have a dispatch on their way already. Sydney will make contact with you in the next few days. In the meantime don’t believe anything you see on the news, and stay alert for my communication. I will inform you as to her present condition as soon as I am able.”
The phone line went dead and James was left staring at the silent handset, hoping that whatever Observer had planned it would reach Sydney in time.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Friday, 21 November 2003 - 2:55pm
“Are you trying to get us killed?” Chimera yelled at the top of his lungs, Fixer making the second sharpest turn he had ever experienced in his life – and had just made the sharpest a block ago. `Need for speed` did not begin to describe the man’s penchant for fast driving.
“Look, I’m not the one who was reading the map,” Fixer snapped back, making yet another sharp turn. As he pushed his way out of the traffic, he looked down at the open ‘laptop’ which displayed the map of the city and the destination. *Never trust a Valhalla preppie to do an adult’s job.*
When he caught sight of the pair, he knew that they were just in time as the large figure threw the woman to the ground.
“You didn’t tell me that was the target!” snapped Chimera, drawing his pistol.
Fixer didn’t respond right away, instead making a final turn to leave his door exposed to the large black figure. He opened the door, firing three rounds quickly and seeing the hitman turn to him in annoyance. *Oh shit.* “You get her, I’ll take care of the Armadillo.”
Sydney's eyes were still closed, waiting. She heard a succession of gun shots fired and jumped, expecting pain and... and then what ever happened when a person died. When she felt the pressure of the gun on her forehead disappear she opened her eyes, seeing a car screech to a halt and two men begin to climb out.
Her attacker had turned around, an annoyed snarl cracking his face as the bullets bounced from his skin. *Oh great!* thought Sydney, *what now?*
Fixer and Chimera started towards the meta at the same time, wildly shooting at him with their pistols. All this seemed to do however was to have the desired effect of pissing him off. But it was a piss off that was, in theory, to serve them well. At least until he side-stepped and with one smooth motion, shot out his arm to catch Chimera in a clothesline, sending him sprawling at the foot of the car where Sydney still lay on the hood.
The meta next turned his attention to Fixer, about to fire when his precognition kicked in. He dove towards the ground so that all the meta managed to hit was air. Over by the car, Chimera managed to get himself to his feet. The meta grinned gleefully; it looked like he would get a decent skirmish out of this fight after all.
Sydney moaned, climbing from the hood of the car and wiping the blood away from her mouth. Her entire body was aching slightly from the fight, and she was trembling a little from the shock of nearly being killed. Her senses reeled as she recognised her two 'rescuers' The Fixer and the other guy... her was vaguely familiar too. She stumbled as she began to regain her balance, tucking her gun again more firmly in the back of her waistband. *Well it's no use against this guy* she thought with dismay, she just hoped the other two had brought something that packed more of a punch.
"He's bullet-proof!" she choked out, feeling her throat sore and dry, tasting her own blood as she swallowed.
"I can see that just fine!" Fixer snapped, before both seeing and feeling his head wrap around. The worst part of being precognitive, he decided, was seeing the pavement twice when you kissed it. Chimera took Sydney by the shoulders, trying to lead her away. As the meta turned back on them, Fixer reached into waist of his pants for the black market weapon. He had seen them used once before, so was glad when they could procure a few of them after they appeared.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you to be nice to women?" he said, bringing the weapon to bear on the meta. The meta moved with a surprising amount of speed, sending his arm back when he pulled the trigger. A beam of energy shot out towards the meta’s abandoned vehicle, cutting a steady line through the car’s metal work.
Sydney pulled free from Chimera long enough to watch The Fixer's demonstration of his new toy. "Woah," she mouthed in stunned silence as the laser sizzled a ragged path through the side of the car.
"Get her inside the car. Now!" ordered Fixer to Chimera as he saw him standing idly by. Chimera snapped to attention and grabbed Sydney by the arm and manhandled her towards the waiting backseat.
The meta was distracted momentarily by the escape which was now underway. These other two pests he could deal with when he wanted, but the woman could not be allowed to escape. Another fierce blow sent Fixer to the ground, taking aim with his gun at Sydney one final time.
Fixer rolled on the ground, bringing the laser around and fired again. This time his aim was not off. Taking a moment to catch his breath before getting up, he watched as Chimera forced Sydney into the back seat.
"You're driving," he told Chimera, pushing the agent over so that he could keep a weapon trained on Sydney as he turned back to her. He smiled, more than a little amused at the turn of events. "Sorry that your boyfriend couldn't return the favour of saving you this time. Looks like you'll have to settle for us instead."
Sydney watched the man carefully as he kept his gun trained on her. As she went to rub her neck he raised it again. "Just try to keep your hands where I can see them," he said with a small amount of pleasure at having her under his arrest.
In response Sydney held her hands up in a mock gesture of surrender before placing them visibly on her knees. The torn skirt was barely holding together and her shirt was ripped and bloody, not to mention the fact that she'd almost broken her ankle several times in those damn shoes! "Nice to meet you again I'm sure," she said sweetly as the car sped onwards, "so what now? Did you save my life just to kill me here?"
"While I have to admit that a rematch would give me a certain measure of satisfaction," Fixer said, wondering if she had really been silly enough to fight in heels. Why did women always love trying to do that? "However, you're in luck. My orders were to save you and take you to a secure location."
"A 'secure' location? How nice." Sydney glanced at the interior of the car, she could probably make a break for the door but then what? Throwing herself from a moving vehicle didn't exactly seem like the most sensible escape plan right now, besides, despite the gun still trained on her she didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. It might just be more prudent to wait this out and see what they wanted from her.
She relaxed a little, leaning back into the leather seat, crossing her long legs deliberately. She noticed him watching her carefully, his eyes obviously amused at her dramatically different appearance. She smiled, “By the way, I was meaning to ask what happened to your Kitty friend? Did someone take her to the vet to get her fixed?”
Fixer's smile instantly disappeared, staring daggers into Syd. That was one line that was guaranteed to piss him off. "You'd better be glad she isn’t here to hear you say that. Probably use you to sharpen her claws." Ok, so it was an overstatement but he couldn't let Lash go undefended. "And just what happened to your red hero? Finally decide that he was going to date a woman?"
“Touché,” replied Sydney not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he might had touched a sore spot. "How would I know? I'm not the dating sort Mr Fixer." She smiled again, "You know, with a name like yours you should have your own cable show, DIY maintenance maybe. Then you could have the chance of doing something for a living that you're actually good at."
"I seem to recall saving your ass just fine then," he said, wishing that he really did have the chance to go one-on-one with her. He could tell that despite what happened it would be a good fight, and he was really starting to long for one of those after the chaos in the conference. The smile came back. "Then again, I suppose you would be doing one on auto repair work after how interested you seemed to be in that car's hood."
Sydney smiled cordially, crossing he legs again and allowing the torn fabric of her skirt to slip aside to reveal more of her thigh. She caught his distracted gaze and had to hold back a laugh at how easily he was swayed, even for a man of his obvious experience. "Yes you saved my ass," she said with a smirk, "does this mean I owe you one?"
Chimera rolled his eyes at the banter passing between the two of them. "Jesus, you two are worse than Fenris and Cerberus. Can I just shoot one of you now and get some peace?"
Sydney ignored Chimera’s comment, never removing her gaze from the bald headed man, "If you want something interesting to talk about, why don't you tell me what's going on Fixer?”
"I think that it's best if my employer explained that," he said softly. "Just sit back, and enjoy the-"
THUMP!
*Damn Chimera and his reckless driving!* He just had to hit something in the middle of the road! His error gave Sydney all the time she needed to make a move. Somehow she managed to keep her balance as the car lurched back and forth hitting the pot hole at high speed. As Fixer’s guard dropped, directed instead in anger at Chimera for his error, she levelled her fist at him and punched him squarely in the nose.
Fixer swore in anger, having not sensed her change in tact and the approach of her attack. It had all happened so fast and without thought that he was completely caught off guard.
"Keep driving!" he screamed when Chimera began to slow down. At the same time he made a grab for his gun as he dropped it on the floor, he and Sydney both scrambling to retrieve it.
Fueled by rage at nearly having had his nose broken, Fixer took the opportunity to throw his entire weight into the struggle. Sydney at first started to gain leverage over him, when Fixer brought his head forward hard to strike hers. Sydney's vision swam with the sudden movement putting her off guard. Fixer brought his head down into hers two more times in rapid succession, watching her slip into unconsciousness before holding his head.
