Chapter 76: Old Crow, Yukon

 

Instinct caused people to look up as he descended upon the crowd, and a ripple effect took place, upturned faces spreading as more noticed and looked up in turn. The crowd parted before him, allowing him to dip down enough to pass into the garage without having to skim beneath the top of the entrance.

“Hey, it’s James Kelly!”

“James! Right on!”

“Yo, he’s hurt!”

James left the clamor behind and floated up and close to the huge cement rafters that girded the ceiling. The first parking level was crammed with people slowly sorting themselves into groups, half the mass continuing to the next level down, the rest splitting to the right and left. Cones with yellow tape demarcated gathering areas, and the air was already growing warm and stuffy from the nearly thousand people slowly forming into groups.

Jessica stood atop a chair at the base of the ramp, megaphone in one hand, glowing baton in the other. She acted as breakwater, causing the turgid crowd to split about her, assistants with more glowing batons urging people to move quickly and not dawdle.

“James!” she waved at him, her smile harried. “There you are. I couldn’t raise you on the radio.”

He eased the Wing up beside her. “I headed to New Haven. Went to check out the hive there.”

She glanced at his wounded leg, then back at his expression, then turned. “Lauren, take over here. I’ll be right back.”

And without asking, she scrambled up onto the Wing, which dipped slightly under her weight. “Head over to my office over there.”

James had to restrain the urge to smile. Her directness always amused him. He urged the Wing over the curious crowd, passed over waist-high cement barriers that had been hauled into place to cordon off her personal workshop, and finally alighted beside her desk.

Jessica raised her radio. “Command, this is Miles. Please send a Healing Grace operator down to my office, over.”

“Copy Miles. Sending someone now, out.”

Jessica slid off the Wing, took her mechanicus from where it was holstered at her hip, and waved it over the Wing. “Hmm.”

“Yeah, had to push it there for a bit.”

James studied Jessica. How different she was from the Monitor’s version. The real Jessica lacked the Monitor’s sultry knowingness, that casual wickedness, the impossible arrogance and alien intelligence.

Instead, she was focused, alert, fully present and with a clarity to her being that hinted at her formidable intellect.

“How long did you work for the deputy commissioner?” he asked.

Jessica frowned. “Excuse me?”

James waited.

“A year and a half.”

“You weren’t promoted?”

“I was. I began as a front desk secretary. That lasted four months before I was made junior assistant to the Assistant Commissioner for Logistics. I was promoted again, made senior assistant, then again to senior assistant for the Deputy Commissioner.”

James nodded. “Why’d you start as front desk secretary? You got a good degree, right?”

Jessica stilled. “Where’s this coming from, James?”

“I spoke with the Monitor again. It took your appearance and tried to tempt me with all kinds of fucked up offers. But it also tried to turn me against you.”

“I see. By saying what?”

“Asking questions. How much I actually knew you. How someone so effective and smart has remained an assistant all this time. She asked what happened to you the weekend after your boyfriend died.”

Jessica’s face paled and her expression hardened. “I see. So now you suspect me of - what?”

With the echoes of hundreds of voices bouncing off the cement ceiling, the shuffle of feet, the blare of instructions over megaphones, the controlled activity all around them, James realized what he’d known all along.

“Nothing.” He sighed. “I know you have your secrets. The Monitor wants to tear us apart. Turn us against each other. But like I said before, I trust you. So you keep them. I’m sorry. I didn’t handle this well.”

Jessica’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “You sure you want to leave it there?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the base of his palm into his eye. “I’m sure. We’re never going to survive if we don’t have faith in each other, right?” He dropped his hand into his lap. “And I have faith in you, Jessica. Doesn’t matter what you’re hiding. The Monitor can go fuck itself.”

Jessica took deep breath. “Thank you. And - I’m willing to tell you. About my… well. The other side of my life. Later, perhaps.”

“Only if you want.” He looked around the parking lot again. “You’ve got a lot on your plate here.”

“Yes.” She rubbed her hands briskly down her hips. “I put out a summons. Cindy’s running a staging post down the street registering volunteers, with duplicates being put in place in the other boroughs. Star Boy’s created a simple registration form online for those willing to harvest components, and we’re identifying drop-off and processing points to bring them to our factories. We’re going to need you to put a video out soon asking for more volunteers for a variety of posts. Nothing gets people moving like your videos.”

“Sure,” said James. “How are you doing this so fast? This shit always takes weeks.”

“That’s the benefit of having authority and good people ready to do what’s needed. Star Boy can put together basic landing pages and processing forms in moments. Cindy can organize these processes efficiently, and with the S1’s staff helping her, requisition whatever she needs to make it happen. I put out the original summons on your TikTok channel, and the response was immediate. There are a lot of people who want to help but don’t know what to do. They’re just waiting for directions.”

