3.11.01 The Ends and the Means

[virtualda]

episode: Virtual Dark Angel episode 3.11

season: Virtual Dark Angel season 3



The Ends and the Means by Kyre and willow



A mysterious, re-emerging power begins to exert influence over the lives of Max and the transgenics. Clemente is forced to make a move that puts Max's closest friends in jeopardy. And the siege on Terminal City reaches a turning point as Max and Logan race to prevent mass murder and the destruction of their only chance at freedom...

* * * *

His eyes flicked upwards towards the darkened television screen. "Looks like things are going to get even more out of control on your watch," he observed icily. "If you don't comply and arrest the traitors, I'll have no choice but to report your dereliction of duty to the federal authorities and commandeer this investigation."

* * * *

Max’s cell phone clattered to the wet pavement, but she focused on jumping up

with fists forward and slamming into the cop. Just as she finished knocking him out, booted footsteps approached and a group of several cops and National Guard members came into view.

"All this for little old me?" Max said with innocent eyes and a cocky smile. "Why, you shouldn't have."

* * * *

"Logan?" said the heavyset woman said on the other end. "I saw the wanted posters a while back, and I don't know where you are or how much you can do, but I need you to give a message to Eyes Only."

"Will do. What's up?"

The urgency in the woman's voice was unmistakable. "I heard some guys talking in a bar. I'll tell him everything they said. But first...you need to turn on the news."

* * * *

From her rooftop perch, Max caught sight of the man on the raised platform, but it was too late. "Joshua!" she screamed.

Joshua heard Max's cry and whirled around as the gun went off.









PROLOGUE



Oxford Avenue, Terminal City – Wednesday, November 3, afternoon

Max kicked up a small pile of leaves as she stepped into one of the small green areas of Terminal City. About a block long and a hundred yards wide, it held a few large trees that had survived the poison of the chemical spill twelve years before, as well as some smaller ones that had been planted months ago by the first transgenics to move into the area. The afternoon sun glittered through the treetops, bouncing off the yellow and red leaves, eventually falling to illuminate the brown ones on the ground. The area served as a contrast to the drab and depressing buildings and concrete that characterized the rest of Terminal City, as well as to the urban landscape Max had known for much of her life.

Joshua sat under a tree, picking apart a leaf.

“Hey, big fella,” Max greeted, sitting down next to him. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Nice to spend time outside,” he explained with a weak smile, glancing up only briefly from his leaf. “Couldn’t do it before...ever before.” He paused for a moment, staring at the leaf, and then began shredding it more vigorously. “May not get to in the future, either.”

Max closed her hand around one of Joshua’s, forcing him to be still and look at her. “If you’re talking about the DNA dealio, we’ll take care of it.” She ignored his shaking head and moved on, lightening her tone. “I’m not gonna let them take you or anyone at Jam Pony. Who’s a girl gonna talk to to keep her sane?”

“Didn’t know Normal kept you sane,” joked Logan, stepping into the green area with a smile on his face.

Max grinned and played along. “Well, you know. It’s a lot easier to tolerate him when I’m not hearing ‘bip bip bip’ all day long.”

“…and now that you have a reason for not showing up to work,” Logan added as he stood in front of Max and Joshua. Max was too busy feigning exasperation to notice the small wince Logan couldn’t quite hide.

“I seem to remember somebody asking me to spend my workdays chasing smugglers and fishing files from locked buildings.”

“Didn’t you do most of that at night?”

“Busted,” Max agreed with a grin.

“Besides, it had to be done,” Logan pointed out, a hint of the old righteous indignation coming through in his voice and his eyes as he spoke. “You know it did. And sometimes it seems like things are just getting worse out there.”

Joshua finally broke in, unable to let that comment slide. “Things aren’t so great in here, either.”

“Yeah.” Max’s joking mood evaporated. “We gotta get this thing straightened out. The rest of the world’s just gonna have to wait.”

Logan eyed her, then looked around for a minute. He began speaking while still focused on some faraway point beyond the trees. “The thing is...I’m not sure how long it will.”

Washington, D.C.

“The situation is unchanged from yesterday, sir,” a colonel in uniform said, after saluting briefly. He laid a report on the general’s desk in front of him.

“Very good, Colonel,” the other man replied with a nod. “Dismissed.”

The colonel turned on his heel and walked out of the office. Rising from his seat, the general inserted the report into a briefcase, and strode out of the room. Downstairs, he exited the building and climbed into the rear seat of a Buick. The driver nodded at him curtly before beginning the drive out of the city.

Reaching the outskirts of the city, the general transferred into another Buick that was parked in a deserted commuter lot, barely taking time to glance at the weeds growing through the cracked pavement. He drove this car himself, taking a circuitous route until he reached a small office building that contained several suites. He parked and stepped down the stairs into the basement, entering the rearmost office suite. The reception area was deserted, and the general passed through it without a second glance, walking into the back room and closing the door behind him.

