Chapter 22
Rachel sat in a cold grey
conference room in the cold grey airport.
At least, she assumed the airport was grey. She hadn't seen much beyond the terminal,
hadn't been outside at all. It was cold. And now it was getting late, and nothing at
all had been decided.
She looked at her allies: a group
of six other passengers, each from a different flight, that had been selected
to represent all the stranded passengers.
At least three of them were lawyers, but she couldn't remember which
ones: everyone looked frumpy and unwashed.
They had been in here for over five hours, arguing.
They argued with the people from
the airline: One vice president, two customer care specialists, two
lawyers. The lawyers she could identify
from the suits they wore. The
rest... she didn't even care who they
were anymore.
One of the lawyers was talking,
exhaustion evident in her voice. “Again,
we are in no way liable for this situation.
This was a government mandated grounding. We sympathize with you, and will of course
help to arrange lodging or other forms of transport, but we cannot and will not
provide financial recompense for costs incurred during this layover.”
One of Rachel's allies answered;
probably a lawyer. “As this is a
federally mandated grounding, then I am sure the federal government will
reimburse you for any costs incurred while assisting us.”
God, were politics always this
boring? The news made it seem so simple,
Mom's rallies made it seem so exciting.
Negotiating was just... She
didn't know how much more she could take.
Someone else had the same idea she
did. “Look, let's just table this
tonight, figure it out—”
“We can't! If we stop here, everyone's going to have to
find hotels, with no idea of who's going to pay!”
The mobile in Rachel's pocket
buzzed, and she straightened in her chair.
An enemy lawyer noticed the
movement. “Yes, Ms. Donalson, do you
have any ideas you'd wish to contribute?”
“Little compromise on the last
point raised. Fifteen minute break?”
There was a moment of silence, then
a babble of assent. They all stood,
chairs scraping, and walked stiff-legged out of the room.
Rachel remained seated and dug out
her mobile.
There was a message from
Tisha: Rach - - check the news!
Rachel rubbed her forehead. She didn't need any more on her mind right
now. Still, if Tisha thought it was
important enough to message so late...
She opened a browser, began flicking through the news feed. Almost at once she saw the name: John
Donalson. Click, open story. An old photo, John looking younger, with
hair. The story...
Cyd was right. After months of yelling it on the street
corners, it seemed the homeless woman had correctly identified a Defender. After displaying his powers, Donalson was invited
to join President Latterndale for a summit on international/Defender
relations. Then, a force of U.S.
soldiers ambushed and killed the erstwhile Defender. The battle, short and brutal, had claimed the
lives of at least ten soldiers, as well as over a hundred civilians who were
caught in a building set alight by a downed chopper.
Rachel gasped and slumped back into
her seat. It had to be a joke, it
couldn't be real—she clicked a link at the bottom, found a response video,
listened as Senator Terstein's voice sprang into life.
“The time for action is now! Even as protection and goodwill were offered
to this young man, our military has struck him down! So far, every Defender to pop up has been
struck down, and I am forced to ask our president, 'Why, Edgar?
“What aren't you telling us, Mr.
President? I am beyond the point of
giving you the benefit of the doubt, and so too, I hope, is America. Where are you? Step forward and set the record straight!”
Another link, another. Riots in major cities, raids on army bases,
more members of the LCR springing up all over southern California.
More links, international
responses. Iranian Ambassador Ahmad
Mokri, denouncing America as a rogue state, advising all nuclear states to
prepare themselves for possible hostilities.
More links, NORAD readying
anti-missile countermeasures, more links—
It was all Rachel could do to keep
from crying. John was gone...
As the door to the conference room
opened, as people returned, Rachel felt tears begin to streak her face.
Darkness engulfed
Philadelphia. Beyond the light of Sky
Crest, blackness extended into infinity.
There were occasional sparks of gunfire, brief flares of stars exploding
into existence, then fading away into nothingness.
Indistinct movement passed over the
gunfire, and Amanda Latterndale shifted her focus, took in her own reflection
in the glass wall that curved overhead.
She could see the penthouse behind her, open wood floor for twenty feet,
then continuing under the steel loft of the floor above. Ethan sat in the small living area in one
corner, playing with his one legged Gigawatt toy.
