Episode 3.11 - The Ends and The Means

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...

 

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.

 

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."

 

ACT II

 

Command Center, Terminal City – Noon

 

After a quick lunch at the mess hall, Max hurriedly ducked into the Command Center and approached Luke at the desk. "Any word on the DNA analysis? We've only got a few days left," she asked anxiously, looking over his shoulder at the screen in front of him. It showed nothing but the usual monitoring of the premises, provided by the security cameras. A TV nearby remained tuned to the news and the continuous Joshua coverage.

 

"Nothing yet," Luke said, looking at Max sympathetically. "Maybe Logan's heard something—he left here in a hurry a little while ago."

 

Max sighed. "Know which way he went?"

 

Luke shrugged. "I don't know. He said something about a phone call, but he didn't want to deal with it here." He turned back to his monitor as Max straightened up and left the Command Center.

 

Logan's Quarters

 

Max entered Logan's quarters and looked around for him. "Logan?" He was nowhere to be found, although the jacket tossed on the back of a chair indicated that he had been here recently. She wandered around for a minute, and when she heard the door of the panic room start to open, she approached it.

 

Logan was surprised to see her as he stepped out of the room. "Max." He gave her a smile and walked past her on his way to the sink. "What's up?"

 

"I was wondering whether you've heard anything more about the DNA analysis...how they're coming with it."

 

"Nope. Haven't heard anything since the other day." He poured himself a large glass of water.

 

Max sighed. "Great." She flounced down onto a stool, idly kicking at the leg. "Wanna go get something to eat? I love your cooking, but I'm really in the mood for some grease."

 

"Nah. I'm not really hungry," Logan declined, gazing absentmindedly down into the water in the glass. "You go ahead."

 

Max paused, looking uncertain. Then she smiled and gave a little laugh. "Well, I'm not that hungry. I had a sandwich at the mess hall. It's just not enough to fuel the afternoon, if ya know what I mean."

 

"Listen...speaking of supply runs...I got some money we can use next time." He finally snapped out of his daze and started drinking the water. "Should be enough to get us through for a couple of months."

 

Max's eyes widened in surprise, as she exclaimed, "You're kidding. How'd you manage that?" Then she paused, remembering, and raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Did ya run across some bad guys whose wallets needed lightening or somethin'?"

 

"Something like that," Logan agreed. "Couple weeks ago. The check's taking a while to come through, but as soon as I get it from my banker..."

 

"Your banker?" Max interrupted, scrunching her face in puzzlement. "Why'd you give him the money?! They've gotta be tracking any activity on your account, with you wanted for arrest."

 

Logan turned to her and spoke reluctantly. "Well, it's more of an inheritance...from Renfro. As for the account...well, Lydecker is the best damn estate executor I've ever dealt with."

 

Max leapt up from her position on the stool in surprise. "You got money from Renfro? Why didn't you tell me?"

 

"Figured you wouldn't be too thrilled about it," he answered.

 

"I don't have a problem with it at all," Max said, her laugh of denial clearly indicating that she wasn't telling the whole truth.

 

Logan raised his voice. "Come on, Max! You're telling me that you don't have any qualms whatsoever about getting your financial support from the people who tortured you and spent eleven years hunting you down?"

 

Max paused to look at him with her arms crossed, lips pursed, as if he had a point but she didn't want to admit it. "Maybe I do. But it's money. I'm sure as hell not going to turn it down."

 

"Fine," Logan said. "With any luck, I'll have it in a couple days."

 

"You know, if you'd told me about this money sooner, we coulda been planning how to spend it." Max dropped her arms to her sides. She took a couple of steps, as if to start pacing, but she stopped short and turned back to face Logan. "I can't believe you were going to keep this secret from me."

 

"Yeah, well—"

 

The ring of his cell phone cut off Logan's reply. He looked torn for a moment, glancing back and forth at Max and the phone, and then reached for the phone. "Yeah?" He listened to the voice on the other end for a few moments, then asked the caller to hang on and turned to Max. He spoke in a voice low enough to not be heard over the phone, knowing Max would hear it. "I need to talk to this informant. I'll see you later."

