The Colonel tracked my gaze out across the bay. “Conservationists say that even with the reclamation process running full bore, it’ll take another three to four decades before the seas can sustain major life again.
Suddenly an explosion rocked the Limo-jet and sent us all careening through the interior as the vehicle plummeted towards the street a hundred meters below.
“Please remain seated.”
I slammed off one soldier and crashed into another, only to tumble in a tangle of limbs into the ceiling and around to the seats again.
“Do not get up from your seat until the emergency landing comes to full stop. Please remain seated.”
We spun, flailed and crashed about the cabin until an abrupt slam dropped us on the floor in a groaning heap of abused flesh.
“Please exit quickly and maintain a safe distance in case of fire.”
The doors blew off each side of the cabin and flames licked across the openings. The exterior of the vehicle was burning. Colonel Mason removed his crushing weight from my chest and pulled me half off the floor. He staggered out the door, my arm slung over his shoulder, dragging me all the way. I looked back to see the other two Marines groaning and coughing as flames crawled into the vehicle.
My delayed reaction to the moment kicked in with a screaming flood of adrenaline and euphoria. I snapped to, stood tall, and all my senses sharpened to razor focus, even the ringing in my ears. The Colonel had a limp, his leg was bleeding badly, and his men were unconscious in the burning wreckage of the Limo-jet.
People on the street either stood by and shot video of us, or ran in the opposite direction, far away from the burning vehicle. Cursing from one of the Marines trying to stand inside the Limo-jet drew my attention.
I extracted myself from the Colonel and he yanked my hand to stop me. “Stay here where it’s safe. Stay away from the fire. The fuel tank could explode any second! We need at least thirty meters clearance from the wreck.”
I shook his weak grip from my wrist and ran for the coughing soldier. I dived through the spreading flames and snatched him up from his kneeling position. I had killed enough Marines in my time. No way I’d let these men die to protect me, not when I was yet strong and capable. I yanked him out of the vehicle and tossed him several meters away from the fire. He was awake enough to scramble across the pavement.
The Colonel moved like he would help me, limping towards the Limo-jet, but the soldier was too slow. “Get back! Leave me to it!” I shoved him away and dived back through the searing hot flames covering the entrance. I felt the burns – only momentarily. My switches flipped and I grinned as I jerked the last soldier up into my arms. I tried to return to the Colonel, but that side of the cabin had become a wall of fire bellowing acrid black smoke in my face. I hacked and fought for breath, but more smoke poured into my lungs. The only fresh air was on the other side of the cabin. I staggered out the opposite direction and breathed in heaving gasps, still hacking on the putrid black smoke that coated my throat in the taste of charred synthetics.
No sooner had I set the dazed soldier on his feet then a loud, flaming blast knocked us both to the pavement. A searing hot lance cut across the back of my right shoulder and pinned me down. I grunted with the heavy impact and the sudden agony washed away in the beautiful bliss of my pain switch. I tried to get up, only to find a metal shard had pierced me through into the man beneath me.
Screaming with all my strength I pushed up and ripped the metal away from the soldier’s chest. Blood gurgled through his chest wound as he tried to breath, convulsing beneath me. I stood on shaky legs as Colonel Mason limped around the nose of the Limo-jet. His eyes settled on me with shock. I tracked his gaze to find my dress covered in blood, shredded and toasted from the fiery blast.
The metal grated in my shoulder every time I moved and sent waves of euphoria splashing over me, but the pain was nominal. I waved the Colonel over, “Help him!”
The soldier at my feet gurgled with blood on his lips and sighed. He stopped convulsing as the life gradually left his body. I’d seen enough men die to know he was gone.
The Colonel limped up to my side, his furious eyes on the dead soldier at my feet. “Fucking terrorists would sacrifice everyone on the planet to make a statement. There have been several threats from the Coalition for Humanity – a religious militia that formed during the thirty year war. They hate the Gran with a passion. I should have taken more precautions …”
I watched the Colonel and wondered if there would ever be a time in my life when I wasn’t the target of someone who wanted me dead, or used as a political lever.