James looked out over the slowly shuffling crowd again. “And all these people? They’re going to do what?”

“Start Fabricating. I gave talking points to group directors who will orient groups of 25 and then send them down to deeper parking lot levels to get started. Battle Engineers will work on Angel Wings, War Smiths will mass produce enhancement runes -”

“What are those?”

Jessica blew a lock of gold hair out of her face. “Talismans that imbue the wearer with a permanent stat bonus. It’s the simplest thing they can make and requires the least resources. Structuralists will move in teams, creating enhanced walls to protect key locations like our Forward Operating Bases. Domestics are going to start churning out food reserves and uniforms.”

James nodded, absorbing all this. “OK, that sounds good. We have a sense of a production timeline?”

“Not yet. It all sounds good on paper, but I want to see how it comes together in practice. There are several possible bottlenecks that could stall progress, and we’ll only know what needs improving when things break down.” Jessica frowned and looked toward the crowd. “But we’ve got a lot of good will and highly motivated volunteers. I’m emphasizing the need for leadership and taking the initiative. With a little luck we’ll identify good people to put in charge of teams, and soon have groups of nine operating like Blue Light.”

“Hey, James?” It was Denzel and Jason. They slowed at the sight of his leg, then without a word Denzel extended his hand. Gold light washed over James’s body, and the throbbing pain eased away along the vague, wooly-headed feeling that came from exhaustion and blood-loss.

“Ah.” He straightened. “Thanks, Denzel. That’s the stuff.”

“What happened, sir?” asked Jason. “The enemy using small arms now?”

“No.” James snorted at the idea of Nem3 using that little chrome pistol. “Just people being idiots. I was flying back home and saw two guys trying to rape a woman. I intervened and got shot for my troubles.”

“The woman?” asked Denzel.

“She got away. So there’s that, at any rate.”

“You could have died,” said Jessica.

“True. It was a good reality check. One I’ll take to heart.”

“To avoid tackling dudes with guns?” asked Denzel.

“No, to boost my stats so I can take ‘em out no problem. Anyways, enough of that. I’ve got to see Hackworth.”

“He’s up at the HQ.” Denzel pointed upstairs. “Still doing that after action review thing.”

“Fair. Jessica, you need anything?”

“For you to record that video. I’ll page you when it’s time. Also, I have a surprise for you, but it’s not ready. Should be done by some point tonight.”

“Sounds good. Let me park this thing and then we can head up.”

* * *

James pulled Hackworth aside. Something in his expression stilled the protests from the XO and other Crimson team leaders.

When they closed the door and were alone in another small meeting room, James laid it out for the colonel. He recounted the exchange with the Monitor as best he could recall and left nothing out.

“Well,” said Hackworth when James finished. “Isn’t that something.”

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“We should not accept,” said James firmly. “First - well. I’m not murdering anybody. Second, we can’t trust them. Third, any offer has to be to our ultimate detriment. Fourth, we might save people in the short term, but the City would be undefended when the Pits open up. No demons means no leveling, and with everyone dead - well. Fifth, this would crush morale across the country and cause the collapse of Blue Light as an institution.”

“Yes.” Hackworth stroked his jaw. A fine stubble had grown along its length, somehow making his Errol Flynn looks all the more rakish. “I agree. That, and our nation has a long-standing policy of not negotiating with terrorists. Which, I think we can agree, these invaders qualify as.”

James snorted. “Amongst other things.”

“What I find interesting is their continued interest in you, James, as well as their willingness to make offers. It’s a fascinating counterpoint to the relative mindlessness of the Nemeses we’ve faced thus far, and a hint of what’s to come.”

“The Nemesis 3’s are smarter than the 2’s. I saw them learn how to avoid Black Hawk fire, and they’re capable of operating as a group. Not much smarter, but definitely more capable.”

“Sure. A gradual increase in intelligence seems to be the trend. But to my first point: in your original report on your first meeting with the Monitor, you relayed how it called you a Nexus, ‘in whom fortune and resolve are wed to optimal circumstances.’”

“Good memory.”

Hackworth smiled wryly. “One might argue this is mildly important and worth remembering. Further, you said there were seven hundred and forty-eight other Nexii in the city. Individuals whom fortune and resolve were at their peak. Yet only you have drawn the attention of the Monitors in New York City.”

“That we know of.”

“That we know of. There have been reports of other individuals across the country having similar conversations, and the NSA has put together a file documenting all the interactions and building a profile on what these Monitors are interested in and offer. It is, as you can imagine, highly classified, and ordinarily would never be shared with a CSM like yourself, but - well.” Hackworth grinned. “My penchant for taking the initiative rears its head once more. Here.”

He drew out a manilla folder from his briefcase and set it on the table.