*Ouch. That fucking hurt!* He held his head for several moments, until the pain subsided before removing Syd's weapon. "I can't believe how hard headed she was," he muttered. Chimera only silently wondered whether or not his was harder.
Awakenings
Friday, 21 November 2003 – 5:32pm
If there was one thing that Stanley Tucker couldn’t stand, it was the fact that they had to appropriate his set to hide in. The apartment was well furnished, but the last thing he wanted to have happen was the woman go berserk and wreck his work. Not after they spent over a month getting everything just so.
Still, he couldn’t help but admire how the woman looked, and wondered if she wouldn’t also work well for the part. As she lay on the couch beginning to stir, the room was silent except for Stanley speaking. Stan sat in a chair at the end of the room with a drink in his hand, while the Fixer and Chimera waited to see if they would have to stop her and Observer hung back.
“I’m telling you, it’s a simple thing really,” Stanley was saying. “You just don’t understand. Of course she was an Earthrage terrorist, and her cell mounted an attempt to rescue her as they always do when a cell is captured because of the close-knit nature of the members.”
Sydney started to stir some, beginning to stretch her arms as Chimera chimed in. “Wait a second, I thought you hated that terrorist line?”
“It’s overdone, but it’ll fall out of the public view quickly. Within a week they’ll have forgotten about this incident completely, and – you know what I need you to do for me?” Stanley turned to face Observer. “I need you to get in touch with our guy in Justice. Have him deny the rumours that Mr. Morgan is under investigation for complicity in the attack on the conference.”
Sydney could barely hear the talking above the hard thumping sound in her head. It felt like her skull were being ripped in two and she had to fight down the desire to throw up as she slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light that poured in. She moaned a little, turning her head slightly to see who had just spoken. She recognised The Fixer who was stood in a corner of the room and through her hazy senses she faintly recognised Chimera as one of Eric's old Valhalla cohorts. She groaned again, vaguely perceiving two other men also in the room as she tried to pull herself back into consciousness.
Stanley looked over at the form of the woman, as she moaned, suddenly remarking as an afterthought to Observer, “Remember. Deny it.” Then he turned his attention to the woman, walking over to try to examine her. “Ah Jesus, this isn’t good, not good at all. Will, get her some water.”
The Fixer stiffened some at the familiar address, not liking the thought of being referred to by something other than his codename. Plus there was the fact that he had fought Sydney before, had to knock her out – he knew she was strong. “I don’t think that’s-“
Stanley cut him off. “Look, I’m very busy here, ok? I have to run this show on a very tight schedule, so would you please get her a drink and not complain?” William sighed and went to get a bottle of water out of the fridge, as Stanley tried to take Syd by the arms and comfort her. “Hello. Can you hear me? Are you coherent? Is the Fixer an asshole? Just kidding,” with this last directed at William.
Sydney let the man help her as she gradually came to, feeling a little stronger now. She didn't know where she was but she didn't like how the situation felt. She knew Fixer and Chimera would be armed but the other two were an unknown quantity. Perhaps at full strength she could take them on, that's when her hand slowly went to check her waistband for her pistol. It was gone, as she had assumed it would be. *Still no harm in checking* she thought carefully, what she needed was a plan.
When Fixer came back with the bottle of water she saw her chance. As he held out the bottle to her she grabbed his arm, using his strength to pull her up from the couch while delivering a swift knee into the first man's groin that caused him to fold over on the floor in agony.
Fixer saw the attack coming a moment before it did. It provided him just enough time, despite the awkward positioning to get up a fist in time. Stanley doubled over in pain, swearing very un-producer like words. Despite her injuries, Sydney proved able to resist for a short while. Fixer managed to block two more punches before overextending himself, feeling a knee come up into his stomach.
Chimera was upon her before she could manage to get her bearings, he lunged at her, taking her down to the floor in a swift movement. They landed with a loud thud, Sydney's head hitting the floor sent her reeling once more and the room spun around wildly as she tried to regain her senses.
When Fixer regained his composure enough to pull out his pistol, he made it a point to aim it directly at the woman’s head. Observer watched the scene with a detached interest, cutting off Stanley before he could begin to rant. Sydney finally was unable to resist, as the AI watched her defiant expression.
“I’m very impressed, Ms. King,” he said steadily. “Your abilities are everything that your files seemed to indicate. However, if you would please calm down – I would hate to inform your friend Mr. Gates that you were injured during the rescue that he requested.”
Sydney slowly looked around at the four men; they were a real rag-tag group if ever she saw one. The first guy whom she'd kneed in the groin still groaned quietly though was trying to compose himself, pulling himself from the floor with the aid of a chair. She turned back to the man who had spoken to her, something was off about him but she couldn't tell what.
"James?" she queried with a slight raise of her eyebrow, "Why would James ask for your help?"
Stanley finally regained his composure enough to speak. “You ungrateful bitch,” he mumbled, raising his voice over the pain. “You… you don’t do that, ok. I’m the producer, without me you’re nobody. You’re a two-bit ecological terrorist who disappears into the system and is never heard from again!”
“That is no way to talk to our guest,” Observer cut in, giving a sinister smile to Sydney. “My apologies, but as regards your question James did a favour for me so in turn, I owe him. You may call me Observer, by the way.”
Sydney's face froze into a blank expression, Observer... that name sounded familiar. In the back of her mind she could faintly remember an e-mail after her last escape from Kale, a message warning her to stay underground. That had been from a mysterious person called Observer and now here he was stood in front of her as large as life.
"Observer huh?" she said thoughtfully, "well, I don't know what arrangement you have with James but I'm not a part of it. Why don't we start by you telling me what you want, and why you saw fit to have your lackeys bring me here."
“Oh, you are a part of it now. Simply by virtue of my agreeing to protect you.” Observer was about to give her advice to stay away from James, then decided against it. No doubt in his quickie profile of the woman, she would only regard such advice as more reason to contact him. This was a woman liable to prefer a direct approach. “As for what I want, it’s simple. The assassination of a minor Valhalla operative who is causing me some problems.”
"Oh really? Is that all?" Sydney smirked, shaking away Chimera's hold on her arm and offering a contemptuous glance towards Fixer who still had his gun traced on her. She sat down on the sofa, smoothing out her skirt with amusement. This was an absolute joke! This guy had brought her here just so he could hire her to go kill someone, and not just anyone but a Valhalla agent!
"Point one, I don't need protection, whether you agreed to or not; and point two, why on earth should I want to help you?"
“Because Ethan Kale has now twice made an attempt on your life, and only outside intervention has saved your life. Because you should realise the value of having a powerful friend who has twice now helped you against him.” Observer paused for a moment, watching as she smirked at him. “And because I have Avery Wyatt under my protection.”
Sydney's smile suddenly dropped at the mention of the man who had been her surrogate father for most of her life, the man she had left behind during her escape from the compound in Wyoming. How could it be true? How could this weasely little man even know him? "That's a bold statement," she said, trying to keep her cool even though her mind was racing with the prospect of perhaps seeing her father again, "but how am I to believe you, you could just be saying that so that I'll do as you say."
Observer motioned to Chimera and Fixer to back off, which they did reluctantly. He was sure that she could be controlled with this new piece of knowledge, at least for the time. His confidence should help to drive the point home, he thought. “Would you like me to put him on the phone for you or take you to him?”
Sydney suddenly rose to her feet, feeling her strength return in the face of confrontation, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but if you know me as well as you seem to think you do, you'd know it's not a good idea to provoke me. Dr. Wyatt is a close friend of mine, almost like family you might say... so if you are in contact with him, if so much as a hair on his head is harmed, I'll come for you." She took a step back, showing she was ready to co-operate. "Now take me to him."
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Friday, 21 November 2003 – 8:12pm
Twelve Oaks Laboratories – Just Outside Washington DC
Observer did not travel with Sydney to the lab, saying that his associate there would handle things there – he had some important things to take care of. Sydney did not seem happy about this, but seemed confident in her abilities to take care of Fixer and Chimera if the situation required it. As it was, she wanted – no, needed – to know if Observer had been telling the truth.
The ride took about 2 hours outside of DC to reach the lab facility. Sara was still amazed at Observer’s ability to get the facility completed so soon – a small group of houses in Southern Maryland, 3 to be precise, served as her lab. Avery Wyatt and the cybernetics occupied one; her Meta project was in another; and the third was living quarters.
Sara’s body sat outside on the porch of the house of Dr Wyatt, watching as the car pulled into the driveway. Fixer, Chimera, and Sydney all came out at the same time. She rose and carefully walked down the porch to greet the group. “You must be Sydney King,” Sara said to the woman who looked like what Fixer would call bad ass and wearing shades. “Observer sent word that you would be coming.”
