LIGHTNOVELONLINE Iris and Me
Chapter 80 : Dawn of a new era (Can’t she ever bring me good news?)
Chapter 80 : Dawn of a new era (Can’t she ever bring me good news?)
Unofficial Black-Ops Director Margaret “Peggy” Carter’s office, Undisclosed SHIELD Black Site, undisclosed location, undisclosed state, 5th of May, 15:48, in Peggy’s mind
Idly playing with a ball pen with her dominant hand, Peggy eyed carefully the last data Fury had sent her through the private secure server they used to do most of their dealings those days.
Even with the numbers in front of her very eyes, she still had trouble believing she had been bamboozled that masterfully by the Squids for literally decades. It was a blessing in a sense that she had been made cognizant of the treachery that had run so deep in the foundation of the institution she had dedicated her life to only once after she had been brought back from the brink of both death and senility with an extra serving of love.
Had she discovered that ten years ago, Peggy would've had a heart attack.
She had endured, strived and fought in the honor of a man who had committed the ultimate sacrifice for a nation he believed in and it had almost amounted to naught.
“People don’t feed on honor, Pegs, remember that.” She berated herself under her breath, a habit born from decades of self-imposed solitude that proved itself difficult to simply shrug.
Because it was, is and always will be the crux of the matter, in a weird, fucked up sort of way.
Working toward the betterment of society doesn’t always benefit the worker, a fact that any mind cunning enough inevitably realizes sooner or later.
Once a critical mass of comfort and safety is reached, every human being tends to get lazy and selfish.
Doing Good Work has only one reward after all : even more Good Work.
In the 21st century, in a developed country, honor has lost its appeal.
And since doing what is right instead of what is easy has failed to become the norm, it has allowed the current treachery she was witnessing to flourish exponentially in the last two decades.
The reports from her analysts, hand-picked from SHIELD’s personnel after a careful screening process rendered extra-lengthy by Fury’s supernatural paranoïa, were crystal clear.
It had started with little things, really.
A little bribe then and there, a call to a person of interest just before a fiscal audit, those kinds of things.
And the origins of it, dug after hours of archive’s digging that would have made any spelunker proud, always came back to one name in particular.
Arnim Zola.
Peggy couldn’t even believe the prick had been exonerated and given asylum after all the shit he had done under Red Skull’s command, yet he had.
She simply hadn't been high enough in the chain of command to get the necessary clearance to know it at the time and when she finally managed to claw her way at the top in the mid eighties the scientist was already dead.
Yet, none of the previous SHIELD directors had realized that the closeted white supremacist had slowly widened his circle of influence, distilling his poison in the veins of many officials and whispered enticing promises in the ears of politicians with very controversial views about the secession war.
Oh, there was also the hand of a certain Baron Strucker in that whole affair but his influence on American soil only amounted to a token of what the true enemy weld, one who had drunk at Zola’s toxic chalice with gusto and pride.
Alexander Pierce, current Washington HQ SHIELD Director, the one who was overseeing the globality of the activities of the agency on American soil, was a fucking squid!
Saying that Fury almost straight up went to Washington to shoot the guy in person once he had learnt of his implication was putting it extremely mildly.
The evidence had been damning and the undercover projects directly under his orders were extremely concerning.
A flying battle-station, capable of wiping out a town’s population while leaving its infrastructure intact, all in a matter of seconds, manned by agents, no, soldiers ready to die for HYDRA’s sickening cause.
In her mind, Peggy could clearly see how that shitshow would have resolved itself if it had come to fruition.
First, the ones who would have been shot by the station's heavy railguns would have been the political opponents.
Then, it would have been the turn of the religious opponents.
After that, all of those who had an, ahem, opposing color of skin.
Then, the queer and the gypsies, for good measures.
All property respected, of course.
It rattled her, to know that all of that had happened under her fucking nose, that she had been absolutely blind to it while in her tenure when a simple little phone call to her ex-second in command had unveiled a state-wide conspiracy with disbelieving ease.
Peggy was pulled off her wool-gathering by two sharp knocks on her door.
“Enter.” She muttered distractedly, her eyes still locked on her computer screen.
She still had trouble believing that those things had gotten so thin when she had been out of the loop.
“Room service, I believe someone has ordered some tea.” A charming voice in a strong tenor entoned.
Peggy’s lips quirked up at the same time she raised her head from the reports.
Her eyes landed on Steve, smartly dressed in a sharp black suit that wouldn’t have been amiss on a 19th century butler, complete with a white towel on his left arm and a tray in his right hand.
Peggy snorted amusingly at the unusual picture, sliding her chair back a bit.
