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  She looked at her companions, not willing to move off without her.

  “Sure does,” she said.

  And with that, they headed back into the bustling streets, the light beginning to fade on a hectic, breathless day.

  9

  Martha sat in a slate grey room, the walls bland and empty of any sort of decoration. Ahead of her was a desk, manned by a secretary wearing a grey pant suit. Behind her, at the doors she’d entered through, were guards, also wearing grey; combat attire in this case. It seemed the entire facility was obsessed with the colour. Ironic, really. A dull, lifeless colour, in a place where life was so important.

  Martha, however, didn’t abide by the dress code. Perhaps they should have sent a memo, she thought as she sat there in a chair - grey, of course, though of a different, lighter shade -wearing the same luxurious blue coat she’d adorned all day. A day which had been long, tense, a veritable rollercoaster of a ride, her emotions plunging to the depths, before soaring to the heavens. She hadn’t had a day of such emotional variability since Sarah was diagnosed.

  Incurable, she thought, thinking of the word that she hated so dear.

  That’s what the doctors had told her. That’s how they described the cancer eating away at her darling girl. For all the wondrous advances they’d made in science and medicine in recent decades, the nasty side of nature always seemed to have a way of fighting back. Cancer, in all but the rarest forms, had been all but cured, cancelled out, eliminated from human existence. Until, of course, it wasn’t. It fought back, unwilling to be defeated. And Sarah - beautiful, innocent, wonderful Sarah - had been one of its victims.

  Martha sighed at the thought, clinging onto hope yet still fearful. She looked down to the data disc in her hands, containing such promise, such hope for her girl. It was the only thing that could save her, yet she remained wary. Until the research was decoded and arranged, she wasn’t going to let herself relax.

  Now, however, things were out of her hands. Her part, her role, had been to help secure the data, something that required her to put aside her beliefs, her ethics, her morals, and just act. It had been hard, of course, to pretend for so long, to betray people she’d come to like and even care for. Yet hard as it was, she’d do it again. To save her daughter, she’d do anything.

  The sound of footsteps grew in her ears as she sat there, waiting. It came from a long corridor at the top of the room, several sets of feet tapping on the ground. She stood on instinct, even before the figures emerged, stepping into the bland entrance hall, dressed in various shades of grey and white.

  She took in the sight. Five people - two Ravens, two scientists, and a politician - approached, the latter at their head. She was a woman of similar age to Martha, tall and lithe, snugly fitted into a dark grey suit, lipstick of the same colour painted onto her lips. Her features were pointed and sharp, almost hawkish, eyes of a cold blue staring upon her as she came, her black hair shoulder length and neatly cut.

  She stepped forwards, a smile cruising up onto her face, her voice - precise and smooth - floating easily across the forum.

  “Martha, my darling Martha,” she said, quickening her pace, her heels clip-clopping louder as she got near. She reached Martha and drew her into an abbreviated hug, barely making body-to-body contact as she did. “How are you, my dear?”

  “I’m well, very well, President Chase,” said Martha.

  The woman - the President - waved off the title.

  “Oh, Martha, don’t be ridiculous. I was Pamela when we were children - in fact, I was Pam most of the time! - so I’m Pamela now. Or Pam, if you wish. Frankly, my dear, you’ve earned the right to call me whatever you want.”

  At that, she turned her eyes down to the disc in Martha’s hand. Her blue eyes turned eager, a look Martha knew well; she’d had the same glint in her eyes only that morning when Mikel handed it over.

  Pamela Chase, President of the Mid-States of America, took a breath at the sight.

  “This is it,” she whispered. “You…really have it.”

  Martha smiled.

  “This is it, Pamela. We did it.”

  Pamela reached forward tentatively, and took the disc from Martha’s hand. She lifted it to the light, holding it up before her eyes, studying it closely. It was a strange effect that the disc had on people. There was nothing to look at really, not on the outside. It was what lay within that mattered.