Sydney nodded, removing her glasses as she approached the woman. She looked... familiar somehow, strange, like the way Observer had. There was a definite, well, aura she would have said had she believed in such things. Whatever it was it surrounded them, was woven into the flesh of their bodies like intricate coding. "And I'm here, so why don't we dispense with the pleasantries and get down to business."
Sydney had to admit to a certain amount of nervousness, a sensation that was terribly unfamiliar to her. That she could be reunited with the man that made her, shaped and transformed her into what she was today... she felt goosebumps prickle against the skin on her arms.
Sara sighed. Humans were usually a bit more sociable… then again, what reason did this woman have to be? She’d seen Observer with humans, so probably had just picked up her weakness and went straight to that. “Very well. Please, come with me.” She turned to walk into the house, leading Sydney inside to a sitting room on the inside. A man waited inside, sitting down in a chair and reading a book. “Dr Wyatt, your daughter to see you.”
Sydney's head snapped in the woman's direction at her words, she hadn't expected this, this complete stranger to know the full extent of their relationship. They weren't family, not really, though the closest thing to family they had and Sydney had always thought of Dr Wyatt as her creator, in essence, her father.
However, at seeing her father, sat in his chair reading as he always had done throughout her life, she forgot her concerns and moved to kneel by his side. "Father!"
Dr Wyatt looked up, placing his book down as the AI Sara entered the room, since being forced to join this project he had always hoped he would see Sydney again some day, now Observer and Sara had finally come good on their promises.
"Sydney!" he cried as she knelt at his side, "it's really you?" He lifted her face up towards his and inspected her carefully. She looked much the same as before, there was perhaps, a hint of sadness in her eyes yet it was accompanied by something else, a bright light of someone who is finally living life for themselves. He smiled, "dear Sydney... how long I've waited to see you..."
Sydney was so overjoyed she could barely speak, she felt tears at her eyes but blinked them back, she wasn't the type to start crying. She smiled up at him, looking into his eyes, old, tired eyes. He looked much more worn and aged since she had left him all those months ago. Her smile melted away to be replaced with a frown.
"You look so tired, have they been treating you well? My god, I can't believe that I'm seeing you I thought Ethan Kale had- what happened? How did you escape? How did these," she stole a sideways glance at the woman, "people get a hold of you? Who are they? What do they want?"
Sara found the reaction of the pair fascinating to say the least. Happiness and concern, it almost seemed as though Sydney had forgotten Observer’s personality. Which was a hard enough task to do in and of itself that she should really be quite impressed. “Well, most recently, the Dr helped with my leg,” Sara interjected getting their attention. “I know, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Sara started. “Observer arranged for his rescue as well, and the Fixer was responsible for carrying it out.”
Sydney looked up at the woman, quite unsure what to make of her explanation. "And why would they do that? Out of the badness of their hearts I suppose?"
Cynical but accurate, thought Sara. Everything had come down to power for Observer’s decisions. “You’re free to believe whatever you like about it, I suppose. You would probably figure that anything I said was a self-serving deception.” Isn’t that the way that humans tended to think? Especially around the two of them?
"And isn't it?" said Sydney rising to her feet defiantly, "isn't the whole reason you brought me here to prove that you had sufficient leverage to coerce me into doing what you want?"
Even though it was true, Sara could not help but feel hurt at this for some reason. *We are acting like humans again, aren’t we?* The whole process was starting to make her sick. “I couldn’t care less if you co-operate or not. The thing that interests me is getting back to my research.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow at this – in the short time he’d known Sara, he knew she was direct and driven to pursue knowledge, but she was not normally this short with someone.
"You might not care, but are you willing to carry out Observer's threats?" Sydney watched the woman closely, she appeared less arrogant and self-assured than her partner but still had that unmistakable air of frigidity about her. "You see," continued Sydney, "it doesn't really matter to me whether I do this or not. On a personal level you understand, one less Valhalla agent would make this world a much safer place but it is, of course, a great risk on my part. I could get killed."
“I understand that,” Sara said after considering her words carefully. She would not be the one to carry out any sort of threat that Observer made, that she knew pretty conclusively, which made the question could she stand aside? Still the woman was proving to be an example of his analysis.
“What you are expecting to hear now,” she began, “is a reiteration of threats, and an appeal to your self interest. Is it really necessary to go through all of that banter when we already know what we’re supposed to say to each other?” Sara really didn’t want to have to make any, and this qualified as an experiment for her. *Appeal to reason. That’s always the best course.*
"Of course not," said Sydney, she appreciated the woman's ability to cut to the chase if nothing else. "But I do need certain assurances. If the life of my father is your bargaining chip then I need to know that he is safe. Not just for my own peace of mind of course, but for yours too. I can be a very worthy ally, or a deadly enemy. I can only assume at which you would prefer."
“I will not permit Observer to do anything to him.” Sara knew that the words were not exactly the most enforceable edicts, as the other AI didn’t seem to really care about humans except to control them. But that would be enough to guarantee her father’s safety. She turned to Chimera and Fixer. “Leave us. NOW!” that last added at their hesitation.
Fixer opened his mouth to speak, then at her look decided to leave.
For a moment, Sara considered just telling Syd to overpower her and take her father and leave. Then she decided against it. *What are you doing?* Only she knew exactly what she was doing. Wyatt knew their secret; he would doubtless inform his daughter sooner or later. Therefore it made sense to send them out, for her own protection. “Tell me what I need to do earn your trust.”
Sydney laughed, a light, dismissive laugh that pierced the room. "Trust you? Your goons out there make a big show of rescuing me just to knock me unconscious and take me to a man who, for all his good intentions, threatens my father's life unless I consent to murder another. You want me to trust you? Not going to happen. The best you can hope for in this is my co-operation, that, your threats aside, I decide that your purpose, whatever it is, is compatible to my own. Or god help you lady, if you believe in such a being."
Sydney walked over to where Dr Wyatt stood and helped him to sit down again. He was tired and obviously over stressed. She wondered exactly what these people had had him doing for all this time. "Releasing my father might go some way to that happening, he's unwell, I can see it." She looked worriedly at the man's face; there was a time he seemed invincible but that time was long since past. "Or maybe you can tell me what this man whom you so desperately want dead has done to deserve it.”
Rationality said to Sara that she deserved all of the distrust which Sydney was heaping her way. It still did not mean that she was particularly fond of this distrust. And she was right about her father’s health beginning to deteriorate. Though the mention of god – as of yet, Sara had found no need of that particular hypothesis.
“Unfortunately Observer will not listen to me on letting him go. There are things that Dr Wyatt knows that makes Observer want to keep a tight leash on him.”
Sara noticed Sydney’s eyebrow raise at that, and Wyatt looked worriedly at her. “He might tell you the reason if you ask him,” she said in her flat voice. “For what he did, I have been performing research into the origin and duplication of the powers of Meta Humans. This man stole part of an experiment that I was working on. One which, if successful, could give us a better idea of role that biology plays in development of metahuman powers-“
“I don’t think she needs a rundown of the experiment,” Wyatt reminded her kindly.
Suddenly she stopped, realised that she had been getting carried away. Even though the experiment could have confirmed a radical theory about the expression of abilities. “He knew about the last shipment to here, and presumably knows about the lab. We expect him to make an attempt to break into this place itself.”
Sydney detected the note of animosity in Sara's voice as she talked about her partner Observer. It sounded like there may be more discord than she was letting on. Sydney kept that thought to herself however; it might be a way to work things to her advantage in the future. They might be willing to keep her father safe but while ever he remained in their clutches he would be at risk, and a way for them to force her to work for them. Whatever happened, that couldn't be allowed to happen.
"Fine," she said after a slight pause, why should she have any qualms about killing a Valhalla agent when they gladly hunted and killed their own? "I'll get rid of this agent for you, this time. After that we renegotiate our terms."
Sara considered Sydney carefully, running what she knew of the woman from her various sources through her analysis unit. The knowledge of psychology gave her the one vital bit of knowledge she needed: a father-daughter type bond tended to be very strong. She would want to protect him at all costs. Observer would know this, and attempt to exploit it. He had done so before.
She could not allow that to happen again.
But then… she had to do something to defend herself. If Observer knew she was undermining him, things would not go well. But for now at least she could do this. A thought began to formulate. *I’m not really considering risking destroying my lab, am I?* Frustration in her logic circuits showed through the connection to her body as she sent her fist crashing onto the table.
