Streets of Seattle � Thursday, November 4, Early Morning

�All I�m saying is it�s got to be pretty advantageous,� Sketchy commented
to Original Cindy, as they rode their bikes down the street.� �Having
a birthday on the anniversary of the Lafayette riots pretty much means you can do whatever
you want while the sector police are focusing on Sector 11.�

�Whatever,� his coworker snorted.� �Original Cindy ain�t got the
scrilla to do whatever she wants.� Why you think I�m pedalin� for Normal on my birthday?�

�Pity?� Sketchy kidded with a lopsided grin, and Original Cindy laughed
through a smile and shook her head.

�Don�t I wish.�� They stopped to wait for traffic to pass and she
became thoughtful.� �But it is kinda nice this time.� Should be easier
to see my squeeze.�

�You keep telling me about this Ginger,� Sketchy prodded. The road
cleared and they crossed the street.� �When you gonna let us meet her?�

Original Cindy�s answer was emphatic. �It ain�t gonna be tonight.�

Sketchy, clearly imagining the two of them together as a dopey grin
spread across his face, rounded a corner without looking and nearly
rode in front of a car.� He stopped short, startled out of his reverie,
and watched as the driver sped away, the faint sound of cursing left
behind.

Original Cindy stood astride her bike on the opposite sidewalk, watching
with some amusement.� �The power of the male mind,� she observed. �One-tracked
as ever.�

�He was turning against the light,� Sketchy protested, as he pedaled
up to join her.� She just rolled her eyes.� �Seriously.� Did you see
the way he blazed out of here?�

�If you can handle crossing the street without fantasizing yourself
into a pancake, I�m splittin� to deliver this package.� Original Cindy�s
got work to do.� Birthday tips don�t come along every day.�

Sketchy nodded with a grin.� �Gotcha.� See ya for lunch then.�

They split up, Sketchy riding north and Original Cindy a short distance
west. Two blocks down the street, she leaned her bike against a lamppost
and bounced up a set of stairs.

Experience having taught her that few doorbells worked in this part
of town, she skipped the bell and knocked on the door of the run-down
brownstone.� When a man of about forty answered, she flashed her brightest
innocent-messenger grin and revealed a package with a flourish.

�Look what the birthday girl brought you,� she announced with a mischievous
twitch of her eyebrow.

Panic Room/Logan’s Quarters, Terminal City

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, a second before
his face contorted in pain.� He let out a long, slow hiss, straining
against an invisible pain, his hands gripping the twisted blanket.�
His eyes wandered around the room, finally focusing on a spot on the
ceiling before he shut them tightly, teeth bared in an ugly grimace.�

A knock on the door made him jump, and he took several deep breaths,
visibly relaxing his tense muscles.� Finally, he sat up, still obviously
uncomfortable.� “Yeah,” he barked.�

The door to the panic room swung open and Alec stood there, leaning
casually against the doorframe.� “Rise and shine,” he started
to drawl, then stopped as he caught the look on Logan’s face.� “Uh, you okay?”�

Logan took a second to answer, swinging his legs
over the side of the bunk.� “I’m fine,” he said shortly.�

Alec started to disagree, but thought better of it and took a step
into the room.� “Luke wanted me to find you.� The surveillance
grid went down a few minutes ago and nobody can figure out what’s wrong.”�

Logan started to stand up, then slumped back
down onto the mattress, shooting a furtive glance at the exoskeleton
standing beside the wall next to the bunk.�

“You, uh, need some help or something?” Alec asked.�

“Or something,” Logan retorted sharply.� In the next moment,
he hissed again and his back arched as another wave of pain gripped
him.� “Just…give me a minute, all right?� Tell Luke I’ll be down
in a few minutes.”

Alec hesitated, and let out a little sigh.� “Whatever you say.”�
He turned to go, then swiveled back around.� “Look, Logan…you can’t keep this up forever.�
She’s gonna figure it out.”�

Logan’s head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed.�
“And I thought I’d heard it all. Alec, giving a lecture on the
virtues of honesty?”� He let out a short laugh.�

“Hey, I took the fall last time you two weren’t straight with
each other, so indulge me, okay?� Speaking of which…” Alec, obviously
uncomfortable, trailed off again.� “You look like you might be
needing some help soon.� Maybe on my next supply run, I should stop
by your place and pick up your wheel�”

“No.”� Logan’s voice was hard.� Then he sighed, and
his anger seemed to fade.� “Sorry.� It’s okay for now.� I’ll…I’ll
let you know.”���

“You’re the man.”� Alec threw his hands up in defeat, backing
out and shutting the door, leaving Logan sitting on the edge of bunk. �Breathing
heavily, Logan clenched his jaw as he reached around to
massage his back.�

Atrium Courtyard, Terminal City

Max strode purposefully across the courtyard to the Command Center,
oblivious to everything around her.� Finally realizing someone was calling her
name, she stopped and turned, smiling as she recognized Ginger approaching
from behind.

