3.15.02

[virtualda]

episode: Virtual Dark Angel episode 15

season: Virtual Dark Angel season 3







ACT II



Lydecker’s HQ – Tuesday, December 7, 2021, early morning

About an hour before sunrise, Colonel Lydecker emerged from the Command Post tent. He stood under the awning, next to a heavy table. The early morning air was clean and crisp; Lydecker could see his breath. He blew on his hands to warm them, and zipped up his M-65 field jacket. He pressed a button on the side of his chronograph wristwatch, tilting the dial up to his face. “Don’t do that,” said a voice, and Zack emerged from the shadows. “You’ll illuminate your face.”

Zack was dressed in woodland camouflage, trousers and a T-shirt. He’d left his parka back in his tent. Despite the cold, he didn’t need it, and he wasn’t trying to pass for human. In camp, in the wilderness, there was no one to impress.

When Zack didn’t continue, Lydecker asked, “Is there something I should know?”

“Who knows what you should or shouldn’t know?” Zack shot back.

Lydecker squinted in the darkness. While the X5's military bearing was ingrained, his attitude – although not hostile enough to be a direct challenge to the colonel’s authority – was something short of respectful. “What happened to our agreement?” he asked Zack.

“What agreement?” said Zack, glancing over his shoulder. He was scanning the tree line with his enhanced night vision. He turned his attention back to Lydecker. "The one where you say ‘Jump,’ and I say, ‘How High?’"

“Yes,” said Lydecker, with a precise nod. “That agreement.”

“I’m doing exactly what I said I would. I’m drilling your commandos.”

“You’re being insubordinate,” Lydecker said.

“Court-martial me,” said Zack. “Or maybe you could poke me with a cattle prod.”

Lydecker sighed, and rubbed the rough stubble on his chin. “I’m putting together a battalion,” he began.

“You’re putting together your own private army,” Zack corrected.

“I’m offering structure to soldiers who desperately need it,” said Lydecker. “The others...they look at you—”

“What do you want from me?” Zack snapped.

“Son,” Lydecker said, sighing, “For a long time, you were a thorn in my side—”

“Don’t call me 'son,'” Zack interrupted, sounding dangerous.

Lydecker blew out a vaporous breath. “That wasn’t what I meant to say,” he said carefully. “I wanted to tell you that you were always one of the best. While you were unquestionably one of Manticore’s biggest failures, you were also one of its greatest successes.”

Zack crossed his arms over his chest, looking bored. “I’m not here for a pep talk,” he said. “Or to reminisce about old times. In fact, your personal safety is less at risk if you don’t bring up old times at all.”

“Duly noted,” Lydecker said. “Let’s talk about new times. Let’s talk about what’s going on right now in this country, and what’s coming.”

“I’m listening,” Zack said.



Outside Jam Pony

Locking up her bike, Max became aware of the woman before she actually approached. Her scent wafted Max’s way on a light current of air. Max tilted back her head, her nostrils flaring. She smelled perfume – very expensive perfume. A moment later, a timid but cultured voice said, “Excuse me?”

“Yeah?” Max looked up and saw a trim, elegant woman. She had reddish-blonde hair pulled back into a sleek chignon. She was wearing a long camel coat, over a green silk dress. The woman opened and closed her mouth. Max raised an eyebrow. “What can I do for you?”

Still, the woman hesitated. She pulled her coat closed, gripping the collar with a manicured hand. When she finally spoke, the words came out in a rush. “Is this Jam Pony X-press?”

“That’s what the sign says,” Max replied. She picked her backpack up off the ground, and held it by the strap. “You got a package?” When the woman didn’t respond, Max tried again. “You picking up a package?”

“Is this where all the transgenics are?” The woman seemed nervous.

Max was immediately suspicious. “Nope,” she said, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “No transgenics here. Not a one.”

The woman bit her lip, peering at Max’s face. “I know you.” Her voice was breathy. “You’re one of them!”