Colonel Mason’s eyes traveled to the hunk of metal protruding from my shoulder and turned hard. “We need to get you medical attention, now. I can’t believe you’re standing.”
He unzipped the pocket at the side of his black pants and pulled out a medkit with bandages and nanos. I laid a hand on his. “I’ll be fine once we get this thing out of me.”
His face morphed into a series of strange emotions and settled on sympathy. “Ms. Angel, you’re hurt bad. We need to stop the bleeding and get you emergency medical treatment.” The fool thought I was delirious. I might have been high as a kite on adrenaline and pain, but I knew what I was doing – mostly.
He spoke into his subvocal comm. “Requesting immediate evac and Medic support. Now, on my location. Our transport is disabled. We have an Alpha down and the Emissary is wounded. I repeat, one Alpha down and the Emissary is wounded.” He looked up into the air, eyeing all the shiny mirror-like skyscrapers. “Groundcar only. Repeat, no air support – groundcar only. Do you have my position?”
The Colonel chattered with someone to confirm a five minute ETA for groundcar transport, and the other soldier made his way to us, wiping blood off a heavy gash in his forehead. The guy was pale as death, but on his feet. I knew I looked like shit when the soldier caught sight of me and grimaced. Perfect facetime moment for the media.
A nearby black man moved in with a concerned look. He reached towards me. “Ma’am, you should lie down.”
The Colonel blocked him by slipping in between us. “We have the situation under control sir, please exit the scene.” He touched the pistol at his hip, and left his hand in position, ready to draw. The other soldier squared up beside the Colonel in the same ready stance.
The guy backed off with his hands up. “Whatever. I’m just trying to help.” Other people standing around with their cameras stepped back a few paces, nervous at the obvious threat the Colonel presented. A picture perfect moment that would soon be broadcast worldwide. I prayed the Emperor would keep a level head and wait for my return. I knew the Gran were watching Earthside media closely – along with Cesar.
I tapped the Colonel’s arm to get his attention. “Get this thing out of my shoulder and I’ll be fine. Trust me, Colonel.” I had to get the fuck off this planet before my presence here kicked off the war I was trying to stop.
* * * *
Chapter 17
The Emergency Techs at Lenox Hill Hospital did a fine job of removing the plastisteel shard from my shoulder. They patched me up good with nanotech and bandages, even against my assurances. The medics worked fast and efficient under the scrutiny of five new guards in glossy black body armor with plasma rifles. My Colonel hadn’t left my side, insisting he be patched up in the same room. From the hushed whispers between the soldiers, I sensed a lot of anxiety … something beyond the severity of the moment.
I reached out to Colonel Mason who sat one bed over, and tapped his hand. “Should I be worried?”
His eyes flicked to the other Marines then settled on me. “The order for your joyride came directly from DC command. This trip wasn’t on the itinerary for today … someone made a spontaneous decision. There’s no way terrorists could plan an attack unless they were tapped into DC command.”
He paused with a strained look on his face, and the situation became clear to me. The Colonel no longer trusted his superiors when it came to m
y security.
* * * *
“I’m fine, Colonel. Look, I can move my shoulder and everything.” I gritted my teeth past the momentary pain to prove to my security that I was in good enough shape to attend the UN council meeting … albeit a little late.
“The Council can wait, Ms. Angel.”
“No. I need to leave Earthside in fifteen hours, not a minute later. You don’t want to be around for the backlash if I’m not returned to the Emperor on time. Trust me, Colonel, this can’t wait any longer than we’ve already been delayed.”
He watched me for a moment, his eyes traveling over my new black jumpsuit which hid numerous scrapes, burns and gouges that were healing up nicely. My dress was toasted, and the jumpsuit would have to do until I could return to my people.
He grunted with a slight nod. “I’m putting it on record I advised you to stay here and rest, for your health, but I’m taking you to the UN council meeting at your insistence.”
