Chapter 33 – Fame And Infamy
Saturday Morning, September 24, 2310
At home, Ashley slept on the basement couch in front of the mumbling television. In her dream she heard her name being chanted by thousands of kids. She woke and blinked in the morning light.
During the night Mono had curled up on the floor next to the couch. She petted the big cat; who purred and raised his head. Ashley had missed the giant house-lion, and he looked very happy to see her.
The television caught her attention; it was a story on the orphanage riots. She scanned back to the beginning and turned up the volume.
The scene jumped to the meeting hall Ashley had escaped. Several news crews and emergency vehicles were on the scene. The light rain was falling, making the sidewalks and buildings glisten with reflected siren light. An attractive female reporter was posted on the sidewalk, talking with the anchors back in the studio.
“That’s right, behind me is the meeting hall where Angel City Police Detective James Cole was among the victims of a multiple shooting. Chief Del Toro was here but declined to comment. Early reports are that a district Governor and Security Chief were among the victims.”
The anchor interrupted, “We’re talking about District Thirteen?”
“That’s correct. The district is the largest orphanage slash juvenile detention facility on the west coast, housing over ten thousand children. Earlier in the week the district required a coordinated offensive to offset growing unrest among the residents. Here's that story."
The in-house camera feed was switched over to coverage of the riots, thousands of kids chanting, "Free Ashley Fox!" The camera focused on the protesters in the front row. Jones led the protestors from atop a planter. Ash recognized Kaz, Hambone, Tanaka and several others.
The camera cut to the studio again. "Ladies and gentlemen, behind me is the scene which unfolded last Thursday, aboard District Thirteen. The youth assembled here are requesting the release of a young woman whose only crime was, some argue, a matter self defense. Here's how the district responded."
The stream displayed the footage of Ashley's execution. Colonel Keller read her death warrant. Ash watched herself fight. They strapped her down. Dr. Mallus injected her in the neck and she died, or appeared to.
With the orphans distracted, the authorities gave the signal to begin their coordinated assault. The sniper at the far end of the mall fired one shot. Ashley saw Kaz go down.
Then the shock troops indiscriminately opened fire.
Despite the fact that they were reported to be using rubber bullets, the sounds and images were of domestic warfare. Only in this nightmarish twist, the children were the enemy, assaulted with tear gas and blasted with water cannons.
The reporting shifted gears and adopted a more aggressive stance, lauding the district authorities for their decisive action in suppressing what could have turned into a much more violent crisis aboard a municipal facility.
"More violent how?" Ashley thought.
On the screen, the guards beat groups of cowering children with batons and kicked them with their heavy boots.
The footage was psychotic.
There were bloody faced kids everywhere. Arms and legs broken, eyes swollen shut, lips split and blood, teeth broken and missing.
The news anchor, reading from index cards, flatly congratulated Colonel Keller, pictured in a blurry photo that looked twenty years old. He praised him for the flawless execution of a bold plan against domestic terrorists, who had threatened national security with their treasonous protest.
The commentary then charged Ashley with a battery of violent crimes as a notorious gang leader, with a history of ruthless violence. They played footage of her fight with Lethal and with Mo, followed by the excessive damage she inflicted on Marco's hand. The report even featured an interview with Carver in his hospital room. His head was twisted backwards, but he still managed to scream and berate the reporter and camera crew, threatening to someday get out of the hospital bed and get even with his arch-enemy, his nemesis, Ashley Fox.
The anchor reminded the audience that Ashley was the daughter of the infamous Doctor Fox. The mad scientist who had wired crippled soldiers into tanks and sent them against the lightly-armed and relatively peaceful Christians of South America.
Ashley was astonished at the ease with which the programs re-defined both history and the present to fit their angle.
She felt sick, but didn’t turn it off.
The reporter from the previous broadcast introduced a guest and invited speculation about theories regarding Ashley’s genetically enhanced abilities.
