Dark Angel: Skin Game (7 page)

"Something wrong, Max?" Logan said, the smirk gone.

"No."

"Max, I can read you better than that."

"... You did all this without telling me?"

"Some things are on a need-to-know basis, Max... and you didn't need to know this yet. I'm sure you have secrets you're keeping, to protect me better."

That was true.

Logan kept his voice low. "You're going to have to talk to them, you know."

"Who?"

"The cops, the National Guard... probably even someone from the feds."

Max shook her head slowly. "All I want is for us to be left alone."

"Terminal City is a toxic island, Max. The time for speeches is over. Brass tacks now."

"Okay. Say it."

"If you initiate negotiations, Eyes Only can get that word out to the world. If you do nothing, sooner or later, they're going to come in ... and you know what that means."

Genocide.

"Like it or not," Logan was saying, "we're about to enter a media war ... and we need all the good press we can get."

She winced in confusion as they walked along. "A media war? How is this—"

"Why do you think White tried to turn Jam Pony into a bloodbath?"

"To kill me."

"That's one reason ... but he was going to kill everyone in the place. Ordinaries like me and Cindy and Sketchy too."

"Yeah, I know—that's why I stopped Joshua from snapping White's spine. Carnage makes us look like the monsters everybody thinks we are."

"Bingo. Now you're gettin' media savvy."

She grunted something like a laugh and it echoed in the tunnel. "Don't you ever get tired of being right?"

"I'm always tired of being right, Max.... Ames White is going to fight you—not just you, Max, all of you—and not inside the gates of Terminal City, not right away. But in the media."

"It won't be hard," she said. "You saw those crazy assholes outside Jam Pony, and on TV. Everybody in Seattle already thinks we're monsters."

Logan stopped for a moment; he seemed about to touch her, but he didn't. Instead, his eyes held her.

"Not everybody," he said. "Not me, not Original Cindy, not Sketchy ... and now not even Normal."

"And you think we can convince everyone?"

"If a right-wing nutcase like Normal can be brought around, anything is possible."

Now that they'd stopped, Joshua was catching up to them.

"Have to convince people, Little Fella," he said, those soul-fiil puppy-dog eyes cutting to her core. "People are afraid of what they don't understand. Have to change their minds. Make them understand."

She stared into Joshua's unabashed sincerity, knowing he was right, but also knowing—even after all they'd suffered, all Joshua had suffered—that he was naive.

"There's an old pre-Pulse saying among the Normals of the world," Max said. "Shoot first and ask questions later."

Logan said, "That's another reason for you to start negotiations as soon as possible, Max ... before they start shooting. Besides, how much food and water is there in Terminal City? Realistically, how long can you hold out here?"

"Longer than they think we can," she said automatically.

"But is living the rest of your life in Terminal City—just waiting for the day they storm the place—is that what you're looking for?"

Max shook her head. "Of course not."

"Well, you've had your moment of triumphs—we have a flag flying. But it's time for a reality check, Max. You better get started talking to the other side."

They had made it to the end of the tunnel now, and Logan unlocked another door.

They all passed through and found themselves in the basement of a darkened building, where feline DNA allowed her to see the piles of desks, rilling cabinets, and office chairs around them.

Logan clicked his flashlight back on and led the way up the stairs to the first floor.

Though the windows were all boarded, this floor was much cleaner than the basement, and

a revelation compared to the other Medtronics building back in Terminal City.

High-ceilinged, with a tile floor, the large room was separated by partitions into an office on the right, a living room in the center, and a kitchen and dining area to the left.

Numerous monitors and a pile of computer equipment cluttered two desks in the office area, and miles of wire seemed to snake everywhere. There was also a video camera that would serve as the new Eyes Only link to the world. The living room was home to a large leather sofa, three chairs, and a coffee table. A giant area rug only slightly smaller than a city bus covered the floor. The kitchen had a big fridge, a huge oven, a microwave, and even a butcher block island in the middle, and a cozy dining area with room for six. Two doors at the far end of the room led to a bathroom and bedroom respectively.

"Pretty cool," Max said, eyes wide, impressed.