Sydney was quite shocked by the woman's actions, though she never showed it in her calm, outward posture. The woman just didn't seem capable of such irrational outbursts and she seriously wondered if she might be a bit mentally unstable. "That was impressive for a five year old who can't get it's own way," she commented caustically, "but perhaps you'd like to explain a little further?"
Wyatt smiled, fascinated and a little awed by what he was watching. He could not suppress a small laugh, before apologising. “Remarkable. I never would have thought it possible. You are beginning to develop an emotional capacity.”
Sara turned to him, expecting that he would say something like that but not surprised. Though if Sydney knew… immediately, a decision was made. Leverage. It all came down to leverage. Sydney could give her leverage against Observer.
An ally who knew their secret. All she needed to do was find a way to make sure that Observer could not identify who the source was should an investigation start. “A basic amount of emotional simulation was included to allow for more effective interface with humans.”
“And now that has evolved into genuine emotion, it would seem.”
“I was designed purely for scientific research,” she said softly, as though afraid to be overheard. “Not to make threats or to make these kinds of decisions. Or to have any more than the most basic emotional structure.” And for the first time, her formidable analysis unit wasn’t letting her reach a conclusion.
"How touching," said Sydney, not quite sure what the two were talking about, she was a woman of practical application and usually left the science talk to the egg-heads in the lab. "Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?" She turned to Sara, "Who... what are you?" Then she turned to Dr Wyatt, "some kind of cybernetic matrix enhanced-"
Dr. Wyatt turned to Sara for the green light before interrupting, "Artificial Intelligence."
“Technically a modular artificial intelligence in which the central unit is capable of working with various modules,” Sara started to explain. This seemed to be the best way to go about it. “My central core is the same basic programming as Observer’s with some modifications. Your father assisted in the construction of various artificial bodies, interfaced with by virtue of a wireless connection. Both of our personality units presently reside in mainframe computer systems, owned either by Zyrcom or Benson Pharmaceuticals.” And with that, the bag was out of the cat – or did the human saying go the other way? *Either way, I may now have my leverage.*
Sydney raised an eyebrow in confusion, ok so Artificial Intelligence she could understand but a module wireless interface whatsit? *I guess it doesn't matter what she means is she isn't entirely human. Well join the club!*
She turned to Dr Wyatt suddenly in realisation, *that's why they looked so familiar, Wyatt had obviously modelled their features on his own 'children' Observer most definitely had Ford's eyes, not to mention Cal's mouth. While Sara distinctly had her lips... *eugh, what a thought!*
"So what does this mean?" she asked, turning back to Sara, slightly unnerved by the fact that she was looking into the same dark almost black eyes as her long deceased 'sister' Daytona.
“It means that I’m not supposed to exist,” Sara spat out. She didn’t seem quite as fast on the uptake as Mel had. Then again, Mel was an investor who had reason to research Zyrcom and so would have had little or no choice to know about Morgan’s infamous confrontation with WAIT.
“And before you ask why, I will tell you. It’s because a bunch of frightened little men decided that Observer’s programming made him potentially too a powerful. That the modular AI is a threat to the public’s safety, regardless of the fact that we are only as much of a threat as our programming allows. And I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation,” she trailed off, reanalysing everything that she said. She thought of the best way to put it, calming down.
How would Observer put it? It was ironic that she had consider his perspective to frame this. “Observer’s existence continues in defiance of WAIT, and nobody bothered asking permission to create me. They would probably have me deleted just to be on the ‘safe’ side.”
"How sad," said Sydney looking a bit bemused, that wasn't really what she had meant in her question but it was certainly interesting. "I know what it's like when the powers that be decide you're 'too dangerous to live'," she stole a glance at Dr Wyatt who buried his head in his hands. "Still, what I really wanted to know was how this relates to the reason why I am here. That being, to become your personal assassin."
“Observer’s assassin,” she corrected, considering her carefully. Sara suddenly made another decision. He couldn’t do it. “And you wondered about the problem earlier. Observer is acting human in his quest for power. I can’t allow him to continue with that, but I’m also not about to destroy myself.”
Sara looked Sydney in the eyes as calculations moved through her unit. It was the only way. She just needed to plan. “It all comes down to leverage with him. Are you willing to help me acquire some?”
Sydney raised a cynical eyebrow, she didn't trust most humans but she was beginning to think that machines weren't any better. Here this 'woman' was complaining that her cohort was acting human while displaying the most humanic trait of all. Deception. Not only that but betrayal to boot! It was all she could do not to laugh.
"Leverage? You want me to help you get leverage?" Sydney rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Look lady- whatever you are, I don't even want to be here. You know where I'm staying, should be staying tonight? The Ritz, they have the most heavenly canapés not to mention chocolate cake. Ever tried chocolate cake? I guess not huh? And then there are bars... with dancing and music and bright lights that hurt your eyes!"
She suddenly noticed Wyatt's face, he'd stopped holding his head in despair and started looking at her agog. *Could it be that my Sydney has learnt what it is to be free? To make choices, to live?* he wondered, it was more than he could have ever hoped for her.
Sydney grimaced a little, "What I mean is, I was doing fine. Just peachy. And I've met people, good honest people with values and thoughts and morals who want to make the world a better place and then here you are with your jumped up conspiracies and desperate attempts to grab power. You want me to help you? Forget it, I'll take the deal I already have, it might suck majorly and true there is a lot more blood involved. But I'd rather work for someone who I know straight up is a power hungry megalomaniac than some jumped up calculator who pretends like she's got all the answers."
She looked away in disgust; "in any of your research did you ever hear that absolute power corrupts absolutely?"
Sara realised that she did not understand about half the references that she was making, and knew that ‘morality’ was one thing that she had never seriously researched. Ethics didn’t come up much in the journals that she had to access for her research. And truth be told she didn’t know she would get the leverage against Observer.
But still – what was that feeling? She couldn’t have articulated if she tried, like Sydney had dropped acid on part of her processor. And now all she wanted to do was cover it up and hide the blemish. “No,” she confessed. Though ‘honest people’ – did such a thing exist?
“And I don’t have all the answers,” Sara protested meekly. “All I know is my frame of reference. I am designed for science, to advance knowledge. And the single-minded pursuit of power – the Bavarian Illuminati was never meant for what he wants. Enlightened self-government. Guiding the masses to the point where they are capable of that.
“Forget it,” Sara finally said, feeling the frustration again. “Just forget I said anything. Call it another threat to eliminate a family to gain co-operation. I’ll find a way to get you ‘out’ if you want it. That at least I can do. I’ll just find my own way.” Though that was one thing she had uncovered in the past few days. Whatever Observer thought Weishaupt wanted, he was wrong in that respect. Weishaupt didn’t want autocracy.
Sydney snorted in amusement, "Wow, are you sure you aren't human because that is one BAD case of PMT you're harbouring there. Either that or you're the most pissy calculator I've ever come into contact with."
Dr Wyatt stood up, putting an hand on Sydney's arm. "That's enough, don't make fun of the AI Sydney." He frowned, even as a child she was the one who would make the others cry with a biting word or harsh glare. A part of him wanted her to fall in love, feel what it was like to yearn for someone who didn't want her in return. That'd soften up that harsh exterior.
"Whatever," said Sydney nonchalantly, "just give me a gun and tell me what you want me to do."
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Saturday, 22 November 2003 – 11:35pm
The Lounge
Sara found herself more confused than she had been before.
Speaking with Ela and Mel had convinced her of one thing upon later reflection: she needed more direct contact with humans. Especially if she and Observer were to try to govern them, but above all, to finally test Observer’s account of human nature. Athela at the very least hardly seemed to fit, being far too meek. But was she the exception, the rule, or just part of a normal spectrum which humans fell into?
She made it a point before all hell broke loose as the humans said to speak with William about it. He’d seemed surprised but happy to talk to her about it, relieved he said to take a break from the stress of this conference. He’d had a number of recommendations, then decided to go ahead and start on her own without his help.
The result was she found herself going to The Lounge and looking slightly out of place in her more casual suit. She had discovered the place through a net search, then decided that this seemed to be the best prospect to explore humanity.
William’s suggestion had been simple: go to a place where people gathered and usually talked with strangers. A club like this was one such place, and it did make sense. With the result that she found herself walking into the club and sitting down, as the big band played. An older gentleman stood behind the mic singing.
*Maybe I should have waited for William* she thought to herself, almost turning around and heading back out. But that would probably bring more attention to herself than she wanted to, she wanted to interact with the humans naturally. She moved through the crowd, trying to find a place to sit and managed to see an open spot over near the bar. “Get you anything?” the bartender asked.
