Episode 3.05 - Reunion

Seattle Street 

Krit and Syl, accompanied by another young man and woman, walked down a crowded side street in a run-down neighborhood, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

Krit pointed to a sign that read Chin Wo. “That’s got to be it, Syl. China Wok. It’s just missing a couple of letters,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Yep, let’s go,” Syl ordered, her tone professional, as the four crossed the street to the restaurant.

Krit opened the door and they entered.

It was dark and musty inside, the air thick with smoke. Krit coughed and squinted as he adjusted to the smoke-filled room. There were a few empty tables, but all in all, the place was pretty crowded.

Syl surveyed the room while Krit read the menu on the wall.

“There he is,” she reported.

They walked to the back corner, where Lydecker was sitting at a table, close to the rear exit. He had a good view of the only two ways in or out of the building. An empty bowl and a half-finished cup of coffee sat on the table in front of him.

Lydecker had a cell phone to his ear, but he motioned for his four guests to approach. They stood at the table as he finished his phone call.

“I see. Just make sure you are discreet about it,” Deck spoke into the phone. “I don’t want you compromising your position. I’ll be expecting your next update in two hours.”

Lydecker turned off the phone, setting it on the table, and looked up at the four of them. “Have a seat,” he offered. “I assume you had no trouble finding the place.”

As they sat, Krit looked around. “This place is a dump.”

“The noodles here are pretty good,” Lydecker replied.

Syl cleared her throat and rolled her eyes at Krit. “No, we didn’t have trouble finding it. It took a while longer because we had to be careful. If you didn’t notice, there are a lot of sector cops out there.”

“I didn’t expect you’d have trouble with them,” Lydecker stated.

Syl nodded toward the phone. “Who was that?”

“He’s one of yours,” came Lydecker’s quick reply. He then added with the smallest hint of a smirk creeping up on his face, “Actually, one of mine.”

Syl just glared at him through the smoke.

“X5?” Krit asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“That would be correct,” Lydecker answered. “He’s handling an assignment for me. I have him set up to keep an eye on things in Terminal City.”

“You got any more X5s working on this thing?” Krit pressed.

“That’s a possibility,” Lydecker replied, his tone making clear he wasn’t going to elaborate at that point in time on the subject. “I see you finally convinced these two to join us, now that we’re in Seattle,” he said, pointing at the two who had yet to say anything since their arrival at the restaurant.

Syl bristled. “That’s right. Zane and Jondy. Two more of your little science projects that got away.”

Lydecker’s eyes narrowed, but he replied with an eerie sense of satisfaction in his voice, “And who have now returned.”

“Let’s get one thing straight right now.” A voice unfamiliar to Lydecker’s ears made him swivel his head to the right, to see Jondy’s angry blue eyes boring into him. “We’re here for one reason, and one reason only. To help Max and everyone holed up against their will in Terminal City!”

A few customers sitting nearby looked their way, curious about the sudden outburst.

Lydecker shifted slightly in his chair. “We’d better leave before you attract anymore unwanted attention,” he remarked dryly. “There’re some rations at the house if you’re hungry.”

Lydecker placed some money on the table, and then the five of them left the restaurant without further incident.

END OF PROLOGUE

Mobile Police Headquarters, one block from Terminal City gates

"Hello, Detective Sung." Ramon Clemente looked up as the door opened and Matt Sung, in khakis and a button-down shirt, entered the tiny, crowded trailer that served as “temporary” headquarters for the Seattle police at Terminal City.

The place was a mess. Abandoned cups of curdled coffee sat perilously close to the banks of surveillance monitors and communications equipment. Sung's elbow bumped a stack of papers as he edged his way toward Clemente, sending it cascading onto the grimy floor.

"Afternoon, Commander," Sung returned, squatting to retrieve the papers, some of which stuck to the muck on the floor. "By the way, sir, congratulations on the new title."

"Thanks, Detective." Clemente smiled wryly. "Can't see what I've done to earn such a fancy title, considering that I haven't managed to catch a single transgenic coming or going, but the Mayor seems to think this is my new full-time job."

"It has been three months, sir." Sung stood, putting the papers back on the table.

"Don't I know it. And do me a favor. Skip the sir." Clemente looked Sung up and down. "Thought you were going to dress casual today. Mix with the crowd out there."

"I did," Sung objected, sounding offended.