Sitting at a large conference table were two women and two men. “McKenzie,” greeted one of the men. “What did you find out?”

“Unchanged,” General McKenzie responded, sitting down and setting the briefcase on the table. He didn’t bother to open it. “They’re no more aggressive today than they were yesterday.”

“That’s good to know,” said a woman with bobbed hair. “Buys us some more time. But it still doesn’t change the fact that our military is woefully unprepared to match the aggressive buildup there, much less their plans for future engagement. The project is becoming more and more necessary every day.”

The first man nodded his agreement. “It’s our best strategy. We need to deploy those soldiers there as well as other locations. This past year has really hurt us.”

The man and woman who had not yet spoken looked at each other, each pausing and then nodding as well. The man, clearly another general, was in uniform, while the woman wore an expensive business suit. They turned to the rest of the group and the woman spoke. “All right. Let’s do it.”

The others smiled in anticipation.





END OF PROLOGUE



ACT I



Streets of Seattle – Thursday, November 4, Early Morning

“All I’m saying is it’s got to be pretty advantageous,” Sketchy commented to Original Cindy, as they rode their bikes down the street. “Having a birthday on the anniversary of the Lafayette riots pretty much means you can do whatever you want while the sector police are focusing on Sector 11.”

“Whatever,” his coworker snorted. “Original Cindy ain’t got the scrilla to do whatever she wants. Why you think I’m pedalin’ for Normal on my birthday?”

“Pity?” Sketchy kidded with a lopsided grin, and Original Cindy laughed through a smile and shook her head.

“Don’t I wish.” They stopped to wait for traffic to pass and she became thoughtful. “But it is kinda nice this time. Should be easier to see my squeeze.”

“You keep telling me about this Ginger,” Sketchy prodded. The road cleared and they crossed the street. “When you gonna let us meet her?”

Original Cindy’s answer was emphatic. “It ain’t gonna be tonight.”

Sketchy, clearly imagining the two of them together as a dopey grin spread across his face, rounded a corner without looking and nearly rode in front of a car. He stopped short, startled out of his reverie, and watched as the driver sped away, the faint sound of cursing left behind.

Original Cindy stood astride her bike on the opposite sidewalk, watching with some amusement. “The power of the male mind,” she observed. “One-tracked as ever.”

“He was turning against the light,” Sketchy protested, as he pedaled up to join her. She just rolled her eyes. “Seriously. Did you see the way he blazed out of here?”

“If you can handle crossing the street without fantasizing yourself into a pancake, I’m splittin’ to deliver this package. Original Cindy’s got work to do. Birthday tips don’t come along every day.”

Sketchy nodded with a grin. “Gotcha. See ya for lunch then.”

They split up, Sketchy riding north and Original Cindy a short distance west. Two blocks down the street, she leaned her bike against a lamppost and bounced up a set of stairs.

Experience having taught her that few doorbells worked in this part of town, she skipped the bell and knocked on the door of the run-down brownstone. When a man of about forty answered, she flashed her brightest innocent-messenger grin and revealed a package with a flourish.

“Look what the birthday girl brought you,” she announced with a mischievous twitch of her eyebrow.

Panic Room/Logan's Quarters, Terminal City

Logan's eyes fluttered open, a second before his face contorted in pain. He let out a long, slow hiss, straining against an invisible pain, his hands gripping the twisted blanket. His eyes wandered around the room, finally focusing on a spot on the ceiling before he shut them tightly, teeth bared in an ugly grimace.

A knock on the door made him jump, and he took several deep breaths, visibly relaxing his tense muscles. Finally, he sat up, still obviously uncomfortable. "Yeah," he barked.

The door to the panic room swung open and Alec stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Rise and shine," he started to drawl, then stopped as he caught the look on Logan's face. "Uh, you okay?"

Logan took a second to answer, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

Alec started to disagree, but thought better of it and took a step into the room. "Luke wanted me to find you. The surveillance grid went down a few minutes ago and nobody can figure out what's wrong."

Logan started to stand up, then slumped back down onto the mattress, shooting a furtive glance at the exoskeleton standing beside the wall next to the bunk.

"You, uh, need some help or something?" Alec asked.

"Or something," Logan retorted sharply. In the next moment, he hissed again and his back arched as another wave of pain gripped him. "Just...give me a minute, all right? Tell Luke I'll be down in a few minutes."

Alec hesitated, and let out a little sigh. "Whatever you say." He turned to go, then swiveled back around. "Look, Logan...you can't keep this up forever. She's gonna figure it out."

Logan's head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed. "And I thought I'd heard it all. Alec, giving a lecture on the virtues of honesty?" He let out a short laugh.