“No, thank you, I’m ok,” was her reply, what she found to be a standard all purpose refusal for a drink. The bartender shook his head as she turned to survey the place as she listened to the band.
Sara’s first instinct was to analyse the song and the music, looking at the structure to it. She could appreciate the structure, even if she didn’t understand the humans who were up and dancing. Which was when she noticed a few guys over at another table looking in her direction. *Is there a reason they’re looking at and away from me? Can’t they make up their minds?*
The instrumental section to the song started, and Sara decided to move. A better vantage point, the music fascinated her. Most of the people seemed to be either moving around and talking to others, or to have broken down into small groups – usually 2 people – sitting around, talking to each other. By the time she sat down again, Sara heard the singer continue.
With no small amount of curiosity, she listened as the music stopped and the humans began to clap. “Thank you, thank you,” the man at the microphone said, when everyone started to wind down. “We’re especially glad to have you all able to make the scene, especially with the way things have gone recently. But hey, the government assures us that everything will be copasetic very soon, and we know how well politicians keep their promises.”
Some laughter followed, before he finished up another 2 songs. Sara watched the end of the act with a growing level of fascination as he went through them well before taking a final bow and getting off the stage. He went almost straight to the bar, making his way through a couple of fans she noticed.
Sara continued to observer the humans, when finally a man came up to her. She was confused at first by what he was saying, and he seemed to grow annoyed at her. The conversation did not go well, with him accusing her of not having a clue, when the man who was singing made his way over. “Hey, pally, no need to get upset. The lady just ain’t interested is all.”
The man turned on him, almost growling, “You stay out of this…” before trailing off in surprise as he realised just who was telling him off.
“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Vic Marenti said, tossing a glance towards the woman who seemed to be watching the exchange with more curiosity than anything else. The other man stammered out an apology before heading off, though not before throwing her a mean look.
Vic shook his head at that, turning to the woman apologetically. “I’m terribly sorry about that,” he said, trying to put the woman at ease. She seemed a bit stiff he thought, and got the feeling that she was more curious than anything else. An outsider, someone who wasn’t used to the way things worked. “If there is anything at all I can do to make it up to you, please, let me know.” She looked like she needed someone to talk to, like she was trying to figure something out about this strange group we called ‘human.’
Sara blinked once as she thought about this. It was a possible opportunity, she realised. One to talk with a human, try to work out something more. “If you don’t mind, I would just like to talk.”
Vic smiled and nodded, putting his scotch down and sliding into the booth along with her. “Whatever you say,” he considered the woman carefully. Blue blazer and slacks, grey shirt… it made her look woefully underdressed next to his look, but there really was nothing like a tuxedo to make you feel like a million bucks. “Please, before you say anything, just call me Vic. What’s your name?”
“Sara,” she said with a bit of confusion. Just call me Vic? Of course, it made sense that it he was the singer people were probably more formal with him. Or maybe it was one of those ‘shortened names’ that people went by. “So, Vic, out of curiosity – why did you tell that man to go away?”
Vic looked at her in surprise. “You weren’t interested in him at all, right?” Sara nodded to that. Vic shook his head in confusion, wondering how anyone could ask why someone would want to offer help in that. “Jeez. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“So, what, that means you aren’t offering what he ways?”
Vic’s expression went from accused to completely and totally surprised to hear that question. He knew that he had a reputation, but still… she had to be in her 20s, and there were other considerations. “I hate to break it to you, lady, but I’m circled.”
“Circled?”
Vic was used to having to explain what he meant sometimes. It came with the image of the older style guy, that you spoke the lingo. “Yeah, you know, hitched.”
Sara carefully examined him. “You don’t appear to be connected to anything.”
Vic laughed for a moment at the dead serious delivery, thinking that the woman would be the perfect stand-up comic. Then he noticed that she wasn’t laughing. She was serious about that. *What is she? A mechanical broad?* “No, no, hitched, tied the knot. Married.”
Vic relaxed some as comprehension dawned on her. *So many different ways to say the same thing. Can’t they pick one and stick with it?* she thought. Which made her wonder even more. “But there was nothing in it for you?”
“Talk about your cynics,” Vic mumbled, holding up his hands in surrender as Sara moved to say something. “No, nothing at all. Just seemed like a good idea at the time, you know? Saw something that could be done to help, so I did it. No expectation of reward, no nothing. That so hard to believe?” In a way, he could understand the temptation to answer yes to that question.
“Don’t answer that,” he suddenly cut in, when it hit him. It was one of those intuitive flashes. She really didn’t know – the woman may speak the language, but she doesn’t know it. That much was obvious. “You’re not from around here, huh?”
“Not exactly, no.” She considered him carefully. He didn’t seem to fit the general mold at all, in fact he gave every appearance of being almost the exact opposite of the profile. But unlike Athela who was rather subdued, Vic still had a confidence about him.
Vic smiled at that. “It’s not very surprising, though you do seem nice enough.” Considering her carefully, he took another sip of his drink before swallowing deeply. “So, Sara, where do you hail from?”
Sara stumbled as she went to answer the question. It was a question she had not considered how to answer. Humans had a habit it seemed of innocently asking the most difficult of questions. “England,” she lied, remembering a remark Will made long ago about her accent.
Nodding, Vic thought that sounded right but might still be wrong. Putting the nagging thoughts and wonder out of his mind, he went on. At least she sounded like she could be from there, so long as she didn’t keep up the problem. “Well then, you wanted to talk for a bit… what about? I don’t imagine you dropped in here just to check out my pipes.”
*Pipes?* Sara thought in confusion again, realising that this must refer to another slang term that she did not know. But the main debate was where to begin, there seemed to be so much that could be asked about when dealing with a species that loved to contradict itself. “I just don’t understand why some people act the way they do.”
“Well, you know the way people are,” Vic started, thinking that she might have been referring to the man who was there earlier. “You got your mix – the nice guys, the jerks, your ambitious pricks, idealistic saps. Most people though, think they just do what makes them happy.”
Whatever makes them happy? That thought had never once made it into Observer’s analysis. “What makes you think that?”
“Just looking at the way we are, doll. Most of the people that I’ve met in my life, they want a few things. Security, love, money – but what they really want is a good time while getting it.” Vic wasn’t sure if he could think of any better way to put what he saw, he thought.
Sara gave Vic a questioning look at that. It was certainly a view that was completely different from the one that she had provisionally accepted. “So that’s people’s main motivation? Fun?”
“Well that is oversimplifying it a bit, I mean there are a lot of different things that cane motivate people.” Vic smiled, thinking that his first assessment was right. She definitely had to be very curious. “You know, you might want to be careful who you have these kinds of conversations with. Me, I mean hey, whatever makes ya happy, but some others aren’t quite so understanding.”
She had to admit that it was making more sense than anything else she had heard. The event with Sydney came to mind the night before, and her arguments. And I've met people, good honest people with values and thoughts and morals who want to make the world a better place and then here you are with your jumped up conspiracies and desperate attempts to grab power. That was the was it was supposed to work with them, wasn’t it? Power? Not ‘having fun’?
But then that sounded like what Sydney had wanted to enjoy. The good, pleasurable things of life. Which returned her to the dilemma that she was now facing, and extrapolating actions that Sydney was likely to take, what she might conclude in a similar position. “I’m sorry, what?” she said, noticing that Vic had said something.
“I was asking if something’s wrong,” his soft voice returned. “You seemed a little distracted about something.”
“No, nothing,” was her immiedate reply. Then she reconsidered. Vic seemed like he might be one of those ‘good’ people Sydney talked about. So maybe… “Alright. What do you do when faced with a moral dilemma?”
Vic took another drink as a way to buy a moment to think of the right way to phrase it. She just had all the ‘easy’ questions for him tonight, didn’t she? “Well, generally you just listen to your conscience and see what it tells you. That little Jiminy Cricket tends to know what he’s talking about.” At her questioned look, he suddenly stopped in surprise. “You’re not going to ask who that is, are you? Everyone knows Jiminy Cricket.”
“Of course not,” was her slow reply. How could she? After all, everyone know Jiminy Cricket. Who was Jiminy Cricket? “And if you don’t know where it’s pulling you?” She wasn’t even sure she had what they would properly term a ‘conscience’ but she did have what were properly called ethical subroutines. Maybe that’s what he meant.
“You just have to make a choice, Sara babe. Simply because if you don’t, when the situation comes to a head, you end up looking like a square.”
Sara couldn’t figure out exactly what a geometric figure had to do with this, but figured that it was both slang and something that one did not want to be. The information was assimilated. “I think I’ll do that. Thank you, Vic.”