I've earned a little break.
“I don’t recall doing that, no.” She bantered back, “But I would have definitely done it if I had been aware that it came with that kind…”
She roamed her eyes hungrily on Steve’s figure, feeling some heat gather in her lower stomach.
“...Of packaging.” She purred.
Testament to their months spent together, Steve didn’t even bat an eye at her provocative and decisively very late twentieth century attitude.
Taking Peggy’s answer as the tacit agreement that he could come in to take away a few minutes of her time and was welcome to do so, Steve made his way with both confidence and elegance to her side, under the amused eyes of his woman.
He still had some difficulties to acclimate himself with the customs of his new era but his misgivings had been promptly curbed once Peggy had managed to, let’s say, persuade him.
Peggy watched her man pour her cup with the casual ease of a professional while knowing perfectly that he was just showing off by overcompensating with his precise muscle control.
“If Erskine could watch you now, using your gifts to impress a lady, I’ll bet he’ll have a heart attack.” Peggy chided him amusingly.
The statement made Steve pause.
Peggy watched him gently put away the teapot, laying a hand on the tray as if contemplating something.
“I think you’re wrong, Peggy.” He said quietly, “I think he’d be overjoyed.”
Peggy said nothing, only choosing to arch an eyebrow at her returned lover.
Steve locked his eyes in hers, unknowingly prompting her to lose herself in his sky blue orbs.
“Because it would mean there’s no need for soldiers anymore.” He answered, dead serious and with steel in his eyes.
So intense.
Peggy blinked, momentarily taken aback as a light blush rose to her cheeks.
“Alright, you do have a point.” She conceded, distractedly venting herself with her hand, “Let’s see how your postduty reconversion is going, then.”
Steve chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he stepped next to her while proffering her cup.
“Thank you, darling.” Peggy answered, immensely pleased by the show of attention.
She was even more pleased when two strong and very big hands landed softly on her shoulders and started massaging them barely one second later.
Peggy sagged in her seat, a little moan of contentment escaping her lips despite her best judgment.
“Tense that much?” Steve commented while his thumbs started to do something absolutely ma-gi-cal on her cervical muscles.
“Hmm.” She acquiesced, her eyes closed as she took a sip of her tea, “The last reports are pretty depressing. I can't help but worry.”
“Do you think we’ll be ready in time?” Steve asked for the nth time since they had been reunited.
“I’m sure of it,” Peggy answered easily, “We have the initiative since we know about them and they still haven’t realized that they have been compromised.”
The silence settled on the two for a beat.
“And you, how are you holding up?” Peggy finally asked.
They had exchanged that question back and forth a lot since they had each other back.
Steve’s hands halted for an instant before resuming their motion.
“I guess I’ll never be comfortable with the reality of a soldier’s life.” He mused aloud in the guise of an answer.
Peggy chuckled.
“Hurry up and wait.” She quoted amusingly.
“I can’t even empathize how much I hate this sentence.” Her man sighed.
“Don’t worry your pretty head,” Peggy sing-songed, her left hand coming to rest on Steve’s own, “You’ll have plenty of action soon enough.”
As if trouble had been summoned by her defiance of the gods of irony, Peggy’s computer screen suddenly flickered a few times.
When the light show, and also Steve's massage because it had definitely drawn his attention, ended it was to settle on an image that instantly put Peggy on high alert.
On the computer screen, the reports she had been reading had left place to a very accurate rendition of codename Simurgh’s stony and utterly alien face, big white unblinking eyes included.
“Director Carter, Captain Steve Rogers, a pleasure.” The unmistakable alto of the strange being resounded through the computer’s speakers.
Behind her, Peggy felt her man tense, prompting her to squeeze his hand lightly to signal that everything was okay.
I can’t believe the techies still don’t understand how she does this.
She straightened in her seat, her hands folding in her lap while studying her computer screen.
“Simurgh, likewise.” She answered an instant later, “Is there a particular reason behind your call?”
The being, who Peggy suspected to be a very strong and smart metahuman with a tendency for theatrics, a sentiment shared by Nick Fury, had already contacted her a few times to solidify the terms of their accords and to give them a few ‘idle suggestions’ as she called them.
Peggy strongly suspected that any of her suggestions, like ‘could you pay a very attentive attention toward any unusual NASA report, just in case’ or ‘were they any topographical studies about Manhattan’s underground’ were infinitely less idle than the being pretended but she wasn’t in any position to bargain for more information with her.
For now.
“I’m afraid that this is not a social call, Director Carter.” Simurgh answered gravely, “I’ve been made aware of a situation.”
