Heightened: The Federation Series (30 page)

“Quinn,” I touch his face. He is warm. I kiss his forehead. My tears fall and wet his lips. “Please wake up.”

He moans and his eyes flutter. He cocks his head to the side and smiles.

“I’m dead,” he says. “It’s the only way I am seeing you right now.”

“No,” I say, “but we don’t have a lot of time.”

I kiss his lips and taste the salt from my tears.

“Now I know for sure that I am dead,” he says. “I only kiss you in my dreams.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No,” he says. “I should’ve believed you.”

“Don’t,” I say.

“What now?”

“They’re going to reset us,” I say.

“I don’t want to forget you,” he sits up and cradles my face with his hand. “I don’t remember you, but I have this feeling deep inside me whenever you’re around, or when I think about you. At first I thought it was hate…it’s that strong, but it’s not. It’s more than that.”

“Quinn,” I nudge into his hand and kiss his palm.

“It’s a ripple in my gut that builds and aches,” he says, “it’s not desire…it’s not the right word for it. It’s an energy; a heat that connects us and hold us together beyond any of this.”

“I feel it too,” I whisper. “If I were to lose you…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m part of you and even if one of us dies today; we’ll still be together, inside. It’s going to be okay.”

“I love you,” I say.

Our lips are barely touching, but I can feel him breathe. His heart beat against my chest and an intense radiation of our heat combining in a force so small, yet so real and pure that nothing can change or destroy it.

Our lips meet, eliminating what little space was left between us and we melt into a single energy, flowing and intensifying. I know that I can survive another memory loss. I am willing to sacrifice our past. It is the connection, the blending of two souls that I cannot live without.

Then I have an idea. Ian’s tech guy, Alec, said I am capable of controlling my system, that I just hadn’t learned how to yet. What If I could transfer information to Quinn? What if I could give him our memories?

I have no idea what I am doing, but I grab him and kiss him. I concentrate on every thought, every image of the two of us, and then I imagine them traveling from me to him. I can see each idea and image as it passes between us, and then I guard them with one thought.

When I am finished, I pull away from him. His eyes are closed, and his limp in my arms. He’s breathing, but he is not responding. I start to panic. What if I transferred too much information? What if I killed him? And then he opens his eyes.

“Emma?”

“Are you okay,” I ask?

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, “for a very long time.”

The door opens.

We ease apart. I can see my reflection in his eyes. He kisses me one last time. It worked. I know what I have to do; I have to survive. I have to hold tight to the connection and nurse it, feed it and bring it back from the ashes.

“I’m ready for you,” it’s Sean.

I stand up and hold my hand out to Quinn. He takes it, and we walk out of the room together. We enter a room with a chair that is reclined. There are computers everywhere and several people in white lab coats.

“You’re first Emma,” Sean motions for me to take a seat. I do.

He clamps my hands and legs down to the table. I look up at the lights and the ceiling tiles. I start to count how many tiles are in the room. I bit my lip, turning my skin over and over in my mouth.

“It’ll be fine,” Sean says, “just don’t fight it, or struggle. You can cause permanent damage.”

“What?” I remember him saying that before, not here but in another lab. “Sean?”

He shakes his head as if he’s warning me. “Emma no,” his voice is faint.

“Peter,” I whisper. “I remember.”

“Forget,” is all he says. He places my hand on the receptor and closes the top, securing me to the machine.

I have a million images and ideas running through my mind. I look at Quinn. He’s not as calm as he was when we were alone. I can see his eyes and they are full of fear. I look to the door. I need to escape. I have to sort out what I know. I can feel the panic. I’m not going to be able to control it.

“Emma,” Sean’s voice is stern. “You need to calm down.”

My heart is racing; I can see it on the monitor and feel it pound against my skin. I can’t breathe. I hear Quinn call my name. I pull at my restraints. The metal tears at my skin.

“I need a sedative,” Sean shouts. I hear someone knock over something hard; it makes a clanking sound as it scatters across the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Adam says. He is standing next to me.

“She’s panicking,” Sean says. “She’s done this before. We just need to put her out, and then we can continue.”

“I don’t want her harmed,” he says. “I need to be able to access everything.”

