Interlude I - One month after 12-B's disappearance
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“…Over the past two weeks, plates along the New Madrid Seismic Zone have moved seven centimeters. This has been happening for the past decade, and continues to do so in a cyclical manner.” An older woman dressed in a rumpled lab coat, a pair of black sweatpants and a yellow and white sweater sat in front of a large screen, depicting a downward viewing image of the sea floor, where air bubbles continued to rise upwards. Her long black hair was tied into a loose ponytail with her bangs hanging freely over her blue-green eyes. Pronounced bags rested under her eyes, and her thin lips were pursed in a cross of frustration and disbelief.
Above her head, attached to the ceiling, was a single, ovular, black orb. A blinking red light continually made itself known.
“Were this to continue in the predicted manner, in three months, the fractured continent would have drifted further apart.” She stood from her cushioned, straight-backed chair and pushed a point on her screen, causing it dim and the lights in her room to brighten. The place she was staying in was a sterile white and cluttered with papers, various pieces of rock and papers, organized in a manner that only the woman, in particular, could understand.
“Current recommendation, enlist the aid of the one who caused the damage to reverse their actions. There exists no natural capability to return the North American continent to its former condition. End notation.” She paused, closing her eyes as she let herself yawn, her jaw cracking as her mouth opened wide. “Designation, PB-S. Send the latest recording to all recommended officials on Senedd, Linneaus, Wayland and Ilf. This is Penelope Blaine, signing off.”
In front of her was one of the only two clean surfaces in the room, the desk; the surface which was a touch screen and housed a variety of specialized, virtual control tools. To her immediate right were a set of file cabinets. Resting atop the cupboard, though, was the only persona affect not connected to her work. It was a simple black picture frame that housed the still image of a pair of children.
The taller of the two was a young boy with straight black hair, cut short with his bangs falling to his brows and bright, baby blue eyes. He had a full, happy grin that showed off his missing left canine to the world. He wore a set of jean shorts, a T-shirt with a picture of an old cartoon and a pair of colorful shoes.
In front of him was a girl younger, and smaller, than him, with waist length black hair that fell freely down her back. She wore a knee-length sundress and a pair of open-toed sandals. She was giving the camera an adorably confused look; her lips curled into a pout.
The woman felt her bone-deep exhaustion lessen as she gazed longingly at the picture. Her hands shook with an almost desperate hunger as she reached forward to cup it, lips curling as she fought off the tears that always threatened to come forth. When her hand came within bare inches of touching the frame, she flinched and pulled her hand back, shaking her head. “Focus on your work.” She clenched her fist and turned around to walk over to the opposite side of her room.
On the opposite of her messy office, Penelope approached the muddled surface of a wooden desk, with a pair of drawers hanging open. Brushing some papers, she picked up a black binder and flipped through a few images, resembling the sea floor, the earth’s surface on dry land, and various charts and graphs about moving fault-lines and tectonic plates. Tired eyes flickered along the different images, taking them in with a clinical disinterest. She frowned as she read through them her eyes shooting to the top right-hand corner. “These are this month’s diagnostics of plate movements? This is far too unspecific.” She scoffed and dropped the binder, shaking her head in a mixture of disgust, exhaustion, and frustration.
Pushing a hand through her hair, Penelope exhaled through her nose and abruptly turned around. She strode purposefully to the door, and it slid open with a faint hiss as she reached it. Walking through it, she entered a fluorescent white hallway. The walls were plain white, with no decorations and personal accouterments and appeared to be entirely stable. Faint patting sounds reverberated in the wide illuminated corridors; her plain slippers strike the linoleum floor with a purpose. “Damn the consequences. I’m calling my children.” She scowled as she strode quickly.
Exiting the hallway, she reached an open doorway and stepped into the room. This room was far more visually organized than the one she had just left. It had single steel, and a wooden desk with a sleek, silver laptop rested closed on the top of the desk. Next to it rested a black phone face down in its jack. Across from the entrance to her office was an entire wall of reinforced glass that showed a vast open expanse of illuminated faint blue and dimmed black of deep under the sea. Various fish swam by, though made sure to stay far from the brightly shining lights that shone out from the wall.