He could tattoo it on his balls for all I cared. I wanted to be done with this planet and go home.
* * * *
“Ms. Angel, let me be the first to apologize on behalf of the entire UN. You have the assurance of the DC Security Council, we will exhaust every measure to find the terrorists responsible for this attack, and they will face justice.” This came from the Chairman who I believed responsible. I’m sure he’d do a bang-up job of finding the ‘terrorists’ – or a suitable scapegoat.
“We are all greatly pleased you survived without major injury and joined us for further peace talks. Your endurance and willingness to push forward is an inspiration to the world.” The Chairman spoke to me and the council with the utmost sincerity.
I could almost taste the slick lie hidden inside his smooth, humble apology. Made me want to vomit. “As you know, Chairman, I am rather resilient. Nugene made me that way. I came through terrorist attack, through injury and fire to be here with you. I came in hopes we can reestablish the treaty and avoid a war no one wants. The Gran would like recompense for their losses, which seems only reasonable. The council has made clear the DC no longer produce clone workers, so what other form of recompense can be offered?” Hopped up on a narcotic painpatch and adrenaline, I was rather blunt about my desire to get this shit over with.
The Chairman began but was interrupted by Admiral Ackerman. “If I may interject Chairman Reichert, I’d like to address Angel’s statement regarding Nugene. I have a report that’s been circulated to the council, a genofile on a project called Angelina 6.0. Please, Ms. Angel, can you confirm this is your genofile and you were in fact born on Nugene, a product of illegal genetic enhancements by Doctor D’Anton Pascal?”
Son of a bitch.
“I fail to see why this is relevant. It’s common knowledge in the UN that I was born on Nugene, and from there taken by the Gran and I’m now part of the Emperor’s royal family. This is not at issue. We’re here to stop a war, Admiral.”
The Chairman spoke quickly, before he could be interrupted again. “Yes, that is the genofile report for Angelina 6.0, who we affectionately call, Ms. Angel. We are looking at this report to address the potential security issues therein. On page ten, which I put on the display for reference, there’s a matter of great concern.”
Awed into silence, I looked up at a massive overhead screen showing a white page full of columns of numbers and a bunch of chemical genetic markers. The bottom of the page held a notation surrounded by bright yellow marks.
The Chairman gestured to the screen and his hand moved a small cursor across the yellow area. “You’ll see the highlighting shows a special genetic module, XLR-20, which was included in Ms. Angel’s genetic blend. Decades ago, XLR-20 was known by the R & D department as the berserker module, something DC genetic engineers cooked up during the thirty-year war. The project created powerful soldiers, strong and fast enough to best the Cats in hand to hand combat. There were several successful test cases, but the project was discontinued. The subjects were too volatile and quick to subvert the chain of command at the first opportunity. In short, field officers could not control berserker soldiers in live combat – which is how they got their nickname.”
I was stunned into silence, incapable of responding.
“In addition to a modified pain reflex, enhanced physical strength, agility, phenomenal healing and regeneration capabilities, and highly advanced sensory perception, Ms. Angel’s genofile evidences a volatile super soldier design. Another fascinating aspect of Angelina 6.0, D’Anton Pascal measured her IQ rating in the 160’s, synonymous with Stephen Hawking and other known persons of exceptional genius. Pascal birthed the most intelligent human clone ever, and gave her the physical assets of an elite soldier, an uncontrollable elite soldier.”
From compliments and humble apologies to accusations, all in a span of five minutes. My head spun at the wicked skill the Chairman used to flip the Council against me.
As adrenaline coursed through my veins, empowering me to crush the Chairman’s smug head in my bare hands, the full impact of his words sunk in. I realized my physical reaction to his cruel, clinically detached discussion of my genofile was actually part of my design, a berserker reaction. Though I struggled to control the adrenalin spikes making my hands shake, pushing me for fight or flight, I knew I had to, or find myself caged like a laboratory monkey – poked, prodded and tested until death.