It reminded her of Logan's old apartment. The penthouse had been beautiful, always spotlessly clean, and decorated in a spare modern manner that truly reflected Logan.

That had been before Ames White traced an Eyes Only transmission, and his minions had trashed the place, shot it to hell, wrecking everything and sending Logan into hiding.

Fortunately, the penthouse had been off-the-books, and in the many weeks of Logan keeping a low profile, White had apparently not been able to trace it to its true occupant. So both Logan—and his Eyes Only identity—seemed secure.

"It's time," Logan said to her, "to get Eyes Only up and running again anyway—we've been off the air too long"

As she looked around Logan's new quarters, she said, "This didn't happen overnight."

"I've been working on this pad for a while," Logan admitted, "sort of having it as a backup."

"Then you'll move here, from Joshua's?"

"The plan is, kind of hop back and forth. I think it's probably wise to maintain two bases of operations, for Eyes Only—Joshua's place gives us a sort of safe house, away from Terminal City."

Smiling, nodding, she said, "You did really good." He liked hearing that. "Did I?"

"You couldn't stay in Terminal City without risking a toxic backlash."

"So I've left—but I'm still in your backyard." "Right. And we have a way in and out of here ... starting with getting Sketchy and Original Cindy back to Jam Pony. We can use contacts in the outside world."

From the far end of the room, by the boarded windows, Joshua said, "Cops." "Say what?" Max asked, coming over. Turning to her, Joshua said, "Hole in one of the boards. I can see police." He returned to his post, peeking through the tiny hole.

Logan joined Max and the dog man. They took turns looking through the spy hole, Logan first, then Max. She saw pretty much the same thing she'd seen on the monitor, only now from the opposite angle, from behind the barricade. Stepping away, she said,

"Looks like they're digging in." "You knew they would," Logan said. She gestured to the window. "You better cover that hole at night—even a pinhole of light could give away your position."

Til take care of it."

"Just remember, that tunnel of yours runs in two directions. ... Are you sure it's safe here for you?"

He looked at her thoughtfully, and his answer was no glib comeback. "I wish I could say I'm certain, but that's just not how this works. I can tell you, there's no record of the building being anything but abandoned since my uncle ceased its use. And, thanks to his paranoia, there's another tunnel down

there that leads to another Cale-owned building on the other side of this block... well away from these barricades."

"Good," she said.

"I can use that to get in and out. The police are all concentrating on what's in front of them. They don't seem worried about what's behind them. When we need to, we can even use the tunnels as a supply line."

"You make a habit of it, don't you?"

"Of what?"

"Coming through for me."

He looked at her and she at him, and that would just have to do—no touching. Love didn't just hurt, it killed.

"We better get back," she said.

"Better," he said.

On the walk back, down in the fluorescent-lit tunnel, Joshua seemed lost in thought and hung back even farther than before. When he finally exited the tunnel, Max asked,

"What's up, Big Fella?"

He shook his head, the mane bouncing. "Thinking."

"What about?"

"The ones still outside."

Logan frowned. "What 'ones,' Joshua.... You mean the transgenics outside of Terminal City?" .

"Yes," Joshua said.

"What about them?" Max asked.

"Not sure yet. Still thinking."

Without another word, the big man brushed by them and up the stairs to the first floor of the Terminal City branch of Medtronics.

Though Max wanted to, she didn't press him. Joshua, like most men, only talked when he wanted to, and pushing him wouldn't help.

"Maybe he's wondering," Logan said, "if we can safely bring any straggling transgenics inside Terminal City?"

"Through your tunnel, maybe? A sort of underground railroad?"

Logan lifted both eyebrows. "Frankly, they're probably safer in the outside world."

"Probably. But at least in Terminal City they have an identity ... a 'country.' And they don't have to 'pass' as ordinaries."

When she and Logan got back to the media center, Dix greeted them with, "Nothing's changed. They seem to be settling in now. They must think they're going to wait us out."

"All right," Max said. "You know where Original Cindy and Sketchy are?"