Along the left wall was a corkboard, filled with a plethora of pictures that depicted her children, from early childhood to the current time.
Penelope approached her desk and picked up the phone. Her thumb flew along the illuminated number pad, inputting a number she had memorized so long ago. Finishing that, she lifted the phone to her ear and heard the dial tone. “Please. Please answer. I need to hear your voices at least once.” She murmured worriedly, her heart pounding deep in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned forward on her desk, feeling her strength leaving her. Whether that be from her exhaustion rearing its head or her nerves, she did not know.
After what felt like centuries to her, there was click on the other side of the line. “Hello? Blaine residence. Who is this?” Tears sprung to Penelope’s eyes at the sound of her daughter’s voice. Soft and melodic, it reminded of her a gently flowing stream as Margaret’s voice tickled her hearing. It had been years since she heard her daughter’s voice; so much so that the last time she had heard, the girl’s voice still had that young soprano of childhood. Now? It was a gentle half-soprano that caused a well of self-loathing to settle in her gut. “Um, hello? Is anyone there? A wrong number perhaps? I’m pretty busy at the moment, so I have to go.”
Penelope felt her throat constrict at her daughter’s tightened tone as if she was recovering from a cold if she had just exhausted her voice. “Wait!” She managed to choke out, her legs quivering, much to her frustration. “I…it’s me, Maggie…” She walked around her desk, heading towards her chair.
Margaret grunted faintly, verbalizing her apparent confusion. “I’m sorry?” Then she paused, “How do you know my name?” Suspicion filled her voice, anger coloring her tone.
“It’s your mother, Maggie.” Where had her conviction gone? She couldn’t help but wonder as she managed to reach her chair, legs giving out from beneath her. “I… Enough was enough, I suppose.” Penelope’s voice broke as she squeezed her eyes shut, tears already breaking free.
“Enough of what?” Margaret’s voice broke, but it was no less hard. “You stop calling years ago and only send e-mails. Then those stop.” Her words fell like a deluge, emotion coloring them with a contained fury and a cascading frustration. “You never answered when Joey called. You never gave us a straight answer on what you do. You left us in this apartment and never told us why. Why? Where are you? Do we not matter anymore to you?!”
“Of course, you do,” Penelope replied instantly, her voice regaining its former strength. “You and your brother matter more to me than anything else in this world.”
“Nice fucking job expressing it.” Margaret retorted caustically, much to her mother’s surprise. It even surprised the girl herself, considering her sudden inhale. “I’m not apologizing for that.” She spoke again, her voice shaky but stern.
It may have been years, but no amount of time away from her daughter would let her miss the fact that her youngest was crying, though she was doing an admirable job concealing. Still, her child’s words cut her deep. They broke through the walls she had put up as if they were never there. “You shouldn’t. I deserved them.” Penelope replied with a shaky smile, tear tracks falling down her face.
“Where are you?”
“The New Madrid Seismic Zone,” Penelope answered matter-of-factly.
“That…” Margaret paused, her voice cracking. “That tells me nothing, Mom.” She sounded like she was holding back a laugh if the way her voice choked up was any indication.
Well, that, or more tears, but Penelope would instead not think about one of her children crying. The mother allowed her a small smile. Much to her playful disappointment, neither of her children had any interest in her particular field. “I’m in the southern US, submerged several thousand miles under the surface of the sea.” Hearing her daughter calling her ‘Mom,’ though, sent a surge of relief through her.
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“That’s more specific, but doesn’t tell much more,” Margaret answered in a deadpan, bringing a smile to Penelope’s face. It seems that her youngest had taken in some of her eldest’s sense of humor.
A laugh escaped the mother, loosening the tension in her shoulders that she had forgotten she had. “I see so many incredible things down here, Maggie. But…it would be so much better if I had you and Joseph with me.” Margaret sucked in a breath at the end of her statement, catching her mother’s attention in a way that only a parent could notice. “What is it?” She received no answer, save for the sound of shaky breathing. “Margaret, what is wrong?” No answer, though the breaths were coming quicker, heavier.
Penelope could still read her child as easily as breathing, despite being away for so long.