 

Logan turned away, engrossed in the call. Max stood there in disbelief for a moment, then shook her head and walked out of the room.

 

Jam Pony

 

"Normal," Original Cindy called, as she sauntered down the ramp and approached his desk. "1242 Descartes had a drop too. Package goes to 73 Euclid."

 

"You agreed to an unauthorized pickup?" Normal frowned, snatching the package out of her hands.

 

"One more package does a business good," she shot back, leaning one elbow on the counter. "'Sides, the customer was very generous with his birthday wishes. Now how can a girl turn her back on someone like that?"

 

Normal came out from behind his desk and handed her a large, padded envelope. "Turn your back on me and walk away. Hot run to 293 Samuelson. Go."

 

"After I take my break," she snorted, slipping the envelope into her bag and walking toward the lockers. Normal just rolled his eyes, sighed, and stepped into the back room to post an announcement.

 

Some time later, as he checked over some paperwork in his office, he heard the sound of song and giggles and went to check it out.

 

At the lockers, a group of messengers was gathered around Original Cindy, who was gleefully crumpling up some wrapping paper. Sky and Sketchy were exchanging wrapping-paper curve balls, while others looked on and laughed.

 

"Hey! You have better things to do than to be playing games on the job!" Normal exclaimed, waving most of the messengers away from the lockers. "Get out there and do some work. Move it. Move it. Go."

 

"How you gonna rain on a girl's party like that, huh?" Original Cindy protested, stuffing a box into her locker and slamming the door shut.

 

"I just did. Get out of my sight." Normal waved his hand in an effort to shoo them out. Before they moved a step, however, the rear door opened and three cops stepped inside. Normal turned and addressed them with annoyed caution. "Uh, may I help you?"

 

All three cops flashed their badges. "Reagan Ronald, Cynthia McEachin, and Calvin Theodore?"

 

Normal and his messengers stiffened. Before they could think of a suitable reply, they found themselves being handcuffed, as the rest of the messengers stopped what they were doing and looked on.

 

"You're under arrest for harboring fugitives from the law."

 

"What? Do you see any fugitives here? Take a look. Go ahead," Normal protested.

 

"Tell your lawyer, not me," the cop answered swiftly.

 

"Hey, OC, what a way for the day to go, huh?" Sketchy commented ironically.

 

She turned around to chide the cop cuffing her, impeding his efforts. "Tell me you are not even arresting Original Cindy on her birthday!"

 

"You want ‘resisting arrest,' too, birthday girl?" he sneered at her. "Hold still." The cop was greeted with a loud, frustrated grunt.

 

"Out the back door. All three of you," the third cop ordered. He and his colleagues escorted the messengers and their boss out the door and into a waiting patrol car. Original Cindy's angry protests echoed out the windows and across the abandoned alley as the car drove away.

 

Sector 4

 

A homeless man and woman stood in front of a storefront window. The window display held a bank of TV sets for sale, and every one was turned to the Channel 3 News, which repeated ad nauseum the video of a long-haired transgenic with claws and big, pointy teeth, viciously attacking sector cops.

 

"All this time and they still don't have that murderer," the woman commented with disgust. "That poor girl won't rest in peace until they do."

 

"Shows you what good the police are these days," agreed the man next to her. He paused as the video reached a particularly frightening part, and then resumed his angry speech. "Taking every payoff they can get and then sitting on their asses when the time comes to take some real action."

 

Gates Playground, Sector 5

 

A group of parents stood in a protective clot around the battered seesaws their children were playing on. "How horrible," one of the mothers remarked, as she blew on her hands to warm them in the fall air.

 

"Can't even let your kids out of your sight these days," a father agreed in frustration. "They could sneak into the sewers and that freak would get 'em. You know how they're fascinated with anything transgenic these days. I caught my daughter wearing green face paint and fangs, getting ready for school. You know how long it took to scrub that off?"

 

"Into the sewers? He's already come out to kill people! Who says he won't do it again?"

 

Steel Pole Saloon, Sector 9

 

"You ask me, the cops are all being paid off by those transgenics," a drunken pool player slurred to his opponent. "Why else haven't they bothered to get that guy by now?"