“She will be fine,” Sean says.

“Emma!” Quinn calls out to me.

I am clenching my teeth and forcing air in and out of my lungs in a hiss. I feel the needle in my arm. It burns. A warm, numbness spreads from the injection site to the rest of my body. I look at the light. I follow the edge of the ceiling tiles with my eyes. I concentrate on the shape, the squareness of it. I try to keep my eyes opened, forcing myself to see, to count. But they are too heavy, and I am too weak. I can see the darkness of the back of my eyelids. I see a sharp white speck. I concentrate on it. It floats and hovers in a space of nothingness. I drift. I am gone.

I feel the cloth over my face. I don’t move, and I don’t speak. I can hear voices, and then it is quiet. I wait. It is what he instructed me to do.

When the blanket is pulled back, I see him. He is smiling, and that annoys me. I sit up and stretch.

“How long was I out,” I ask?

“It’s been fourteen hours,” says Sean. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Where did they take her,” I ask? I get up, but I have to hold the table to steady myself.

“She’s at Bensons building downtown,” he says. “They have her under guard. I’m supposed to start the extraction in three hours.”

He picks up a large bag and hands it to me. “Everything you requested is in here.”

“Who do you work for,” I ask, “if it’s not Benson or Ian; then who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “All you need to know is that I’ve kept watch over her for a long time, and I can’t help her anymore. I’m in too deep. You have to do this.”

“This is going to work, right?”

“If you follow my instructions, you’ll have plenty of time to get her out,” he says. “I uploaded the information to your program. When you arrive, it will make a lot more sense.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he says. “I deactivated your current operating mode. Your baseline program will be taking over in about fifteen minutes. I made sure I included all of the adjustments, and any pertinent information can be accessed in the case file.”

“I’m still having a difficult time understanding all of this,” I say. “So I work for the same people you work for, right?”

“Yes,” he says. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it will come back to you shortly. Just make sure you get her out. If her files get compromised, or if they are extracted; it will be bad, very, very bad.”

“Got it,” I say.

“I have to go before someone misses me,” he says. “Good luck.”

He leaves, and I open the bag he gave me. Before he knocked me out, instead of resetting me, he came to me and told me his plan to save Emma. He asked what I needed and promised to keep me safe.

So far, he has kept his promise and delivered everything I asked for and more. Emma is being held in a room at Benson’s headquarters. My job is to retrieve her before the extraction and deliver her to her people. According to Sean, the three of us are all working for the same people. It was our job to keep her safe so that she could complete the mission, but someone interfered with her program, and my program.

It is now my job to retrieve her. My alarm sounds. I check my program; my time is up. I’m going baseline. I can feel the low vibration begin in my arm, where my receptor is located. I close my eyes and sit back against the wall. The reset warning sounds in my head. I feel my systems shutting down. And then it all goes black.

I access my location and agenda: East City, 2.5 miles from destination.

I gather my gear and head out into the street. I don’t make eye contact, or talk to any of the citizens. I am focused on my mission: retrieve or destroy. The city is busy, which makes for good cover. I can ease in and out of the crowd without drawing any attention to myself.

The air is crisp, and tiny snowflakes are falling from the sky. I walk to the nearest shuttle. The trip downtown is uneventful. I exit the shuttle and walk to Benson Headquarters. I stand across the street, assessing the situation. I scan the exterior. The citizens are of minor priority, and I calculate an acceptable level of collateral risk. There are two guards posted at the entrance; they are expendable.

I monitor the traffic and calculate the route. I walk across the street. I enter the building. The guards take notice. They follow me into the elevator. I immediately defuse the situation. I select the bottom level. I drag their bodies into the hall and hide them behind a freight box. I take the elevator to the ninth floor. My target is on the tenth floor. I take the stairs the rest of the way. I exit and proceed to the location.

There are two guards posted. I neutralize them and enter the code at the door. It opens, and I step inside. I see the target sitting in a chair. She looks up at me.

“How did you,” she asks?

“I’m here to retrieve you,” I say.

“Quinn?”

“We have to leave,” I say. “We have a ten-minute security window.”

We enter the hallway. I turn to the left, towards the stairway. A scream from someplace deeper within the office echoes down the hall.