Dix checked the monitors of their security system. "I think Sketch is asleep in the back of the ambulance ... and Original Cindy is up on the roof."

"Get someone to wake Sketchy, would you? And send him up to join us on the roof. I need to talk to both of them."

She and Logan went upstairs. Since the police hadn't sent up so much as a hoverdrone, the roof seemed safe enough. Original Cindy stood just this side of the flagpole, watching the barricade at the main gate. The roof gave them a pretty good vantage point to watch what the police were up to, at least at the main gate.

When she heard them, Original Cindy turned. "Whassup?"

Max took a step forward. "We were just talking about you."

"Original Cindy's always a popular topic of conversation."

"Cin, we're talking about you getting out of Terminal City."

Original Cindy frowned and waved that off. "Girl, you ain't gettin' rid of me that easy.

You just afraid with my natural leadership, these fools are all gonna gravitate toward me."

With a light laugh, Max put a hand on Original Cindy's shoulder. "You gotta go, girl—

it's for your own good."

"My own good?" She shook her curly Afro. "This about your own good. See, you my Boo, and I ain't walkin' out on your puny ass while you're in the middle of some heavy shit."

Max felt a wave of affection for her attitude-filled friend. "You know you can't stay here. Sooner or later, this bad bioshit's gonna take a toll on you."

"So if I feel sick, I'll come up here on the roof and breathe the sweet Seattle air, smog and all. Right now I feel as fine as I look, and you know how fine that is. Anyway, this is about something bigger than feeling sick and shit."

Logan stepped between them, a friendly referee. "The truth is, Cindy, you can do Max more good on the outside."

She smirked and put her hands on her hips. "Why don't you do her some good on the outside?"

"I plan to," Logan said, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm leaving Terminal City tonight."

"Youbailin'?"

"Hardly. Cindy, we can do Max and her people more good—and be safer, ourselves—

out there." He gestured toward the city on the horizon.

"I ain't worried about bein' safe. Do I look like I'm worried about—"

Max stepped forward and touched Cindy's shoulder. "I need live allies, not dead martyrs. You dig?"

As Original Cindy chewed on that, Logan pressed closer to her. "Look at her! Max is worried about both of us, and Sketchy too. And if she's got us on her mind, she's not keeping her eye on the prize."

Her face creasing into a severe frown, Original Cindy said, "Well, hell—when you put it like that..."

"We do need you outside," Max said. "You and Sketchy..."

"You rang?" Sketchy said as he ambled across the roof. Still wearing the SWAT suit, he looked like a lanky cross between a surf bum and a storm trooper.

"We were talking," Max said, "about you, Original Cindy, and Logan leaving Terminal City."

Sketchy's long, narrow face contorted into a frown, and Max thought, Great, here we go again....

But Logan pulled the blond-haired bike messenger turned reporter off to one side.

"You've already helped a hell of a lot, Sketch. You know the transgenics all appreciate that— Max especially."

Sketchy glanced at Max and Original Cindy, then looked back at Logan and said,

"Yeah. I caught that drift. Me and the dudes downstairs, we been ... bondin'."

Logan managed to hide his amusement at this stoneresque response. "Well, good," he said. " 'Cause now we need your help on the outside."

"Outside?" Sketch asked. "As in ... on the outside?"

"Yeah."

"Is there a way out?"

Logan said, "If there was a way to get you out, safely out... would you be willing to help?"

Sketchy shrugged. "I came this far. How?"

"For one thing, as a reporter."

Brightening, Sketch said, "You're kidding! That's what I do, man."

And that was true—sort of. For most of the last year—in addition to working at Jam Pony—Sketch had taken a job as a stringer and part-time photographer for one of the local tabloid papers. It wasn't exactly the Washington Post, but Max and Logan—in the coming media war—were in no position to be choosy—they needed all the help they could get.

And they all knew that the rag Sketchy worked for loved nothing more than stories about transgenics.

"I know Eyes Only is trying to help," Logan said. Only Max and a small handful knew that Logan was Eyes Only; the others, like Sketchy, thought Logan was merely an Eyes Only source. "But Eyes Only is just one man ...