“Hey, how’s it going?”�

She waited till Ginger caught up, and then started walking again.�
“In kind of a hurry � surveillance is down.”�

“Always something, isn’t it?” Ginger commented.� “How
you doing?”

Max shrugged.� “Good as can be, I guess.� At least I haven’t
had to pull Mole off Logan in a while.� You?”�

“Okay.” She shrugged.� �I was thinking of heading out later
� Original Cindy invited me for dinner.� I didn’t even know it was her
birthday � not like I could really get her anything.”�

Max stopped and looked at her in surprise, then smacked her forehead
with her palm.� “I totally spaced!” she exclaimed, her face
falling.� “And there’s no way I can leave � not with things like
they are…listen, tell her I’m really sorry.� I’ll make it up to her…somehow,”
she finished softly.�

“Things the way they are?” Ginger repeated, sounding confused.
“Something up?”�

“Nothing new.� I’m just staying put, try to head off any more
mutiny attempts.� And Clemente’s deadline for Joshua…I just need to
be here.”� She started walking again, obviously preoccupied.�

“Hey, that reminds me. I had the strangest conversation with Joshua
the other day. He said that when Logan got the virus a while back, Joshua
transfused him and ‘fixed his legs.’� What’d the virus have to do with
his legs?”�

Max smiled at Joshua’s simple explanation.� “Nothing.� Logan
got shot a while back, messed up his spinal cord, landed him in a wheelchair for good.�
Till Joshua’s blood repaired the damage.”� As they reached the door to the main
Command building, Max stopped once more and looked sideways at Ginger, shrugging again.
“Old news.”

Ginger’s eyes had widened slightly, and now she just stared at Max.
“Pretty amazing ‘old news,’” she remarked. “Anyway, you
better go.� I’ll catch you later.”� With that, she turned and headed
back across the courtyard.� Max watched her go, then reached out and
pulled open the heavy door.�

Unidentified Office

The office was sparsely furnished with only with a plain wooden desk
and a couple of file cabinets.� A lone window appeared to look out onto
an alley through partly shuttered blinds.� Mounds of papers and a laptop
computer, as well as a multi-line phone, occupied the desk.� The receiver
was off the hook, and the cord stretched across the desk, disappearing
around the corner of a massive desk chair, behind which the occupant
was hidden.�

“Go ahead,” said the person in the chair.� The voice, obviously
that of a man, was gravelly. The chair rocked back and forth slightly,
but he remained facing the wall. “What do you have for me today?”�

On the other end of the phone, a low, but decidedly female voice
responded, “Some of the…inhabitants…are restless.� A
few weeks ago they almost staged a rebellion.� I think some of them
could be swayed to try again.”

“Hmmm…maybe we could end this thing that way instead of having
to wait forever for the cops to make a move,” the man pondered.�
“Go on.”

“452 is worried about Joshua � um, the canine transgenic who
started this whole mess…the one in the ‘wanted’ poster on every lamppost
in the city.� The cops are negotiating with her for his surrender, but…it
sounds like they might let him go if some DNA they got off the girl
doesn’t match up with his.� They’re waiting for the test results.”

“That’s not good…not good at all.� We need these people to
be afraid of him.”� The man paused.� “You got any background
on him?”�

“From what they’re saying in here, a transgenic just like him
attacked some sector cops earlier this year, and the cops brought Joshua
in, thinking it was him.� I think if you could get people scared that
he might try something like that again, the police might not be so eager
to deal with 452.”� The woman cleared her throat nervously.���

“I’ll look into that.� Good work.� Call me when you have anything
new.”

“Yes, sir.”�

Seattle Street

A gray van without any back windows sat at the curb across the alley
from Jam Pony.� Inside, two men in jeans and windbreakers sat in the
back, along with an impressive array of electronic equipment that blinked
and crackled at intervals.� Both perked up suddenly as they heard the
shrill ring of a cell phone emanating from the speakers.�

“What do you people want from me now?” Normal’s voice came over the airwaves.��

A short silence followed, and then Normal said, “Yeah, well, the Nubian Princess
is out on a run, miracle of all miracles.”� Another pause, and
then, “We haven’t had anyone show up for a couple of weeks.� Can’t
keep running Ellis Island forever, missy…I know what today is, but
I don’t have any runs scheduled near you today, so you’ll have to get
her or Sketchy to come to that cesspool on their own time…hey, no
skin off my nose.� All right, all right, I’ll give her the message.�
And one more thing…tell the baby Uncle Reagan says hi.”�

After that, the only thing the men heard was the usual yelling at
various messengers, until finally one of the men reached over and turned
down the volume.� “What do you think?” he asked the other.�

“I think it’s the best we’re gonna get, thanks to the scrambler
they put on the cell phone.� I was beginning to think Martin was off
his rocker making us pull this duty, but I think we just got our probable
cause.� Let’s go.”�

Command Center, Terminal City

When Max arrived at Command, Logan was at the console with Luke, both of them
working to fix whatever had caused the surveillance outage. “Any
luck?” she asked him, a little hesitantly.�

Logan looked up and lifted his eyebrows before
turning back. “Not yet,” he said with a slight smile. “But
we’re working on it.”� He absentmindedly reached around to massage
his back, a grimace on his face.