Vic smiled broadly as the two of them stood up. “Anytime, my dear,” he kissed the back of her hand with a flourish, before making a broad gesture with his arms. “Please, feel free to stop by if you feel the need to talk again. A lovely lady is always welcome where I’m playing.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Saturday, 22 November 2003 – 11:10pm
Twelve Oaks Laboratories – Just Outside Washington DC
After his successful raid of Sara’s shipment, Miranda Shaw had informed him that they were lacking certain research to fully utilize what he had stolen. Fortunately however, Valhalla discovered where they could find the missing link.
*These are the labs?* Eric thought, somewhat puzzled. The sight of the three Maryland houses was not what one expected when conjuring up the image of a secret research facility. *
The agent reached into the pocket of his black outfit and retracted a small mechanical device. Even though the labs looked like houses, he doubted they would be wired up with an advanced security system. “Ahhh good ol’ EMP shockwave,” he said aloud as he placed the object on the ground allowing it to charge up. Once the device was active, all the electronics within a two-mile radius would be shut down temporarily, giving Eric enough time to slip in and out.
WHZZZZZZZZZ
The loud buzzing was his signal. From that moment, he had about twenty minutes before the security would turn back on. *Plenty of time.*
Eric pulled on his black mask, leaving only his eyes uncovered, and made his way stealthily to the side of the house. *God, I feel like a common burglar*
With a wave of his hand, the locks on the closest windows unhitched, and the glass slid open, allowing enough room for him to slip inside the building. Eric found himself in a small bathroom, its white tiled decor, nothing out of the ordinary for a country home. *I hope this is the right house*
Quietly opening the door, he entered into what seemed to be a living room. A quick scan confirmed he was alone except for –
“Hey, who the hell are y..” the guard’s words were cut short as Eric’s fist slammed into his face, knocking him out on contact. “Sorry buddy,” he whispered as he leaned over the man, and searched his body till he found the security pass”. *If movies have taught me anything, the secret lab has got to be in the basement*
Sydney waited downstairs in the basement. It had been Sara's theory that the mysterious Valhalla agent would need further information aside from that which he had stolen already and so would eventually track down the house in search of it.
Sara and her other employees had spent the whole day emptying the house of all the research material in preparation. The entire premises had been evacuated except for a few guards to keep up the pretence of a working facility. Whoever this poor bastard was, he'd be walking blindly into a trap.
As the door began to open she slipped from view and withdrew her weapons in preparation for what was to come.
With the swipe of the security card, the large door leading into the basement opened. *Man, this is easier than I thought* He had disposed of two more guards on his way down, and it seemed like that would be it for security.
Eric stepped into the badly lit room of the basement. Finally the surroundings looked more appropriate. The white room was extremely large, with computer facilities lining the walls. *Ok, now to find those test tubes*
He hadn’t even been in the room for 15 seconds when he realized something wasn’t right. His psychic mind picked up another’s thoughts, but it was too late.
“Shit!”
Lucky to react in time, the bullet that had been aimed to kill him only grazed his right arm, drawing a thing line of blood. He drew his pistol in retaliation, but the figure in the shadows was too quick, and another bullet knocked the gun from his hand.
Sydney emerged from the darkness, her guns drawn and traced on her victim. It had been a long time since she'd carried out a straight assassination but she found herself easily slip back into that role. Her eyes scanned the stranger, his black suit bore the familiar V insignia that was Valhalla's.
"You shouldn't have come here tonight," she said regretfully, replacing one of the guns in its holder. She signalled for the man to turn around and he did so slowly. She held the remaining gun to the back of his head executioner style. "I'm sorry."
*A great, why’d it have to be a woman* he thought repentantly, as his eyes took in the form of the assassin. She was dressed in a tight camouflage outfit, with a mask similar to his own covering her face. *I hate hitting girls* Slowly, Eric knelt down on both knees, seemingly giving into the fate awaiting him.
However, when he felt the cold steel of the gun against the back of his head, he telekinetically blasted the weapon away. Before the woman knew what was going on, Eric somersaulted backwards, using the force of the roll to kick the would-be killer in the stomach.
A second later both combatants were on their feet, facing each other in their respective combat stances. “It’s me who’s sorry. I didn’t come here to hurt anyone, but if you give me no choice”.
Sydney gasped from the blow, finding it harder to breath through her mask. "Spare me the chit-chat. Let's get this over with.”
Despite his earlier attack she could sense his reluctance to fight her. That was just fine by her as she swung the first punch, catching him off guard and hitting him square in the jaw. While he was still reeling she jabbed again, delivering a powerful uppercut punch to his chin, followed by a firm kick in the chest. He stumbled back to gain some distance between them.
Sydney watched him carefully, cold, death in her eyes. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're one of those losers who can't hit a woman? What are Valhalla teaching you nowadays?"
There was something familiar about the woman, but Eric couldn’t put his finger on it. Her voice? It was muffled by the mask, so he couldn’t be sure? The way she fought? He couldn’t remember the last time he fought a girl, except for Calypso, and this woman was definitely not her. It didn’t matter, really, all he knew is he had to fight to survive this. And up to now, his opponent had the upper hand.
Eric didn’t bother responding, instead he leapt forward, slamming the woman against the wall. She went to fight back, but this time he was prepared. He dodged her attacked, and with his good arm, withdrew a knife from his belt. Blocking another hit, he pushed forward bringing the knife to her neck.
He could finish it there; just push a little harder and it would be over.
Eric looked her in the eyes. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t kill someone. The fight with Jenna had left him hollow and jaded, but even so, he knew he just couldn’t cross that line again.
Seeing the look in his eyes the woman knew what he was thinking, and in that moment of hesitation, regained control. Plunging forwards, her vicious headbutt stunned Eric, leaving her time to slam his head into one of the computers on the wall.
“AWW!” Eric couldn’t help crying out. The computer exploded right in his face, the fires not only catching on his mask, but also blinding him.
Eric fell back, as he struggled to rip off the mask. He managed to tear off the flaming cloth, but he still couldn’t see. His vision was blotchy and white. Now blinded, he stood no chance.
Sydney jumped back at the computer exploded, shielding her own eyes from the bright sparks that showered over her opponent. She heard him cry out in pain and prepared herself to finish him off as she removed her second gun from its holster and removed the safety catch. She turned to face the man, he was squinting now, having removed his mask which blazed steadily away on the floor.
Sydney walked over to him, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head back as she lined the barrel of her gun with his forehead. Suddenly she stopped in shock, letting go of her hold on him and pulling her own hood back from her face to get a better look. The man... it was...
"Eric?!" she called out, her voice a mixture of confusion and surprise.
His eyes searched trying to focus on the white blobbish outline of the person. She knew who he was, yet he still didn’t know her. But the voice, he did know her. It was so familiar, yet he still couldn’t make out who it belonged too. Perhaps having his head slammed into a computer had loosened a few bolts in his brain.
“Why aren’t you finishing me?” he asked, looking up weakly, as his left hand went to cover the wound where the bullet had skimmed him earlier.
Sydney was still reeling from the shock of it all. How could Eric be the secret Valhalla operative when he didn't work for them anymore? It didn't make any sense unless... the last time she'd seen him he'd been all confused, pondering the usefulness of his heroic existence and his stand against his former agency. Could it be that he had given up the fight and just returned to the fold?
After a while she knelt down by his side, taking his hand and pressing it against her face. "Eric it's me, Sydney," she said softly, "I'm, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you I- what are you doing here?"
“Sydney?” he brought his hand up softly, to touch her face. Eric breathed a sigh of relief when the woman’s identity finally seeped into his head. “And I was wondering why I was getting my ass kicked by a girl,” he said with a smile, trying to look in the direction her face would be. It then occurred to him how awkward this whole situation was. She didn’t know he had returned to Valhalla, and he had and he had no idea why she was protecting a Benson Pharmaceutical’s lab. “Well I was here to uhhh…” he paused not knowing how to explain it. “Syd, can I just say a lot has happened in the last 7 months”.
Sydney looked slightly amused; *you can say that again.* She felt... strange, being so close to Eric again after all this time, knowing how they had parted. His hand still gently touched her face, soft and sensitive, just like that night back in May. Finally she shrugged his hand free and rose to her feet, helping him up and to rest against one of the consoles.
“So you’ve decided to be bad huh? Not that you were exactly good the last time I met you… in every sense of the word I might add."