James drew it over and opened it. The first page stated the document’s classification level and warned the rest of the world not to read it. James flipped to the next page. A summary some three paragraphs long, followed by bullet points listing the countries and individuals who had documented encounters with Monitors:

● United States of America

○ James Kelly, 2/22/22, Queens, NY

○ Nora Waters, 2/22/22, Indianapolis, IN

○ Victoria Marshall, 2/22/22, Los Angeles, CA

● China

○ Xin Liu, 2/22/22, Shanghai

○ Beverly Zhu, 2/22/22, Beijing

○ Shen Song, 2/22/22, Wuhan, Hubei

○ Xiang Feng, 2/22/22, Weifang, Shandong

● India

○ Hina Mammen, 2/22/22, Mumbai, Maharashtra

○ Anshu Singh, 2/22/22, Indore, Madhya Pradesh

○ Mukul Rajagopal, 2/22/22, Jalgaon, Maharashtra

● Russia

○ Rodion Komarov, 2/21/22, Moscow

● Turkey

○ Hasan Güneş, 2/22/22, Istanbul

● Afghanistan

○ Qari Haideri, 2/22/22, Kabul

● Argentina

○ Santino Ortiz, 2/22/22 Rosario, Santa Fe

● Iran

○ Mostafa Rezaei-Nejad, 2/22/22, Yazd, Yazd

● Canada

○ Patrick Belanger, 2/19/22, Old Crow, Yukon

● Nigeria

○ Titilaya Hanifat, 2/22/22, Lagos

● Democratic Republic of the Congo

○ Rasheedah Muinat, 2/22/22 Kinshasha

“What’s up with this Patrick Belanger?” asked James. “He spoke with a Monitor three days before anyone else?”

“Excepting Komorov in Moscow, yes. His profile is in the folder. The Canadian government shared that intel with us, supplementing what the CIA could uncover. Belanger is a seventy-eight-year-old relic who lives in the very north of the territory of Yukon. Old Crow is the only community that can’t be reached by motor vehicle, requiring folks to fly into the airport there. Interesting place. It’s the northernmost non-Inuit community and has a total population of 221.”

James frowned. “221?”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Everyone else has been located in a major metropolis.”

James turned the pages, skipping past other profiles till he came to the page on Belanger. There was a copy of his driver’s license, along with a list of his biometrics and pages of what looked like hospital data on him.

The face was that of a striking old man. His face was deeply carved with lines, his brows lowered as he glared at the camera, and there was something cruel and dauntless about his stare. A proud man, looking to be all sinew and bone.

James scanned the rest of the data. Born in 1944 in Halifax, Nova Scotia, he worked for two decades at different jobs in the port, ranging from cleaning the tankers to different positions on the oil refinery, to a better paying job handling bulk gypsum at a specialized cargo handling pier.

In the 70’s he left Halifax with his wife, Jane Belanger, and traveled north over the course of the decade, till he fetched up in Happy Valley-Goose Bay in 1978 where his wife died in a car accident.

He was in and out of state mental health hospitals through the 80’s, with several of the reports printed and included in the file. Paranoid delusions, schizophrenia, and persistent hallucinations that his wife was haunting him and making him horrific offers he dared not accept.

James paused on this last. “Says here he was warning folks about Armageddon.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And that he claimed to carry the ‘Light Eternal’, a responsibility he despised?”

“Ravings of a madman, so they said.”

Belanger escaped from The Waterford Hospital for Mental and Nervous Diseases in 1992, and disappeared from all records till 2013, when he turned up in Destruction Bay nearly dead from exposure and a broken leg. After being treated, he stayed in the town and got a job at the timber mill, till he left a year later. He disappeared again until 2019, when he was listed as a suspect in the deaths of three trappers in the Kendall Island Sanctuary. He was never located, however, only to resurface in Old Crow a few weeks back on the 19th claiming that ‘a symbol of Satan had appeared in the sky above the forest where he lived, and a demon in the form of his deceased wife had descended unto him, offering him all manner of gifts and pleasures if he surrendered the Light Eternal, which he refused.’

“He was arrested for disorderly conduct and assault upon not being taken seriously, which is how this entered the system and was picked up days later by intelligence agencies looking for anything to explain what was going on,” said Hackworth. “A helicopter spotted a demonic symbol hovering over the woods north of Old Crow, right enough, but there was no sign of Belanger in his cabin.”

“He’d have heard a helicopter coming a mile away,” said James, turning back to the driver’s license photograph. He studied Belanger’s defiant stare. “What the hell. His wife coming back to him sounds just like the Monitors.”

“Right. The Canadian government said they’d look into the matter, but they’ve yet to turn anything up.”

James closed the file. “These needs looking into.”

“Agreed. Problem is, everyone’s too busy just trying to stay alive.”

“Second Wave tomorrow.” James tapped the manila folder. “But someone needs to find Belanger. We need to learn more about what happened to him.”

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