The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Ten

Melody was determined to get more from Aaron about the event, and she wasn't the only one. However, she had resources even the New York Police Department lacked. Getting Blackpool to take her once more to the Repository was easy. Catching Aaron there was harder. However, she made an appointment, and another and another, until she finally caught him. Except that she didn't encounter him in his office.

Instead, she caught Malak and Mannequin in the relaxation area, outside the Repository. This was roughly an acre of grass and trees, with picnic tables, permanently emplaced grills for cooking and even a bandstand, as well as several small gazebos. Despite early concerns about the ability of the very non-native plants to survive in this environment, they not only had, but were doing so well the relaxation area had been more than doubled over the years.

The entire installation for the chemical repository was on a flat area in a valley among the Rockies, on land which had been acquired for the isolated storage and disposal of dangerous chemicals. The relaxation area was in a part of the buffer zone around the Repository, just north of the actual walled compound. Everything on that pampered piece of ground looked new, including the grass. There were a few other people in the area as Melody walked towards her target, and almost uniformly they were smiling.

Two who were not smiling were Malak and Mannequin. Melody slowed as she approached the picnic table where they sat on opposite sides, leaning towards each other. The pair was obviously having some sort of intense but quiet conversation. However, when they saw Melody both waved her over. She had the distinct impression she was interrupting something, but that they didn't mind.

"So, keep in mind that reality alteration changes things, but not their history," said Mannequin, obviously finishing something the two of them were discussing.

"I think I understand," said Malak, nodding. "That would violate causality. A thorough rewriting could be used to create a mask over the previous reality, even affecting memory and objective records, but that is fragile. Additionally, as far as all our best researchers and theorists have been able to determine, the arrow of time can be shortened or extended - for relatively limited localities, such as a person or small group - but its direction can not be changed. Causality is still inviolate. So, no do-overs."

"No do-overs," said Mannequin, with a reluctant sigh.

"Hello, Melody," said Malak, motioning the reporter to take a seat at the table. "Come and join us."

"Hello, you two," said Melody, as she chose a seat which left her close to being equally distant from the two empowered. However, she looked at Malak. "I didn't get to ask you much about the charity ball and robbery last night."

"Ooh, I'd like to hear about this, too," said Mannequin, smiling. "Especially since I wasn't invited."

"There isn't much more to tell," said Malak, with a shrug. "I went there to help promote donations to several charities I support. Some thugs with an empowered leader tried to rob the place. From what I understand, he was in charge solely because he had powers."

He and Melody related the events in more detail to Mannequin.

"Maybe it's a good thing I wasn't invited," the pale, currently ungendered empowered said, impishly.

The other two definitely agreed, but diplomatically said nothing.

"I understand why you didn't take action until the hostages were threatened," said Melody, to Malak. "How did you make the decision on when to act?"

"The equation was simple and the math obvious," said Malak, with a shrug of the shoulders which barely moved his wings. "Their leader calls himself Flame Barrier, by the way, or maybe Flame Bearer; he wasn't very clear on that. What led me to act was when he suddenly changed from robbery to boosting his own ego."

"That's two of the classic sins, right there," said Mannequin, grandly.

"In this case, I quickly realized that he was so invested in his own greatness, that our small act of defiance had driven him into a murderous rage. Though he covered it well. If I hadn't... obliged him, he would have ordered those with him to fire on the hostages. At least some would have obeyed."

"I suspected it was something like that," said Melody, nodding. "I could tell he was angry, but not that he was that angry. Though towards the end, he did seem ready to do something drastic."

"Of that have no doubt," said Malak, gravely.

* * *

"I am looking for Blackpool," said Melody, as she approached the receptionist outside his office. "I asked around on my way here, but no-one seemed to know exactly where he is."

She was only mildly worried about possibly missing him. He was her most reliable means of transportation, but far from the only one available to her at the Repository. He was also almost as busy as Malak, in part because of his easy mobility.

"He got called to Washington unexpectedly," said Blackpool's secretary, one of the few women among the soldiers who comprised most of the staff.

"Washington," said Melody, startled. Then she was confused. "Wait; his boss is in Arlington."

"Yeah. He got called directly to the White House."

Melody worriedly chewed a bit at her bottom lip as she digested this bit of information. What was going on?

* * *

What was going on was a meeting in the Oval Office itself. Besides the empowered man there was only the President and a high-ranking political appointee, plus four Secret Service agents. Blackpool had the definite impression this meeting was just as much a rush for President Rogers as it was for him. Such a call would normally be handled through other channels, and the meeting almost certainly held in a different room.

Possibly explaining the unusual rush was the presence of the new head of United States Security, Stewart Hayers. He was reputed to be both impatient and opinionated. However, at first President Rogers did the talking, while Hayers looked on. Or, rather, glared on.

"We have received complaints that you are interfering with the work of The Protectorate," said the President.

"I'm not interfering with the work of The Protectorate," said Blackpool, startled. "My job at the chemical Repository is full-time and so far none of my duties have intersected with anything they have done."