 

"Way of the world, my friend." His opponent, just as inebriated, gestured with his pool cue at the women fighting in the ring. "We go about our business and the po-pos go about theirs. Doesn't even matter who gets hurt in the meantime."

 

Johnson's Bar & Grill, Sector 7 – Late Afternoon

 

A run-down diner in the industrial part of town was full of the usual clientele, mostly beer-bellied men who spent their evenings laboring for the peanuts the factories could afford to pay. Televisions blared the afternoon sports matches as the patrons' rowdy conversations bounced off the walls. Around a corner, toward the back, a group of five men shared a meal at a round table. They spoke more quietly than the rest of the customers, although with each beer their voices crept louder.

 

"Going pretty well, wouldn't you say?" one of them grinned, raising his mug in a toast before slugging part of its contents down. "People are ticked. Won't be long before they're ready to take action."

 

"Not nearly ticked enough, Bob," a second man countered with a worried glare. "To do this right, we're gonna have to get them pissed off to the point of riot. It's not gonna work otherwise."

 

"You worry too much, Martinez," scoffed the guy sitting next to him. "What are a bunch of freaks gonna do to us?"

 

Martinez looked at him as if he were a bug. "Have you even been watching the news this year? They're all ex-soldiers! We're gonna sic the city's population on a hundred and fifty transgenics trained to fight and kill. It's gonna take a lot of fear and anger to get that done."

 

"So we'll do it," Bob shrugged. "We finish here and then we go out and get 'em good and riled up."

 

The fourth guy nodded. "They're halfway there. A murdered blind girl and a lazy police force have done some of the work for us. Won't be too long before the city's ready to storm Terminal City and get rid of the freaks once and for all."

 

None of the five men noticed a heavyset woman climb out of a nearby booth and amble out of the diner. They were too busy making plans.

 

"Don't worry, Martinez. We'll get what's coming to us," said the fifth man, who had been silent during the conversation. He slapped the table for emphasis. "We'll do the job and get that million bucks. Even split five ways, it'll make for one good payday."

 

"Yeah, well, your ‘investors' better not let us down. They want us to do this, they damn well better come through on the cash."

 

Living Quarters, Terminal City

 

Max climbed the stairs and looked for Joshua at his bedroll. Not finding him, she was about to turn away and check elsewhere when he emerged from Gem and Elefteria's room.

 

"Joshua! There you are," she exclaimed, happy to see him. "What were ya doin' in there? Playing with the baby?"

 

"Saying goodbye." His eyes were downcast as he walked past her.

 

Max's smile faded, and she stepped in front of him to block his path. "Why? Going on a supply run? Those are just temporary excursions, you know." She made a weak attempt at a joke, knowing that wasn't what he had in mind but not sure what was.

 

Joshua pushed past her. Max followed, but he didn't say anything until they left the barracks and stepped outside. Then he finally stopped and faced her. "I'm turning myself in to the police."

 

"What?! Joshua—"

 

"It's easier for everybody, Max," he interrupted loudly. "You won't have to worry about Original Cindy and...and Sketchy and Normal getting arrested. Jam Pony won't get closed down. Transgenics can still come here..."

 

"Don't be ridiculous." Max's voice took on the stern, big-sisterly tone it often had with Joshua. "You don't need to give yourself up to keep them safe. Trust me. When the DNA test results come in, you'll be off the hook."

 

"Will I, Max?" Joshua stepped away, pacing in frustration. "You know what cops are like. You know what people think. They don't believe tests. They believe what they see on the news." He kicked a stray can, following it and kicking it again when it rolled to a stop. "People see someone violent. People see a transgenic killing them."

 

"White did the killing, not you."

 

"They don't know that. Even if we tell them it was a different transgenic, they won't believe us, and they'll still be angry. Angry at us all...for killing Annie."

 

Obviously in pain at Annie's memory, Joshua smashed his fist sideways into the brick wall of the building, then slid down it and drew his knees to his chest. "If I go, they'll have someone to call their murderer. If I hadn't gone to see Annie that night...I should have stayed away..."