The program abruptly cut and jerked back to the present. The anchor recapped the scene outside the meeting hall, where the on-site reporter speculated about the political nature of the multiple homicides.
The anchor interrupted, “Breaking news here, we’re getting reports that the victims of this attack, some of the bodies have been taken. That’s right, apparently there was an attack at the hospital. We’re taking you now to Saint Mark’s Hospital.”
Ashley sat up as the feed cut to the new location.
The third-string reporter addressed the camera, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is breaking news. In a gruesome attack at a local hospital, five corpses have gone missing. Speculation into who, how and why these dead bodies were taken continues.”
The camera panned across a frantic scene on the emergency tarmac. Outside the stairs to the morgue, three news crews were hassling police and security guards.
“Initial reports indicate two morticians have been brutally murdered at the morgue here. We were told persons as yet unknown bit their throats out.
“We do know that this morgue checked in twenty-seven corpses and that only twenty-three are presently accounted for. It is believed that the Calistan Canyon Killer, one Martin Dunkirk, may have been among the corpses that have gone missing.”
Ashley was stunned.
She had watched Dunkirk burn. Governor Maime had too. Whatever else, she had killed Morgenstern and Keller. Of that much, she was certain.
“We also believe that the other high profile corpses, of the district governor and her security chief are among those that were taken.”
Ash turned off the stream.
She was furious and filled with anxiety at the same time. The detective’s gun leapt into her hand. She left the room, determined.
Mono followed. She found her spirits lifted by his tuxedoed, yet informal company. Mono was far more dangerous than any gun. No one could hurt her if she stayed with her giant battle-cat.
Ashley found herself drawn to her bedroom. She stood before her desk. This was shy she hadn’t slept here last night.
It was waiting for her, in the top drawer. She stepped over to it and opened the drawer. Looking at it, Ashley realized she had no way of telling, was this actually the original? Was it one that had fallen into the canyon with Chairman Pierce or the second one she had taken from Deputy Director Von Kalt?
Ashley remembered what it had told her then, it was the Metachron, and it had taken forty-seven thousand, five hundred and one lives. She had re-written it and explained that, “No. It had Come from the Micronix, and now, that it had returned, it was the Micronix once again.”
It had agreed and become the Micronix again. The original was back on the district. She’d brought it with her. This one was different, but still worth bringing.
Kaz sat up in bed. The hospital ward was filled to capacity.
The lead striker climbed out of bed and walked to the end of the large recovery room. Dozens, hundreds of kids lie sleeping or, in effort to keep the moaning and wailing to a minimum, drugged out of their minds.
The teen was startled by his reflection in a nearby mirror. His face was bandaged, his left eye covered with gauze and taped over. Kaz found the edge of the tape and pealed it back from the top, from his newly shaved scalp. The wound stretched halfway back across the top of his head. The stitches, black and alien
, rose like insect hair from the irritated tissue.
Terrified he'd lost an eye; he pealed the bandage back to reveal his healthy blinking eyeball. Above and below the eye, a long, twisted and stitched scar ran from the top of his forehead, down through his half-shaved brow. He walked from the ward, ignoring protestations from nurses and staff.
A few guards, roused from a nearby vid-monitor, approached the commotion as Kazimov attempted to exit the ward. His wounded, one-eyed glare was enough to give them pause and he exploited their hesitation. Thinking their rifles to be loaded with rubber bullets, Kaz leapt at the center guard, the handgun-carrying officer.
They struggled.
The guards on either side raised their rifles, but didn't have a clear shot and hesitated to fire the live rounds.
Kaz got possession of the handgun and slipped around behind the officer. At gunpoint, he ordered the teen soldiers to set down their rifles and back away.
They hesitated.
Kaz shot one in the thigh.
The man went down, screaming.
The officer struggled and Kaz struck him with the butt of the weapon.
The second soldier tried to get a bead on Kaz, as he walked the captive officer forward, his handgun in the soldier’s face.
The soldier set down the rifle and held his hands up.