Her daughter was distraught. That lit a fire beneath her, expression hardening and marshaling her resolve in a way only a parent could do. “Margaret, where is your brother?” It didn’t strike her until now just how wrong this situation felt. Had everything been fine, Penelope was sure that her son would’ve made his presence known by now, either through more vocal anger or simply announcing himself and letting his sister the conversation.
“Gone.” Maggie gave a concise, curt answer.
Ice shot through her veins, her stomach feeling like it fell to her feet. Her knuckles cracked as she clenched her hand and squeezed the phone. “Gone?” Her voice is faint as she tried not to lose herself to slowly rising frustration. Not at her daughter, never at her, but her ‘benefactors.’ “What do you mean?” She managed to speak through her tightening throat.
Margaret didn’t answer for a few agonizing moments. “He was abduct-” She was suddenly cut off by a droning beep.
Penelope pulled the phone from her face as she slowly turned to the phone. The ambient light that generally lit up the number pad were all dead. Gritting her teeth, she hung up the phone with a frustrated slam.
Her son was gone. Missing. Abducted. Her heart pounded deep in her chest, knuckles cracking as she clenched her fists and grit her teeth. It was like her blood was both a searing flame and a frigid chill that refused to die down. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as her bone-deep exhaustion was burned away, replaced by a constant intensity that demanded retribution. She turned her attention to her laptop and forced her hands to open and relax so that she could open it. It booted up to revealing an image of her children, smiling and laughing at something off the screen.
Opening a window, she began to type quickly and fervently, eyes flickering from side to side. After a few moments of typing, a window forced itself open and appeared on the forefront, closing whatever she had earlier. A red light flickered on at the top of her screen, showing the camera had turned on. The face of clean-shaven older gentlemen with dark green eyes stared dispassionately at her. His expression was blank, but there was a frustration in his gaze. His hair was greying at the bangs and cut short. “You’ve broken protocol quite severely, Doctor Blaine.”
“Where the fuck is my son, you son of a bitch?” Penelope’s voice sounded calm, belying the furious wrath that roiled beneath the surface.
The man frowned at her, showing his displeasure at her. “You are an educated woman, Doctor. There is no need for such juvenile language.”
“You’ve lost my child, Director. I believe I’m allowed to express how I feel about such a failure on your part.” She kept her voice controlled and even, but the poison in her tone was evident in how the man’s frown deepened.
“Kafig’s security is second to only Ilf. It should have been impossible.”
“And yet you still failed.” Penelope did not care for his excuses. “You promised me that you’d keep my children safe while I did your work for you. I’ve done nothing but give you all the information I could gather, and you failed your end of our bargain.”
The man’s expression darkened at her words, every mention of the word ‘fail’ causing the corner of his mouth to twitch downward. The fuming mother found pleasure in his discomfort, needling him for all she could. “Doctor Blaine. You seem to forget that we still have your daughter in our custody.” His eyes narrowed, fury entering his formerly stoic gaze. “While your work is invaluable, it is not worth putting up with your needless, and unnecessary, insults.”
That only inflamed her anger, Penelope’s lip curling ever so lightly as she finally allowed her emotions to show. “Find my son, Director Cadwall, or you will never see another piece of research from me again.”
Cadwall narrowed his eyes at her. “I can understand your frustrations, Doctor, but you are in no position to offer ultimatums. We may have lost your son, for now, but remember that we still have your daughter.” That caused Penelope to openly glare at the man, eyes alight with a ferocity that only a parent could offer. “Should you wish to speak with her again, barring that unauthorized communication earlier, then you would do well to keep to your duties.”
He turned his head to the side, and the sound of tapping keys was all Penelope heard, before a ding caught her attention. “I’ve sent you what I can. Observations of the last known moment we had seen of your son. Take comfort in that he was safe and happy before his abduction.” With that, the screen blinked, leaving the screen open to its previous window.
Penelope closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. Using the touchpad, she moved her mouse over to the blinking icon on her screen. Clicking it, the mother saw that it was a video. She then played the video and saw that it was a direct observation of her children.
They had grown so well. Penelope's children had become so much like adults that they seemed like they didn’t need her anymore.
Still… “Hold on Maggie. Mama’s going to have everything ready. She’ll find Joey.”
Penelope turned her attention back to what she was doing before she was called.