Clemente shook his head. "That's not casual. This is casual," he said, indicating his own dark-blue jeans and leather jacket. "Isn't it?"

“Well..." Sung hesitated, looking at the monitors. The largest showed the main gate of Terminal City, where a group of clean-cut, earnest-looking protesters held a banner bearing the logo of the American Civil Liberties Union. Nearby stood a larger group of teenagers in dirty military surplus gear and other cast-off clothing, holding a smaller, hand-lettered sign that read, "Freaks Rock!" A nervous-looking detachment of National Guard troops kept a wary eye on everyone.

From one of the monitors came a background roar, growing steadily louder. "What's that?" asked Sung, suddenly alert.

"Let's see." Clemente leaned closer. "Well, well. Look at that. Hells Angels." Down an empty street rode at least thirty of them in formation, toward a police barrier.

"Whose side are they on?" Sung asked.

"They're flying the black, red, and white," Clemente replied.

On the largest monitor, a reporter approached the crowd at the gates and held out the microphone. "Turn that up," Clemente told Sung. "Let's hear what the pro-transgenic folks have to say."

"...so you believe that the so-called "Freaks" have the same rights as Americans?" the reporter asked.

The slender, red-haired young woman holding one side of the ACLU sign frowned. "We shouldn't use words like 'freak' or 'trannie,'" she said stiffly. "And the transgenics ARE Americans. Genetically enhanced Americans..."

Jam Pony

"What did I tell you? What did I tell you?" Normal exulted, though no one appeared to be listening – even Sketchy, who leaned on the dispatch desk, staring at the television. "You got that right," Normal addressed the screen proudly. "Some of my best employees are genetically enhanced Americans."

"Were, you mean," Sketchy said. "Hey, check that out! Hells Angels riding up to Terminal City! Man, Alec would love one of those bikes."

Idle messengers began to crowd around the monitor, cheering. "Hey!" shouted Normal above the din. "Don't you go getting any ideas about joining the motorcade! No matter which side you're on! Jam Pony messengers stay above partisan politics while on duty! Is that clear?"

The Infirmary, Terminal City

Max paced back and forth. "What time is it?" she asked Logan impatiently.

Logan, sitting in an ancient rolling office chair, checked his watch. "Two o'clock," he said calmly.

"She's late."

"She's a medic. They're always late," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Max swung around and looked longingly at the door. "Look, maybe we should do this tomorrow, okay? I've gotta get back to Command—"

Just then the door opened and Aveta entered, carrying a blood pressure cuff, an ear thermometer, and an IV bag of saline. "Sorry," she said briskly. "All set?"

Max shot an appealing look at Logan. "Could you give us just a second?" Logan asked Aveta.

Aveta nodded, understanding.

"Thanks," Logan told her. As the door closed, he turned to Max. "What's wrong?"

"The usual," Max began. "I hate this. I feel like I'm a petri dish and you're a lab rat."

Logan stood, moving as close to Max as he could without touching her. "This is our fourth time," he said gently. "This could be the time we finally beat the virus. You really want to wait till tomorrow for that? I don't."

"I can't do this. I can't stand seeing you so sick."

"I wasn't even that sick last time. No worse than a bad hangover." He smiled.

She didn't smile back. "What if they're wrong? What if this time you drop dead?"

"Max. Look around us. We may not even have a tomorrow. I don't know about you, but given the givens, I'm kind of in a hurry."

She looked up at him for a moment, terror and uncertainty in her face. "Okay," she said finally. "Aveta?" she called softly. Aveta immediately opened the door.

Logan waited. After a moment, Max reached out and touched his hand, unwillingly.

They braced themselves.

And nothing happened.

"Are you—" Max began.

"I'm not—" Logan said at the same time.

They looked at each other, hardly daring to breathe. Then Logan began to laugh. "Max!" He held out his hand. His skin was unmarked.

Max jumped back. "No! It's too soon! Give it a few more minutes!"

"Max. We've wasted enough time already."

She stayed where she was, and then without warning, rushed into Logan's arms. Eyes closed, he buried his face in her hair. A single tear ran down Max's cheek. They held each other until Aveta quietly cleared her throat.

"May I?" she asked, and after a quick check, pronounced Logan's vital signs completely normal. "Congratulations," she told them.

"That's it?" Max asked.

"That's it. I'm going back to my patient. Call me if you need anything, but my guess is – you won't."