Admiral Ackerman looked at me like a three-headed snake in a carnival freak show. He spoke to the Chairman as if I wasn’t in the room. “I propose a recess for a private discussion of these security concerns.” The rest of the room looked away from my direct gaze nervously, as if eye contact with me might somehow activate my berserker rage.
The Chairman glared at me with victory in his eyes. He may have botched his attempt to kill me in the Limo-jet, but he’d done a wonderful job of nullifying my input to the Council. “Colonel Mason, please escort Ms. Angel from the room and attend to her safety in her assigned quarters.”
“The Chairman wants me silenced so he can use the threat of war to exploit Gran technologies. How can you people allow him to manipulate the entire council? Peace is not his objective!”
The Colonel took hold of my arm, and I almost broke his. I barely suppressed my primal urges as I nailed Doctor Philo Vale with an icy, direct stare. “Is there no one here who cares about peace?”
The Chairman waved his hand at me as if dismissing an errant child. “Peace will be pursued according to the council’s terms. Colonel, remove Ms. Angel from the room.”
The Colonel tugged on my arm. “Ms. Angel, we must go now.”
I looked at him and saw a man with apology in his eyes. I looked to the foolish council members whose faces had closed to me. Their inaction enabled this war.
The Colonel led me out of the silent room, his arm securely wrapped around mine. I’d been effectively silenced and reduced to nothing more than a security threat.
* * * *
Chapter 18
Colonel Mason sat on my couch, a surly look on his face. They’d bandaged his leg well enough, and loaded him with nanos and pain meds so he could maintain command, but none of that helped his razor sharp attitude since the ‘terrorist’ attack. The other soldiers were parked in the hallway … keeping me safe from a distance.
Instead of brooding in silence, or getting drunk like I wanted to, I clicked on the media holovid display. I scrolled through a series of news holovids focused on the overwhelming array of Gran warships parked in far orbit. One report stopped my flickering hand.
“A recently released holovid of Angel, the Emissary sent to Earth by the Gran, proves this woman is something out of this world! DC reports indicate Angel is actually a clone, created in the secret Nugene facility that bred slave laborers sold to the Gran. After you see these clips from today’s terrorist attack, can there be any doubt she’s not quite human?”
A composite of several shaky holovids overlapped together showed a series of disturbing scenes. Me, dashing over
flaming debris, dragging a man twice my weight. I tossed him ten meters through the air like a rag doll. Then me again, pushing away the Colonel and dashing back through the black smoke and flames into the interior of the burning Limo-jet. Again, me, carrying the last soldier out in my arms, cradled like an oversized baby. My dress was smoking, burnt, torn, and my face and arms had black marks, with an angry-looking burn on my elbows. So hyped on adrenaline, I was oblivious to my burns. The holovid that had the most shocking display was from a man who narrated what he saw after the Limo-jet exploded.
“Oh my god, she’s … she tore that metal out of his chest. Look at her … she stands up like its nothing. Does she know she’s impaled all the way through? This chick is fucking crazy! My god, look at her. She’s talking to the soldiers …”
His words were overlapped by mine as I told the Colonel, “Get this thing out of my shoulder and I’ll be fine.”
The newswoman kicked in with her commentary. “The DC has recently issued documentation regarding Angel, whose real name is Angelina 6.0. This woman who walks through fire and seemingly feels no pain is a specially modified clone who carries an experimental super soldier genotype …”
The report flipped to a holovid of Chairman Reichert standing in front of a UN flag, issuing an official statement. “We can’t be certain as the investigation is pending, but it appears the Gran have sent an elite soldier, with capabilities far beyond the normal human spectrum, masquerading as an ambassador of peace. The woman is believed to be highly dangerous and unpredictable. She’s currently in confinement under heavy UN security protocols. The UN Council met with Ms. Angel twice, unaware they entertained a lethal assassin. There is also speculation Angel has participated in wartime activities and may possibly be an enemy combatant. I am personally pursuing an injunction with the UN Council to prevent this treasonous alien agent from escaping our grasp.”