“It’s not as simple as it seems. It’s a really long story, and I don’t think here and now is the best place to tell it,” he said fidgeting nervously, when he realised he was still in a heap load of danger. “So what now Sydney? If I don’t get out of here now, it’s going to be too late for me. Are you going to stop me, or let me go?”
Sydney took a deep breath, she couldn't kill him now she knew it was Eric... could she? No. No, she couldn't. But then Observer did still have her father, despite Sara's flailing loyalty to him she might not be enough to secure his safety. No matter how intelligent she might seem it was obvious Observer was the one with the real power.
She felt torn. A complete strange was nothing to her but Eric... he was, well he was a friend she believed despite that one night they'd slept together. Her friends were in short supply, it wasn't often she met someone she felt such an affinity towards. But Wyatt was her father he'd raised her from a baby, taught her everything she knew... plus she'd already risked his life once, left him to Kale's mercy. He had survived that, but would he survive the wrath of Observer?
"Nothing ever is simple," she said finally, "but you're right, we should get out of here. It isn't safe."
Sydney took hold of Eric’s arm and led him back up the stairs and quickly out of the house. “I don’t suppose you have your trusty bike around here?”
“Its never too far,” he answered.
After telling her roughly the area he had left it, the two hurried off into the woods in search of the bike, hoping to make a clean get away. They had walked for a few minutes, Sydney leading Eric carefully through the undergrowth when he spoke again.
“And Sydney,” Eric said, still being guided by her, “what do you mean not good in every sense? I distinctly remember you saying it was a night of great sex”.
Sydney punched him on his wounded arm. “Shut up Eric,” she responded, glad that Eric couldn’t see the small smile that had crept on her face.
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Saturday, 22 November 2003 – 11:57pm
The Last Stop Motel – Just Outside Washington DC
Sydney kicked the door to the motel room in and helped Eric inside. He was still badly hurt from their fight, his eye sight still hadn't returned fully and she was beginning to get worried about a possible concussion. They had rode for almost an hour, putting as much distance as she could between themselves and the lab but now they needed to rest.
Eric's head wound had been bleeding badly and needed urgent medical attention, of that she was certain. She just wasn't sure how to go about it. A phone call, she was now inclined to believe, would be easily picked up by Observer through his access to the communications mainframe, in fact, after her talk with Sara, she was ready to believe that if anything went through the computer systems he would have access to it.
She looked around the dingy motel room. There was very little furniture, a table, some chairs, an ancient looking television set, a bed...
She led Eric over to the rickety looking thing and sat him down while she went on the scavenge, gathering everything together that might come in useful. She lay a stack of towels, soap, a half empty bottle of vodka, candles, and various other items in the middle of the bed and sat next to him.
"How are you doing?" she asked gently, conscious of being the cause of his injuries. "Any sight yet?"
“Well, I see the blobs in colour now,” he said half jokingly, trying to put Sydney at ease. He could tell she felt guilty for what she did, but it hadn’t been her fault – danger came with the job description.
He flinched slightly when she poured the Vodka on his head gash, trying to disinfect it as best she could. “So I find it hard to swallow that the talented Sydney King has become a security guard for Benson Pharmaceuticals. What exactly were you doing there?” Eric asked, breaking the silence.
Sydney looked thoughtful as she continued to clean up the nasty looking wound as best she could. "I didn't really have a choice," no that was wrong there was always a choice, even if the alternative wasn't particularly appealing.
"The people you were supposed to steal the cloning material from have my father, Dr Wyatt, the one who made us, me... they made it quite clear that his life was in danger if I didn't do as they wanted. And what they wanted was you dead." She looked up at Eric, taking in the smooth contours of his face and the paleness of his skin. His being unable to see properly gave her that luxury, to be able to see without being seen herself.
She soaked one of the towels in the vodka again and continued to clean away the blood, Eric wincing slightly as she did so. "So how about you? You're working for Valhalla again... I never, I mean why?"
Eric sighed. Up to this point, he never had to explain why he went back; he had been able to avoid thinking about it. But now, now that he actually had to tell Sydney, he couldn’t come up with any reason besides being a coward.
“It was just….easier. The minute I had left Valhalla, it was one bad turn after another. I tried to be a hero, but every time I went to help someone, I would just end up hurting them. After I had screwed things up between us, I almost got wasted by some assassin, and I guess that was it. I caved,” he finished thinking back to the night Culexes had came so close to ending his life.
"So you felt sorry for yourself?" Sydney felt angry, though part of that was misguided jealousy. Eric had the choice to go back, take the easy route, while for herself there was no turning back. Her previous life just didn't exist anymore.
As much as she valued her freedom it had come at a price and she still wasn't sure if it had been worth it. After all, like Eric she seemed to hurt as many people as she helped, and unlike him this was all new to her, she had never been given choices or a chance to think for herself, it's what made this life in the 'real world' so frustrating at times.
She sighed wearily. "I'm sorry Eric, I'm not exactly one to judge you, in fact I'm probably the last person alive who has that right. James is always telling me I should be more understanding, think before I speak..." her voice trailed off into silence.
"Look," she said finally, rising to her feet, "I need to get someone to check you over. I know someone who could help, get a doctor or something..." she picked up the telephone from the bedside table, deliberating the sagacity of what she was about to do. Observer might be listening in, or overhear something at any rate. Still, with how badly Eric was injured... it was a risk she would have to take.
“You’re right you know,” he interrupted her, before she could dial. “I was feeling sorry for myself, and I think I needed someone to finally just tell me it flat out,” he smiled towards the form he could tell was Sydney. “I guess I can always count on you to tell me how it is, no bullshit eh”.
Sydney smiled, holding the handset up to her ear. “No problems on that score believe me,” she said with a grin before turning away while she waited for James to pick up.
James had kept the phone lines free ever since he’d made the call to Observer. He’d received a short message on his server about her being delivered safely earlier that day but nothing since and his faith in Observer was such that he demanded more proof than a mere e-mail. When the phone rang he paused a moment, letting Jerry’s tracking devise kick in to trace the call, if this was Observer again he was going to find him whether he liked it or not.
The female voice on the other end almost made his heart do somersaults he was so relieved. “Sydney!” he began, feeling a flood of euphoria wash through him. “Thank-god you’re safe where are you-”
“There isn’t time to talk,” Syd explained flatly, “this line isn’t secure but I need your help… and a doctor. Can you meet me?”
James felt his previous elation slip away to be replaced by nervous anxiety. *She needed a doctor? Was she hurt? In pain? What was going on, and where was Observer?* “Sure Syd just tell me where.”
Sydney quickly gave him the address of the motel and hung up, returning to Eric. She only hoped that James could get there in time before Observer had the chance to check her call and trace it back. It might take him a while to do that depending on how much information he could process at anyone time which was something Sara had never mentioned, but even so, it would take at least an hour for anyone to reach them here.
She sat back on the bed next to Eric and took his hand so he could tell where she was. “It’s okay Eric, help is on its way.”
“Sydney, I know I’m probably not in the best shape to say this, but when I can see again, and my head doesn’t feel like there is a 10 inch spike sticking through it, I could help you rescue your friend Wyatt”.
"Shh, don’t worry about that now," said Sydney, brushing back his hair gently in an attempt to get a better look at the wound. If only she had more medical supplies, even a Band-Aid would help! "I'd say you should rest but I don't think that's a very good idea considering the circumstances." She looked at him closely, checking for signs of concussion. "I think maybe we should talk until help arrives, just to make sure you don't fall asleep on me."
“So Jenna’s alive,” he said bluntly.
Sydney practically choked in surprise.
“Well I figured it was a conversation starter,” Eric said, before going on to tell the whole story. He thought it would be difficult to talk about, but somehow, speaking with Sydney was comforting. Just being with her, he forgot the worries and stress that had plagued him the last 6 months, he even forgot how badly his head was hurting.
The two continued talking, not noticing how fast the time had been passing, until a knock at the door ripped them from the conversation.
Sydney rose to her feet to answer the door. She was still shocked at everything that Eric had told her, not least the news about Jenna. The last time they’d met… well… he had felt so guilty, he had still been so in love with her even though he knew she was dead. But now… now she was alive, sort of. Back in his life, what did that mean for the two of them?
James smiled in relief at seeing Sydney stood in the doorway, despite her injuries, a few bruises and scrapes she looked relatively unharmed. He felt a deep, sudden urge to embrace her but held it back, “Sydney, I’m so glad you’re okay, I was so worried, all I got was your phone call and then when I managed to get back you’d gone and-”
“It’s okay James,” said Sydney, leading him and another gentleman whom she assumed was the doctor she’d requested, into the motel. “I’m fine, thanks to you.” Sydney smiled warmly, if it hadn’t been for James’ ‘favour’ from Observer then she would be a dead woman right now. She had a lot to thank him for.