 

"Listen to me." Max dropped to Joshua's level and stared at him. "You did not cause Annie's death. You couldn't help what happened in those sewers."

 

"But I can help what happens now," he answered, raising his head and looking into her eyes. "I can help all of you. I'm going, Max."

 

"Joshua—"

 

Max was interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. With an apologetic sigh to Joshua, she answered it. "Max."

 

"Max!" Original Cindy's voice blared from the phone and Max held the phone away from her ear. "You are not gonna believe where I am calling from."

 

"Dare I ask?" Max said, smiling, clearly expecting birthday hijinks. A little laugh escaped in her reply.

 

"They got us down here in lockup!" In the background, Max could hear Sketchy and Normal arguing. "I don't know how they found out what we been doin', or why they picked now to haul our asses in here, but—"

 

"They what?!" Max's smile disappeared and her voice rose in indignation. "Already?!"

 

Original Cindy's voice moved quickly from frustration to suspicion, and then to indignation of her own. "What you mean, ‘already?' You knew about this?!"

 

"I was trying to prevent it. Look, we'll get you out of there, okay? One way or another."

 

"You better. Original Cindy is not gonna spend her birthday getting hit on by the cons. And what am I supposed to do about my date tonight?"

 

"I'll tell Ginger what happened," Max promised. "I'm sorry, boo. Just hang on. We'll take care of it."

 

A minute later Max hung up, looking at Joshua. She opened her mouth, but he waved her off. "I heard. They're in jail already."

 

"Joshua, you have to stick around," Max told him. "We need you here to help us get them out."

 

He nodded and stood up. "What can I do?"

 

Sector 7, Several Blocks Away from Terminal City

 

The heavyset woman pushed her way through the edge of a crowd of angry people as the sky darkened and thunder rumbled. Most of them were facing a man with a bullhorn at one side of the square. Many of them brandished weapons. Most were chanting or shouting.

 

"What are the police doing about the transgenics?" the man with the bullhorn shouted.

 

"Nothing!" the crowd shouted back.

 

"How much longer are we gonna stand for it?"

 

"No more!"

 

"What are we gonna do about the transgenics?"

 

"Take 'em down!"

 

The woman passed the crowd and hurried into an empty side street, heading for a pay phone as a hard rain began to fall. Thunder didn't conceal the noise of the crowd shouting behind her.

 

"When do we move?"

 

"Nightfall!"

 

Logan's Quarters, Terminal City

 

Logan answered his ringing cell phone, tucking it between his ear and his shoulder in order to free up his hands. "Hello?" he said, shaking a couple of pills out of a bottle and swallowing them.

 

"Logan?" 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."

 

ACT III

 

Command Center, Terminal City

 

All the usual suspects stood at the bank of monitors in the Command Center, tensely watching coverage of the angry crowd. Logan soon joined them, ignoring the glare from Mole. "We need to end this thing."

 

"Tell me about it," Max agreed, glancing up at him briefly and then turning back to the monitors. "They look like they just might actually go through with it."

 

"There must be a couple hundred of them out there," Alec commented.

 

"And they're being goaded by a few guys who have no clue what they're getting into," Logan added. "Friend of mine overheard their conversation. This crowd isn't going to go away. These people are violent and they're coming here."

 

"We can take 'em." Mole's voice was confident as he spoke around his cigar stub. He took the cigar out of his mouth and set it in a nearby ashtray.

 

"Yeah, but at what cost?"

 

"I'm going out there," Max said suddenly, pushing past Logan and rushing toward the door.

 

"Max! Wait!" She whirled around, barely able to remain in one place while waiting for Logan to catch up. "What are you doing?"

 

"Going to mow the lawn. What does it look like I'm doing?"

 

"You can't just go out there," he told her. "It's already dangerous enough. Now they're all fired up. These aren't just protestors with signs. They're armed and they're violent. You're diving right into enemy territory."

 

"What I do," she answered, waving her hands open at her sides and speaking impatiently.

 

"Max, he's right," Alec protested. "You can do a lot more good in here than you can out there right now. Those people will just jump you the second they see you. We have to get organized."