Movement again. An aid, up a flight of stairs to where
Mistlethwakey stood in conference with several soldiers. The aid pushed in close, said something to
the General, waited for a response, then returned the way he had come. Minutes passed, the General dismissed his
entourage, then descended the stairs and came to a stop next to Amanda.
“It's kind of beautiful, don't you
think?” he asked in a somber tone.
“In a rather perverse way,
yes. Did the messenger bear bad news?”
Mistlethwakey ran his hand through
his hair, shaking his head. “Just an
update on Norgent. It looks like he's
going to be okay.” He dropped his hands,
then fell silent.
Amanda glanced at him. “Something on your mind?”
“Just...” he gestured back at the
few soldiers who continued to mill around upstairs. “They're so damn concerned with what's
happening outside, they're not seeing the bigger picture.”
“Which is?”
“We're on the edge of nuclear war.”
Amanda let that sink in, ground her
teeth. “They're really that afraid of
what the Defenders will do?”
“The Defenders?” Mistlethwakey shook his head. “For once, this isn't all about them. We're a nuclear power, with an absentee
president, terrorist groups in control of our biggest airport, rioting in all
our major cities, and politicians very publicly calling for armed revolt. Most in the last four hours, I might
add. We're the very definition of an
unstable state.”
Amanda sighed. “And Ed assured me we'd be safe here...”
The General turned and appraised
her. “He was absolutely right; this is
the safest place on the goddamn planet.
It'd survive the end of the world.”
She smiled. “You know something I don't?”
He nodded. “Damn right.”
He returned to staring out the window.
She returned her attention to the
reflections. Behind her, Ethan was
gripping the Gigawatt, swinging it at a small stand of army men. The innocent play seemed so wrong in light of
what was happening just outside their window.
The bigger figure would hit, the little men would fall. How many civilians were dying out there,
gunned down as they tried to break into police stations, or take over train
lines?
“Have you been speaking with Ed?”
Mistlethwakey looked up. “Hm?
Not as such. He's not exactly on
speaking terms with me at the moment.”
“Seems a bit odd for him to name
you NSA.”
He shrugged. “I think he was trying to get me out of the
way.”
“Has Ed been speaking with anyone
else?”
“Ashby said he's been a little
withdrawn lately...”
“Right.” Amanda stood a little straighter, let the
room blur as she focused on the eternal night outside. “Then as far as anyone's concerned, you're
speaking for him, as security adviser.
You'll get a SEAL team, infiltrate LAX, take the damn thing back. If they fly out any planes, you shoot them
down as soon as they're clear of the city.
This country's been on lockdown long enough.”
He quirked an eyebrow. She turned for a moment to look at him, saw
that he was offering no resistance, returned to her vigil.
“Once the skies are clear, you're
going to get as much FEMA support flying as is humanly possible. I know it's not your purview, but you see it
gets done. You land food and medicine in
all the major cities, the ones with the worst fighting: Chicago, LA, San
Antonio, New York. You get the
idea. Pick a spot, somewhere large but
defensible. Lock it down. Then, you start letting in anyone who wants
to get away. Make sure they don't have
weapons.
“Here, you do it in Sky Crest. I know you've got some barricades
already. Now, everything outside
Kensington's a dead zone. Hell, even
Kensington. You now have the tower, the
mall, and the immediate surroundings.
Pull back the troops. Anyone who
wants can come in, but absolutely no one gets out.”
He nodded, then ran his hands
through his hair again. “You're
suggesting concentration camps.”
She returned the nod. “Hostages.
It'll mostly be women and children who come. Safety, food, and medicine. You said yourself we're a destabilized
state. People out there are fighting for
ideals, for the future. If you take
their families, their futures, they'll have nothing to fight for. If you take the families hostage, the men
have no choice but to give up and go home.”
They stood in silence for a minute,
the last few soldiers descending the stairs and making their way to the
elevator.
“You realize he's not coming for
you, right?”
Amanda clenched her jaw. “How long ago did he choose the world over
me?”
Mistlethwakey shook his head,
shrugged. “I don't have an exact date;
it's ancient history to me.”
“Just make sure you get it
done. Then we can get back to worrying
about those fucking EHUDs.” Amanda
turned from the window and stormed away.
She approached Ethan, got his attention, gathered him in an embrace.
Mistlethwakey watched in the
reflection, then looked beyond the shadow world into the darkness beyond... and
smiled.
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