  For a few moments, Pamela indulged herself, before suddenly turning and ushering the two scientists forward. She held out the data as they came, and one, Doctor Harold Lang, a wizened old man who was chief of the project, took it carefully, as if dropping it would cause it to crack. That wasn’t true, of course. It would take a great deal of effort to destroy the metal casing, but Doctor Lang handled it with care nonetheless.

  “Get this to your labs immediately,” Pamela said. “I want you working day and night on decoding it, Harold. What is your time estimate?”

  “It’s hard to say until we take a look inside, Madam,” said Doctor Lang, his voice cracked by age and excessive smoking, a habit that Martha always found curious for men of science and medicine.

  The stern look upon Pamela’s face, however, forced a few extra words from the eminent scientist.

  “Um…soon, very soon,” he said. “I have the finest decoders in the world under my charge, Madam President. We will not stop until it’s done…”

  “No, I’m sure of it,” mused Pamela coolly. “But don’t do yourself a disservice, Harold. It is you who will see this done quickly. Your mind is a wonder, truly. Perhaps even as sharp as the man whose secrets you shall uncover.”

  “You honour me, Madam President,” said Harold, dipping his head. “To be compared to Professor Phantom is…”

  “Is justified,” said Pamela. “Hopefully the coming hours and days will prove you his equal, Harold.” She put some emphasis on the word ‘hours’, which had Doctor Lang smiling awkwardly and nodding quickly.

  “Well, I do hope so,” he said.

  Pamela stiffened.

  “I don’t like the word ‘hope’, Harold, as you know,” she said firmly. “Our nation has been too reliant on hope for far too long. ‘Let’s hope for the best,’ we say.” She shook her head, and looked at the disc gripped between Harold’s quivering old fingers. “Now, we don’t have to hope,” she said. “Now we forge our own destiny.” She drew a breath, as if seeming suddenly bored. “Now go, see it done,” she said with a flick of the wrist.

  Harold bowed reverently, and moved off, the other, younger scientist joining his side. The two Ravens stayed, however, dressed in their dark grey suits that were difficult to differentiate from black. They were the President’s personal bodyguards, Martha knew, much like Kurt and Rick, who’d been personally assigned by the President to guarantee Martha’s safety.

  Pamela turned back to Martha now, drawing a long breath and rebuilding a smile. She was, like Martha, practiced in the art of putting on a public face.

  “So, would you like to see her?” Pamela asked, eyes glinting under the harsh lights above.

  Martha lost her breath for a moment. She’d longed for this day, never letting herself truly believe it would happen. She felt nervous all of a sudden, her hope turning to something more…something real.

  “Don’t look so worried, Martha,” said Pamela. “Our scientists have done a tremendous job. She’s absolutely perfect, I assure you.”

  The President took her arm gently, and began coaxing her through the atrium. The two had been friends for many years, decades even, even though their lives had taken divergent paths in recent times. These last few years, however, they’d been forced back together by circumstance, two girls from rich families, destined to change the world.

  Martha bit the thought away. She knew of Pamela’s intentions, and they weren’t hers. All of this - everything she’d done - had been for Sarah. The consequences of her actions, however, would spell doom for many. She hated the thought, but she had no choi
ce. All she could do was play along.

  They ventured towards a long corridor, stretching away into the depths of the facility. Martha always felt strange coming here. It wasn’t just the knowledge of the facility’s purpose, but its location too. Right now, they were beneath the waves of Lake Michigan, the facility’s entrance many miles from the shore. From the top, it appeared as little more than a tiny square structure, its head peeking out from the waves like the tip of an iceberg. The truth of its scale, however, was hard to fathom from the surface, and that was the entire point. It was secret, hidden, built in a place where no one would ever see it.

  The journey down into the depths always made Martha queasy, and she envied Kurt and Rick for being able to wait up on the surface. She spent most of her life at her estate, or in the mountains in Colorado. She wasn’t a person for tight spaces and stuffy, filtered air. She only ever wanted to leave this place as soon as she arrived.