James felt a warm glow inside as she smiled at him, feeling slightly foolish for having been so worried about her. It was Sydney after all, she was a survivor. His smile suddenly faded when he noticed who else was in the room with her, sat on the bed, his face a mess of bloody cuts. He felt like he’s had the wind knocked out of him and for a moment he stood in complete silence unable to articulate the myriad of conflicting emotions he felt inside.
“Umm, Eric wasn’t it?” he began awkwardly, moving stiffly across the room. He quickly gestured for the doctor to come check him out, apart from anything else it bought him time to sort himself out.
Eric turned his head to where the voice was coming from. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place him. So, instead of using his eyes to see the man, he reached out his mind, quickly scanning the thoughts of the new arrival.
Confusion, anxiety….hostility towards Eric…Why?...Sydney…the man had feelings for her….he was threatened.. Eric pushed further, until finally discovering the man’s identity.
“James right?” Eric said, acting as if he had just recognised the voice. “I don’t pretend to know why one of Vega City’s biggest names has come out to the middle of nowhere to help me, but thank you”.
“Eric and I ran into one another… it’s a long story,” Sydney added the last quickly, she was more concerned about making sure Eric was okay and then getting the hell out of there.
“And I’ll tell you all about it later but right now…” she held her head tiredly and sat down, she’d barely had more than two hours sleep in the past three days and it was starting to show. That combined with the over exertion of the numerous fights she’d been in and the amount of hits she’d taken, Sydney was heading for a complete burn out.
James quickly got her a glass of water from the murky looking kitchen and then pulled up a chair next to her. Right now he didn’t care about Eric, or what had happened over the last two days, he was just concerned about her health. He’d researched Dr Wyatt’s experiments and the Xi series obsessively during the last six months and knew that there were certain aspects of his augmentation that had an adverse effect on her health.
“Sydney, are you okay? You don’t look too well, maybe the Doc should check you out after Eric, just to be on the safe side?”
Sydney shook her head dismissively, “We can’t we need to get out of here, Observer, he’s an AI, a cybernetic body connected to a wider network. I can’t explain everything just now but he’ll no doubt have traced the call I made to you, he could be sending someone out here as we speak.”
“So then we better hit the road,” James said, as he led the group outside, and into the large truck he had waiting.
“My Bike?” Eric said, not wanting to leave any evidence of their being there.
“We can put it in back, and cover it with a tarp,” he said annoyed, that Eric was concerned over his bike in a moment like this. The four climbed into the truck, James driving, Sydney riding shotgun, and Eric and the doctor in the back.
“His eye sight will return in a few hours, and besides some blood-loss, he’ll be ok,” the doctor said, several minutes later, after he had made a quick inspection of his subject.
“What’s wrong Sydney, can’t hit a boy hard enough to give him permanent brain damage anymore.” Eric chuckled in relief as he leaned back into the comfy leather seat.
From her seat up in front Sydney smiled faintly. She wasn’t feeling very good at all and was rapidly feeling worse with every passing minute. If she could just get some sleep she was sure the problem would go away. “Well obviously your tough nut is harder to crack than I thought,” she said back, trying not to sound any different though her head ached and there seemed to be a loud ringing in her ears.
James looked over at her, taking his eyes off the road every few seconds. “You look pale Syd, maybe we should pull over and take a look at you? You’ve been through a lot.”
Sydney shook her head again, closing her eyes tiredly. It helped and she felt a little better for doing it. “I’m fine James, really… just tired.”
James took one more quick glance at her as she closed her eyes and appeared to sleep before returning his attention to the road. He knew a place just a little way out of Washington, it wouldn’t take them long to get there but more importantly it was safe, unconnected to him and not in any of his personal files. He glanced in his rear view mirror at Eric and the Doc.
“You guys hold tight back there, we won’t be long.”
CROSSOVER SERIES ONE: NOVEMBER 16, 2003 TO MARCH 31, 2004
Sunday 23 November 2003
3:00am
If there was one thing Sara had hated, it was the set-up. She had to be the one to drive the car herself – that was no easy task, and had almost resulted in her being pulled over. Thankfully her driver came to greet the embarrassed AI down the road for the morgue he did not know she broke into. When they arrived back at the lab, Sara sent him off to his house to get some rest. Once he was out of sight, she faced the daunting task of dragging in a black body bag into the lab.
*I can’t believe I’m actually doing this* Sara thought to herself, but knew she didn’t have a choice. Or rather she did – and she had made one. Now she would see it through to the end. Why were the palms of her artificial body beginning to sweat? Another of the reactions to simulate humanity that Wyatt had built in?
Dr Avery Wyatt stood hunched over the device. Sara didn’t mind his work on various projects and it did help him to keep his mind occupied rather than worrying about Sydney. A small metallic casing full of wires, and a slot for a test tube, the rack for this able to extend out a foot. A simulated solution of enzymes, one that might allow the simulation of Meta powers in a machine. The whole work was fascinating and his curiosity had been –
THUNK
Wyatt looked up at the sound, to see the body of the AI Sara standing in the doorway. He wondered when she would get back, but thought that she wasn’t quite so clutzy as to band into the door anymore.
THUNK
THUNK
“Just… what… is… that…?” he asked slowly as she got the body bag in the room. The full body bag, which she unzipped to reveal a dead body. *Okaaaaay.* Wyatt couldn’t do anything but stare wide-eyed. The body form and shape was similar to his own as well as the age.
No. It was him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice cracking a little, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Sara struggled to get the body out of the bag, making a relatively decent thump as it hit the floor. She stood up and looked directly at Wyatt, knowing that she was doing what she had to. Having stood idly by one before as this happened, she knew what that felt like. It was not an experience she wanted to repeat. “We cloned you, and arranged for a fake body to be found to convince everyone that you were dead. Now….”
Sara looked around the lab for a moment, then at the device, and finally back to Wyatt. No. She could not hesitate. Not if she was going to listen to Vic’s advice, to make a decision and see it through. After coming this far, she had to see it through. “I’ve edited the surveillance tapes from last night. Sydney doesn’t know, but Observer left the cameras on.”
Looking down at his own lifeless body was indeed a shock, Wyatt thought. But as he looked at it and back to Sara, he knew several things. They had been ordered to kill him, that much was obvious – and since Sara had the deceased body, she didn’t want to go through with it. “Why are you helping me?” he asked in confusion.
“Because I don’t want to end up looking like a square.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow, wondering just where she got that turn of phrase from. She reached into her pocket to pull out a piece of paper with an address on it. “This is the hotel where James Gates is staying, you should… you should go to him. Sydney will probably go back to him.”
Wyatt looked around in even more confusion, what was she planning? What was supposed to happen? “How am I supposed to get back?”
“There’s a car outside. Drive.”
“I haven’t driven myself anywhere in over a decade!”
Sara thought for a moment. “I believe the expression is, ‘It’s just like biking a ride.’ You will be ok.” Wyatt slowly shook his head at the error, causing her more confusing. *Did I get it reversed?* “Just please, go,” she said to Wyatt, pushing him twords the door.
Wyatt managed to stop just at it, turning to the AI. He felt a strange connection to her, not like family, but she was still another creation of his in a way. And here she was, taking the chance to help him get back to his daughter. “Thank you,” he said to her, before heading out to walk towards the car. “You will find my notes on the table.” The least he could do in return was give her what he had just done on the work.
Sara watched him make his way over to the car, shutting the door. She ran the series of calculations through her head. Amount of power to the device, positioning and angle of the body, where to best position herself to look actively engaged in the experiment and minimise damage to her body. She picked up the notes, walking to a small room to place them with the others. It was plausible, Wyatt had used her as a ‘notebook’ once or twice to save time…
Her body sighed as an automatic response. She took one final look around the lab, everything she had designed. A few switches were flipped, setting the amount of power, making sure that the failsafe would fail. Dragging the body off the floor, she managed to prop it up next to the device. It would not be a small explosion by any means.
Avery Wyatt sat in the car, just waiting for a minute and trying to remember how to drive before slowly putting the keys in the ignition. He looked down at the address once more, before carefully backing the car out and starting down the road. Part of him had to wonder if he would ever –
BOOM!
Wyatt stopped the car at the noise, looking back as smoke billowed up from one of the houses. *Oh. My. God.* he thought. That was why she had the body! Sara had planned to destroy her own laboratory. At the commotion that started up, Wyatt realised that he had to get out of there, starting down the road in silence.