E.H.U.D.: Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“Sir?”

He wasn't ready to wake up...

“Sir?”

Edgar sat up, opened his eyes, and tried to stretch in the confined space.

“We're her, sir.”

Past the head of a guard, bare trees rolled by in the twilight, clawed hands ripping at the sky. The road curved ahead through more woodland, curving around hills, leading to the unseen destination. And then: evergreens parted, and a low bunker made of concrete and, disconcertingly, glass, appeared at the end of a manicured drive.

“What is this place?”

“We'll talk outside.”

A quick visual sweep revealed several dark spots in the surrounding woodland—sniper nests. Beyond that, the skeletal trees flowed on forever.

The vehicle stopped, and they disembarked.

A thin woman with a weathered face appeared from the door recessed in the very middle of the building's facade. “Hello, Mr. President. Welcome to Camp Eglon.”

It took a moment for Edgar to process the name; he had to fight his way back to college to make any sort of connection. “Someone has a pretty sick sense of humor.”

“It seems to be entirely coincidental.”

Edgar nodded, then took a step back and looked again at the building. His first glimpse from the car had been of a one-story structure, flat-roofed, extending for around two hundred feet and disappearing at a slight angle off into the woods. The building seemed to be composed of concrete, no doubt reinforced against artillery, but had an angled glass wall fronting it, enclosing a promenade before of the outermost layer of concrete.

Amazingly, the door through which the woman had come had been made of glass as well, leaving what seemed to be a rather gaping security hole.

“Is this place safe?” He gestured at the glass-enclosed walkway.

The woman stretched out an unconvincing smile. “Certainly sir. The wall is of course bullet-proof, and the only way to access the observation level is through an underground passage.”

Edgar nodded, still unsure. The security for his transportation here had seemed ridiculously overdone, but the security for his home seemed simply ridiculous. “And you are...?”

The woman extended her hand. “Joan Ashby, chief of staff here at Camp E.”

“How come I've never heard of this place?”

Ashby shrugged. “It was a secret, one few people needed to know about. A remote site to keep the president safe in case of an all-out emergency. I'm sure Ms. Telk would know more.”

“Are there any other places like this?”

“Again, you'd have to speak with Ms. Telk. Now please, a secure location makes no difference if you intend to stand in the open all day. Besides,” here she smiled, though this time it appeared genuine, “your family is waiting.”

Inside the great glass door was a small foyer, walled, roofed, and floored in concrete, with another set of doors on the other side. Ashby pressed her hand against a palm scanner and the door clicked. She pulled it open and Edgar stepped inside.

The interior was... dull. Against every expectation instilled by the exterior, the interior looked like a well-appointed hospital reception area: beige walls lined with dark wood, tan carpet, small dark-wood chairs and settees.

“They're in the family room.”

Ashby led him past the first room and through a series of wide corridors, the blank walls interrupted now and again by doors or small tables topped by flower arrangements. They twisted and turned, then came to a place were the wall opened up and fell away into a void.

“What's this?” Edgar looked out over a huge atrium, extending from his level down two or three floors, walled on the far side in glass that looked out over a dead, wooded valley. In front of him was a staircase which began as the same beige-and-stained-wood as the rest of the building but quickly faded into an angled, crystalline structure of steel and glass, more reminiscent of the exterior than anything inside. Far below it ended on a sea of polished black stone.

“That? That's the grand ballroom. There're elevators down there as well; the staircase has been known to cause a bit of vertigo in some of the staff. Immediately below us are service facilities, as well as the pool and gym. You can get to them through the ballroom if you like.”

Edgar walked to the edge of the void and leaned out over the railing. There was something... disturbing about this space, but he couldn't come up with a definite reason.

A moment later he left the railing, and continued to follow his chief of staff to the family room.

“Dad!” the voice of Ethan greeted him before he was fully in the room.

“I'l just leave you now, then. Call if you need anything.”

Edgar nodded and then gasped as his son tackled him in a bear hug.

“I thought you'd never get here!” Ethan continued to hold him, and Edgar tentatively patted his back.

“Yep, I'm here...” He looked up and saw Amanda sitting in an arm-chair in the far corner. She nodded, and he began to steer Ethan over to a couch near Amanda. “So, how was your day?”

Ethan disengaged and walked with his father. “It was crazy! After the agents showed up they wanted us to leave, but mom didn't want to, but I said we couldn't leave you alone.”

Edgar shot his wife a look, but she seemed suddenly interested in reading the titles of the books on the shelf next to her.

“So then they took us to a big house in the middle of nowhere, and Mr. Telk was there, but I didn't get to say 'hi' 'cause they put me in a room with some video games. Then after that we all got in a car again and came here. It's really cool here, huh?”

“Yep.”

Ethan fell quite as they sat down on the couch. “Hey dad,” he said after they had settled in, “is it true? Is Uncle Isaac really dead?”

Edgar looked to Amanda again, but she was otherwise occupied. “Did you and your mom talk about this?”

“No, we didn't have time to talk; the agents always needed to talk to her.”

Edgar sighed. “I'm afraid that yes, Uncle Isaac's dead.”

Ethan turned that over for a few moments. “Why?”

How could he answer that? “Well... Uncle Issac made some bad decisions a while ago, and it got some people really angry at him. He did some very unethical things, and now the consequences have caught up to him.”

“He made the E.H.U.D.s.”

The boy knew more than Edgar realized. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

“But you're not afraid of them.”

The image of Lemlin standing there, the pistol wavering in front of him, flashed through Edgar's mind. How had Ethan interpreted that? “I was afraid to stand up to them, but I was more afraid of what would happen if I didn't stand up to them.”

Ethan nodded and then, as only a child could do, radically changed the subject. “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

Edgar looked to Amanda yet again, and this time she looked back.

“I think the Gigawatt movie is out,” she said.

Edgar smiled. They'd be able to pretend to be a normal family tonight. “Assuming we can get access to the internet from in here.”