“What do you want, lady?” Max said impatiently. “I gotta get to work.”

“I’m looking for some of your brethren,” the woman said stiffly.

“Some of my brethren?” Max said, uneasily shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yes,” said the woman. “Some of your – you know – male brethren.”

“My male brethren,” Max repeated, her forehead wrinkling. “What for?”

“That would be between me and them.” The woman flushed. “Or me and him...when I find him.”

“Him, who?” said Max.

“Whichever one I find,” the woman said vaguely. “Whoever is the most likely candidate.”

“Candidate for what?” Max asked.

“Oh,” said the woman, sounding embarrassed. “Nothing. So, are there any male transgenics working here?”

“I already told you, no,” Max said. “What do you want?”

“It’s complicated,” said the woman.

“All right,” Max said, rolling her eyes. “Nice talking to you.” She went inside the building.



Jam Pony

Jam Pony was loud and busy. The television was blaring, as were two radios tuned to different stations. Normal was in the cage, sorting parcels and answering the phone. Messengers picked up and dropped off packages. Max met Original Cindy by the counter. Original Cindy made a gesture, and Max turned in a circle so her friend could see her new 'do. “Much better,” Original Cindy said approvingly.

“Thanks,” said Max.

“For a change.”

“Thanks a lot!” Max said, laughing.

Sketchy wheeled his bike between the girls, saying, “Beep, beep.”

“Excuse you,” said Max, stepping out of the way.

“Thank you very much.” Sketchy emptied his pouch on the counter. “Max, there’s a wicked hottie out front asking everybody if they’re a transgenic.”

“I know,” Max said. “I had a thoroughly unsatisfactory conversation with her. I couldn’t figure out what the hell she wanted.”

“I’ll tell you what she wanted,” said Sketchy, turning the bill of his cap to the side. Leaning forward, he stage-whispered, “She made me an indecent proposal.”

Max and Original Cindy both laughed.

“That's the God’s honest truth!” said Sketchy, sounding hurt. “Then, when I told her I wasn’t a transgenic, she moved on to someone else.” He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “She’s crazy.” He balanced his bike on its rear tire, and wheeled it away.

“Huh,” said Max.

“A lady takes care of her personal appearance,” Original Cindy said, seizing the opportunity to return to their initial conversation. “Even if she has to be all the time saving the world.”

“What?” asked Max, distracted. She turned back to her friend, and smiled affectionately. “So true. It’s one of the burdens of womanhood. We have to save the world, but we still have to look good doing it.”

“Don’t your head feel lighter?” asked Original Cindy. “You must feel better like this.”

“Not so much,” said Max, as she was swept by a wave of nausea. She rocked unsteadily. “Oof!” she exclaimed.

“What’s the matter, boo?” Original Cindy asked, catching Max around the waist.

Leaning heavily on Original Cindy, Max put a hand to her forehead. “That's strange,” she said. “I almost lost my balance.”

Normal popped up from behind his counter, his headset dangling around his neck. “Break it up, you two!” he snapped. “This is a place of business, not one of your Sapphic sex shows!”

Original Cindy made a face. “Sapphic sex show?” she repeated. In the background, the phone rang.

Max groaned again. “I feel sick to my stomach.”

“Suddenly, so do I,” Original Cindy said.

Normal pursed his lips. “Hmm,” he said. “On second thought . . .”

“Don’t say it!” Original Cindy snapped.

“As you were,” Normal said sweetly. He turned away to answer the phone.

“What did he just say?” Max asked. “My head is spinning.”

“If there are Sapphic sex shows,” OC groused, “I would like to know about it.”

“I’m really not feeling well here,” Max told her friend.

“Come on,” Original Cindy said, getting a better grip on Max. “The further you are from Normal, the better you’ll feel.” They shuffled to the lounge area. Max dropped onto one of the worn sofas with a grateful sigh. She wrapped her arms around herself, and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. Original Cindy settled down beside her, and gave her a wise, speculative look. “Feelin’ sick?” she asked. “Got a tummy ache?”