After she left the room, Max began to speak, but Logan gently put a finger to her lips. "I know. You really do need to go check in at Command. I'm giving you one hour. Meet me in my quarters?"

"Yeah," Max whispered. Her voice shook. "One hour." She turned to go.

"Hey."

"What?"

Logan reached out and wiped away the tear that still trailed down her cheek.

"Thanks," she whispered, eyes shining.

An Office in Seattle

The Phalanx strode into White’s office, led by Thula, a snarl on her lips. “Are we ready to move?” she demanded.

White leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers together. “The gas is ready and waiting. Now my plan is for you to—”

“I’m not interested in hearing your plan,” Thula sneered, cutting him off. “Your plan left us all naked and ridiculed by that idiot detective. We’re doing it my way this time.”

White’s eyes narrowed, but he was silent for a moment, then replied calmly but firmly, “You don’t know what you’re up against. I do. My father was good at what he did, and so are his...creations.”

“We’re better. If you just stand back and let us do it right, we’ll have those man-made freaks dead by the end of the day.” Thula crossed her arms and stared down the man in front of her.

“All right,” White said. “But let’s get one thing clear: we can’t afford any screw-ups this time, whoever makes the call. The Conclave has made it clear that the New World Order is upon us.”

A nasty smile appeared on Thula’s face. “And 452 will be the first one we send to hell,” she promised him. “This is how it’s going to go down...”

Lydecker’s Safe House, Seattle

A freight train barreled along a set of tracks in the middle of downtown Seattle, roaring past a neighborhood that had seen better days. The majority of the houses were crumbling skeletons, but one stood intact, a dim light barely visible around the boards covering its windows.

Krit, Syl, and Zane slept on cots in a back bedroom. Jondy came into the room and nudged Zane, who sat up and stretched, loosening his stiff muscles. The cot squeaked with every move he made, and the noise attracted the attention of the others, who also began to stir.

“Morning,” Zane mumbled. He got up and walked out of the room, the wooden floor of the house creaking under his weight.

Lydecker was in another room, poring over a map laid out on a three-legged table. The floor creaked and Lydecker looked up to see Zane standing in the room, staring at him. He stared right back at the young man.

“You got something you want to say, soldier?” Lydecker challenged.

Zane clenched his jaw. A few seconds passed as he wrestled with what to say. Finally, he spoke up. “No.”

“Good. Get the others,” he ordered. “It’s time to start.”

Lydecker grabbed a few papers from under the map and walked to a room where four young men in black fatigues were sitting. They all came to attention when Lydecker entered.

“As you were,” Lydecker said as he walked to the front of the room.

The soldiers took their seats.

Krit, Syl, and Jondy followed Zane into the room and sat down in vacant chairs, staring at the other soldiers. They remained facing forward, their attention focused on Lydecker in the front of the room.

“Now that you’re all here, we can address the current situation and get everyone up to speed,” Lydecker began. The room was very quiet.

“First, there are two more of you currently on assignment for me. They have infiltrated the National Guard surrounding Terminal City. They report in periodically on the situation there.

“I’m still in the process of tracking down and recalling all my other X5s who were on deep cover missions for Manticore. Rest assured, they will all return to me.”

Lydecker slipped his glasses on and began flipping through the papers he had brought with him.

“As for what we’re up against, the National Guard consists of...”

Syl slumped in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, letting out an audible sigh.

This drew a disapproving frown from Lydecker.

“...So,” he went on, raising his voice, “you will have no trouble handling these pitiful excuses for soldiers who make up the National Guard force around Terminal City. They are lazy, sloppy, and easily distracted. They have incompetent leadership. All things we can use to our advantage.

“You, on the other hand, are the best group of fighting soldiers the world has ever seen. Under my command, you will see for yourselves that there are no limits.” He paused, placed his hands behind his back, and walked over toward Syl and her group. “Some of you questioned the training methods used in the past,” he continued, looking directly at Syl. “It is that training which will make success ours.

“Now, as if having the whole city – practically the whole world – against us isn’t enough, we have a new enemy. A formidable enemy. An enemy that wants each and every one of you dead. An enemy which, given time, would achieve its ultimate goal of world domination by its superior species.”

Lydecker paused to let that sink in. He now had everyone’s full attention.