"I don't want to hear any excuses!" snapped Hayers. "Stop your interference!"

From his expression, President Rogers shared Blackpool's evaluation of this outburst.

"I'm not making excuses," said Blackpool, looking directly at Hayers. "I'm not interfering with The Protectorate."

"Excellent," said the President, cutting off his head of United States Security. For a moment. The outspoken man quickly recovered.

"We are still getting complaints from them that the Empowered Matters Agency is interfering with their activities!" said Hayers.

Blackpool was starting to see what was going on. Even if it was based on a mistaken idea of who was boss of what.

"I work for the Empowered Matters Agency," said Blackpool. "I'm not in charge of it. Those complaints should be made to Sarah Eadgar, who is head of the agency. She's the one you need to talk to about that. Not me."

From the look on his face, the President had also realized what was going on.

"Blackpool is only in charge of the chemical Repository."

"Yes, but he's the one with the influence over policy!" said Hayers, who apparently would rather believe a middle-manager had authority well outside his pay grade than accept that a woman was actually in charge of a federal agency. Blackpool wondered what Hayers would do if he knew the empowered man were Black. Already standing, Hayers now moved closer to Blackpool and jabbed a finger at his chest.

"The Protectorate is not to be interfered with!"

Blackpool was starting to think the man could only speak in exclamations.

"Aaron LaBelle says..."

"LaBelle is well past his prime," said Hayers, with a dismissive gesture. "You look at the great men of history and they did nothing after they were forty."

Blackpool marveled at the fact that the person saying this was in his mid-thirties. Besides being demonstrably wrong.

"Until very recently, very few people - great or not - lived past forty," said Blackpool, dryly. "Those creative, contributing people who did live longer tended to remain creative and contributors to society until physical debilitation or death."

He decided to give examples this man might respect.

"Perhaps you'll recognize the names DaVinci, Jefferson, Harrison, Edison... it isn't being over forty which stops people from contributing to society, it's being dead, or too sick to continue. Also, keep in mind that Aaron is physiologically still in his twenties."

Hayers was obviously was not used to being contradicted. He looked to the President. Who sighed.

"You have your orders," said Rogers, firmly but with a carefully neutral expression. "Dismissed."

* * *

When he finally returned to his office at the Repository, Blackpool had an orderly locate Melody. This didn't take long; she was was actually waiting in the reception room just outside. When she went in Melody was disturbed by Blackpool's emotional state. She had rarely seen her husband so upset. Melody made sure the door was completely closed behind her. She was trying to think of something to say, but he spoke first.

"Did you find Aaron?" he asked, without preamble.

"Oh, yes. Malak and Mannequin were out in the relaxation area. However I heard Malak say he - presumably as Aaron - needed to head back to his office here as I was leaving."

Blackpool grabbed his phone and dialed the appropriate internal number. Presumably, Aaron answered.

"I think you need to speak with the President," said Blackpool, startling Melody, "as well as the new head of United States Security, Stewart Hayers; maybe a few others, as well. I don't know for a fact whether they have been influenced or mind controlled or are simply getting bad advice or what, but..."

"I get the idea," said Aaron, nodding even though Blackpool couldn't see him.

"Thank you. I literally didn't know who else to call. This requires influence, judgement and the ability to get an audience with the people affected."

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Though the current President might differ with the winged empowered man on a number of issues, he still kept up the recently-established tradition of making himself and his staff quickly available when Aaron/Malak requested to speak to him. This meeting - later that same day and again in the Oval office, with the landscape visibly getting dark outside the windows - had more people than the recent one with Blackpool. Including several times as many Secret Service personnel. However, as he had so often preempted his own boss, the President, Stewart Hayers now preempted Aaron Labelle as he was escorted into the room. Not even giving him time to take a seat.

"You've got some nerve, demanding an audience like this without even giving a reason! We're all busy men!"

Never mind that Aaron had requested instead of demanding, letting the President pick the time. Never mind that over a quarter of those present were women. Aaron decided to change tactics. Instead of approaching the topic slowly and diplomatically, he turned on Hayers. If the man wanted a quick presentation, he would get one.

"What do you want from me?" said Aaron, obviously irritated. "Perfection? You're not going to get it. I doubt it exists in the human population."

"Oh, but what about those who are more than human?" said the Hayers, smirking. As well as proving that Aaron had picked both the right tactic and the correct words to get to the heart of the matter.

"If you're referring to The Protectorate, they're far from perfect," said Aaron.

"Prove it!" the Hayers snapped. Doing exactly what Aaron wanted him to.

Aaron began citing serious, widely-known mistakes made by The Protectorate. These ranged from some made by the entire organization, collectively, to errors committed by smaller groups, down to problems caused by individuals. Malak even mentioned a few mistakes by The Grand Protector himself. These included several unprovoked assaults, some of which had ended in death for the other person. At least one of those deceased was a uniformed police officer. All these events were public knowledge, and should have been well known to the President and his staff.