Later that night, Edgar and Amanda sat on the couch, Ethan fast asleep between them. The room was dark, but lit by the vaguely blue glow of a television set to black.

“I didn't think he'd make it to the end.”

Amanda snorted.

“So... What did Ethan mean, when he said you didn't want to go with the agents?”

Amanda shrugged and folded her arms.

“Mandy.”

“It's not safe being around you. You're—you're acting stupid. The country is in the middle of a crisis, and you start jumping at it, trying to be the hero for everyone. You're an action star in front of Lemlin, then the only sane man in the cabinet, and now the bringer of truth for the country.”

“You saw the speech, huh?”

“What the hell is going on, Edgar? This isn't you. You're a power hound—you lurk in the shadows and acquire favors; you don't make enemies. Why are you suddenly so out there?”

The good feelings of the previous two hours evaporated. “Because my country needs me to be.”

“If you keep sticking your neck out, you're going to get it chopped off. You want to put yourself in danger, fine. But now we're stuck here with you, and we're in danger, too. On 9/11, at that stupid party, we were there for your career, not mine, and yet I got caught up in it, almost killed in it.”

“MY—” Edgar began to yell, then stopped when he felt the movement against his side. “My career?” he hissed. “I didn't want anything to do with that stupid party. You're the one who always has to go out and be seen.”

“Maybe that's because I'm not seen at home.”

“What?”

Amanda stood and coaxed Ethan partially awake.

“What does that even mean?”

“C'mon, Ethan, bed.”

“Mnnnhhh...”

“Amanda!”

Amanda glared at him. “I don't want to talk about this tonight. If you can find time in your busy schedule, we can talk tomorrow.”

“I'm ready to talk tonight.”

“And I'm tired! While you've been out moving up in the world, I've had my life uprooted! I've spent all day in little rooms having people tell me just exactly how my life is suddenly at risk, and going over kidnap protocols, and blackmail protocols, and goddamn assassination protocols. I didn't sign up for this shit; this is yours, not mine!”

“Mommmm...”

“When you're ready to tell me what's really going on, then we can talk.” Amanda glared one last time at Edgar, then she and Ethan left the room.

Edgar slumped back into the couch and fumed. Who did she think he was doing all this for? This was so her son could have a safer life, a better world to inherit. Couldn't she see how much all of this was taking out of him? Couldn't she see the sacrifice? He never wanted to be president, he just wanted—

Mistlethwakey. This was all Mistlethwakey's fault. He had talked Edgar into gambling everything, into committing treason, and for what? For a shot at recognition, for a chance to make his son proud? Well, he was president now, wasn't he? He could take down Mistlethwakey, collapse his coup. See how Amanda liked that.

Amanda...

What did she mean about 'what's really going on'? What did she suspect; what did she know?

The last day had obviously been hard on her, but she had never been the same since her run-in with Lemlin. Had this last little bit pushed her past the edge of reason? Deep down, in a place he wasn't willing to examine, he expected that the opposite occurred; that in the last twenty-four hours, she had climbed back onto the edge.

God, he wished he could know what she was thinking.

In an effort to distract himself, Edgar gestured at the television and it lit up. Another gesture and he was viewing the AmeriNews website. The feature taking up most of the space was a picture of his own face, sub-headed with: Presidential Policy—A Radical New Stance From A Radical New Man.

Beneath that was a link to video responses. He gestured at it and saw icons for sundry commentators, both well-known and man-on-the-street. One usual commentator was conspicuously absent.

Foremost on the page were responses from Ahmad and Terstein. He gestured at Ahmad's and saw the man back up the claims he had made earlier that day: The late president had been unsettled and threatening, it had been unsafe to go public, Iran and the U.N. were more than willing to help out in whatever way they could, and were even now working to make the Defenders citizens of the world.

Next was Terstein. Edgar watched with quiet detachment; it was more of the same. Then: “But just because this new president claims to be honest with us doesn't mean we should let down our guard. Too often we've been told that the government has learned its lesson, that politicians are working for the people. They're not; they're working for their reelection. They're working to establish their own royalty, to grant themselves names and titles. They have forgotten that in America, they aren't the government; the people are the government.

“And the louder they yell 'We've changed!', the faster you should get your guns. The more they speak of sweeping reform and drastic change, the more you should be ready to defend your rights from usurpers. Go along with these politicians, be all means. Help them to find common ground and fix America's problems. But be ready for a betrayal. Hopefully, the betrayal will never come, but if it does, it's better to be armed then to be caught unawares.

“In the mean time, while they claim they are working for a better world, constantly remind them what a better world will be. Go and shout it on the street corner; you have the right. Walk up to the capitol building and wave your signs high; you have the right. Do everything in your power to make your voice heard by the people who have tried to usurp your will; you have the right.

“I say this to my friend Edgar Latterndale, now president of this nation: make the changes, right the wrongs. But do not think it can be done without America behind you, or that America will blindly follow you. You gave us words today, words of reconciliation towards the Defenders. Defend those words with actions. Prove me wrong.

“And I say this to the Defenders: Take the hand extended in friendship, but look out for the hand ready to strike in fear. They have hurt you once; make sure it doesn't happen again.”

Terstein continued on, every word poisoning the populace against Edgar, making his job that much harder. How was Edgar supposed to unite the public if Terstein was doing everything in his power to drive them apart?

Edgar suddenly felt tired. For the first time, the weight of office pressed down on him. When he had made his speech, he had been caught up in the moment, fighting the fight, preparing to fix what was broken and bring about some resolution with the Defenders. Now it seemed so impossible.

“Eh, fuck it.” Edgar waved the television off, then stretched out on the couch.

A better world could wait one more day.

A cold hand rubbed Edgar's arm, and he pulled himself from the ballroom, from in front of the podium, staring down Lemlin, out of the White House and onto the couch of the Camp Eglon family room. He opened his eyes, and found only darkness.