“This enemy, a group known as Familiars, has a stake in what happens at Terminal City. They want you, the transgenics, the only viable threat to them, gone. So, you can count on them showing up sooner or later here in Seattle. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are already here.

“I wanted the perfect soldier. Their goal is a perfect human race. Only one will be left standing...and I never lose.”

He put up a picture of Ames White on the wall.

“Commit this face to memory, soldiers. Ames White. He’s their point man, their go-to guy in the field. Consider him enemy number one. He will not hesitate to kill you. I suggest you take on that same mindset if you run into him.

“Some of you have not been in a structured military environment for some time. This is exactly what has been established here. I’m the CO. I expect your full cooperation. Your duty is to carry out any and all missions. Your loyalty is to this team.

“What we have going for us right now is anonymity, which allows for surprise. No one knows who we are, or that we’re here. They have no idea we are mobilizing a strike force. When we strike, we will do so covertly. We will be quick and efficient. And we must be ready to move at a moment’s notice. No mistakes. Understood?”

Lydecker’s four soldiers immediately replied in the affirmative. “Yes, sir!”

Syl, Krit, Jondy, and Zane shared a look, and nodded in agreement, appearing very unsure of their reply.

Lydecker let out a breath. “Very well. Success depends on having a well-thought-out and carefully executed plan. And that’s exactly what I want from you. Dismissed.”

Command Center, Terminal City

“Pay attention!” Alec’s head whipped around from where his gaze had been locked on the television that blared news coverage of the pro-transgenic rally. The Command Center was quieter than normal, since almost everyone in the building was transfixed by the unexpected show of support manifesting itself before his or her eyes.

Max glared at him and waved a handful of papers in his face. “I can’t do this by myself, Alec. None of that—” she waved her free hand at the television set, “—matters if White gets in here and blasts us all to hell.”

Alec sighed and shook his head slowly, a lazy smile creeping across his face. “I know what your problem is,” he told her. “Sex. Namely, sex with Logan. No virus, and yet somehow, you’re still not getting any.”

Max’s eyes narrowed threateningly, and she looked about ready to punch him in the face. Her grip tightened on the bundle of papers. “I’ll say this one more time. Logan and me are none of your damn business.” She looked away from him, then caught his gaze again. “Anyway, it’s not like we’ve had time. Aveta just gave us the all-clear a few minutes ago.”

Alec’s grin widened. “So I guess that means I better go have a birds-and-the-bees kinda talk with my man, huh?”

“Shut up,” Max growled. “If you say anything, and I mean anything, to Logan about this, I’m gonna personally hand you over to White and Company. Now, could you at least pretend you have an ounce of responsibility and help me figure this out?” She sighed and looked down at the papers, which seemed to be a layout of the sewers underneath Terminal City. “We need to step up patrols here, and here. White’s goon isn’t gonna keep his mouth shut any more than you can, so it’s probably only a matter of time before they try something.”

“Aye, aye, sir. I’ll let Mole know we’re gonna do double duty.”

Max finally set the papers down and started to turn away.

“Hey,” Alec added, “you seen Original Cindy around anywhere? Ginger was asking about her a few minutes ago.” He wiggled his eyebrows leeringly.

“She’s in the infirmary...again,” Max told him wearily. “The rash is back, doin’ double duty this time. We gotta get her out of here.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Alec agreed. “It’d be nice if we had someone out there in the crowd, working for us.” He paused for a minute. “Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you – you got any idea where the others are? The ones that escaped with you back in ’09? You’d think they’d have shown up to pitch in with the rest of us.”

A shadow of pain crossed Max’s face. “I hope they’re far away from all this,” she said softly. Suddenly she seemed far away, but just as quickly she snapped back into commander mode, seemingly embarrassed. “Get those patrols stepped up. I’m going...on a break, so make sure things are covered here. If you can keep your eyes off that garbage and your lips off a bottle of beer,” she added, then whirled around and walked away.

Alec watched her go, grinning. “Booty call,” he sang to himself.

Living Quarters, Terminal City

Max stood nervously outside the closed door to Logan’s room. Her hand went toward the doorknob, but didn’t quite make it. She shifted her feet, looking up and down the hallway to make sure no one else was around. Her hand went again to the knob, and she jumped, startled, as it suddenly turned and the door opened.

Logan was standing there, a crooked smile on his face and a book in one hand. “You comin’ in or not?” he teased, a questioning look on his face.

Max managed a tense laugh. “Yeah, sorry, just...”