Looking around, Aaron could see the politicians and political appointees present were looking... confused. The Secret Service men and women, as usual, were inscrutable.

"Those..." said President Rogers, actually looking pained as he spoke for the first time since greeting Aaron. He swallowed, shook his head, then seemed to recover. "Those don't count. We're talking about serious mistakes."

As if literally murderous rages weren't serous enough for the President.

"Like when The Grand Protector tried to straighten that steel beam on that damaged overpass and wound up ripping it from the supports on one end? Fortunately, traffic on both roads had been diverted to other routes when the damage was first discovered. Especially since he as so surprised he then dropped the beam onto the highway below. The structure and the highway running under it subsequently both needed repairs. Totaling millions of dollars."

That drastic error had been covered live on 3V. The whole nation - the whole world - had seen his blunder. The attempts to cover it up had included confiscation of some copies of the recordings. These efforts had only made things worse. Including bringing more attention to the event.

"That's..." said the President, haltingly.

The pained expressions were back.

"I think there's more at work, here, than simple bureaucratic unwillingness to face facts contrary to policy," said Aaron, gently. "You honestly can not think about The Protectorate's shortcomings, can you? WHO HAS CONDITIONED YOU THIS WAY?"

"SuperMind," the men and women of authority in the room chorused.

Aaron nodded, and sighed. Ignoring the stunned and confused expressions now on the officials' faces, he turned to the head of the Secret Service personnel present.

"I suggest you find some way to keep SuperMind from influencing people. As well as keeping him away from these specific people and all their aides. Meanwhile, I'll see what I can do about a longer-term solution."

* * *

Melody knew she was attempting something dangerous but with what Aaron had recently uncovered she thought it was necessary. She had not been able to find any reliable first-person accounts of anyone who had even attempted to enter without permission the facility where The Protectorate had their headquarters. Forget plausible accounts from people saying they had actually succeeded. That absence was very telling. Not only were there no believable reports of people succeeding, no-one had admitted to failing. Which meant those making serious attempts to get in there probably either were being held incommunicado by The Protectorate... or they hadn't survived the attempt.

Still, Melody Gundersen had never been a pessimist. There actually was a great deal of information on the defenses of the compound, though it was spread around and had to be assembled. Some of the information had been released by The Protectorate, themselves. Far more reliable was what had been acquired by people who had looked from a distance. Some from cars or planes. A few braver souls from the ground. Some had even been inside, as invited guests, like Melody, herself. All of this was technically legal, but even some of those who had planned such activities had not been heard from again.

Melody started her data gathering by making notes on what she had observed during her own visit. From there she moved on to the available photos and reports and plans. She thought she had a safe entry point. Nearly all the mentions of gaining access covertly had involved going in through one of the storm drainage culverts for the property. From what she had learned about the land, that didn't really need nearly that much storm drainage. Melody had a sneaking suspicion that the ditches and culverts ostensibly for storm runoff control had actually been installed to channel intruders.

She also knew that Aaron/Malak had been trying to get an appointment with The Protectorate for the past few days. Ever since his own trip to DC. Besides that, Melody had discovered the night before that Aaron had finally decided they were not going to see him through polite channels. He declared was just going to fly there, to their front door, that afternoon and walk in. Hopefully, that would provide a distraction Melody could take advantage of. Even getting the information directly from Blackpool - and persuading him to drop her off nearby - the reporter had barely had time to beat the winged man to the scene.

She hadn't seen him arrive, yet. Even if his arrival escaped her notice, Melody was certain there would be some sort of obvious disturbance when he approached the front door. Meanwhile, she was scouting around the outside of the boundary. She had no camera, no audio recorder, not even a purse. This trip she was traveling light, strictly looking the compound over from up close. She was making a mental map of the place, and taking the warning signs seriously. Signs which were far more numerous and obvious on the fence above the grated ends of the culverts. Some of those gratings looked like they had been recently repaired or replaced. Given what she had already determined, Melody thought those signs were an interesting bit of reverse psychology. Most intruders would likely think the builders had placed those signs there because those were vulnerable access points.

Melody - keeping well away from the fence - continued on, bent well over but not actually crawling, through the tall, heavy grass on the outside of the fence. Suddenly, she thought she heard something. She stopped. The other sound stopped.

Thinking that she'd either imagined the sound or that it was made by some small animal, Melody started moving again. She was glad she was wearing slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, but her back was beginning to hurt from being bent over. As were her knees.

She had only completed about half a circuit of the property - was not even to the main gate, where there was a closely mowed wide strip on either side of the access road and she'd have to turn back - when something loomed above the grass behind her, startlingly near. Something mechanical. Something armed.

Melody gave a little squawk of surprise. Partly at how something like that could have come upon her without more warning, but mostly that it was there at all. She was well outside the fence! Melody dropped and rolled even further away from the secure area, hoping to lose the machine in the tall grass.