Sometime in the night he must have undressed; he could feel the cold stickiness of the leather couch against most of his body. He sat up and gestured for the lights to come on, but nothing happened. He gestured at the television and it sprang to life, bathing the room in the harsh glow of static.

It took several long seconds for Edgar to realize that he was alone, and several more to realize that the television didn't usually project static; dead signal was blue.

Voices whispering in the corridor drifted into the room, and Edgar instantly snapped awake; visions of an attractive young woman calmly dissecting Issac's speeches—and Issac's body—projected themselves against the darkness.

Edgar spent a moment searching for a weapon, then realized it would be useless against a Defender, assuming his fears were right. He stood and made his way to the door; if a Defender were here, he was already as good as dead.

The corridor proved to be empty, though he could still hear whispering from further along the hall.

“Hello?”

No answer.

The possibility of Defender invasion was quickly replaced by the realization that, like most people, guards got bored on night duty and invariably talked to each other. If they happened to get too loud and wake him up, that was a matter to bring up with Ashby. That went double for the faulty lights.

Fully awake now, Edgar began to pace through the halls, wishing he had more on than socks and a pair of boxers. With every step, he felt colder.

After some time he came to a cross hall and found a Secret Service agent standing stiffly at attention.

“You guys think you can keep it down, huh?”

The agent didn't respond.

“Don't be a smart-ass about this; it's been a long day.”

The agent didn't respond.

Edgar looked closer, trying to peer past the darkness, and saw that the agent was standing perfectly still, his breathing nearly imperceptible. Tentatively, he reached out and pushed on the agent. The agent rocked slightly, but otherwise remained motionless.

There where whispers behind him.

Edgar turned quickly, expecting to see someone—

It was only him and the agent.

More whispers from the cross hall.

Not knowing what else to do, Edgar followed the sounds, feeling the air chill and his mind disconnect from the moment. The world he was in no longer seemed real. Frozen agents, frozen air, frozen world...

He reached a closed door and pushed it open. Inside, laying on a bed, were two bodies: the lithe, feminine form of Amanda, the lanky, boyish body of Ethan. Edgar padded across the carpet and poked Amanda's arm. The flesh gave naturally, warmly, very much alive, but stopped as soon as he encountered muscle. Her arm was taught, motionless, just as the agent had been. Edgar surveyed his family, heard no sound of breathing. He leaned in closer, saw quick, shallow movements of body, of life.

More whispering from the door.

Back in the corridor the air was ice-cold, and mist seemed to be clinging to the edge of floor and wall.

“I'm dreaming.” His voice was hollow and echoed through the emptiness.

Or are you?

The voice was unexpected and caused Edgar to jump slightly, but he turned towards it deliberately, unafraid of whatever had spoken.

Pale blue light came from down the hall, several degrees of magnitude brighter than the dull ambience that had suffused the corridor moments before. Unthinking, Edgar walked into it, feeling the temperature drop as he went. After he had gone several yards, he heard an increase in whispering.

Doubts began to trickle in. What if it wasn't a dream? What if Defenders... E.H.U.D.s were loose here? Could they have followed, could they have raided the minds of Edgar's defenders? The possibility was certainly there, but Edgar doubted an E.H.U.D. would be stupid enough to waste time like this. They had been trained too well; they would kill and be gone.

The light grew brighter ahead, burning away all shadow and curling like fog around thin poles that projected from the floor. Edgar stopped, seeing the balcony, the railing that funneled into the stair case, felt the dread he had experienced upon first seeing it.

Edgar...

It was a whisper, louder this time, all around this time. He realized that he hadn't quite heard it as it spoke, but rather had felt it in his mind... All the other whispers had been the same. He hadn't realized until now, but the other whispers had come into his mind with no direction at all, merely bringing with them a sense of purpose for one direction.

The purpose for this summons was down below, down the ladder of wood and crystal and steel, down to the endless plane of polished black.

I lied, Edgar... I'm sorry for that...

They weren't purely words, but emotion, image, all translated in his mind as simple phrases. They felt... Unintentional. The source of these word's didn't want them expressed, but could hold them back no longer.

I lied, my father... my son... There is no peace here, no peace on earth... I lied so that you might do what you must do, what you have always done, what you will forever do...

As the voice spoke, as the thoughts continued to flow, Edgar felt the cold steel cutting through to his feet, the icy mist curling through his body...

A shape flashed through the fog, disappearing before Edgar could see it.

Do what you must...

Another shape, clearer this time. Definitely human, thin, disheveled... the corpse-like figure went unrecognized until Edgar saw the face: Ashleigh Chuskus. As soon as the association was made, the figure faded back into oblivion.

Other shapes continued to writhe in the light; all were human.

With a shocked stumble at the lack of downward movement, Edgar reached the floor. A patch of fog swirled before him, coalesced into Merv Lemlin. This time, he wasn't in charge, wasn't leering down at Edgar. He seemed afraid.

Edgar stepped forward, and the apparition vanished.

Further on, more fog swirled. The shape made this time wasn't thin and wasted as the others had been, but bloated, sagging. Isaac.

You had no idea... But still you kept going...

The spectral form of the dead president reached towards him, its mouth wide in a silent scream, then fell forward and collapsed into a swirl that eddied away into the void.

It all had to happen...

Yet another shape formed, again thin, again familiar. Mistlethwakey.

“What's going on, Bob?”

I'm not here...

As the voice didn't spoke, Mistlethwakey's form dissolved away, revealing another body. This one was even more desiccated than the first, and familiar, but it too faded to be replaced by a final form, a tall man of indeterminate age and race. He looked lovingly at Edgar, as a father might look to his son, then reached out towards Edgar.

You've come this far; now you must go until the end... You will be pushed, farther than you thought you could go, but you will thrive like no one else...