Kaz reached around to the officer’s waist and unsnapped the gun belt. He threw the belt over his shoulder, over the hospital gown, scooped up the assault rifles and fled. Barefoot and clutching his weapons to his chest, he ran for all he was worth.
A contingent of armored guards, lead by Sergeant Wulfgar and Corporal Harrison, swept through the athletic complex, assaulting any orphans who weren't quick enough to escape. They demanded Geoffrey's location but were answered with nothing but fleeing footsteps.
Soon the squad was reduced to executing coordinated ambushes, followed by fifteen minutes of high intensity interrogation. News of the sweep reached Sky and Geoff long before the guards did.
Orphaned at three, Sky knew every quality hiding spot in the district. She took Geoff on a tour.
Dressed in civilian clothes, Grey drifted down the infamous Santee Alley. He wore a loose fitting poncho, but despite his efforts at blending, he was much too tall and muscular to go unnoticed.
He quickly found Sergeant Whetland, stationed near the front gate.
"Afternoon, officer," Grey said.
"Afternoon," Whetland replied.
"I'm looking for a friend of a friend," Grey said.
"A friend in need," the Sergeant replied.
"How's the domestic side treating you?" Grey asked.
"You tell me," Whetland replied.
"Lately it all feels like another country." Grey scanned the area.
Whetland handed Grey a slip of paper. "Here's what you want the warrant to read.”
The sergeant looked Grey in the eyes and continued, "From here, take cable seventy-three, to exit one-eighteen, you want four-twenty-five Kestrel, top shelf.”
The lieutenant listened closely and repeated the numbers, "Seventy-three, to one-eighteen, four-twenty-five Kestrel. That's a nice neighborhood.”
"You're telling me," Whetland replied.
Grey spotted Director Trafford, and his men in black, hovering in the distance. "This place is crawling with roaches.”
Whetland nodded but didn't look around.
Grey continued, "I'm going to draw my weapon and fire at you. After I miss, chase me away.”
Whetland laughed, “You got it.”
From beneath his poncho, Grey pulled his weapon and fired. He appeared to be pointing at Whetland, but the bullet traveled across the open market and shattered cement next to Director Trafford's head. Splinters of rock blistered his face.
Grey sprinted from the scene, pursued by Whetland. Together, they disrupted carts and shoppers as they dashed through the crowded market.
They raced one another like children, doing more to make a mess than actually catch or escape one another.
Trafford gestured for his team to pursue, but the hostile merchants and shoppers immediately tripped them up.
Once far enough from the pursuing agents, Whetland stumbled and allowed his quarry to escape. He stood, brushed himself off and made his way back toward his post.
Soon, The black-suited feds ran toward him, their weapons in hand.
Whetland, a uniformed officer, stopped them and demanded ID, which they angrily presented.
The feds, officially superior officers of the sergeant, were fully aware that the he had assisted their quarry in his escape. They immediately began questioning the sergeant about his conversation with the lieutenant.
Trafford and a couple other agents sprinted past them, not giving up on Grey's apprehension.
Some distance ahead, the lieutenant ducked into a stall and out the back. He slipped down a stairwell to a lower parking level. Grey emerged from between a couple parked vehicles and discovered two agents running directly toward him. He ducked back into the row of cars, but he knew they'd seen him.
He dashed back toward the stairwell, reaching it as Director Trafford opened the door. Grey didn't hesitate. He put a foot in the director's chest and kicked him backwards down the next flight of stairs.
On his way up, two agents, who'd been following the director, tackled Grey to the ground. They furiously beat him into submission.
Director Trafford returned and helped search the lieutenant's pockets. The address Whetland gave him was discovered. Trafford gestured for the agents to hold Grey's arms out to the sides. The director struck the lieutenant in the face and body repeatedly. Trafford was a powerful man; his punches loosened teeth and split skin.
After a couple dozen strikes, he gestured for his men to dump the body down the stair well. Grey tumbled, end over end, as the director had, finally coming to rest on the lower landing.