“Sean,” she says. “We have to help him.”

“It’s not on my agenda,” I say. “You are my target.”

“What are you talking about,” she asks? “You don’t sound like yourself, are you okay? We need to help him.”

“No,” I say. I grab her arm and pull her with me. She pushes me and knocks me off balance. I let go, and she runs down the hall towards the scream. She stops at the end of the hall and looks around the corner; I grab her again.

“We must leave,” I say. “We have four minutes and twenty-three second until the

Security, system alerts them of your departure.”

“I’m not leaving him,” I say.

I hear the sound of a door opening and then closing, and footfalls in the hall. They are diminishing. She turns the corner and enters the room.

I see Officer Greer in a heap on the floor in a pool of his blood.

“Sean,” she says. I sense an increase in the level of distress in her voice.

“He is not a viable retrieval,” I say.

“Help him,” she begs.

“He has passed the optimal percentage for recovery,” I say.

“What is that supposed to mean,” she looks at me. Her eyes are slightly closed, and her mouth is downturned. I cannot calculate her intentions.

“Emma,” says Sean.

She is kneeling next to him.

“Emma, you have to go,” says Sean. “He is operating on a baseline program.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she says. She looks up at me. “What’s a baseline?”

“A baseline program is an emergency protocol,” I say. “It is a predesigned plan that results in an optimal resolution.”

“I don’t understand,” she says.

A low gurgle emits from Officer Greer’s mouth. She turns her attention back to him. She places a hand over the wound in his chest.

“Sean,” she says, “what am I supposed to do?”

“Go,” he says.

His vital signs are weak.

“One minute and thirty-one seconds,” I say. I lift her up by her shoulders. She tries to remove herself from my grasp, but I am prepared.

“Go,” says Sean. He closes his eyes.

“Let go of me,” she says.

I pull her out of the room. I have a tight grip on her arm. I stop at the corner. I look at her; she has tears falling down her cheeks. The hallway is clear, and we continue to the stairway. We ascend two flights and exit onto the roof. The alarms begin to sound from inside the building.

I pull her to the edge and look back towards the door. I am confused. There should be a shuttle waiting for us. I recalculate my agenda. We are within the programmed time frame. A loud crash from the stairwell draws my attention.

They are attempting to break through the door. I recalculate again and review my agenda. I am programmed to retrieve or to destroy. I raise my weapon. I look over my shoulder. I do not see a shuttle.

“Quinn,” she shouts. She is aware of my weapon’s potential trajectory. “What are you doing?”

“I am following protocol,” I say.

She backs up against the edge. She looks down, and then quickly back towards me. Her vital signs are at unacceptable levels.

“Are you ill,” I ask?

“What?”

“Your heart is beating at a dangerous intensity,” I say.

“Because I’m terrified,” she says.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “You are a Federation citizen. Fear is not protocol.”

She climbs onto the ledge. Her body is shaking. I step closer to her. This is not in my agenda. Self-termination is not an option.

“Step away from the edge,” I say.

“Why, so you can kill me yourself?”

“The information in your program is classified and cannot be compromised,” I say. “Termination is the only approved method of disposal. Jumping will not destroy your program.”

“What happened to you,” she asks?

“I don’t comprehend,” I say.

“Quinn,” she says. “They are going to break through the door, and then we both will be dead.”

“That is why I must destroy your program before it is too late,” I say. “It is your duty to assist.”

“Quinn,” she begs. “Look at me. Who am I?”

“Officer Emma Calder,” I say.

“Calder,” she asks? “You said Calder, but you are Officer Calder.”

“You are my assigned partner,” I say.

“Quinn, I am your wife?”

“It is an old term, but wife is a synonym,” I say.

The door burst open, and five men run towards us. I point my gun. My finger is on the trigger. I am aware of protocol. I look at her face. She smiles at me.

The rush of air being forced aside by the downward motion of a shuttle hits me in the face. I look back to Emma. She leans back but is caught by a man reaching out of the shuttles open door. A barrage of gunfire shoots past me, hitting the approaching men. I step on the ledge and leap into the shuttle.

The door closes, and we ascend.