The sentiment arrived all in an instant, then the spectral hand touched Edgar, passed through his head and into his body—

His body exploded in a shower of pain, filling with a dull red light that pushed back against the harsh blue-white all around. He tried to scream, but he felt his throat writhing, collapsing in, filling with strange tumors that obstructed his airways. He fell to his knees and stared in horror as his skin began to boil, writhe, turn to cancerous growth and then melt back, again, and again and again—

Nausea swept over him and he curled into a ball, his mind growing distant from his body, looking up not through his eyes but through everything, seeing the specters peering down at him, some in triumph, most in pity.

Above all was the tall man.

You chose this... you did not know it, but you chose this...

There was a final burst of intense heat, and then Edgar was gone.

A rough hand touched Amanda's shoulder and shook her awake. She looked up and saw the chief of staff, Ashby, looking down at her, her face grave.

“Wha—”

Ashby held a finger to her lips. “Don't wake the boy. Come with me; it's an emergency.”

Amanda slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Ethan, and padded out into the corridor. She felt oddly stiff; perhaps she needed a better mattress.

“Where's Edgar?”

“I'm afraid that's the emergency.”

They reached the opening that led to the grand ballroom, and Amanda could see, far below, a human form laying on the marble, the body partially obscured by a cluster of Eglon staff.

“Oh, God.”

Amanda rushed forward and down the stairs.

“Ma'am, I think that—”

She didn't hear Ashby; her only thought was for Edgar.

She reached the marble floor and pushed through the people to get close to her husband.

He lay on the floor, naked, covered and laying in a pile of what looked like ash. His skin, what little of it wasn't covered, was pink and fresh looking, like an infant's.

She knelt and tried to cradle his head, but an older man with glasses held her back. “Please, ma'am, we don't know what condition he's in.”

Amanda didn't care; she had to get to her husband. In that moment she forgot about her mistrust, about her fears. All she saw now was the father of her son, standing in front of the monster, staring it down, sure to die, to leave them all to die—

Edgar gasped and convulsively jerked upright, the ash falling away to reveal more of his body.

Amanda gasped and gaped, shocked by how much Edgar had changed since she had seen him last. His body seemed younger, certainly, but also thinner, far thinner. His ribs and shoulders protruded from his skin, his skull bulged out of his head under a shaggy mop of hair and a disheveled beard that flowed down onto his chest.

“Oh, God, Edgar.”

The man with the glasses leaned forward. “Mr. President? Can you hear me, sir? I'm staff doctor—”

The doctor was drowned out by a series of wracking coughs from Edgar, who proceeded to stand and look wildly about the vast room, staring wide eyed at the morning sunlight that streamed through the great wall of glass.

He stood transfixed for a moment, then turned slowly and stared at the crowd that had assembled for him.

“No one...” his voice was hoarse and wavered slightly. “No one speaks of this. No one tells anyone...”

They all nodded dutifully, unsure of what else to do.

Edgar stood for another moment, then walked away in the direction of the stairs. “I need food...”

The doctor and several members of the staff followed Edgar out of the room, but Amanda remained where she was, staring down at the ash that had enveloped her husband. What had happened? She felt a cold certainty that this was going to become another of Edgar's deadly secrets, one more thing that threatened the family's safety should it ever come out.

And as she waded out into the ash, bent to pick some up and let it fall through her fingers, she knew that she couldn't let Edgar endanger the family any longer...

E.H.U.D.: Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The voice of the woman calling herself Cyd screeched out of the speakers of Tisha's mobile. “Did we start out learning to kill people with our minds? Phh-- Hell no. No, we just... we just did shit for a while, you know? Just kinda fucked around and... Naw, the killin' came later.”

Another voice said something indistinct, and Cyd laughed. “Fuck. Naw, no, no, no, I—I couldn't do anything cool like that now. No, my power's still blocked. I just got the memories.”

“I thought we already watched this one...” Rachel muttered.

Tisha shrugged. “You did maybe, but I don't remember it.”

Rachel grunted and pushed further back into the alcove they had taken shelter in.

The recording of Cyd continued. “Hell yes, I was there. What, you think I'm crazy? That I'd lie about that? Ha! 'Course I was there when the riot started. Hell, I helped start it. There was this crazy guy, see, and—”

“You know...” Rachel looked down at the tiny, red-haired pixie dancing wildly across the mobile, “my uncle was there, when the riot started.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he mentioned Cyd.”

“Dang. What'd he think? Crazy?”

Rachel shook her head. Uncle John had mentioned it in passing, that he had been at the riot, had seen it start, had been accosted by a strange woman. “He never said, but I'm guessing crazy.”

Tisha looked up and met her friend’s eyes. “And you think she's crazy, too.”

Rachel tried to look offended. “Of course not! We can't discount any—”

“Mmm, no. Don't try to bullshit your way out of this. You really think she's crazy and making it up. Why?”

“Well...” Rachel looked up from the mobile and out at the crowds of freezing, unhappy teenagers. “Just too coincidental. She's a super-soldier, who just happens to show up at the site of a pro-'hud rally, the day after her fellow super-soldier tries to kill the president. She's unable to duplicate any powers, and our oh-so paranoid government has failed to pick up on her. She's just a crazy street person who was in the right place at the right time to get a good story.”

Tisha nodded, then stretched her legs and stared up at the sky. “Looks like snow.”

Rachel didn't look up. “No it doesn't.”

“So if she's lying, why? Just the attention?”

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but didn't answer. She stared at the screen for a moment, then gestured for the mobile to rewind the video.

“Rachel?”

“Shh! Did you here that?”

“What?” Tisha leaned forward and scrutinized the screen. “What'd she say?”

Rachel gestured for the mobile to play, and Cyd's high, nasal voice returned. “—was this crazy guy, see, and he showed up there and was just watching. And I was thinking, and was all like, 'Shit, he looks familiar.' So I went over to him, and it was him, one of my buddies from the program. What a fuckin' coincidence, huh? So I was like, 'Hey, John! What's up?' And he just stared at me like I was crazy or something, and tired to buy me off, but I knew it was him; I'd recognize that bald little head of his anywhere, even with those stupid glasses. And I started tellin' everybody—hey! Hey, you! Yeah, you, in the football jersey!” Cyd broke off and started waving at someone off screen.