“Yeah,” said Max unhappily. “I wish I knew what was wrong with me.”

Original Cindy touched Max lightly on the knee. She said, “I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to starting a family?”

“What?” said Max, startled. “No! Why do you ask?”

Original Cindy smiled. “Boo,” she said gently. “You and Logan. You told me that the two of you . . .”

“But I can’t,” said Max.

“I know transgenics can get pregnant,” Original Cindy said. “I delivered a transgenic baby right upstairs.” She shrugged. “I helped, anyways.”

“Transgenics can get pregnant,” said Max, frowning. “Of course they can.”

“Can’t you get pregnant by humans?”

“Of course,” said Max. “Jace did.” She looked away. “And Tinga.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“See?” Original Cindy said. “You’re all hormonal.”

“No,” said Max, in a small voice. “Just thinking about sad things.”

“If you’re pregnant...would it be a happy thing?” Original Cindy asked. Her tone was very delicate. “Or a sad thing?”

Max put a finger to Original Cindy’s lips. “Shush,” she said. “It’s not true. It can’t be.”

“What do you mean?” said Original Cindy. “Didn’t they teach you anything at the Manticore? Nothin's for sure, except not doing it at all.”

“No,” Max said, sighing harshly. She stared off into the distance, her eyes cloudy. “It’s not that. It’s me. I can’t.”



Advanced Recombinant Genetics Laboratory, Terminal City – July 1, 2021

“We must get started,” Sandeman said urgently, standing up. “Joshua, please go on ahead to the infirmary and have Aveta prepare blood collection equipment. We’ll be along shortly.” Joshua, with a curious look, turned and left to do as he was asked. Sandeman gathered up some papers and started to follow him out the door.

“Hold up,” Max said hotly. “What is it about my blood that’s gonna save the world?”

“You’re going to share your immunity,” Sandeman answered with a smile. “This is your body’s primary function. It’ll stop anything that gets in the way. Any infection, any cell, anything.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “You were meant to be unique, Max. There’ll never be another like you.”



Jam Pony – present day

Max was brought out of her reverie by the sound of explosive laughter. There was a crowd of messengers in the doorway. They were talking excitedly, making ribald comments. “Normal,” yelled one of the guys. “Can I borrow your stamp pad?”

“Hey, boo,” Original Cindy said over the noise. “Whatcha thinkin’? You spaced on me."

“There will be no stamping,” Normal shouted from the cage.

“Oh,” Max said, in response to Original Cindy’s question. “I guess I was thinking...I’m just a mule.”

“Not on your necks,” Normal cried. “Not on any portion of your anatomies!”

Original Cindy flashed an irritated look at Normal, and turned back to Max. “Ain’t we all?” She waved a hand, indicating their surroundings. “Regular pack mules.”

From the cage, Normal barked, “The last time someone borrowed my stamp pad, I almost had to shoot him!”

“Is that a ‘no?’”" another messenger asked, sounding very disappointed. “Because we have a chance with some high-class honeys, here.”

Max tried to focus on Original Cindy. “I mean me,” she said. “I’m...I’m sterile.”

“What?” said Original Cindy, sounding shocked. “How do you know that?”

“Sandeman made this comment . . .” Max told her friend what the old man had said. “It didn’t mean much to me at the time, but I think I get it now. I wasn’t built to reproduce.”

“That’s sick!” said Original Cindy hotly. “And mean, too! It makes no sense!”

“There’s so much about Sandeman that never made sense.” Max drew up a leg and rested her forehead against her knee. “Maybe it was just that he worked so much in secret...I don’t know.” She broke off, thinking. When she continued, her voice was contemplative. “Everything had to be a hint, or a riddle...like the runes. He couldn’t just come out and tell me about my screwed-up genes.”