 

"You organize them. I have to talk to Clemente. He's got to get that crowd under control."

 

"And what makes you think he can?" Mole sneered. "Civilians are lousy at taking orders and you know it. Better to let them do what they're gonna do and teach 'em a lesson."

 

"And what lesson is that, Mole? That they can come to kill us and then we'll be the big, bad transgenics who kill more of them? Uh-uh." Max shook her head. "We have to put a stop to this before anyone gets hurt."

 

Before Logan or Alec could ask her to use the phone instead, she turned around and hurried out of the building.

 

Seattle Police Headquarters

 

Sketchy looked up and smiled as Original Cindy was escorted back into the holding cell where the three of them had spent the last several hours. "Enjoy your trip to the ladies'?"

 

"Don't even start with me," she answered grumpily. "I had three inmates promise to improve my day and none of them were the proper gender. Original Cindy is not in the mood for jokes."

 

"You ask me, the joke is that we're in here in the first place." Sketchy paused, and then turned to Normal as if he'd suddenly thought of something. "Who's been running Jam Pony all day while you're gone?"

 

"I used my phone call to get a hold of Druid," Normal answered, tossing a piece of fuzz to the floor and looking bored. "He's holding the fort...or so I assume. I just hope the moron can keep things together when they take us to Langford."

 

"They're taking us to Langford," Original Cindy repeated, phrasing the question as a statement. "No way. I cannot believe I'm going back there."

 

Normal looked up at that, curiosity and a hint of I-knew-it gleaming in his eye. "So you've got priors. Why am I not surprised?"

 

"Don't get excited," she swiftly informed him, rolling her eyes. "Max got in trouble one time a coupla years ago, thanks to her whacked-out physiology, and I went to get her out."

 

Normal raised his eyebrow, looking surprised, and his face softened. A pause followed Original Cindy's statement, and Normal sat back, looking thoughtful. When he next spoke, his voice held none of the usual sarcasm or condescension. "You grunts had this whole other life going on the whole time, didn't you?"

 

"Homegirl did," she nodded. "I got roped into it along the way."

 

"Takes a good friend to go to prison for one." Normal almost sounded impressed.

 

"Yeah, and it's gonna take a good friend to get us out." Original Cindy glanced at her watch, then went to the bars of the cell and called to the guard. "Hey! We gonna get to eat anytime soon?"

 

Seattle Street, Sector 7 - Dusk

 

Max emerged from an isolated manhole, glanced around to make sure there was nobody in sight, and purposefully strode down the street. Her breath clouded in the cold air. She glanced up at the sky and turned up the collar on her jacket. She was adjusting her hood and scarf, covering as much of her face as she could, when she rounded a corner and found herself face-to-face with a sector cop.

 

"Hey, what's a nice girl doing in this part of the city at dusk in a rainstorm?" he asked with a sardonic grin on his face.

 

"Just lookin' for someplace warm and dry to get my drink on," Max shrugged. "Is there a problem?"

 

"Maybe not," the officer answered. He stepped a little closer, gripping Max's arm. "Depends on what you've got."

 

"I don't think I've got anything you'd want."

 

"Oh, I doubt that."

 

Without waiting to decide whether the look on his face was greedy or lecherous, Max pulled her arm across her body. Since the cop's hand was still attached to it, his body followed, and she took the opportunity to land a cross on his face with her other hand. He let go of her and took a swing of his own, but Max expertly dodged his punch and kicked him in the gut. As he doubled over, she landed an uppercut into his nose. With unusually quick reflexes, he grabbed her hand as she was following through and yanked on it. This brought her within inches of him, and he grabbed her other arm.

 

It was at that moment that his partner rounded the corner and saw what was going on. "Jones! What you doing? You gotta feel up every girl that comes along?"

 

Jones froze, opening his mouth to protest.

 

Max instantly quit fighting and played up the helpless, sexy girl act. "Thank God you came along, officer. I don't know what he would have done if you hadn't."