Tisha gestured for the video to stop. “You think she's talking about your uncle?”

“She described him perfectly...”

“That's hilarious! And she think's he's an E.H.U.D.?”

Rachel shook her head.

“What? She's crazy, right? Why'd you care what she says? Besides, that'd be cool if he really was one!”

“My dad think's he's an E.H.U.D.”

“So?”

“So I've heard him taking about it, and he sounded a little angry. He and John haven't really gotten along that well for the past few months. Look, let's change the subject, okay?”

“Sure.” Tisha dropped the mobile into her lap, then leaned out past the edge of their alcove. “Okay, backtracking to your dad, sorry, but when the hell's he supposed to get here?”

Rachel shrugged.

“He know's it's his day right, and that we just can't walk out of here?”

“He knows... probably just got caught up at work.” She sighed, then stood up and began to pace in a tight circle. “Shit. I can't believe they're doing this to us! They round us up and store us in these goddamn concentration camps all day, and now they won't let us leave until a fucking grown-up comes and holds our hands!”

Tisha nodded. “Sucks. That's the reactionaries for you.”

“Yeah, like we're gonna get caught in a riot right outside the school. We should be free to leave on our own!”

Tisha snorted and swiped a hand at Rachel's leg. “You just want to see Wayne without daddy finding out.”

Rachel stopped walking. “Shut up.” She dropped back down next to Tisha and grabbed for the mobile. “Okay, forget detainment without just cause; we can argue the constitution later. Let's watch something.”

Tisha opened her mouth, but Rachel said quickly, “Not Cyd. I've had too much Cyd. See if AmeriNews has anything new on the riot yesterday.”

Tisha closed her mouth and reclaimed the mobile from Rachel. “Okay... Oh! Breaking news, it's been out for like ten minutes now, presidential statement about the Defenders!”

“Fatty's trying to bury the perjury, you think?”

“Video's loading!”

The screen went black for a moment, then displayed a static shot of a lectern with the presidential seal on the front, then—

“Hey!” Tisha leaned forward. “That's not—”

“Shh!”

On the screen, looking tired, his hair and beard slightly frayed, was Edgar Latterndale.

“My fellow Americans,” he began, his voice deep and firm, “it is my sad duty to inform you that this morning President Isaac Latterndale was assassinated in the presidential residence. Following his unfortunate passing, and the abrupt resignation of Secretary of State Charlton Wong, it has fallen to me to execute the duties of the office of President of the United States.” He cleared his throat, looked at the lectern.

“It may seem inappropriate to address matters of policy while the country should be in a period of morning, but unfortunately we are in a state of crisis, and policy must be addressed.

“The Defenders.”

Rachel felt a tingle of excitement, a sense of impending change.

“The previous official line regarding theses so-called foreign saboteurs is now null and void; it is time to reveal the truth of them and their origins. Everything alleged by the late Merv Lemlin is true, in general terms. The American government created the Defenders. Illegally, unethically.”

This was really happening.

“And I knew about it.”

Latterndale fell silent as a torrent of mixed emotions surged through Rachel. Everything she had suspected, the hidden truth she had believed, was true. But the man she had respected, the hero she had privately worshiped, had just acknowledged himself as a fraud.

Latterndale continued. “I'm going to try to be honest with you; I didn't know all the facts. I knew the first two subjects were volunteers, and I naturally assumed the rest were volunteers. Nothing I was told contradicted that perception.” He paused and nodded solemnly. “Nothing reinforced that perception. Judge that as you will.

“Now, if I knew about the truth, why didn't I come forward following Lemlin's accusations? Why didn't anyone? Why indeed? Fear. Immediately following Lemlin's attack, the president was not... rational. He was unbalanced and threatening, and I feared for my family's safety. I realize now that the greater threat was to let the deception stand, but it is far too late to make better choices. All that is left to do is to move on, and I ask for your support in enacting new policy regarding the Defenders.

“Based on wisdom given over the past two months by leveler heads, especially those of Senator Terstein and Ambassador Mokri, I feel that it is best to label the Defenders as weapons of mass destruction, to be placed under international authority and oversight.”

Tisha gasped and Rachel clutched her arm; Latterndale seemed determined to lose all credibility in this one speech.

“To ensure that these weapons will not be misused by any government or other power, only those experienced with the Defenders should be considered to oversee them. As such, I would respectfully request that the United Nations accept the Defenders as political refugees from their country of origin, and grant them governance over the Defender weapons.”

Rachel released Tisha's arm. It was abrupt, it was clumsily stated, but it was brilliant: Latterndale had redeemed himself.

“As of this point, I no longer consider the Defenders as American citizens. They are international diplomats, and will be treated with all of the courtesy and authority that this distinction grants them. To any Defenders watching this broadcast, I ask that you make yourselves known, that you connect with our government, with any government, to help us in achieving peace, to put this dark period behind us. You Defenders have been hurt by us; now it is time time for you Defenders to be defended by us.”

There were several moments of silence as Latterndale looked down at the podium, tapped his fingers, and finally nodded. “There is much more that needs to be said, but I feel that it can best be said later. The immediate problem is to right the wrong that has been done; the rest can come later. Thank you.” He turned and walked away. The video ended.

“Oh, holy shit...” Tisha stared at the screen. “Isaac's dead...”

Rachel furrowed her brows. “The man pulls off a brilliant piece of political bullshitting that gives the world self-aware mutually assured destruction, and all you can care about is that some old man died?”

“He was assassinated! And 'the man' didn't tell us by who.”

“Why does that matter?”

Tisha lowered the mobile and fixed Rachel with a withering stare. “Really? Why do you think he didn't bring it up? What possible reason could there be to not give away the identity of the assassin?”