It’s time for the world to learn about political hostages and prisoners.
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Maggie stared at the phone in her shaking hand, the dimming sunlight from the setting sun peering through the blinds. It had been years, almost half a decade since she had heard her mother’s voice and yet…after speaking with her, it felt like it was only yesterday.
She leaned back in her seat on the couch in her living room and closed her eyes with a sigh.
The past month had been horrible. First, Maggie’s brother had disappeared, then the school had shut down for investigations, causing every extracurricular activity to be canceled. She had returned to an empty home, and a district-wide curfew had been set.
But those events weren’t what frustrated her. They were terrible, for everyone and not just her, but the one thing that made her angriest were the nonstop condolences.
Pity.
Concern.
Worry.
Condolences.
She had been offered all of those, and while she had appreciated it from her friends, it was when everyone else decided to do so that she had begun to feel like she was balancing on a razor’s edge. She felt like she was seconds away from lashing out at the next person to ‘apologize for her loss.’
Joey wasn’t dead. Her brother wasn’t dead.
Gone.
Missing.
Kidnapped.
But not dead.
Joey was far too stubborn for that.
Maggie stood up from the couch, dropping her phone onto the cushion. It was late, and she was tired. Tired from staying up late due to worry. Tired of all the nonstop words from others. Tired of their pitying stares.
Most of all, she was just tired.
As she walked towards her bedroom, though, a knock caught her attention. She turned a glare at the door, contemplating ignoring it. Just as she was about to make her decision, another blow forced her to make up her mind.
With a sigh, Maggie turned towards the door and unlocked it, opening it to reveal a teen around her brother’s age. He stood an inch or two shy of six feet tall with a muscular build and broad shoulders. He wore a pair of torn blue jeans and a dark hoody with the hood pulled up and over his head, though a few strands of white poked out from under it. Poking over his right shoulder was a duffel bag, his right hand holding the strap with white knuckles. His left sleeve hung empty, freely falling at his side. Grey eyes, almost unnaturally so, studied her from under the shadow of his hood.
“You’re…Margaret Blaine, right?” He asked her, his voice shaken and uncertain. He looked left to right, as if searching for something, before looking back to Maggie. She did not answer, simply staring at him with a frown. “I have information that you’ll probably want.”
“What sort of information?” Maggie frowned at him. “Who are you?”
He grimaced at her question. “Ah…sorry. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a week. Kind of out of it right now.” He shook his head. “I’m Connor. Connor Wolfe.” The newly named Connor lifted his hand from the strap of his duffle bag and reached into the pouched pocket of his hoody, pulling out a black rectangle about the size of his thumb. “How would you like to know the real goals of the islands that people live on now?”
Were it any other day, Maggie would give this ‘Connor’ a disbelieving look and slam the door in his face. But now? After everything that happened, she was feeling spiteful and frustrated. She didn’t know this person, but she was desperate. She was angry. Maggie Blaine was tired of not knowing anything, especially concerning her brother’s whereabouts.
This may not help him immediately, but it would at least give her something to do.
She just hoped that she didn’t regret it.
“How can I trust you?”
Connor paused as if considering his next words. Then he offered a self-deprecating smile. “My life’s been ruined by the administrator of the island I used live on.” He paused, before grimacing as he looked around up to the ceiling. His eyes narrowed as he glared at something, his grey eyes seemingly flickering in the faint light before he looked back to Maggie. Hesitating for a moment, he glanced to the ceiling once more, before he reached to his left side and pulled up his hoodie.
Maggie stiffened as grief filled her at the sight of numerous faded scars and stitches peppered his pale skin, likely from a lack of sunlight. He lifted his hoodie all the way to the shoulder, revealing what looked like a sleek metal socket that would’ve fit in a transhuman science fiction film.
“I recently woke up from a year-long coma from being a science experiment,” Connor spoke almost calmly, his eyes dull, but with a spark of fury flickering in them. “So you can imagine how much I want to drag these bastards to the ground.”
Maggie didn’t respond for the longest time, watching he lowered his hoodie. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled audibly, stepping aside. “I have a guest room you can borrow. Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow.”
With a nod, Connor walked inside, and Maggie shut the door behind him, but not without looking around for anything amiss.