The image flickered, a world map blinking in existence on the computer's screen.
Peggy's eyes narrowed while she leant forward a little.
"Alright, what's this?" She asked, taking notes of the twenty-three points of interest helpfully highlighted.
"The precise location of the late Nathaniel Essex's cloning facilities around the globe." Simurgh answered, her tone even yet serious.
Despite herself, Peggy couldn't help but take a sharp intake of breath.
She didn't need to turn herself to know that Simurgh had managed to catch Steve's attention in full.
"Cloning? As a viable technology?" Peggy asked, her expression slightly dazed.
"I'm afraid it's worse than that, Director Carter." The being answered, "It's real, yes, and it can be fully weaponized."
"Who is this guy?" Steve interjected.
"Was." Simurgh corrected, "A brilliant geneticist with even less scruples than Megelev and similar methods."
Peggy could almost feel her man wince behind her back, Simurgh's comparison dredging up less than pleasant memories.
"This lack of scruples is what made me call you." The being continued, unphased, "In the event of his demise, Mr. Essex had programmed his successful experiments to lash out in a remarkably childish display of pettiness."
Peggy drummed her fingers on her thighs.
"This isn't that simple, I'd wager." She said after a beat.
"It is not : roughly a third of the clones who are going to pour out of those facilities have had their X-Genes awakened." Simurgh answered, "I'm warning you because it's the beginning of a worldwide disaster and I'd rather have you in the know than fumbling in the dark. If it goes too badly, there's a possibility that Pierce will rush his timetable."
Peggy gnashed her teeth at the last sentence.
"Do you have any suggestions as to what our division should do?" She slowly articulated once she had digested the news.
Peggy paid no heed to Steve's eyes, boring in her back.
"If you could mobilize a containment team for the New York node, I'm confident you'll be able to gather some future assets for your future coup." Simurgh answered immediately, "The brainwashing they are under is simple enough to overcome for me. I've already suggested to Professor Xavier's team that they should handle the Vegas node, all that remains is the New Orleans. Do not attempt to contain the threat here, eliminate it before they cause too much damage."
"What about the other nodes, those outside the country?" Steve asked quietly before Peggy said a word.
Simurgh's face flickered on the computer's screen once more.
"Frankly, we can do very little about the international situation." The being admitted, "And since I'm going to play the role of a safety net on American soil for the time being, I'm afraid that we won’t be able to stop the bloodbath."
The three exchanged a few more words before Simurgh cut the communication.
As soon as her screen came back to its normal display, Peggy released a shaky breath.
"Can't she ever bring me good news?" She muttered under her breath, her hand going for her own phone.
Her motion was gently halted by a big and strong hand.
"Peggy, could you explain to me why you trust that… woman so blindly?" Steve slowly asked.
Peggy looked at him archly but he still didn't relent.
"Second drawer, her file." She answered with a sigh.
He let go of her hand and she was on the phone with Fury a few seconds later.
When she finally hung up two minutes later, Steve was reading the data with a mighty frown etched on his face.
"Well,your thoughts?" She curiously asked.
"I don't understand." He admitted simply, "'Manifest display of telepathy, cyberpathy, telekinesis, giftable healing factor', ‘Previous display of vocally induced mind-control’, ‘Battle potential unknown’, ‘Threat level : Alpha, possibly higher potent to further evaluation’, ‘Narcissistic tendencies, flair for theatrics, possibly mentally unstable’ and ‘Has admitted in front of a certified official that she was amenable to the summary execution of high risk superpowered criminals’. And you trust her?”
“Read between the lines, Steve.” She tutted him gently, “And remember that Fury was the one to compile her data.”
Peggy ildly watched her man as he came to the proper conclusion.
“She’s playing ball with us.” He realized after a beat, “All of this is to put us at ease because she doesn’t want to have an antagonistic relationship with us. Even being transparent with her own flaws plays a role because they made her appear more ‘human’.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Peggy nodded approvingly, “Simurgh has an agenda and she really wants us to be part of it, even if it forces her to interact with us and gives us intel that she could probably capitalize on. For example, she didn’t have to warn us that the current threat was international yet she did because, as she said, Pierce could potentially react to it badly.”
Peggy rose from her seat as Steve put down the file.
“Now, I believe you bemoaned the lack of action?” She said with a pointed smile, “Rejoice, you’re going to Louisiana. I heard it's wonderful this time of the year, why, with all those alligators and mosquitoes...”
“I’m more afraid of the Cajun.” Steve deadpanned, “Can you imagine? An entire subculture based on French.”
Peggy laughed as the two started to make their way out of her office.
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