“You don't have to be such a bitch about it.” Rachel stood and rubbed her arms; the temperature was dropping. “Condemning a Defender while trying to make nice would kill the message.”

“We're not going to be the only people to put this together. It's going to come back and bite him.”

“Doesn't matter. Mystery 'hud kills the president, that's a major no-no, even if public opinion's on their side. Latterndale can get away with this one thing.”

“Hmm...”

They remained like that for several minutes, Tisha sitting and scrolling through comments on her mobile, Rachel standing and shivering.

“You know,” Rachel said, fog curling away from her mouth, “if this goes down right, if Latterndale can really push this whole independent Defenders thing with the U.N., everything's going to get better. And then... Then we can GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS FUCKING PLACE!”

Heads all around the schoolyard turned in her direction, and Rachel slumped down next to Tisha, resigned to wait for her father.

E.H.U.D.: Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It was around midnight when they knocked on the door. The first knock had no effect, the second knock woke Edgar, and the third knock was followed immediately by the sound of the door being thrown open.

Edgar jolted upright, immediately on edge by the absence of the security alarm. There were footsteps on carpet, wood, stairs, carpet again.

Voices: “Spread out!” “Secure every room!” “Mr. Latterndale! Mr. Latterndale!”

Upstairs, in his bedroom, he heard the terrified, suddenly-awake scream of Ethan, Amanda's frantic shouts of protest and anger. “Get away from him, you bastards! You can't have him, you can't—”

A flashlight, piercing blue in the darkness, switched on and swept the living room.

“In here!”

Edgar looked over the back of the couch and shielded his eye from the light.

“The hell—”

“No time, Mr. Latterndale!”

Strong arms gripped him and pulled him to his feet.

“Package secure, moving out.”

Disjointed images flooded around him—men in dark business suits, some wearing armored vests; the occasional E.H.U.D. standing implacably in each doorway; Mandy, pushing down the stairs, trying to keep the men away from her son.

The intruders quickly ushered Edgar towards the front door. “Can't I at least get my fucking pants—”

“Sorry, sir; no time, sir. Clothes are in the vehicle.”

“Edgar! What's going on?” Amanda was down the stairs, struggling against captors of her own, pushing desperately toward her husband. “What's going on?”

He tried to break away from the men who held him, but they were too strong. “I don't know! Get back to Ethan and—”

A young woman in a business suit and armored vest approached Amanda. “Everything will be all right, ma'am.”

“Where are you taking him?”

Edgar was almost to the door.

“Please, ma'am, just return to your son. You'll see your husband again soon. Now, we're going to help you pack up anything you'll need for a few—”

“Where the hell are you taking him?!”

And then he was gone. He felt the pebbles of the front walk digging into his feet as the invaders dragged him towards a line of black utility vehicles parked along the curb. There was movement in the windows of surrounding houses as neighbors peered out at what was going on. Edgar felt a twinge of embarrassment, wondering what they must think of all of this, before he abruptly realized that he might never see Amanda again.

What had happened? Had Isaac finally decided to clean house and frame Edgar for the entire Defender debacle? Whoever gave up those documents could have had more.

Only one way to find out....

They reached the middle of the line and Edgar was roughly forced into the back seat. As soon as the door was closed, the vehicle was on the move.

There was an exhaling of breath, and a light turned on overhead. Edgar blinked and recognized the face of a Secret Service agent.

“What's going on?”

The agent cleared his throat, then made eye contact. “It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that at one seventeen this morning Isaac Latterndale, President of the United States of America, was assassinated.”

Silence filled the vehicle, dancing back and forth with the sound of tires on roadway.

“So why am I here?”

The agent cleared his throat again and passed a shopping bag across to Edgar. “These should fit you. We're going through and collecting all surviving members of the cabinet. NSA's idea. With so many deaths and resignations recently, it was thought best that we get a contingency in place to keep this government running until the next election.”

Edgar pulled a pair of pinstriped trousers and a pale blue shirt out of the bag. “I'm assuming we're not going to the White House to swear in President Wong?”

The agent narrowed his eyes. “Give us some credit.”

“I just assumed that if Isaac was involved with this—”

“The president was not aware of the plan.”

Edgar nodded and began to pull on the trousers. He tried to keep emotionally neutral. Part of him was terrified; the agent had specifically said “assassinated.” There was no “accident”, no “natural causes”. “Assassinated.” In Edgar's mind: Defender. On the other hand: Deep satisfaction. The old man was finally dead, and Edgar didn't have to worry about him any more. It was as if a weight had lifted, and Edgar could walk tall and proud into whatever future Mistlethwakey had arranged.

Still needed to be sure. “Am I correct in assuming it was a Defender who did this?”

“Yes, a Ms. Maria Ruiz. You know her?”

Edgar swallowed; he knew her better than the agent ever guessed. Originally hostile, later one of the program's best results. She had done a lot of off-the-books work for the past few administrations. And Mistlethwakey had chosen her... How long ago? There was no way he could have programmed her in the last few months; he had planned this at least a year ago.

“I've met her a few times, yes.”

“She's in the Pentagon now, sedated and scrambled to hell and back.”

Edgar nodded and finished pulling on a pair of socks.

Time for the shirt. What about Amanda? Chances were that wherever they were taking Edgar, Amanda would be brought soon after. He was now a very important person in the government in exile; a family loose in the world was too big of a security risk.

Edgar finished dressing and return his attention to the agent. “So, big question here—”

“Where are you taking us?”

Amanda stood, dressed for bed and feeling tired, in the middle of her dining room while security agents and armored troops invaded her home and collected her belongings.

The agent standing before her sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't know that. As I've already told you, the location will be determined when—”

“Then tell me just where the fu—” She stopped herself from finishing the curse as she felt the weight of Ethan leaning on her leg. “Where do you think you might be taking us? Do you know that?”