 

The second officer stepped closer and did a double take when he saw Max's face, now partially exposed as her scarf fluttered open, loosened during the scuffle. "You! You're that girl who's—"

 

He didn't get any farther.

 

Max quickly shoved Jones out of the way and ran over to the second officer, elbowing him in the face before he had a chance to react. As he hunched over in pain, she grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him down to the street. Max dispatched him with a swift blow, then turned back to Jones.

 

Jones was calling for backup. Max ripped his radio off his uniform and tossed it over her shoulder, using the same hand as it came forward from the toss to land a punch. Jones reeled, and when Max went into a roundhouse kick, he jumped aside and shoved her with his full body weight, sending her to the ground. Her 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."

 

The cops and soldiers bore down on her. Max punched and kicked her way through the group, the cell phone's insistent ringing going untended in the fray. Max ducked low and kicked the legs out from under one soldier, and while she turned to fight another cop, he radioed his superior from his position on the ground. It wasn't long before more cops appeared on the scene, and this time they were followed by some very angry civilians. The cell phone quit ringing. Max kept fighting.

 

Command Center, Terminal City

 

"She didn't answer," Logan said, his brow furrowed in concern.

 

"No surprise there," Mole growled. "We need to deal with this. Max isn't around to help. Skip her." He stood up suddenly, stalking off and barking out orders to various transgenics.

 

"Look, I'm gonna go help out with this. You keep trying her, all right?" Alec said to Logan, in a low voice, standing next to him.

 

"You go ahead. I'm gonna see if I can get through to Clemente."

 

"What?" Alec blinked in surprise. "He'll just arrest you as soon as he knows where you are."

 

"Tell me about it. That's why I'm gonna have one of my guys get a message through." Logan dialed a number and put the phone to his ear, turning away to focus on the conversation. Alec watched him for a second, then walked out to join Mole in making preparations.

 

The TV blared in the background as Logan walked out of the Command Center.

 

"...crowd grows more agitated by the second. Angered by the lack of police action against the transgenics, many are expressing a desire to take matters into their own hands. The question now is...will they? What would the result of such an undertaking be? And why aren't the police taking a more active role to prevent it? Stay tuned as we bring you new developments when they happen..."

 

"Matt," Logan said when a voice on the other end answered. "I need a favor."

 

"First things first," said Matt Sung. "Are you in Terminal City?"

 

"Yeah, I'm here. Listen. Situation's bad. I need you to tell Clemente something."

 

"Whoa, hold up—before you start, you need to know Clemente's really gunning for you. And it's not just what you did at Jam Pony, either. He's got a hold of your file."

 

"What file?"

 

"Just about every footprint you've ever left," Sung said, glancing around and lowering his voice. "Including some of the work we've done for Eyes Only."

 

Logan closed his eyes briefly at the bad news. "Great."

 

"And your friends from the messenger service are in a lot of trouble. Some guy from the NSA showed up with some pretty hard evidence against them, and we had to bring them in."

 

Logan sighed. "Any chance you can make all this go away?"

 

"I'll see what I can do, but I'm not making any promises. Especially not right now."

 

"No," Logan agreed. "Right now we need to take care of what's going down tonight. Let me tell you what Eyes Only told me..."

 

Seattle Street, Sector 7

 

Max, clothing ripped and face bruised, eased along the side of a building, flattening herself against it as much as possible. She glanced at the sky, which was rapidly growing dark, and then peeked around the corner of the building to look at Clemente's mobile headquarters.

 

It was surrounded by angry, violent-looking citizens. Max slumped in disappointment and frustration. She watched as Matt Sung fought his way through the crowd and disappeared inside the headquarters. A surge of angry people attempted to shove their way inside when the door opened, but it was quickly pulled shut.

 

"Half of you stay here," one man called out to the group, using a megaphone to be heard over their shouts. "The other half will go join the rest of the force. It's time to move!"

 

Half of the crowd turned and stampeded past the spot where Max had been only moments before.

 

Clemente's Mobile Headquarters

 

"Detective Sung." Clemente's greeting was impatient and annoyed. "What is it?"

 

"This is getting out of hand, sir." Sung gestured out the window at the departing mob.