"Hey, I took the fall last time you two weren't straight with each other, so indulge me, okay? Speaking of which..." Alec, obviously uncomfortable, trailed off again. "You look like you might be needing some help soon. Maybe on my next supply run, I should stop by your place and pick up your wheel—"

"No." Logan's voice was hard. Then he sighed, and his anger seemed to fade. "Sorry. It's okay for now. I'll...I'll let you know."

"You're the man." Alec threw his hands up in defeat, backing out and shutting the door, leaving Logan sitting on the edge of bunk. Breathing heavily, Logan clenched his jaw as he reached around to massage his back.

Atrium Courtyard, Terminal City

Max strode purposefully across the courtyard to the Command Center, oblivious to everything around her. Finally realizing someone was calling her name, she stopped and turned, smiling as she recognized Ginger approaching from behind.

"Hey, how's it going?"

She waited till Ginger caught up, and then started walking again. "In kind of a hurry – surveillance is down."

"Always something, isn't it?" Ginger commented. "How you doing?"

Max shrugged. "Good as can be, I guess. At least I haven't had to pull Mole off Logan in a while. You?"

"Okay." She shrugged. “I was thinking of heading out later – Original Cindy invited me for dinner. I didn't even know it was her birthday – not like I could really get her anything."

Max stopped and looked at her in surprise, then smacked her forehead with her palm. "I totally spaced!" she exclaimed, her face falling. "And there's no way I can leave – not with things like they are...listen, tell her I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to her...somehow," she finished softly.

"Things the way they are?" Ginger repeated, sounding confused. "Something up?"

"Nothing new. I'm just staying put, try to head off any more mutiny attempts. And Clemente's deadline for Joshua...I just need to be here." She started walking again, obviously preoccupied.

"Hey, that reminds me. I had the strangest conversation with Joshua the other day. He said that when Logan got the virus a while back, Joshua transfused him and 'fixed his legs.' What'd the virus have to do with his legs?"

Max smiled at Joshua's simple explanation. "Nothing. Logan got shot a while back, messed up his spinal cord, landed him in a wheelchair for good. Till Joshua's blood repaired the damage." As they reached the door to the main Command building, Max stopped once more and looked sideways at Ginger, shrugging again. "Old news."

Ginger's eyes had widened slightly, and now she just stared at Max. "Pretty amazing 'old news,'" she remarked. "Anyway, you better go. I'll catch you later." With that, she turned and headed back across the courtyard. Max watched her go, then reached out and pulled open the heavy door.

Unidentified Office

The office was sparsely furnished with only with a plain wooden desk and a couple of file cabinets. A lone window appeared to look out onto an alley through partly shuttered blinds. Mounds of papers and a laptop computer, as well as a multi-line phone, occupied the desk. The receiver was off the hook, and the cord stretched across the desk, disappearing around the corner of a massive desk chair, behind which the occupant was hidden.

"Go ahead," said the person in the chair. The voice, obviously that of a man, was gravelly. The chair rocked back and forth slightly, but he remained facing the wall. "What do you have for me today?"

On the other end of the phone, a low, but decidedly female voice responded, "Some of the...inhabitants...are restless. A few weeks ago they almost staged a rebellion. I think some of them could be swayed to try again."

"Hmmm...maybe we could end this thing that way instead of having to wait forever for the cops to make a move," the man pondered. "Go on."

"452 is worried about Joshua – um, the canine transgenic who started this whole mess...the one in the 'wanted' poster on every lamppost in the city. The cops are negotiating with her for his surrender, but...it sounds like they might let him go if some DNA they got off the girl doesn't match up with his. They're waiting for the test results."

"That's not good...not good at all. We need these people to be afraid of him." The man paused. "You got any background on him?"

"From what they're saying in here, a transgenic just like him attacked some sector cops earlier this year, and the cops brought Joshua in, thinking it was him. I think if you could get people scared that he might try something like that again, the police might not be so eager to deal with 452." The woman cleared her throat nervously.

"I'll look into that. Good work. Call me when you have anything new."

"Yes, sir."

Seattle Street

A gray van without any back windows sat at the curb across the alley from Jam Pony. Inside, two men in jeans and windbreakers sat in the back, along with an impressive array of electronic equipment that blinked and crackled at intervals. Both perked up suddenly as they heard the shrill ring of a cell phone emanating from the speakers.

"What do you people want from me now?" Normal's voice came over the airwaves.

A short silence followed, and then Normal said, "Yeah, well, the Nubian Princess is out on a run, miracle of all miracles." Another pause, and then, "We haven't had anyone show up for a couple of weeks. Can't keep running Ellis Island forever, missy...I know what today is, but I don't have any runs scheduled near you today, so you'll have to get her or Sketchy to come to that cesspool on their own time...hey, no skin off my nose. All right, all right, I'll give her the message. And one more thing...tell the baby Uncle Reagan says hi."