  But today, her mind was being taken elsewhere; to the promise Pamela had given her. “Get us the data, and we’ll give you back your daughter,” her old friend had told her over a year ago. “We can make her whole again, Martha. We can save her, as we can this nation. That is your duty as a parent, and mine as a leader.”

  It hadn’t taken much more to convince Martha to help, and even as she began to learn of Pamela’s true intentions, she never once looked back. Her doubts that niggled were forever dismissed, never allowed to settle. Any time she even got close to wavering, she only had to look upon her daughter’s face, see that expression of almost constant pain. It took a glance, only. That was enough. Enough to reset her resolve. Enough to block out the rest.

  They continued down the long, grey corridor, reaching another elevator. Martha had already descended a dozen levels to reach the atrium on this floor. Now, she stepped in again, the elevator taking them further down, right into the most secret of places. A place of magic, of wondrous invention…of terrible innovation.

  I’m a hypocrite, Martha thought. Just a foolish hypocrite. She had no right to question the things they were doing here. No right to condemn them when she was benefitting so much.

  The elevator drew them down, opening on the level below. The facility was vast, a network of corridors, linking laboratories, of secret places and strange, unnatural science. All grey and white, all so sickly, and yet with the purpose of manipulating and creating life.

  Life, Martha thought. Endless life…

  Soon they came to a door, thick clear glass providing a view ahead. Martha could see scientists working within, a large space beyond filled with machines she didn’t know, work she couldn’t understand. They were geniuses these people, the real people who changed the world. Politicians, military leaders; they merely wielded the gun. These were the people who created it.

  They stepped through, and a bustle of energy filled Martha’s ears. It wasn’t frenetic, or loud, just the sensation that the future was being crafted. People glanced over, nodding to their leader, and then got immediately back to work. Seeing President Pamela Chase here wasn’t rare. She came here often, as often as she could. Her work in public office was just a facade, where she put on the face she wanted the world to see. Here was her true purpose, and Martha could see her eyes shine.

  A scientist in a lab coat came hurrying over to then, bowing as he arrived.

  “Madam President, Madam Mitchell,” he said, nodding to the women.

  Strange, Martha thought. I’ve never met this man.

  But then, not strange at all. They’d been given a special job here, just for Martha. They hadn’t met her, but they knew her well.

  “Doctor Cavendish,” said Pamela. “Is she ready?”

  Cavendish nodded hurriedly, white hair out of place and slick with sweat at the sides. He looked exhausted, like he’d been working on little sleep. That would most certainly be the case.

  He led them through the large lab, moving towards a quieter section at the rear. Martha’s heart began to pace with a renewed fury, her breathing growing abbreviated. Pamela took her arm, smiling.

  “Oh, Martha, be calm my dear,” she whispered. “Now take a deep breath, OK? Yes, now breathe it out, nice and slowly…”

  Martha followed the instruction, blowing slowly out, calming herself for what was to come. Doctor Cavendish stood by, next to a terminal with dials and buttons. Ahead of them, a dark grey tube sat, large as a coffin, its surface metal and smooth, shining under the lights.

  “When you’re ready, Martha,” said Pamela softly. “Take your time.”

  Pamela stepped away to give her some space. Martha hesitated, before drifting nervously towards the grey tube. She shut her eyes, and drew another breath, her heart still thrashing wildly. She looked up after a few long moments, and turned her eyes on the doctor.

  She nodded.

  Doctor Cavendish pressed down upon a button, and the casing of the tube began to slide to the left, revealing a white medical mattress beneath…and a form lying on top of it.

  Martha gasped quietly, lifting a hand to her mouth.

  She saw feet first, small feet; the feet of a child, only ten years old. The metal tube continued to slide, whirring lightly, and more was revealed: knees that had never bent; hips that had never turned; a chest that had never breathed; a neck that had never swallowed; a face…that had never smiled.