The agent sighed again and closed her eyes in acquiescence. “We have a number of secure facilities all across the country. We'll try to keep you on the Eastern sea-board, as close to the capitol as possible, but I simply do not know, will not know, until a final decision is reached.”

“But it will be someplace safe?”

The agent paused for an uncomfortably long time before responding “Yes.”

Amanda nodded. She knew. None of them—the cabinet, their families—were safe anymore. The agent hadn't said the word when informing her of Issac's untimely passing, but it was there, trying to hide behind every clinical report, every assurance of future safety.

Defender.

Ethan yawned and pushed closer into Amanda's side. She looked down at her son, then at her home and the invaders in it, and privately cursed Edgar. She didn't know how, but she knew he was somehow responsible for all of this.

It wasn't a feeling of blame; she wasn't trying to hang her problems on him. There simply existed a deep-down, pit-of-her-stomach certainty that Edgar was wrapped up in this whole mess. Memories of that night flicked in and out of her awareness, branded with new clarity. In the ballroom, watching Edgar's strange behavior, his furtive glances at Mistlethwakey, at the door. The strange dullness that had swept over her when Lemlin had walked onstage, that kept her rooted to her chair and willing to sit and listen while Lemlin went on about secret programs and super-soldiers.

The horrors of the next hour, the next night, had distracted her from what she had seen then. Lost in the panic of the crowd, seeing her husband abandon her to face down the monster that had violated her carefully constructed reality, she had been forced to put everything aside save for Ethan. There was nothing more important then, not even her own life. She alone was left in the world, she alone to save their son.

Edgar's actions later that night—his soft words, gentle embrace, constant presence—should have ended the loneliness, should have brought the family closer together as she realized that Edgar's actions at the party had ultimately been to save his family, not his president.

But all of that was lost in what she had seen in Edgar's eyes. It was an old thing, a familiar thing, that she had seen so many times before: there was something he wasn't telling her. As the world crumbled, as people died, as the physical universe was shaken by the psychic, there was something Edgar wasn't telling her.

Analyzed by the light of that realization, Amanda knew that Edgar's bravery had not been that of a man defying the unknown, but that of a man who knew precisely what he was up against, and had calculated a fair chance of survival. While Amanda and the rest of the guests had been lost in confusion, scared and alone, Edgar had known what was happening, what Lemlin really was.

If there were any truth to Lemlin's claims of government involvement in his creation, then Edgar had been at the heart of it.

Now that heart was exposed, shedding its blood over the world. The president was dead, the country was on the edge of chaos, and Edgar was out there somewhere, being taken to safety.

They wanted Amanda to be with him, safe by his side...

She couldn't. She may not be safe here, but she would be even less safe with Edgar. As much as she wanted to trust in his ability to keep Ethan and her safe from the Defenders, she knew that the secret held in his eyes would destroy his family more absolutely than any external threat.

“Please, ma'am, we have to hurry.” The agent stepped closer, as if trying to impress the need for haste through physical proximity.

Amanda sighed and looked down to Ethan, who was falling asleep on his feet. As much as she wanted to stay in this house—her home—rather than follow Edgar into whatever danger he now found himself, she couldn't separate Ethan from his father without letting the boy have his say.

“Are we being forced to go, or is this voluntary?”

“Ma'am—”

“Well?”

“Voluntary.” The agent sounded uncomfortable.

Amanda looked up at the agent and pointed into the kitchen. “Could you excuse us, please? I need to talk to my son.”

“Ma'am—”

“Alone.”

The agent remained for a moment, then went into the kitchen.

Amanda rested her hand on Ethan's shoulder and steered him towards the couch that his father had slept on minutes before.

“Mom,” Ethan half-yawned as he lay down, “do I have to go to school tomorrow?”

“No, you're up too late tonight,” she said, sitting and positioning his head on her lap. “But right now we need to talk about something really important, alright?”

“M'kay...”

“Honey... Uncle Isaac passed away.”

Ethan's eyes opened fully and he sat up. “What? When?”

“Just a few minutes ago. That's why your father had to leave.”

“Did the E.H.U.D.s kill him?”

For a moment Amanda saw a squad of armored soldiers descending on the president, ripping him limb from limb with their powered suits, before she realized that Ethan had meant “Defenders.”

“I think so yes. But listen... The agents here, they want us to leave—”

“I heard that.”

Amanda nodded. “Well... I don't think we should.”

“Why not?”

Because your father is one of the scary people who is responsible for this whole mess, and besides, he's never loved you. “Because I don't think we'll be any safer with him than on our own. Because he might be in danger.”

“Like Uncle Isaac?”

He was only eleven, she reminded herself. Even if he sometimes acted like an adult, he wasn't ready to hear that his father might be on a hit list.

“There might be danger.”

Ethan's face took on a look of determination. “Then we can't leave him alone.”

“So you want to go with dad, even if that means leaving all your friends, this house?”

“We can't leave him alone.”

Amanda nodded, stood, and went into the kitchen.

Three hours of driving, and Edgar was in Maryland, some thirty miles from home, or so the agents told him. He was holed-up in what appeared to be a corporate board-room: light wood paneling half-way up the walls, textured off-white wallpaper, a long table. It was only when he looked up and saw the concrete ceiling, the exposed pipes and wiring, that he was fully able to convince himself that he was underground.

He padded around to the head of the table and sat down, leaning back with his feet up on the table. As he stared up at the bare utility of the ceiling, he did some quick math and realized that it was six months ago that Mistlethwakey had promised him the presidency. The promise was almost fulfilled.

“Where's Charlie?” he asked the single agent who had remained in the bunker.

“Hopefully, flying over New Jersey.”

“You don't know?”

“It takes at least half an hour to get to New York, even with Air Force One.”

Edgar nodded and hoped that Wong would simply turn down the promotion, rather than have a plane wreck.

He sat in silence for another few minutes, listening to the low sounds of the pipes overhead. At some point he drifted off to sleep, only to awaken when someone slid through the double-doors at the end of the room. It was Julia.