Original Cindy shook her head in frustration. “He went to a lot of trouble to make you. Having you be a one-shot deal...well, you never said Sandeman was stupid.”

“What do you mean?” asked Max. There was more excited commentary from the doorway, and Max looked up, irritated. “Oh, brother,” she said. “What now?”

Sketchy approached the girls, wheeling his bike. “It’s that woman I told you about, Max. The crazy lady.”

“She didn’t look crazy to me,” Max said. “Well, maybe a little. She was weird, but she just seemed like another rich lady. You know the type.”

“There are some other ones outside now, too,” he said, grinning. “And they’re all-American Grade-A babes.” He gave a big thumbs-up. “Every single one gets two of these from Inspector Sketch Master.”

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Max.

“They’re offering money for...sex. To have sex with transgenics.”

Max’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” she said. Her eyes were huge.

“Whoa,” said Original Cindy, throwing up her hands. “To each her own, but Original Cindy draws the line at paying for a good time.”

“What are they?” Max said disgustedly. “Groupies?”

Sketchy’s face became thoughtful.

“You are much too sickly to be a transgenic,” Original Cindy pointed out.

“Thanks,” Sketchy said sourly. He wheeled his bike away.

“And ugly!” Original Cindy called after him.

“That was harsh,” Max said, biting back a smile.

“Original Cindy was feeling like she had to nip that in the bud.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “Maybe it’s just as well.”

“What are these silly sistahs after?” Original Cindy said, scrunching up her nose.

“Oh, man,” said Max, as suddenly, she figured it out. Unconsciously, she put a protective hand on her stomach. Original Cindy saw the gesture, and smiled.

Max was shaking her head, looking incredulous. With a jolt, Original Cindy realized what Max was thinking, and her eyes widened. “No,” she breathed. “Those women...they want the transgenics to knock them up?”

“After everything that’s happened,” Max said, “after everything I’ve done and seen, nothing much surprises me anymore.”

“Wow,” said Original Cindy. “Make way for the super babies.”

“Could it really be that easy?” Max said in wonderment. “After all the anger? After all the propaganda and the fear? Some crazy women decide to practice amateur eugenics, and suddenly transgenics are the new fad in Seattle?”

“You gonna tell the others?” Original Cindy asked. “Issue a general alert?”

Max began to laugh. “Oh, God,” she said. “Nobody have sex! Everybody keep your pants zipped!”

Original Cindy was laughing too. “They’ll figure it out,” she managed to gasp.



Fogle Towers

Logan was at his workstation, deep in thought. He was staring at the computer monitor, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. Gradually, he became aware of a shadowy presence behind him. He wheeled around, saying, “How long have you been standing there?”

“You rang?” Alec grinned.

“Yeah,” Logan said, flexing his shoulders. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I was hoping you could give me a hand with something. Eyes Only business.”

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Alec asked. “She likes to play super hero.” The expression on Logan’s face made him pause. “Something you’re not telling me?”

Sighing, Logan looked away. “Like, that Max and I had a disagreement over me playing my cards too close to my vest? No, nothing like that.”

Alec made a face. “Your legs?”

Logan nodded, looking unhappy. His hands slid down to the rims of his wheels.

“It’s not a secret anymore?” Alec asked.

“It’s not a secret anymore,” Logan confirmed. He rolled his wheelchair slightly forward.

Alec shrugged. “At least you can look forward to the make-up sex.”

Despite himself, Logan smiled. “Trust you to find the silver lining.”

“So, I’m just here to pinch hit for Max. You know, I’m very busy these days.” Acting put upon, Alec turned away and went to stand by the window. Over his shoulder, he said, “I have a business to run.”

Logan’s upper lip twitched. “I know.” He cleaned his glasses on his sweater. “How’s the glamorous world of detection treating you?”

Alec looked out the window. “Fine,” he said defensively, his breath fogging the glass. “Amazing. We just got a new client.”

“Great,” said Logan. “Good for you.”