“What’s wrong? Pull a muscle or somethin’?” Max asked him,
walking over with a concerned look on her face.�

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said dismissively.

“I ever tell you transgenics have magic hands?” Max teased.�
“I can give you a demonstration later…if you want,” she
said, the last few words slightly hesitant.

“Sounds good.”� Logan flicked a small smile back at her.

Luke cleared his throat, and Max broke her gaze away from the back
of Logan’s head.� “So, uh, we need that coverage, especially in
the sewers,” she continued.� “Otherwise anybody can stroll
in whenever they feel like it.”

Still looking at the screen, Logan murmured, “We’re on it.�
Just gotta work a little magic…” He trailed off, typing something
rapidly and concentrating intently.� “There,” he announced,
as all the video screens lit up with the various views provided by the
strategically placed cameras.���

“Super-hack saves the day again,” Max joked.� “Thanks.”

Logan pushed back his chair, and looked up into her eyes.� As he
stood, the exoskeleton whirring, Luke called out, “Hey, turn that
up!”�

Both Max and Logan turned and followed his gaze to the small television
set, where some grainy video footage was playing.� It took Max only
a split second to realize that the image was of Joshua, in a confrontation
with police.� He looked enraged, spitting and barking at the men with
guns and batons who surrounded him.� The image was replaced with a reporter,
who was saying,

“This exclusive footage was obtained by Channel 3 today from
a source inside the Seattle PD.� According to the source, the video
was shot when a suspect in the brutal attacks on sector police several
months ago was detained and held at police headquarters.� The suspect
escaped shortly after this shocking encounter, but is now believed to
be a transgenic, the same one who killed Annie Fisher, a young blind
woman, in the sewers.� No official reply regarding this development
has been issued from the department.� We do know that witnesses at the
Jam Pony X-Press hostage situation described a similar canine transgenic,
and it is possible that he is among those inside Terminal City…”

Clemente’s office, Seattle PD

“…As always, we will keep you updated on developments.� For
now, I’m Patrick Long for Channel 3.”���

Cursing under his breath, Clemente turned the set off and swiveled
his chair back to face the men standing in front of his desk.� Taking
a deep breath, he folded his hands calmly on top of the papers scattered
across the desk surface.� “As you can see, I have my hands full,”
he told them.� “Who did you say you were?”�

One of them, a man with dark hair and skin the color of burnished
copper, wearing a suit and tie identical to that worn by the other three,
took a step towards the desk and flashed a badge.� “Special Agent
Martin, NSA.”

Clemente leaned back in his chair.� “Why wasn’t I informed that
you were involved?� Seattle PD has jurisdiction here.”

“With all due respect, Commander, you need all the help you
can get.� A while back, we got a tip from an insider that Jam Pony was
acting as an underground railroad for transgenics into Terminal City,
but we’ve had a hard time getting the evidence�”

“Because there isn’t any,” Clemente interrupted.� “We’ve
been watching them like a hawk ever since the hostage situation.”

“So have we.� And today we recorded Reagan Ronald taking a phone
call from a woman who we think is X5-452.� The contents of that conversation
give us � I mean, you � enough evidence to bring charges against him,
Cynthia McEachin, and Calvin Theodore.”

“With all due respect,” Clemente imitated slowly,
“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”

Agent Martin took another step closer to the desk and leaned on it,
palms flat down, inches away from Clemente’s own hands.� “Commander,
I came here as a courtesy, to allow your men to bring these suspects
in.� But truth be told, you don’t have a choice in the matter.� This
is a national security matter now, and I’m acting on direct authority
from the National Security Adviser � and the President � to do anything
and everything necessary to shut down the movement of transgenics in
this city.”�

His eyes flicked upwards towards the darkened television screen.�
“Looks like things are going to get even more out of control on
your watch,” he observed icily.� “If you don’t comply and
arrest the traitors, I’ll have no choice but to report your dereliction
of duty to the federal authorities and commandeer this investigation.”�

Clemente stared at him in obstinate silence for several long moments.�
“I want whatever evidence you have, as soon as you can get it here.�
It better be good.”� He sighed, maintaining eye contact
with the man standing in front of him.� “I’ll have the arrest warrants
sworn out and pick them up.”�

Agent Martin reached inside his coat pocket and tossed several packets
of paper down on the desk.� “Three arrest warrants–complete with
photos–signed, sealed, and delivered.� Our evidence is already logged
and waiting for your inspection.”�

 End Act I