 

"I'm well aware of that," Clemente snapped. He stood up and began pacing, the tension in his voice matching that of the situation. "But half of my forces are starting to sympathize with that mob. Even if I can stop it, the same thing is going to happen that happens every time. The citizens grow more restless, the city puts on more pressure to get the transgenics out of there, and even the feds are losing their patience. I'm trying to keep the peace at least until we get the DNA test results back and the murder suspect apprehended, but to tell you the truth, Detective, it may not be worth it."

 

"I don't know about ‘worth it,'" Sung answered. "But it's necessary, sir."

 

"I'm not so sure of that anymore."

 

Matt Sung's voice grew more forceful as he approached the desk, where Clemente had ended up after pacing. "Sir, I spoke to Logan Cale about it."

 

"You asked a suspect for help?"

 

"He offered me valuable information, Commander." Sung's voice was hard. "We have a situation on our hands and he's trying to help us resolve it. Refusing him would have been counterproductive."

 

Clemente's eyes remained on Sung's, trying to read them. Then he broke the gaze and sat down, leaning back in his chair, but retaining his authoritative air. "Yeah? What did suspect Cale say?"

 

"He passed on some information Eyes Only gave him. For one, the mob has been egged on by a few ringleaders. For two, and more importantly, those ringleaders and the mob have vastly underestimated the number of transgenics in Terminal City."

 

"By how much?" Clemente asked. "Current estimates place the Terminal City population at two hundred. That's not too far off from the slogans that crowd has been shouting."

 

"Well, they're off by a few hundred," Sung snapped. "By five hundred, to be exact."

 

Clemente was temporarily silenced by this new information. Sung put his hands on the desk and leaned over it. "We have two hundred angry and armed citizens threatening a citadel of seven hundred highly trained ex-soldiers. Cale said the transgenics will fight to the death if necessary. I believe him."

 

"So we either stop the mob, or..." Clemente said, getting the idea.

 

Sung nodded and finished the thought for him. "...or those people march on Terminal City and just might get themselves all killed. And what happens then?" Sung lowered his voice to emphasize the seriousness of what he was saying. "You thought the city was angry at the transgenics before, Commander. That's nothing compared to what will happen if they kill two hundred of its citizens."

 

Clemente closed his eyes. Sung didn't wait for him to react further. "Seattle will explode. And then you can forget about keeping the peace."

 

The commander took a deep breath and rose from his chair to gaze out the window. "That doesn't change the fact that stopping this mob is easier said than done." Finally he turned back to Sung. "Did Cale happen to offer any constructive suggestions as to how we're supposed to do this? Or was he just full of doom and gloom?"

 

"He's going to try to figure out how to stop the attack without killing the rioters," Sung answered, straightening from the desk now that some of the tension had eased. "He said he would need you to back them up on the outside."

 

Clemente turned back to gaze out the window again. The crowd outside was only growing angrier. Finally he sighed through his nose and spoke. "Let's take this one step at a time, shall we? We wait to hear their plan. But for all our sakes, I hope it's a good one."

 

ACT IV

 

Near the Front Gates, Terminal City - Nightfall

 

An army of wary transgenics had followed Mole's orders and were assembling on the roofs, in the alleyways, and in every nook and cranny of Terminal City, most of them armed with the various weapons that had been assembled in preparation for just such a showdown. Alec strode back into the Command Center to find Logan, with Luke and some other transgenics, huddled around a TV screen, watching the news coverage.

 

"Have you heard from Max?" Alec asked.

 

Logan looked up and frowned. "Nope. Is it as bad as it looks on TV?" He motioned with his head toward the commotion outside.

 

"Worse," Alec replied shortly. "Mole's preparing for all hell to break loose. He's ready to chop off some heads."

 

"Okay, we can't wait for Max anymore. We need a plan."

 

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that. Everyone's thinking we're just a bunch of shoot-em-up commandos, right?"

 

Logan nodded impatiently. "Get to the point, Alec. We don't have a lot of time."

 

"Mia," Alec said shortly. "Remember her? Well, guess what, buddy? Lots more like her right here in our own little psych ward."