“You don’t have to explain anything, Max,” Logan interrupted in a gentle voice. “It’s scary for me, too.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Logan tossed the book onto the floor and reached out his bare hand to her. She looked at it, then back up to him, worry evident in her gaze. “No excuses this time,” he said. “The quarantine’s been lifted.” The corners of his mouth turned up.

“Are you sure? For all we know—”

“Max...shut up,” Logan whispered, glancing down to his outstretched hand. Max still hesitated, then reached out her hand and placed it in his. Slowly, he drew her to him and put a finger under her chin, turning it up to his waiting lips. They both smiled as their lips met in a sweet reunion, and Logan dropped her hand to bring his up to cup her cheek.

Finally, they broke apart, and Logan shut the door and turned the rusty lock before leading her over to his bedroll. They sat down, closer than they had been in months. Again, Logan leaned toward her and kissed her tenderly.

Max pulled back gently. “Remember...what I said to you about...” she looked down at her entwined hands, “about not wanting to blow it on a quickie?”

Logan laughed. “How could I forget?”

“I...I can’t leave Command for very long. It’s just...” Max struggled to find the words but nothing came out.

“I understand. We’ll wait,” Logan replied. “I just want to...you know, actually touch you, now that I can.” He took his glasses off and set them on an upturned cardboard box that already held his wallet. Then he reached for her and gently pulled her down so they were lying side-by-side on the narrow mat.

They lay there, staring into each other’s eyes, enjoying the moment. This time it was Max who leaned in for a hungry kiss. Then, without warning, she broke away roughly from Logan’s touch and shook her head, a shiver running violently through her. Breathing hard, she struggled out of his embrace and sat up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a look of frustration and a hint of annoyance crossing his face.

“I...I don’t know,” she admitted, looking confused and turning away from Logan’s piercing gaze to hide her discomfort.

He sat up and ran a hand over his hair. “Max...we never...last year, when we...we didn’t get a chance to talk. We just...it just happened. I mean, if we’re going to make this work, it’s not gonna be a walk in the park.” He paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “I guess this is where I ask you if you want this to work.”

She turned to him, her expression apologetic. “You know I do. But...I have an army to lead out there. White could be on his way right now, and I’m...” her sentence trailed off, unfinished.

Logan remained motionless, then ran a frustrated hand through his hair and sighed heavily, thinking. “Okay...I’m sorry, I’m being selfish. After all this time...listen, why don’t we just slow down, okay? Go do what you need to do. Let’s meet back here tonight after dinner, and maybe then we can relax a little.”

Max nodded slowly, then let out a shaky laugh.“Guess I gotta kiss you goodbye again,” she said, then turned to him and leaned over to kiss him softly on the lips.

Logan hadn’t moved, and still didn’t when she pulled away reluctantly and stood up.“No more goodbyes after tonight...right?” he asked, hesitantly.

She turned, her hand on the doorknob, and gave him a sweet smile.“Right,” she replied with conviction, and then she was gone.

The Infirmary, Terminal City

Original Cindy sat on a makeshift exam table as Aveta carefully checked her arm. “The antihistamine should be taking effect soon,” the medic said softly. “If the rash doesn’t go away, come back tonight.”

“Anything you say, boo,” Original Cindy replied, then they both looked up at a soft knock at the door. Ginger was standing there, her eyes locked on Original Cindy.

“Just came by to see if you were okay,” the tall, redheaded X5 said. “Hi, Aveta,” she added as an afterthought.

“Hi, Ginger.” Aveta looked back and forth between the human and the transgenic and seemed to understand. “Could you accompany the patient back to her bunk for me?” she asked slyly.

“Sure thing,” Ginger replied.

They walked slowly through the hallways and then outside, around a corner and down a barren street. “Don’t you got some slop to be servin’?” Original Cindy asked as they headed into her room.

“Nah, I’m in charge. It’s called delegating,” Ginger answered with just as much spunk. “Got the evening off, as a matter of fact.”

“You got somethin' in mind?” Original Cindy asked with a saucy grin, sitting down on the bedroll.

Ginger sat hesitantly next to her. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“Original Cindy’s feelin’ fine. Don’t worry your fine self ‘bout me.”

“I don’t want to see anything happen to you 'cause you stayed in here too long.” Ginger raised her hand to brush it against Original Cindy’s cheek.

“Hey...