  Tears began to build in Martha’s eyes, warm to her skin as they fell. She took a sharp intake of air as she looked upon the face of her daughter, at the perfect clone they’d made. She was as she’d been before the cancer struck, before it took away her colour, her glow, her smile. Before it forced her into bed, clinging to life. Before it send Martha down this dark, dreadful path.

  She reached forward tentatively, her fingers trembling.

  “It’s OK,” whispered Pamela. “You can touch her.”

  Her hand halted, hesitating. Then it drifted forwards once more, gently touching the clone’s arm, the clone of her beloved daughter. The skin was cool, but soft, her tissue alive. She was a vessel, empty of a soul, of consciousness.

  But ready to receive it.

  She drew her hand back, feeling so torn by what she saw. It was so odd to see her daughter here, created in this lab by these scientists, just waiting to be filled, waiting to be completed.

  She stood for a few moments longer, just looking at the body, contemplating so much. Would she be the same when it happened? When they performed the procedure, would it be Sarah in this body, the real Sarah? Would her mind, her consciousness, truly transfer? Was the data really complete…was…

  She shut her eyes once again, her mind spiralling off in directions she didn’t want to consider. Her thoughts were selfish, she new. Centred only on Sarah, only on her daughter. She looked again at the clone, and the wider implications flourished in her head. This was a perfect remake, a genetically identical match for her beautiful daughter, the same in every way. But here, in this building, other forms were being manufactured, other experiments were being run. This was Martha’s reward, payment for her work; her daughter, renewed, made whole again. But at what price?

  Martha turned away, refusing to give heed to her doubts, and looked at the doctor. She nodded again, and the tube began to slide shut once more. She stepped back, and felt Pamela drawing to her side, gently stepping in.

  “I know it’s strange,” Pamela whispered. “But just think…soon she’ll be Sarah again. No cancer, no health issues, nothing to ever worry about. A perfect version of Sarah, with her mind and consciousness implanted.”

  She took Martha’s arm, and turned her around until they were face to face.

  “Because of you, dear friend, Sarah will live again,” she said, face lit like a bright blue morning. “Because of you,” she went on, face now shading darker, “our nation will get its revenge.”

  Martha tried to draw a smile. It came up weak, unsure. She couldn’t reconcile what she’d done, not fully. Her love for Sarah had set her upon this path, knowing that Professor Phantom’
s research was the only way to save her.

  Yet the cost, she knew, would be dear. Her old friend, once so shy and sweet and quietly spoken, now had a lust for vengeance in her eyes. A desire to see nations toppled, armies fall, the weak rise up against the strong. For so long the MSA had been trodden to the floor. For so long their leaders had put on a brave face, fallen into the background, grown weak as the others jostled for power.

  But no longer. President Pamela Chase now held the key to the future.

  And all she had to do, was twist.

  10

  The group’s escape from LA came without great incident. Given their experiences so far, it was a blessing, and unexpected.

  With the aid of Remus, guiding their path in typically efficient fashion, they were able to work eastwards once more, avoiding patrols of peacekeepers, checkpoints, and any unruly groups of local trouble-makers who might cause them delay. Of course, having to work with such care - often stopping, waiting, diverting their course - was delay enough. What might have been achieved within the space of an hour or so, ended up taking several.

  By the time they edged into the eastern districts in the shadow of the hills above, night was falling quickly, faint celestial lights glowing in the smog-blotted sky. Those lights grew clearer as they climbed, scrambling up through the hills and making their way back to the falcon. Here, patrols weren’t a problem, and nor were checkpoints; peacekeepers didn’t venture this far. Yet drones stood guard instead, hovering silently, occasionally visible but often going unseen.

  Not to Remus, of course, nor Ragan with his scanning lens. Both could spot them a way off, thus giving the group time to escape their sight if they hummed and buzzed their way. Inching up the craggy slopes, they made slow but steady progress, eventually reaching the falcon as the night began to hurry on. They breathed, finally relaxing within the cloaked jet, slumping into chairs and letting out weary sighs.