“Hey.”

She smiled and tilted her head fractionally. “Hey!” She walked around the table, sitting about halfway down on Edgar's left side.

Hours slid by, and the remaining members of the cabinet drifted in one by one.

Edgar took some time watching them, trying to gauge their reactions. Julia seemed calm, reacting to conversation with cool indifference. She did, on occasion, show signs of stress, abruptly raising her voice or glaring at someone who made a stupid comment, but Edgar chalked that up to lack of sleep. It was the way she moved her body that showed how she really felt; she was far too deliberate. All her steps were perfectly even, her back was too straight, she moved as if she were controlling her body remotely. Edgar took that to be her coping, her trying to control the situation.

Eli, on the other hand, was an easy read. He had never truly recovered from the first Defender attack nearly two months before. Tonight he was jumpy, his eyes constantly moving, his entire body jerking at every sudden movement, every too-loud sound. His conversation was whispered, clipped, unsure. Edgar privately wondered how long the man would last, and was secretly amazed at how long he had made it this far.

For his own part, Edgar realized that he was moving in something of a daze. He moved slowly, responding with exaggerated ease. Nothing and no one really seemed to bother him, really seemed real. Mistlethwakey was about to fulfill his promise to him, and Edgar was about to step into immortality. Tonight, the nervous waiting was over. Tonight, Edgar was simply... existing.

At some point in the morning he must have given in to sleep. The next thing he was aware of was a female voice, a gentle shove on his shoulder.

“Hey, wake up.”

“Not now, Mandy....”

“You need to wake up a little more than that.”

It wasn't Amanda's voice. He opened his eyes and saw the industrial lights of the secret complex glaring down at him, much closer than they should have been from ground level. Raising his head exposed his body, fully clothed save for shoes, spread out on the conference table. He turned and saw Julia Telk standing off to one side.

“Shit. How long was I out?”

She shrugged. “It's after noon now.”

“Shit. They back yet?”

Julia shook her head. “No. But they called Eli and said they were about fifteen minutes out.”

“Shit. They say how Wong's holding up?”

Julia shook her head again.

Edgar sighed and slumped back onto the table. He turned his head and looked around, seeing other members of the Cabinet slumped in chairs, leaned on walls, all looking like they'd rather be anywhere but here.

He gave himself a few more minutes of relaxation, then swung off the table and approached Eli. “Hey.”

Eli yelped and jerked, then turned to look at Edgar. “Oh, uh, hey.”

“Just wanted to know what you've said about Isaac so far.”

“Said?”

“To the press? About his death?”

Eli flinched at 'death.' “Nothing. Media blackout. Not saying anything until Charlie's here.”

Edgar closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Why?”

Eli shrugged. “He might have something to say about it.”

“Do you realize how guilty this makes us look?”

Eli shrugged again. “Not my problem. Talk to Charlie.”

Edgar went back to the table and pulled out a chair. He rummaged in his pocket for his mobile, then remembered that these weren't his pants. Sleep seemed his only recourse at this point; he didn't want to talk to anyone.

A commotion by the door caught Edgar's attention, and he saw several agents enter. Charlie wasn't with them.

He slumped back in his chair even as Julia left hers and stomped up to the lead agent. “Where is he?”

The agent looked at her, exhaustion evident in his face, and said softly, “He's not coming. He resigned.”

Julia nodded and glanced over her shoulder at Edgar.

The agent stepped past her and approached Edgar. “Congratulations, Ed.” He turned to face the rest of the cabinet and spoke, his voice at full volume. “Secretary of Defense Edgar Latterndale shall now hold the office and responsibilities of President of the United states of America, until such a time as a vote of the people is to be held.”

All eyes turned to Edgar, who slowly stood and solemnly nodded. The lead agent spoke into the microphone at his wrist, the doors opened again, and the elderly chief justice stepped through, her silver hair stark against her black robe. She stopped before Edgar and held up a thick book. “Don't know what your preferences are, but I went with a Bible.”

Edgar nodded. “That'll work.”

The chief justice held out the Bible, Edgar rested his right hand on it, and the chief justice led him through the oath of office. In a few minutes it was done, and Edgar was president.

Minutes later Edgar stood at the head of the table, the remnants of the cabinet arrayed around him, all waiting for him to say something... He thought back to what Mistlethwakey had said, six months ago. Edgar had been paid his price, now it was his time to work. He was in the Oval Office, and he needed to get the rest of the world to play along...

“Okay.” Relief was replaced by tension, of anticipation of work to come. He clapped his hands and bounced on his toes. “Someone take notes on this.”

Julia raised her hand fractionally, and Edgar nodded in acknowledgment. “Okay. Call Terstein, tell him I want a phone conference ASAP, today if possible. Next, need to talk with the U.N. We're going to address the Defender issue head on, set them up as refugees seeking political asylum; no one can have hands on them.”

Several people around the room gasped.

“What?”

Julia lowered her tablet stylus. “You're saying we have some authority to give them asylum... that means we have authority over them to begin with.”

“Yes. Besides that all those known are American citizens, we're going to acknowledge that we made them. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave now.”

No one answered. Julia raised the stylus in anticipation of what Edgar would say next.

“We're raising security alert level; things might get a little crazy in the next few days. I want every branch of the military ready. Also, call Mistlethwakey. As of now, he's relieved of duty, and I want him ready to be NSA first thing tomorrow.” He straightened, placed his hands on his hips, and nodded.

“That everything?” Julia asked, her eyebrows quirked in frank disbelief.

“For you, yes. Eli!”

Eli twitched and coughed.

“Get me a press conference. The sooner, the better. Twenty minutes. Every network.”

Eli nodded and started scribbling into a notebook.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Edgar said, his arms outstretched. “Welcome to the future!” He dropped his arms and turned to look at the remaining agents.

“Now, where the hell is my family?”