Alec huffed on the glass. In the resulting cloudy patch, he wrote his name with the tip of his finger. “Ah,” he said irritably. “Who am I trying to kid? She was a crackpot.”

“That’s gonna happen,” Logan said, amused. “What did she want?”

“Sex,” Alec said. He used his sleeve to wipe away his name.

Logan laughed.

“Seriously,” Alec said. “She wanted to pay me do it, right there on the desk.” Again, he breathed on the glass. This time, he wrote, ‘Alec is the coolest.’

“Huh,” said Logan. “Well, that sounds like it would be right up your alley.”

“Hey!” Alec protested. “I am a serious detective.” He drew an exclamation point after ‘Alec is the coolest.’

“Clean that off,” Logan said, nodding at the window.

Alec laughed. “What if Max thinks you wrote it? Then you’ll really have something to fight about.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Alec grudgingly complied. “Thank you,” Logan said. He put his hands on his knees. “Look, I don’t want to rain on your parade or anything . . .”

“Then don’t,” Alec said.

“Starting up a business is hard work.”

“I can work hard,” Alec said peevishly. “You just haven’t seen me do it yet.” With one hand, he picked up a chair, and brought it over to Logan. He sat, propping a foot on the corner of the desk.

“If you say so,” said Logan, and it was his turn to grin. He turned back to his computer. “I was hoping you could do a little, ah, leg work for me.”

Uncharacteristically, Alec held his tongue. His brow furrowed, he glanced at Logan’s wheelchair. He looked away without commenting.

“This is detective work,” Logan said lightly, before the silence became too thick. Tapping at the keyboard, he brought up the schematics of a waterfront warehouse. “How ‘bout I hire you?”

“Now you’re talking.” Alec sat up, attentive. He leaned over Logan’s shoulder, staring at the monitor. “What’s the story?”

“Remember the tip about the stolen food supplies?” Logan asked.

“No,” said Alec. “Oh, wait...the stuff for the charities?”

“That’s it,” said Logan. “It’s being diverted to the black market, and sold at jacked-up prices. An informant gave up the guy behind the scam. He’s a captain in the sector police.”

"So, expose him,” Alec said. “What do you need me for?”

Logan shot him a look. “Proof,” he said.

“Oh, that,” said Alec. “Gotcha.”

Logan pointed at the computer screen. “I’ve managed to track down the warehouse where the supplies are being stored, but I need hard evidence. Footage of the bad guys in action. I’ll broadcast the info and blow the lid off the whole scheme.”

“And that will be your good deed for the week.” Alec shrugged. “I guess I can swing it.”

“You just have to break into the warehouse, and plant some cameras for me.”

“Cool,” Alec said. “I mean, the breaking in part. That’s always a good time.”

“This will be a piece of cake for you,” Logan said. “I don’t see how it can go sour. You’re in. You’re out.”

“Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am,” Alec said. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

Casually, Logan asked, “So, did you take the money?”

“I thought about it,” Alec said, staring up at the ceiling. “But here’s the thing. She wasn’t the only one.”

“What do you mean?” Logan turned to look at him.

“Ah,” said Alec, “I think there’s something in the water.”

“There’s a lot of stuff in the water,” Logan said.

“No,” said Alec. He sat up so that he could look Logan in the eye. “I was approached before. By some other dames.”

“Dames?”

“I’m a detective now,” Alec said.

“Oh, right,” said Logan.

“Wealthy types. Offering me money for my services.” He seemed honestly bewildered. “What’s up with that?”

“That’s odd,” Logan said. “When did this start?”

“Over the last week, or so.”

“Well,” said Logan. “I guess I can look into it.”

“It’s just strange, is all,” Alec said. “First, I was screwed because I was a transgenic pariah. Now, they just want to screw me.”

“I’ll ask around,” Logan said. “But, to be frank, I’m not sure what you’re complaining about.”




END OF ACT II

Act III