After that, the only thing the men heard was the usual yelling at various messengers, until finally one of the men reached over and turned down the volume. "What do you think?" he asked the other.

"I think it's the best we're gonna get, thanks to the scrambler they put on the cell phone. I was beginning to think Martin was off his rocker making us pull this duty, but I think we just got our probable cause. Let's go."



Command Center, Terminal City

When Max arrived at Command, Logan was at the console with Luke, both of them working to fix whatever had caused the surveillance outage. "Any luck?" she asked him, a little hesitantly.

Logan looked up and lifted his eyebrows before turning back. "Not yet," he said with a slight smile. "But we're working on it." He absentmindedly reached around to massage his back, a grimace on his face.

"What's wrong? Pull a muscle or somethin'?" Max asked him, walking over with a concerned look on her face.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said dismissively.

"I ever tell you transgenics have magic hands?" Max teased. "I can give you a demonstration later...if you want," she said, the last few words slightly hesitant.

"Sounds good." Logan flicked a small smile back at her.

Luke cleared his throat, and Max broke her gaze away from the back of Logan's head. "So, uh, we need that coverage, especially in the sewers," she continued. "Otherwise anybody can stroll in whenever they feel like it."

Still looking at the screen, Logan murmured, "We're on it. Just gotta work a little magic..." He trailed off, typing something rapidly and concentrating intently. "There," he announced, as all the video screens lit up with the various views provided by the strategically placed cameras.

"Super-hack saves the day again," Max joked. "Thanks."

Logan pushed back his chair, and looked up into her eyes. As he stood, the exoskeleton whirring, Luke called out, "Hey, turn that up!"

Both Max and Logan turned and followed his gaze to the small television set, where some grainy video footage was playing. It took Max only a split second to realize that the image was of Joshua, in a confrontation with police. He looked enraged, spitting and barking at the men with guns and batons who surrounded him. The image was replaced with a reporter, who was saying,

"This exclusive footage was obtained by Channel 3 today from a source inside the Seattle PD. According to the source, the video was shot when a suspect in the brutal attacks on sector police several months ago was detained and held at police headquarters. The suspect escaped shortly after this shocking encounter, but is now believed to be a transgenic, the same one who killed Annie Fisher, a young blind woman, in the sewers. No official reply regarding this development has been issued from the department. We do know that witnesses at the Jam Pony X-Press hostage situation described a similar canine transgenic, and it is possible that he is among those inside Terminal City..."

Clemente's office, Seattle PD

"...As always, we will keep you updated on developments. For now, I'm Patrick Long for Channel 3."

Cursing under his breath, Clemente turned the set off and swiveled his chair back to face the men standing in front of his desk. Taking a deep breath, he folded his hands calmly on top of the papers scattered across the desk surface. "As you can see, I have my hands full," he told them. "Who did you say you were?"

One of them, a man with dark hair and skin the color of burnished copper, wearing a suit and tie identical to that worn by the other three, took a step towards the desk and flashed a badge. "Special Agent Martin, NSA."

Clemente leaned back in his chair. "Why wasn't I informed that you were involved? Seattle PD has jurisdiction here."

"With all due respect, Commander, you need all the help you can get. A while back, we got a tip from an insider that Jam Pony was acting as an underground railroad for transgenics into Terminal City, but we've had a hard time getting the evidence—"

"Because there isn't any," Clemente interrupted. "We've been watching them like a hawk ever since the hostage situation."

"So have we. And today we recorded Reagan Ronald taking a phone call from a woman who we think is X5-452. The contents of that conversation give us – I mean, you – enough evidence to bring charges against him, Cynthia McEachin, and Calvin Theodore."

"With all due respect," Clemente imitated slowly, "I don't need you to tell me how to do my job."

Agent Martin took another step closer to the desk and leaned on it, palms flat down, inches away from Clemente's own hands. "Commander, I came here as a courtesy, to allow your men to bring these suspects in. But truth be told, you don't have a choice in the matter. This is a national security matter now, and I'm acting on direct authority from the National Security Adviser – and the President – to do anything and everything necessary to shut down the movement of transgenics in this city."

His eyes flicked upwards towards the darkened television screen. "Looks like things are going to get even more out of control on your watch," he observed icily. "If you don't comply and arrest the traitors, I'll have no choice but to report your dereliction of duty to the federal authorities and commandeer this investigation."

Clemente stared at him in obstinate silence for several long moments. "I want whatever evidence you have, as soon as you can get it here. It better be good." He sighed, maintaining eye contact with the man standing in front of him. "I'll have the arrest warrants sworn out and pick them up."

Agent Martin reached inside his coat pocket and tossed several packets of paper down on the desk. "Three arrest warrants--complete with photos--signed, sealed, and delivered. Our evidence is already logged and waiting for your inspection."
END OF ACT I
ACT II